Copycat

Hmm, lemme think. Do I want the short-tempered hobbit, the guy who never got over his bad audition for The Lion King, Petri (20 'dollars' if you get it) or the Human Jell-O (TM) Mold? Or do I opt for the sexy redhead who thinks I got picked up off the set of Mask?

"I think I'd like to work with Copycat," I says. She smiles a little. Score! Usually ugly-fetishists are no prizes themselves. Or at least that's what Moon Knight tells me.

"Copycat? Why," says the doc.

"What?"

"Well, she's hardly the most qualified. Why not take Sabertooth? He is exceedingly eager."

"You betcher ass, new fish," says Sabertooth. "C'mon. Ditch the frail and lemme show you how it's done in 'Rection X."

"See? He would be a much better choice than ms. Carly-than Copycat."

"Now is that nice? She looks like she can handle herself. Besides, you wanted me to waste the clown, right? If backup is pretty much to keep me company on the ride over and while I wait to pop him, better it be someone like her. I mean, Wolfy seems like a real good killer and everything, but he's not exactly a conversationalist," I say. Doctor, which I'm capitalizing only because it's a new sentence and I dare not invoke the wrath of my second grade teacher, doesn't seem fazed.

"Your logic is flawed on two counts. First, there will be no discernible 'ride over' to the **** point. 'Rection X is a highly technological organization, and we've no time to waste on cars and helicopters. You will be teleported. Sec-"

"uh, ex-squeeze me? Teleport? I was awake for all but a couple hours of my 'training' an' I don't remember anything about learning how to teleport."

"Like I said, technological. Second, you will not snipe the target. 'Rection X works not in shadows, but in daylight. We do not hide or cower in fear. You and Copycat will meet your target face-to-face. Then, you will slice his off."

"Okay, look, if those meddling cops are taking it slow so their cameraman can keep up, maybe, but if not, you're gonna have yourself a few cop-killings linked to you." By the way, if you lost track, that was me what said that.

"The police. Hmph. They wouldn't touch us. I could fax them everything about the hit, and you wouldn't hear so much as a siren."

"Eh," says the Irish girl, as if coming back from La-La Land.

"No, I said 'siren', not Siryn. Next time, check the spelling. Anyway, Deadpool, even if the police were able and willing to apprehend you, they would be unaware it was you. You will be going in disguise."

"Coolest," I squeal. "Please let it be Raphael! He's my favoritest Ninja Lizard in the yole wide nyeurld!"

"Oh, its much better than a K-Mart (TM) Halloween costume. It is...an original."

Ten minutes later, me and Ms. Kinko's are on what appear to be searchlight sandwiches and I'm wearing a costume. The lights are apparently teleporters (riiight...), and the costume is...

Well, its not that bad, actually. Sleeveless, which is good for New York summers, and black with red eye-ovals. Plus, I got me two cool-ass ninja swords, coupla MP5s, some flash-bangs, some more direct grenades and some C4. I guess 'in the sunlight' meant 'flashy and loud, with no concern for bystanders'.

Cheap bastard wouldn't gimme a Swiss Army Knife, though. Always wanted one, but mom said I'd put my eye out with it.

"Are you ready, baby," purrs Copycat.

"Not before a mission, please...OH, you meant to go do this assassina-oh, right, yeah, I'm ready."

"Good to hear."

"The bus," says a voice much more enraging than ms. Carly-something's. "is civilian. Also, the target has no idea he is a target, so security should be non-existent. Copycat, stop the bus by pretending to be someone in need of assistance. Being a woman, the target will insist on helping you. Just make sure you are a woman."

Oh, crap, tell me she isn't a dude with an amazing rack and face I just wanna thrust. I may not always get customers you'd immediately ID as human, but at least they all had vaginas. Maybe they weren't all born with them, but they had them when it counted. To me.

"Deadpool, you are to storm the bus, kill the target and then return here."

"Who do I pretend to be?"

"A competent employee of mine."

"Ouch! Score one for herr doktor!"

The two lights were suddenly really bright. Now I know how the creme in an Oreo feels.

No sooner had I pieced together that delicious joke (delicious!? Oh, man, I slay me!) than I found myself standing in the street with a headache THIS BIG and a bus speeding toward me. Having not been dropped on my head as a baby more than a couple times a week, I got out of the way. Copycat was in the ditch I cannonballed into. Now, instead of looking blue, she looked the same, just like a white chick. And not the Wayans-style white chick. And...and....

Holy Hanes, she was naked! I mean, I've been around the block as well as had sex with a lot of women, but this one was...big tits but as much perk and shape as ones half their size on a woman of an age too low to say on Chyoo.com!

"Oh, man," I said, looking stupid, I'm sure. I'm liking this mask more and more. "I know I said no bouncy-bouncy before a mission, but I'm open to compromise."

"Classy. Did you really just call sex 'bouncy-bouncy'?"

"uh...maybe."

"Jeez. Third-grader talk aside, here's the plan: I'm gonna run out there and play ****-victim. When they stop, I'm gonna put a little C4 on the tire, just enough to give the bus a nice rotation or three. When it's stopped for good, get on, ice the dork and we'll call it a day. Questions?"

"Yeah, two. First, if the bus was speeding toward me, how have we had time to say all this? Second, if not now, howzabout later on the getting to know one another in a Trent Reznor kinda way? Feeling from the inside, sound of 'fuck' being said backward you like an animal, that kinda thing?"

"We'll see. When I get on, follow it. Ready?" With that, Copycat stood up (it took all my willpower not to smack that beautiful ass. I've seen sunrises, I've seen flocks of doves. I've even seen the Playboy with Drew Barrymore in it. That ass trumps 'em all) and run out into the street. She made a convincing **** victim, something I'd have to ask around about later.

Sure enough, the bus stopped and let her in after an argument over fare. Then they took off.

Now, running isn't beyond me. I've been able to walk long enough that my legs felt like they were made of meat and bone instead of my grammy's apricot preserves. But why run and maybe lose the target when you can follow in ways so much smarter, Ron Popeil would be jealous? I dashed after the bus and grabbed onto the rear windshield wiper. Bad idea? Maybe. Dangerous? Yup. Overestimation of how able I was to grab on to something that tightly pressed to the window? You betcha, but next time, ask shorter questions. But ya know what? I didn't lose track of the bus.