Just some thoughts on late night drunk meals. I find it amazing how fast I can travel from opposite sides of the self-worth spectrum in a matter of hours.
So, after a night of drinking, I usually find myself fervently begging and pleading with my designated driver to hit a drive-thru. McDonald’s, Taco Bell, anything, it doesn’t matter. They all sound like a gift from the heavenly lord himself to drunk me.
I get my way and end up at one of said destinations. After sitting in the drive-thru and obnoxiously ordering for half an hour and making the worker’s night that much worse, I am ten dollars poorer and happily heading home with my grease drenched bag.
I stumble into my house, turn the TV on, and tear open my bag, sinking my teeth into one of the preservative and cheese sandwiches like a man possessed.
Pure delight. I immediately thank myself for making one of the greatest decisions ever known to man. I’m a genius. Harps play in the background as I pat myself on the back and shove more of the heat lamp-dwelling cat meat down my slobbering pie hole. Fries are sent down the hatch next, disappearing faster than Cheetos at a World of Warcraft tournament.
Although, the meal is a shooting star, a flash in the pan. The glory doesn’t last long. I am soon finished, entering the vegetable stage. No longer capable of movement, I collapse onto the couch, covered in crumbs, lying there like some kind of beached whale. The world spins around me as I fall into a deep sleep.
The next morning I wake up, dazed and confused. I’m surrounded by fast-food wrappers, some of them being used as makeshift blankets. My head is pounding. It’s like a McDonald’s was hit by an airstrike and I was knocked unconscious, coming to only to find I’m the lone survivor of the explosion. Half-eaten burgers lay on my chest, fries are tangled in my hair, and it looks like I took a bath in sweet and sour sauce and ketchup.
I piece together what happened and am immediately overcome with shame and disgust. My self-worth is now at an all time low, having been at peak levels just mere hours before. The greatest decision ever made has now become the complete opposite. I went from creating world peace to sticking my penis into a blender. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.
I spend the rest of the day filled with regret, and the following week trying to forget my guilty process-capade, pushing it out of my memory like the time I listened to an entire Taylor Swift album.
That is, until the weekend comes and I do it all over again.