Deadpool

Hey there, lube believers! Wade Wilson here, pecker peddler to the stars! By which I mean I like to ride my trikey on rooftops and "forget" pants. Oh, ain't I incorrigible?

Being a gigolo is hard enough as it is. Not only do I have to be the personal piston of any sasquatch with an extra $100 laying around, but some of them have issues that frankly I'd rather not get involved with. I'm not talkin' about the normal abnormalities, here. Hell, I don't mind an occasional 'daddy' being yelled back at me ('less of course I'm in a paternity hearing). We're talkin' real, serious, Marv Albert-level problems. One of these charm school all-stars wanted to get in a pantomime horse with me! Even worse, I had to be the back legs. After that, I couldn't get the scent of cheese out of my nose for weeks.

But this is shaping up to be one of the top...fifty worst tricks all week. I got picked up by a limo by a very womanly voice I couldn't see the source of through the smoke and since I hadn't had a cigarette in 10.83 seconds, I jumped in like Roseanne at a pie-eating contest. Only I had regret afterward, 'cause now, I'm in the limo, but it's full of guys in black suits, ski masks and what they lack in senses of humor, they make up for in guns and halitosis. Even the woman was a guy with a voice-altering gizmo, which really bops my bishop. A brisk and brief conversation learned me that I was a loser even among guys who stood on the street selling their salami and that they were going to put me through hell like no mortal has ever imagined and that by the end of the night, if I was alive I would pray to God not to be.

Worse still, I'm pretty sure they aren't gonna pay me. Looks like those fuzzy dice I had my eye on will have to wait.