A death defying Defiant act.

A long overdue Mongo Chawp thundering down from the pinnacle of COOLYMPUS.

A picturesque reintroduction of foot to face.

Yes indeed, the conclusion of the latest and greatest Defiance Tee-Vee episode saw the Return of The King.

Of COOL.

For the rock dwelling crowd, before DEFTV32 could conclude, The LORD of the land valiantly returned to the RING, and just about the only thing he forgot to do was trot off into the sunset atop of Shadowfax.  

That said, if Cancer is back yolking people from The Shire... well, it also means he’s back where he sharpens his teeth and kicks in the assholes of the weak and oppressive.

That’s right, Defiance.

The banner is on the wall.

The fern is in the corner.

The Boof, is occupied once more.

“Questions.”

Looking over the Count, you’d notice that his surfer-blond hair is trim, and fit for a Paris runway.  His jet black T-shades that never sleep rest snugly across the bridge of his nose, and as for the rest of his face-- baby’s bottom shaven, with teeth whiter than a newborn Mammoth’s tusk on full display.

The usually flared-up, long sleeve, silk button down with the collar double popped for Maximum COOL has been replaced with a shorter sleeved version.  This was done so Cancer could relate more to the blue-collar crowd, seeing as he’s trying to not come off as... nicely put, pompous as he once was.

“Where have I been?  What was up with the casket?  How much money did I spend on all of those eggs?  Did I get a discount for promising Heidi in yolk t-shirt contest?”

Jesting the breaks, Cancer eases up a bit.

“Well, if I may be serious, Defiance.  Where I was... was gone.  I was black bagged by that Jurassic goon after capturing the Nargod at the Master’s, taken out into the middle of nowhere via the trunk of a car, drugged and then forced to listen to hick-stick music.”

The displeasing memory quickly flashes through the Count’s mind, robbing him of his newly found passiveness.

SPLAT~!

No egg, rather a disgusted, violent, char-colored loogie courtesy of The Count crashes into the wall; sticking there like a freshly placed piece of chewed bubble gum.

“After suffering through that Guantanamo-esque torture for what seemed like forever, I was buried and left for dead.  I was left to rot, with Hank Williams as the last thing I’d ever hear.”

Ouch, that sounds like some pretty rough sledding right there. Pretty sure not even Bin Laden got treated that bad.

“Time passed.  Finally though, I lost myself.  My mind collapsed while wondering about all I had done with my life, and given the situation I found myself in, if infact it was all worth it?”

A ghastly tale Cancer weaves.  So much infact, he might have to start referring to himself as Crypt Keeper Cancer Jiles.

“Then, out of the deepest innards of the abyss... I awoke, and with the highest of fever I began to burrow my way back to the surface.”

Titanium-plated hand courtesy of Boston Bancroft to double as a sifting shovel, check.

“When I emerged... I was completely disoriented.  I had no idea the day, the time,  the year, the month, the whatever.  My world was spinning around me like a supercharged top.  My eyes burned with the flames of Hades.  I gasped for air and vomited soil at the same time.  My bones were too weak to even crawl, let alone stand.”

Dude looked like Emily Rose.

“And as I laid there feeling like death incarnate, struggling to nip at fresh air for the first time in who knows how long... it hit me. Like a bitch slap to the side of the face, I knew exactly why I had been granted a second chance.”

Drum roll.

“It was because of you, Jeff Andrews.”

Shocking.  I know.

“As fate would have it, the very day I emerged from my little dirt nap was the very day you crowned yourself Champion of Defiance.  It was your ignorance, your hubris that jumpstarted my dead and gone heart.”

Better that than mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Just saying.

“If it weren’t for you, Jeff, I’d still be buried where your butt-buddy left me.  I’d still be away, instead of back, with one goal and one purpose on my mind.”

Cancer cracks his knuckles and approvingly nods his head up and down as if it were about to be on.

“Untouchable.”  

An ominous chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we.”

That can't sound too good if you're Ronnie Long.

Cut.

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