You awaken just before noon. Blades of light slice through the gauzy haze as you piece together the evening’s revelries. There were balloons and alcohol, karaoke and alcohol, arson and alcohol, plus Mr. MacGroot from Accounting brought his bagpipes. Somehow, you staggered home and collapsed — and that’s when it happened. Your chin disappeared halfway into your head, your eyes and ears now point in different directions, and you realize your night of abandon has left you with a case — of Bed Face.