The Hungover Games -

In the final showdown, it came down to him and the woman in the sequined tube top. They stood ten feet apart, swaying slightly.

“Welcome,” boomed a voice from overhead, “to the Hungover Games.” The Hungover Games

Jack and the woman looked at each other in pure, unadulterated horror. They both sat down on the cold concrete, held their heads in their hands, and waited for the inevitable shame to begin. In the final showdown, it came down to

He opened one eye. Then the other. He was in a large, circular arena, surrounded by fifty other people in various states of dishevelment. A woman next to him was still wearing a sequined tube top from the night before, her face half-smudged with glitter. A man clutched a half-empty bottle of tequila like a teddy bear. They both sat down on the cold concrete,

Jack woke up to the sound of a gong. Not a gentle, meditative gong—the kind that announces a bloodsport. His head pounded in triple time, and the floor beneath him was cold, damp concrete.

What followed was not heroic combat but the ugliest, most pathetic scramble in reality TV history. A man in a bathrobe tried to fight for the Advil but threw up instead. Two women formed a shaky alliance based on the fact that they both had the same Uber receipt from last night. Someone screamed, “I just want to go home and lie down,” and three others nodded in solidarity, forfeiting immediately.

Jack, moving slowly and deliberately, grabbed the sunglasses and the burrito. He ate the burrito in three desperate bites, then put on the sunglasses. For a moment, the world softened.