"Take a bite of a lucky love cookie. Maybe tomorrow, you won't have to worry so much."
Deadpool sang and danced at the same time. There were no stage lights or reverb effects in midair, and he had forgotten to wear shoes, exposing his filthy, stiff socks, but at least he was on key, and his fireball-rolling motions were fairly standard.
How to put it? It was bizarrely compelling. At the very least, the people aboard the Waverider watching the battlefield from afar were mostly vomiting by now.
Deadpool looked like a zombie that had fallen into a shit pit mixed with blood. As long as the viewer had enough willpower, they could probably barely accept it. Probably.
But once he spoke, made expressions, or even simply moved, his disgustingness rose exponentially. Hardly anyone who saw his face head-on could keep from throwing up.
The people who had been eating hot pot and singing songs moments ago now only had Bobo and Harley still sitting there watching the show. Everyone else had run to fight over the bathrooms. Even Cindy couldn't endure it. It wasn't her first time seeing Deadpool, but it was her first time seeing this bastard dance. The feeling was beyond words.
It was like he had gone wild directly inside someone else's brain, shaking loose skin flakes and pus everywhere before energetically relieving himself on the spot.
"Come to think of it, are Deadpool and Deathstroke really family?" Bobo asked Harley. Notably, although the gorilla was still facing the projection screen, his eyes were closed, and his face was calm and detached, full of philosophical wisdom.
Harley, meanwhile, was rolling around on the floor with laughter. Watching singing and dancing make people puke was far too funny.
"Of course they are. They're both named Wilson. But