The Hangover Fairy

I've said it once, I'll say it again: Hangovers are bad. They make you tired, they make you hungry, they make you want to die for a few hours, they make your poo smell even worse than normal poo should smell, and they prompt you to look inside your wallet to be greeted by a single fiver, when in actual fact you remember there being much more than that in there when you went to bed. It seems the Hangover Fairy has noticed the unconscious slobber underneath my pillow and helped herself to commission for cleaning it up. Either that or God hates me so is punishing me by hiding half of my remaining cash, only to never give it back again. I'm reluctant to think the latter is possible, however, due to the fact I don't particularly believe in a shapeless, all-seeing, all-knowing deity simply hanging out off in the sky (and calling himself "God", thus proving just how egotistical he is), whereas whilst I know there's probably no such thing as a Hangover Fairy, I'm still open to the idea of it being somewhat possible.

What's more is effects of hangover-ish-ness mean that even though planning to go out earlier, I still only managed to make it as far as the kitchen, which led me to using up pretty much all the remaining bacon and egg stocks respectively to make what I'd like to call Bacon French Toasties: basically bacon toasties, but make with eggy bread (like the French do) and given an unimaginate title (like the French do). Furthermore, through no fault of my own, the reggae stylings of Dawn Penn's "No No No" has been swimming around my head (possibly in leftover cider) for ages, for reasons which, I'm guessing, come down to the lyrical simplicity of the whole thing. I now plan on wasting the rest of this entry reciting the most memorable lyrics to the aforementioned song:

No, no, no...
(blank space)
No, no, no...
(blank space)
(blank space), baybehhh...
(blank space)
No, no, no...
(blank space)
(saxophone section)