Vervet Monkeys On St. Kitts. Look Them Up

I don't know the purpose of life. I don't know the point or even understand it. But I love it, even when it kicks my ass.
I used to know a guy, the Hon. Rev. Sludwig (I swear he was an legit minister.) who once told me he loved being hungover. At the time I thought he was insane, or at the very least a glutton for punishment. But now I think I get it.
A hangover is your body trying to tell you that alcohol is a poison. It is harmful and it kills you and you had way too much last night/afternoon/mid-morning (why should my state of inebriation depend of the time of day?).
Yet despite what some of us might say on Saturday mornings we know we're gonna do it again. We're going to head back into that breach once more dear friends and drink ourselves stupid. We're gonna drunk-dial and lose our keys. We're gonna charge 3 large security guards at Best Friends Day and we're gonna hook up with not-so-pretty people.
And that's what I love: that despite the overwhelming argument against drinking and drunkness starting with how stupid it makes you and ending with your body physically telling you to stop we just don't give a fuck.