I like this poem a lot. It's quite excellent; thanks for posting it.

I have finally discovered a cure for the hangover:

Don't get out of bed until 2pm. When you wake up, and are tempted to get up and tend to things and move around, don't. Just lie still until you go back to sleep. Fevered dreams are better than waking just to knock around the apartment in a miserable daze.

Obviously, I must read Lucky Jim. Poem and quote: both great.

I don't care for the poem, actually; the pacing seems too sprightly. But the exceptional lines are really very good.

It's always the case things are more fun while drinking, than when the drinking is done.

But the Lucky Jim quote is just about the best thing I've read all day. I read "His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum," and I nearly laughed out loud in the middle of a meeting.

For hangovers: Jamba Juice, Berry Blitz flavor, as large as they'll sell. That purple drank will cure what ails you.

That purple drank

Texas accent?

Houston, to be specific.

Around the Flophouse, Spencer and I have taken to shouting "arnj drank"—in honor of a 3-liter bottle of Orange Fizz that appeared in our fridge after our last barbecue—any time we file a story, get the scoop, nail a good lede, etc. Spaq and I are absurdly, perhaps unhealthily found of chop & screw.

When I was a kid, "arnj drank" referred to the fizzless, watery substance McDonalds would sell in giant coolers to cater little-kid events. "Purple drank" came out of child-fist-sized translucent plastic barrels with foil tops. St-Louis-style, yo.

Did they not have RC in Texas, when you were a kid?

"Canna sip ayer arr-see?"

Also: moon pies.

Beauty is not just about the hair and face, but also the nails and other parts of the body.

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