Hungover, I could take on that skinny hot dog champ, I swear.

Last night I stayed up until 5am dancing to doo-wop and early MJ in a sweaty, smoky east village basement with a bunch of NYU freshman (Jay-Z, I don’t know HOW you convinced me to go you-know-where). This morning I awoke to the nausea invoked by three vodka tonics, a Jager shot (not my idea), a Corona and an infinite number of Stellas and Brooklyn Lagers. For the first three hours of bleating consciousness, I could barely think about downing the water required for recovery, not even touching upon the idea of food until about 2pm. But once the impulse hit me, I shifted into my usual hungover garbage disposal mode, working through the following in a matter of hours:

1. 6 steamed pork dumplings
2. 1 order chicken w/ broccoli
3. 1 pint white rice
4. medium tomato cheddar soup (best shit EVER) from Hale and Hearty
5. lots o' bread (w/soup)
6. 1 slice key lime pie
7. more-than-tastes of Jay-Z’s fruit and chocolate tortes
8. 1 spinach pie
9. 1 hummus and pita sandwich with cucumber and tomato

Cocoa Krispies are a good bet for later, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already consumed the adequate calories to last three days without food. How am I still hungry? Have to flip. The. Switch.