Notorious Lord of the Dance
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"Closed in a room, my imagination becomes the universe, and the rest of the world is missing out."
-Criss Jami
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~"Dammit, Alex," said The Omega Man, Jay Omega with a sigh as he led his large friend, the Archduke of Mass Confusion, Alex Richards down the brightly lit, rocky corridor, "For the last time; stay out of the galley, or I'mma let Grishnag do whatever it was he said he was gonna do with his knives. I didn't catch most of it, but it sounded unpleasant."

  "I was just trying to give the little guy my recipe for Zim-Quila barbecue sauce," Alex replied defensively, sending a wistful glance backward at the well-stocked kitchen area of the asteroid bunker, "Those burgers last night were a little bland, and I wanted to share my culinary expertise. What? Don't look at me like that, Jay; I'm a great cook!"

  "Oh really?" asked Jay with an arched eyebrow, "Remind me what happened the one time you were allowed to make dinner for the Guardians?"

  "Bah, everyone is a food critic," Richards replied with a dismissive wave, "I don't care what you say, my Zim-Quila chicken tartar tasted awesome. I can't believe none of you tried it. Salmonella you all said. I told you guys as a doctor that Zim-Quila kicks the fuck out of food poisoning."

  "Because that shit is more deadly than any poison known to man," Omega said in exasperation, as the two men entered a personnel lift. "I don't know how you drink it all the time."

  "From a boot," was the immediate response, "You totally knew that; we've known each other for twenty years, dude."

  "But I still don't understand why," Jay said over the muted strains of a jazz instrumental version of his entrance theme playing from the elevators speakers, "There's no way that's sanitary."

  "The alcohol disinfects the boot," explained Alex, "And the leather neutralizes enough of the toxins to make it survivable."

  "Survivable is not how drinks should be described, dude." Omega said with a wondering shake of his head.

  "Drinking is life and to survive is to live." said Richards, nodding as though dispensing sage advice.

  "How drunk are you?" asked The Omega Man, eyeing his friend askance, "Even for you that sounds drunk."

  Alex took a moment to genuinely consider the question before responding.

  "Let's just say there's a barefoot centipede somewhere." the Archduke answered at length.

  "That doesn't make sense," Jay said, "And coming from me, that says a lot."

  "I could open a footwear store?" Alex tried uncertainly, "I could shod the entire cast of Riverdance?"

  "You've had a lot of boots, haven't you?" Omega observed as the lift came to a stop.

  "Soooo many." Richards happily declared as they disembarked the elevator, "Where are we going, anyway?"

  "The hologym on the Khybaris," answered Jay, leading the way toward the hangar where his starship was docked, "I dropped the ball last week by not promoting my match, and I'm probably gonna get slapped with a hefty fine because of it. I'd rather not have that fine doubled, so I'm going to fulfill my contractual obligations."

  "You get fined for skipping promos?" Alex asked in confusion, "I never got any fines for skipping promos."

  "How would you know?" Omega teased, "Any time you ever forgot to cut a promo, it was because you were blackout drunk. Besides, I'm sure Shaun would have taken care of any fines you got."

  "That tracks," Richards said, nodding in concession, "He's a good brother; I should visit him soon. But if you're going to cut a promo, what do you need me for? We haven't needed a camera person since Nicky made those drones."

  "Oh, you're just coming along so I can keep you out of trouble," The Omega Man said with a laugh, "The only crewmates even remotely comfortable around you are my wives and Nicky. I think Jack's coming around, but Kaz and Treepis-Tohn think you're weird, and Grishnag wants to eviscerate you."

  "The six-armed tentacle freak thinks I'm weird?" asked Alex, before he broke into a beaming grin, "I like him! I wonder how his alien liver would handle Zim-Quila."

  "Considering how things usually turn out for you," Jay mused, "He'd probably sprout wings and develop a telepathic bond with you."

  "So you're saying I should get him drunk as soon as possible?" Richards stopped in his tracks as he said so, half turning back toward the elevator, "Dude, screw your promo; I want a flying tentacle freak!"

  "Firstly, no," replied Omega, latching a hand on his friend's arm, "And Treepis-Tohn is on the ship, anyway. Secondly, I'm not letting you piss off any more crew members even if I have to babysit your giant ass all day."

  "Hey! My ass is not giant!" declared Alex, taking offense, "I worked out the whole time I was a doctor; I'm in the best shape I've ever been!"

  "Whatever, fine, your ass is marvelous," Jay said with a roll of his eyes, "Now come on; I've gotta get this promo done, and I have no idea how to play this."

  "I might have a few suggestions," Richards offered, falling in behind Omega once more, "But only if you let me run the holo program."~

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"Dance for me, dance for me, dance for me, whoa-oh-oh."
-Tones And I
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*Welcome back, True Believers! We fade from a black screen to a black room. Not a completely black room, otherwise you wouldnt know we had done the fade in. No, this black room is criss-crossed with a grid of faintly glowing blue lines, and is otherwise empty. Riveting television, eh? Hey, dont blame us, you clicked the link, bud. Oh, something's happening! Footsteps approach from the right of the screen, swiftly followed by the source of the noise, everyone's favorite Red Eye Jedi, the Champion of the Charleston, the Waltzing Wizard, el Maestro de la Flamenca, Dionysus can have Vine, he's the Lord of TikTok, The Omega Man, Jay Omega.*

*Clad in his standard ring attire, which doubles as both casual and formal wear, Jay takes up a pose in the center of the screen with an easy smile on his lips. What sort of pose? Something you might expect from a rockstar seconds before the opening riffs of a guitar shred out across an amphitheater; legs spread a little more than shoulder width apart, head bowed, left arm hanging loosely at his side while his right arm points straight up, his hand extending off screen.*

JAY OMEGA: Dionysus, you think yourself a modern-day Michael Flatley? Compared to me, you'll never be more than Michael Flat-footed. Somebody call a repairman; this move's about to get busted.


*Omega's arm comes down, changing the backdrop with it, as if reality were a window shade in some cartoon. One second he's standing in an empty room, the next he's on a well-lit, glossy, black stage at the Grand Ole Opry; suddenly doing the Pony while grinding away on nothingness. The empty air to his right and left shimmer and coalesce into a total of four holographic Mandalorians - from left to right, Canderous Ordo, Jango Fett, Boba Fett, and Din Djarin; with Canderous and Din performing a complex series of motions that a discerning eye would recognize as Goofy's "perfect cast", while the Fett family are shaking that armoured booty for all they're worth(and we all know what the most successful bounty hunters in the galaxy are worth, don't we?).*

*The "music" accompanying all this... this? A metal cover of "Dance Monkey", as performed by Angelo Bissanti. Good luck getting all this out of your head, by the way; what has been seen cannot be unseen, and it just gets sooo much better from here. You can watch the Mando Men do their thing if you'd like, but Jay is the only one that really matters here. Omega stops the simulated seizure he had been performing, and stands stock-still in a classic "Saviour" pose; spine straight, head bowed, arms out to either side. At the same time, Canderous and Din start doing that Russian single-leg squat dance, while the Fetts spin around and pelvic thrust toward each other, then spin and thrust away from each other, and so on. Jay starts doing a little fancy footwork while keeping his upper body still for a moment, then rolls both arms inward in small circles.*

*Omega twists his rump from side to side while balancing on one foot; with his thumbs tucked into his armpits, he flaps his arms like a chicken, while whipping his head from side to side in counter-time to his ass. Jay's arms start moving like snakes independently of each other; Omega's hips shimmy back and forth, while his head just lolls to one side. The crotch-thrusting Fetts quickly switch to spinning on their heads, while the squat-kicking duo of Djarin and Ordo straighten up and start with the Gangnam Style horse dealy.*

*Jay makes a short hop into the air, his feet flutter back and forth. Upon landing he breaks out the jazz hands. After coming together for several kicks of a Can Can chorus line, transitioning into a few moments of synchronized Riverdancing with the Madalorians, Omega spins in place twice, drops to one knee, thrusts his arms out to the sides, and flashes rivaling gang signs with his hands, while the Mandos pose behind him like the Ginyu Force. We hold on this image for a moment, before the scene, and the music, fade out.*

*So, yeah. That was... a thing that happened. Well, for once it seems I'm not being forced to narrate one of Omega's more ridiculous premises; that's rather refreshing. We fade back in to find– Oh for fuck's sake. We fade back in to find Jay Omega sitting in a comfortable looking recliner situated off to the side of a meticulously tidy living room, except all of it is animated in nature. Omega's appearance is a little off, as well; he's currently wearing gray slacks and a forest green sweater over a pink button up shirt, and holding an open leatherbound Bible in his hand.*

JAY OMEGA: Howdilly-doodley, neighbourinos! Now that Dionysus has been thoroughly served, it's time to turn my attention to my other opponent. And I figured, if I want to beat Ned, I have to think like Ned. So I put on this stupid outfit, tried to be cheery and nice to everyone - that didn't work out - tried… doing stuff with my left hand - that was all right - then I started reading this bibble; there is some wild shit in here.

*Does… does he think he's fighting Ned Flanders? Jay snaps the Bible closed, pulls out a blunt, and lights up.*

JAY OMEGA: Unfortunately, this bibble didn't grant me any new understanding of Ned, though it does raise some theological questions I'll have to keep in mind for the next god I meet. So now here I sit, with nothing to go on, because how do you talk shit about someone so annoyingly nice? He's too nice. And I'm gonna punch that left-handed jerk right in his stupid mustache. Then I'm gonna take his bibble, shine it up real nice, turn that sumbitch sideways, and sti– wait, this isn't my bit.

*Oh my God, he does think he's fighting Flanders. And he's recycling twenty-five year old catchphrases. That's it, I'm out of here…..







JAY OMEGA: Uhh… Hello? … Hellooo? ... Hunh. The, uh, scene fades to black, I guess?

*It does.*