Hey Tumblr fam, I need some help

I created this anti-hangover popsicle, have tested the crap out of it, and yes it works amazing. My friends love it, but I’m struggling with sales. Just being honest here. 

Anyway, if you get a chance please check out our website I would love your feedback.

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The popsicle contains coconut water, electrolytes, and nutrients to protect your liver and help your body metabolize alcohol faster preventing a hangover. Also if you’re interested we are looking for some bomb affiliates. You will get your own code and % of every sale.


That morning-after feeling may be universal, but its slang name changes from country to country in Latin America. Check below for how to say, “That guy has a major hangover” like a local in different countries.

Ese chavo tiene tremenda cruda.

Costa Rica
Ese mae se anda una goma.

Ese man tiene un chuchaqui tenaz.

Ese hombre tiene un chaqui que mata.

Ese man tiene un guayabo terrible.

Ese chamo tiene ratón en la cabeza.

Ese hueón tiene la mansa caña.

Ese hombre tiene una gran resaca.

* In general, the word resaca is understood to mean hangover in all Spanish-speaking countries. 

Evak Drabble-- prompt: Hangover

Ya’ll I’m going to be honest. This was modelled greatly on how I woke up this morning. And this has no redeeming quality. bordering on crack.


Isak does not know whether or not he is currently among the living.

His head is muddy, murky, dark and filled with a sort of pounding he had only ever dreamt of in the movies. He knew, logically, that he must still be alive, because he’s a fucking fantastic person and if a heaven such exists, he’d be in it, and there was supposed to be a nice absence of pain.

So he must be alive- as much as he doesn’t want to be.

“Baby,” he hears a gravely voice groan out somewhere to his left.

“No,” Isak moans out, turning to his side, “No baby here.”

Almost reflexively, Isak’s right hand clenches and it’s only then he becomes aware of the mass cradled in his hand. He peels his eyes open, regretting it immediately, but pushes through and sits up.

What the fuck.

The apartment is a mess, no way around it. There are empty beer cans and wine bottles, broken and leaking red solo cups scattered on every surface imaginable.

And there was an empty Vodka bottle on Isak’s hand. That could not be good. He dropped it and watched it roll to the ground.

Mahdi and Magnus were both passed out on the floor near the far window; Magnus propped against the wall, holding his own bottle like a teddy bear, and Mahdi was sprawled out in front of him.

Jonas was no where to be seen, but Isak could distantly make out his shoes by the door, so he must be somewhere.

And Even.

Isak wants to laugh if it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Even was under the coffee table, just below Isak’s position half- hanging off of the living room couch. He was shirtless, apart from a purple feather boa, and covered in black sharpie from chest to happy trail.

“Oh my god,” Isak whispered, eyeing the larger ‘property of Isak’ just above the space where Even’s abs met his waistline.

Even groaned again, rolling to his side, eyes blearily finding there way open and focusing almost immediately on Isak.

He squints, “What the fuck is on your head?”

“What?” Isak panics.

Last year, Mahdi had passed out at a party and Isak, who may have been slightly resentful of the way he so easily got along with Jonas, may have accidently bleached his hair. While Mahdi never found out who had done it, Isak immediately half- lunges, half crawls to the mirror hanging just around the corner.

His hair was fine. Flat curls and a bit greasy, but unharmed. Instead, a bright tiara with Happy New Year! and a bunch of pink feathers now adorned the mess of curls.

“Huh.” He debated taking it off, but fuck, that would require a lot of effort.

“Evi,” Isak called out, wincing at the volume.

“Did you say baby?”

Isak rolls his eyes, “Jesus Christ. Evi.”



No. I can’t move. Ever. I don’t think I can ever move again.”

And he says Isak is the dramatic one.

Isak takes another step, and catches whiff of a half drained beer bottle. His stomach roils and he barely has enough time to make it to the bathroom before he’s throwing up everything in his stomach.

Fucking shit, the new year was off the a rough start.

When he’s done, he moans and lays his head against the cool toilet bowl.

Isak could nearly cry from relief when he feels cool hands running through his hair, brushing it back from his face as he leans over the toilet again.

“This fucking sucks.”

Even hums, eyes still squinted but not shaking, like Isak was.

“You look like shit.”

Isak glances up at his boyfriend, “You don’t look so great yourself. And you smell worse.”

Even lets the ghost of a smile contort his face. “Yeah. Have to say, I’m digging the ink though,” he glances to his stomach, “property of Isak’, huh?”

Isak weakly put his hands up, “I don’t remember a thing.”

“Hmm,” he couches down until he’s sitting level with Isak. He gingerly flushes the toilet when Isak heaves again, rubbing his hands over the back of Isak’s neck.

“Eh it was a pretty good night though, yeah? New Years?”

Isak groaned, but nodded gingerly, “I think I told Eskild that I bottomed.”

“Baby, everyone already knows you bottom. I promise you it wasn’t a surprise.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later,” Even heaves himself up, “I’m going to attempt to make some food. Call me if you need me, yeah?”

“Will you make me bacon?” Isak calls out as Even is half out the door, “And orange juice? And some fucking eggs? And sausage! Evi? Evi?”