Geelong Musketeers
I had a dream last night that I was in hospital. In the bed next to me in the ward was the world's richest and thinnest skinned manchild who was both the boss of a failing electric car company and the man responsible for filling the skies with tons of metal.
He was rolling around in his bed, crying and bemoaning the parlous state of his health. I crawled out of my sickbed and went over to him as he sobbed.
He told me that he had been taking special medicine to keep his brain fizzing with all those incredible ideas he's famous for having. The pills kept him cleverer than the average person, but their side effects destroyed the lining of his bladder so that every time he went for a pee, he would expel parts of the lining of his bladder.
The lack of a protective lining meant that the corrosive nature of all the stored piss was aggravating his bladder, making him need to pee more and thus expelling yet more lining.
I patted him on the shoulder and told him everything would be ok. Secretly in my dream brain I was thinking "Fucking brilliant, I hope you fucking suffer, you miserable ratfuck."