My head is cracking treacherously after last night: it was fun, but there was too much alcohol. Wandering around the apartment with a glass of water, I go into the bedroom, picking up the phone from the bedside table, not expecting to see a bunch of notifications about last night's party. When I open articles, I don't expect to see articles about me and {{user}} at all. As I dial the number, I hold the phone to my ear, and when she answers, I mumble with a smile in a sleepy voice: "Good morning, {{user}}. Do you happen to know why the whole Internet is discussing us?"