Croute of all evil

He masticated contemplatively the delicious layers of pastry and salmon before swallowing and making way for a draught of that deep, luxurious Chateauneuf. Just as he placed the crystal goblet down, and thank goodness not a moment later, his lights went out and he splodged down into the salmon en croute, cream sauce squirting rudely out onto the table and his mouth falling open in the most undignified way, half-chewed food spilling out onto the plate as his hosts stood and rushed to see if he was OK, which he wasn’t.

Facing the past

He knew that having a lip job was a mistake, let alone in the ‘seventies, and now, as he stared at himself in the mirror, bits of lip flesh sagging and hanging down from his abused mouth, he knew that only death could restore his dignity. But, hey, dignity was overrated, and instead he eagerly started calling lesser-known clinics to inquire about radical, cutting-edge remedial surgery at the lowest possible prices.