NOW’s holiday hangover cure contest

Send us your day-after elixirs, win a cool prize!


If the public outcry that’s risen up over the Parkdale bar ban has taught us anything this week, it’s that NOW readers seem to really like drinking. You also seem to really like urban planning, but we’ll assume the two aren’t mutually exclusive. After all, what’s more fun than designing a mixed-neighbourhood development after a couple or six talls?

Now’s the chance for all your hard-drinking to be rewarded, with a little contest. No, not a drinking contest. Kind of the opposite, actually. To tie in with next week’s Holiday Drink Guide-look for it Thursday!-we’re asking you, NOW’s readers, for your go-to hangover cure. But don’t just tell us to drink water and take some over-the-counter painkillers before bed. If anyone has that much foresight they can’t really have been drinking that much. We want the most creative, and most effective, day-after cures. Is it a Caesar made with soy sauce and Gatorade? Five straight egg yolks? Three days of sleep and then a cheeseburger? We’ll leave it to you degenerates to work out the details.

We’ll be posting our favourite cures every day next week, then putting them to a vote to declare Now’s Best Hangover Cure. The winner will get…some sort of prize. We’re still working that out. It will for sure be cool though. And all you need to do is e-mail your cure to web@nowtoronto.com with your name, neighbourhood (GTA residents only, sorry), and the subject line “HANGOVER CURE” (all CAPS, please, it speaks to the urgency) and we’ll choose our favourites on a daily basis, starting Monday, assuming we get enough entries. So go! Drink! Get hungover! Then tell us all about it.

Disclaimer: Please drink safely, hangovers cannot actually “cured” (yet), etc. NOW is not responsible for you drinking all the beers and then taking your shirt off, playing a chair like an air guitar at a Fox and Fiddle karaoke night, then stumbling shirtless into the cold to bum cigarettes and mash your palm into your BlackBerry keypad trying to drunk text nine ex-girlfriends once, then shame-spiralling your way through a mind-breaking hangover you have no right to be cured of.

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