[Utah.]

[Bronson Box’s new facility.]

[Rather, Bronson Box’s now newly broken into facility.]

[Yup.]

[This kind of shit.]

[You just know.]

[It’s that COOL shit.]

[World Champ. FTW.]

“Dear God.”

“Look at this idiot.”

[Pause.]

[That is, on the gapingly enormous plasma television Count COOL is spying on. The act he’s currently catching, The Ace of Heels, Kai Scott.]

“Who the fuck is Brian Smith?”

[Yes, that is to say Cancer Jiles has never heard of him.]

[Oh, and as for why Cancer Jiles is in Utah, at Bronson’s facility. Well, like I said before, COOLYMPUS doesn’t get cable. Not even satellite, or internet, or radio -- it’s that high up in the air.]

[Wait.]

[Scratch that.]

[The Lair of the Champion does get an alien race short burst signal, that’s how Cancer hears what Ace Dentari has to say.].

[ZING.]

[Anyway, the short of it is that in order to catch up with the competition, Lord COOL needs to come back down to their plane.]

[There’s a nasty double meaning there.]

[Pompous much?]

[And as for why exactly Bronson’s facility in particular? Well, isn’t it obvious?]

[Funded by?]

[And resume.]

[And then pause again.]

“Wha.... th.... fuc?????????? This Johnny Mongo must be smoking better weed than I am! Like. Really. What teh fuck?!? And he has the gall to not share with The COOL one!! NAO IM REALLLLLLLY GETTEN  PISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!”

[Disgustingly letdown, as if someone had just picked him last in kickball, Lord COOL’s clean kept face turns to a somber shade of red. How dare somehow hold out on him! How dare they!]

“I take the time to come out here, break into this rat trap dump that Money Bags must have invested a shiny copper coin in to... and this is what I get? Kai Scott’s been holding out on me this whole fucking time! Fucking Mongo must be high if he thinks this EYE-DOUBLEYOU-EL,  CEE-EH-ALE shit isn’t the stinkiest of garbage.”

“Fuck this, I’ll tell you what I think about that, Kai.”

[Easing back in the luxurious leather chair in which his bottom lay -- the chair that says “White” on the back of it -- Cancer coughs something foul from the bowels of his charcoal coated lungs. Then, like a gentleman, he releases a black tic-tac sized lunger into the air. Vomitable Loogie Tracker clocked the mass at 8 miles per hour, and at a distance of 9 feet. And oh by the way, it stuck clean to its target, which would be the television. But of course, landing directly on Kai Scott’s stuck in time cerebral face.]

“I’m Cancer_fucking_Jiles. I’m the Defiance. World. Heavyweight. Champion. And this goon, with his smitten kitten nonsense thinks I need a history lesson to know that he’s about as COOL as fucking Jeff Andrews’ bedroom! Like, HOLEE-Jebus-Fuck!”

[The Count shakes his head a disappoint.]

“And this is the guy who took out Tom-Tom. What a fucking travesty.”

[Afraid to press on, The Count throws caution to the wind and resumes with his history lesson. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long before another looger goes adrift. This one lacks the finesse of the last one, and isn’t directed toward the television at all. In fact, this one was just to spit on the facility that Edward White built.]

“Take that you coward.”

[Refocusing his attention, Cancer the COOL perks up like he got stung by a bee. To the face. No. The eyeball. On the edge of insanity, he calmly pauses Kai Scott yet again. Slowly, he stands from his seat, stalks the ten or so feet to where the Tee-Vee is, gets his nose about an inch away from it, and begins to berate the fuck out of time and space.]

“Given? Given! What the fuck is that supposed to mean!? GIVEN!! And Ed White kind of gets it! Ed White is the one who got fucking GOT, ya dope! Ya know what you are?? You are an irritable ass ant to life itself! Me! CONTENT! I’M SCREAMING OUT FUCK THAT!”

[Indeed he is. Over and over again. Until, completely fed up, The Crown Prince of COOL decides to take matters into his own hands.]

[Literally.]

“MONGO CHAWP!”

[A man of his word, Count COOL Mongo Chawps the ever living pixels from the plasma television. Being the Mongo Chawp, and the fact that Ed White buys from blackmarket Singapore, all it took was one swift blow from Cancer’s godly right hand made from COOLtanium to explode the monstrosity of American Imperialism.]

“OH MAI GAWD I CAN’T WAIT TO CHAWP THE FUCKING FALSE ENTITLEMENT FROM YOUR FUCKING FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

[For real.]

[Not content with destroying the television, Cancer continues to berate the shattered image.]

“You did it. You fucking Mongoloid. When that short bus asks why he can’t walk no more.... when that upstart is crying, holding his face because it just got split in two.... when that fucking yellow bearded coward wants to know where all his money has gone.... I’ll tell them to ask you.”

“Cancer Jiles doesn’t get handed a fucking thing.”

“Cancer Jiles takes what he wants. And what Cancer Jiles wants....”

THUMP

THUMP.

[That be the sound that Cancer’s hand makes when crashing through the plasma TV, through the drywall, and shaking the foundation of Bronson’s new facility.]

[Oh, and through the charcoal loogie as well. That fucking thing is actually so stout, it’s holding a few pieces of the Tee-Vee still together.]

“Off with your fucking head.”

[With that, whoever was at the facility making sure something like this never happens, bursts through the somewhat blockaded doors and shines a light on Cancer’s face. Luckily for him, he’s always shaded so a positive ID will never be made. Though, those in the business of knowing, will no doubt know exactly who it was that marked their territory.]

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