To get this bad must take a serious imbalance of the humors: I find myself in Mission Beach- like literally in Mission Beach- waking up with half my face in the sand, a gnarly gash on my knee, dry, caked blood all down my shin, missing a flip-flop and old burrito contents all over my shirt and in my beard. How many days have I been on this bender? I know it all started Friday at the Coaster with their $2 drafts. That's it.