Schmutzeuse to the Rescue!!!

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

IRON MAN!

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

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

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

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

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

infecti0n writes:

Dear Deadpool,

01. Will you marry me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

She writes:

Dear Deadpool:

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

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

Here it is.

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, keep ‘em oiled and coiled!

Bloated Blimp in a Blini Bikini, It Stinks in Here!!!

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!

Fry me up a frittata, Frenchman!

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!

My air conditioner is loud and Outlaw won’t stop singing

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!