He says you have no idea how bad this hangover is,
and I have to agree with him. You cannot imagine how
much it hurts to even think of moving my head right now,
he says weakly and I choose not to argue the point.
Why did you let me drink so much, he says, and when I
remind him I wasn’t there last night, he says, I was
speaking to myself. He says he would like some hair
of the dog that bit him. I tell him that it may take
some time to find a dog with so little sense or taste.