Wade's Busy Day

Cable finally found somewhere to sit in the house. He refused to sit on the couch; several pairs of red-and-black underwear were strewn across it.

Custom Deadpool underwear, you thought? Not even close.

Wade bought his underwear at a corner store: forty white pairs for ten dollars.

The red was probably blood. Cable didn't want to know what the black was. Who knew how long those pairs had been worn? They had gone stiff in the open air, their corners jutting upright like a spike trap.

Dust motes were clearly visible in the sunlight as they drifted down onto the underwear's sharp points.

"I thought you'd moved out by this point." Cable looked around and settled for the dining table. It was greasy, but no greasier than the couch.

"I did move out, but Vanessa's never home. At least Aphrodite keeps me company here. Sometimes loneliness really can drive a man insane. Can you see the loneliness and despair in my heart? Oh, little Cable, of course you can't. I've always looked like such a sunny, handsome guy."

"Don't call me little Cable, damn it."

"Why not? Scott, Jean, and I are all from the same generation. You should be calling me uncle. Hmm, Uncle Wade. Not bad. Sounds a bit like Uncle Sam. I need you! So, want to enlist?"

From somewhere, Wade produced a tall top hat painted with the Stars and Stripes. He put it on, climbed off the floor, and struck a pose from a World War II recruitment poster.

"Wrong hat. That's the Cuban flag."

"Is there a difference? I love the United States because the cops usually show up long after everything's over. But I like Cuban cigars, too. And passionate, dark-skinned Latina girls. Hey, we've got money now. How about a trip to