One caked-over eye cracked open. It didn't see anything that could be described as having a singular definite shape. But at least it said to the brain: Oi, you're awake now.
King Dedede lie still as his awareness grew. He became aware that he was not in his bed. This panicked him slightly, but then he became aware he wasn't in anyone else's bed either, so this was good news.
He was, in fact, underneath a table. The events of the previous night flooded his memory like... like when you hook up the bathtub's spout to a giant tub of molasses and leave it running all night, he supposed. Molasses with ants in.
The floor was sticky. /Everything/ was sticky. And he was bruised all over. How had he come to this? Right, right... that weird crystal, and... someone kicking the tar out of him with a, a... a flaming sword. Yeah. 's right. And then they'd all gone down to the pub to celebrate their last night on Pop Star and...
Ye gods, he needed another drink.
He remembered vaguely having said to someone, "I bet I can down more pints of scotch than you!" He remembered losing the bet horridly.
What was it his opponent had said?
(Well, it was fun to do, at least.)