The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak

Now that we’re rejecting everything in the material world that is not aesthetically or sensually pleasing, we’re doing a lot of reevaluation around here at House of Vomitola. We cast a critical eye on all aspects of our lives. Do our turbans protect us from the assaults of the workaday world? Are our sunnies shielding us appropriately from the unkempt and otherwise unappealing?

I was personally sent for a tailspin the other day when it turned out you can have good things, but not too much of a good thing. I awoke with the most frightful headache, and careful reflection led me to diagnose myself first with brain cancer, then glamour fatigue, then exhaustion and dehydration. I was getting ready to call the Mayo Clinic when my house cleaner suggested that it might be…a hangover. WHAT?

I stumbled out to meet the day, unclear as to how Champagne Wednesday could be at fault for my condition. How could Armand de Brignac hurt me? I decided to go to work, as it is perfectly acceptable to be useless there. I still work because I need that “me time.” An underling asked why I was cradling my head on a velvet pillow while reclining on my Persian carpet. What was the occasion for the festive indulgence? Well, it was WEDNESDAY. What else does one do?

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