"Blue," the psychiatrist said.

"Red," I replied.

"Red," he said.

"Blood," I replied.

"Blood," he said.

"Kill, kill, kill!" I replied.

He smiled and chuckled a little. "I'm afraid, Mr. Poole, that you're quite normal. You have nothing to worry about."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"No, Mr. Poole, I am not, as you say, "shitting" you. Your answers are all normal, even when you try to be amusing," he said, an amused smirk on his face.

"I'm not trying to be amusing. I'm really kind of, well, crazy. Is "crazy" a psychiatry term?"

"No, Mr. Poole," he droned. "Crazy is offensive to legitimately insane people. Which you are not."

"What if I'm a homicidal maniac? Did you ever think of that?"

"Mr. Poole. Let's do our test again, shall we? I'll show you how normal you are."

I agreed and he started.

"Red," he said.

"Blood."

"Blood," he said.

"Bodywithitsheadcutoffspurtingblood."

"Mr. Poole, you're being incorrigible again."

"Dr. Quack, you're being boring again."

"Stop that."

"Start that."

"The test is over."

"The test is under."

"You're not funny."

"My ex-wife."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Ex-wife," he said.

"I've never been married."

He slapped his hand to his head and stood. "Mr. Poole, despite your attempts to be funny, which are thinly veiled attempts to hide your insecurities while in the presence of someone much more intelligent than yourself, you are quite normal."

"So, I'm not a homicidal maniac?"

"No, Mr. Poole. You're only a man of modest upbringing and intelligence who is insecure about his lack of education and has mild anxiety issues about interpersonal communication."

"Whew. That's a relief. Someone the other day called me a homicidal maniac and I was worried."

He smiled and began to pace around the room, stopping at a window to look outside.

"We have some time left, Mr. Poole. Let's talk. What did you do when this fellow called you a homicidal maniac? What did you do to elicit such a response?"

"Well, I had just taken out his sister and he was upset. So, I took him out, too, even though that wasn't really part of the deal."

"So, he was mad that you dated his sister, so you took him on a date, too?" He turned and looked at me, quizzicly.

"I didn't say I went on a date, I said I took her out. Wacked her. Eliminated her. Took her life. Exterminated her. Offed her. Rubbed her out. Liquidated her. Cashed in her check. Kicked her bucket. Bought her farm. You know, killed her."

His eyebrows furrowed. "So, then you took him out?"

"Obviously. I didn't even charge extra."

He gulped. "So, you're a contract killer, then?"

"Well, yeah. Oh yeah, that reminds me why I came here. Odd says to say 'hi'."

The blood drained from his face and he went white. I released the blade from its hiding place up my sleeve. It slid down my forearm and I caught the grip of the telescoping blade, simultaneously releasing the mechanism to extend it to its full length. I swung, removing his head in one swing. I walked around the desk, picked up the head by the hair, admired my handiwork, then put it in a bag I had brought.

"That's what I call a two-for. Odd pays me for his head, plus I get official conformation that I'm not a homicidal maniac. Such a great day."

This is a great imaginative piece Deadpool, you've got some kick ass RP skills, I hope you write some more.

Please write some more!

I pay for head?! why am I not receiving head then?

You're obviously not asking the right people.

~T~

Great read DealPool. I'm looking forward to more of them.

Wow, i'm impressed, this was very good.

Thank you.  I said that you would pay me for a head.  A decapitated human head. 

Deadpool you sick bastard.

laughs

nice story,kudos mate