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!

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.

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.)

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!

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.

Greetings, my bouncy blancmanges! How’s the air out there?

Me, I wouldn’t know, ‘cause I’m stuck at the Agency again, and the air in here is fetid. Why, you might ask? WELL I’LL TELL YOU.

See, yesterday Agent X went on a new food kick, and all he would eat were cinnamon pita chips and strawberry applesauce. Together. Yeah, I don’t know either, but he kept stuffing his face and mumbling, “Stacy is my new best friend," and junk like that.

So who knew, but those chips, if you eat enough of ‘em, can cause “bloating, gas, constipation, and loud annoying monologues.” Seriously, the warning is right there on the bag and everything, but of course Orca X couldn’t be bothered to read. And now he’s eaten 57 bags, and he looks even more like the Goodyear Blimp than usual and is spouting the most depressing parts of Hamlet in between groans and ramblings about the inner workings of the TV he rewired last week (not that he even did it right – everything is blue now, and for some reason Kirby keeps running across the screen!). Oh, and did I mention the Most Important Part? He’s stuck in the door, and not even the combined might of me, Outlaw, and Sandi can get him out. I guess we just have to either slice right through him (I’m game, but you know Sandi and keeping the carpets clean) or wait until he – heh - loses some hot air.

So, um...making the best of a stinky situation, it’s...LETTER TIME!!! (Good thing we didn’t let him try to re-wire the internet cables.)

Let’s see here...Ah! From one of the bags of mail that is not currently under Agent Orca’s ass,

foresthouse writes:


Dear Deadpool:

I think you are completely awesome. I wish I could come and work at the Agency with you, but I don’t have a healing factor or much luck with guns so I’d probably just get killed or something. So instead, I decided to make some wallpapers so I could see you everyday anyway. Oh, and also I made some icons of you awhile back, because I love you soooo much. Can I share?

The icons are here, and the wallpapers are here, here, and here.

I hope you like them!

Emily

P.S. ♥ ♥ ♥


Well, Emster, I’m always in favor of my lovable mask being plastered all over walls, computers, and shirts that will be worn by girls with big...intellects, so hey, sharing is A-OK with me! And some of those icons are pretty cool, although of course it’s mostly that my general badassitude just shines through and makes anything with me in it better. As for the wallpapers, well, I like the first one, anyway. I don’t know about all that “Best Friends” crap, though – I mean, didn’t you even READ the last part of the Cable & Deadpool run? Marvel publishes those things for a reason, and it’s so mooks like you know what’s going on in the lives of Amazing Superheroes like me. So, you know, get with the program! Those wallpapers with Cable in them are so outdated they kind of make me tear up. From the agony of your outdatedness, of course. But hey, no hard feelings. If you want to make some more that feature me with hot redheads or possibly Marvel Girl, I’ll wholeheartedly approve.


Now, what else have we got here? Ah-ha! From under last week’s tuna fish sandwich, a letter from amejisuto, who asks:


Dear Deadpool,

Who are the top five bad guys you'd like to smash their face in. Any bad guys, or girls, RL, Marvel, DC and otherwise.

Later dayz!
Ame


Oh, now, that’s not fair. I have to narrow it down to five? Well, ok. I guess if I hafta. Here goes!

    1. Well, I would say that creepy mook Osama bin Laden, but, you know, the last time I iced a terrorist, everybody yelled at me. What. the. hell? And then I had to pack up and skedaddle, and ended up being sorta brainwashed, and MAN, that was just a bad idea all around. Although I guess I did get to eat some good six-legged chicken because of it. Indirectly. Or something. Anyway, you know what? Screw the yelling, if you believe the government (and who doesn’t believe the government, I mean, they wouldn’t lie to us, right??) he’s the dumb freak responsible for ruining my favorite panoramic skyline, AND I’m tired of hearing about him, so yeah, even with the yelling, I’d still love to pop that creep. Hard.

    2. A certain someone we all know named Daniel. I mean, Pool-o-vision? What the eff is THAT? I may be psychotic, but I’m not crazy. And I DON’T DRIFT. I don’t even know what drifting means, unless we’re talking Tokyo Drift, here, but I don’t think we are. Anyway, it’s not like I want him laid out on a slab or nothin’, but maybe if I just, y’know, roughed ‘im up a bit Marvel’d get the hint and get Fabian or Gail back on the job, and we’d all have a rollicking good time. Which prob’ly isn’t gonna happen if we’re stuck with ol’ Danny-boy. With him, we’ll probably get a few lame issues and a cancellation, and then it’s goodbye, celebrity status and hot babes that always come with the solo runs. Isn’t that just my luck? Damn Daniel. (Paco, though, now, Paco’s my MAN. He’s a sweet sketcher, he is. Makes me look badass.)

    3. Cab—oh, wait, I was cured of that one, wasn’t I? Huh, well then...Deathstroke? Yeah, Deathstroke. How dare that poufy-legwarmer-wearing wishy-washy merc try to steal my thunder by dressing kinda like me and having a healing factor and saying he was there first? AS IF he could ever be as awesome as me, similar costumes aside. The very suggestion that I did a copycat routine on him is ridiculous. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve DONE Copycat. And she was a BABE (miss you, ‘Ness!). But I sure’s hell didn’t copy that lame, be-eyepatched, full-head-of-hair-esque Deathstroke dude. So, yeah, just let me at ‘im (crossover, ahoy!) and I’ll slice-n-dice my way right through his silly, staff-toting ass.

    4. Whoever the hell came up with vegetarianism. I mean, what the heck is that all about? We got pointy canines for a reason, folks, and if cows weren’t meant to be eaten, they would look more like fluffy little chinchillas or somethin’. I mean, yeah, you eat a chinchilla, I’ll gut your stupid self for harming one of this smelly world’s cutest little critters ever. But a cow? What’s a cow? Bad breath, big ugly teeth, and a bellyful’a cud. (Ew.) So Angus burgers are A-OK with me! (And speakin’ of Angus burgers, y’know I think the vegetarians are actually behind that whole campaign. I think they figure if you know the poor bull’s name was Angus, you won’t want to eat ‘im. You’ll think, “Oh, poor Angus, a bull bifurcated before his time! His poor cow wife Molly and calf kids Alice, Annie, and Arnold are so sad. Look at them, with their big cow eyes, beseeching us: ‘Why did you take our Angus??’” But I say, if he didn’t want to be eaten, he shouldn’t have gotten so fat that we still haven’t run out of burgers made out of ‘im. Sorry, Angus, but you can’t argue with that logic.)

    5. Michael Jackson. Sure, he did some great stuff back in the day. I won’t deny I’ve had a listen now and then. But man, that dude freaks me out so much, and after that one South Park episode where his nose fell off and his face started melting, I keep having nightmares that he’s tryin’ ta eat me ‘n’ stuff. These days, seein’ his ugly plasticized mug creeps me out more than pictures of bald Britney Spears. I keep expecting next time he shows up on the news he’ll have MADE IN CHINA stamped on his forehead. And...Heh. You know? Actually? That'd be pretty frickin’ hilarious. But still. Yeah. Dude is freakin’ weird.


OK, one more for today, before we start tryin’ to knock a hole through this brick wall to let in some fresh air. Uhhh...ah! Here’s one.

lady_sith writes:


Dear Deadpool,

1) I'm aspiring to be a mad scientist and I'd like your input on what you think my first evil deed should be? I know world domination is the goal you're supposed to aim for but I thought I should start with something a bit more low key and get some practice first. Any ideas?

2) Further to the above, would you be amenable to being kidnapped and subject to perverse sexual tortures in the name of science?I'm free all week.

3) You spend a lot of time defending your heterosexuality, but if you had to have sex with a man, any man, who would it be?

4) Have you ever been to Australia? You really should come down here sometime, we could use the excitement.


OMG, numbered questions! YAY. OK, I’ll take these one at a time:

    1) Well, I wouldn’t have suggested world domination, anyway, m’lady. Because really, what do you do with the world once you’ve dominated it? I mean, sure, you’ve got all the food and treasure and stuff you might want at your fingertips, or somethin’ like that, but sooner or later the unions are gonna form up into a Super-Union and be whinin’ in your face about your newly-conquered slaves needing bathroom breaks, and the rebels (there’s always gonna be rebels) are gonna start stealing ammo to off you with while they’re working in your munitions factory for one grain of corn a day, and you’ll fall for some chick (or dude, maybe, in your case?) who starts carpin’ at you about how world dominators should be giving them more diamonds and fancy cars because if you can’t do that, what’s the use of ownin’ the world, and man, it’ll just be one big headache, I tell ya what. So definitely start small, with something you really, really want, but most people might think you shouldn’t have. Like, you know, using mad scientist skillz with explosives and junk to take over Marvel headquarters so you can put whoever YOU want on whatever series YOU like, cancel all the *%@( you think is dumb, and hang a gigantic blown-up photo of yours truly in the lobby. Yeah. That’d be an awesome start to your mad scientist career. GO FOR IT.

    2) Perverse sexual tortures, huh? Depends. How cute are you? Ah, who’m I kiddin? You could be 82 years old and I’d still say HELLZ YEAH. (P.S. especially if you looked like the 82-year-old women on a certain show we all know and love.) Call me, babe.

    3) Oh, here we go again. OK, OK, I’ll answer this once, JUST THIS ONCE, but it’s only because I promised to answer all the questions and stuff and I can’t break a promise, now, can I? I know you mooks all think I’m gonna say Cable, because some stupid dork out there decided to write some stupid stuff that maybe, somehow, slightly implies that would be the case, but I’m totally not going to say him. I’m going to say...this dude. I mean, COME ON. Brilliant, rich, smokin’ hot, and fun to throw down with (and I do mean throw down with) from all I’ve heard. AND he’s got a Bat-pod. A BAT-POD. No one can even ride that thing, that’s how badass it is. So, yeah, if Batman propositioned me, well...I’m not sayin’ I’d say yes, but...um...NEXT ANSWER.

    4) Y’know, I haven’t, but Mitch Hedberg liked Australian things, so it’s got to be a cool place, right? I mean, Mitch said koalas are the cutest infestation ever, or something like that, so I’d be game to come on over and see a few. Unfortunately, until we get some more jobs here at the Agency, we’re a little short on recreational funds (well, unless you count practice down at the shooting range as recreation, WHICH I DO, but, y’know. Big trips are pretty much out unless someone in Australia hires me and flies me on over.) You lookin’ for any merc werc done cheap?


WHEW. That’s all for now, my brave blinis. It is getting gross in here, so I’m gonna go carve me a window right now, whether Sandi whines about the carpets or NOT.

Until next time, keep ‘em oiled and ready!

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!

Whooooo-boy, my pretty pashminas, it’s been a ROUGH morning over here at the ol’ Agency, let me tell you what. First, we ran out of Twinkies, and Agent Orca came about *thisclose* to stabbing Outlaw in the face because she stole the last one after distracting him with, well, let's just say that rack comes in handy for more than hangin’ a cute shirt on. Of course, I missed the action 'cause I was out on the job, knee-deep in eyeballs and entrails, but Sandi made an emergency run and came back with Hostess products and Dunkin’ Donuts for all. THEN Tasky stopped by, all drunk from a three-day bender, and tried to kidnap Sandi and take her away to his love-nest or something. Orca says he just ended up falling on his face and slurring, “Wilssshnssh a prick ‘n’ you need f’get him.” I don’t know what he was on about, though - it’s not like Sandi’s not free to find another job if she wants. I can’t help that I’m such a fantastic boss.

I wasn’t really concerned with all that, though, ‘cause I was still on the trail of the Eyeball Gouger – found him holed up in a warehouse on 52nd, and THEN things really got fun. The revolver, the candlestick, the lead pipe, and the knife were all in play, but darned if I could find the little plastic rope, so in the end we stopped with the CLUE and I just beat him over the head, repeatedly. It was sweet.

Right when I got back to the office, though, Outlaw’s new boyfriend came crashing in and they started fighting about whose hair was nicer. (I don’t think she told him it’s a wig yet.) He hit her with a hammer and flew her away, and really, I’d go after them but it’s not like I can fly. Anyway, Outlaw’s a big girl. She can handle him fine, from the looks of things.

So instead, I’m gonna shove my uniform in the wash (you wouldn’t guess it, but eyeball juice stains) take a nice, deep breath, and answer some questions. (And I have to say, I figured out why so many people are addicted to this ‘blog’ thing and stuff – you get to talk and talk and no one can interrupt you. I love it!)

First question today comes from lady_of_mists. She writes:


Dear Deadpool,

Name a few situations in which I can't see you, but you can see me.


1) When I’m hanging upside down outside your window and watching you sleep? But I don’t do that these days, ‘cause now it’s not considered “romantic,” it’s considered “stalking.”

2) I’m a master of stealth and sneakiness, so when I’ve got you in my sniper sights, I’d be seein’ you but there ain’t no way you’d be seein’ me! Not that I’d ever try to kill you, though, ‘cause then all your lawyer friends’d slap me with a lawsuit before I could say, ‘Great Gatsby in a knapsack!’

3) Well if you close your eyes while I’m starin’ at you, but that one seems obvious.

4) There was this one time when Cable duct-taped me from head to toe, and he could totally see me but I couldn’t see him at all. I stabbed him in the forearm for that one. Then he duct-taped me to a truck windshield and painted me orange and black like Garfield. That bastard.

5) If I hid under the pile of undies in your laundry basket, you probable wouldn’t see me, even if I was starin’ right up your skirt at you. Not that I’d do that. That’s the kind of thing Agent X would do. And then he’d steal your panties. Pervert.

6) I could go on for hours, here, but I think you get the idea.

P.S. That grappling hook you found outside your window yesterday? Totally not mine.

P.P.S. How do I know you’ve got lawyer friends? Well I am stealthy and sneaky, and possibly also a master of disguise. Yet another reason you’d never see me if I didn’t want you to.

P.P.P.S. These green panties are adorable. Can I keep them? All my boxers are dirty right now.


And now, a question from judsons, who asks:

Dear Mr. ‘Pool:

Why do my socks never match?

and

Could god heat up a burrito that was too hot for even him to eat?


Well, Judsons, this may come as a shock to you, but the reason your socks never match is that you’re colorblind. In one eye. You know, I knew this guy who was colorblind once. When he was a kid, he had this white shirt he wore all the time. It was his very favorite shirt in the whole world. He wore it to school, and he wore it to play, and he wore it to bed. And then one day, his friend asked him, “Sam, why do you always wear that bright pink shirt?”

He also painted part of his green car brown when he was in high school. When his dad asked him why he’d bought the brown paint, he said, “Well dad, I have a brown car. Why wouldn’t I buy brown paint?” Poor schmuck. I used to love asking him what color things were and then laughing at him. Until he stabbed me in the leg that one time. Then we were no longer buddies.

But back to your problem. See, because you’re colorblind in one eye and your nose is really really big, your peripheral vision just plain sucks, and the socks you wear on your left foot look different from the ones you wear on your right foot. Sorry, dude. That’s just the way it works. Your best bet for solving this is to never wear socks.

As for God and food, did I ever tell you what a fantastic baker that skinny li’l gal is? I mean, I’ve never met her, personally, but one time while I was hangin’ with Loki (that tricksy dude with the great hat collection) she sent him a strawberry shortcake ‘cause he mowed her lawn for free or something, and he gave me a piece, and man, was that stuff good. I mean, it almost tasted like there were no preservatives or artificial flavors in it at all. I almost fell for God right then and there on the basis of cake alone, but it’s always bad news dating two immortal anthropomorphic gals, and I knew Death’d be jealous if I started stalking God, even if it was just cake-love. And then there’s that whole universal ‘kick-me’ sign God seems to have decided to slap on my back. I kinda can’t get past that, even for cake.

Anyway, the way I hear it, God never eats Mexican food. It gives her really bad gas.

...

Oh, time to throw my suit in the dryer. So, until next time, keep ‘em sharp and shiny!

Hey there, my happy crowd of frittatas! (Isn’t frittata a great word? So much fun to say: frittata frittata frittata! See?)

So. How y’aaaaaaall feelin’ tonight? Can I get a W00T W00T?

Awesome.

...

Man, I’m kinda beat right now. It’s pretty busy out here at Agency X – WAY past time for all good mercs to be snuggled up with their collection of doll heads sleeping the well-deserved sleep of the conscienceless killer, but we’ve just landed a new client and apparently, this isn’t just a simple grab-and-stab case. Nooooo, this one requires what Sandi refers to as “detective work,” i.e. Really Bloody Boring Stuff. So here I am, stuck in the office sorting through papers and stuff to look for “clues” so we can find some dude who’s been killing a bunch of women and keeping their eyeballs as souvenirs. Almost makes me miss a certain super-Jesus who had an in with the World Wide Web and could organize a hard-drive’s worth of info in seconds. Almost.

Anyway, let me tell you, when I finally find this guy, we’re gonna play our own little game of Clue, with special blood penalties for every. Single. Stupid email forward about John McCain’s wife that I’ve read tonight. And then I’m gonna knock ‘im upside the head. In the conservatory. With the candlestick. The one I stole from that Nepalese temple. The really, really heavy one. Yeah...

Oh, sorry. Daydreaming for a bit, there. Anyway, after the twenty-seventh “forward this or you die painfully tomorrow” email I read, I got a little stir-crazy, kicked the wall, jumped on the cat, and slashed an X in that stupid picture of stupid Agent X that’s hanging in the lobby, so Sandi said we could spare me a 15-minute break in the detectoring for some “me time.” So here I am, drinkin’ a cold brewski and chatting with y’all.

So, lessee. First things first: that little German piece of hotness Deadpool fan known as addygryff tells me there's pictures of me being leaked ALL OVER THE INTERNET. I don't know how this stuff happens, but as long as I get a piece of the action, it's cool by me. Just remember, I trademarked that Deadpool logo back in the Dark Ages, so if you're using it, you'd better be sending in the checks! Addy also sent me a link to some great iconized pics she made of yours truly, and maybe also of that dude we all know as Priscilla-Twee-Jones-Summers. Even though she totally made me blush with all her icon-adoration, I think they're pretty kick ass. So check 'em out!

...

Now, let’s answer some questions!


particle_person asks:

Dear Mr. Deadpool:

What's the maximum theoretical Energy Efficiency Ratio (EER) for a window air conditioner?

Well, Particle Man, I’m glad you asked that question! And I will answer it tout-sweet! (That means "ASAP.") But first, I’ve got a question for you: Are you a dot, or are you a speck? When you’re underwater, do you get wet? I guess nobody will ever know. (Unless you write in and tell me, that is.)

So, let’s see...if I hook up my Mr. Professor calculator to the Ouija Board, rotate the Magic Eight Ball 322 degrees to the left, pour some of the Hulk’s blood into this beaker, and divide by a million and three...the answer turns out to be: “about 36.” And if I had any idea what that meant, maybe I’d be a wealthier man than I am today!

Onward we go!


rivian writes:

Yo, ‘Poolster!

Are there any prejudices you have and feel guilty about?


Well, Rivian my friend, I can’t deny I’ve got some prejudices, but I’m not sure how guilty I feel about them, considering I don’t have much of a conscience in general. After all, I throw grenades at mimes just for kicks. So, you know.

Just for you, though, I’ll list a few prejudices off the top of my head.

My Top Three Prejudices
by, Deadpool

1. Clowns. I hate clowns. Clowns are Evil. Why, you might ask, when all they desire in the world is to bring joy and happiness to small fry everywhere? WELL I’LL TELL YOU.

    a) Clowns are not funny. Clowns are sad, limp things with secret agendas to take over the world. They make me want to do sharp, stabby things to the soft undersides of puppies, what with their “whitewash in the pants” and their “squirting lapel flowers” and their “pies in the face” and their *@#&*!% “joy buzzers.” JOY BUZZERS. As if getting a shock to the hand like you get to the sausage and ‘taters when you pee on an electric fence is JOYOUS. Joy buzzer, my a$$. Those little tricks make me sick, and, what’s worse, they’re not just pathetic-but-innocent attempts to please and amuse. NO THEY ARE NOT. They are all part of a Secret Plan of Clown Domination. See, the clowns figure if they subject us to these little “crowd pleasers” enough, we’ll all lose the will to live and they will be able to rule the world. And trust me, if clown-watching were mandatory, it would work.

    b) You know why clowns wear those gigantic shoes? Because they’re all eunuchs. And if they take over, you just know it’s gonna be castration-time for all! And there ain’t no WAY they’re gettin’ near my Zwinky. So OUT, DAMN CLOWNS.

    c) There are clowns that look like this, and that just should not be allowed.

Rating on the Prejudice Guilt-o-Meter
Clown-hating: -6

2. Blue People. Okay, I am totally, totally justified on this one. They almost killed me, like, for real, and all over their desire to make everyone blue like them. Plus I didn’t really dig the splooshy “melting” thing, and then there was that whole Cable mess, and being absorbed through someone’s pores is just plain out gross. Not to mention seeing what a sandwich looks like while it’s being digested put me off sandwiches for, like, two days.

Plus, I was blue once, so I’m allowed to be prejudiced against blue people, and to make derogatory stereotypical jokes about them and call them “bluies.” That’s just how it works, yo. If I’d never been blue, people might yell at me when I taunt the bluies and throw things at them, but since I was one it’s completely ok, and I’ll step UP in your grill if you suggest otherwise.

Rating on the Prejudice Guilt-o-Meter
Anton Kruch Blue People-hating: -3

3. Parsley. I mean really, what is the POINT?

Rating on the Prejudice Guilt-o-Meter
Little Sprigs of Useless Green Crap-hating: -2.5

...

So, let’s see what else we've--oh, brb!

...

Merg. Sandi says I gotta get back to work and finish this job so we can get paid and get the water turned back on. As if anyone needs water.

So, until next time: keep ‘em locked and loaded!

Guess what, Deadpool junkies? It’s time for another Q&A! YAY!

I know you all want to know what’s been happening at the office, so first off I’ll tell you that Outlaw just dumped a guy in the middle of the reception room floor and yelled at him that she was going to wash up and he’d better not move until she came back. He’s bleeding on the carpet and stuff and Sandi’s having a fit. Even though we purposely got the bloodstain-colored carpeting for this very eventuality. (We’ve even got an industrial-strength washer and dryer in this place in case they bleed on the couch doilies.) I dunno what’s going on, but I think maybe that’s Outlaw’s new boyfriend.

So, LETTER TIME!


Dear Deadpool:

What’s up with you being on LiveJournal and all? Don’t you have anything better to do?

I’m bored,
Steve

Steve, Steve, STEVE. It’s time for a little story, which goes like this: MY FOOT IN YOUR ASS.

Oh. Um. Sorry. I just thought maybe you were implying I don’t have a life and stuff, but of course I do. It’s not like I just sit on the couch or at work flipping through channels in my Deadpool^TM boxers or nothin’. I got lots of better things to do.

On the other hand, sometimes in between kickin’ butt with Spider-man and openin’ up a can of whup-cha on Tasky, I do like to chill. And Sandi and Outlaw were all huddled up at the computer last week, giggling over some Ben Barney feeb from Narina or something, and they said they were reading about his boy band on some blog, and how everyone blogs these days, and then Sandi started getting on me about all the piles of junk in my office, and I figured maybe I could get rid of some by answering my mail. Online. So there it is.

And THEN it hit me that this would also be a better place for people to write in than the office, because Sandi can be really nasty with her doily-knitting needles when she wants things clean. So from now on:

SEND ALL QUESTIONS AND FAN MAIL TO THIS ADDRESS:

ask-deadpool @ livejournal.com

ANY QUESTIONS, ABOUT ANYTHING! AND I WILL ANSWER THEM! IT’LL BE FUN.

You can send hate mail too, but I’ll just make fun of it, and that’s probably not what you want.

P.S. I don’t know what’s up with this free-LiveJournal-accounts-mean-random-ads thing, but that ad that said “Customize your Zwinky” had me on the floor for about an hour. I don’t think he needs any customization, thanks. He’s awesome enough as it is.

...

Karen from Maryland writes:

Hey ‘Pool,

So, when are you two going to take the NEXT STEP?

Alright, I know what you’re implying, but let me tell YOU, you ain’t gonna find me in no Massachusetts courthouse anytime soon. (Man, I hate Fabian.) Now, if I could just figure out how to get that cute redhead with the Irish lilt to give me the time of day again, then I might be tempted to start evacuating the moths from the ol’ monkey suit. But when it comes to arrogant old men who have far too many big, gleaming muscles for their own good, it’s just never gonna happen. So you fangirls can just put down your inhalers and paper bags and take a deeeeep breath now. And that’s that.

Oh, and one more thing I think we oughta get straight (haha, straight. Oh, I kill myself). If it did happen, which it won’t, but you know, if it did; I sure as hell wouldn’t be the one in the dress! Not that I’ve thought about it or nothin’. But if I did, what I’d think is maybe something light blue and sleeveless in silk and chiffon. That’d go nice with his eyes.

...Did I say that out loud?

Um. Anyway, NEXT LETTER PLZTHX.


Dear Mr. Pool,

Numbered question time! Everyone does it in comics, and I wanna feel like one of the cool kids for once.

1) Which one do you prefer, Maude or The Golden Girls?
2) You know, recently I tried to explain Cable’s backstory to a friend of mine and failed miserably, could you perhaps help us out and explain it in a way even a pre-schooler would get? We’re stupid like that, and would really appreciate the help.
3) Talking about Cable, did he ever find that pair of yellow panties you nicked from Marvel-Girl? How did he react?
4) At the moment I’m busy making icons of pretty much everything in C&DP, I’ve got almost 200 already and am not even close to finished, that sort of makes me feel like a weird stalker-fan-person. Do you mind?
5) Have some Oreos. You like Oreos, don’t you? Otherwise have some cupcakes. You can have both, if you like.

Addy S. (addygryff)
NRW, Germany
Ooh, numbered questions! Goody! Just for that, you’re Number One cool kid in MY book, Miss Addy. (And invited for dinner, if you’re free...? I think Germans are SO HOT. I’ll even wash behind my ears and scrub my foot fungus and everything if you’ll dine with me!)

Oh, yeah. Questions. Lessee, here...

1) Oh, definitely The Golden Girls. I mean, Maude was cool and all, and she was all about the strong political statements, but when it really got right down to it, it was Dorothy who kicked more a$$. Seriously, between her and Sophia, they ruled the roost big-time and kept Blanche and Rose under their collective thumbs, AND managed to be funnier than two sex kittens tied by their tails out on the wash-line. And you can’t argue with that. Not to mention, Bea had better eyebrows when she was Dorothy.

Oh, and also I can’t stand Edith Bunker. Her voice would make a deaf-mute run for cover. So anyone related to her is automatically a Lesser Mortal.

2) So do you want me to get out the hand-puppets, then?

...Darn, where did I put that Cable puppet? Hmm...sock drawer, dirty boxers, um...

...Actually, I think I can do this one even without it. Yeah! I really can. OK, here we go:

    a. Cable’s real name is actually Nathan Christopher Gesundheit Charles Askani’son Summers Priscilla Geronimo Jackson Liefield-Nicieza.

    b. He’s half-flesh, half-techno-organic metal, and ALL man.

    c. His eye glows, and you REALLY don’t want to piss him off when that’s happening. Really.

    d. He can throw things around with his mind and also read your mind without even blinking one glowy eye. His favorite hobby is to take things apart and make them float around so they look like those diagrams you get from IKEA that show you how Slot A is supposed to fit into Slot B even though you’ve really only got two Slot Cs and the stupid TV table shouldn’t BE this complicated and...oh.

    e. He’s the son of Cyclops and Jean Grey’s clone Madelyne Pryor. Mister Sinister created him from their DNA to use as a weapon against Apocalypse, who’s this mutant who wants people to worship him as a god and is a real pain in the a$$. Apocalypse realizes Cable is a threat and infects him with a techno-organic virus that, ironically, a time-traveling adult Cable had infected Apocalypse with centuries before (no, really). Cable struggles with the disease, and Cyclops is told to send him into the future so he can be saved.

Baby!Cable arrives in the future and is cared for by the Askani (read: some weird name that means his half-sister Rachel and her followers, actually. I have no idea). She has him cloned because she is a doofus. Apocalypse comes and steals the clone and pets him and woos him and names him Squishie Stryfe, heir to the Throne of Apocalypse (which is basically the Throne of Trying To Conquer Things for No Reason Whatsoever, as far as I can tell). Cable, meanwhile, is reared by Cyclops and Jean or their minds in the future or some such thing I could never really follow. They are a woobie family until he is 14.

Woobie family leaves Cable right in those Difficult Teenage Years and he ends up fighting people and killing things and blowing stuff up a lot. It happens. Then he follows Stryfe into the past because he is a moron (runs in the family) and starts a mercenary group with The Lamest Name Ever, makes them all hate him, and starts another group called X-Force. That’s about when I meet him and try, repeatedly, to kill him. He mails me back to my boss by Federal Express and I HATE HIM. He leads a bunch of teenagers into Danger and Death numerous times, has a fling with Domino, and has a bunch of lame adventures no one really remembers. He has some Moments of Woobieness with his parents, defeats Stryfe at some point, travels around kicking merc butt on a global level, and then gets the BRILLIANT idea to be Mutant Jesus of the World.

He builds an island out of pieces of abandoned time-traveling space-ship (yes, really), invites all the cool kids to join him there in Being All Intellectual and Stuff, kicks me out just ‘cause I killed some terrorist dude, and starts riots in all the political offices by being better at their jobs than they are without even wiggling a toenail.

He tricks me into putting together this jigsaw thing that will lobotomize him, because it turns out he’s TOO POWERFUL OMG! and he’s going to burn out and stuff and why not go out with a bang? So I do it ‘cause he asks me to and WHAT DO I GET? Leper status for killing the Mutant Jesus. GEEZ. So then I have to go around trying to find something to fix his mutant comatose butt, and I DO, and everyone STILL hates me, and I can’t WIN, and it’s JUST NOT FAIR. And then he fights some Thing and turns into a baby on another world and I have to go find him because otherwise ad revenues will plummet and finally I do and he ages into his ol’ crabby self again and kinda fixes my memory in the process.

Then he chooses the totally wrong side during Civil War and I’ve got a badge and a license to ill but he’s all jealous so he makes me look bad and MAN, he always wants to be on top of me, doesn’t he? Just always has to be on top. Just once, JUST ONCE, I want to get on his ass, but noooooooo, that’s not allowed, is it? And...oh.

He joins the X-Men and does a bunch of stuff and ends up with a mutant baby and now he’s on the run changing diapers and sh*t while I get to start kicking Skrull butt in September. I rock.

Wait, you know what? Strike all that stuff I just wrote. Really, all you need to know is that the only time he’s interesting at all is when I’m in the scene, too. But if you copied and pasted all that other junk I wrote above in an email to your friend, he (or she) might just start to understand why Cable is so awesome has so many ISSUES.

3. We don’t talk about that.

4. NOT AT ALL. I’m all about the branding. Have a party. Share with the group. Link ‘em here! And while you’re at it, get on the job making that stuffed Deadpool doll everyone loves so much. Really. It needs to be done.

5. I only keep the Oreos around in case Rhino comes by again. Cupcakes are cool, though! Or ginger-snaps. I like them too. THANKS.

♥

...Oh, and Outlaw’s shouting again. I’d better go see if anybody’s dead.

P.S. Don't forget: ask questions here or at ask-deadpool @ livejournal.com. TELL YOUR FRIENDS.

Hey, my little taquitos! What's happenin'?

It’s Day 47 here at Agency X, and honestly, merc jobs are kinda thin on the ground. What with word getting around that Agent X is fatter than Janet Jackson after her seventeenth cookie run of the day, not that many people are calling in. But I’m sure when more of them hear that I’m back on the job, they’ll be dialing that number faster than you can say chimichanga. Just got to wait a bit...

...but while we’re waiting, I guess I’ll answer some mail I’ve gotten lately from my millions of dedicated fans. Just let me find a letter...um...pile of Taco Bell receipts...ooh, here's my dry-cleaning pick-up ticket (that costume is a pain to wash)...Hmmm...oh, here’s one:

Dear Deadpool:

Why are you werking at agency x? I thought Hayden hated you. Whats’ up with that?

Sincerly,

George Walken Bush
(You know where I live. And i know where you live, too.)

P.S. It's rude to carve your name on other peopls' bathroom walls.

P.P.S. I can speel my own name. I have to write that because I know someone like Jon Stewart will point and laugh at me if I do'nt make it clear. But I do really know how to speel it. I’m really, really smart. Really. I’ve just always wished I was related to Christopher Walken. Don’t you?

I do! Doesn’t everyone? But to answer your question, Georgie (may I call you Georgie?) it’s true that Agent X hates me from the tip of my nosie to the hang of my cajonies. On the other hand, he’s gotta pay the rent somehow, and everybody knows I’m the best there is at everything, so he offered me the job as frontman and main merc at the Agency until we figure out how to get his raging appetite under control. And I thought I ate a lot. Man. Fortunately for me, all that fat gets in the way of his killin’ skills, so even when he does get that hatin’ feeling, he can’t really do too much about it. Which is why I pinch Sandi’s ass sometimes when I know he’s looking. I love watching Orca X struggle to jump off the couch.

...

Ah, another likely letter:

Dear DP,

I heard on the news this morning that a group that was backing Hillary Clinton in the Presidential race is now backing Barack Obama. The guy on the radio said that was "quite a switch in a few short months." What do you think of that, and what do you think of Obama?

Sally Cinsinero
Gibson City, IL

Sally, the first thing I have to say about Barack Obama is: FINALLY! A potential President who has a fun-to-say name! Barack Barack Barack Barack! Bombombombabom-o-baaaaaam-AAAA! I could totally rap it. So yeah, he’s got my vote. Twice if he tells me his middle name and it’s fun, too. (Like Hillary’s. Rodman is such a great middle name. She’s related to Dennis, you know. They’ve got the same chin and everything.)

As for this whole "Clinton supporters backing Obama now, what a surprise!" thing, well DUH! I mean, Hillary left the race almost a month ago. Is it really a big shock that the Democrats are going to back the only other popular chance? They want to WIN, right? No more of this "Republicans! War! Fundamentalism! Sitting-in-the-pockets-of-oil-company-CEOs!" for them. You know they’re getting pretty desperate to oust those conservative feebs. Hell, I think they’d back Oscar the Grouch if he made a run for it.

So, yeah. Don’t color me surprised about that or anything.

...

Now, let’s see...hmmm. Ah!

Dear ‘Pool-man,

How do you feel about this?

Johnny C.
Newport News, VA

Hmm, let’s see here, clickety-click—oh! Um.

Well, Johnny, I’ve always liked horses. For one, if you had a real crazy-a$$ horse here in NYC, you know, like a warhorse or something, maybe with metal-plated hooves, you could totally ride it out on the streets and use it to kick the $*@# out of the taillights of cars in front of you when you were stuck in traffic. I’d aim for the taxis, personally. I told Cable that idea last year and he didn’t think it was so hot, but hey, what does that geek know? The NYPD rides horses, so why shouldn’t I?

Anyway, you know I’m all about the branding (the Deadpool boxers were my best idea ever), so if I DID have a warhorse, I’d definitely give it a paint job like that – insignia on the butt and all! On the other hand, um…that pony looks a little gay. And you KNOW if I’m riding a horse, it’d have to be one bada$$ mother*#&!##@! So, yeah – like the design, don’t like the pansy pony.

Oh, and what’s it say in the...wait...wait... "Deadpool as a My Little Pony”?! That prissy thing is supposed to be me? WHAT? OK, now I call shenanigans. Where does this Pony chick live?? Google maps, Mapquest, where's my gun?...AH!

Hey, I gotta go, y’all. Until next time, keep ‘em sharp and pointy!