I am like a lousy matador when it comes to hangovers. I can talk a lot of javelin-sligning s**t the night before, but then I just take ’em in the gut and lay there slowly dying, twitching and moaning. I am seriously not capable of handling a hangover with any degree of grace.
That being said, Hungover Owls speaks to my soul. With each caption, I wept with joy and a feeling of being understood.
Complete credit for showing me this goes to Cliney. Who most relates to the above. While my being rests with the below: