The Bar With No Name

“Y’know, I’ve always wanted to come here, just never had a reason to. Maybe it’s ’cause half the guys in this place have tried to whack me at one point or another.” The man paused and rubbed his chin. “…actually, come to think of it, now I really don’t know why I never came here. I could ice these guys several times over, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I most assuredly do not,” said the man across the table. In his country, a Japanese man in a suit sitting in a bar would not be strange. But here in America, in a bar which catered to costumed criminals, he stood out quite a lot. “My name is Tanaka. I’m here to discuss a business venture with you, not your social habits.”

The man craned his neck, peering over Tanaka’s head to get a better view. “Holy shiznit, when did the Hobgoblin grow tits?! Did he get a sex change or something? YO RODDY! YOU EMBRACING YOUR INNER CHICK?”

A razor-bat flew at the man’s head and he ducked it as the Hobgoblin shouted, “I’m not Kingsley!”

“Geez, temper, temper…” He turned back to Tanaka. “If you don’t wanna be mistaken for a dude, don’t dress up in a dude’s costume. It’s like when you’re at a club and some chick’s grindin’ on you and then you go into the bathroom and all of a sudden—”

Tanaka’s face twisted into disgust as he held up his hand. “Please, don’t elaborate.”

“In my defense, the place was really dark and I had about seven shots of Jaeger in me.”

Tanaka sighed and reached into his pocket. He produced a photograph and laid it down on the table. “Can we please get back to business?”

“Right, right, just so we’re clear, I’ve got limits, okay? There are some things I just won’t do. A man’s gotta have integrity, y’know?”

“Are you telling me you aren’t willing to kill a man?” asked Tanaka.

“What? Oh hell no! No, no, no! I’ll put a bullet in my head if you’ll pay up!” He raised his mask over his lips, revealing the cracked and diseased skin beneath as he took a gulp of his beer. After wiping some of the run-off from his lips, he pulled the mask back down. “I’m talking about circumcision. I got contracted to do that once and…it didn’t turn out so well. But hey, the guy went on to have a very successful career as a pop singer, so really, his parents shouldn’t have gotten that bent out of shape.”

“This is the target,” said Tanaka, pointing to the photograph. It was of a man hovering in the air surrounded by flames.

“You want me to cap the Human Torch?”

“No, look at the mask.”

The masked man squinted at the photograph, noticing the white mask in the photograph with a red circle on the forehead. “…the Human Torch as the Phantom of the Opera?”

“That’s Sunfire, the national hero of Japan,” said Tanaka. “Lately, he has been causing quite a lot of trouble for my employers. We need you to eliminate him. Now, do you have any issues with assassinating a national hero for one million dollars?”

“Buddy, have you heard my name?” he asked. “Deadpool—emphasis on the dead! You want me to go to Japan to whack a dude for a million bucks? Then all I have to say is pass me my Hello Kitty underoos!”

TOKYO SUCKERPUNCH

Part I

By Dino Pollard

So here’s the deal.

Normally, you’re used to reading this in little yellow boxes placed over pretty pictures as you’re sitting on the crapper. But this ain’t comics. See, the guy writing this can’t cut it in comics, so instead, he fulfills his fantasies through this invention called fanfic. It’s just like comics. Except no pictures. And no money. And read by maybe three people, all of whom are the writer’s drinking buddies. And to get them to read it? He had to buy them a round at the bar. And then they only skimmed it while waiting for their porn to load.

Come to think of it, it’s not like comics at all. Actually, it sounds pretty pathetic, doesn’t it?

But I should probably stop judging. ‘Cause if I don’t, this guy will probably write me in a slash story featuring the Blob. Not that I got anything against gay sex, don’t get me wrong. I’m a modern man, I’m not prejudiced. In fact, there are only two things I hate—prejudice and fatties.

God, do I hate fatties.

It all goes back to my teenage years. That’s right, kiddies, it’s SUPER HAPPY FLASHBACK TIME!

See once upon a time, ol’ buddy Wade was a pimply-faced, scrawny bastard trying to save up money for a hooker by serving up fast food at the local McDonald’s Burger KingWendy’s Big Kahuna Burger (dude Quentin, what the hell?!) Generic-Burger-Joint-That-Won’t-Sue-Us.

Now see, this was before he started hating fatties. Back then, he loved fatties. They were so jolly. But that was before he had to serve them food. And one day, a big fatty, we’re talking needs-a-custom-made-toilet big, comes into the restaurant.

“Is this fifty cent burger day?” asked the fatty.

“Yes it is,” said Wade. And yes, I know I just switched to third person. That’s because this is SUPER HAPPY FLASHBACK TIME! Y’know, I’m worried someone’s gonna steal that. So now it’s SUPER HAPPY FLASHBACK TIME!™ There, much better.

“Alright, gimme fifty burgers, twenty-five curly fries, five bacon potato pies, a bottle of mayo, and a Coke.” The fatty paused for a moment. “Wait no, make that a Diet Coke.”

[[ NOTE TO READERS: Due to his participation in the wholesale slaughter of union organizers in Latin America, the Coca-Cola Corporation has allowed for mention of their fine products within the pages of Deadpool’s fanfic. ]]

“…..”

“You okay, kid?”

“…a Diet Coke?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

Next thing I knew, the manager heard shouts and came out front where he saw me water-boarding the fatty with Diet Coke (or would that be Diet Coke-boarding…?).

So anyway, back to the present. See recently, I was “contracted” (i.e. blackmailed—by the way, what the hell does i.e. mean anyway?) into working for an organization called Weapon Plus. Basically, they build super soldiers. They’re your one-stop shop for your patriotic Avenging heroes, your amnesiac overexposed mutants, and your crazed killer cyborgs. Now here, I’d go into another SUPER HAPPY FLASHBACK TIME!™, but we’re already over a thousand words into the story and aren’t getting anywhere with my rambling. So I’ll save the “How Wade Decided To Betray Weapon Plus” SUPER HAPPY FLASHBACK TIME!™ for the next issue.

“Wade, for the last time, I can’t rig your image inducer for porn viewing.” That’s Weasel, my bestest buddy. Or so I tell him ’cause otherwise, he’d stop doing shit for me. Once I got this job, I knew I’d need his help, so I webcammed it up.

But just for talking. Not for cam sex. ‘Cause I’d never do that with Weasel. I’d never do that at all. I get plenty.

“Nah, that’s not what I need,” I told him. “I got a job in Japan, so I need you to rig my teleporter so I can get there lickity-split.”

“…who the hell talks like that?” asked Weasel.

“Al and I live together again.”

“Right, blame it on the sweet old lady.”

“Shaddup. Can you do it or not?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Good, ’cause I’m ‘portin’ over to your place lick—right away.”

“Hah! You speak geriatric now. Maybe you should move down to Florida.”

I hit the button on my laptop and the connection broke.

“I heard all that.”

Standing in the doorway was my roommate/former prisoner/non-sexual lifemate, Blind Alfred or Al as I call her. And Blind’s not her first name, it’s the adjective form (wooo! Big word score!). She’s really blind. She’s like Aunt Harriet from that old [CENSORED BY ORDER OF TIME WARNER’S LEGAL DEPARTMENT] TV show. Except she’s blind. And a bitch. Actually, she’s nothing like Aunt Harriet. Plus did I mention she’s blind?

But she used to be a spy and she may or may not have doinked Captain America. So she gets cool points for that.

“How could you hear all that with Matlock blasting in the next room?” I asked.

“I have super hearing as a result of radiation blinding me as a child.”

“Really?”

“No, you idiot. The TV was on mute. You know I always hit mute when the commercials are on.”

“Y’know, last I recall, I was bein’ pretty generous allowing you to stay here,” I said.

“Wade, this is my house,” said Al. “You busted in here after that Weapon Plus nonsense and practically begged me with tears in your eyes if you could stay with me.”

I looked through the front window. “I did wonder where all those lawn gnomes came from…and the smell that’s a strange mix of hard candy and denture cream…”

“Right, so you live in my house now, that means you’re living under my rules,” said Al. “Which means, I’m going to be needing that foot rub within the next hour.”

“…foot rub? You must’ve been dippin’ into that cough syrup if you think my hands are going anywhere near those bunion-invested hooves you call feet!”

“Thank your lucky stars I didn’t ask you to give me a sponge bath.”

In my head, I got a visual of Al. Naked. In the bath. Holding a sponge. Covered by more liver spots than you’d find at a Golden Girls reunion. And I did what anyone in my position would do.

I screamed.

And Al smiled. “Enjoy the visual?”

I picked up the garbage can and vomited into it. “Don’t…ever…do that.”

“Then get ready for the massage.”

“No, nononononoNO!” I picked up my mask from the table and pulled it down over my face. “I’ve got a job to do, okay? I gotta go to Japan so I can whack some guy.”

“You’re going to regret this. How much does the job pay?”

“An easy mil.”

“Good, then you can stop by the grocery store on your way back.” She put down a list on the table before she walked out of the room. “And I want change!”

“…it’s not your money!”

“If I have to put up with you again, you’re going to start paying rent around here!” she shouted from the next room.

“Rassum frassum…stupid old biddy…”

Tokyo

So that’s how I ended up here in Tokyo. Thanks to Weasel, the teleporter was able to take me across the world and with my suitcase o’ guns in hand, I set out for the land of seizure-inducing cartoons.

Speaking of which, the country is not all it’s cracked up to be. No giant lizards, no used panty vending machines, and no mace-wielding schoolgirls. And the school uniforms? Not as much of a turn-on when they’re worn by actual schoolgirls. Then it’s just wrong.

But here I am (there I was? Tense is difficult in first person narration), standing at the top of Tokyo Tower, with a high-pressure hose and a tank. Something else Weasel managed to set up for me when I told him who I was going after. Now that’s a guy who really cares, I’ll tell you that much.

In the distance, I saw something bright flying towards me. That’s gotta be the dude I’m after. And here’s the except from the back of ol’ Sunfire’s trading card—the dude’s real name is Shiro Yoshida. Used to hate just about everything that wasn’t Japanese. Attacked America a few times and fought the X-Men until he found out his uncle was crazy. Then he joined the X-Men for about five minutes.

Turns out that’s a bit of a trend with the guy, he can’t seem to stay with a team for longer than five minutes. The X-Men, Alpha Flight, Big Hero 6—no one wants this guy. Although he was an Avenger once.

Wait…no…that’s at another site.

Anyway, he’s a pain in the ass. Probably why these Yakuza guys want him whacked. But when he’s all flamey-flamey, it’s hard to hit him. So that’s what this is for. The hose, that is. I pulled on the lever and some sort of chemical came out from the hose. I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s that stuff in a fire extinguisher and I don’t feel like checking out Wikipedia to find out.

Mental note: Edit my Wikipedia entry when I get home.

The chemical covered Sunfire, dousing his flames and because of that, he started to fall from the height. I hit my teleporter and vanished from the roof, rematerializing by his side.

“Come here often?” I asked.

“What is the meaning of—”

I grab him and hit the teleporter again and we’re back on the roof.

“—this?” Sunfire pulled away and turned his gaze on me.

“So here’s the deal, Sunpyre.”

“Sunfire. Sunpyre is my sister.”

“Wow…talk about a lame name. Did you sue her for copyright infringement?”

“What do you want?”

“Well Sunny, here’s the deal. My name’s Deadpool, you’ve probably heard of me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’ve been hired to pop a cap in your ass. Looks like you’ve pissed off the wrong people.” With that, I drew the twin .45s from the holsters strapped to each thigh, aimed them at Sunfire and pulled the triggers.

Gunshots rang out but once the smoke cleared, Sunny was still standing there, not a mark on him. He looked up at me, staring at me through the slits of that white mask he wore over his face.

“Blanks? Is this some sort of a joke?”

Blanks?

And then I remember something Al said.

“You’re going to regret this.”

“…oh, I am so pushing her down some stairs…” I muttered.

“You have other things to worry about,” said Sunfire.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“That chemical? It’s worn off.”

He burst into flames and glared at me with glowing red eyes. “I promise you this is going to hurt.”

NEXT: How will Deadpool survive this? Or maybe he won’t and this book will become Sunfire & His Arrogant Friends! But one thing’s for sure—cutesy Japanese chicks will be the death of us all! And be sure to check out the other books as part of the Reckoning event, like the first issues of Astonishing X-Men, Cable, New X-Men and X-Force as well as brand-new issues of X-Men!

THE DEAD ZONE

Sooo Stephen King will probably sue us for that. But I really couldn’t care less. The point is here’s where you people get to talk to me! See, Pollard’s too lazy to do this letter column himself, keeps whining about how he’s got a full-time job, runs this site, and writes about half the active titles in the community.

But I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m about to be flash-fried by a Japanese stereotype or anything like that…

That means this is where you send all your fan mail, love letters, free hookers, naked pictures and gift certificates to. If you’ve got death threats, letter bombs, or Al’s prescriptions, just send them to Joe Quesada. Because chances are if you don’t like something, it’s probably his fault anyway.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ with it.

Until next time, I remain…

-Wade Wilson, Esq. (I don’t know what that means, but it sounded cool when Alex Winter said it)