WELCOME TO 2012! Oops, sorry, we'll keep things quiet since your brain is probably in a delicate condition right now. Let's talk in a whisper. But seriously, how was your New Year's Eve? Where would you rank it on a scale of one (You died alone of consumption at 11:59 p.m. Your cat started gnawing on your cold, dead toes by 12:02 a.m.) to ten ("Oh my God, wait how did I end up doing a body swap with Oprah? And why is Jon Hamm licking my arm...")?
Did you go to a party or stay in? Were there fireworks? Were they of the sexual chemistry kind or the kind that can blow your face off if you stand too close—or both? Let's hope you weren't one of the many people who cried/passed out/vomited/pissed on the sidewalk last night—but c'mon, whatever you did, spill it. If you can remember any of it that is.
If your antics have left you feeling a little rough this morning, don't say we didn't warn you. You may be suffering what has been known variously throughout history as the bottle aches, the jimjams, bust head, the morning fog, the black dog, or, my personal favorite, crapulence. But don't worry, you're not alone. At this very moment, people around the world are cringing and saying "Guuuuhhhggggh" as they try to pry their eyes open, and in cities all across America there are zombie-like hordes assembling in search of some goddamn coffee and an egg sandwich. Happy New Year!