“Pull over here, dickhead. I’m hungry.”

“Did you not just eat? We lack the time to break from our travels at your every whim.”

“My Frodo sandwich didn’t fill me. Bet that’s not the first time he’s left someone unsatisfied.”

“Frodo sandwich?”

“Ham and bacon on week old bread. You know, a bit of redundancy sandwiched between a whole lot of stale. Here! Here! Pull over here, the gas station with all the trucks!”

The scene opens to the dirty, clunker of a camper pulling into a small gas station on the side of a dirt road. The woman explodes out of the door before the vehicle even slams into park. Skipping into the gas station, twirling the hair that enshrouds her face, the woman hums loudly and enters the dirty glass door. Behind the counter, a young, bald man wearing a Confederate flag sleeveless t-shirt eyes the woman closely as she approaches the counter. The woman bends down and reemerges with two full handfuls of Snickers bars, the man simply smiles as the woman reaches down for more.

“Well that’s a mighty large sweet tooth you got there, ma’am.”

“Call me ma’am again and I’ll rip off your ballsack and use it as a showering cap.”

“I do love me a tough talker.”

The woman stops and focuses on the store clerk. She giggles slightly and begins twirling her hair. She peers behind the man’s counter toward the television, begins to sigh at the vision of Frodo Smackins.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That twink finally decided to speak up?”

“Oh, you’re into wrasslin’ too huh? Yeah, this lil’ fellar actually had another one just before this.”

“Oh for God’s sakes. What the hell did he say in that one?”

“Pretty much the same thing he’s saying right now, minus that barfly.”

“Bitch sounds ]

[color=#FFD700]“She sure do sound special, don’t she?”

“You’re not exactly a wordsmith yourself there, Wyatt.”

“The name’s William.”

“Oh shucks, I must have mixed up my rednecks. Please tell me that such a handsome, simple boy like yourself ain’t takin’ no fancy to the words of this here fanny tickler?”

“Oh hell naw! ‘Round these parts, there’s two rules: If you ain’t got no gun, you’re a . And if you’re a , you’re nobody we need to be associating with.”

“I don’t know if it your willingness to admit your hatred of others, your farmer’s tan or your abundance of gangrene-colored teeth, but I like you.”

“Well shucks, I can’t really see your face but I’m kind of takin’ a shining to you as well.”

“Now I know you’re not a Frodo fan. If you were you’d probably make some stupid joke about not needing a woman if you’ve still got a hand.”

“Well that’s true, or something like who needs a hand if you’ve got a dog?”

“Who needs a dog if you’ve got a little sister?”

“Who needs a little sister if you’ve got a sleeping mama?”

“Who needs a sleeping mama if you’ve got a comatose uncle?”

“Who needs a como-comertose uncle if you’ve got a dead grandpappy.”

“I could fucking kiss you right now, I swear to God.”

“Well do it, little lady.”

The pair each begin to lean over the counter when they are halted by the bells hanging over the door, signaling a new customer. They both turn and the woman begins to giggle as Titan makes his way over to the counter. The clerk slams his hands on the counter causing the woman to jump and shriek, as a large smile is painted on his face.

“Holy shit! You’re that Titan fella!”

“We are Titan.”

“Whoa, who said that?”

The man begins to look around the room as the woman begins to laugh.

“Told ya, Red. That shit is just gonna start freaking people out.”

“Freaked ain’t even the word.”

“Silence. We waste our time while you cavort with this simpleton.”

“I ain’t simple.”

“Oh honey, you’re as simple as they come. But you’re cute in a backwoods, cousin fucking kind-of-way.”

“Enough. You are proving to be a most annoying hindrance. Your constant clamoring has begun to wear our patience thin. We brought you along for a very specific reason, and if you continue to ignore your duties we will no longer view your role as vital. Do not become expendable.”

“Expend my dick! I was in here gathering very useful information about your match against Frodo! See, we’re a good team!”

“And what information did you gather?”

“Well… he’s saying that you think you’re tough and that you say the same thing over-and-over again.”

“Has he not been repeating such things over the course of the past few days? What manner of information is this?”

“Well yeah, he’s kind of a broken record. BUT he is now picking up mentally handicapped tramps in seedy bars, so maybe he’ll have chlamydia by the time he steps in the ring with you? Is that something you can target? Can you like, kick him in the chlamydia?”

“No. This does not help us. Count your blessings, for his mental state has deteriorated to the point of he being little more than a foul mouthed gnome with delusions of true strength. If nothing else, one must admire the grandiose delusions that his miniscule brain has conjured. Does he fail to realize that the only thing smaller in stature than himself is his list of sub-par achievements--if they can even be called as such. Ending the winning streak of an AIDS riddled halfwit is something to find pride in? The imp would be better served bragging about a walk down a city street where he managed to not fall and further damage that hideous face he has been cursed with. We may conceal an identity behind our mask, but perhaps it is time for him to consider wearing one to protect the world from such a gut-wrenchingly horrid sight. It is of little surprise to us that he must take mentally challenged, diseased riddled, social rejects as his conquests. Perhaps in a world where the gluttonous masses perch on their couches at home and watch this disgusting critter hand out roses to equally disgusting and sloppy sows, he could be viewed as something worth the breath that he draws--but he does not exist in such a world. The world he is a part of is a darker, more twisted one, one where strength outweighs stupidity. One where power and guile matter far more than the increasingly idiotic words of a pointless troll. A joke of a man.”

“Jesus man, you sound like you need a beer.”

“Easy there slick, Big Red is in a mood. You should probably just hand me those candy bars and we’ll be on our merry ol’ way.”

“I can’t let--”

With a sudden lunge, Titan at the counter with the man’s throat in his hands. Titan places his nose against the clerk’s as a low, guttural growl escapes his mask. In a state of fear, the man shoves the candy bars to the end of the counter before fainting. The woman shrieks with glee as she collects the candy bar and follows Titan out of the gas station. As the pair make their way back to the camper, a phone begins to ring. Titan pulls out the phone and stares at it, stopping in his tracks.

“Paul Heyman.”

“Is that a fucking Nokia!?”

The scene ends as Titan holds the phone to his head and begins to nod as Heyman’s voice can be faintly heard.

1X - GOAT.