'Matter of Laugh or Death,' the award-winning humor column

By Bill Dunn

Interesting observations on this thing we call life

(appearing each week in the Republican-American newspaper, Waterbury, CT)

HANGOVERS ARE NO PARTY

Good morning. Or, possibly, good afternoon. Oh, I’m sorry. You have a pounding headache. I’ll speak a little softer.

Anyway, Happy New Year to you. Excuse me for saying, but you don’t look so good right now. Yes, I realize it’s New Year’s Day, which means last night was New Year’s Eve, which means you felt compelled to maintain the time-honored holiday tradition of ingesting enough alcohol to kill a moose.

I’m sure at about 9 p.m. last night, when the party was just getting started, you felt terrific. And no matter how many times you told that same joke about the rabbi, the priest, and the proctologist, people always laughed at the punch line.

But at about 1 a.m., right after you groped your best friend’s wife and then spilled the bean dip on your shirt, I’m guessing you didn’t feel all that terrific anymore.

And now, as a brand new year begins, your eyes are red slits, your tongue has the same texture as a cactus plant in a sand storm, and your head feels as if a heavy metal rock band climbed into your skull and began playing their latest hit song, “Throbbing Drums of Anger.”

Each year during the New Year’s holiday, many newspapers often print a list of sure-fire remedies to cure a hangover. Those potential cures might even be listed in an article somewhere else in this newspaper. Well, do yourself a favor and don’t bother looking for that article because (1) your hands are shaking too much right now to turn the pages, and (2) those remedies simply do not work anyway.

Take it from me, you have a better chance of building a time machine and going back in time to 7 p.m. yesterday and choosing to drink lemonade all evening, than you do of curing a hangover with any of those cockamamie suggestions.

The reason I know just how you feel right now—and the reason I know that those hangover remedies do not work—is because I used to be in your exact situation. I honestly used to think that the best way to have fun and really enjoy the holidays was to personally fund the year-end bonuses for all the executives at the Anheuser-Busch corporation. Then, after helping them set a record for 4th quarter sales, I figured I might as well drink all the beer I just purchased—in one night.

And then each year, to my utter surprise, I would crawl out of bed at the crack of noon on New Year’s Day and wonder why my wife didn’t notice that during the night a heavy metal rock band had climbed into my skull and began playing their latest hit song, “Screeching Guitars of Vengeance.”

Today marks a milestone for me. It was exactly 20 years ago today, New Year’s Day 1985, that I said to my wife, “Thmphfing gomma chnggz.”

She replied, “Huh?” And after I scraped the cactus needles off my tongue and spit out the sand, I said, “Something’s got to change.”

At first I suggested that maybe I should change from beer to gin, but when I saw my wife get her 12 gauge shotgun out of the closet, I said, “OK, maybe I’ll try changing from drinking to not drinking.”

And today marks the 20th straight year the executives at the Anheuser-Busch corporation have gone without year-end bonuses. Sorry, guys, I had to choose between you and my darling bride. It was no contest—she’s a lot prettier, not to mention fairly handy with a 12 gauge.

I realize I have a chronic case of smart-aleck-itis, but for once I’d like to be serious: it IS possible to change. If I can quit drinking, anyone can. Contact the good folks at A.A. They saved my life; they can save yours. I don’t know, saving your life sounds like a pretty good New Year’s resolution to me.

OK, I know you feel lousy. End of sermon.

©2005