I found a website the ability to turn me into a slogan. Here are my favorite results:

*It's a Deadpool adventure.
*Deadpool tested, mother approved.
*All Deadpool, all the time.
*I'd like to buy the world a Deadpool. <--I have a going rate for World, you know...
*Look for the Deadpool label.
*Moms like you choose Deadpool.
*A Deadpool is forever.
*Kids will do anything for Deadpool.
*You've got questions, we've got Deadpool.
*Probably the best Deadpool in the world.

And my personal favorite: Strong Enough For a Man, Made for a Deadpool.

So there I was, covered in motor oil, when she walked in with some jumper cables and a car battery...

What? Oh, right. Wrong anecdote.

So there I was, hoofin' it across the Rumekistan-Latveria border, because Latveria is too fascist cheap to have their own international airport. Doom was right, those Latveria Air pretzels are awful! I mean, they tasted poison-flavored! WHO DOES THAT? Luckily I had some Rolaids in one of my pouches good thing Liefeld drew me with about a thousand amirite because that was quite possibly the worst case of heartburn I've ever had.

It took me several hours to find the nearest Latverian village, and I was more than a little peeved to find out they had a taxi service all along. If you can call a yellow cart attached to a painted yellow horse a cab service, that is.

Once I arrived at Castle Von Doom, the cab driver/horseman (regrettably, not headless) unceremoniously shoved me from the cart and fled in a hurry. Maybe they've seen the rats, too.

Speaking of rats...let me just tell you these things were NUCLEAR, man! I'm talking small mammal-sized. Stephen King "Night Shift" sized! One of them just about gnawed my leg off, so I pulled out my pistols and rained down an unholy firestorm upon it and his Rabies-infested family. BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!

Then Doom busts in and starts chewing my ass about how he wanted things to be humane (dictator killing rodents humanely, does anyone else's Irony Meter explode at 40 points?), how I was putting pock-marks in his new wood floors, and how he can't hear Dr. Phil over the gunfire. Sheesh, some people! They hire you to do a job, and jump your case when you start doing it!

Being the gracious client that I am, I holstered my pistols and switched to katanas instead. Doom was even less pleased with this, I think. Something about heirloom drapes...I don't know, when that much blood starts flying, my ears start ringing and I get tunnel-vision. I was ankle-deep in entrails in the catacombs of the castle when I realized Doom had followed me down there, waving his arms and yelling bombastically.

I was like, "what?" and put my swords away. It's hard to listen when someone is talking in mostly capslock duh, I can read speech bubbles, don't you read my comic? but I managed to pick up something about how long the blood would take to wash away. I said, "Look, Megatron, that wasn't in our contract. You just paid me to EXTERMINATE these Ratatouilles Brad Dourif-style. I ran out of chew but them pistols're the best I got."

Doom paid me to leave. I don't think I'm allowed back in Latveria, either.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WORLD!