Holy hillbillies in a high-rise, my small but fierce crowd of fantastic fans! Have we ever been having some adventures over here! Sorry you’ve had to endure a few sad, lonely days without my wonderfully whimsical and winning quick wit, but hey, masterminding a plan to steal the most essential part of a superhero’s costume EVER takes dedicated, time-consuming hard work. Also we stopped off at Hershey Park after we finished the job. Wanna Kiss?
I know you all want to know how it went down with Captain Teeny Wings, but, y’know, I gotta be careful about sharing trade secrets here on the “blogosphere,” or one’a those two-bit, has-been wannabe other merc agencies might start trying to be as cool as us. So I’ll just give ya the short’n’sweet’n’expurgiated version of how we pulled it off:
We caught up with Cap in Las Vegas, where he was headin’ into the Bellagio; apparently this whole “losing-at-poker” thing isn’t the only gambling issue he’s got. I bet you can imagine the stir that was going on when he started playin’ blackjack, what with him still being in costume and all, and kinda on the drink, too – and then when he started losing, well, you never seen such a big crowd of feebs all standing around trying to give a man advice or stop him from going another round. We coulda just jumped him right there – I mean, between me, Orca X, Outlaw, Tasky, Bob
Hail HYDRA!, Mary, and Weasel on tech, we coulda taken him out no problem – but Iron Man was real specific that we weren’t supposed to hurt him – “Don’t you dare hurt a hair on his pretty head, or I’m not paying you,” is I think how he put it – so we had to figure out how to get ‘im alone and take ‘im out gentle-like.
Once we saw the state he was in, we gave Outlaw that job. We figured what with all that long blonde hair and her, ah, enhanced assets, she could lure his drunk butt into a nice quiet corner where she could work her magic and then, y’know, emwingulate him. Sad to say, though, the Cap didn’t seem real interested in her enormous…charms. So then we gave Plan B a try. Plan B involved me, Orca, Mary, Tasky, AND Weasel, and a whole lotta complicated machinery. And possibly lubricant. Tragically, I can’t say any more than that or I’d hafta hunt ya down and kill ya, and I’m really getting kinda fond of you guys. So, y’know, “skip to the end!” We managed to extract Cap from his crowd of adoring but increasingly concerned fans without a single one seeing where he went, and hauled his staggering be-winged self off to an empty room. Bob
Hail HYDRA! was all for tryin’ to reason with him (“Iron Man won the teeny wings off you fair and square, Cap!”) but that pretty much failed miserably (even drunk, that dude can really pack a punch!).
I’m not real fond of people punching my pets, so I mighta, y’know, smacked Captain Teeny Wings around a little after that, but really, the bruises’ll fade long before Iron Man sees the guy again, (considering we left ‘im tied up in a closet in his Underoos just for kicks), so I figure it’s all good. Anyways, after Cap was good’n’subdued, Tasky got out the chicken shears and we gave those wings the ol’ Snip of Doom. Then we FedExed ‘em to Iron Man in a big gold box with a shiny red bow. And that, my children, is how it’s done.
It was a good time, but now I’m glad to be back at the office, ‘cause it means that I can…answer questions! YEAH. So here…we…GO!
Hi! I’ve been enjoying your blog, and I’ve got some questions for you.
1. I was listening to that song about Rasputin, and man, that’s either a durable guy or some incompetent assassins. If they hired you, how would *you* kill the guy?
2. Why is Cable’s last name Liefield-Nicieza and not Liefeld-Simonson? Did Louise disown him or something? Or is this something to do with you guys being married? Which I didn’t think you *were*, but I don’t know why else he’d have taken your creators’ names rather than his own.
Ooh, numbered questions! Shiny!
1. Well, my little comic, this one’s a tricky one, ‘cause there are SO MANY great ways I could kill this Rasputin dude, and it’s hard to pick just one. So I’ll pick two!
Clearly the man was all about consuming anything in sight, so I gotta say tiny grenades might be a fun way to go. This is the kinda guy who would eat grapes by the handful, I can tell, so, well…a buncha grenades work better than one, right? Just rig the stems like pins, paint ‘em kinda purple or green, offer the guy a plate, and, VIOLA! No more Rasputin! On the other hand, I woulda shot the guy just for wearing that doofy fur coat and the big fluffy hat, so another fun way to kill ‘im (well fun for me, anyway) would be to just suffocate the hell out of him with his own couture. It’d be doing everyone a favor. And, y’know, it’d make me laugh.
2. Nah, Louise never disowned the poor fool, even though she prob’ly shoulda. I was just givin’ you the short version is all. I don’t think even Cable can remember the whole shebang without looking at his cheat sheet, and hell, it’s a good thing he can bodyslide, because they couldn’t never fit that thing on a driver’s license. Anyway, Louise is in there with all the rest, but since the man’s a bazillion years old, people tend to shorten his stupid moniker (Heh, moniker. I like that word.) every which way just so they don’t get to be his age before they’ve stopped sayin’ it.
But since you’re so keen on knowin’ the whole deal, s’far as I can remember, it’s something like this:
Nathan Simonson Christopher Zercher Gesundheit Lim Charles Harras Askani’son Romita Summers McFarlane Winters Medina Soldier X Loeb Chosen One Churchill Priscilla Brooks Dayspring Portacio Campbell Brown Mutant Messiah Malin Jesus Wannabe Johnson Geronimo Jackson Liefield-Nicieza
Except, y’know, I think I forgot about fifty names. Close enough, right?
And tell ya what, I’ll make sure Louise is gettin’ her proper credit in the profile, too, just for you.
…Moving right along, then!
I HATE everyone that I work with. How can I deal with them without going all buckets o’ crazy?
Listen, pussycat (rrowr!), who says crazy’s such a bad thing, huh? I mean, I know one or two cats as is crazy, and sometimes they’re just barrels’a fun. But, hey, if that’s not your cup of tea, there are lotsa things you can do to maintain your tenuous grasp on sanity. Might I suggest pranks? Possibly ones involving duct tape (duct tape duct tape) and, y’know, sharp, pointy things? Or maybe torture, potentially via playing that one song about the horse that got lost over and over and over again until THEY are the ones that go crazy? Or hey, maybe just make ‘em look at drawings by Liefeld until they think all men were meant to look like monkeys! There’s all sorts of ways you can break down The Man, and some of them don’t even involve holding impromptu fundraisers where Renee Zellweger stands on the roof belting out the lyrics to a song by a one-hit wonder. (Although, damn, she was foxy in those little skirts.)
And if pranks aren’t your thing, I’d go with the old standby of a blowtorch and a new gig. Just leave ‘em in the dust (or, y’know, ashes) and find yourself a job where you feel more Zen. Trust me, you’ll never regret it.
Well, that’s all the answers I got time for today, ‘cause Bob’s been experimentin’ with all those different kinds of chocolate we brought back from the park, and he says his “Killer Chocolate Cake” will be ready for sampling in about two minutes. I ain’t gonna miss stealin’ a piece of that, even if he may have used rat poison in it. Oh, and speaking of Bob, poll results are in! Even though this whole “maybe guest blogger” thing was Weasel’s idea, the poor schmoe only got one measly little vote. It seems like after me (and, yeah, I still won by a landslide in the coolness department) the guy you most want to see answering your questions or blogging about our adventures is Bob, our very own little Agent of HYDRA
Hail HYDRA. So keep a lookout for an entry by Bob sometime, and don’t worry: if this cake kills him, we got Tasky on the line to take his place.
Ooh! The oven just dinged. Gotta run. So until next time, keep ‘em fueled and firey!