Who needs street drugs?
After a close encounter with an as-yet unidentified insect left me looking like Amanda LePore's ugly midget sister, did I turn to the crackman across the hall to ease my pain? No sir-ree. I went over-the-counter style. That's right...Benadryl, baby. The Big B.
Unless you're from West Virginia and/or grew up next to a nuclear power plant, you know you're fuckered up when you're counting your fingers and you get to 13.
It's probably a good thing that my hangover-the-counter is so godawful today. Like I need another vice.
That said, I have some extras if anyone's hard up for a cheap buzz.
Update, 4:51 PM, and yes, this actually happened:
A kind co-worker, observing my bleary state, asked, "What medication did you take yesterday?"
"Six," I answered.
I'm going home now.