First Blood

I pressed the flap of grossness that used to be my ear against the back of the bus to listen to what was happening inside. Tragically, I'm stupid, so all I heard was the engine. On the plus side, it was in tip-top shape! Not a rattle or clang to be heard. Other than that, nothing, which was a real shame since the tire exploded without any kind of warning whatsoever. Seriously, is a knock on the back window before the bus flips like it just found the Space Jump asking too much? Thinking quickly for me, I pulled one of my swords and dug it into the bus and held on to it like the golden ticket and shockingly, I didn't get tossed that far away. Off the road, yeah, but I was still in New York.

I shook the percussion section out of my head while telling them to learn to keep rhythm and started to the bus. I walked at first, but then I remembered doc not saying Copycat could heal. I ran.

When I got to the scene of the twisted....burning...wreck, it looked like....she was fine. Smurfette was blue, clothed and standing by the door with her arms crossed.

"Thanks for joining us, newbie," she smirked.

"Thanks for the **** invite to the bus gymnastics meet."

"Aww, did oo hurt yo widdo head?"

"No, just my pride. Oh, wait. Yeah, I did hurt my head."

"You'll live. Now go make sure the target won't. He's the heavyset guy looking around for a toupee."

"Jawohl!" I got in the bus and the sight was less pleasant than a deer carcass, MUCH less pleasant than seeing a woman smack her noisy baby on a plane. A bunch of people were having bad last days and some were just cut up or seeing if someone else was alive, which they weren't. They cried, but it was kinda funny to see someone ask a torso if they were okay then look down and find out why they were getting the silent treatment. And wouldn't ya know it, the target was not only looking for his rug, he was completely unscathed! Not a cut or bruise on him. Jesus, ten people just died but the one I would've been hap-hap-happy about was fine and practically whistling.

He looked up and was stunned to see me. Then he smiled. "Oh, thank God you're here!"

".....huh?"

"You have to help me! I lost my toupee! Its black, parted on the left, shaggy! Please, help me," he said. I stared at him, not only because of his priorities but because he seemed not to get what I was doing there.

"Look, DeVito, I ain't here to help with your bad hair day. I'm here to tell you "'Pool says you're Dead"!"

"What?"

"Didn't like that one? How 'bout 'Life's a bus, and then you die'?"

"What are you talking about? Aren't you a superhero?"

"I should say not! In fact, I've been hassled by a couple. By the way, if you're reading this, get a life and stop being bitter I wouldn't 'help you' because you're a good guy, Reed!"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Batm-no, wait, better not. Copyright lawyers are ravenous! That rules out 'the stone that the builder refused' and 'the visual', too, I guess. Too bad, too, because I think an introductory rap is just what this place needs to get jumpin' again. Just think of me as your guardian angel, only completely the opposite."

"I don't follow."

"Oh, fer the love of Stan Lee, I'm here to kill your chivalrous ass!! Didja get it that time!? Do I need to explain it some more for you!?"

"You wouldn't have needed to explain it at all if you'd just said that the first time," he said, getting upset.

"And go without a cool catch-phrase!? Forget it! What's the point of all this if I don't leave these people with nightmares every time they hear a certain set of words?"

"How often would they hear 'Pool says you're dead'?"

"Lotsa people say that!"

"Then you're unoriginal!"

"OH, NO YOU DI-N'T JUST SAY THAT!! Why, I oughtta smack you up for saying that! Mama 'Pool said I was very creative. Artistic even! Or was it autistic? No, ARtistic, duufuntly ARtistic!"

"A creative man wouldn't use a phrase everybody else uses. You don't hear people walking around saying "Gary Smash" or "Just your friendly neighborhood Jimmy", do ya?"

"Maybe I have! How about that, smart guy?"

"Whatever. Are you gonna help me look for my toupee or what?"

"Asterisk-dollar sign-ampersand-number thing, no, I ain't gonna help you look!"

"Then go away so I can find it."

"Fine! I didn't wanna talk to you anymore anyway! So there! NYAAH!!" I stormed off the bus in a huff. "Can you believe that dork!? Callin' me unoriginal, callin' mama Pool a liar. I oughtta go back in there and kill him."

"You already killed him, didn't you?"

"Well, I...uh....Aw, dammit!!" I went back in.

"Now what," he yelled. I pulled out an MP5 and lent him a mag's worth of bullets, rather forcefully.

"Put that in your pipe and get arrested for the nice comfy high it induces," I said triumphantly.

"t-...terrible...catch-phrase..." Still trying to get the last word! Can you believe some people? I drew my other sword and gave an emergency entrails-ectomy. I waited to see if he would make any more smart-ass remarks, but unless a gurgling noise counts, he didn't. As I walked away, I turned back and quipped "Wade slash."

"..."

"What was that!?" Silence. "That's what I thought."