Sunday was a complete waste of a day. It's too bad I couldn't donate it to someone who might've put it to better use like a fireman, construction worker, Indian chief, or some other profession represented by the Village People.
And if you take into consideration that Kiefer Sutherland milks an entire season's worth of action-packed episodes out of just 24 hours, it makes me feel even more ashamed. Didn't help that I felt as if someone had drained all the blood out of my body while I was asleep and replaced it with Elmer's glue.
Sadly, one of the primary culprits was soju. It is one of the girliest of beverages and yet somehow it is one of only two types of alcohol on this planet that can give me a hangover, with the other being moonshine. Saturday night we met up with some friends at a bar, and by then we were already loaded from a visit to previous bar.
As soon as we sat down, we were briefly introduced to a woman who immediately coerced us into doing several rounds of what tasted like apple juice. Apple fricking soju - that poison comes in all kinds of fruit flavors like a satanic Jolly Ranchers. I don't remember the girl's name, but I do remember that she was brimming with pure evil. I woke up at 9 AM with an achy skull, but slept it off by noon.
The second culprit was the NFL. I planted my ass on the couch several times throughout the day to watch such highlights as Dante Hall zig-zagging his way to a touchdown (Watching that punt return was almost as good as porn; the dude is clearly not of this earth.). Unfortunately the lowlight involved the Steelers, and watching them get publicly gangraped by the Browns, a team that has always been their gimps 'til tonight.
The last culprit was the weak sauce that the Houston's in Santa Monica tried to pass off as coffee. After three refills, my brain was still as limp as a flamboyant animal trainer/illusionist in a white tiger's jaws. The rest of the day just dribbled along pitifully from there.
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