I had a booming headache on Monday afternoon after one of the more boozy weekends I’ve had in recent memory, (I was dancing by myself to The Presidents of the USA’s eponymous debut album in my lounge room at 10.30pm on Sunday night with a longneck in my hand while our smoke machine filled the entire house with wispy white smoke, temporarily masking the sad reality of the situation) so I dragged my sorry arse to the supermarket to buy some Panadol. (Also, I highly recommend purchasing a smoke machine, no house is complete without one!) One thing stuck me when I got in there is that there are about 400 different types of Panadol, all of which are supposed to help with headaches. My tired eyes scanned the supermarket shelves, trying to make sense of it all.

Panadol tabsules, Panadol capsules, Panadol soluble, Panadol for kids, Panadol liquid, Panadol Rapid… Panadol Rapid?

Hang on a fucking second! Panadol Rapid? What. The. Fuck? Tell me, why the fuck would anyone ever buy the normal Panadol products anymore? Are there drones standing absent-mindedly in supermarket aisles around Australia thinking, “Oh, actually Panadol, I won’t worry about purchasing your rapid relief tablets, I’ve grown quite fond of this headache and I’d like to hang onto it for a little bit longer”? That’s fucking retarded. I know that it’s a marketing ploy, but if they were sports down there at Panadol, they’d sell Rapid, and nothing else.

Also, kids don’t need fucking Panadol. Just lace their milk with rum.

Surely people aren’t making their decision based on price either. That’d be fucking retarded. I don’t care if Rapid costs another 5 bucks. In fact, I don’t care how much it costs, period. I’m buying that shit and I’m taking three times the recommended dose because having a headache makes me a very fucking sad panda. Fuck, I’d contemplate beating a baby fur seal to death if it relieved me of a post-drinking hangover. Selfish, I know, but WHATEVER, FUCK YOU OKAY!

The worst part of all of this? The fucking things didn’t even get rid of my headache, so I had to pull my usual stunt of dabbing cold water on my head to make it look like I had a pain-sweat on, limping into a pharmacy with an injured look on my face while holding my back. I then sheepishly approached the counter and asked for the most powerful painkiller they had because “I’ve slipped a disk in my back and I’m in serious pain, it’s agonising… (waahh)”

10 minutes later – codeine party baby, yeah! Time to watch The Golden Girls and drink cask chardonnay on ice.

I don’t really do that.

Or do I…?

/end communication

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