The one thing I don't ever do is swear. It's the one sacred rule that I adhere to.
But Fuck that Energizer Bunny mascot! That white fuzzy bastard!
Actually, you know what, Fuck Energizer's PR team too! All of 'em.
And they should probably go into hiding. (Not that it would help 'em much.) Because right now, at this moment, they are oh-my-g-d, sooo fucked.
Like trapped-in-car-on-traintracks-with-incoming-huge-train doors-got-jammed type fucked.
Because I'm coming for 'em. Ohhh. And I'll find each one of those motherfuckers and ask the one question that will absolutely not be spoken aloud, and then I'll nail him, by his precious, holy nuts, to the nearest parking meter. And then I'll kill him. Stuck to the meter.
Well, maybe sometimes in reverse order. Shoot first, dick nailing after, asking question last. Maybe in some other order. I aim for variety. Ye' know, keep it unpredictable.
And I'll do it right as soon as I get out of this shitty hospital. I'm just waiting for my legs to regrow. (Shouldn't be more then a coupl'a more hours.)
And yeah, I know exactly what's going through that naughty little mind of yours. Your wondering what Deadpool — the formidable, unkillable, Deadpool — is doing in a hospital.
And let it be known, my young Padawan, that I did NOT admit myself here. And if only it hadn't been for that old woman who'd called the ambulance —or, for that matter, if I wouldn't have been cut in half by Zimo, (Hydra motherfucker,) I'd be killing some serious bad-ass.
Which actually leads me back to the beginning. How we got to the little furry Energizer motherfucker.
All I was able to do in this g-d foresaken place, is use the TV. (Which incidentally is the best operating machine around; all of the machinery connected to me keep going ape-shit and beeping annoying enough to annoy the dead back to life.)
Anyways, so here I am watching some crappy, yet weirdly entertaining 90's show, and then IT happens. The shitty, Energizer-mascot, shit-dispensing, Bunny.
Every freaking set of ads.
And there he is, with his drum hanging across his chest, like he's a fucking celebrity bunny. Like this headache that's been throwing a tantrum and multiplying its annoyingness by bringing his friends, and blatantly refusing to leave.
So ye— oh wait. My legs are all grown. I'll be seeing you soon, my young Padawan. Don't eat dinner without me.