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JimCaedus · (01-22-2018)

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Lord Trash Can re-cycle: Last week on the Warfare hype train, while Robbie Bourbon was doin' fuck-all save for embarrassing the promotion and Uni Title, we learned that our own cosmic clown Phantom Panzer has a multiversal stalker/arch nemesis; a living refuse container that talks and thinks and loves and probably somehow fucks too, the ruler of the Multiverse Midden, Lord Trash Can. By the by, when last we saw our Heinous Highness, he was teleporting in pursuit of Phantom Panzer here on Earth...

--This Past Friday--

"Can's Log: Earth Date - zero one one nine two zero one eight.

I have spent roughly two weeks on-planet, deciding to hold off on collecting my revenge for the time being in favor of researching and exploring this world and its inhabitants. In retrospect, I regret dismissing the reconnaissance reports relayed by the scout sent to Terra roughly 1,560 garbage collection cycles ago (or three decades by Earth-chrono) during Operation Where Is He, when my long search for the clown first passed through this galaxy.

Consequently, that scout never returned and...wherever you are Number 5, or "Johnny" as you preferred to be called, you were right. "Sooo much iiinpuuut" indeed. So much to learn and experience, a wondrous abundance of distractions, a virtual cornucopia of-"

::The van ahead suddenly pulls forward. Lord Trash Can, hovering a foot off the ground, follows suit and floats forward to the speaker::

"Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?"

"Do you still have the two for five Big Mac deal?"

"Yes we do."

"Excellent, I'll take that and a large fry. Fresh please, with extra salt."

"Will that complete your order?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you, I'll have your total for you at the window."

::Then, despite the fact the van ahead hasn't budged yet, Lord Trash Can feels obligated to float forward further, much closer to the van's bumper.

The car behind our Heinous Highness pulls up as well despite there still obviously not being enough room to reach the order box::

"Praise Poopalax, multiverse God of Filth, for giving me the foresight to take the time to assimilate the languages, dialects and slang of this planet, most notably California casual, otherwise I never would have discovered the exquisite garbage that is Terran fast food. I shall have to remember to bring samples back home so Chef Easy-Bake can add the recipes to the royal replicator menu."

::A solid sixty seconds or so elapses with no advancement in the line, Lord Trash Can hovering in silence.

Another uneventful thirty seconds passes, followed by another. Without warning, Lord Trash Can's lid begins flapping up and down on its "jaw joint" angrily::

"Poopdammit, what is the hold up?? Some corpulent native order the whole of the menu??"

::Five seconds pass::

"Okay, that's it! A Can can only wait so long!"

::The Regi of Refuse flips his lid open, tilts his opening forward like a cannon and unleashes a beam of cosmic energy that reduces every vehicle in line ahead of him and the passengers within to small piles of carbon dust.

He then calmly floats up to the window, the vehicle behind him casually pulling fully forward to the order box, ignoring the drama 'cause he's hungry. At the window, Lord Trash Can spies no movement inside and smacks the glass a few times with his lid before-::

"Hey!"

::In the background we see an unconcerned and attractive young black girl with a headset, hair did like she intends to hit the club up after work, slowly approach the window then avoid ruining her nails by using the palm of her hand to slide it open.

She glances down the vacant Drive-Thru line, shrugs, then looks back to Lord Trash Can, giving him a stereotypical attitude-rich down-up-down once over::

"Y'all YouTubers is gettin' good at at this shit, I ain't even see any wires. 'Choo want, Trash Can?"

"Madam, I want my order."

"Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?" After the customer at the order box asks for a minute to decide... "You want your order? What you had?"

"Unbelievable. Two Big Macs and a large fry."

::She allows the window to slide shut, checks the register, then palm-slides it back open::

"Eight-forty."

::Lord's lid flips open. A five, three ones, three dimes, one nickel and four pennies are spat out into the girl's outstretched hand. It remains outstretched::

"I know I have another penny here somewhere..." He shakes, we hear something rattling around inside him. "There we go."

::He spits the final penny into her hand and she allows the door to slide shut again, feeding the register before walking off.

She returns twenty seconds later holding a bag and palm slides the door open once more::

"You want dipping sauce?"

"Yes, a Signature pack, please, that glorious sauce that makes everything taste like chicken fingers!"

::She pops a Siganture Sauce into the bag then, leaning out of the window, hesitates with the food as she eyes Lord Trash Can::

"Where you want it?"

::His lid flips open. She tosses the bag in.

Lord Trash Can's lid and opening begin working in chewing motions::

"OOOH!! OOOOOOH!! IT'S SO UNFAIRLY DELICIOUS!! I LOVE YOUR GARBAGE FAST FOOD AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOUR EARTH CURSE WORDS YOU FILTHY FUCKING BEYOTCH!! UHH!!"

::A tiny Big Boom pops around the lower center of Lord Trash Can's "frontside" and three miniscule comets shoot out onto the pavement followed by a fourth which dribbles out and plops down::

"I JUST COSMIC CAME IT'S SO GOOD!!"

::Lord Trash Can shivers::

"Eyuh, you nasty. Y'all need to get the fuck on now."

"More! I want more!!"

"Ain't no mo'."

"You LIE, that is imPOSSIBLE!! Give me more!!"

"Nigga fuck you, move!"

::HOOOOONK HOOOOOONK::

::Apparently having placed his order and still too hungry to give a shit about cosmic powers, the driver of the vehicle behind Lord Trash Can lays on his horn. Our Heinous Highness jerks, startled, then swivels around in mid-air::

"How DARE you!?"

::Again with the trash cannon treatment, a beam of cosmic power and a pile of carbon dust. Lord Trash Can swivels back to the girl at the window::

"You don't scare me, nigga, my cousin in Baby Insane Crip!"

::Lord Trash Can unleashes a third beam, obliterating the entire McDonald's building, leaving a large pyramid pile of carbon dust in the crater.

He then hovers silently for several seconds in regret::

"I am such a bitch when I'm hungry."

::He teleports away a moment later with a flash::

TBC

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"Tatooinisia"

(soundtrack)

You knew I was gonna do it, I knew I was gonna do it and honestly, how could one with the trivia knowledge not do it? I mean, Tunisia? C'mon.

That's how I continue to justify this for myself as I traverse, on foot, the amber desolation of dessication that is the-

--Grand Dune, Tunisia•Sunday Afternoon--

-like a responsible fan should be doing, inhaling clouds of windblown sand with no water beneath a punishing-even-in-winter Tunisian sun, on the lookout for the krayt dragon skeleton over every "the next" rise.

I take a few seconds to pause and wipe the sweat from my brow before pressing on, bitterly musing aloud-

"That malpromoing massive twat, this is all _his_ fault. He pushed me into going this route. And it was "at that moment, he knew he'd fucked up", the pudding-butted, burger-murdering, mammary manmary-havin' Motherfucker... Well, if douchebag's gonna just jack-off and flip the boss, the roster and the fans the bird for the umpteenth time, who am I to not capitalize, not kill this cornflake and finish his clique off like The Kings did Ax3? Fuck playin' it merciful; I'm droppin' this thermal detonator deep down his Sarlacc Slit then watchin' the fleshy Fantasmic fireworks."

I suddenly "notice" the XWF drone buzzing nearby and turn to look into the lens.

"Are you _still_ here?

Yeah.

You.

Robbie Bourbon.

The fat fuck food-junkie too busy on all fours on your basement man-cave carpet huntin' frantically for fallen Taco Bell crunchy taco cheese shreds to be bothered to hype your last match or defend the Uni title. Like how you lost War Games for your stable 'cause your food-junkie Pooh Bear bulbous ass was too busy "prepping" for the pay per view by slammin' honey in your carotid and collecting bees to release on the fans durin' your entrance. Or like how you lost the Hart Title way back to my brother Main 'cause your food-junkie junk food fappin' fatass was too busy "prepping" for _that_ contest by gorging on 7/11 hot wings and cookin' up a bung-load o' loose turds so you could bow out in "hilarious" fashion during the match on account of the shits.

Anyone else noticing a trend here?"

I resume my journey, beginning to trudge up a particularly steep sand dune while continuing my verbal attack.

"Anyone else realizin' Robbie Bourbon drops the hype ball every goddamn time it matters, then more often than not ends up jerkin' out a lame-ass play at save-face comedy in the match so he doesn't look _as_ bad as he rightfully should in half-assing a bout and losing? The tired Oprah audience gifts bit, the convenient contest-killing explosive diarrhea, now this latest embarrassment with the bob blob 'n weave/lying down for the pin bullshit? Yes...yes, that's right Robbie, as long as you keep jokin' and laughin', you're still somehow edgy and cool while you rank the fuck out like a complete bitch with a-"

"-roundabouts the dimensions of a primordial dwarf's own baby corn endowment with a lack o' sac and credibility to accompany it. Quite frankly, at this point you've truly earned every unintentionally ironic, sarcastically self-deprecating nickname you've given yourself. From "The Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads" who wholly sucks now and has for the past five months...to the "King of the J0bbers" who twice now with gold has technically thrown in the towel before the bell...to the butthurt "High Holy Hypocrite" cryin' on Twitter (_also_ sarcastically) about not bein' good enough to have finally earned a Uni title shot and the strap itself only to have the Uni taken away by Boss Lane in proving not good enough to hold it afterall.

Stripped of the Universal Championship, not defeated out of, stripped of...because you were too spineless and lazy to rise to the occasion. Because you have no respect for the Universal title, this promotion or this business. Because you DIDN'T deserve the title, you lucked into it then said fuck it...and decided to LAY DOWN for Imperial. You

P
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...all that bullshit you pulled in the ring.

I wonder...does Danny appreciate the way you danced around makin' him look like an incapable weakling who inexplicably couldn't manage to land a blow on a fat man as wide as you are? Is he happy you exploited his apparent inability as a man in peak condition to keep up speedwise with a lard ass? Is Danny cool with the fact you made him look like shit then said, "aight bitch, go ahead and pin me now, I'm done humiliating you"? One wouldn't assume so...until Danny actually went for the Nash/Hogan lay down pin you presented him with. Then after all his post War Games challenging over "pie" bullshit, after all the effort he put into hyping the match between you two, after ultimately failing to attain the Universal Championship...he didn't get upset.

Why is that?

You know what I think? I think quite possibly you were planning to hand off the Uni strap to Danny all along. I think you and he were tryin' to pull one over and Boss Lane wasn't the ignoramus you assumed him to be. He caught it, he saw fit to pull the Universal Championship outta the line of pussyfied fire then he had to set up this tournament to restore its prestige...and by the way, I bet he's gettin' sick 'n fuckin' tired of havin' to pick up the slack and clean up the messes of the talent he employs, especially where the Uni strap is concerned. Three champs in a ROW have fizzled. THREE. Not since _I_ held the title has there been a true fighting Universal Champion and I was _tired_ at the time.

Fuck it though...

Piss on any theoretical collusion between you and Danny, I honestly couldn't care less if it's true or not and it wouldn't matter if it is. What _does_ matter is any way you slice it, whether you're a venomous collaborator or a pussy who'd rather put effort into upstaging the better man every time instead of trying to BE the better man competitively...more than likely a combination of the two...you simply ain't Uni champ (or ANY champ really) material and neither you nor any shady shit you're up to will stop me from takin' full advantage of this opportunity any more than anything or anyone else stopped me from claiming victory in the Lottery, the Leap of Faith rafter match or Doc's Shove-It Rumble.

I mean, sure, I stumbled for a short while there when I lost the Universal title. I failed to keep Ax3 together in defiance of The Kings. I fell short of any advancement in the Tag Title tournament with Trax. But at least I tried. At least I had the balls to never give up. And what came of that drive and determination?

I claimed one half of the Tag Titles anyway.

I helped form a _new_ , much _stronger_ stable in Apex.

And now...now I'm gonna do whatever I must to reclaim what I lost last summer. To recapture what took me 20 years to attain. To take back...the Universal Championship. Then finally, for the first time since Bruce Blingsteen's cash-in, the XWF will again have a flagship in place it can be proud of...

A man who won't immediately lose interest in that which defines this promotion, shit on it, then disappear without a trace.

A man who won't unfortunately lose heart and step away temporarily, consequently allowing some hack douchebag to take the reigns he never would've snatched otherwise.

A man who has never and will. not. EVER. snub his nose at hyping a match, avoid competition or lay down and disrespect the position.

Jim.

Caedus.

And it all kicks off on Warfare with the crushing of Robbie Bourbon and the last gasp of the Motherfuckers.

Oh and Rob...? You start dancin' around and makin' a mockery o' the match with _me_ in the ring, I'll bend you over like a bitch and boot your milquetoast motherfuckin' flabby ass to the moon."

(soundtrack)

Just over the next ten foot high rise sand dune, a blinding flash of white...

The hell?

Using my hands to claw my way up, I scale the rise to spy...a short, cylindrical metallic object below.

I must be seeing things...

"R2??"

"Are too what? Who said anything?"

The fuck!? R2-D2 can't speak _Basic_- er, I mean _English_!

Odd...when this sort of thing has happened to me in the past (the appearance of pop culture fantasy icons such as Snarf, Obi Wan or Jaga for example, remember?) the characters have always been accurately represented...yet _this_ thing, this "R2-D2"...not only ain't it chirpin', beepin' and whistlin' but now that I get a good look at it, it looks more like a floating _trash_ ca-

"Not just any floating trash can, Jimmy..."

It just read my thoughts and knows my _name_!?

"...LORD Trash Can...and yes, I can indeed hear your thoughts and I know who you are. ...Really though? R2-D2? That guy's a total fucking geek."

Ohhh FUCK me...I'm dehydrated and delusional.

"No you're not but you are exceptionally rude refusing to address me directly."

"Alright, I'm out. I ain't got time for this random-ass, talkin' mirage bullshit. Adieu, trash can."

I allow myself to slide down the dune's face and continue on my way, ignoring the floating trash can as I pass it by...

...only to note its presence in my peripheral vision a few moments later, hovering beside me.

"Do you mind? I'm busy."

"Searching for the krayt dragon skeleton, yes, I'm aware. You're wasting your time, however. Terran filmmaker George Lucas did base those tales on actual characters and events but the real krayt dragon skeleton is far far away on Tatooine, not here on Terra in Tunisia where he recreated what you all saw in the movies."

"Shows what _you_ know, trash can."

"Lord Trash Can, if you please. Lord."

"Fucksake- There some reason you're followin' me around the desert, _Lord_ Trash Can??"

"Naturally."

I halt in exasperation. I don't like being made to feel crazy.

"What the fuck are you!? Huh!? WHY are you here!?"

"I told you. I am Lord Trash Can." Jim remains glaring with an angrily quizzical expression in silence. Lord Trash Can sighs. "I am the ruler of the Multiverse Midden, an "alien" as you Terrans say, and I am here to...uh...to explore and study your world...and nothing else. Yes. Yes, that's the ticket. Heh heh h-"

"What was that last part? You kinda petered off there at the end."

"Hm? Oh. Nothing."

"Meh, whatthefuckever." I continue walking, the trash can continues floating along beside me. "By the way...you still haven't fully answered my second question. Why are you _here_ here...and botherin' _me_?"

"Curiosity. I saw you on television in physical combat decimating two men at once. It was very impressive so I wanted to meet you."

"Really? Me?"

"Is that so hard to believe? You are quite the specimen, are you not?"

"I..._guess_ so."

"Hee hee. Gullible fool. You were randomly chosen from among your gladiator peers and solely for the purpose of-"

"Huh? Speak up."

"What? Nothing, nothing. I was just trying to remember if I left the water on back at the Multiverse Midden before I left."

I pause, nearly at the crest of the dune I'm currently climbing, to eye the trash can before I respond with, "Mhm," then take my final steps to the peak and- "Oh SHIT! There it is!!"

"There what is?"

"The krayt dra-" In my excitement I lose my footing and tumble down the dune to the bottom.

::Lord Trash Can floats up and over the dune's peak to join Jim who's brushing himself off giddily as he hops up and makes a mad dash for-

-well, would ya look at that... It really IS a krayt dragon skeleton!::

"What? It can't be! Did I...did I do that? I don't remember teleporting the skeleton here or conjuring one up..."

"FUCK!! I forgot I left my GODDDAMN phone in that cave back in Algeria!! HOW am I gonna take a selfie now!?"

"Ah ha! Here's my chance to endear myself to him! I'll just read his mind, locate the phone and retrieve it for him. ......Got it. Heh heh. I know where it is, Jimmy. Wait here..."

Lord Trash Can vanishes in a flash of blinding white light...reappearing seconds later with a second flash and-

"My phone!! You FOUND it!!"

::Our Heinous Highness floats the phone over to Jim and into his outstretched hand::

"AND its fully charged!! Dude, THANK you!! You kick ASS, Lord Trash Can!!" I pose before the skeleton and start snapping away.

"You are very welcome. So naive. Now, while your attention is monopolized..."

::Something extremely small, glowing a reddish hue, is quietly jettisoned from Lord Trash Can's interior. It flies over to Jim and disappears within the waves of his golden locks, undetected::

"Mwahahahahaaaa...MWAHAHAHAHA-"

"Hold it with the quiet evil victory laugh for a sec and check this out!"

::Jim happily holds the phone out to Lord Trash Can so he can view the picture on-screen::

[Image: yBYYhkj.png]

"Not bad, huh? Man, I gotta Tweet this shit out!" I click on the Twitter app and- Hey...what the fuck!?

"Uh oh."

::Jim looks from the phone to Lord Trash Can and back...and again...and back...again...back...again. He abandons the Tweet, sliding his phone into his pocket before-::

"Why are YOU on my Twitter account!? "Trash Can"!? "Everything you love to hate"!? What the FUCK, Lord Trash Can!?"

"I...uh...well......hmm... LOOK OUT, THE KRAYT DRAGON ISN'T DEAD!"

::Panicking over struggling for an explanation, our Heinous Highness attempts to distract Jim by haphazardly firing his cosmic beam at the skeleton. Unfortunately, the explosion in such close proximity to Jim sends him flying::

Before I know what hit me, I find myself sailing through the air and landing in a heap several dunes away. If not for the sand, I'd probably have suffered a broken bone or two.

Slowly, I rise to my feet and survey my new surroundings, check my bearings.

Stupid fucking trash can. What the hell was THAT f-

My angry musing fades as something nearby snags my attention. From here it appears to be a...a sinkhole?

_That's_ weird...

Unbroken but still battered from being thrown by the explosion I painfully make my over to the sinkhole...to find...it isn't a sinkhole at all but in fact, impossibly-

"It's a Sarlacc Pit!!"

Floating talking trash cans, krayt dragon skeletons...why NOT a Sarlacc Pit as well? Amazing...simply amazing...

I tiptoe to the edge and look down, taking in the teeth lining the mouth and "throat" of the creature.

"Did you say you found a Sarlacc Pit??"

::Lord Trash Can, having trailed Jim, descends the nearest dune and floats hastily in his direction::

"What in Poop's name is going on around here?? The krayt dragon skeleton, now a Sarlacc Pit? On Terra??"

"I'm as shocked as you are! Best. Day. EVER!! Shit, I gotta get a pic o' this!!"

"Let me see!"

::Just as Jim pulls his phone from his pocket, Lord Trash Can, in his haste to see the Sarlacc Pit, accidentally crashes into him from behind...

"AAAAAAAAHH!!"

...knocking him into the creature's mouth!!

Jim disappears down the Sarlacc's gullet. It burps::

"Oh......shit. Well, so much for that plan."

::Lord Trash Can teleports away::

::BVVVT...BVVVVVVVVT...BVVVVVVVVT::

::Our XWF drone pov angles down to locate the sound of the vibration.

We see Jim's phone teetering on the edge of the Sarlacc's mouth receiving an incoming call from none other than his Apex brother Robert Main.

The call and vibration continues, forcing the phone ever closer until...it tumbles into the Sarlacc's mouth as well...::

TBC...

::FADE TO BLACK::

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