H-Hey everybody! Bob, Agent of HY--, er, I mean, President of Mr. Wilson's Fan Club, here! Hail Mr. Wilson! Mr. Wilson (who also goes by Deadpool, of course) has finally let me out of the kitchen long enough to answer all the amazingly wonderful questions you nice, kind, fantastic people have sent in to show how much you like me and want to hear from me. Aiieeeeek!!!

...

Oops. Sorry! I thought I saw a mouse, and I had to deploy HYDRA Strategic Maneuver #301, Squeaking Like A Rodent And Jumping On The Couch, which, you know, when I think about it, wouldn't squeaking like a rodent when you see a rodent maybe be like you were doing a mating call or something? Which would attract the rodent? Huh. Well maybe not. I mean, I guess...I guess HYDRA knows best. After Mr. Wilson, of course.

Mr. Wilson's so great. He's been trying to teach me some new tricks, like Holding A Katana, and Pointing A Gun, and Not Running From Fists, and Throwing A Grenade After Remembering To Pull Out The Pin, but I don't think I'm getting along as fast as he'd like. (Alison always did say I was a bit slow. I thought she was talking about my chewing, though. You know, it's important to chew a bite 42 times before you swallow. Especially if you don't have a good medical plan that covers choking and things.) Mr. Wilson shouts a lot after a few minutes of lessons, and last week he put his fist through the Agency wall again after I hid behind his desk for the 52nd time. But he's so nice that he is still trying to help me learn. I mean, he says it's because at the level I am at now I'm “more dangerous ta others than a pigeon who's just eaten a big meal'a C4 an' perched on yer shoulder,” but he's always saying things like that. I don't know why the only HYDRA training classes I ever excelled in besides hiding were the ones like Killer Baking 101, Poisonous Puddings 265, Sharp Salads 322, and Arsenic Hors d'oeuvres 436, but Mr. Wilson lets me practice my cooking and baking a lot, because he also says we should “play ta our strengths an' surprise the enemy.” Last week he surprised an enemy with some of my Myoporum Muffins (Delicious and Deadly!). He said they worked like a witch's charm. I was very proud.

So I guess I should answer questions now, huh? Oh, except I have to tell you something else I'm so proud of: Mr. Wilson told me I could be President of his Fan Club!!! I mean, I had to cling to his ankle and beg for awhile while he dragged me around the office like a leg weight, but then he said ok! So now I am President Bob! Alison would be so proud, if she still answered my calls.

As President, I feel I have certain duties to Mr. Wilson, so I've been looking around to see what people are saying about him. And it turns out, Mr. Wilson has LOTS of fans. (Who should all become members of the Official Fan Club of which I am the President, of course. There is A Button that you can buy once you are An Official Member. There is also A Secret Handshake, once I figure out the rest of it. If you want to join, I think it's ok with Mr. Wilson if you comment here with your email address. I am not sure what I will do with your email address, except maybe send you a link to A Button You Can Buy And Wear To Show You Are Official. But I am sure I will figure out other things to do with it. I won't sell it to anybody, though. I promise!)

Anyway, as Fan Club President, I think now would be a good time to mention some of the amazing fans out there who have been doing all kinds of neat things in honor of Mr. Wilson.


Links to Neat Mr. Wilson-Related Things

I think maybe Mr. Wilson already mentioned these first two before, but just in case, I will mention them again:

The Deadpool Bugle is the place where you can read ALL the news on where Mr. Wilson will be appearing and what people are saying about him. It also has a Twitter feed.

Deadpool and Friends is where you can watch YouTube videos that are mostly about Mr. Wilson. The person who runs it also has Twitter.


And here are some I don't think Mr. Wilson mentioned yet:

I'm a Marvel...and I'm a DC. Here at the Agency, we love ItsJustSomeRandomGuy, but I don't think we've mentioned him before. So now I will! You should all watch every single one of his videos because they are all amazing. AND now Mr. Wilson is in several of them, too. Here are the ones he is in so far:

Hi, I'm a Marvel...and I'm a DC: Wolverine (Deadpool) and Watchmen

Hi, I'm a Marvel...and I'm a DC: Wolverine Heroes and Watchmen Heroes

Marvel and DC Keep on Trekkin' (Marvel/DC/Star Trek Parody)

Marvel/DC/Terminator Salvation Parody

Marvel/DC: The Hangover, Up, and Drag Me To Hell Parodies

Marvel and DC Talk Transformers (Marvel/DC/Transformers 2 Revenge of the Fallen Parody)

Yay, RandomGuy and RandomGal! (And RandomCat!)


What Would Deadpool Do? is by a couple of Mr. Wilson's fans who have made what I think is called a “mash-up” of Star Wars and Deadpool comics (not to be confused with my Monkshood Mashed Potatoes). As they say on TV Tropes, when you put two wacky things like that together, Hilarity Ensues.

ScarletVulture's Comics show some of Mr. Wilson's “unofficial” adventures. They are very, very good. I wish I could draw like that. But I can't. Oh well. At least I can bake!

The Merc With A Mouth Files page contains some of Mr. Wilson's information on some of the many, many people Mr. Wilson has interacted with in the course of his important work. Of course, it might not have all of the classified info. But that's because if Mr. Wilson told us that, he'd have to kill us. At least, that's what he's always telling me.

Kyle Robinson Customs is a place where you can get little dollies action figures of Mr. Wilson and other people he knows. The guy who runs this site is a big fan of Mr. Wilson, so he has many different versions of Mr. Wilson's costume and things for people to choose from. I only have 6 so far, but I'm hoping to collect a few more!

The Deadpool Forum is a pretty cool new place for people to go and talk about Mr. Wilson and comics and other things. Mr. Wilson's Number One Fan (but not President of the Fan Club, that's me!), foresthouse, joins in the conversations over there sometimes.


And I think that's all the links I have for now. If you know of other good fan places, you should let me know so I can put them in the Official Fan Club Files.


And now I really will answer your questions. Mr. Wilson says that since seven isn't much more than five I can answer all seven of the questions people asked me! Let's see, how does Mr. Wilson usually do this? Oh. Oh right.


youtubedeadpool writes:

Wow! Hey thanks for the shout out! It is greatly appreciated. I shall repay you with a question for Bob and some authentic New Mexican food if you ever come this way.

Question for Bob:
If you could kick any three people square in the nuts and get away with it, who would it be?


Gee, I'm not sure we've gotten to the Kicking People In The Nuts part of our training yet, although I know Mr. Wilson is an expert at that. I guess I will just have to use my imagination and pretend I am skilled in that so that I can imagine who I might want to use that skill on. Huh. And also I will have to imagine that my therapist did not tell me not to release my anger at myself and Alison towards other people, and to be tranquil like a babbling brook and all of that.

...

OK. OK, I think I've got it. The first would be L. Ron Hubbard. I mean, I know he's not alive, but if I had a time machine as well as a way to get away with kicking people, I would definitely kick Hubbard for making a cult out of a bunch of science fiction stories. I mean, not only does that give nice science fiction writers a bad name, but Alison's uncle Stewy sent all his money to those stupid Scientologists and he was still a crazy drunk who ended up falling off a trolley car and dying. I blame Hubbard. And also, what kind of a name is L. Ron?

I guess I'd also use my time machine to kick Michael Jackson's dad. A lot. He sounds like one mean evil man.

And I guess if I was ABSOLUTELY assured of no consequences...I'd kick APOCALYPSE in the nuts. Just because I could!

And now I have to do my breathing exercises for a minute. My therapist wouldn't like me getting all excited like this.

...

OK.


designatedhero wrote:

What was there not to like about Wild Wild West? Overly-elaborate death traps, campy villains, super awesome trains, Ulysses S. Grant?!

Anyway, onto Bob:

Let's face it Bob, you throw like a girl. You ever considered getting lessons? Maybe going to a baseball game and taking some notes?


I liked Wild Wild West, personally. But don't tell Mr. Wilson I said that!

Gee, Mr. Hero, I'm really flattered that you think I am such a good sportsperson. Alison was an All-Star League pitcher back in our hometown, and I never thought I was as good as her in the throwing department, even though she really, really tried to teach me. I guess I do throw a lot like Alison did, but then, she used to strike out a lot of people every game, so I thought that was a good thing. Huh. I guess I could go to a baseball game sometime and see how other people do it. But I bet most of them aren't as good as my Alison is. Was. Is still. Even if she's not really my Alison anymore. You know what I mean.


isntthatfancy asks:

Dear Bob Agent of Hydra,

The other day I had a math test that I'd consciously chosen not to study for. I didn't want my teacher to think I was stupid though, so when I came upon a problem that I just couldn't figure out, I filled in the answer blank with something I did know about: The history of Russia. A whole essay on it.

For some reason I didn't get any points, not even for effort! Oh Bob, with all your great knowledge, could you possibly tell me something that would have been a better topic? What would you deem worthy of points despite being not-math?


Dear Fancy Person,

I would think an essay on the art of stealth combat cookery would have impressed your teacher very much, to the point where he or she would have given you an A+. I mean, stealth combat cookery is a very exact kind of cookery – it really has to be done right, and you have to be very meticulous about measuring your seasonings and making little spaces for explosives to be hidden and getting the doses for the poisons right and all of that. And certainly after you wrote the section on How To Make Apples Grizwald, I am sure your teacher would be very, very impressed.


trashjack wants to know:

Dear Bob, Agent of HYDRA,

What the hell did Deadpool do to you? You know, when you two first met, and he was tiny for some reason (probably involving Pym Particles or the Rhino; I never knew what happened immediately before that adventure). When he threatened you with your own HYDRA ID card, you said that because he was so minuscule, he could not harm you. You clearly ended up being very wrong about that, but I want to know HOW wrong. What on earth did he do to you with that card? And why did you look unhurt after that?


Dear Mr. Jack,

Mr. Wilson is very, very tricky and smart in a very unique way that I like to call “The Deadpool Way.” It is very practical, kind of like The Way of Mrs Cosmopilite, but in a completely different Way. As in not so logical, just practical. And one of the practical things I learned from Mr. Wilson when he had my ID card in hand is that even tiny people, if they know where to push with a sharp plastic corner, can cut your eyeball right in half. At least, that's sort of something like what he told me in his tiny voice right before I decided I didn't want to find out if he was one of the people who knew where to push. My Way includes the maxim, “Don't do anything stupid that could get you killed.” And that would include disobeying Mr. Wilson, who could clearly get me killed in many, many ways. People who follow my Way might not have the most fun, but they usually have the longest lives!


lady_of_mists wonders:

Dear BOB, AGENT OF HYDRA Hail HYDRA!:

How would *you* go about keeping people in a hospital from waking you up every forty-five minutes during the night shift? Please remember that there are no locks on any of the doors (even the bathrooms!) and that this hypothetical hospital room is on the sixth floor.

All the best,

Lady_of_Mists


Dear Lady,

This one is easy. I would ask Mr. Wilson to go and make sure no one woke me up unless it was important to my own personal health that they do so. And then I would offer him money so he would do what I asked him to. He is very conscientious about doing what someone asks when he is being given money for it. Sometimes. Which is why I would also offer him the money in several parts, with the last bit being given to him after my release from the hospital.

And people say I am not smart!


benicio127 says:

DP! And Bob, Agent of Hydra Hail HYDRA! Answering questions!
How fabulous.

Question for Bob, Agent of Hydra Hail HYDRA!
Let's say you're in a desert and a scary dude walks up to you. Your training is to hide, but where do you hide? Do you stick your head in the sand like an ostrich? Burrow underground like a marmot? Make like tumbleweed and roll away?
Do tell!


Well, Benicio (Benicio del Toro, is that you? OMG I'm such a fan!), I will tell you that even in the desert a clever hiding operative can find plenty of places to hide. For instance, in our HYDRA manual, all of the illustrations of deserts had a big cactus in them to show that it was a desert situation. Since I am not a beefy man, I am sure I could hide behind a cactus with only minimal pain and tiny pricks to the skin. Also, in HYDRA Hiding School, we were taught that with the right willpower, humans can make themselves really, really flat. Like a hamster! So in a desert situation, I might lie down and sprinkle some sand over myself and then make myself really, really flat, thus looking like merely a Bob-shaped hillock of sand! The scary dude would never even know I was there! And of course, there is the age old run-and-hide-behind-a-sand-dune method. Most deserts have little hills and things. Once you are behind one, you can burrow in pretty quickly, given a sharp implement and the right level of fear as a motivator.

Nope, the desert would not pose a-ny problem at all, when it came to me and hiding! I am sure of it.

And now, one last question:


writerbunny asks:

Bob, Agent of HYDRA HAIL HYDRA!:

If you could go anywhere in the world on a week's holiday, where would you go?


Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me, Mr. Wilson promised me that next week I could finally go on that holiday he told me I could have two years ago. OOOH. And I know exactly where I am going, too. Geneva, Switzerland! I think it is probably the least likely place in the whole world where anyone would be shooting at me, trying to stab me, or even yelling at me. I can't WAIT!

And, well, I think that's all the questions you wonderful, lovely fans asked me. So I guess here is where I must leave you! But maybe Mr. Wilson will let me do this again sometime. It was fun, being out of the kitchen for awhile and answering your questions! I hope you had fun reading my answers, too!

Sincerely,

Bob, President of Mr. Wilson's Fan Club Hail Mr. Wilson!

Hey hey, my feisty little tomatoes! How're ya hangin? (Haha, tomato jokes. I love 'em!)

I'm just stoppin' by th' office ta pick up a new pair'a boots (you don't even wanna know what nasty stuff I had ta tromp through ta retrieve th' intel I needed ta "obtain" fer my last employer). But since I'm here, figured I oughta stop in an' post a lil somethin'.

So ya know those journals where people just post a buncha random Twitter junk insteada entries an' think it amounts ta fascinating storytellin'? You know what I mean. Like:


Look what I posted on Twitter today!

ha i fell aslepp again what is up with that

yesterday i ate a snadwich it was good

i don't really like lettuce though wat do you think?

my cat fell off the bed i am so bored

isn't twitter awesome i wish more people actually read this

i wonder if i should brush my teeth what do u think? nah.


Yeah, I hate 'em too. But, ya know, every now-an-then ya just gotta immortalize great moments in Twitter hist'ry, an' the first ever time I had a party that some'a you feebs crashed came to definitely counts.

( All I did was offer her a beer...hey, where'd all these people come from?? )

Hey, ya know what else counts as Twitter stuff that's *gotta* be recorded? The Legends of Ryan Reynolds, a glorious byproduct of #ryanreynolds / #deadpool week. An' that reminds me, if ya don't know already, I've declared this week on Twitter ta be "#ryanreynolds / #deadpool week" just 'CAUSE I CAN. So ev'ry day, everybody tweet somethin' with #ryanreynolds and #deadpool in it. Don't care what it is! Just make somethin' up if ya have to. Or help add ta our list of Completely True and Accurate Facts about Ryan Reynolds, also known as:

( The Legends of Ryan Reynolds )

An' now...I gotta go see what Sandi did with my spare mask. No rest fer the poor mercenary! So until next time, keep 'em primed an' prepped!

Bonjour, my brilliant little banana cakes! Qu'est-ce qui se passe?

Y'know, I got no idea what that even means, but Outlaw's decided she wants to learn French ta be all sophisticated and impress WB and whatever, 'cause last week they were at the mall pickin' out boots an' stuff and she swears he was eyein' some haughty French chick's holsters in Victoria's Secret. Me, I'd be less amazed by him eyein' one a'those A&F models they got wanderin' around shirtless sometimes, but nobody asks me. Whatever the real story is, it's been nothin' but French on tape in the office sound system for the last three days, an' even Bob's gotten into the spirit. Yesterday he baked up some Battle Baguettes – they're hard as a rock, but they make great stealth blackjacks. I gave one a try when Tasky came t'visit, and BOY, was he surprised.

As it so happens, I got a little down time right now (yeah, I know you thought you saw me down on the street th'other week, but y'know, who's ta say I didn't tell some other schmuck to go pretend t'be me fer awhile? Tasky was just whinin' about how he needed a job), so I took a poll as t'what I oughta be doin' just now. And the whole office said, “Get off yer lazy ass and answer some questions." Well, 'cept Tasky. He just told me ta go away before he stalked outta the joint. Sourpatch. We really gotta get him a girlfriend or somethin'. I wonder who we could hook ol' skull-face up with...

Anyways, by popular consensus, I'ma gonna answer up a few questions now, an' then I got a coupla announcements ta make.

Let's start with this one...


amejisuto asks:

Dear Deadpool,

What are your top five favorite horror movies? You know, the ones that scared the bejeebus out of even you?

Happy Haunting!
Ame


Well first I gotta say, sorry it took me until now to answer this question from OCTOBER. The months, they just kinda slip by when you're busy fighting zombies an' tryin' ta out-think Norman “Brush Waves” Osborn an' stuff. So, y'know, happy totally belated Halloween and many happy cavities. Now, then, lessee – favorite horror movies? Well,there's a lotta fun blood an'guts movies out there, an' it's real hard ta pick just five. So instead I'm gonna go with the top five movies I'd show to torture someone I'd just tied up with the horror of how BAD they are. 'Cause there are some movies out there that are so bad that the fact they exist just plain scares the bejeebus outta me.

The first contestant fer the prize of horrible moviemaking is...

Kate & Leopold!

Yeah, the idea that this movie exists pretty much scares me every time I think on it. I mean, ok, say what you will about the new Wolverine movie, but at least it didn't require Hugh Jackman to utter a line like this:

Are you suggesting, madam, that there exists a law compelling a gentleman to lay hold of canine bowel movements?

with a straight face. OR Liev Schreiber to go on fer ten minutes about dogs an' rainbows an' cracks in chairs until we were all bored stupid. (Betchy'all had forgotten Jackman an' Schreiber starred in a movie t'gether before Wolverine. I WISH I COULD FERGET.)

An' then there's the fact that a movie containing a line like this:

Behold, rising before you, the greatest erection on the continent... the greatest erection of the age... the greatest erection on the planet!

somehow still failed ta be either funny or interestin' fer more than three seconds at a time.

So, yeah – the knowledge that some yutz out there thought it would be a good idea to actually make this movie AND managed ta get it done totally horrifies me. As did Hugh's crotchtacular pants.

Not ta mention that's 118 minutes of my life I will. Never. Get. Back. Not even with a healing factor.

An' ya know, while we're on the subject a'scarily craptastic romance movies, can we talk about Tribute? I mean, kudos to Ms. Roberts fer gettin' one a'her stories on the tiny screen, an' I know sometimes Hallmark's hard up fer things ta air, but COME ON. That movie was so bad, I actually stopped watchin' it in favor a'shovelin' off the couch (no small task, I c'n tell ya!). The “I sleep in my boxers” scene? The sledgehammer photoshoot? CAN WE GET A RESHOOT, HERE? Pref'rably one that doesn't contain this?? (Except that the parts where people were tryin' ta kill her were kinda fun.)

Ya know what scares me the most about this movie, though? That anyone thought it had the right t'be on the same channel as MY BELOVED BEA. HALLMARK, YOU ARE ON MY NAUGHTY LIST.

So enough with tha romance movies, 'cause ya know, I usually don't even watch romance (that's Tasky!). Next up on the list has gotta be Nick of Time. You wanna talk awful cinema? This is the vid ta pop in the ol' machine. Here we got 90 minutes of Johnny Depp (completely amazin' actor!) runnin' around tryin' ta be a hero, and it's the most boring thing I ever seen. An' that includes the time some mobster mook buried me up ta th'neck in cement fer a week an' all I had ta look at was a dead beetle decayin'. (Word ta the Wise: Don't piss off the Maggia. They get their feelins hurt, they're worse than Christian Bale when you ruin his scene (an' they don't even have the panache ta tell you you're *&@$! DONE, PROFESSIONALLY before they stick yer ass in the wet concrete. Low-class schmucks.)) Th'best part a'this whole movie was the scene where the senator or whatever's about ta get shot and she does this panicked double-take tryin' ta find out where the shooter is. MAN, me an'Weas actually fell off the couch laughin' at that scene. I kinda don't think that was the goal a'the producers, though.

What'r we up to now, #4? OK, #4: Wild Wild West. It's a movie about the old West. With a giant freakin' mechanical spider runnin' around. WHUT? I honestly forget what the hell else happens, except fer the part where Will Smith rapped in a movie he was in, AGAIN. (I was amazed he didn't bust out with some lyrics durin' I, Robot, actually. I was kinda expectin' some:

Yo this is a story, all about how,
my life got flipped, turned upside-down.
The dude who gave me a mechanical arm,
jumped out the window an' bought the farm!
The robot I hated turned out ta be nice,
but the rest'a them tried ta get me iced!”

Fer real.) I mean, don' get me wrong – Will Smith'll always be awesome. But yeah, this movie totally lowered his cred fer awhile.

OK, now someone out there's gonna yell at me fer this last one, I got a feelin', but whatever – I tell it like it is, an' you got a problem with that, well, I'm always up fer throwin' down. BRING IT. So here's movie pick #5: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. (Yeah, I wish it was BURIED on The Far Side of the World.) I know some schmoes out there love this flick, but fer real? Here's what I c'n remember after the 3.72 days I spent watchin' it:

Ship, ship, ship, CANNONBALL, water, ship, water, CANNONFIRE, blood, water, RANDOM SPLINTERING WOOD, water, ship, slippery decks, CLAUSTROPHOBIC HAMMOCKS, blood, VIOLINS, water, water, really quiet dialogue, HOYAY, water, ship, ISLANDS, ship, water, TOTALLY BLATANT HOYAY, water, ship, water, FIN (VIOLINS). An' the whole thing was all dark an' blue an' depressing. SNORE.

So there ya go, li'l Ame. Five movies ta stay away from unless ya love torturin' yerself.

And on we go!


Ooh, my favorite German charmant has written me again!

addygryff writes:


Hi there.

That's some awesome advice, thanks! ;D
You know, I'll totally consider getting into the [merc] business, is it possible to work past time as well? It might be just the thing to get some extra cash while I catch up on my studies...
If it doesn't work out.. what else could I do? Any ideas?


Ya know, I got all sorts a'ideas as ta what people c'n do in their spare time ta make some cold hard cash. I recommend a job where, if ya tell people what you do, they look at you funny an' then run away real quick. 'Cause that kinda thing makes me laugh.

Ideal job ta try fer this? Chicken sexer. No, it ain't what you think it is. An' it's not that, neither. Although I'd totally go for it if this sentence meant what any normal person would think it means: Mohamad "does" about 700 chicks a day, or three chicks every two minutes. MAN. Even MY healin' factor would be workin' overtime with that many women.


OK, so that's all the questions I got time for today, but like I said, I got a coupla announcements ta make, an' here they are:

1) Even though I KNOW all my loyal fans are payin' close, CLOSE attention ta everything on my journal, including my links list, I figured I oughta mention my two svelte, smooth, spectacular affiliates, as featured on the sidebar, 'cause I don't think I did that here yet. So, yeah: if you want to keep up on all the Deadpool news that's fit ta print (an' even I can't hardly keep up with it these days. I'm everywhere!) the absolute best place ta do that is The Deadpool Bugle. That's right, true believers! I HAVE MY VERY OWN NEWSPAPER. Take THAT, J. Jonah Jameson. An' if you wanna check out some YouTube videos by a big fan of yours truly, go on an' give Deadpool and Friends a try. Don't miss this dude's thoughts on my new movie, or his poll on which of my sweet-ass costumes was the best ever. (Quick answer: ALL OF 'EM.) Go on! Click the links! You know you want to.

2) Hey, you guys remember way back in the day when I did a poll an' asked if you wanted to see any other Agency members answerin' questions here? (Of course you don't. That was an ice age ago!) Well it's finally THAT TIME. That's right. By popular consensus, I will be allowing my pet pal BOB, AGENT OF HYDRA Hail HYDRA! ta answer a few of yer questions.

Here's how it's gonna work: Got a question fer Bob? Great! Post it in the comments ta this entry. Then, I'm gonna let Bob pick his FIVE favorites an' answer them in the next entry. An' hey! If he doesn't screw it up too bad, I may even do this again. (Don't worry. I'll answer more a'yer questions first!) I think Tasky's next in the polls, an' even though he swears up and down he doesn't wanna “waste time with your stupid imaginary friends” I know he's totally itchin' fer a chance ta say hi ta you all. (We *really* need ta get him a girl or somethin'. He's so mopey.)

Warning: Bob has informed me that if you ask a numbered question, he will NOT answer it. Apparently, numbered questions frighten Bob. He claims Alison used to number all her complaints whenever they had fights er whatever. So, yeah: no numbers for Bob!! He's allergic!

Until next time, my chill chimichangas, keep 'em oiled an' loaded!

Holy horny toads in a hot bayou, my fearsome followers! I am just about the slowest typist this side of Louisiana, ain't I? Ah well, quit'cher complainin', 'cause I just got paid fer a sneaky little recon job me an' Outlaw pulled, so now I can take a few minutes to sit back, relax with some of Bob's Icy Death Lemonade (Now! With Arctic Poison Ice!*), and answer some a' your ingenious questions. Please, please – try to contain your excitement.

OK, then...lookin' through the pile a'junk Sandi handed me on my way in...Ah! Here's one that's been festerin' in the mail heap for awhile:


docwebster says:

Greetings, o purveyor of awesometudeness. I bring you numbered questions, and true brain strainers they are, too.

1) What's up with the feebs at Marvel's website making it so dang hard to subscribe to your new series?

2) What's up with Outlaw chasing that closet case boyfriend-Fabio lookalike contest reject instead of basking in the glow of the mighty Deadpool?

3) Where the hell are my pants?


Oh, numbered questions, let me count the ways I adore you! But first, let me answer you!

1. First things first: anyone else here see the irony a' the Doc askin' me what's up? Yeah, I thought so. Now then, Doc, there's a very simple explanation here, and it goes somethin' like this: see, whenever Marvel prints an issue of my comic, the editors look at it, all shiny and pretty and new, and decide that you feebs don't deserve such a wondrous piece of artistry. They decide they want t'keep 'em all! (You know the mooks who work in comics are the biggest geeky collectors of them all, after all.) So they go an' sabotage the online subscription sign-up and order list, and then they lock all the issues up in The Special Vault. An' then the accountants start crunchin' numbers (as they do) and go on an' on about pesky little things like “cost of supplies” and “overhead” and “profits” and what-all, and the editors cry and pout, an' then the accountants haveta go down the hall and get Fred.

Fred's a little slow, but he's a big dude that don't ask fer much pay, so they keep 'im around for this stuff. So Fred goes and pries the new issues away from the editors, and beats up whichever one of them sabotaged the order list this week, an' everything gets straightened out. But see, Doc, this whole song an' dance happens every single issue, an' it kinda slows things down. So that's why it's so hard to receive issues of my awesome comic on time. It's because they're SO AWESOME.

See? Wasn't that a simple explanation?

2. You know, I'd say it's gotta be the hair. I mean, we all know I'm one in a million and three, here, but Outlaw's got this thing about pretty blonde hair, an' I ain't bin sportin' that for a long while (X-Force #56, anyone?). So I prob'ly wouldn't be much use on a trip t'the mall an' the hair salon, plus last time we went I may have accidentally, y'know, inadvertently caused some murder an' mayhem, and Outlaw hates it when things get between her and her sale items. Anyway, her la-di-da relationship with WB doesn't really phase me. Whatever barbeques her ribs is cool with me, 'cause I got my eye on a different gal. But I do wish Thor wasn't so goshdarned whiny.

3. In yer back pocket, a'course! I can't believe ya didn't check there already!

Now then, since I'm on a roll, here...


ghetto_ninjette writes:

Dear Deadpool,

I have a few questions for you!

1. Do you still have feelings for Siryn?

2. Are you even more embarrassed about being cursed with the face of Thom Cruz [after being cursed by Thanos for trying to hook up with Death] now that he's gone crazy and is into Scientology?

3. On average, how much do you think you spend on Taco Bell?

4. Would you ever consider Jack In The Box tacos?

Thanks for taking the time to read my questions!

<3 –Ames


Ah, my precious little Ninjette, your numbered questions have stealthily stolen into my heart and nestled there, right alongside my eXtreme love of delayed-detonation hand grenades. And now, to answers!

1. Well, I know th' mooks who run this LiveJournal carnival tend to frown on explicit written pornography, so in th' interest of not rainin' on their funnel cake stand, I'll skip over how much seein' Red spins my carousel, an' just say that I'll always have a little soft spot in my heart for th' stunning songstress – prob'ly the spot right next to my love of sharp shiny things.

2. Man, I was embarrassed enough before anyone went around jumpin' on couches and grinnin' like a monkey on speed all the time. Lemme just say, no matter how much I may have looked like the dude, I never got so excited talking to people about my belief in aliens an' explodin' volcanoes or whatever that I looked like I was gonna spit a lung up at them. AND that I would rather be cursed with immortality than that face. Whew, what a narrow escape THAT was!

3. Ahh, who's to say? Sandi got me an expense account there. She said it took some doin' – apparently no one else in th' known world had ever asked fer one. But then, I always knew I was special.

4. Are they free? Free for me? THEN HELL YES.

Anytime, baby. Now ninja on outta here and bring me a taco!

OK, one more before I go see if Agent Orca has left a single snack in the kitchen t'day.


spam_monster says:

...Well, I'm glad to hear that you still would want to team up with Nate after all that. Seriously, you guys are just awesome together. *fangirls*

But anyway, questions!

1. If you could get some kinda super tricked-out crimefi-I mean merc-work vehicle, what would it be? And what sort of features would it have?

2. What do you superhero/villian types normally wear under your costumes? Do any of them, you know, go commando? (Or just wear a little red thong like Tony Stark?)

3. Could you possibly find some way to jump into another comic book universe? If so, can you punch this guy in the face for me?-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adrian_Veidt
Because he really needs to be punched in the face.

I'll pay you in cookies. Or brownies, or cupcakes. Some type of baked goods. Please?


Ooh, numbered questions from the Monster of Spam! Shouldn't they all be asking me if I want to expand my mojo with the little blue pills an' things? Huh. Guess not. Ok, here we go!

1. You know those giant hamster balls? The ones where you can go rollin' down hills an' over th' water an' stuff? Well, I'm not sayin' that would be my transportation a'choice, but it's definitely gotta be a feature. Collapse one a'those down and pack it in the side compartment for the easy jobs, ya know? Because, I mean, what else strikes fear inta th'heart of whatever mafia goons you're about ta knock off like a Giant Hamster Ball A' Doom barrelin' straight for them? Gets 'em every time, I tell ya, right about when I roll on over their heads. Other features, other features...OOH. Well, a smoothie machine, fer sure. Sometimes a brain freeze is just what my bubblin' brain-pan needs. And a'course, some of us are easily distracted, so I guess I'd have ta heist one of Mr. Iron Man Stark's little smart robots to rig up somewhere so it could hand me my smoothies and take the ladies' phone numbers when I slow down at red lights and all that. An' naturally I'd have some, y'know, homing missiles, spike-producin' tires, crazy spy GPS tech, an' pretty much everything else you've ever seen in a Bond movie.

But where would all this custom gear fit, you ask me? No contest! In a tricked out, souped up Ducati Superbike 1198 S, a'course. Don't think I could fit it all in there? 'Chya! A'course I could. Look at how much Tony fits in one little suit a'armor and tell me I couldn't do even better with a Ducati! Not to mention their gear comes in my colors.

2. OK, now see, I don't go around spyin' on the other supercool peeps in their skivvies unless they happen t'be, y'know, women. So I can't say one way or th' other what Tony wears under that suit. An' there are some things us superheroes (like me!) are totally sworn to secrecy on, like how Emma Frost manages to keep her top from falling down all the time (but oooh, wouldn't you fanboys love to know how I found that one out). I will say, though, that those of us who wear spandex have a much easier time of it if we forget our briefs than kids like Tony. OUCH! An' then you got crazy bastards like The Thing, who pretty much wanders around in his boxers all day without anyone sayin' a word, even if he does look like magnified sandpaper. So pretty much what I'm sayin' is it depends a whole lot on who we're talkin' about. Me, I get by with just about anything I can find that's sorta clean at the moment, which usually means something with little Deadpool symbols on it, although I'm not above wearin' the green panties if Bob hasn't finished the laundry yet. I look pretty darned good in green. Yellow, too!

3. OK, I tell you what – if I ever get out of the crossover story I'm stuck in right now, I'll take a little detour downtown to Veidt's place and knock his lights out for ya. And you know? I'll even do it for free. 'Cause MAN, what a tool that dude is.

I won't turn down baked goods if they're offered, though.

P.S. Yes, to answer your other question, Nate *is* part pirate, thanks to his pirate captain granddaddy's shenanigans (although I'm not sure his granddaddy was the sharpest splinter in the tinderbox. Who builds a plane out of wood these days?). In fact, one of his middle names I always forget t'list is “Yaarrrrrr.” I think it's somewhere between “Christopher” and “Dayspring,” but who can remember? Anywho, I got him an eyepatch for his glowy-eye one Christmas, 'cause it was totally keeping me awake at night, but he refused to wear it unless I saluted him and called him “Yaarrrrrr.” He's very respectful of his heritage. What a dork.

An' that's it for today, my friendly amigos. Bob's cookin' up some South a'the Border specialties fer dinner, and I don't want to be late. You know how I love me some Mexican food.

So until next time, keep 'em revved and ready! (And I'm referring here to my elite fleet of Ducati motorcycles. You know, the ones I assume you all are buying for me as we speak. You haven't started signin' the papers yet? WELL GET TO IT. I accept both red and black paint jobs. Thank you.)


* Sandi would like to remind us all that Artic Poison Ice, while not harmful to regenerative wonders like me, is actually a serious matter that we should be trying to stop, even if it does leave Bob with less fun ingredients to experiment with. So recycle and save energy and and help stop global warming and all that jazz! Sandi thanks you.

I CALL SHENANIGANS.

Just when I was about ta celebrate my lil old journal havin' FIFTY WHOLE READERS now (hello, readers!), I find out someone else out there in LJ land is claimin' to be me. What's up with this, yo? I didn't even know I hadda stake my claim. MAN. Every time I look around, some yutz is pretendin' t'be cool like 'Pool. Whyizzat? I guess it's just 'cause I'm so awesome. BUT STILL.

Look. It's me. Right here. Here I am, at home in my kitchen! No paparazzi or fake 'Poolmeister could get a picture like that, y'know?





And they don't even got no way fer me ta challenge this mook! What is this "first come, first serve" junk? Where's the part where I can challenge them to a duel fer my identity? THAT SHOULD BE IN THE RULES, FEEBS.

Hrmph. Well, just fer that, I'm gonna go ahead and...answer a question! TAKE THAT, fake 'Poolster.

OK, now. This one here's from noelleno, who asked me, way back in September (really, September? Great gourds of fire, I am a slacker!):


Dear Deadpool,

Who'd be your ideal sidekick, eh?


Well I guess I should assume we're leavin' out the obvious, here, right? I mean, it's not like I'd choose him or nothing, but he does share some DNA with me and stuff...hem. Anyway, if we're not talkin' 'bout stupid jerks who left me behind to go off and try to save the world, then I guess I'd hafta say...

Rex the Wonder Dog!

(Crossovers're allowed, right?)

I mean, who wouldn't want a super-soldier sidekick who was smarter than most humans but didn't constantly yammer on while you were tryin' ta make a speech yerself? He can ride a horse! He can swing on vines! He beat up a T-Rex! It's like having Captain American in canine form! Except I guess he'd have ta carry the shield in his teeth or somethin'. But whatever. Hands down, I'd take this pooch as a sidekick any day. Too bad he won't return my calls.

Hmmm. I guess I got time fer one more before I gotta go find me a late night snack. Bob made Homocidal Ham and Cheese sandwiches earlier, but I ate 'em all before 3. Damn.

OK, then. amejisuto asks,


Dear Deadpool,

If you could guest star on any TV show, past or present, which one would you choose?

Cheers,
Ame


Oh, now, this one's easy as crackin' necks in Sunday School. (Uh, not that I ever cracked anyone's neck durin' Sunday School. Really. Scout's honor!) No question about it, I'd pick FIREFLY! (What a shock, another great franchise FOX screwed up!) I mean, who the hell wouldn't want t'be a SPACE COWBOY? Not to mention me'n'Jayne would obviously be best buds, once he acknowledged my superior skills (and gettin' him ta do that would probably involve some fun knock-down drag-out fights, too! I promise I wouldn't kill him or nothin'. He's cool) and little Kaylee is the cutest piece of ass on two legs. RrrOWR. Sure, me an' the Captain might have a tussle or two now and again, and I'd have no use fer the doctor at ALL, but I bet River and I could have some GREAT conversations. Don'tcha think?


Oh! Bob just yelled out from the kitchen that he's finished makin' his new Calotropis Calzones. I can't wait to try one! Gotta go!

So until next time, keep 'em oiled and ready!

Ahoy, thar, mateys! Weigh anchor and hoist th’ mizzen! Today be th’ day when all faithful buccaneers must Talk Like a Pirate, and ye know I must be following what th’ captain orders! So t’day, all yer bonny questions’ll be answered in the best pirate-speak that mercenary money can buy! Er somethin’ a’that nature, anyway.

Just in case ya scurvy dogs want to know what th’ crew’s been doin’ today, I SHALL TELL YE. Unlike a coupla days ago when I posted my lonely ballad a’woe, every last one a’those worthless seadogs in my profile is on deck at th’ Agency t’day. Even the faithless dog I never figured would be stridin’ th’ boards a’this vessel showed up fer a pint a’grog. I almost made ‘im walk the plank fer bein’ a low-down, dirrrty deserter, but chose to be a charitable captain and let him try some’a Bob’s special brew instead. Avast! Ye should ha' seen his yaller eye glow as he choked on it! (Bob’s getting partic’ly good at Arsenic Limeade and Cyanide Stew these days! He’s always muckin’ about in th’ galley now.) I asked the scurrrvy varmint what he’s been doin’ with hisself since we divorced he went off t’find a different berth t’call his own, but he just looked all sorts a’serious and mumbled somethin’ vague ‘bout ‘babies.’ He didn’t stay long even though I offered him a place on th’ crew but said mayhap he’d be comin’ back through this patch’a sea soon and that he missed me like the dickens, that pansy feeb. I bade him ‘good riddance’ and downed a pint meself.

After that shockin’ happenstance, Orca X climbed back on board after a three-day shore leave. He’d been out practicin’ his cookin’ ‘cause th’ feeb wants to be on The Iron Chef. Apparently th’ booty fer winnin’ is now a lifetime supply a’victuals, but I don’t reckon Orca will make it to the treasure, even if there is an X in his name – all’a that fat gets in the way a’speedy cookin’.

Now that he’s back t’sitting on th’ couch, Outlaw and that feeb WB have deserted that berth fer the lobby. Methinks they’re playin’ tiddlywinks on the floor right now, ‘cause they’re a coupla crazy kids. And splice my mainsail, but me bonny lass Sandi’s gone a bit crazy as well! She’s waltzin’ around in a raggedy stripey skirt an' eyepatch askin’ me iffen I want t’play some “special pirate games.” I dunno why she wants me t’tie her up and pretend she’s my pris’ner, but Weasel said he’d be game if I’m too lame. Me! Lame! Arrrrr! So now he’s a’followin’ her around and beggin’ her t’ ‘shiver his timbers,’ th’ fool.

In th’ middle a’all this, Irene stopped by, (woman’s got a sixth sense fer whenever Cable’s been in th’ vicinity) and kicked me ‘cause I hadn’t called her when the shiny mook came by. I suggested she’d better just hang around in my bed me until he came back, since we all know Priscilla can’t stay away from yarrrrs truly fer long, but she just kicked me again.

Right about then, Tasky wandered in, twelve sheets t’th’ wind (i.e. as drunk as a bedbug in a whisky fact’ry), and I realized there was ONE thing we were missin’ here at the office on Talk Like a Pirrrrrate Day. So I got lil’ Mary-O to give me a hand, and we hoisted ol’ Tasky up the yardarm outside so's we could use his skelly little face as the middle of our new pirate flag. Tasky makes a fair bonny Jolly Roger, a’though he’d be a good sight bonnier if he didn’t look so gloomy all th’ time!

But hoist me up the mizzen mast and use me as a sail if it’s not time to be answerin’ some questions!

Let’s go to th’ mail ship and see what she’s a-brought us t’day.

Blimey! half_attended writes:


Dear Deadpool,

A close friend/person I am forced to deal with on an unfortunately regular basis is being a bit of a tyrant. It's always her way or no way, even in matters she has no say over. She had a little power and it's all gone to her head. Should my friends and I handle this internally, or should we outsource our rebellion?

Also, where do you get your costumes? And do you buy in bulk because you go through them so quickly?


Avast ye! I always say th’ best way t’handle uppity folks and mutiny in the crew is t’hire a strappin’ fine mercenary t’do yer dirrrrty work! And I just happen t’know a few who’re in th’ market. But if ye want t’handle it yerself, here’s a wee tip: th’ best approach is a direct approach. So drag yon bucko down to th’ brig, sit ‘er in the bilges, and explain t’her in kind, calm terms that unless she gets her arse offa her high horsie and starts lookin’ at ye more respectful-like, yer gonna have to, much as it breaks yer wee heart, keelhaul ‘er an' send ‘er down t’shake hands with Davy Jones; th’ scallywag. I guarantee that’ll set the lassie straight!

As fer where I get me rig-and-getup, if me memory serves me right (and when don’t it, ‘cept always?), ‘twas at a custom costume shop, made ‘specially t’fit me manly’n’muscular physique. It was def’nitely not made outta Spider-man’s old cast-offs, that bilge-sucking arachnid! But what is this ‘buy’ of which ye do discourse? A cap’n like meself darsn’t lay down good doubloons fer what c’n be hornswaggled outta little pansy shopkeeps! Savvy?

Now, on t’th’ next bit o’scrap and words.

rozokuthedragon replies to me last post:


alone?
dude your never alone when you have us around
but I have to ask how "Orca" X made it out the door?


Ah, me hearty, th’ fat landlubber deflated some after his disgustin’ love affair with chips'n'applesauce came t’an unsightly end, but really it was th’ grenade I lobbed at WB a coupla days ago that did it. Didn't leave a mark on that son of a biscuit eater, but our doorway got a whole lot bigger.

Arrr! Sandi’s callin’ fer me t’come 'n' batten down th’ hatches ‘cause a storm’s a-comin’ through, so until next time, lasso a big bag a’pieces of eight and heave-ho that booty on board!

(And if ye be confused by th' local lingo, check out this handy translation of me pirate prattle.)

Holy hillbillies in a high-rise, my small but fierce crowd of fantastic fans! Have we ever been having some adventures over here! Sorry you’ve had to endure a few sad, lonely days without my wonderfully whimsical and winning quick wit, but hey, masterminding a plan to steal the most essential part of a superhero’s costume EVER takes dedicated, time-consuming hard work. Also we stopped off at Hershey Park after we finished the job. Wanna Kiss?

I know you all want to know how it went down with Captain Teeny Wings, but, y’know, I gotta be careful about sharing trade secrets here on the “blogosphere,” or one’a those two-bit, has-been wannabe other merc agencies might start trying to be as cool as us. So I’ll just give ya the short’n’sweet’n’expurgiated version of how we pulled it off:

We caught up with Cap in Las Vegas, where he was headin’ into the Bellagio; apparently this whole “losing-at-poker” thing isn’t the only gambling issue he’s got. I bet you can imagine the stir that was going on when he started playin’ blackjack, what with him still being in costume and all, and kinda on the drink, too – and then when he started losing, well, you never seen such a big crowd of feebs all standing around trying to give a man advice or stop him from going another round. We coulda just jumped him right there - I mean, between me, Orca X, Outlaw, Tasky, Bob Hail HYDRA!, Mary, and Weasel on tech, we coulda taken him out no problem – but Iron Man was real specific that we weren’t supposed to hurt him - “Don’t you dare hurt a hair on his pretty head, or I’m not paying you,” is I think how he put it – so we had to figure out how to get ‘im alone and take ‘im out gentle-like.

Once we saw the state he was in, we gave Outlaw that job. We figured what with all that long blonde hair and her, ah, enhanced assets, she could lure his drunk butt into a nice quiet corner where she could work her magic and then, y’know, emwingulate him. Sad to say, though, the Cap didn’t seem real interested in her enormous...charms. So then we gave Plan B a try. Plan B involved me, Orca, Mary, Tasky, AND Weasel, and a whole lotta complicated machinery. And possibly lubricant. Tragically, I can’t say any more than that or I’d hafta hunt ya down and kill ya, and I’m really getting kinda fond of you guys. So, y’know, “skip to the end!” We managed to extract Cap from his crowd of adoring but increasingly concerned fans without a single one seeing where he went, and hauled his staggering be-winged self off to an empty room. Bob Hail HYDRA! was all for tryin’ to reason with him (“Iron Man won the teeny wings off you fair and square, Cap!”) but that pretty much failed miserably (even drunk, that dude can really pack a punch!).

I’m not real fond of people punching my pets, so I mighta, y’know, smacked Captain Teeny Wings around a little after that, but really, the bruises’ll fade long before Iron Man sees the guy again, (considering we left ‘im tied up in a closet in his Underoos just for kicks), so I figure it’s all good. Anyways, after Cap was good’n’subdued, Tasky got out the chicken shears and we gave those wings the ol’ Snip of Doom. Then we FedExed ‘em to Iron Man in a big gold box with a shiny red bow. And that, my children, is how it’s done.

It was a good time, but now I’m glad to be back at the office, ‘cause it means that I can...answer questions! YEAH. So here...we...GO!


caia_comica asks:

Hi! I've been enjoying your blog, and I've got some questions for you.

1. I was listening to that song about Rasputin, and man, that's either a durable guy or some incompetent assassins. If they hired you, how would *you* kill the guy?

2. Why is Cable's last name Liefield-Nicieza and not Liefeld-Simonson? Did Louise disown him or something? Or is this something to do with you guys being married? Which I didn't think you *were*, but I don't know why else he'd have taken your creators' names rather than his own.



Ooh, numbered questions! Shiny!

    1. Well, my little comic, this one’s a tricky one, ‘cause there are SO MANY great ways I could kill this Rasputin dude, and it’s hard to pick just one. So I’ll pick two!

Clearly the man was all about consuming anything in sight, so I gotta say tiny grenades might be a fun way to go. This is the kinda guy who would eat grapes by the handful, I can tell, so, well...a buncha grenades work better than one, right? Just rig the stems like pins, paint ‘em kinda purple or green, offer the guy a plate, and, VIOLA! No more Rasputin! On the other hand, I woulda shot the guy just for wearing that doofy fur coat and the big fluffy hat, so another fun way to kill ‘im (well fun for me, anyway) would be to just suffocate the hell out of him with his own couture. It’d be doing everyone a favor. And, y’know, it’d make me laugh.

    2. Nah, Louise never disowned the poor fool, even though she prob’ly shoulda. I was just givin’ you the short version is all. I don’t think even Cable can remember the whole shebang without looking at his cheat sheet, and hell, it’s a good thing he can bodyslide, because they couldn’t never fit that thing on a driver’s license. Anyway, Louise is in there with all the rest, but since the man’s a bazillion years old, people tend to shorten his stupid moniker (Heh, moniker. I like that word.) every which way just so they don’t get to be his age before they’ve stopped sayin’ it.

But since you’re so keen on knowin’ the whole deal, s’far as I can remember, it’s something like this:

Nathan Simonson Christopher Zercher Gesundheit Lim Charles Harras Askani’son Romita Summers McFarlane Winters Medina Soldier X Loeb Chosen One Churchill Priscilla Brooks Dayspring Portacio Campbell Brown Mutant Messiah Malin Jesus Wannabe Johnson Geronimo Jackson Liefield-Nicieza

Except, y’know, I think I forgot about fifty names. Close enough, right?

And tell ya what, I'll make sure Louise is gettin' her proper credit in the profile, too, just for you.

...Moving right along, then!


beware_pussycat wonders:

Dear Deadpool:

I HATE everyone that I work with. How can I deal with them without going all buckets o' crazy?


Listen, pussycat (rrowr!), who says crazy’s such a bad thing, huh? I mean, I know one or two cats as is crazy, and sometimes they’re just barrels’a fun. But, hey, if that’s not your cup of tea, there are lotsa things you can do to maintain your tenuous grasp on sanity. Might I suggest pranks? Possibly ones involving duct tape (duct tape duct tape) and, y’know, sharp, pointy things? Or maybe torture, potentially via playing that one song about the horse that got lost over and over and over again until THEY are the ones that go crazy? Or hey, maybe just make ‘em look at drawings by Liefeld until they think all men were meant to look like monkeys! There’s all sorts of ways you can break down The Man, and some of them don’t even involve holding impromptu fundraisers where Renee Zellweger stands on the roof belting out the lyrics to a song by a one-hit wonder. (Although, damn, she was foxy in those little skirts.)

And if pranks aren’t your thing, I’d go with the old standby of a blowtorch and a new gig. Just leave ‘em in the dust (or, y’know, ashes) and find yourself a job where you feel more Zen. Trust me, you’ll never regret it.


Well, that’s all the answers I got time for today, ‘cause Bob’s been experimentin’ with all those different kinds of chocolate we brought back from the park, and he says his “Killer Chocolate Cake” will be ready for sampling in about two minutes. I ain’t gonna miss stealin’ a piece of that, even if he may have used rat poison in it. Oh, and speaking of Bob, poll results are in! Even though this whole “maybe guest blogger” thing was Weasel’s idea, the poor schmoe only got one measly little vote. It seems like after me (and, yeah, I still won by a landslide in the coolness department) the guy you most want to see answering your questions or blogging about our adventures is Bob, our very own little Agent of HYDRA Hail HYDRA. So keep a lookout for an entry by Bob sometime, and don’t worry: if this cake kills him, we got Tasky on the line to take his place.

Ooh! The oven just dinged. Gotta run. So until next time, keep ‘em fueled and firey!

Jumpin’ Jack on a beanstalk, my magnificent little matzos! It’s been so busy around here I haven’t had a minute of me-time, but I’ve been waitin’ and waitin’ to tell you the news, and I just can’t wait any more!

So remember how we got hired by Iron Man a few days ago to go “liberate” the forfeit Captain America lost to Iron Man at poker? Well I thought fer sure it was gonna be his shield – I mean, everyone loves that thing, right? Who wouldn’t want to have Cap’s shield? But I was so far wrong on this one. It’s not the shield we gotta get – it’s the teeny wings! THE TEENY WINGS. You know what I’m talking about, right? The teeny, useless little wings Cap sports on his mask like weird little antennae? Oh, man, when I read the fax from Iron Man, I couldn’t get off the floor for about an hour, I was laughing so hard. Sandi was havin’ a hard time, too. We can’t even look at each other right now, ‘cause every time we do, one of us says, ‘Teeny wings!’ and off we go again.

Anyway, that Iron Man is one twisted *&%@&!^#4$#%! You gotta admire a man who would go after Cap’s teeny wings. I wonder what Iron Man’s forfeit woulda been.

Since this it CAPTAIN AMERICA we’re talkin’ about, and the teeny wings aren’t as easy to nab as the shield (I mean, he throws that shield around all the time, but I’ve never seen him throw the teeny wings), we decided to call in Tasky, too. Well, that and Sandi’s a little worried ‘cause he tried to drink the oven cleaner yesterday after he ran out of booze. Little skelly-dude is a mess. So she thinks maybe this’ll get ‘im back to normal. Well, normal for him, anyway. Even if it works I’m not sure we’ll be able to tell the difference.

Speakin’ a’folks at the Agency, Agent X has finally gotten his Bloat down to “normal” levels. We put ‘im on a No Twinkie diet yesterday to try to help him even more, but so far, even with the electrodes we hooked up as a deterrent to Snacking, the score’s at Twinkies, 82; Agent X, 0. I dunno if we’re ever gonna get him the way he used to be again. Which is good for me, ‘cause then I can keep gettin’ all the work!

...Oh, and I almost forgot. Weasel said don’t tell, but he’s got a little crush on one a’you readers. Chyah, like he really thought I wouldn’t tell.

Weasel also had a kinda fun idea, though. He thought maybe, y’know, now and then, one of the other Agency mooks should answer some questions. Apparently all the famous people have “guest bloggers,” he says. I think it’s just ‘cause he’s getting bored with his Wii and wants to interact with possibly hot babes over the wires, but hey, I’m willing to give it a try. Sandi showed me how to do this nifty “poll” thing, so I’m gonna try it out:


Poll #1224775 Guest Bloggin'!
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 24

Who should come answer questions for a day on this here journal?

View Answers

Orca X
2 (8.3%)

Sandi
0 (0.0%)

Bob, Agent of HYDRA (Hail HYDRA!)
10 (41.7%)

Outlaw
1 (4.2%)

Weasel
1 (4.2%)

Tasky
7 (29.2%)

Mary Zero (who?)
0 (0.0%)

Thor
2 (8.3%)

Irene Merryweather
0 (0.0%)

Iron Man (Just kidding!)
0 (0.0%)

Cap's Teeny Wings! (eeeeeheeheeheehee)
4 (16.7%)

No one, ‘Pool. No one is as cool as you!
9 (37.5%)

And now, while Orca X is polishin’ up the guns and polishin’ off the puddin’, I’ll answer some questions:

First up, daughterofisis asks:


Good day, Sr. 'Pool,

1. Were you born snarky, or did you have to work at it? Or, to put in another way...have you always been an asshole, darling?
2. Have you ever worn women's underwear, and if so, what kind and do you have any pictures?
3. What is your favourite vivverid?
4. Should my girlfriend pierce her tongue?
5. In the interest of irritating you and repeating questions, how's that cock taste? And did you know someone made two Cable/Deadpool fanmixes? Heh.

Yours truly,
SCIENCE!!

P.S. I'm German, incidentally. Hopefully that'll make you less inclined to shank me.

Oh, and happy birthday and suchlike. Actually, another question's occurred to me: what flavour of cake do you enjoy? An excellent tool in personality assessment, is that.


Oh, numbered questions, my heart sings for you!! Whee!

    1. Well, kid, I gotta tell ya, I came outta my mother’s belly crackin’ wise, and I ain’t never stopped yet. Except when the writers shove me in those lame alternate worlds where I’m all boring and look even scarier than I do here. Man, I HATE THAT. But really, I can’t remember a day when I wasn’t me, so clearly I musta been me from Day One. But I don’t like t’think of myself as an asshole – if I had to pick a body part, I’d say I’m more of a dick. A private dick. A--oh, never mind.

    2. How come on Marvel Girl it’s a uniform, and on me, it’s underwear, that’s what I wanna know? I mean, hey, if I came out wearing the one-eyed angst-cushion’s stupid visor people’d just say, “Oh, look at ‘Pool. He borrowed Cyclops’ visor ‘cause he wanted to look like a tool, too!” But when it’s yellow panties, everybody gets all excited. I just don’t get it! As for pictures, well I tried to pose (those feebs got a whole wall with shots of themselves in uniform, and I figured they’d want me too, since I’m the coolest mutant of them all) but everyone seemed to be outta film. Schmoes.

    3. Is that like a Pokemon? Charmander’s THE BOMB.

    4. If you’re inta that freaky $&^!, then go for it! I tried to get a piercing once, but the damn hole kept healing up! Mutant DNA, I tell ya. It ruins all your fun.

    5. Well like I said, the chicken stew was fantastic, but we haven’t killed the cock yet. I think Bob’s kinda starting to think of it as his little pet. I can’t wait to see what happens when I wring its neck. And…uh…fanmixes? Is that like a mixer that can fan you at the same time? Hey, if it means my mask is on more merch, I’m cool with it.

As for the cake question, well I’m pretty partial to Bob’s non-lethal lemon cake, but I gotta say I like me some red velvet cake, too. Too bad Bob refuses to make it with black icing.


Whew! That was a lot of answerin’, right there. My typin’ finger might be just about worn out now. No, no, wait...ah, healing factor. Feelin’ good, feelin’ ready. On to the next letter:

chrryblssmninja wants to know:


if you could be in any classic black-and-white movie, what would it be? Doesn't even have to be in English.


Oh, I love the easy ones: Citizen Kane, baby. That CFK was one crazy dude, and I dig that. ‘Course, if I was in the movie, it wouldn’ta been called Citizen Kane anymore, it woulda been something like, Deadpool Kicks Ass, so maybe it’s a good thing I wasn’t in it – I wouldn’t want to upstage some poor actor who can’t even afford color film.


OK, one more, and then we gotta go do some more Strategic Planning around here, ‘cause Iron Man said we’re supposed to try not to hurt Cap too much when we go for the TEENY WINGS.

glitterandlube says:


Fabian did list you and Cable as one of the romances he has written.

Then some asshat claimed Nate didn't love you back.

1) What the hell is that about? Nate was the one who used the word divorce, and was practically writing you love notes, am I right?

2) How can I make my father stop stalking me? Do you have any advice?

3) How hot are you going to be kicking Skrull butt on a scale of 1-15? 27? 29? 150?


Ah, the numbered questions, like candy to my soul!

Fabian can call it whatever he wants, but I never starred in no romance novel. But to answer your questions:

    1) Well, you know how it is, some asshats are still stuck in Big Guns ‘90s, and can’t stand the idea that Cable is really a woobie schmoop. But, y’know, if they can’t wrap their heads around that one, I don’t know why they even bought the issues. I mean, here’s a guy who practically sheds a tear of w00b if he can’t save a little girl from a toothache. He’s a schmoop with a capital S. As for how the big glowy-eyed Schmoop feels about me, well, I can’t help it if everyone loves the ‘Pool-man. And I do mean everyone. I tried to let ‘im down easy over the fact that I just ain’t interested – y’know, shooting at him, trying to arrest his a$$, blowing him up with a grenade – but he just won’t give it up. Whaddaya gonna do?

    2) As my good friend Bob would say, “TAKE. HIM. OUT. Hail HYDRA!” I mean, sure, he’s your dad, but really, what’s that mean? He’s got some of the same DNA as you? Well I got some of the same DNA as Cable, and like I said, I got no problem shooting him inna face. Just DO IT.*

...Well, unless by “stalking me” you mean he asks you where you been all day when you been out on the corner with the girls smokin’ and drinkin’ and flashin’ some leg or whatever. In that case, I think he might be justified. Even if you’re fifty. That’s just something dads are allowed to do. Forever.

    3) Like the Black Box once said, I’m off the CHARTS, baby. Those Skrulls won’t know what hit ‘em. Unless Danny-boy wusses out on the writing, but you can’t blame me if that happens.


Oh, looks like the big meetin’ is about to start, so I gotta go. Wish me luck on the mission, and until next time, keep ‘em jacked and packed!


* Our lawyer (Outlaw, via mail-away law school degree) has informed me that encouraging non-super-powered beings to violence and murder is Probably Not a Good Idea, so I have to put in this little disclaimer that says, “Don’t really shoot him.” But, y’know, I don’t mean it.