Amazing Adventures of Gambit's Ass
Ask Logan
Cult of the Belt Buckle
Meditating Logan

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"You know what they say: life's a bitch and then you wind up in some crazy chick's harem universe." -- Logan
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Devil Doll: "Hello, and welcome to our new feature, Ask Logan. If you've got problem, he can help."

Logan: "Sure, the Cajun gets twenty pages glorifying his scrawny ass and I get to answer questions from a bunch of whiners who are too stupid to figure stuff out for themselves. Figures."

Devil Doll: "Don't insult the readers, Logan."

Logan: "I'm just sayin'."

Devil Doll: "This is an honor, Logan, and you're the best guy for the job. You've lived a long time—"

Logan: "You callin' me old?"

Devil Doll: "—and you've got a lot of experience—"

Logan: *leers suggestively*

Devil Doll: "—so you're the most qualified, really."

Logan: *suspicious* "I'm the most qualified?"

Devil Doll: "Yes."

Logan: "You've got a scientific genius, a British book-worm, and an undead know-it-all hanging around this place, and I'm the most qualified?"

Devil Doll: "Um, yes?"

Logan: "I smell a rat."

Devil Doll: *pauses* "Well, we should probably get started. Our first question. Dear Logan: I really like this girl I know, but I'm afraid to tell her because I'm not sure she likes me back. What should I do? Signed, Unsure."

Logan: "Heh. Well, this is an easy one. If there's one thing I'm an expert on, it's women."

Devil Doll: *rolls eyes*

Logan: "Here's what you do: sooner or later she'll get attacked by aliens or big robots or somethin', and then you save her life. Make sure you get hurt real bad in the process. Not enough to, you know, kill ya or, ah, impair your manly abilities or anything. Just enough to make her feel sorry for you, feel kinda bad that you got hurt on accounta her. Then what ya do is—"

Devil Doll: *interrupts* "Logan, I'm not sure that's very realistic."

Logan: "What? Why? Okay, fine. Listen, Unsure, just screw up your courage and tell her you like her. Maybe throw her up against the wall or down on the bed and—"

Devil Doll: "Logan…"

Logan: "Hold on, I'm just gettin' to the good part here."

Devil Doll: "I know. That's why I'm stopping you."

Logan: *sighs* "My point is, ya gotta just do it, because you know never when some big psycho killer who's been stalking you your whole life is gonna come along and try to kill her. So ya gotta tell her before she's dead. Got it?"

Devil Doll: "That was beautiful, Logan."

Logan: *puffs on cigar and gloats* "Thanks, darlin'."

Devil Doll: "Ready for another one?"

Logan: "Lay it on me, babe."

Devil Doll: "Dear Logan: I like to go out with my best friend, but she's prettier than I am and she gets all the attention. Guys fawn all over her and buy her drinks and ask her out on dates, and they barely talk to me at all. I end up sitting there all night being miserable. I don't want to go out with her anymore, but I'm embarrassed to tell her the real reason why. What should I do? Signed, Ugly Duckling."

Logan: "Huh. Don't you have any real homely friends you can go out with?"

Devil Doll: *covers face with hands*

Logan: "What? What'd I say?"

Devil Doll: "Perhaps you should provide another suggestion, just in case that isn't an option."

Logan: "Hmmm. Okay, Ugly, here's what I'll do, just for you. I'll give your hot friend a call and tell her what's up. You know, in private. Like maybe at a real fancy restaurant or somethin', one of those ones in a nice hotel—"

Devil Doll: "Over my dead body."

Logan: "What?!? I'm helpin' here! Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

Devil Doll: "Let's move on."

Logan: "Wait, I wasn't done with that one. Is there a picture in there, or a phone number?"

Devil Doll: "Next letter. Dear Logan: I've had this lump on my left testicle—"

Logan: "Aw, cripes."

Devil Doll: "—for about a month now, and it keeps getting bigger. I'm not sure what it is and I'm starting to get really worried about it. It's about the size of a walnut and—"

Logan: "That's enough."

Devil Doll: "But there's more…"

Logan: "Don't need to hear it. I'll tell ya right now, Walnut, whatever you do, don't go to the doctor."

Devil Doll: "Logan, that's terrible advice!"

Logan: "But it's true, princess. Those doctors will screw you up bad. You go in there and tell 'em you got a walnut on your balls, and the next thing you know they're coatin' your bones with white-hot metal and turnin' your brain into vanilla pudding. I'm tellin' ya, don't let 'em get their hands on ya."

Devil Doll: "Maybe this question would be better handled by Henry."

Logan: "Fine with me." *shudders*"

Devil Doll: "Okay, we'll move on. Dear Logan: There's this girl I really like a lot—"

Logan: "Didn't we do this one already?"

Devil Doll: "This is a different lovesick guy."

Logan: "Oh."

Devil Doll: "There's this girl I like a lot. She's the funniest, prettiest, smartest girl in the whole wide world and I really want to get in her pants. The problem is that a bunch of other guys like her, too. I'm not really worried about most of them, because I know she likes me better than she likes them—"

Logan: *frowns* "Hey, wait a minute…"

Devil Doll: "—but there's one guy in particular who really gets on my nerves. He's big and ugly and hairy and has lots of disgusting habits, but she likes him anyway."

Logan: "Gimme that." *grabs letter*

Devil Doll: "Hey!" *gets indignant in an extremely cute way*

Logan: *sniffs paper* "I knew it! I'm gonna kill that damn Cajun." *crumples letter*

Devil Doll: "Remy wrote that letter?"

Logan: "Damn straight. And I'm gonna shove it up his—"

Devil Doll: "Wow. Did you hear all those things he said about me? Let me read that part again."

Logan: "Grrr…" *clamps cigar between his teeth and stalks out of the room*

Devil Doll: "Uh…well, I guess that's all for this installment of Ask Logan." *various shouts and growls are heard from the other room* "If you would like to submit your own question, you can email it to ask_logan@yahoo.com and we'll get to it as soon as we can." *winces as something heavy tumbles down the stairs* "I've, um, I've gotta go now. See you next time." *hurries from room*

The End

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