999 Reads | Published over 6 years ago
It's not every day you, shit. How are people supposed to know that I'm narrating here? Or that I'm swinging down a light pole a la Spiderdweeb? Or that my costume is totally...on backwards.
-hey, you. Pause and read again in five minutes-
-No seriously, go away I've gotta fix these pants and take a whiz.-
(5 minutes later)
[There we go! Brackets. Brackets mean narration! Got it?
Anyway, I was saying: It's not every day one of my kind gets a chance to branch out of the ole' panel-and-page comic book and jump into the real world!]
As Deadpool narrates to the reader, himself or the churro he has recently eaten, he removes a katana from its sheath and stands defiantly before the cityscape. He thinks briefly on the katana, and wishes it was a Hanzo Hattori sword. He then wishes he was Uma Thurman, though he did the eye-rip thing the other day and it was awesome.
A nameless thug emerges from the shadows, uzi in hand.
"Bang bang, he shot me down." Deadpool sang as he leapt high into the air and inserted his katana into the thug's shoulder the way one might insert a debit card the wrong way at an atm. The uzi sprayed bullets into his arm, and Deadpool cussed. "Cuss! Oh wait, that's Wes Anderson." He shook his head and his sword and walked down the alleyway to pose for the art.
"I better outsell those stupid owls." He muttered as he held the gun to his head, promptly spilling brains and gore about his skull as the "FTW" sign shot through his cerebral cortex and unfurled.
[There you have it folks. I'm Deadpool, and I'm on some pretty good art, so ya know. Do what you gotta' do.]
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