Hot Tubbing with Wolverine

So Logan called me up last night, very late I might add, and said, “Hey buddy. The temperature in the hot tub is perfect. Why don’t you come over for a soak?” Since I’ve fallen for this sort of invitation before, I thought it best to clear the air up front. “Will the rest of the team be there?” I asked. “Sure, sure,” Logan said. “Colossus, Bobby, that guy with the thing over his eyes. Everyone’s coming.” I thought about it for a moment. “Okay, I said. “I’m on my way.”

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 27 times, then shame on me. Why can’t I ever say no to that man? Of course, I showed up at Logan’s place and there’s nary an X-Plane nor X-Bike nor X-Wheel in site. Just Logan, chomping on a cigar and holding a bottle of Moet & Chandon Brut Imperial Rose Champagne, just like we had on our first date. “You just missed everyone,” he smiled as he lopped off the top of the bottle with those crazy adamantium claws. “Forget it!” I said. “I’m leaving!” As I turned to make my exit, I suddenly felt his strong arms around me and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Why do I have such a weakness for this guy? “One drink,” he purred in my ear. “Come on. Let’s get in the tub.”


Cut to this morning. I’m at the emergency room…again…getting stitches in places you would never want a needle poking around. As the doctor stitched, I chugged the last of the champagne straight from the bottle. “Hey,” the doc said. “Was that the Wolverine I saw dropping you off out front?”

“No,” I replied, a little more wistfully than I intended. “That was just some guy I used to know.”

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