I'm currently assembling a hunting party made up entirely of excellent marksmen and social misfits to track, capture and/or kill my hangover. You might believe this impossible, given the apparently intangible nature of the hangover, but I believe it necessary because I swear to all that is good in the world that my hangover has been made incarnate.
Of course, this is almost certainly a terrible situation of my making. Which is why, like any responsible member of society, I will be suing the makers of New Zealand white wines for producing such heavenly drops of wonder in the first place. Personal responsibility be damned.