Back to GatefoldIssue #12 by Dino Pollard
"Road Trippin'!" |
My name's Wade Wilson. But you can call me Deadpool.
Sitting next to me is Half-Pint, a drunk Canadian I hooked up with about... oh, one issue ago. In the glove compartment is his midget buddy Gnome.... the Crotch-Biter (don't ask).
So, we get drunk off our asses. Then, it turns out Half-Pint and Gnome need a ride to Canada. And since I was drunk (still am, actually, despite the clear narration), I offered to drive them. I probably woulda done it if I was sober, though. After all, Canada IS the Promised Land.
And here we are, drinking booze. We filled the glove compartment with beer, and Gnome's gotta drink his way outta there. It makes me happy in a sick, twisted way... kinda like the way that Anthony Hopkins must've felt when he ate that guy's brain, or how Kathy Lee felt when she opened up her first sweatshop.
*WEEOOO*
*WEEOOO*
*WEEOOO*
Great. Why do the cops hafta single ME out? Maybe it's because we're pushing 150. Maybe it's because this car is stolen. Maybe it's because I'm wanted for murder and corruption of the innocent (by the way kids, read Deadpool--there's cussin' and more low-brow humor than you'll find in a Kevin Smith flick!). Or maybe it's the fact that Half-Pint's standing up in the open sunroof with his shirt tied around his forehead and holding two beer bottles with "MOUTH GOES HERE" painted on his chest as well as a giant arrow pointing towards... well nevermind what the arrow's pointing to. Let's just say seeing a drunk, hairy Canadian with his shirt off isn't a pretty sight.
I figure what the hell, I'm in need for some fun, so I pull over to the side. The trooper got off his bike, hiked up his pants in traditional state trooper fashion, and walked towards the car.
I rolled down the window and looked at him.
"Something wrong, Officer?"
"Why the hell are you wearing a mask?!"
"Mardi Gras."
"This is Rhode Island."
"It is? Dammit, I KNEW we should've taken that last turn at Albuquerque..."
"You were speeding and... is that a half-naked Canadian?!"
"Yup!" Half-Pint stated.
"Sir, were you aware that it's illegal to have a half-naked Canadian in plain sight in the state of Rhode Island?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"What's RIGHT with it?"
"...Point taken."
"You were also going extremely fast. I clocked you at 150."
"Well, you must've come in when I took that curve, because before that, I was well over 200."
"And aren't you wanted fo--"
Before the State Trooper could finish his sentance, the glove compartment popped open. Gnome fell out, followed by the booze.
"What the hell is that?!"
"A drunk midget."
"A drunk midget?!"
*URRRRRRP*
"Real classy, Gnome..."
"Thanks."
"Awright buddy, out of the car. It's time for you to face the fury of... THE RHODE ISLAND STATE TROOPER!!!"
.....
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to wet my pants in fear?"
He draws a pistol and points it at my head.
"NOW!!"
What the hell? Got nothing better t'do.
I get out of the car and look at him.
"Okay... now what? Cavity search?"
"Walk a straight line for me, with one foot directly in front of the other," he says.
"Ooooookay..."
So, I put one foot in front of the other. Then again, then again, then again, then again, then you stick your left foot in, you stick your left foot out, you stick your left foot in, and ya shake it all about, y'do the hokey pokey and ya turn yourself around...
"THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL A-BOUT!!!"
The Rhode Island State Trooper just stares at me.
"...Sir, are you aware that you just walked around the car, then started doing the hokey pokey?"
"...and?"
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WALK A STRAIGHT LINE!!!"
"...I thought that was a straight line..."
"Okay..." he sighed, breathing deeply. "Just count to ten..."
"One, two..."
"Not you!"
"Good, because I forgot what came after two."
"Let's try another test, shall we?"
He took out a pen and held it in front of me.
"Okay, now, I want you to follow my pen with your eyes - don't move your head, just move your eyes."
"Now yer talkin' crazy talk..."
The pen moves. Left.... to right... left... to right... to right... to... left... to... what comes after two?
*THUMP*
"Get up, sir. There's one more test."
I get back to my feet and look at him.
"Just as long as there's no test on that test."
"...right, okay. Just breath into this."
He takes out a little thingamagig and holds it up to me. Slowly, he pulls up my mask.
"JESUS!!!"
"What?"
"Your face!!!"
"Oh... yeah. An' lemme tell you something, I'm gonna have Clearsil's ass!!"
"Here, do it yourself!!"
He tosses me the thingamagig and I breath into it.
*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*
*BOOM*
".....the breatholizer just blew up..."
"Does that mean I passed?"
"It overloaded..."
"Why would it do that?"
"BECAUSE YOU'RE WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY TOO DRUNK!!!"
"Ahh, gotcha," I tell him, climbing back into the car. "Well, nice knowin' ya."
"Waitasec!!" he shouts. "You're under arrest for DUI!!"
I reach in the backseat and pull out a rocket launcher. Then I aim it at him.
"Wanna run that by me again?"
"You tell 'im, mate!!" Half-Pint exclaimed.
"Well... carry on..."
The Trooper ran back to his bike, taking off before I even had a chance to start the car up.
"What'd I miss?" Gnome asked, looking around.
# # # # #
A truck stop in... hell if I know. I was half-drunk when I was driving, why would I be paying attention to street signs?
Since Gnome and Half-Pint are already drunker than I am, they automatically hit the karaoke. Call me crazy (okay, so I am), but a hairy midget and a drunk Canadian belching "My Girl" can't be a good thing. It's just wrong on so many levels.
Me, I just decided to hit the bar. The tender seems friendly enough, which definately makes me think we took a wrong turn and are now stuck in Hicksville.
"You want another drink buddy?"
"I'm not your buddy, but yes."
The barkeep pours another beer and puts it in front of me.
"So, what brings you to Bumblefuck?"
.....
"Could you repeat that?"
"I said, what brings you to Bumblefuck?"
I reiterate: .....
"...Bumblefuck...?"
"Yeah, Bumblefuck. That's the name of this here town."
"...You mean there actually IS a Bumblefuck?"
"Yeah, an' yer innit."
"Lucky me."
*BOOOM*
"What in the crap...?"
"Oh, don't worry," the barkeep says. "One'a th' farmers must've found his daughter in bed with a traveller."
"...You mean that stuff actually happens?"
"In Bumblefuck it does."
The phone rings and he picks it up.
"Hello? Oh, hi Ma!"
He looks at me, covering the speaker with his hand.
"It's my wife, hold onna sec."
Suddenly... I have this unusual urge to spew my vittels.
...Did I just say that?
# # # # #
"That was a tough crowd, eh?" Half-Pint stated.
"Pfft! They just don't know talent when they see it," Gnome replied.
"Hey, I'm about as non-hick as the next guy... although in this town I wouldn't be... and I just gotta say... you guys really SUCKED."
"Whaddaya mean?" Gnome asked.
"Well... let's just say that Roseanne singing the National Anthem was less painful."
"We were really THAT bad?" Half-Pint asked.
"No, you weren't THAT bad..." I replied. "You were MUCH, MUCH worse."
"So... now what do we do?" Gnome asked.
"Let's just head back to the car and get the hell outta Bumblef--"
*BOOOOOOOOM*
"PLEASE tell me that was a farmer..."
"Uhm... Wade... Gnome... we got a little problem..."
"What're you talkin' about, mate?" Gnome asked, looking up. "Uh-oh."
"Oh shit onna stick..." I mutter.
The car's been blown up. In BUMBLEFUCK, no less...
My luck just CAN'T get any better. Lesse, in the past week, I fought Molecule Man in Celebrity Deathmatch, got a cosmic guardian for a roommate, fought said Molecule Man again, I was contracted to kill a minister who also happened to be Nightcrawler (which I didn't do), had a run in with some whacked-out team of mercenaries, hooked up with a hairy midget and a drunk Canadian, got pulled over by a Rhode Island State Trooper, and now I'm stuck in Bumblefuck. BUMBLEFUCK of all places!!!
END
Sitting next to me is Half-Pint, a drunk Canadian I hooked up with about... oh, one issue ago. In the glove compartment is his midget buddy Gnome.... the Crotch-Biter (don't ask).
So, we get drunk off our asses. Then, it turns out Half-Pint and Gnome need a ride to Canada. And since I was drunk (still am, actually, despite the clear narration), I offered to drive them. I probably woulda done it if I was sober, though. After all, Canada IS the Promised Land.
And here we are, drinking booze. We filled the glove compartment with beer, and Gnome's gotta drink his way outta there. It makes me happy in a sick, twisted way... kinda like the way that Anthony Hopkins must've felt when he ate that guy's brain, or how Kathy Lee felt when she opened up her first sweatshop.
*WEEOOO*
*WEEOOO*
*WEEOOO*
Great. Why do the cops hafta single ME out? Maybe it's because we're pushing 150. Maybe it's because this car is stolen. Maybe it's because I'm wanted for murder and corruption of the innocent (by the way kids, read Deadpool--there's cussin' and more low-brow humor than you'll find in a Kevin Smith flick!). Or maybe it's the fact that Half-Pint's standing up in the open sunroof with his shirt tied around his forehead and holding two beer bottles with "MOUTH GOES HERE" painted on his chest as well as a giant arrow pointing towards... well nevermind what the arrow's pointing to. Let's just say seeing a drunk, hairy Canadian with his shirt off isn't a pretty sight.
I figure what the hell, I'm in need for some fun, so I pull over to the side. The trooper got off his bike, hiked up his pants in traditional state trooper fashion, and walked towards the car.
I rolled down the window and looked at him.
"Something wrong, Officer?"
"Why the hell are you wearing a mask?!"
"Mardi Gras."
"This is Rhode Island."
"It is? Dammit, I KNEW we should've taken that last turn at Albuquerque..."
"You were speeding and... is that a half-naked Canadian?!"
"Yup!" Half-Pint stated.
"Sir, were you aware that it's illegal to have a half-naked Canadian in plain sight in the state of Rhode Island?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"What's RIGHT with it?"
"...Point taken."
"You were also going extremely fast. I clocked you at 150."
"Well, you must've come in when I took that curve, because before that, I was well over 200."
"And aren't you wanted fo--"
Before the State Trooper could finish his sentance, the glove compartment popped open. Gnome fell out, followed by the booze.
"What the hell is that?!"
"A drunk midget."
"A drunk midget?!"
*URRRRRRP*
"Real classy, Gnome..."
"Thanks."
"Awright buddy, out of the car. It's time for you to face the fury of... THE RHODE ISLAND STATE TROOPER!!!"
.....
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to wet my pants in fear?"
He draws a pistol and points it at my head.
"NOW!!"
What the hell? Got nothing better t'do.
I get out of the car and look at him.
"Okay... now what? Cavity search?"
"Walk a straight line for me, with one foot directly in front of the other," he says.
"Ooooookay..."
So, I put one foot in front of the other. Then again, then again, then again, then again, then you stick your left foot in, you stick your left foot out, you stick your left foot in, and ya shake it all about, y'do the hokey pokey and ya turn yourself around...
"THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL A-BOUT!!!"
The Rhode Island State Trooper just stares at me.
"...Sir, are you aware that you just walked around the car, then started doing the hokey pokey?"
"...and?"
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WALK A STRAIGHT LINE!!!"
"...I thought that was a straight line..."
"Okay..." he sighed, breathing deeply. "Just count to ten..."
"One, two..."
"Not you!"
"Good, because I forgot what came after two."
"Let's try another test, shall we?"
He took out a pen and held it in front of me.
"Okay, now, I want you to follow my pen with your eyes - don't move your head, just move your eyes."
"Now yer talkin' crazy talk..."
The pen moves. Left.... to right... left... to right... to right... to... left... to... what comes after two?
*THUMP*
"Get up, sir. There's one more test."
I get back to my feet and look at him.
"Just as long as there's no test on that test."
"...right, okay. Just breath into this."
He takes out a little thingamagig and holds it up to me. Slowly, he pulls up my mask.
"JESUS!!!"
"What?"
"Your face!!!"
"Oh... yeah. An' lemme tell you something, I'm gonna have Clearsil's ass!!"
"Here, do it yourself!!"
He tosses me the thingamagig and I breath into it.
*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*
*BOOM*
".....the breatholizer just blew up..."
"Does that mean I passed?"
"It overloaded..."
"Why would it do that?"
"BECAUSE YOU'RE WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY TOO DRUNK!!!"
"Ahh, gotcha," I tell him, climbing back into the car. "Well, nice knowin' ya."
"Waitasec!!" he shouts. "You're under arrest for DUI!!"
I reach in the backseat and pull out a rocket launcher. Then I aim it at him.
"Wanna run that by me again?"
"You tell 'im, mate!!" Half-Pint exclaimed.
"Well... carry on..."
The Trooper ran back to his bike, taking off before I even had a chance to start the car up.
"What'd I miss?" Gnome asked, looking around.
# # # # #
A truck stop in... hell if I know. I was half-drunk when I was driving, why would I be paying attention to street signs?
Since Gnome and Half-Pint are already drunker than I am, they automatically hit the karaoke. Call me crazy (okay, so I am), but a hairy midget and a drunk Canadian belching "My Girl" can't be a good thing. It's just wrong on so many levels.
Me, I just decided to hit the bar. The tender seems friendly enough, which definately makes me think we took a wrong turn and are now stuck in Hicksville.
"You want another drink buddy?"
"I'm not your buddy, but yes."
The barkeep pours another beer and puts it in front of me.
"So, what brings you to Bumblefuck?"
.....
"Could you repeat that?"
"I said, what brings you to Bumblefuck?"
I reiterate: .....
"...Bumblefuck...?"
"Yeah, Bumblefuck. That's the name of this here town."
"...You mean there actually IS a Bumblefuck?"
"Yeah, an' yer innit."
"Lucky me."
*BOOOM*
"What in the crap...?"
"Oh, don't worry," the barkeep says. "One'a th' farmers must've found his daughter in bed with a traveller."
"...You mean that stuff actually happens?"
"In Bumblefuck it does."
The phone rings and he picks it up.
"Hello? Oh, hi Ma!"
He looks at me, covering the speaker with his hand.
"It's my wife, hold onna sec."
Suddenly... I have this unusual urge to spew my vittels.
...Did I just say that?
# # # # #
"That was a tough crowd, eh?" Half-Pint stated.
"Pfft! They just don't know talent when they see it," Gnome replied.
"Hey, I'm about as non-hick as the next guy... although in this town I wouldn't be... and I just gotta say... you guys really SUCKED."
"Whaddaya mean?" Gnome asked.
"Well... let's just say that Roseanne singing the National Anthem was less painful."
"We were really THAT bad?" Half-Pint asked.
"No, you weren't THAT bad..." I replied. "You were MUCH, MUCH worse."
"So... now what do we do?" Gnome asked.
"Let's just head back to the car and get the hell outta Bumblef--"
*BOOOOOOOOM*
"PLEASE tell me that was a farmer..."
"Uhm... Wade... Gnome... we got a little problem..."
"What're you talkin' about, mate?" Gnome asked, looking up. "Uh-oh."
"Oh shit onna stick..." I mutter.
The car's been blown up. In BUMBLEFUCK, no less...
My luck just CAN'T get any better. Lesse, in the past week, I fought Molecule Man in Celebrity Deathmatch, got a cosmic guardian for a roommate, fought said Molecule Man again, I was contracted to kill a minister who also happened to be Nightcrawler (which I didn't do), had a run in with some whacked-out team of mercenaries, hooked up with a hairy midget and a drunk Canadian, got pulled over by a Rhode Island State Trooper, and now I'm stuck in Bumblefuck. BUMBLEFUCK of all places!!!
END