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:
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?
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!