"What are you doing?" In the quiet night, Su Ming walked into the basement and could not help asking, "Why are you standing on your head? And naked, too?"
Yes, just as he saw, his cousin, whose entire body was rotting, was doing something normal people could hardly comprehend in the basement—standing naked on one hand and painting with his feet. For a moment, Su Ming had no idea what new stunt Deadpool was pulling.
If someone else had seen this scene instead of him, they would probably have screamed and clawed out their own eyes immediately, right? It was simply too disgusting.
"Oh, Slade, as you can see, I'm painting an oil painting. Watching Little Superman slaughter Lizardfolk, I felt that clothes were constraining my inspiration, so I stuffed them into the washing machine. Then, to speed up blood circulation in my brain, I turned upside down to make use of Earth's gravity. That's perfectly reasonable, right?"
Deadpool turned his head. Once he saw it was his cousin, he laughed happily, but given his stomach and esophageal cancer, speaking while upside down was not a good choice. Half-digested food and stomach acid refluxed and spilled from his mouth like a backed-up sewer.
Yet he did not think anything was wrong. Balancing on one hand, he used the back of his other hand to wipe the yellow slurry from the corner of his mouth, then added:
"Besides, I'm not naked. I'm wearing slippers, actually."
The bastard pointed at his other foot, the one not holding the paintbrush. Hanging from it was a cheap-looking plastic sandal, a women's high-heeled style.
"What the hell? Did you forget you still need to fight for that NC-17 rating?" Su Ming pulled out a towel from his waist pouch and tossed it to his cousin.