Mr. Derwood Hunsdale-Talbot’s comments:
As the young people are wont to say, “Been there.” Although now a model of abstinence (except for the occasional pinch of snuff), as a young student at the Academy, I was not entirely immune to the spell of Bacchus. I still wince at the consequences of an evening christened with amontillado and ended with absinthe.
On awakening the following morning, I “found myself transformed” into an encephalitic whose now enormously swelled cranium had apparently lain through the night wedged tightly in a fast-reciprocating paint shaker, the result being a global subdural hematoma of boiling blood. Struggling to lift my eyelids, I felt as though I could feel individual photons of light crashing and exploding on my retina. My mouth felt as dry as arrowroot. My teeth–gelatinous.
When I dared stand before the mirror, what looked back at me from the glass certainly was not a monstrous insect. I likened it more to a crustacean (especially the protruding eye stalks). Perhaps a coconut crab. After being run over by a bus.