[Feet up. Legs out. Hands, snugly interlocked behind a heavily bandaged head. Percocet induced smile on full blast.]

[The COOL.]

“Where in the holy fuck do you get off?”

[Smile.]

[Erased.]

“I can deal with this.”

[The Count of COOLSYLVANIA points to his forehead.]

“What I can not... WHAT I WILL NOT deal with is this.” 

[Manifesting one of those plastic bags that detectives put evidence in, Cancer unveils a broken pair of sunglasses. Said sunglasses are the pair from Defiance TV34.]

“I’ve had these a year and a half. They have been to hell and back. They have seen things that only an autistic child can dream about.”

“And you broke them.”

“You, a fucking yellow-belly Scottish coward.”

[The world has ended. That is the look on Cancer Jiles’ face right now.]

“I’m going to stab you in the fucking face, Bronson Box. Numerous times. ON PAY PER VIEW. That means, people are going to pay big money to see you get shanked in both of your eyeballs.”

“BY. ME.”

“Then, after I’ve fucked your skull nice and good with a serrated tip, I’m going to place _THESE_ sunglasses on your ugly Scottish face. You wretched fucking pig-bastard of human being.”

[My dear, The Count sure is swearing like a Perscription Popping Sailor. He must be in a lot of pain.]

[Both emotionally, and physically speaking that is.]

“What a fucking goon you are-- with that stupid fucking accent and that stump of shit you call a personality. With your, I’m the original defiant non-sense. How about this, Mr. Origin Stone? How about the only thing original about you is that originally your head looked like a prepubescent penis.” 

“And now... it's hit puberty.”

[Mustache joke.]

[It’s okay if you don’t get it. Most people aren’t next level like Cancer Jiles is.]

“To think, after all this time you’re actually under the impression that I need to tell people I’m COOL?”

[Time passes. It’s due to sheer bewilderment.]

“How fucking dense, art ye?”

[Yup. That was The Count’s attempt at calling Scottish.]

“--Has all of that gasoline guzzling finally gone to that cue ball head of yours???”

[Another pause for bewildering purposes.]

“LOOK.”

“AT.” 

“ME.” 

“THIS, speaks for itself-- you fucking Mongo.”

[For a guy who has been getting his face smashed in on the regular, Cancer is looking pretty good right now. His hairdo is colored in a natural shade of crimson-blond, and his NEW PAIR of even larger than life T-shades are hiding the black and blue raving about his eyes. In fact, if it weren’t for the gown he’s donning, you might think he were kicking back in the cozy comforts of the Defiance Promoe Boof.] 

[You know, as opposed to where he actually is.]

[Revelation alertz.]

[That would be the hospital.]

[Again.]

[The Count’s new home away from home.]

“The original defiant-- what a fucking unfunny joke.” 

[Speaking of...]

“Originally, when I first came to the federation you think yours... which is another legit gas in itself-- I saw you, Bronson, and thought... huh, I didn’t know Defiance had a midget roster. It sure would be fun to toss one of them around.”

[Yes, The reigning God of COOLYMPUS just imitated a younger version of himself. His tone of voice while doing so changed zero. However, he did move three pieces of his hair a millimeter to the left. So you’re aware, that is where they were three years ago.]

[MetiCOOLous.]

“Funny to think, that little sideshow act who I thought was on loan from Barnum, would one day go on to become the raging glass-eater known as Bronson Box-- The Warden of Pain. The Hammer of Life. The Flippant Scot. The...”

[Lord COOL chirps off a few more nicknames that he’s imagined Bronson Box has gone by over the years. He ends with, THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO PUT HIS HANDS ON MY PRECIOUS AND THINKS HE’S WALKING OUT OF TEXAS STADIUM ALIVE.] 

[He got off track.]

[Typical Cancer.]

[By the way, PRECIOUS = the shattered T-shades in the plastic evidence bag, and not Cancer’s weenie.]

[Besides, Count COOL is too old for Bronson’s liking. See: The Boston Bancroft Affair. Spoiler tag would read, A bizarre child kidnapping love triangle between brothers of the mustache.] 

[Anyway, after laying back down after a fit of rage landed him on his feet, Cancer relaxes his tone and eases his way back in.]

“What do you know? Turns out I’ll be getting my wish after all.”

[The native of Philadelphia sharply raises his hand as if he were about to cut someone’s speech off.]

“I know.”

“I should be careful of what I wish for. You are the Bronson Boxer. You have no morals to tie you down. Your depravity knows no bounds. You’ve had lunch with the devil, and then skipped out on the check because who the fuck is going to call Bronson Box out on anything?”

[It was dinner, not lunch.]

“Other than me that is.” 

“Heh, and look at what that has gotten me?”

[Some big ass bills to pay. That’s for certain.]

“Fucking coward.” 

“Let me tell you what else I know, Bronson. I know that you... the baddest of dudes, is horrified to face Cancer Jiles.”

“That’s right.” 

“You heard me correct.” 

“I did not stutter, I said Bronson Box fears Cancer Jiles.”

[The Count nods accordingly.]

[T-shirts are being made.]

“A lofty statement, sure. Then again, most people don’t know what I know, and what I know is that ever since our match was announced, you’ve been going out of your way to make sure I wind up where it is that I am." 

"On a recurring basis.”

[Cancer’s already reserved a suite at Dallas Memorial. That’s the hospital where Jerry Jones stayed after his heart surgery.]

[So I’ve heard.]

“I know you’ve aligned yourself with the one man who know’s me best-- that Benny Arnold motherfucker who canceled my sweet-ass health insurance.” 

[Benny Arnold is Cancer’s former tag team partner and longtime friend, Edward White. Ed is rich. Like, Saudi oil and all the Microsoft and Apple patents rich.]

“Mind you, in a move that could be described as, NO ONE SAW COMING.”

[It was shocking.]

“Gee, I wonder why you would do that, Bronson? I wonder why all of sudden you would start shining Edward’s shoes and taking his orders? Is it because you wish for a life of servitude? I know that’s what you religious nuts strive for, so if that is the case-- have fun doing it blind.” 

[That last comment was in reference to the eyeball shanking Cancer mentioned earlier.]

“Shit, and if that weren’t evidence enough, just recently you absconded to the top rope... going places you’ve never ever gone before.”

[More self-satisfying head nodding.]

“How’d it feel, Bronson? Ya know, actually being eye to eye with other human beings for the first time in your pathetic life?”

[A chuckle.]

“Kidding aside, all of that jazz fluting... just for little-old-me?” 

“Well, I guess in our case it would be bigger-old-me.” 

“Nevertheless, I should feel so special.”

[You couldn’t see it, but there was an exaggerated roll of the eyes.]

“But, then again, you’re just a scared little bitch who’s going to get everything he has coming to him.”

[TEH PHIGHTING WURDZ!!!!]

“We will bathe in blood, you and I.” 

“I WILL extract my pound of flesh, and you will be left to wondering why it was you spent so much time talking about Jeff Andrews, and not enough time contemplating the very real consequences of a COOLtanium rearranged face.”

[GET IN THE CHAWPER!]

“I’m outta here in a day, Scaredy Cat.” 

“Try and sleep on that.”

[Endo.]

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