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So a mutant and a moron walk into a bar...
( "Who you calling a moron?"
"Well I can't just call you Bob, can I?"
"But that's my name."
"Yeah and it ruins the whole opening of my story. No one wants to hear a thrilling tale that starts with 'so a mutant and a guy named Bob walked into a bar'. It sounds ridiculous."
"Okay, fine." )
So a mutant and a moron walk into a bar...
( "Also, you're not a mutant."
"Pfft! That is a mere detail."
"I'd say that it's a pretty important detail."
"I'm smooshing up the facts to make a better story. Mel Gibson does it all the time and his movies turn out all right."
"Did you even see Braveheart?"
"Was that the one with all the sand, leather and Tina Turner?"
"No."
"Then I don't care."
"My point is, Wade, that you can't start the story with an outright lie. By now, these guys probably know you better than you know yourself."
"How very surreal. And it actually makes sense. Nice one, Bobbykins. So how shall I start the story?"
"How about you just tell the truth?"
"Oh predictability, thy name is Bill."
"Bob."
"Whatever." )
So a mercenary and his new friend Bob walk into a bar.
Now this mercenary wasn't an ordinary guy like you and Bob. Wait, I just assumed you were a guy, didn't I? Crap. See this is the kind of shit that gets people all riled up because you, dear faithful reader, could very well be of the female persuasion. Or maybe not? There’s a whole spectrum out there and I know that not all comic book readers are fat guys who live in the basement of their parent’s house and play Dungeons and Dragons on the weekend.
I just insulted the larger portion of my reader demographic, didn't I?
Double crap.
Ah fuck it!
( "You can't say the f-word!"
"Why not? This is my story; I can say what I like."
"I thought the comic had a strict PG13 rating?"
"I think it does, but this isn't the comic, Bob. This is the mysterious phenomenon known as fan fiction. This writer doesn't face the same restrictions as Fabian does. Therefore, she is awesome!"
"Oh, okay. That's cool."
"Do you have any idea what this means for me?"
"You don't get your little yellow caption boxes?"
"It means I'm allowed to swear like a sailor, kill twice as many people and I'll probably get to have sweaty, NC17 rated sex at least five times. Although knowing my luck and the state of fandom these days, it'll probably be with you, but I suppose it could be worse- wait, what? Hey wait a minute... WHERE ARE MY LITTLE YELLOW CAPTION BOXES?"
"If this isn't a comic then we don't need the caption boxes."
"I WANT MY FUCKING YELLOW BOXES! Hey, I just said the f-word again. God that felt good. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck. Sounds almost as awesome as duct tape. Duct tape, duct tape, chimichanga, chimichanga, duct tape for the motherfucking WIN! AHA!"
"Are you done?"
"Fuck yeah! I mean... yes, Bob."
"I want to know why you'd probably end up having sex with me."
"Oh it's a fandom thing. I mean, given half the chance this chick would probably have me writhing around naked with Nate quicker than you can say 'Brokeback Mountain'."
"Then why aren't you writhing around naked with Nate right now?"
"Because we're going through a messy divorce and I don't think it crossed this cheeky bint's mind to make us have angry, hate sex! Shit. I just put the idea in her head. HEY WRITER PERSON. YEAH, I CAN SEE YOU... I DON'T WANT TO HAVE HATE SEX WITH NATHAN, OKAY? Not until he's apologised for being all 'Hey, look at me. My name is Priscilla, Saviour of the World and you can kiss my shiny metal butt'."
"Did he really say that?"
"He could have. I wasn't really paying attention at the time. Jerry Springer was on TV."
"So because you and Nate are having, um, issues, I have to have sex with you?"
"Pretty much."
"Do we have to?"
"Hey, what’s the time?"
"Almost five. Why?"
"Because that means you're in luck, Bobblenuts. She's just finished her day at the office."
"So..."
"So her work day is finished. No more hours to procrastinate over all the hot, filthy sex we could be having, like, right now! We're getting away with it, my former minion of evil. You won't have to screw me seven ways from Sunday."
"Oh, that's good. I don't want things to be awkward between us just because we had to have sex."
"Who said it'd be awkward?"
"Um..."
"Sex is a beautiful thing, my friend. Especially if it's with me. I just want you to know that if we ever do sleep together... "
"Can we get back to the story?"
"What story?"
"The one you started telling earlier?"
"Do I have to?"
"I want to hear it."
"Okay, but it's gonna have to be quick because I'm so hungry I could eat my own arm right now. It'd probably grow back, y'know? My arm. Good to know if I'm ever trapped on top of Mount Everest or in a cave somewhere with no hope of rescue. I'd just eat myself until-"
"Wade!"
"Chillax, Bobbins." )
So a mercenary and his new friend Bob walk into a bar.
They got drunk, Bob got hit in the face by a rogue pool cue (which totally wasn't the mercenary’s fault, by the way) and then they went home and watched Mean Girls until Bob passed out face down in a bowl of salsa.
The end.
( "Hey that happened last night. I thought you had some epic story involving thrilling heroics and naked ladies?"
"Yeah, maybe another day. Did I mention that I was hungry? Because even my thigh is looking good to me right now."
"Can we have pizza?"
"You buyin'?"
"Providing we never have to have sex. Ever."
"Hey, don't look at me. Tell it to the chick with the magic fingers and warped imagination. Ooo that sounded kinky. Anyway, I'm sure HYDRA paid you well enough to buy me at least two pizzas. With anchovies."
"Hail, HYDRA!"
"You have got to stop doing that." )