bullseye: >punisher war zone 41 (feels good)
[personal profile] bullseye
[The night vision video from Deadpool's comm focuses on a man sleeping in bed. His clothes seem to moving. Upon closer inspection, however, it's not clothes; it's enough large camel spiders to cover the body. For a few minutes, this is all it is. Then it shrinks and a second video from Bullseye's comm appears by its side. It shows a damp, dimly light rooftop and a close up of smirking face, the forehead logo distinctive.]

Cuz some of you morons are still doubting my abilities, I figure I'll give you a little demonstration.

[He points the comm at a building two blocks away and then puts the it to the scope of his sniper rifle, revealing a view of Deadpool, still asleep, and the camel spiders.]

Let's see how many I can hit before 'Pool wakes up and I have to ice him too.

[He laughs gleefully, and sets the comm down such that we get a good look at him in action, a manic smile on his face. Sure enough, spiders start exploding on Deadpool's communicator. Bullseye nails every shot.

Until Deadpool rolls over in his sleep and cuddles the spider Bullseye had aimed for. The bullet hits Deadpool square in the mouth. Deadpool can promptly be seen rolling off the side of the bed, giant hideous camel spider tucked into the front of his undershirt with three creepy legs still feeling around his gaping, missing jaw. He reaches back under the covers and pulls out a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, pointing it out the window towards Bullseye.]


I SAID FIVE MORE MINUTES!!!!


[There's a bright flash as the RPG tears through the open window, before the video feed cuts.

Meanwhile, the quiet giggling from Bullseye's comm abruptly stops and his face falls in horror.]


Aw, shit.

[Hurriedly, he slings the rifle around his body, grabs the comm, and starts running, his boots pounding the rooftop.]

FUUU--

[The feed suddenly ends in an explosion.]


[ooc: responses from Bullseye will be icly delayed and no one in the building was killed.]
[personal profile] deadfool
[Deadpool is wearing a lei and a hula skirt over his costume. Guns are hidden very unconvincingly in the grass band. There's also a tiny umbrella from some fruity drink sticking out over one ear like one might place a flower in their hair.

This is his super subtle way of visually cluing everybody into the fact that he's in Hawaii atm.

SO NOPE HE'S NOT ACTUALLY FEELINGS JAMMED RN]


I just- [A sniffle.] I just love you guys so much.

Except Bender.

Because he's trying to take my lady.
[personal profile] deadfool
Hey. Has anybody seen a spare foot lying around? I threw it out the window earlier and now I can't see it. [Hopefully no one is terrified of heights, because Deadpool is pointing the camera down at the street below from out of his window. It's a long drop.] I mean I can get a new one but I really like that one. It has my shoe on it.

Oh!! [The video swirls back around to Deadpool's masked face. Imagine, if you will, the saddest solo violin music. Wait you don't have to, because Deadpool just turned on his iPod and started scoring his own post. Yeah.] Ladies and jerks, Arcade has left the building.

[He starts hopping backwards on his one... foot... towards the door that keeps bobbing up into view above his shoulder.] I CALL DIBS ON HIS ROBOT ARMY AND DVD COLLECTIO-- AIEE! [He suddenly slips over backwards like a cartoon character on a banana peel, and the comm goes flying out of his hand into a wall where the feed unceremoniously shuts off.

AND SCENE]
[personal profile] deadfool
YES. SWEET VALIDATION!

I'm a hero. Hear that, world? Deadpool is here to help! And someone is actually asking him to do it! On purpose!

[koff] I mean, not that I need it, as I'm already a card-carrying member of both the X-Men and the Avengers (or I would be, if they'd give me my freaking cards already), but it's nice to hear from a sexy lady computer. Anyone else see the mouth on her? She looks like she can bite a man's tackle off and keep on smilin', and you know what? I like that in a woman.

Computer. Thing.

Look, the important part is, does anyone know if she's single? I'd ask her myself, but I'm shy, and I've already got a couple boxes full of restraining orders so I'm going to try not to #@$* this one up.

Hello? Anyone?

Is this thing on?
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
All right, schmendricks and schmendrettes, it's time for a State of the Wade Update.

It seems that once again, our mealy-mouthed machine mama has seen fit to rob me of my rightful weapons geek/best bud Weasel J. Hammer, Millionaire, He Owns A Mansion And A Yacht. Or just loitered at the MAC so no one would get on his case about a lack of hygiene. I dunno. I swear, Squirrel Girl did somethin' funky with soul to him.


ANYHOW. Rather than mope openly and sell all his stuff again, the one and only Deadpoo-poo-poolio will be holding AUDITIONS for the much-esteemed, much-ballyooed and lustily coveted position of "BEST BUD."

Responsibilities will include fulfilling all my technological needs, listening to me kvetch about women who spend all night playing drunken Twister with me only to vanish in the morning and never call again even though they're supposedly a HERO type (*sniff* I feel so USED! *sniff--HONK*), and helping me find a new supplier of lovely merc supplies. In return, you will get a hell of a lot of tentacle porn and a vintage copy of Madonna's "Sex" book, wherein she fondles Vanilla Ice. For you young'uns, Madonna is Lady Gaga's mom, who was actually at one time more famous than her without actually wearing elaborate contraptions as clothing. Then again, giant cone-bras may or may not be considered 'contraptions.'

So line on up, send me your re-zoo-mays and make your case to hang with the Big Dog. The Head Cheese. The Honcho Sans Poncho. Who's up for becoming my new Sancho Panza, yo?

DUDES, FORM A LINE TO MY RIGHT FOR HIGH-FIVES!
LADIES, FORM A LINE TO MY LEFT FOR MAKE-OUTS!

Make yer pitches, bitches!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[Video snaps into view, and it's a very unpleasantly blood-spattered bathroom. Gooey bits of scaly chunks of flesh and goo and fishy parts are smeared on the tile.]

LOOK AT THIS!

[The image pans around, and good lord, is the toilet bowl an unholy bloody mess. There are fish eyeballs floating in the water, and a sword handle is sticking out of the chunky water.]

LOOK INTO THE MOUTH OF MADNESS!

[Image jerks to Deadpool's furious face.]

PIRANHA JUST ATE MY BALLS!

THIS IS NO OUTDATED INTERNET MEME! KILLER DEATH FISH JUST JUMPED OUT OF MY TOILET AND RIPPED MY CANASTAS OFF!

BRING ME THE HEAD OF THE SUB-MARINER! OR POINT ME TO IT SO I CAN COLLECT THAT UGLY VULCAN-ASS MUG MYSELF! I WILL FLOSS MY TEETH WITH HIS FRUITY ANKLE FEATHERS!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Here we are, scabies and germs! I think we've got our Quippy Quintet ready to go!

Your organizer and Mr. Fantabulous himself is me, and you can call me Wade, and you can call me Jack, but most folks call me a Deadpool or perhaps a kaiser blade.

We've got your lovely Miss Fantabulous by the name of Carmen, who may or may not be from Southern California and may or may not wear fruit on her head.

We've got your Human Larry Storch, aka Nick, who I'm sure we can persuade to be a smidge more personable come card time.

We've got the Ever-Lovin' Blue-Eyed Bond, Agent Double-Aught Siete, the odds-on favorite and man to watch out for.

AND last but certainly not least is our young Buck Buck Barnes, upstanding soldier for Unca Sam.

A motley crue if ever I saw one, but let's get this a-rollin'!

Here are some ground rules:

1. No cheatin'. Cheating is beating.
2. Cleavage encouraged. Not you and your great big man-pecs, Von Bondie.
3. If you're caught hiding the fact that you're a telepath and reading people's minds, also beating and possibly stabbing.
4. The host provides the hooch and snacky treats.
5. If you smoke a cigar, you have to talk like Lawrence Tierney.
6. No assassinations as the mission du jour. Some of us are moral types and some of us don't do that for free.


I got first hosties, so we'z meeting [here, on an off-shore casino boat Weasel likely reserved for them, at whatever time will work for everybody]. Come with your game face on, and knowing what you're gonna have us all do if you win, capisce?

Commence smack-talk now!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
ALL RIGHT, SCHMENDRICKS!

THIS is how you're gonna treat a brotha?

I go to all the trouble of breaking into the Super-Duperman Gathering o' Champ-eens to pitch all y'all my Fantabulous Five - aka the Caliente Cinco, not to be confused with the Caliente Carl, which is a whole other thing that puts you in prison in Tijuana - and ain't nobody done signed up yet? I MADE A SPREADSHEET AND EVERYTHING. Okay, Weaz did, but STILL. DON'T MAKE THAT SWEATY NERD SWEAT FOR NAUGHT!

COME ON, gringos and gringettes! Monthly poker games, and the stakes are that whoever wins gets to take Our Fantabulous Selves on a kickass badassery mission of their choosing! What's not to love?

What's the matter, all you Col. Sanderses? CHICKEN?
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
WHAT IT IS, SOUL BROTHAHS AND SISTAHS?

This is Deadpool, your friendly neighborhood Soldier For Hire, reminding you that my vast experience in the fields of shooty-shooty, stabby-stabby and gooey kablooeys makes me your number one choice for all your Impending Civil War needs! Just like my bro-hem Weasel is making with the gun sales, the tawdry wares I'm sellin' are my services!

You need someone to hunt down stragglers and make them register their zappy-fingers as lethal weapons, give me a badge and set me loose! You need someone to skydive into LA-LA land and start collecting heads, I'm your headhunter! You need someone with a scarred up face to wear a Confederate soldier uniform and trot around the Wild West riding a horse with two gatling guns strapped to its sides? I'm a Hex of a guy for youze! You need someone to wear a stovepipe hat to take a bullet in the head while watching a production of CATS? You couldn't ask for a more willing victim!

So whether it's gun-totin', chump-smokin' or sucka-chokin' you require, for a reasonable price (plus expenses), I'll even bow and call you sire!

Sure, that rhyme was a stretch,
But I don't wanna hear you kvetch!


So who's got a li'l somethin' somethin' for a good soulja boy to go boom-boom all up on? And I'll offer a percentage to anybody who knows how to get me in touch with the president so I can make the same pitch. So act now, before I smack y'all with a ShamWow!

Video Post

May. 4th, 2010 07:11 pm
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[Thumping bass and wah-wah guitar roll out over the comm]


Anybody here order a pizza with extra sausage?

It's spicy. Oooooooh, yeah.

Video:

Apr. 13th, 2010 07:52 pm
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
All right, kid bopz. Word of warning. We've got a chumpstain by the name of Victor Creed floating around this septic tank of a town, and I aims ta give this joint an enema and flush that punk-ass punk down the ol' human toilet. He's tall, he's hairy, he's blond, he's a putz, he smells like a pack of wet dogs wearing collars made out of rotting intestines, and he actually calls himself Sabretooth, but he's so stupid he probably spells it with a W.

There's no reasoning with this prickolini, there's no appealing to his nice side. He eats kids and slaughters unwed mothers for fun and profit. He also gutted someone close to me and left her to bleed out and die in the fucking gorilla cage at the zoo. You want an undignified death, they don't get more besmirched than that. He's never paid for that. He's gonna, if it's the last thing I do in this charlie-horse town.

Cops, you can give this one a rest and let the Tights Brigade handle it. I'm looking for volunteers who might wanna saddle up and run this sumbiznatch outta town. And by that I mean lock him in a cell somewhere, crucify him and then jam metal piles into his eye sockets and stir his brain up until it's mush, so his brain can't heal right and his healing factor doesn't ever kick in proper-like. Who's with me? Lo-Lo The Dog-Faced Boy? This sounds like a perfect time for an Overexposed X-Character Team-Up! Any other X-Geeks lookin' for payback? Let's git-r-done.


Also, appropos of nothing:

HEY IRON FIST!

No, not you strange pack of Brubaker Blasts-From-The-Past who are littering this joint with green tights and karate chops. I'm talking the current K'un L'un Kookaburra with the ballet booties and the sweet pec-tatt, the one with the girl-fro who still calls herself "Misty" in this day and age. YEAH, YOU. When we gonna get this Heroes For Hire action rolling in this dump? I mean, Sweet Christmas, you need me to rock a tiara and an open collared yellow shirt? I'll do it! C'mon! Let's be do-gooniks for cashish! Bring your new Fisty buddies in the green jammies club! We'll be a kick-ass team of kickpunchers!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[Screen opens in a dumpy, disheveled nerd-haven apartment with technology up the wazoo, looking out from the point of view of a computer monitor. There's a box that once read WEASEL'S NO-NO BOX, but 'Weasel' has been scratched out and replaced with 'Wade.' Suddenly, a comm unit wearing glasses walks onto the screen, puppeted by a red-gloved hand,starting to dance on the keyboard.]

Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Degenerate. Nerd.

[Then, another comm unit sashays on screen to a 'boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-boom-boom,' similarly puppeted, with glittery squirrel stickers all over it, speaking in a seductive voice.]

Dork. Dork dork dork dork dork. Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooork. Fluffy fluff.

[Weaz-comm looks up to Squirrel Girl comm]

Nerd?

[Squirrel Girl comm leans over to whisper into Weazcomm's ear]

Dork dork-dork-dork dork...

[Weazcomm then finishes off the 'shave-and-a-haircut' rhythm with] DORK DOOOOOOOOORK!

[Then, the two comms start making out. NERD! DORK! OH DORK ME NERD! OH NERD ME DORK! Then, Wade comes onto the screen, tucking both of the comm units into one of his pouches, but keeps shaking it once they're in there, as if they're still going at it.]

Sorry about the lack of special effects this time, but as you can see, my own personal ILM, Lord Weasel of the Farthington Weasels, seems to have been zapped outta dodge with his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed babycakes Squirrel Girl. Just to help my boy's cred, he was totally tappin' it when the ol' zapparoo hit, from what I can tell. There's rodent fuzz everywhere in this dump. Maybe her tail's not the only thing that's bushy - HAYOOOOOOO! ZING! THAT'S IN THE NIGHTCLUB ACT!

I kid, I kid, she'll die a virgin.

ANYhoo, this stuff's all mine now, so don't get any idears. Not that you want any of this junk.

[He roots around in the No-No Box and pulls out a DVD.]

I mean, who wants... oh, oh man... Bi-Curious Tentacle Broads #69... I remember watching this with Weaz... both of us crying... me out of abject horror, him out of his twisted aroused humiliation...

[he hugs the movie to his chest]

*sniff* My little nerd bro-hem's all gone...

[Yes, he's still shaking his pouch, which he looks down on now.]

You... you just keep on 'penetraitoring' wherever you are, you sick li'l monkey...

[Then, a sharp look back to the screen.]

JEEZ, GIVE A GUY A MOMENT, will ya, ya mawkish sons o' biznatches?! PREY ON HUMAN MISERY, why don't ya, you rubberneckin' lookiee-loos! YOU FEEL BETTER NOW, spying on a guy in mourning, you invasive little paparazzi prickolinis?! I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL DISASTER PORN!

[A beat, then a quick dive back into the No-No Box]

That'd be this one - 20-12": Mayan MILF Mania. Available now for $29.95 from Wade's Wild Weasel Warehouse Clearance Sale! All offers entertained as long as they're entertaining! All your orders will be delivered discreetly! No credit cards and you can damn well bet I'm gonna C.O.D.! Act now!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[Video opens on a banana swinging in a makeshift miniature hammock made from a sparkly red thong. This banana has googly eyes glued to it as well as a sharpie mustache scribbled in beneath.

The banana's voice is given with a sort of smarmy, oily barroom casanova sensibility.]

Soooo, Deadpool, you understand that we here at Avengers Local #422 Incorporated (A Registered Trademark of Stark Industries) have decided to terminate your employment as a do-gooder, stand-arounder and man about town and, as such, we have to conduct an exit interview to better gauge the terms of your involuntary parting of ways with The Company.

[The top of the screen reads: Deadpool's Avengers Exit Interview]

[Cut to Deadpool, leaning back on the hind two legs of his chair, spinning a gun on his finger, feet up on the table in the conference room.]

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Tony Toni Tone. Thank you for taking time out from trimming your precious little metrosexual van dyke and getting Captain America killed to rub your nonsensical moral superiority in my face.



[Cut to Banana Stark.]

You're quite welcome.  Here in Starkland, we strive for the most bare-bones appearance of propriety at all times.  Now let's get this over with shall we?  Question #1:  Despite the fact that we're firing you because we're getting all up in your personal beeswax and violating your Second Amendment right to kick the ass of a schmuck who had a lot worse comin' to him, how do you feel about your overall Avengers experience?

Oh, just ducky! Let's see, we went to an island to fight a crazy naked plant chick once, who I'm sure you eventually nailed. The crash pad was certainly a sweet set-up, although it's a smidge less fun with a Commie spy strutting around in skintight black leather and then scowling down her nose at you when you notice her. And you can't really complain too much about a club whose central philosophy is 'be passive, be reactionary.' The keen motto printed on all the memos is "just stand there." What a cush gig! Who knew there was an amorphous morals clause? Did your long-suffering secretly-wants-you secretary Pepper sneak one of those in so you'd keep your 'nana in your peel?


[A full pepper-shaker slides up next to the banana's hammock. It's wearing a red Barbie wig and it is smeared with lipstick.]

Ahem. The motto sounds more impressive when Luke Cage says it.

"Sweet Christmas" sounds impressive when Luke Cage says it. So does "Surfin' Berry Punch Kool-Aid." So does "It burns when I pee."


Question #2: Does your experience with Original Avengers Brand Avengers make you more or less likely to join Norman Osborn's inferior and evil knock-off Brand Ecch Avengers?

[Cut to a Brillo pad with googly eyes stuck to it, wrapped in an old banana peel. On a stick, blatantly puppeteered by a red-gloved hand. Speaking in a Vincent Price voice.]

Hey! Cackle Cackle! I resent your implication that I employ evil psycho freaks in disguise as heroes that nobody here even knows and also I'm evil and psycho and throw cute college broads off of bridges and throw exploding pumpkins at children and kittens! I have a necktie! That automatically means I'm on the up and up! My Avengers do a lot more obnoxious PR whoring, therefore we're superior and neat and NOT AT ALL TOTALLY EVIL!

That's not a necktie! You're in an old, crappy version of my super awesome Lego armor!

Hogwash! I'm in a super fancy version of your stupid crappy armor!

Why are you dressing like me? It's so embarrassing and gauche!

You're the one dressing like me, because ignoring history and facts like Fox News is my specialty!

I was here first!

I was here best!

You are a poopface! Although I have to say that seeing you in my costume gives you a certain... je ne sais quoi...

You have armpit breath! And yet, I find your meticulously maintained facial hair reminds me of this gay cop I once had a brief fling with where we moved into a cottage in Vermont together for eight months and knitted each other sweaters until I hired an old actress to replace his mother and die so I could get his inheritance.

[The googly eyes start to stare longingly at each other.]

Take off the armor and thank me for starting the Civil War so you could rise to power.

No. You first, and thank me for being evil enough to make you look like a good guy again.

We'll do it together.

Okay.  No backsies.

[70s wah-wah guitar starts to play, with a thumping bassline, as Banana Stark starts to peel off one layer, and Brillo Osborn echoes it. Brillo Osborn starts to gyrate, then casts off his peel entirely.]

Ravish me and learn why I'm actually the Gonorrhea Goblin!

[Banana Stark is out of his peel, with the google eyes and sharpie stache now on the naked 'nana, which is also sporting a gimp mask.]

I hooked my armor up to the Clapper, to go with my case of the clap!


[Brillo Osborn and Banana Stark suddenly ram together, a quick cut to the Pepper shaker screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOO" in Darth Vader's voice and - ]

CENSORED )

[Cut to Deadpool, staring in abject jaw-dropped horror, with blood seemingly streaming from his mask's eyeholes.]

I'm... gonna... see... if the Defenders are hiring.


[Madly, he scrambles out of the room, and the screen goes black with some accordion fanfare and the word "Fin." And yes, there's a shark's fin drawn on the F.]

Video Mope

Dec. 13th, 2009 12:39 pm
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
So my girlfriend ported out after getting knocked up by some ass clown and stiff-arming me for weeks, and it feels like for-good this time.

Yes, Warp-Ass, she was my girlfriend.

I've hit my maximum allotted time of listening to the "Once" soundtrack in the bedroom I was never allowed into while smelling her sweaters.

It's time to get unimaginably fucking drunk and relearn the meaning of the word carousing.

Who wants to help me cash in on my half-ass Real-Actual Avenger celebrity status and be my entourage? Volunteers and activity suggestions are highly encouraged. Teetotalers need not apply.

No pubs beginning with a Mc or an O' or ending in a Shaughnessy or a Blarney allowed.
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
So, my girlfriend is on hiatus before she let me know the skinny on where we stand, so I'm looking to kill some dead air time. So, why not join a third superteam?

So what's all this then about a team called the Titans? Complete with an orange hottie for Kirkin' and a midriff baring magic chica with bad taste in men? What's a brotha gotta do to get on the squad? With the Avengers big "stand there" plan and X-Force pitching a fit about silly 'membership votes,' I've got some free time, and Stark blocked the Skinemax down Mansion way.


Also, hey X-Men! Got any need to teach kids about high explosives? I'm available for tutoring your impressionable youngsters in the way of mutant badassery! Gotta school 'em on how NOT to rely on their cute little power tricks when some Bastion-style yutz slaps a collar on 'em!

Boyoboy, what I wouldn't give for an inhibitor collar and a week in the Bahamas with pre-Gambit Rogue...
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
AVENGERS! You best be out there ASSEMBLIN'!

Here's the scoop. 'Just standing there' ain't cuttin' it now. I've had to do more fershlugginer kneecapping today than I have in years, disabling these psychotropic yutzes. What are all y'all doin'? Who's on antidote duty? Where's Stretcho McDistinguishedGrayTemples when you need 'im?

Oh, and here's a fun bonus! I'm kinda sorta immune to this toxic shoxic, so if we got some contamination nations to search and delouse, I'm yer schmuck.

Remember kids, all clowns are jerk-ass jerks. Stay outta their vans.
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Hey, Red... er... Theresa.

I'll take you up on that talk now. Still feelin' chatty?






[Oh, Desire. This won't end well.]
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Here's the deal, kids.

My snuggy wumpkins just got ported out.

This means one of three things. 1.) She'll be back on Sunday with about six months worth of new ridiculous mutie drama dumped on her head. 2.) The 12-year-old Age of Apocalypse version of her will show up in a month and a half. 3.) I'm never seeing her again, which means I need to hurt people.

In lieu of the hurting, I need you to tell me everything you know about this "M-Day" crap I apparently need to start paying attention to.

And everything you know about Jamie Motherscratchin' Madrox the Multiple Mutt.
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[The comm unit crackles to life, with a briefly shaky shot of a ceiling, the corner of a fluorescent light. A glimpse of a shower curtain, and a green leg.

Accompanied by truly atrocious sounds of vomiting. An immense amount of gagging and panting, before disturbingly solid toilet splashing of puke, as that green leg flails a bit, before slumping to the side.

More panting.

More vomiting.

More panting.

Then a long moment of stillness, before the green, sickly face of Wade Wilson manages to slowly crawl into frame, looking gaunt with dark-circled eyes and crusty ugly drippings from the corners of his lips.]

Shit.

[Weak fingers try to manipulate the comm. And try again.]

Hff. Don't get cancer, kids. Knowing... half the bbbb...fff.

[His head slaps onto the screen, and it blinks off for second, then blinks back on.]

...M'comin', Death, baby... if... iff...hkkk ya make me go back... dun...dun make me frget hur, pleez... k? k... mak me frget shttrstr...

[It blinks off again. This time for good.]
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Photobucket


WHAT THE DONKEY KONGIN' HELL IS THIS MONKEYSHINERY ALL ABOUT!?

Video Post

Sep. 21st, 2009 04:17 pm
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
[[with an American Flag flying behind him, and "Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen" playing.]]

HEY. ACTUAL NON-FAKE NON-SECRETLY EVIL AVENGERS.


Yeah, even you, Cockeye.


HOW'Z ABOUT WE GET SOME ACTUAL ASSEMBLIN' GOIN' ON, HUH?


Who wants in? I'm here kickin' it around the ACTUAL REAL DEAL AVENGER MEETING TABLE.

I EVEN BROUGHT PUNCH AND PIE.


Let's fight some fargin' crime, shall we? ME WANT DO GUD.
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
HEY HOWDY ONCE AGAIN, SCABIES AND GERMS!

Holy hoppin' hot diggity dawg, I'm back in Dumpsville, USA! Who loves ya, baby? Dudes, form a line to my left for high-fives! Theresas, form a line to my right for make-outs!


C'mon now! Fess up, yutzleys! Who missed the ever-lovin' red-clad Deadpool? I want sniffles! Quivering lower lips! I want parades and keys to various cities and their bedchamberses and chastity belts! I'm dishing out hugs for the first 50 snugglebunnies what need some Quality Wade time, noogies non-negotiable. Shatheaaaad? I know you've been pining for good-natured yet biting barb-a-papas about your hair-don'ts! Ricky Rictardo - how's all that anger management going, vato? Tu madre esta puta muy gordita y fea todavia? Sammy Hucklebuck Cannonballs, how's yer hug-a-jug flava?

Portly Nazi War-Freak Yuckbag Modern Major General! Still goose-steppin' your gooey little Twinkie-lookin' ass all over this burg hunting your unstoppable Chocula archnemesneeze?
Lusty Homo-Monkey-Luscious! Still Bitchy McBitchcakes?
Hey Lo-Lo The Dog-Faced Boy - still humping way beyond your station?
Tony Starkers! Still mortaging your soul for temporary feeling of snuggly security?
Eddie, My Nygma! How goes the 'getting free money from the gubmint' infomercial action?
Hey Bullshizer! Hope you're still kickin' around the pokey with Carnagie Hall!
Sladeykins, how the drill-winkies treatin' ya?
That's So Raven! How's the accidental witch business goin'?
Sally Jupe-Jupe! Tassel it up!

What's up with my Avenger damies? I just got back from a supa-doopa inspirational multi-world ass-kick-a-thon and wound up in the big-time Hero Club back home! I'm tellin' ya, Aunt Petunia's Fugliest Nephew even invited me to poker night with the cigar-chompin' squad after I helped the Flighty Avengers kick all sorts o' symbiont dino-ass all over Manhattan! Seriously, Black Widowmaker, you were even there for it! I totally covered your flank and every-thang! So'z I'm ready to get a-workin' to cleaning up this crapyard now that I've gotten the ol' yankeroo back to Stanktown. Somebody gimme a badge!

And three things. I need a shout out from my boy Weasel, I need to see that glowy-eyed old Messiah-borg I know and guy-love can't be dead here like he is back home, and I really need to know if the lurve de me vida is still here and singin' her sweet sweet song I done missed so much. Conas atá tú, bean mo chroi?

So what's the happy haps, you crazy-ass alternaverse? Holla at me, Dogberts! How long have I been vamoosed?
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
So, hey, kids! I blew up a giant drill-faced laser-puss sandworm of death not too long ago, and set my canastas on fire in the process. YOU'RE WELCOME, AMERICA. Just kickin' it Assemblin' Avenger style! LEGIT Avenger, too! Not a nutbag like Bullseye playin' dress-up and wearin' a skirt. Sorry, Bullsy, you used to be cool but - no, wait, I used to SUCK when I ran with you. By the way! How's your orthodonture holding up after I knocked half yer teeth out with a manhole cover way back Atlanta way? OH SORRY, YER IN THE STIR. Enjoy the pokin' in the pokey, putzley!

Just a word up to the federales - if you get a lotta reports about some flasher-masher type of freakazoid, write 'em off, because that was me spending about an hour lookin' for pants after they burned off.

While the conquering zeroes are off droppin' their mushroom stamp on LA-LA-wood, I saw we find whatever yutz just tore up the town with this thing and hang 'im off the Empire State by his underwear. After beating him bloody with a garden weasel, of course.

Didn't these same giant phalluses - phalli? - poop up a month or so back? Why, yes they did! Thanks to me kickin' my boy Weaz around until he puked out an archive search, I think we can safely name Slade aka Def-stroke the Germinator, as our worm-monger du jour, no?

Where are we on forming the lynch mob? I still need to be issued my torch!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
HEY, X-DORKS!

Where the hell is Theresa? If she got caught up in that orgy-mania she'll NEVER get over it...

Come on, tell me you guys have been playing patty-cake and jenga in your HQ all day and don't even know why I'm freaking out...
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
No time to waste BSing with you bozos.

"Personal massager" store. Need one stat. STAT, I SAY! I don't know how long this is gonna last and I need me as many crazy unique girl-style Os as I can crank out ASAP!

MAKE WITH THE 411!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Well, that sucked great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts.

EMT types, you may wanna get over [here]. Found Chief McClane here under a pile of drug store rubble and over a couple of crying kids. Somehow, he's still breathing, but he's broken all to hell. I don't know how he's alive... except, y'know... he dies pretty hard. He's John Motherfucking McClane.

Weaz? Where you at, chumpley?

Are the Avengers Assembling?

Did Big G blow up in a big ball of gooey splatter like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man? Because I think we got gypped if he didn't. I was lookin' forward to wading hip-deep through dino-splatter.
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Hey howdy, scabies and germs!

Huge news! It turns out that after a long soul-search in Seoul - best place to re-sole your soul, by the by - The Merc With A Mouth, The Shout from Down South, The Brandon Routh Doubt, The Jerk With The Clout aka Deadpool aka Supa-Fly TNT aka The Guns of the Navarone aka Yours Motherscratchin' Truly is thinkin' the unthinkable and drinkin' the undrinkable Kool-Aid and going legit. That's right. 2 Legit 2 Quit! Straight as an arrow and dancin' on the narrow!

Now I know what you're thinkin'! "Deadpool!" you cry, in anguish that I might become a douchebag softie like Gambit, who wears his lame criminal past like a badge of 'ain't I mysterious' smarm when in actuality any two-bit criminal worth his salt would drag him by his ugly stupid headwrap into the dirt and curbstomp him to free that lovely brassy broad Rogue from her Yoke of Angst. "O Deadpool! How will you maintain your trademark devil-may-care panache when you have to actively pay attention to your conscience?" I say thee 'hey!' You forget that costumed vigilante-ness is, in itself, just as reckless and insane as being reckless and insane is! "What, ho? A garishly-colored ne'er-do-well is gallivanting about town and breaking many things in the public domain, including a truly atrocious rendition of 'Ain't We Got Fun?' Thanks, ho, for the 411! I shall don yon tights and down yon bon-bons and won-tons, up yon bon mots anon and Sally & Ted Forth into the beyond to go throw my super stud self into imminent danger in order to save some fat schlub from dying three weeks earlier than he's scheduled to from his massive 5-pizza-a-day coronary!" It can be done! Only the Perfunctory Lack Pizazz!

So what does this mean for YOU, my fine feathered freaks? It means I am available for super-team recruitments! You hear right! For the first time ever, the highly-valued commodity oddity Deadpool is open for offers, so make 'em shiny! I'm kickass with the chop-sockey, I'm hilariously taunt-cocky and you can't beat me at tonsil hockey! I'm the total package, kids, and if nothing else, I make a good pincushion to draw enemy fire, what with my healy-dealy.

So what'll it be? Will I don the blue and gold and fight for a world that hates and fears me? C'mon, you let Beak in! Will I assemble with Earth's Mightiest Heroes? C'mon, you let D-Man in! Will I wear pointy ears and flap like terror in the night? C'mon, you dress teenagers in garish 'kill-me' colors! Make with the rootin' tootin' recruitin'!
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Calling All Antiheroes! All My Antiheroes Inna Place Say "Hoe!" All My Antiheroes Inna Place Say "Garden Weasel!"

Aiight, listen up, my damies. My name is Deadpool and I'm a mayhem-aholic. I like punching dudes, shooting big loud guns and blowing stuff up good 'n' boomy-like. I'm a huge fan of chaos and fomenting hilarious rebellion and sedition and bar brawls and all those other funktastic fighting festivals a fella can foment.

Son, I've made a life outta beatin' people's faces,
Totin' heavy hardware and blowin' stuff sky high
But it seems that stuff's a-changin' cuz a pretty Irish face is
Makin' me want somethin' else, so I needs me some advice


So how do you ex-bad guys, hookers with hearts of gold and you play-by-your-own-rules types handle leaving all the fun and frolic of lawlessness behind without becoming a huge wuss, a snotty condescending douchebag or a total buzzkill? Does a guy gotta brood and wallow in guilt and scold no-goodniks all the time if he's trying to play on the side of the angels?

They say once you go cape, you never escape... does a brotha gotta be a goody two-shoes, or can one of my shoes be a total spikey badass knee-high KISS boot kinda thing?
[identity profile] wadewilson.livejournal.com
Wait a consarned minnit galoot.

Is there actually someone named LUST floating around? Like, "weird metaphysical embodiment of the very concept of randy mojo?"

If SO, I've got a boner to pick with her about making a super-fly hot clown.

CLOWNS SHOULD NOT BE HOT. But that Harley Quinn chick turns every one of my cranks.

What the fudge are you tryin' ta pull, homeslice?! Am I not broken enough, ya gotta break me more? I had a nice seething hatred going and you gotta throw the works in my spanner!

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