Back to GatefoldIssue #17 by Brad Horton
"Wade Strikes Back, Bitch" |
Manhattan, one of the ghettos...
"Damn, has it been two months already?" Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool, asks himself. He holds his two fully healed hands in front of them. Granted, they have taken on a scarred and calloused appearance like the rest of his body, but he's regained full motor control of both hands.
You never appreciate what your four fingers and opposable thumb on each hand do for you until a tattooed horn head chops 'em off. *
(* Check last issue, where Wade faced none other than Darth Maul, if you remember -- Brad)
Wade continues to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth. Wade has recently undergone a costume change of sorts. No longer wearing the spandex costume, he is now wearing a long black trench coat, black pants, black shirt, black boots...you get the idea.
The only thing that survived this revamp of sorts is Deadpool's trademark red mask with two black spots over the eyeslots. Wade felt it was an homage...to himself. Not that he needed one. The costume overhaul seemed to fit the times, since his old duds made him stick out like an 18th century British soldier. Strangely, red attracts a lot of unwanted bullets.
Wade has also begun investing his blood-money in intelligent ways. He's transformed his apartment into a makeshift headquarters for making deals to kill people for money. Of course, Wade has marketed his business to the right people. Only top-secret government and underworld agents know of his existence.
He has a few safehouses around New York, but mainly uses his apartment for his own personal weapons array.
Wade spits out the used toothpaste into the ratty sink and rinses it out. He shakes his toothbrush off, and tosses it onto the counter, where a cockroach crawls stealthily. He then grabs his remote control and turns his basic cable television on.
"Damn static," he mutters, banging the side of it. "Oh, it's on a porn channel. Whoops."
Deadpool changes the channel to a news station.
{{"...Authority figures are still on the lookout for a suspect who maliciously blew up another human being nearly two months ago with explosive putty..."}}
"Y'uh-oh, I've heard this sound before," Wade says as he changes the channel.
{{"...blew him up..."}}
*CLICK*
{{"...was like smeared all over that comic book shop wall..."}}
*BLAM*
"That's enough television," Deadpool says as he holds his smoking handgun by his ear.
Suddenly, there are multiple knocks at Wade's door. He peers through the peep hole and sees a tall, skinny bastard with a short(er), fat(ter) bastard.
"Let us the fuck in, you sloppy bitch," the skinny one yells. Deadpool prepares to ice the loud mouthed assbag, but figures it would upset the neighbors. Wade opens the door, only as much as the chainlink allows.
He points the gun through the opening, "You two will be sloppy bitches, if you don't shut the hell up. Hey, don't I know you two butt-buddies from somewhere?"*
( *Actually, he does - back in issue #10 - Dino )
"We ain't butt-buddies, you fucking cock-monkey. This here's my friend Bob, the Lunchbox, and I'm Jay, mutha fucka," Jay declares.
Bob simply nods.
Wade notices Bob has a baggy stuffed full of weed, he also hears police sirens in the area. "Shit," Deadpool grunts, unlatching the chainlink and shoving Jay and Bob into his apartment.
"Whoa, thanks, man...HOLY SHIT!" Jay yells, jumping into Silent Bob's arms. He had seen Deadpool's face. "It's fucking Freddy Kruger!"
Deadpool appears to object, but grips his chin as if he had a goatee to rub, "That's a pretty cool gimmick I could swipe, actually," Wade says.
"So are you like a fuckin' burn victim or some shit like that?" Jay asks.
"Something like that," Deadpool says.
Bob taps Jay in the chest. Jay asks Deadpool, "So, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?"
Deadpool activates the safety on his gun and places it on his desk, full of brochures and advertisements. "Just chill out here for now. You weren't followed, were you?"
"Fuck no, man," Jay responds. "Were we followed, Lunchbox?"
Bob shakes his head.
"Well, good," Wade says. "Last thing I need is the cops."
"Fuck the police, man. You some sort of masked murderer?" Jay asks.
"Actually, masked mercenary. Get your euphemisms up to date, asshole," Wade says.
"Chill the fuck out, you shit faced fucker!" Jay screams.
"Oh, I'll show you shit, bitch..." Deadpool warns. "Sit down."
Jay and Bob do as they're told, plopping down in Deadpool's old sofa. Bob's countenance becomes disgusted when he flings a brown banana peel on the floor off the sofa.
"So what's your deal? How many people have you killed?"
"A couple...thousand," Wade smirks. "Don't worry, I usually don't kill stoners. Not many underworld bosses or lawyer firms want stoners to be wasted, anyway. If the price is right...who knows.
"So, what brings you to Manhattan?" Wade asks.
"We was on our way to Jersey."
"I knew I recognized you fuckin' stoners from somewhere!" Deadpool exclaims.
"Wait, you're that fairy that wears the black and red pantyhose?" Jay asks.
"I don't wear that anymore!" Wade protests.
"But you did," Jay confirms.
"Yeah...well, it was the trend of the early 90's to have spandex like the heroes. Me? I blame Captain America for starting all that spandex shit. But it's a trend that's died, I think."
"Spider-Man still wears spandex," Jay says.
"Yeah, but...it looks cool on him. He's gotta flip a lot and swing and shit," Wade says.
Bob mimics Spider-Man's "shooting a webline" action, his way of asking Deadpool if he has any powers.
"Er...yeah, I can heal fast."
"Pft, that's queer. Wolverine already does that shit," Jay says.
"Yeah, well, I heal more rapidly than him."
"Hell no, the Hulk has the best healing factor in the world," Silent Bob says.
"Holy fuck, you can talk?!" Deadpool screams.
"He usually does, when there's no other option," Jay explains. "So, if you heal fast, what happens if you get your dong chopped off by some whacked out bitch? Like Lorana Bobbett?"
"Uh," Wade thinks. "I...I don't know. Yeah, it should grow back."
"Would it be all deformed and shit?"
"I don't know..."
"Let's try it out."
"No! What the hell, sit down, you sick fuck!"
"You think it would become bigger, like facial hair growing back in?" Jay asks.
"I said shut—wait, good question..."
Jay takes a blunt from his inside coat pocket, "Dude, this is some good shit. Want some?"
"I'm more of a drink-till-ya-drop kinda guy myself," Wade confesses.
"Where the fuck's the fun in that?!" Jay yells. Bob nods, agreeing with his friend. "Come on, got anything we can make a kickass bong outta?"
"...Let me check."
# # # # #
Bake-Time 00:02:20
Deadpool, Jay, and Silent Bob are all sitting on the couch, laughing at a piece of string, each with a joint in their hand.
"How do dey make dat string...?" Deadpool asks.
"Here wait, I know, man.....here wait.....I know, man......the string comes from.....Here....I know, man...." Jay rambles.
"No, it comes from Stringoslavia...the elves make it..." Wade says.
"Elvis is dead, dude..." Jay says as he takes a long drag.
"Not Elvis, elves, man..." Wade says, coughing.
"Dude, yer stoned...I don't think you should be driving your subway home...I'm gonna have to take da keys..." Jay says.
Bob, meanwhile, has downed two bags of Sun Chips and Cheetos in a mere two minutes.
"Don't hog the munchies, Boob," Wade says.
"Whoa...Did you just call him Boob?" Jay asks. He begins laughing his ass off.
Deadpool falls off the sofa and begins laughing hysterically, too.
Silent Bob smiles slightly, as he loads some Fritos into his mouth, some of the crumbs getting caught in his beard.
Deadpool catches himself snorting from all the laughter and just laughs even more.
Jay is still laughing, mainly at Wade now, "Dude, youz got a vein bulgin' outta yer neck, man...that's fuckin' cool!"
# # # # #
Elsewhere...
{{"Have you got the hands?"}} someone asks from a loudspeaker.
"Yes, sir. We recovered them from New York two months ago," a scientist in a white lab coat answers. A soft, green glow from various computers illuminates his face.
{{"Is the DNA preserved?"}}
"Yes, sir."
{{"And the regenerative capabilities?"}}
"Well..."
{{"Well?"}}
"The cloning procedure lessened it some."
{{"Can it be rekindled in the subjects?"}}
"Yes, but they would have similar deformities as the template."
{{"So be it. Get to work."}}
"Yes, sir."
# # # # #
Bake-Time 01:23:47
Deadpool has now turned on the Bob Marley tunes to ease the mood. Jay is passed out on the floor. Silent Bob is still eating. Deadpool is sitting next to Bob, his head resting on the arm of the sofa.
"Aw, man..." Wade groans. "I feel so funky..."
*CRUNCH*
*CRUNCH*
"Crunchy..." Wade mutters as he stares at Bob while he eats. Each bite he takes echoes. Wade looks at his fingers, each split up into threes. He crooks his fingers, "Whoa, I have six hands....coooooooolll....
"What'd I gotta do ta gets you t' talk, Silent Bob?" Wade asks. "Yer al'ays si'in' an' ea'in'...nev'r say a wor'....what'd I gotta do, man? What I got ta da?"
Bob stops crunching for a minute and looks down at Wade, who is still resting his head on the arm of the couch.
"I'm actually very intellectual," Bob replies.
"Shit, yer not even wasted?!" Wade gulps.
"Well, yes, but in your stoned fantasy, I'm very smart," Bob says.
"Oh, sweet. So what's the meanin' of life?" Wade asks.
"Well, we are all here to..."
"Yeah?" Wade waits in eager anticipation.
Bob suddenly morphs into a pink elephant. "Wha--? No fuckin' way, man..."
Wade suddenly tries to get up, but realizes there's no floor beneath him. He feels the tug of gravity pulling him downward into an endless vertical drop.
Wade falls through a soundstage roof, plopping behind a podium simply labeled with his first name.
"Wade, what is the capital of Canada?" Anne Robinson asks in her tight, black leather clothing.
"I'm on Weakest Link? Whoa," Deadpool mutters. "Um...hang on, I know this...I'm a fuckin' Canadian...wait...uh, bank. Wait...Toronto?"
"Ottawa."
"FUCK!"
"Adolph," Anne continues as she swivels her podium to face someone looking strangely like Hitler, "how many wars has Germany won?"
Hitler snarls, "Sie mußten es innen löschen nur, nicht Sie?"
"No, the answer is zero," Anne says arrogantly. She turns her podium again, this time facing Jenny McCarthy. "Jenny, who's your daddy?"
"Brad Horton."
"Correct," Anne says, turning to Deadpool again. "Wade, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?"
"Bank!" Wade yells, pulling in a mere $1,000. "Okay...uh...four-hundred?"
"No, three."
"FUCK!"
Anne turns to Hitler, "Adolph, how much did we kick your ass in World War II?"
Hitler's mustache seems to wiggle, "...Ich hasse dieses verfluchte Spiel!"
"I'm sorry, the answer is we slapped you up like you were our bitch, and then we told you to make us a sandwich. And that's the end of the round. You've managed to bank a miserable one-thousand dollars. A tribe of chimps could do better than you," Anne says. "It's time to vote who you think is...theweakestlink."
Statistically, Jenny was this round's strongest link, and damn, she's hot!
For the fourth time this game, Adolph is the weakest link...take that, you Nazi bastard! Ahem...
"Voting over," Anne commands. "Jenny, let's see who you voted for..."
Jenny presses a button on her podium, revealing who she wrote down, "Wade."
"FUCK!" Wade screams. He presses his button, "Adolph."
"BUMSEN!" Adolph yells. He suddenly smiles as his button is pressed, "Wade."
"Son of a bitch..." Wade protests.
"Wade," Anne begins, "why Adolph?"
"There can be only one cold-blooded killer on this mother fuckin' show," Deadpool says.
Anne emotionlessly turns to Jenny, "Why Wade, Jenny?"
"Apparently, I fit the Aryan race criteria. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wade doesn't fit any of those," Jenny says.
"You fascist bitch!" Deadpool yells. "That's it!" Wade pulls out an uzi and wastes everyone, including the audience.
Deadpool's surroundings melt into that of a sitcom set. He puts his uzi in its concealed holster under his jacket. He realizes his mask is on.
Suddenly, Siryn comes through the apartment door. "Wade, how goes it?" Copycat and Blind Al follow.
"What the...?" Deadpool mutters. "Oh God, I'm in some warped version of Friends. Damn you, NBC!"
Gnome and Half-Pint appear behind the women, both with beers in their hands. "Dude, I'm like....waschted..." Half-Pint hiccups.
Gnome laughs. He burps and passes out, falling flat on the floor.
"Aye, he hath too much ale," Siryn says.
"Terry...you don't talk like that," Wade says. "What's up with you? Your new X-Force gig going to your head?"*
( *Speaking of which, go read current issues of X-Force - Dino )
"Guess what, Wade? I have radar senses," Blind Al says, whacking her walking stick around, knocking over a lamp. "But they only work at night...I'm gonna fight crime as Staredevil."
"Whoa...that's some fucked up shit right there," Deadpool says. "Well, this beats being drunk...I think."
# # # # #
The Pentagon...
"General Reiken?" a woman in business attire asks. She knocks on the office door.
"Yes?" the general asks. "Is this about...the secret mission?"
"Yes, sir," the woman replies.
"Well, come in," Reiken commands. The woman walks in, throwing her briefcase on the desk, closing the door behind her.
The woman opens her briefcase, taking out some files and a laptop, "We've found the location of Deadpool's teleportational device. The hard part is going to be tapping his teleportational frequency. He's acquired technology to prevent it from being activated remotely."
"And it's also short distance teleportation, correct?" Reiken asks.
"Yes, but our intelligence officers have found a way to make a trip here, assuming the mercenary stays in New York," the woman responds.
"Good. This so-called Merc-With-A-Mouth will be a new thorn in Bin Laden's network..."
"Are you sure? After Landau, Luckman, and Lake --"
"I feel the CIA can persuade Deadpool to fight for our cause," Reiken says.
"Will there be any political restraints? Technically, he's Canadian property," the woman explains.
Reiken smiles, "Until Department H, or whoever they are, brakes down our door, demanding their prized possession back...I don't give a shit."
"How will we persuade him to work for us?"
"A hefty sum. Maybe around --"
# # # # #
Bake-Time 13:45:29
"...thirty used gum wrappers, man..." Deadpool says with a little drool.
"Dude, I've never seen someone flat out stoned for this long," Jay says to Bob, who's munching on some barbecue chips. "Maybe we should go. The cops is long gone."
Bob nods as he and Jay get up to leave.
"No wait, don't go, man...we gotta play Nipster....er, Twister...one o' those games. Here wait...I gots Battleshit...oh, no...how 'bout Chinamen checkers?"
Jay and Bob ignore Deadpool's incoherent gibberish and jet out the door, leaving it creaked half-open.
"Guess not..."
Bob comes creeping back. Wade smiles widely, "Knew you'd come back--"
Bob ganks the bag of chips sitting on the sofa and sprints out the door.
"FUCK!"
NEXT ISSUE: Deadpool has a little trip he wasn't expecting...and it ain't the Playboy Mansion (that should narrow it down for ya).
"Damn, has it been two months already?" Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool, asks himself. He holds his two fully healed hands in front of them. Granted, they have taken on a scarred and calloused appearance like the rest of his body, but he's regained full motor control of both hands.
You never appreciate what your four fingers and opposable thumb on each hand do for you until a tattooed horn head chops 'em off. *
(* Check last issue, where Wade faced none other than Darth Maul, if you remember -- Brad)
Wade continues to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth. Wade has recently undergone a costume change of sorts. No longer wearing the spandex costume, he is now wearing a long black trench coat, black pants, black shirt, black boots...you get the idea.
The only thing that survived this revamp of sorts is Deadpool's trademark red mask with two black spots over the eyeslots. Wade felt it was an homage...to himself. Not that he needed one. The costume overhaul seemed to fit the times, since his old duds made him stick out like an 18th century British soldier. Strangely, red attracts a lot of unwanted bullets.
Wade has also begun investing his blood-money in intelligent ways. He's transformed his apartment into a makeshift headquarters for making deals to kill people for money. Of course, Wade has marketed his business to the right people. Only top-secret government and underworld agents know of his existence.
He has a few safehouses around New York, but mainly uses his apartment for his own personal weapons array.
Wade spits out the used toothpaste into the ratty sink and rinses it out. He shakes his toothbrush off, and tosses it onto the counter, where a cockroach crawls stealthily. He then grabs his remote control and turns his basic cable television on.
"Damn static," he mutters, banging the side of it. "Oh, it's on a porn channel. Whoops."
Deadpool changes the channel to a news station.
{{"...Authority figures are still on the lookout for a suspect who maliciously blew up another human being nearly two months ago with explosive putty..."}}
"Y'uh-oh, I've heard this sound before," Wade says as he changes the channel.
{{"...blew him up..."}}
*CLICK*
{{"...was like smeared all over that comic book shop wall..."}}
*BLAM*
"That's enough television," Deadpool says as he holds his smoking handgun by his ear.
Suddenly, there are multiple knocks at Wade's door. He peers through the peep hole and sees a tall, skinny bastard with a short(er), fat(ter) bastard.
"Let us the fuck in, you sloppy bitch," the skinny one yells. Deadpool prepares to ice the loud mouthed assbag, but figures it would upset the neighbors. Wade opens the door, only as much as the chainlink allows.
He points the gun through the opening, "You two will be sloppy bitches, if you don't shut the hell up. Hey, don't I know you two butt-buddies from somewhere?"*
( *Actually, he does - back in issue #10 - Dino )
"We ain't butt-buddies, you fucking cock-monkey. This here's my friend Bob, the Lunchbox, and I'm Jay, mutha fucka," Jay declares.
Bob simply nods.
Wade notices Bob has a baggy stuffed full of weed, he also hears police sirens in the area. "Shit," Deadpool grunts, unlatching the chainlink and shoving Jay and Bob into his apartment.
"Whoa, thanks, man...HOLY SHIT!" Jay yells, jumping into Silent Bob's arms. He had seen Deadpool's face. "It's fucking Freddy Kruger!"
Deadpool appears to object, but grips his chin as if he had a goatee to rub, "That's a pretty cool gimmick I could swipe, actually," Wade says.
"So are you like a fuckin' burn victim or some shit like that?" Jay asks.
"Something like that," Deadpool says.
Bob taps Jay in the chest. Jay asks Deadpool, "So, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?"
Deadpool activates the safety on his gun and places it on his desk, full of brochures and advertisements. "Just chill out here for now. You weren't followed, were you?"
"Fuck no, man," Jay responds. "Were we followed, Lunchbox?"
Bob shakes his head.
"Well, good," Wade says. "Last thing I need is the cops."
"Fuck the police, man. You some sort of masked murderer?" Jay asks.
"Actually, masked mercenary. Get your euphemisms up to date, asshole," Wade says.
"Chill the fuck out, you shit faced fucker!" Jay screams.
"Oh, I'll show you shit, bitch..." Deadpool warns. "Sit down."
Jay and Bob do as they're told, plopping down in Deadpool's old sofa. Bob's countenance becomes disgusted when he flings a brown banana peel on the floor off the sofa.
"So what's your deal? How many people have you killed?"
"A couple...thousand," Wade smirks. "Don't worry, I usually don't kill stoners. Not many underworld bosses or lawyer firms want stoners to be wasted, anyway. If the price is right...who knows.
"So, what brings you to Manhattan?" Wade asks.
"We was on our way to Jersey."
"I knew I recognized you fuckin' stoners from somewhere!" Deadpool exclaims.
"Wait, you're that fairy that wears the black and red pantyhose?" Jay asks.
"I don't wear that anymore!" Wade protests.
"But you did," Jay confirms.
"Yeah...well, it was the trend of the early 90's to have spandex like the heroes. Me? I blame Captain America for starting all that spandex shit. But it's a trend that's died, I think."
"Spider-Man still wears spandex," Jay says.
"Yeah, but...it looks cool on him. He's gotta flip a lot and swing and shit," Wade says.
Bob mimics Spider-Man's "shooting a webline" action, his way of asking Deadpool if he has any powers.
"Er...yeah, I can heal fast."
"Pft, that's queer. Wolverine already does that shit," Jay says.
"Yeah, well, I heal more rapidly than him."
"Hell no, the Hulk has the best healing factor in the world," Silent Bob says.
"Holy fuck, you can talk?!" Deadpool screams.
"He usually does, when there's no other option," Jay explains. "So, if you heal fast, what happens if you get your dong chopped off by some whacked out bitch? Like Lorana Bobbett?"
"Uh," Wade thinks. "I...I don't know. Yeah, it should grow back."
"Would it be all deformed and shit?"
"I don't know..."
"Let's try it out."
"No! What the hell, sit down, you sick fuck!"
"You think it would become bigger, like facial hair growing back in?" Jay asks.
"I said shut—wait, good question..."
Jay takes a blunt from his inside coat pocket, "Dude, this is some good shit. Want some?"
"I'm more of a drink-till-ya-drop kinda guy myself," Wade confesses.
"Where the fuck's the fun in that?!" Jay yells. Bob nods, agreeing with his friend. "Come on, got anything we can make a kickass bong outta?"
"...Let me check."
# # # # #
Bake-Time 00:02:20
Deadpool, Jay, and Silent Bob are all sitting on the couch, laughing at a piece of string, each with a joint in their hand.
"How do dey make dat string...?" Deadpool asks.
"Here wait, I know, man.....here wait.....I know, man......the string comes from.....Here....I know, man...." Jay rambles.
"No, it comes from Stringoslavia...the elves make it..." Wade says.
"Elvis is dead, dude..." Jay says as he takes a long drag.
"Not Elvis, elves, man..." Wade says, coughing.
"Dude, yer stoned...I don't think you should be driving your subway home...I'm gonna have to take da keys..." Jay says.
Bob, meanwhile, has downed two bags of Sun Chips and Cheetos in a mere two minutes.
"Don't hog the munchies, Boob," Wade says.
"Whoa...Did you just call him Boob?" Jay asks. He begins laughing his ass off.
Deadpool falls off the sofa and begins laughing hysterically, too.
Silent Bob smiles slightly, as he loads some Fritos into his mouth, some of the crumbs getting caught in his beard.
Deadpool catches himself snorting from all the laughter and just laughs even more.
Jay is still laughing, mainly at Wade now, "Dude, youz got a vein bulgin' outta yer neck, man...that's fuckin' cool!"
# # # # #
Elsewhere...
{{"Have you got the hands?"}} someone asks from a loudspeaker.
"Yes, sir. We recovered them from New York two months ago," a scientist in a white lab coat answers. A soft, green glow from various computers illuminates his face.
{{"Is the DNA preserved?"}}
"Yes, sir."
{{"And the regenerative capabilities?"}}
"Well..."
{{"Well?"}}
"The cloning procedure lessened it some."
{{"Can it be rekindled in the subjects?"}}
"Yes, but they would have similar deformities as the template."
{{"So be it. Get to work."}}
"Yes, sir."
# # # # #
Bake-Time 01:23:47
Deadpool has now turned on the Bob Marley tunes to ease the mood. Jay is passed out on the floor. Silent Bob is still eating. Deadpool is sitting next to Bob, his head resting on the arm of the sofa.
"Aw, man..." Wade groans. "I feel so funky..."
*CRUNCH*
*CRUNCH*
"Crunchy..." Wade mutters as he stares at Bob while he eats. Each bite he takes echoes. Wade looks at his fingers, each split up into threes. He crooks his fingers, "Whoa, I have six hands....coooooooolll....
"What'd I gotta do ta gets you t' talk, Silent Bob?" Wade asks. "Yer al'ays si'in' an' ea'in'...nev'r say a wor'....what'd I gotta do, man? What I got ta da?"
Bob stops crunching for a minute and looks down at Wade, who is still resting his head on the arm of the couch.
"I'm actually very intellectual," Bob replies.
"Shit, yer not even wasted?!" Wade gulps.
"Well, yes, but in your stoned fantasy, I'm very smart," Bob says.
"Oh, sweet. So what's the meanin' of life?" Wade asks.
"Well, we are all here to..."
"Yeah?" Wade waits in eager anticipation.
Bob suddenly morphs into a pink elephant. "Wha--? No fuckin' way, man..."
Wade suddenly tries to get up, but realizes there's no floor beneath him. He feels the tug of gravity pulling him downward into an endless vertical drop.
Wade falls through a soundstage roof, plopping behind a podium simply labeled with his first name.
"Wade, what is the capital of Canada?" Anne Robinson asks in her tight, black leather clothing.
"I'm on Weakest Link? Whoa," Deadpool mutters. "Um...hang on, I know this...I'm a fuckin' Canadian...wait...uh, bank. Wait...Toronto?"
"Ottawa."
"FUCK!"
"Adolph," Anne continues as she swivels her podium to face someone looking strangely like Hitler, "how many wars has Germany won?"
Hitler snarls, "Sie mußten es innen löschen nur, nicht Sie?"
"No, the answer is zero," Anne says arrogantly. She turns her podium again, this time facing Jenny McCarthy. "Jenny, who's your daddy?"
"Brad Horton."
"Correct," Anne says, turning to Deadpool again. "Wade, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?"
"Bank!" Wade yells, pulling in a mere $1,000. "Okay...uh...four-hundred?"
"No, three."
"FUCK!"
Anne turns to Hitler, "Adolph, how much did we kick your ass in World War II?"
Hitler's mustache seems to wiggle, "...Ich hasse dieses verfluchte Spiel!"
"I'm sorry, the answer is we slapped you up like you were our bitch, and then we told you to make us a sandwich. And that's the end of the round. You've managed to bank a miserable one-thousand dollars. A tribe of chimps could do better than you," Anne says. "It's time to vote who you think is...theweakestlink."
Statistically, Jenny was this round's strongest link, and damn, she's hot!
For the fourth time this game, Adolph is the weakest link...take that, you Nazi bastard! Ahem...
"Voting over," Anne commands. "Jenny, let's see who you voted for..."
Jenny presses a button on her podium, revealing who she wrote down, "Wade."
"FUCK!" Wade screams. He presses his button, "Adolph."
"BUMSEN!" Adolph yells. He suddenly smiles as his button is pressed, "Wade."
"Son of a bitch..." Wade protests.
"Wade," Anne begins, "why Adolph?"
"There can be only one cold-blooded killer on this mother fuckin' show," Deadpool says.
Anne emotionlessly turns to Jenny, "Why Wade, Jenny?"
"Apparently, I fit the Aryan race criteria. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wade doesn't fit any of those," Jenny says.
"You fascist bitch!" Deadpool yells. "That's it!" Wade pulls out an uzi and wastes everyone, including the audience.
Deadpool's surroundings melt into that of a sitcom set. He puts his uzi in its concealed holster under his jacket. He realizes his mask is on.
Suddenly, Siryn comes through the apartment door. "Wade, how goes it?" Copycat and Blind Al follow.
"What the...?" Deadpool mutters. "Oh God, I'm in some warped version of Friends. Damn you, NBC!"
Gnome and Half-Pint appear behind the women, both with beers in their hands. "Dude, I'm like....waschted..." Half-Pint hiccups.
Gnome laughs. He burps and passes out, falling flat on the floor.
"Aye, he hath too much ale," Siryn says.
"Terry...you don't talk like that," Wade says. "What's up with you? Your new X-Force gig going to your head?"*
( *Speaking of which, go read current issues of X-Force - Dino )
"Guess what, Wade? I have radar senses," Blind Al says, whacking her walking stick around, knocking over a lamp. "But they only work at night...I'm gonna fight crime as Staredevil."
"Whoa...that's some fucked up shit right there," Deadpool says. "Well, this beats being drunk...I think."
# # # # #
The Pentagon...
"General Reiken?" a woman in business attire asks. She knocks on the office door.
"Yes?" the general asks. "Is this about...the secret mission?"
"Yes, sir," the woman replies.
"Well, come in," Reiken commands. The woman walks in, throwing her briefcase on the desk, closing the door behind her.
The woman opens her briefcase, taking out some files and a laptop, "We've found the location of Deadpool's teleportational device. The hard part is going to be tapping his teleportational frequency. He's acquired technology to prevent it from being activated remotely."
"And it's also short distance teleportation, correct?" Reiken asks.
"Yes, but our intelligence officers have found a way to make a trip here, assuming the mercenary stays in New York," the woman responds.
"Good. This so-called Merc-With-A-Mouth will be a new thorn in Bin Laden's network..."
"Are you sure? After Landau, Luckman, and Lake --"
"I feel the CIA can persuade Deadpool to fight for our cause," Reiken says.
"Will there be any political restraints? Technically, he's Canadian property," the woman explains.
Reiken smiles, "Until Department H, or whoever they are, brakes down our door, demanding their prized possession back...I don't give a shit."
"How will we persuade him to work for us?"
"A hefty sum. Maybe around --"
# # # # #
Bake-Time 13:45:29
"...thirty used gum wrappers, man..." Deadpool says with a little drool.
"Dude, I've never seen someone flat out stoned for this long," Jay says to Bob, who's munching on some barbecue chips. "Maybe we should go. The cops is long gone."
Bob nods as he and Jay get up to leave.
"No wait, don't go, man...we gotta play Nipster....er, Twister...one o' those games. Here wait...I gots Battleshit...oh, no...how 'bout Chinamen checkers?"
Jay and Bob ignore Deadpool's incoherent gibberish and jet out the door, leaving it creaked half-open.
"Guess not..."
Bob comes creeping back. Wade smiles widely, "Knew you'd come back--"
Bob ganks the bag of chips sitting on the sofa and sprints out the door.
"FUCK!"
NEXT ISSUE: Deadpool has a little trip he wasn't expecting...and it ain't the Playboy Mansion (that should narrow it down for ya).