Wax and wane

Surely there was only a certain amount of other people’s earwax-infused pus a man could reasonably be expected to quaff, but still, that amount was in the centigallons and he was still at the stage of vomiting violently after each sip from the first beaker (with faded Power Rangers print). He was determined to get through it, though. What doesn’t kill me makes m-HUARRRGGGHHHH!

Choose your battles

He threw himself from the roof, picking a fight with the corner of the lower building and losing immediately, his headbutt not devastating the brickwork as he had hoped but in fact breaking his own skull open, though the snapping of his neck meant that he only had a fraction of a second to contemplate it, and no consciousness left by the time he hit the floor in a contorted mess and expired with his arse above his open gob and, you know it, a turd emitting languidly from one into the other.