We now return to our regularly scheduled programming of “What Was Dane Thinking?” Today: LOGANKENNY. I got to thinking about what it would be like if Jared Keeso from Letterkenny Problems was cast as Wolverine.

By @ashliehammond

Creepy fucker had snuck right up on him. Bob didn’t warn him. Never did. Bob knew he could handle himself. Hell, Bob knew to stay the fuck outta the way - keep his mouth shut and his eye open.

He’d been busy prying the door off some rich fucker’s car. Rich asshole was long gone, probably burned up by the bombs, but he knew that a lot of those assholes kept good shit in their cars. Back in the day, fucking with a car like this one would have resulted in alarms and electric shock and a bot showing up to arrest or kill him. But now? Damn thing was half cracked open by bombs or fire - just waiting for a smart guy to come along and take advantage. Time to finish the job.

He’d been excited, hoping for something good, but this fucking nasty monster just had to fuck with his day. He hadn’t had a fucking clue the thing was even there till something hit him hard from the side, sending him flying over the hood of the fucked up car.

That fucking hurt.

He was smart though. Smart enough to keep his bat on his back. He’d pulled it and grinned, spitting blood, hoping the stupid thing was alive enough to get scared. It grumbled, making weird ass noises as it shambled around, trying to figure out where he was. Stupid fucker. Like it hadn’t been the one to fucking hit him over the fucking car.

He jumped up on the car and swung hard at it’s head, laughing at the sound it made when the wood connected. Like hitting melons, ripe and ready to eat. It swiped at him again, but missed this time. He laughed and swung again, putting a fancy-feeling wind-up into it. This time, the thing’s head burst, just like those fucking melons used to. Hell, he could practically hear the stupid farmers yelling at him from across the fucking field.

“Death 831.”

He grinned at Bob and kicked the smelly fucker away from the car. No reason to have to smell that shit while he worked, right? He’d had enough of working through a nasty stench before the bombs.

Grinning, he got back to work. Sure enough, the rich fucker had stored some good stuff. A nice pair of spiffy sunglasses, piles of cash, a small gun, and a Nuka Quantum were all stuffed in the glove box. In the back, he found a suit. Too fucking stuck up for the likes of him, though. Fancy bullshit wouldn’t even go a day without catching dirt and filth. He shrugged and kept digging. Shitty rotten shoes, a newspaper, an ugly hat…

The briefcase made him grin. Rich fuckers carried good shit in those, right? He pulled it out and tried to open it. Locked. No problem. He set it down, grinned at Bob, then cracked it open with his bat. Right. Crumbling paper filled most of it, but at the bottom under all the trash, he found a bag of small tech parts.

By @ashliehammond

He snuck into the old Red Rocket in a terrible mood. No donuts to be had, and the fucking assholes ruined his god damned shirt. Brand new bowling shirt, torn to shit in less than a god damn day. Not that those stupid little skin wearing assholes could even understand good clothes. He’d show them. Ruin a man’s clothes and get what they fucking deserved.

Behind him, the Eye hummed approvingly. He grinned at it, glad something in this stupid world wasn’t shit. Thing was kind of like a pet, really. Better, since he didn’t have to feed it.

Hell, he should probably give it a name.

Behind him, the fucking weirdos were still looking for him, shooting their piddly little fucking toys in the air. Back in his day, men fought with their fists, or real fucking guns that made real holes people couldn’t get over. These assholes were practically spitballing him. It was enough to ruin his fucking shirt and piss him off, but he wasn’t going down from fucking spit balls. Stupid bitches.

He limped into the garage and hit the door button. A couple of roaches tried to surprise him, but he punched them right the fuck out. He didn’t have time for that stupid shit.

“Death 823.”

“Death 824.”

With the Eye right behind him, he shoved over a counter to block one of the doors. Fuckers could stop fucking around and come at him if they fucking wanted him. Like god damn men instead of animals, if they even knew how to fucking act like it.

He waited, but the sounds of their shitty little guns and their stupid threats got softer, not louder. Assholes couldn’t even follow a guy who’d killed half of them. He snorted, then looked over at the Eye.

Bob.

He’d known a Bob once. Worked with him for years. Guy knew how to keep quiet and stay out of the way. Loyal too, Bob was. A good listener, but he’d never gone around blabbing his fucking mouth about shit. Yeah. A man needed a Bob around sometimes, just to talk to.

Fuck yeah.

By @ashliehammond

*adult language*

“Diamond City.” Right. Fucking Fenway is what it was. God damn morons didn’t know a ball field from a fucking neighborhood. Stupid, stuck up assholes.

Thought they were too fucking good for the likes of him, apparently. Fucking bullshit is what it was. Didn’t he have money? Fuck yeah he did, loads. Caps too, since these morons all thought that shit was better. He’d dressed up too, raided a fucking store before he bothered to come this way. But no. God damn assholes thought they were too good to let him in for some stupid reason.

Assholes.

He’d even planned to behave himself. Sell some stuff he’d picked up, maybe find another comic or two. Get that fucking thing on his back looked at by some quack. But no, they weren’t willing to let him play nice. He’d show them. He’d fucking show them something for sure.

Lots of nooks and crannies outside the ball field. People used to get mugged out there after games sometimes. Now though…now… He grinned. He fucking show them.

“Death 810.”

Taking out a “Diamond City” guard wasn’t that big of fucking deal. Just a guy with a stupid ball uniform on and what the fuck was the big deal about that? Stupid pricks. Didn’t even know what fucking baseball was, probably. He’d used his fists, laughing as he hit the guy into paste. But the guy dropped a real sweet bat, and he’d picked it up like a favorite girl. Missed his old one something fierce.

It was so damn easy, he took out two more using the bat, ambushing them from the dark like the god damn dangerous animal he was. People should fucking learn to avoid pissing him off. You’d think the god damn giant eye would fucking give them a clue. How many people had those watching their every move? Only him. Exactly.

“Death 811.”

“Death 812.”

By @ashliehammond

**adult language**

“Death 809.”

Breathing hard, he looked down at the scrawny dead guy at his feet. Stupid asshole was dressed up like a weirdo in one of those vault getups, which just made him an easy fucking target, really. But what was really interesting was that thing on the guy’s wrist. He’d heard of those, back in the day. Computers that you could carry around on your arm. Before the bombs, he’d laughed at the idea of something so dumb, but now? Now, he kinda wanted one. He’d offered to let the guy go if he gave it up, hell, he even meant it, mostly. But no, the asshole just had to fight him. Stupid. Now vault boy was dead and he was gonna have it anyway.

Damn right.

He dug through the idiot’s backpack and grinned at the six pack of Nukas. Tossing one back right away, he sighed with appreciation and looked back at the dead guy’s arm. He’d sorta thought it would just come off when the guy died, but it was attached better than that. Appreciating that his new toy wasn’t so easy to steal, he tugged on it.

Damn thing was really on there.

He frowned and sat back. This was gonna take some work. Not that work was a problem really, wasn’t he willing to work for what he wanted? Hadn’t he always had to work for what he wanted? Same old, same. Right. No big deal. He’d still have a fucking arm computer.

After popping another Nuka and taking a swig, he set it aside and pulled a hatchet out of his own backpack. Hefting it, he considered the dead guy and the bright screen. Then he grinned and cut that fucking arm off.

It was kinda surprising how much blood came outta the stump. He scooted back fast, before it could get on his new jeans, and watched it pool up on the dirty subway floor. Wow. Kinda made a guy wonder just how much blood was in a whole person. A lot, for damn sure.