“Yeah, boo hoo, ‘ya had a $&#% day, just heard about Kate Spade, I get it. My day ain’t exactly been a walk in Pee Wee Herman’s shoes, either. First ‘ya get swindled out of a deal, a fat paycheck, after a night of Netflix and kill with Tori Spelling’s crapshoot of a twin, then what? The &$#@%/ wuss up an’ books it to Tijuana.”
The reminder of what transpired hours ago left Deadpool once again seeing red. And with a click of the Desert Eagle, he fires a few rounds of bullets into the lone glass that’d been left behind on the counter of the bar.
“When I get my hands on ‘im, I’m gonna rip his innards right out of his @&$ and use it as a jump rope.”
Carlos jumped in shock and he stared incredulously at the masked man. “Dude, what the f@$*??“ he asked. “I don’t know who Kate Spade is!” Who the hell – who let this maniac into the bar?? “And I don’t know who would even want to walk a day in Peewee Herman’s shoes.”
Carlos swallowed and scoot his chair away, turning toward the other man defensively. He tried to relax – he couldn’t freak out.
“Look, uh, I’m sorry you’ve had a sh*t day yourself,” he said as carefully as he could. “Uh, but I don’t think property-damage is the answer. I mean, heh… what could a poor little glass have done?” Has someone called the police? He hoped so.
The Perfect Scientist 