Scene: A cracked highway outside of town. A battered green Chrysler Le Baron convertible sputters along. Deadpool is behind the wheel, scarf flapping in the wind, humming the Freddy Got Fingered theme off-key. G.I. Joe sits shotgun, visibly regretting every choice that led him here.
Deadpool:
Ahhh, smell that, Joe? That’s freedom. That’s style. That’s… burning transmission fluid. But mostly—freedom.
G.I. Joe (grimacing):
Why is it green?
Deadpool (cheerfully):
Because, my sweet naïve action figure, this is no ordinary Le Baron. This is the Tom Green Special. Straight outta Freddy Got Fingered. Behold—the Freddymobile!
G.I. Joe:
You’re telling me we’re rolling into a mission in a car named after a comedian who pretended to play a piano with sausages?
Deadpool (snaps fingers):
Exactly! This isn’t just a car. It’s an icon of cinematic brilliance. Well, “brilliance” is a strong word. Let’s say… an icon of cinematic… existence.
G.I. Joe (folds arms):
Looks like a Rothschild psyop to me. “Le Baron.” Can’t fool me.
Deadpool (gasps):
You mean Tom Green was secretly working for the Rothschilds? My God. It all makes sense. The sausages… the backwards man… all subliminal banker propaganda!
G.I. Joe:
I’m serious. They hide symbols in plain sight. You think Chrysler picked “Le Baron” at random?
Deadpool (revving the dying engine):
Yep, nothing screams “ancient banking cabal” like a $500 convertible that smells like raccoon pee. Truly the ride of the elites.
(The Le Baron sputters, backfires, and then the roof half-collapses while they’re driving.)
Deadpool (cheering):
See that? That’s not a breakdown—that’s the Rothschilds pulling strings. They’re mad at you, Joe. They know you know.
G.I. Joe (gritting teeth):
I’m starting to think you’re the psyop.
Deadpool (grinning under mask):
Shhh. Don’t ruin the sequel—G.I. Joe vs. Freddy Got Fingered 2: Baron Harder.
Scene: A dusty gas station off Route 66. The green Le Baron sits hood-up, engine steaming. Deadpool is wiping grease on his costume, while G.I. Joe leans against the pump, lecturing like he’s in a PSA.
G.I. Joe (serious, pointing at the engine):
Listen up, Deadpool. They want you to think you’re taking the ride of the elite. That this “Le Baron” is some kind of aristocratic chariot. But here’s the truth: it’s a lemon.
Deadpool (waving rag dramatically):
A lemon? Don’t you dare insult her, Joe. She’s a proud citrus-based warrior.
G.I. Joe (ignoring him):
This car was designed to break down. Constant repairs, constant spending. The conspiracy has a name—Planned Obsolescence.
Deadpool (gasps, puts hand to mask):
Wait… so you’re saying Chrysler didn’t build this to last forever? Next you’ll tell me Ryan Reynolds didn’t do Green Lantern for the art.
G.I. Joe (arms crossed):
It’s the same principle, Wade. They sell you junk, keep you coming back for parts and service. You think you’re saving money, but you’re trapped in a cycle.
Deadpool (leaning in, whispering):
So… the Rothschilds aren’t behind it?
G.I. Joe (dead serious):
No. This isn’t about secret bankers. This is about corporations. Cars built to fail. Appliances built to fail. Even your phone, Wade. They want you addicted to replacements.
Deadpool (pulls out cracked iPhone):
Oh my God, you’re right. My screen shatters if I look at it funny.
G.I. Joe (nodding):
Exactly. Planned Obsolescence. And knowing—
Deadpool (interrupting, pointing at camera):
—is half the battle! Boom! Nailed it. That’s the part where the theme song kicks in, right? Cue the eagle screech, maybe a guitar solo?
(The Le Baron suddenly backfires, shooting smoke in their faces.)
Deadpool (coughing):
…Or maybe a coughing fit. Either way, Joe, I think you just turned this into the most patriotic auto shop infomercial of all time.
Scene: The same dusty gas station. Deadpool is sprawled across the hood of the green Le Baron, sipping a Slurpee through his mask (don’t ask how). G.I. Joe is tightening bolts under the hood, clearly losing patience.
Deadpool:
So tell me, Joe… do cars work well in your native Yugoslavia?
G.I. Joe (snapping upright, furious):
Yugoslavia no longer exists! Don’t you dare mock my homeland like it’s some tourist postcard. We were carved apart, broken into pieces—just like this damn Le Baron!
Deadpool (hands up, mock defensive):
Whoa, easy there, Commando Claus. I was just asking if the check engine lights are bilingual.
G.I. Joe (gritting his teeth):
You want to know the real enemy, Wade? It’s not just Chrysler. It’s men like Jim Pattison.
Deadpool (gasps, dramatic):
The King of Vancouver’s British Properties?! You mean the guy with more car dealerships than I have chimichangas in my freezer?
G.I. Joe (pointing angrily at the horizon):
Exactly. Rows upon rows of shiny lemons, sold to hardworking families. He floods the streets with junk cars, then laughs from his ivory tower.
Deadpool (nodding, taking notes on a Slurpee straw):
So let me get this straight. Yugoslavia—gone. The Le Baron—lemon. Jim Pattison—evil car kingpin of Canada.
G.I. Joe:
You finally understand. Planned Obsolescence wasn’t enough. Pattison turned it into an empire. A kingdom of lemons.
Deadpool (mock heroic, posing on the car hood):
Then it’s settled. You and me, Joe—we’re taking down the Lemon King of Vancouver. He may have his dealerships, his towers, his crown jewels of car wax… but we have this!
(Deadpool slaps the side of the Le Baron. It immediately sputters, backfires, and the passenger door falls off with a clang.)
Deadpool (beat, sheepish):
…Okay, maybe we don’t have this. But we’ve got spirit, right?
G.I. Joe (groaning, rubbing his temples):
Spirit doesn’t fix transmissions, Wade.
Scene: Vancouver. A gleaming Jim Pattison Auto Group dealership at night. The lot sparkles with polished SUVs and sedans under neon lights. Deadpool and G.I. Joe sneak in—Deadpool in a trench coat over his costume, Joe in full combat gear. They push through the glass doors into the showroom, where JIM PATTISON himself is standing like a king among cars.
Jim Pattison (arms wide, salesman smile):
Gentlemen! Welcome! Have you come to buy the finest automobiles in Canada? Each one is a jewel!
Deadpool (leans on a hood, whispering):
Joe, careful. This guy sells more lemons than a citrus farm.
G.I. Joe (stepping forward, voice like a drill sergeant):
Pattison! Your cars are just as shitty as the ones built in Croatia.
Jim Pattison (offended, clutching his chest):
What?! I sell only the best!
G.I. Joe (jabbing a finger at him):
Don’t lie. I’ve seen these lots. Plastic interiors that crack in the sun. Engines that die before their warranty. They’re no better than Homer J. Simpson’s pink lemon!
Deadpool (gasps, pointing at a showroom sedan):
Wait—that’s it! That’s the pink lemon! All it needs is a giant “La Cucaracha” horn and a slurping sound every time you press the brakes.
Jim Pattison (snarling now, mask slipping):
Fools! You think you can insult the King of Vancouver’s British Properties? I built an empire out of lemons. And you—
Deadpool (interrupts, whispering to Joe):
Wow, he actually called himself King. I was joking. Do we kneel? Or is this more of a coup d’etat thing?
G.I. Joe (ignores Deadpool, staring Pattison down):
You’ve trapped families in debt, forced them to buy cars designed to fail. Planned Obsolescence may fool the average man—but not me. Knowing is half the battle.
Deadpool (grins, pulls a katana):
And the other half is cutting prices—literally!
(Deadpool slices the air, accidentally shearing off a side mirror from one of the showroom cars. It dangles sadly.)
Deadpool (mock infomercial voice):
Oops! Guess that wasn’t covered by warranty.
Jim Pattison (furious, pointing at security):
Guards! Remove these clowns from my kingdom of chrome!
G.I. Joe (lowers his weapon, muttering):
This isn’t over, Pattison. The world will know your crown is made of rust.
Scene: The dealership showroom erupts in chaos. Security guards rush in, but Deadpool leaps into the driver’s seat of a shiny new FIAT on display. G.I. Joe jumps in beside him, reluctantly.
Deadpool (slamming the dashboard):
Ah, the mighty FIAT! Or as we in the know call it: Fix It Again, Tony!
G.I. Joe (strapping in, annoyed):
This is your escape plan? A FIAT? I’d rather take my chances on foot.
Deadpool (grinning behind the wheel):
Relax, Joe. This baby’s Italian engineering at its finest. Sleek curves, compact design, guaranteed to break down before we hit the freeway.
(Deadpool hotwires the car. The engine sputters to life, coughing like a chain-smoking opera singer. The showroom windows shatter as Deadpool floors it, blasting the tiny car onto the streets of Vancouver. Alarms blare behind them.)
G.I. Joe (bracing himself):
You realize Pattison’s entire security force is on our tail.
Deadpool (swerves dramatically, almost hits a poutine stand):
Perfect! Nothing screams Italian getaway car like being chased by Canadian mall cops in SUVs.
(Behind them, a convoy of shiny SUVs floods onto the road, headlights blazing.)
G.I. Joe (gritting his teeth):
This is the trap. Debt slavery, Wade! Families buy these lemons, thinking they’ve struck gold, but all they get is repairs, loans, more debt. Pattison’s empire isn’t built on cars—it’s built on shackles.
Deadpool (mock gasp):
So what you’re saying is… this FIAT isn’t just a lemon—it’s a metaphor?
(The FIAT suddenly jerks, dashboard lights flickering like Christmas.)
Deadpool (slaps the wheel):
Don’t die on me, Tony! I named her Tony, by the way. Because… Fix it again, Tony!
G.I. Joe (deadpan):
If this car breaks down now, I’ll actually call Tony. Except he’ll be a mechanic with a baseball bat.
Deadpool (laughing, swerves onto a side street):
Relax, Joe. What’s the worst that could happen?
(The FIAT immediately stalls at a red light. Deadpool slams the wheel, G.I. Joe facepalms. The SUVs close in.)
Scene: Vancouver streets, midnight. The FIAT has just died in the middle of an intersection. SUVs with Pattison’s goons screech to a stop behind them. Deadpool jumps out, kicking the FIAT’s bumper while G.I. Joe scans for options.
Deadpool (yelling at the FIAT):
Damn it, Tony! You had one job! One!
G.I. Joe (grabs Deadpool by the arm, pointing):
Over there! A Ford dealership.
Deadpool (groaning):
Oh great. From one lemon tree to another.
(They sprint across the street, dodging SUVs. They smash through the glass doors of the Ford showroom. Deadpool jumps into the first shiny pickup he sees, G.I. Joe climbs into the passenger seat.)
Deadpool (slapping the wheel):
Ah yes, the legendary FORD. Or as I like to call it: Found On the Road Dead.
G.I. Joe (grimacing):
Or Fix Or Repair Daily.
Deadpool (mock cheerleader voice):
Give me an F! Give me an O! Give me an R! Give me a D! What’s that spell? Warranty voided!
(He hotwires the Ford. The engine roars to life—much stronger than the FIAT. Deadpool slams the gas, tearing out of the dealership as SUVs give chase again. Glass and tires screech everywhere.)
G.I. Joe (shouting over the roar):
Pattison! You peddle junk and call it an empire!
Deadpool (screaming out the window, giving the finger):
Yeah! Screw you, Jimmy P! King of Lemons! Ruler of Crap Wagons! Duke of Planned Obsolescence!
(The Ford barrels down the street, plowing through a Pattison billboard that ironically reads “Drive With Confidence.” Pieces of it shatter over the hood.)
G.I. Joe (growling, gripping the dash):
Every family in debt, every car on the road falling apart—this is your crown, Pattison! A crown of rust!
Deadpool (cackling):
And guess what, Jimmy boy? We’re coming for a recall!
(Both of them howl curses at Jim Pattison as the Ford screeches into the night, pursued by headlights and chaos.)
Scene: Downtown Vancouver. The Ford rattles as Deadpool and G.I. Joe barrel through the night. Suddenly, the road is blocked by a massive armored limo. Out steps LES GROSSMAN (Tom Cruise’s foul-mouthed studio exec from Tropic Thunder), still in his suit, bald head shining under the streetlights.
Les Grossman (slapping his belly, pointing at Pattison’s convoy):
A-HA! The Pattison family! You think you’re kings of lemons and dealerships? Please. I squeezed greasy vampire hair into gold!
(He jabs a finger in the air, veins popping.)
Les Grossman:
Your family’s sparkly boy toy—Robert Pattinson! His greasy Twilight hair made me hundreds of millions of dollars! You hear me, Jimmy?! Hundreds of millions!
(Jim Pattison himself emerges from his limo, crown-like cufflinks glinting, sneering.)
Jim Pattison:
Grossman… you’re a relic. I built an empire of steel and wheels while you danced around Hollywood with your fake gods and glitter boys.
Les Grossman (laughing maniacally, stomping his feet):
How much, Jimmy? Huh? How much did you pay to lease Marilyn Monroe? Yeah, I know! You wanted her image for your billboards, your car lots—because dead stars sell more than your crappy Fords!
Deadpool (poking his masked head out the Ford window, clapping):
Oooh, this is good. Studio exec vs. Car King. I’m calling this Fast & the Furious 11: Lemon Drift.
G.I. Joe (growling, raising his weapon):
This isn’t a game. Grossman, Pattison—parasites feeding off people’s hopes. One sells lemons, the other sells dreams that rot in theaters.
Les Grossman (snarling, dancing aggressively):
Dreams pay, soldier boy. People eat ‘em up! And when they choke, I buy another yacht. That’s the American way!
Jim Pattison (taunting):
And the Canadian way is selling families lemons on credit until they drown in debt! You’ll never beat me, Grossman. You’ll never beat the Lemon King.
Deadpool (grinning, whispering to Joe):
You know, I’m really torn here. Do we side with Hollywood Greaseball or Canadian Lemon Lord?
G.I. Joe (gritting his teeth):
Neither. We take them both down. Knowing is half the battle… the other half is justice.