THE CORRECT NUMBER of Malört shots one should consume is zero. I discovered this on a recent trip to Chicago, where I chose to get absolutely blasted on the stuffthe night before a full day of driving. I spent the entire eight-hour ride back home trying not to puke and shit my pants in the car. Though successful on both fronts, there’s a Wendy’s in southern Illinois to which I can never return.
Hangovers, with all their gastro fireworks, are easy to hate. But, reader, I’m here to say that we should revere these woozy day-ruiners for the biological wonders that they are.
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