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Local bloke Layton Price should really know better than to slam dunk an entire bottle of Shiraz in 45 minutes.
You’d think at age thirty-two he’d have realised that wine is never a good choice for binge drinking, but with a last-minute invite to a boys night and with nothing else leftover from new years, Layton made the unwise decision to chug back the $30 wine he was gifted from his more responsible friends.
A bottle of wine that should have been accompanied with a nice steak or a plate of cheese, and not the only clean mug he could find in his cupboard.
This decision has resulted in a hangover, second only to a gin induced one – i.e he’s feeling more cooked than a chook at Christmas.
In an attempt to feel better and line his stomach with something other than a swirling mass of tannin, Layton has ransacked his fridge for something salty and a little bit greasy. A search that has found him settling on a nice plate of scrambled eggs.
However, after downing a glass of water and panadol, Layton has found himself pausing mid-chew as an unwelcome thought has entered his head.
Namely, his brain has decided to have a good think about what he’s eating, which is doing nothing to help his queasy stomach.
“How weird are eggs?”
“What are they anyway, aborted chickens?”
“What’s actually in eggs anyway…”
“Is it a chicken period? It’s a fucking chicken period isn’t it.”
“Is it like sem- nup, nup yuck nope.”
Dropping his fork dramatically onto the table, Layton gives up any attempt to finish his bowl of mystery protein and visibly tries to shake away his disgusting revelations.
More to come.
