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!

Flaming fruity flamenco free-for-all, my vivacious visitors! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I bet y’all been wonderin’ what happened, but don’t worry, we’re all still alive and well (for a given definition of “well,” that is. Tasky’s at least stopped tryin’ to chug the Windex). Of all the weird places I coulda been for the last month, I bet you’ll never guess where I actually was. So I’ll tell ya! England!

Yeah, really. Sandi’s got some major crush on this wacky writer dude who thinks the world is magical and flat, and she made me go all the way to England with her so she could hear him talk about wizzards or some crazy &($#. Also I think there were turtles involved. I dunno – I don’t read. Well, except for Playboy. And Maxim. And...hey, you know, I guess I read a lot, actually. They got some good articles in there.

Anyway, Sandi got to interview that feeb, so now she’s all happy and giggly and crap. Me, I’m happy ‘cause we managed to actually do a job in between all the dodging-crazy-mooks-in-wacko-costumes. Which is why we could afford to go to England in the first place. Too bad I can’t tell you what it was, but I can say it involved a certain footballer’s wife who loves Karl Lagerfeld. Oh, @*&@. Did I say that out loud? I don't think I was really s'pposed to say that either.

It paid real well, though, I can tell ya that, so after Sandi was done fainting or hyperventilating or whatever, we went sightseeing in big ol’ Londontown for awhile. Don’t worry, though, it was very tame – I didn’t impale anyone on the hands of Big Ben or nothin’. Even when it took us, like, 100 years to find The Geek Store so I could buy me some Star Wars doll heads. “It’s near Piccadilly Circus,” my ASS.

We left Outlaw and her whiny boyfriend in charge of the Agency while we were out, though, and whoo-boy, can I tell you, that was a BIG mistake. Got back yesterday to find Whiny Boyfriend had “redecorated” while we were out. The whole place was freakin’ Greek columns and pictures of half-naked dudes in togas (I suspect Outlaw suggested that part, but then, I also suspect WB didn’t mind too much – no man who takes that much care of his hair ain’t a bit fruity). Stupid WB said it “reminded me of home.” That big whiny mama’s boy. Loki would be so ashamed. Anyway, just got the place back in some kinda order (and threw WB in the closet to think about his bad taste – but I guess we’ll let him out one’a these days if he asks real nice), so now I am so totally ready to...answer some questions! Yeah, I know you feebs are thrilled. So, sorting through the random London postcards and socks with British flags on ‘em that Sandi bought for no reason whatsoever...ah-ha! Here’s a letter!


lady_of_mists wrote:

Dear Deadpool,

1) Have you ever considered starring in a videogame with Kirby... like Super Smash Bros. for instance?

annnnnd...

2) If you had ten minutes to talk to any person on any subject and get truthful answers, who would it be and what subject? Person may be alive or dead.

Seriously, it's a lot of fun to hang around here. Hope you are doing well. I've got to go do a few more edits to some correspondence that's got to get out of my office, so I'll see you around!

All the best, Lady_of_Mists


Ooh, numbered questions! OOH.

1) Well, Lady, you know I’m the best there is at whatever it is Wolverine does, but I gotta tell ya, Kirby scares the ever-wise-crackin’ daylights outta everyone I know, even me. You know why? WELL, I’LL TELL YA WHY: it’s cause he’s tricky. Yep, tricky like a Sunday whore turnin’ tricks on the corner’a Broad and Maple.

See, li’l pink dude looks like a helium-inflated marshmallow with big, round, innocent doe eyes (for serious - those things are like a cuteness overload - I mean, even Toby Maguire can’t match Kirby’s lethal levels of Cute) but just when you’re least expecting it, he turns into a big weight or some %#*# and falls on your head! BAM! Also he’s pink, and you can’t tell me that’s by accident. I mean, everyone knows it’s the ones that dress in pink and purple that’ll sit around lookin’ like they ain’t got nothin’ and then turn on you in a second and do somethin’ crazy, like whack you with a $*&@~# wooden mallet. And don’t even get me started on the whole ‘swallowing people’ thing. Once was more than enough for me, thanks.

So I gotta say, if I was ever in a game with the the li'l pink Stay-Puft, I’d wanna be on his side. A’course, he is dimmer than an energy-savin’ lightbulb outside on a sunny day; I mean, I’ve met the dude, and he couldn’t find his way outta a wet paper bag without big green neon signs blaring “THIS WAY OUT!” (and even then it’s iffy) but that don’t seem to affect his fighting none – he just bounces around like a chinchilla on Ritalin and hits everything in sight. So, yeah – I’d pick him first in dodgeball, I can tell ya that. The other team’d be wettin’ their Spider-man Underoos before you could even say ‘Play ball.’

2) Ten minutes, huh? I guess we’d have to talk real fast, but I got practice in the talking department. And truthful answers? Oh, this one’s easy. DICK CHENEY. And politics. I mean, could you imagine what that feeb would come out with if he had ta tell the truth about that crap for ten minutes? No bull#@%$, no wacky “well-maybe-I-did-maybe-the-sky-is-really-green-you-never-know-hey-look-over-there” evasive maneuvers, just tellin’ it like it is? Man, it’d be hilarious. And I know you’re wonderin’, “wait, why didn’t the Pool-man say ‘Bush,’ then?” But we all know that mook don’t got nothin’. We all know where it’s really at.

Now, if you’d just give me another coupla choices, we could get Barack Barack Barack Barack and that lame-o McCain to say what they’re really thinkin’, too. And maybe even the book-burnin' governor of snowdrifts! Can you imagine that? The most honest election in history! ...Yeah, I know, that’s a concept so alien that only my wacky brain could ever come up with it. And that’s why I’m the best guy ever.

Now, on to the next...oh, hang on. Sandi wants me to help her with something. BRB!

...

Well that was weird. Sandi signed up for some drawing class or something t’other day, and she just asked me to stand on one'a WB's little Greek pedestals for about an hour with nothin’ on so she could “get her anatomy right.” I mean, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her anatomy, if ya know what I mean; but I can’t figure why she wanted to see mine for so long. Only the really kinky girls ever want that. You know, the ones that get off on scars and &*^$. Also she didn’t seem to be usin’ the pencils that much. Hm.

Anyway, back to the letters!

amejisuto says:

Here's a new question for ya.

Dear Deadpool,

Since you love numbered questions so much, here ya go ...

1. Have you ever thought about writing up a guide for newbie mercenaries? Sort of like the Evil Overlord List.

2. Which is your favorite Evil Overlord rule?

Have fun screwing with Cap's head!
Ame


Man, this one’s an oldie – sorry it took me so long to get back here that the good wishes on the Cap job ain’t even topical anymore. I promise to do better next time. Well, at least until I get distracted by--

--oh, sorry about that. Now what was I...oh yeah. Questions.

AND NUMBERED ONES, AT THAT. YAY!

1. Ya know, the thought has occurred to me, followed quickly by the more important thought: “Would I get paid for it?” ‘Cause if not, what is the point? But maybe, just maybe for you I’ll throw something together one’a these days.

2. #100, of course. You could use this one on most of the known world and never even have to deal with any feebs ‘fomenting rebellion’ ‘cause they’d all be too busy readin’ someone’s exciting Q&A blog! Although all the rules are pretty darn canny, actually. (Isn’t ‘canny’ a fun word? I could say over and over again forever (Serious. Try it sometime. It’s mega-fun.)). This guy really knows his stuff. Huh. Maybe I should go TAKE. HIM. OUT.

...Oh, whoops! Sandi just yelled out that she “didn’t get my nose quite right” so I gotta go take off the spandex again.

Until next time, keep ‘em piled and primed!

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.

GUESS WHAT, my brilliant and beloved bratwursts? The Agency just got another job!!! And you’ll never guess who hired us this time. Go on, guess. Guess! Give up? OK, I’ll tell ya:

IRON MAN!

Yes, that’s right, the Man of Iron himself has just called our humble little office to hire ME, badass merc that I am, to carry out a job of international significance!

...Well, ok, maybe not international significance, but surely at least national significance. See, apparently Iron Man was playing poker with Cap last night, and Cap lost, bigtime, but then, he refused to pay the forfeit! Can you believe it?! So now Iron Man’s hired me to bring in the prize.

I do feel a little funny about it, ya know, ‘cause I mean, this is CAPTAIN AMERICA we’re talking about here, but hey, even Cap shouldn’t be allowed to welch on a poker forfeit, even if some people would say that’s the American way.

Iron Man’s about to fax us all the details, like what it is we’re going after, but I’m already putting together the team. We’re gonna have to go all out on this, because, I mean, hey, CAPTAIN AMERICA. So even Orca X is running the ops with us this time. He may not be able to get from point A to point B without a winch anymore, but he’s still got his dead-on aim when it comes to shooting, and shooting’ll probably figure into the plan (not shooting to kill or nothin’. Just general shooting.)

Anyway, while I’m waiting for the details, I figured I’d kill some time answering questions, so here we go! First up:


infecti0n writes:

Dear Deadpool,

01. Will you marry me?

02. What do you think when I say Deadpool for president?


Oh, numbered questions, I do love you so! Especially when your number is small and manageable. Numbers such as two are like music to my...eyes. Anyway.

    1. Well, darlin’, even though having an infection like you around could be real fun (what kind of infection are you? The long, lingering kind, like TB? The short, sharp kind like whooping cough? Wait, are those the same thing? I have no idea.), the problem is, I’m sorta engaged right now. And, well, honestly, you wouldn’t want to fight my fiancée for my oh-so-desirable hand in marriage, ‘cause she can kick some serious ass when she wants to. Actually, even if you saw her on the street you might want to 'cross over to the other side' (haha, I kill myself. Ohh, man, I just did it again!) because she can be pretty deadly when riled. (Heeeeheehee.) Just so you know what you should watch out for, sometimes she looks kinda like this, although sometimes she’s even more hot than that. But whatever she looks like, I’m pretty sure you’ll know her when you see her, and if you do see her, well...run real fast in the other direction?

On the OTHER hand, since it’s taking her so damn long to pick out the wedding dress or whatever these dames do to delay the big day, I’m pretty sure she’d be cool with me having a little, y’know, casual female company now and again. And she’s not really around that much, what with her job being so demanding and all, so, well, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her anyway, so...CALL ME.

    2. I think, damn, they got some nice bathrooms up in that big white house. And then I wonder what kind of sandwiches I could order them to make for me. Mmm, sandwiches on demand. Any time I want. Mmmm. Oh. And then I remember how much it sucks for Cable, having to be president of that weeny little fake European country or whatever, keeping tabs on all the silly little uprisings and the plumbing and junk, and I think of all the boring paperwork I’d have to do if I was president of, say, the good ol’ U. S. of A., and then I think: NO THANKS. Except I think I’d be really good at the part where you have to talk to ambassadors and stuff. I figure I could talk to them until they saw reason or passed out, and either one would probably be pretty good for me.


OK! Next letter up...ooh, it’s that sweet little bit o’totty in lederhosen, addygryff!

She writes:

Dear Deadpool:

I erm.. made something, in which I actually put some time and effort, even though it doesn't exactly look it.

Hope you'll still like me after you've seen it. ;P

Here it is.

And also...quick question! If I was all super-powered and awesome, what should I call myself?


Ah, Adelaide, ma cherie (well, it should be Adelaide, even if it’s not), I am flattered by ze hours ov work you have put eento zis charming statuette of moi! Clearly you are enchantee avec moi, mon petit chapeau. So let us run away and live a carefree life somewhere exotic... like Pittsburg!

Or, y’know, there’s still that date we got planned, if I ever get some merc werc in Germany!

And to answer your question, well, clearly you’re a mutant in disguise, with the ability to manipulate clay and possibly also earth (which is a nicer way of saying dirt). Otherwise you couldn’t have made such a cute little statue of yours truly. And since you’re good with your hands, (ooh, I hope I hope!) and German, well, it’s pretty obvious. Your alias would be...Masseuse! No? Well maybe, um, Masseformen? Damn, I’m really no good at these Germanic languages. (Although, hey, at least "Masseuse" is better than "Schmutzeuse," right?) OH WAIT. I got it. Oh, I am so good! I am so the MAN. Your mutant alias, Miss Adelaide, would be: Kaolin! There. Pretty AND descriptive. I win! I’m goin’ on break.


Oooh! For real, I am, ‘cause here comes that fax from Iron Man. I can’t wait to see what it is we’re after.

Until next time, keep ‘em oiled and coiled!

Hey you loyal Deadpool lovers, guess where me’n’the Agency folks are tonight?

Oh, you’ll never guess. NEVER.

Give up? OK, I’ll give.

NEW JERSEY.

No, seriously. Sandi’s got some friend who was beggin’ her to visit for some burgers and fireworks, and since we just wrapped that assignment on the murderous fella with the eyeball keychains, Orca X and I had nothing better to do, so we kinda tagged along--I mean Sandi begged us to come, is what I mean. Fer real.

So, y’know, we all hopped in the truck (strapped Orca into the truck bed; it was a perfect fit) and drove on down to some highfaulutin’ rich suburb that spends more on one night for exploding sticks than I spend on my entire collection of magazines for discerning gentlemen. Seriously. They had all kinds of little flamin’ pictures on the ground and rockets in the air and whirling stuff and I kinda wanted to toss a grenade in there to add to the fun but Outlaw told me she wouldn’t play strip poker with me anymore if I did. She shoots down all my best ideas.

The only parts that sucked were that we got pulled over on the way down for speeding and because the policeman thought we had a pile of dead bodies in the back, and that Outlaw brought her new boyfriend and he’s a total stick-in-the-mud whiner. Fortunately after the cop who pulled us over realized it was just one giant porker in the back, he calmed down a bit and even told us he wouldn’t give us a ticket for the speeding if we let him take a picture of Agent X to show to the rest of the guys, ‘cause he didn’t think they’d believe it. I hope they get a good laugh out of it. Or blow it up and use it as a dartboard or something. There wasn’t a thing we could do about Outlaw’s obnoxious new "man," though. He would insist on dragging that hammer everywhere and on lecturing me about what’s “morally right.” (“Wade, it wasn’t right to use your sparklers to set that old lady’s hair on fire.” “Wade, you shouldn’t have stolen that little boy’s ice-cream. It’s not right.”) After awhile I managed to block it out, and now all I hear when I listen to him is “Wade, wahwah-wahwah-wahwah.” Which is a total improvement, let me tell you.

Anyway, the rest of those mooks are sprawled out on the futons sleeping and whatever now, so I figured I’d answer a few questions. Lessee...


Ooh, my loyal fan lady_of_mists writes:


Dear DP,

What time is too late to go to work and when should you just call in out of embarrassment?

And if I had mutant powers, what would they be? Either I'm oblivious or I don't have any... :(

Best Wishes, Lady_of_Mists

P.S. Thanks for taking the time to answer all of us! Much appreciated. :)


Oooh, m’lady. I know only too well the pain of waking up four hours after you were supposed to be out saving some dude from a hit by the mob or stealing a giant diamond from the eye of the crocodile god or blowing up a top-secret government outpost before the enemy soldiers arrived and absconded with all the dirt on top government feebs.

The thing about it is, you gotta figure late is better than never at all, right? I mean, as long as you get the job done, I don’t know what your employer’d have to complain about (well, unless you were employed by the guy who is now dead from a mob hit, but really, that only happened ONCE. Cut a guy a break, y’know? ) So what I do is just make sure the job still gets done - track down the lady who got to the diamond before you, knock ‘er dead, and steal it back, jump those HYDRA lackeys who’re trying to access the latest gossip on who Senator so-and-so is sleeping with and blow ‘em all to hell...you get the point. Which is that it’s never too late to go out and kick some ass, and sometimes it’s even fun to wait, ‘cause then you can kick more ass. And if your employers have a problem with the way you do the job? Just kick their asses too. And steal all their loot. That’s how I handle it, and I’ve never failed to come out on top yet.

As for mutant powers, well, clearly your mutant power is like that dame the Runaways ran into a hundred years ago who could attract every man in range once they got a whiff of her perfume. I mean, I’m a few states away from you, and even I say “RRRAWR.” Haven’t you noticed the guys fighting over you in the hallways at work? It’s kind of a limited power, as far as I can tell (i.e. immediate chances of someone dying = less than stellar), but she certainly seemed to enjoy using it. And hey! Maybe you’re a direct descendant or something. Which would be kinda cool, ‘cause it’s always fun to say you’re related to famous people, even if they were famous for making people stab each other in the ear.

And no problem - always glad to answer the questions! It’s not like I could sleep right now, anyway. Sandi snores like a bear on Ritalin.

OK, one more before I smother Sandi with a pillow and get some shut-eye. Oohh! My favorite little schnitzel, Miss Addy, has written in again!

addygryff writes:


Dear Deadpool,

1) What's the most annoying song ever?
2) Are you looking forward to 'Wolverine: Origins'?
3) Why did that stupid chicken cross the bloody road? What was on the other side? Did it even get there without being run over? Sorry, but someone needed to get that question out of the way.
4) You know, does the bodyslide thingie still work now that Cable is back? Did you try it?

Woah, there's this really big thunderstorm outside right now, that's so totally cool, but I'd better go offline now, before I get electrified or something.
Yay for the whole end of the world feeling!

Keep up the good work, Wade. :)

♥,
Addy


OOOOH. NUMBERED QUESTIONS!!! Once again you make me bounce in joy. OK, here we gooooooo!

    1) Oh, I love starting out with the easy questions. OK. So. The MOST ANNOYING song EVER is that one about the car crash and the dead girlfriend. You know, the one Eddie Vedder made the massive mistake of covering at some point, possibly when he was high on a cocktail of paint-remover fumes, helium, battery acid, and venomous Venezuelan tree-toad serum? That must have been what he was on, because otherwise I don’t know how such a God of Music could have thought that would be a good idea. Man. The boring story? The depressing droning about where his ‘baby’ has gone? DO NOT WANT. But really, the reason it’s most annoying is NOT the terrible lyrics, the toneless tune, or the lack of vigor with which it is sung – it’s the fact that there is NO situation, whether it be a stakeout, a late-night game of strip poker, a fistfight, or a shootout, in which singing that song makes things more fun. And that cannot be said about any other song. Not even the one about the horse that got lost.

    2) OH HELL YEAH. Are you kidding me? I mean, yeah, I’m a little bitter they didn’t ask me to play me, but I can understand why – after all, I’m so busy these days, they had to have known that I’d have to call out every other day for emergency shootings, stabbings, and other things done with bits of pointy metal, and that would play merry hell with the production schedule. Sure, they could have at least asked me out of, as they say, politesse (that’s French for "being nice"), but I’m not gonna get my boxers in a bunch just because they decided to use a Hollywood hunk instead. And if they had to pick one, Mr. Ryan Reynolds is totally the way to go. He’s got the cajones and the rhythm to do a fair imitation of me, although of course nothing’s as good as the Real Thing (or quite as bendy). Me and Ry go way back, too – I called him up the other day and gave him a few tips, and he was real happy to hear them, once he figured out I wasn’t a crazy stalker or nothin’.

Anyway, I don’t know yet what part of my awesome life they’re gonna show, ‘cause Ry couldn’t tell me any of the details or those movie mooks’d hire a contract killer to take ‘im out for “spoiling” the movie, but he assured me it was “all good things.” So probably it’ll be that part where I gutted Wolverine and left him with his broken nose in the dirt, or maybe where I punched that uppity little girl who follows him around (damn that was a good time), or maybe that time that ol' Wolvie told me he wished he was as awesome as me. We’ll just have to wait and see when it hits the theaters, I guess. Well, YOU will, at least. I’M planning on crashing the premiere.

    3) Damned if I know what was on the other side, but I know why it crossed the road. ‘Cause I was on THIS side, and I was HUNGRY. And even chickens, with their tiny, pea-sized brains, gotta figure that my side of the road isn’t a good place to be when that happens.

Lucky for me they aren’t smart enough to figure out that I can cross roads, too. That chicken stew was delicious.

    4) Well t’tell you the truth, I’m not a real big fan of babies and stuff – the squooshy smelly diapers, the spitting-up-in-your-face, the stupid tiny little adorable feet wavin’ around. And I just KNOW if Nate started wonderin’ what I was up to while he was hangin’ out with the tiny tot, he’d figure out some way to trick me into wiping its dirty butt or something:

“Hello, Deadpool! I’m an anonymous person calling to hire you for a ridiculously low fee to retrieve a valuable artifact that is hidden someplace slightly messy. You’ll have to clean up a bit to find it, but I have confidence you can do it! Did I mention I am offering you a completely LAME sum of money for this?”

And there I’d be again, up to my neck in $#^% and with no clue how I even got there. So, yeah - not planning on tryin’ that bodyslide thing anytime soon, and just hopin’ he forgets all about it for awhile. S’far as I’m concerned, good ol’ Nate can trek around with Widdle Woobie tryin’ to save the world until the cows come home, and I’ll just sit here in my cushy merc agency making the dough and scorin’ with hot chicks. The less he remembers of my existence, the better! Until, of course, some feebs over at Marvel realize it’d help their revenues to pull that bodyslide gimmick. At which point, hey-ho, a-butt-wipin’ we will probably go, whether I WANT to or not. Stupid *&$%@!# writers.


♥ you too, little miss. Rrowr! Stay out of the rain, now. I don’t want you to melt before I make it to Germany for our date.

And speakin’ of dates, I got a date with some beach-bum hotties tomorrow (unless they’ve all been mutated by the Jersey Shore beach sludge) so I’d better get some shut-eye. So CIAO, as the Italian mob dudes who inhabit this ritzy town would say.

Hey there, my charismatic chiquitas! How’s it hangin'? Just got time for a quick couple of questions while I wait for the dryer to buzz.

I’m typin' from home this time, ‘cause we finally got enough money from the eyeball job that Sandi said I could go home for the night. I think it might be the first night in twelve days I’ve actually gotten back to that comfortable ass-groove in the couch. Man, I missed my couch. Hello, couch!

Oh. Anyway. Let’s pull out a letter or two, shall we? Here we go...


chrryblssmninja wonders:

Dear ‘Poolster:

What was your pre-chilla life like?


Huh. Well, my petite cherry blossom, not entirely sure what you mean there. I mean, I’ve always been chilla than the next dude, so it’s not really like I had a life pre-chilla. But maybe you mean in those days before I became the amazing, astonishing merc-for-hire that I am today? I guess you could say back then my life was...not nearly as much fun as it is now, that’s for sure! But maybe that’s not what you meant, either. I guess maybe it’s time to try out my Google-fu!

Hmmm...lessee...Google says:

Chilla-nashini (severe trial: also spelled Chelaa-nashini) is the spiritual practice, known mostly in Indian and Persian folklore, of remaining seated in a circle without food, water, or sleep for forty days and nights.

Haha. Well that can’t be what you meant. I mean, what kind of a fool would sit around in a circle and do nothing for that long? I hope you’re at least allowed to talk sometimes. Man, that’d be so boring if you couldn’t even talk.

Um...

Oh, here’s something. I see “chilla” is a nickname for “chinchilla.” Now, how in the hell did you know that Sandi just got one of those things? Are you stalking the Agency?? (O_<) You’d better watch out, or you’re gonna start freakin’ me out, here. Anyway, if THAT’S what you meant, the answer is: much less cute. I mean, I’m not much of a sucker for little furry things, but damn that puffball is irrisistable. The very first time she made me pet it it tried to lick my finger, and I have to admit, now I bring it raisins and call it my little Cottonball. And I haven’t even tried to stab it yet. Just don’t tell any of the bad guys this, ‘kay? It’s not good for my image.

P.S. I don’t know why she named it Rogue. Chindis the Killa Chinchilla would have been a much better name. Especially with those little red eyes the furball has. But Sandi never listens to me. Also she’s got a major lesbian crush on that X-chick.


So, what else have we got here? Oh, here we are:

amejisuto says:


Dear Deadpool,

Who's your favorite Buffy character? And I mean the character, not your
favorite set of tits.

Cheers!

Ame


Ooh, this one’s easy-peasy-puddin-and-pie. That’d be Willow, baby. She’s clearly better than all the other feebs on the show. I mean:

a) she’s got red hair, which is spicy-hot-hot-hot;

b) she dated a werewolf for awhile, so I figure even a guy who looks like me might have a shot; and

c) she gets it on with chicks, and she’s kinda kinky, so if I asked real nice, she might let me watch.

In a word: ZING!

P.S. How dare you imply I'm so shallow that I'm just admirin' the melons? I am so very offended!

P.P.S. And speaking of melons, helloooo, witch! That would be reason (d) why Willow's the best!


OK, one more for the night:


Dear Deadpool;

I’m a big, big fan, and I love your style, but I have to ask: are you gay? My friend gestalt1 says you’re “totally gay for Cable. TOTALLY!” and I want to know if it’s true. I mean, Cable’s got a chiseled profile and all, and I dig the glowing eye, but really, man, that’s just LAME. And now he’s traipsing around with a baby and stuff, and that’s kinda wussy, and I just had to ask. Say it ain’t so, man!

Derek Boterry
Monte Sereno, CA

P.S. Is this you? I know you’ve dressed up as a girl before. I thought maybe it was you in drag again.


Derek; you know, I’ve never been to Monte Sereno, but I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit for a day. Maybe I’ll come out your way sometime. I bet you’d LOVE to see my katanas all up close and personal. They’re really sharp.

But to answer your question: I thought we covered this already! Damn. I don’t know where these rumors even come from! Really. I mean, you live with a mutant Jesus that everyone is in love with on a remote island for a few months or so and all of a sudden people think you’re the new Odd Couple or something. Like I could help that we always went everywhere together and stuff. That was the fault of science, man, not my choice. Well, science and Cable swallowing me, but--wait--that didn’t--you know, the short answer is NO. In all caps, dude. I dig the chicks. And my fantasies in no way involve WD-40. I don’t know who started that one, but just GET IT OFF THE INTERNET, FEEBS. I am a 100%. Straight. MAN.


Ooh, I gotta go now. The dryer just buzzed and my new green panties are dry! See ya!