Great galumphing gazpacho on a grizzly! Am I glad to be here instead of hangin’ out in the pages of yet another Pool’o’vision-heavy storyline! *grumble grr rassumfrassum Pool’o’vision* But I gotta say, the Agency has gotten real dirty while I was out doing Secret Things with Secret People all those months. Clearly Agent X is gettin’ more bored than usual with the whole not-getting-to-do-anything-ever-because-fat-characters-aren’t-cool-unless-they’re-named-Kingpin thing. He’s gone and turned one half of the lobby into a crazy-ass shooting range, complete with whacked-out rubber duckies in a row (and doesn’t #4 look a lot like someone we know?). Remind me to clock him one for the giant poster of me with bullet holes in the head.
But enough about that crazy s.o.b.! We got more important things to talk about. Like how, finally, after more procrastination than twelve Marvel writers on a deadline, I’m gonna answer me some questions! (Please, please, hold your applause until the end.)
So starting from the very ancient and moving forward…
I do know how you love numbered questions. However my driving need for nonconformity means that they’ll be Roman numerals.
I. Only a few months ago did I actually start paying for the privilege of reading your comics (blame scan communities), and I regret nothing. But something really bothers me. The last two volumes of Cable & Deadpool cost, like, five dollars more than the rest. That might not seem like a lot to a merc with as much work as you get but I’m an art student, so my comic budget is pretty small. So what’s up with the sudden hike in price?
II. My friends and I are constantly arguing over the fact that some of us preferred The Dark Knight and some preferred Iron Man. Which movie did you enjoy more?
III. Why does your costume keep changing? I mean, how many different ways can there be to strap two swords to your back? Seriously. This is a pain to keep track of.
Oohh, Roman numeralled questions. You sure know how to appeal to a guy with classy taste – like me! Now then, lessee here…
I. Well, my furry little friend (and speaking’a that, get your cold nose outta my armpit while I’m tryin’ t’type, willya?) there’s a real simple answer t’that. The truth’a the matter is, guns are expensive, not even counting the endless ammo I need so I can do what I do best (yeah, yeah, tagline copyright infringement blah-de-blee. Bite me, Wolverine). And big guns are really expensive. So I bet you can imagine how much Liefeld-sized guns cost. And that’s just the beginning. After all the guns and ammo me an’Cable need, you got’cher grenades, yer knives, yer hand-crafted heavy-duty landmines, yer katana-handle-grip-tape (what the heck is that stuff called, anyway?), yer switchblades, yer Vaseline, yer crossbows, yer grappling hooks, yer fuzzy handcuffs, yer…well, you get the idea. The point is: Merc werc? It don’t come cheap. And what happened, see, is that suddenly, all our favorite suppliers showed up at the office to collect, and Cable and his wallet were off saving the world or whatever, and I’d just got back from Vegas (yeah, baby), and Nicole and Fabian and Reilly and the whole happy bunch’a mooks who chronicled The Amazing Adventures of
Kavalier and Clay Cable and Deadpool realized that they were, erm, a bit short’a cold hard cash to pay the piper. So: price hike! ‘Cause it was either that or Fabian lost a hand, Reilly lost an eye, and Nicole lost…well, they decided it’d be better to pay is all I’ll say.
There. Now wasn’t that a simple answer?
II. Ooh, now this is a toughie, doomed to inspire endless debates, just like the age-old question of who has more spine, Weasel or a jellyfish. But personally, I gotta say, I don’t see why we can’t just all get along and agree that Batman and Iron Man would totally be drinking buddies if the mooks over at Marvel and DC headquarters ever decided to get crazy and make that crossover happen. I mean, think about it: two rich miserable geniuses with messed-up psyches and way more gadgets than any grown man strictly needs. They could sit around all day moping about their problems and comparing Bat-a-rangs and shoulder-mounted missiles. It’d be an emo friendship made in heaven. Don’t believe me? Just watch this.
III. We do it just to piss you off. POW!
And on we go.
1) What big-name fashion designer would you model for?
2) If you were in the Olympics, what sport(s?) would you compete in, how many medals would you get, and what international judging scandal would probably arise?
Numbered questions: they make my world go round!
1) Well, my sweet li’l cherry pie, for this one I’d have to say Narciso Rodriguez. After all, his designs are red and black and scary all over, which fits me to a T. A’course, he’d have to go a lot less girly before I’d wear his gear, but, hey, I just bet with a proper (and sharp) incentive, he could make it happen. And you all know I’d look stunning.
2) Oh, ya know I’d rock the house at table tennis. I’d be all up in those judges’ faces, like, “WHO’S FORREST GUMP TO YA NOW, FEEBS? And they’d be so wowed they’d give me all three medals. And the ones from curling, since it isn’t really a sport anyway. It’s just something the Scots used to do between reaving to keep warm. And I guess I’d go out for judo, too, just for kicks. I always like the easy A’s. As for scandals, the real scandal would be when I challenged the entire judo-judgin’ panel to a knock-down drag-out fight and they ran away crying like babies. Ohh, yeah.
Ooh, would ya look at the time? It’s half past time for me to go kick some ass on another secret mission that you won’t be reading about because Way only writes about the ones with zombies in ‘em.
So until next time, keep ‘em locked, cocked, and ready to rock!