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Doc and Hank were out of the house, so Sanford and Deimos decided to go into Doc’s office and violate his privacy (sorry). They found a bottle of some liquid chemical on his desk. It looked newly bottled up.
“Hey… Doc was working on a medicine to cure all our illnesses and make us super strong healthy alpha males, right?” asked Deimos.
“Yeah, I think so!” said Sanford.
They both turned to look at the bottle.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Deimos.
“As long as you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” said Sanford.
Sanford grabbed the bottle and drank half of it. He handed it to Deimos, who drank the other half of it. They divided it perfectly equally, to the milliliter, because they were so perfectly in sync with each other.
“Do you feel stronger yet?” asked Deimos.
“Give it some time,” said Sanford. He didn’t want to fall for a placebo effect.
Little did they know… it was not medicine, but a chemical byproduct… specifically TOXIC WASTE!!!
Meanwhile, Doc and Hank were at a nightclub. Doc was performing as his drag persona, Viola Antz, M.D., while Hank was on his 12th drink of the night, struggling to keep his head off the table. Every time he lifted his aching head, Viola seemed to get curvier, or maybe his vision was off. No, definitely Viola’s ass getting fatter, Hank thought, as tears formed in his eyes from his broken heart.
It had been half an hour. Sanford and Deimos were both starting to feel a little… off. Sanford sat in Doc’s office chair, and Deimos lay on the floor. They were both feeling nauseous and sweating.
“Sanford, I feel weak. I don’t know if I’m ever going to get off this cold floor,” said Deimos.
“Maybe it gets worse before it gets better?” replied Sanford, who was starting to rock back and forth. He started to wobble more, and then fell headfirst off the chair and next to Deimos on the floor. About 10 seconds later, he said “Ow.”
Upon hearing Sanford’s cry of pain, Deimos felt his chivalrous side kick in. He rolled over to face Sanford and saw blood on his forehead. With great effort, he peeled himself off the floor and stumbled over to one of Doc’s cabinets and grabbed a bottle of antiseptic.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and twisted the cap off the bottle. He held the bottle in his shaking hand and stared at Sanford, envisioning red crosshairs flashing over the wound on his forehead. Using his genius hacker brain, he imagined a perfect parabola arcing from his hand to Sanford’s forehead. He moved his arm back, then swung it forward, splashing antiseptic all over Sanford and the floor.
“AAAH! COLD!” yelled Sanford.
“That means it’s working,” said Deimos, before slipping on the antiseptic and falling hard on his back. Deimos felt satisfied at the pain in his back, since he knew it meant the antiseptic must be sanitizing and healing his back really well. But his sense of security wouldn’t last long.
“Deimos, I’m scared,” said Sanford. “What if it’s making us super strong by melting us down into DNA sludge so he can clone cooler versions of us?”
Deimos, knowing Sanford was highly educated about DNA and especially about sludge, began to tremble in fear. “Do you really think he would do that?” he asked.
Sanford just stared back with tears forming in his eyes. He put his hand on Deimos’s hand, choosing to spend his last moments of consciousness being gay. Deimos began to sniffle. “Well, if we’re about to die, I just want you to know that, to me, you’re an alpha male just the way you are,” he said.
Sanford started sobbing and then threw up a little. “You’re more than alpha to me, Deimos… You’re some kind of… alpha alpha… fuck.” Deimos began sobbing hard, too.
Little did they know, Hank was also crying and throwing up into one of the club toilets while a stranger held the ends of his bandana out of the way for him. He was practically screaming to the kind stranger about how he was in love with the only straight drag queen in Nevada and how life just wasn’t fair. The guy nodded sympathetically despite the fact that Hank’s drunkenness would have made him incoherent even if he hadn’t lost his lower jaw just a few weeks ago. A few minutes later, Viola Antz, M.D., came into the bathroom, wig askew, and her face turned red when she saw Hank bent over a toilet bowl and slurring to some bizarrely tolerant grunt. She hastily apologized to and thanked the guy, then dragged Hank out of the establishment. She practically stuffed him into the back of the car and opened all four windows to reduce the level of vomit stench trapped inside with her, then sped home.
Tragically, Doc was greeted by even more body fluids upon opening the door to his office and finding Sanford and Deimos lying surrounded by vomit, blood, tears, and antiseptic. Doc’s heart ached for the plight of gay people. He quickly spotted the toxic waste bottle and guessed exactly what had happened. He pulled Hank into the room, then propped Hank, Sanford, and Deimos against the wall. He connected some complicated medical tubes and things to all of them and began to transfuse all their blood together, since he knew Hank’s sad drunk blood would cancel out Sanford and Deimos’s toxic waste blood, and vice versa. After cleaning up the mess all over the floor, Doc calmed himself by sketching his next look for Viola. It was his 6th consecutive blood-and-killing-themed look. He smiled peacefully.