Deadpool

I’ve decided that the whole what-if-life-is-all-an-illusion thing is total bull. Words only have meaning in context, and context is only the result of comparisons, so everything can’t have a context. Say everything’s a dream, and dream becomes meaningless.

It’s as damn silly as saying everything’s real.

They’re announcing their existence just to prove to themselves they’re really there.

“The blind leading the bipolar? Sure.”

Kidnapping, or a complicated-but-loving relationship? You decide.

Kidnapping.

Kidnapping.

I step closer to give her a hug.

But if something’s going to make a sadist reevaluate his life decisions, having one of his victims turn into a raging monster and try to eat him may be just the thing.

No, because IT DOESN’T MATTER. Really. I know I’m in a fictional reality. While that might freak out most folks, it makes me feel better. It means that even if the Hulk had killed Mr. Snuffles, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt, since he doesn’t exist. On the other hand, it means there’s hope for the real world, wherever it may be.

Either way, IT DOESN’T MATTER.

I bet she’s an Internet troll. “You call keeping a predator in a Manhattan studio apartment ‘natural’? You call taking control over the fate of a living thing that doesn’t have a choice about it an ‘expression of caring’?”

Who knew you thought about this stuff?

Please. He’s just biding his time until he can heal.

This is worse than talking to the Hulk. Mobs are all about selective hearing. One idiot shouts something incendiary, someone else agrees, and before you know it, they’ve hit this funky tipping point. Suddenly, everyone’s in tune, and they all magically know the same lyrics and choreography—like in an episode of Glee.

The Lab tight against my belly, I spin backwards like a ball—not so much because I’m a skilled fighter who knows the best way to land, but more because I’m an object caught in the grip of physics, and that’s how I roll.

“Little girl? Tell me that’s one of your multiple personalities.”