Revenge of the ice luge.

My weekend rapidly disintegrated as if there had been some anomalous disturbance in the space-time continuum, which resulted in temporal evanescence. This was primarily due to the rather unfortunate fact that I spent most of the day on Sunday with my head in the loo. The hours between intermittent regurgitation were spent in bed watching home decorating shows and wistfully thinking of pizza. Alas, pizza and I could never be.

The last time I was that hung over, I was wearing a toga.

In hindsight, I realize that hitting the ice luge after hastily ingesting the world’s largest bottle of Asti Spumante was probably not such a great idea. But (as far as I can remember) it was a halfway decent party (although slightly deficient in attractive, single, heterosexual men) and I got caught up in the spirit of the moment.
It can happen to even the stodgiest of Plato scholars.