Mobile Trash Assault Unit II was whining along at half speed as Janitor X—for poor pathetic Archie Jones, the now outmoded prototype of Janitor X, faded evermore into the dim night of memory as the world spun crazily out of kilter—drove his Clean Steed hard, out York Road, uphill to the Lutherville National Guard Armory.

Barely hitting 10 miles per an hour uphill, due to the weight of the damsel he had found in distress and rescued from the Dumpster-diving Balrog of a litterbug, he kept to the gutters. His maiden was curled up in fetal position in the covered red wagon towed behind the trash bin sled. Based on the inappropriate things that the crazed litterbug men were doing to the litterbug women, he determined that, when it came time to dismount her, he would drape his canvas weather tarp over her head, hoping that these evil men would not be moved to inappropriately touch a canvas tarp.

Passing two stopped vehicles—two among the multitude—Janitor X saw a crime that even a ruthlessly prioritizing janitorial engineer could not overlook. The doors of the rear vehicle—a Subaru Outback—were open. The passenger side door of the lead vehicle—a white 2-door Toyota Camry—was closed, but the driver had dismounted. He was a rat-faced man in his late 20s with long blonde hair and a scruffy half-grown beard, wearing jeans and a nylon windbreaker, all of sour blue. Like all of the crazy litterbugs on this day—apparently set in his path by God Above to test his crusading zeal—this dirt bag was chanting something crazy, “I ought to take you away!”

The scruffy man said this over and over again as he attempted to stuff a bleeding woman into the trunk of his car. The woman’s eyes were rolled back at a bad angle, indicating something terribly untold, and the woman’s child, in its baby carrier, was crying. Already inside the surprisingly spacious trunk, still strapped into its safety seat, cried a cute blonde boy of perhaps one year. His eyes roared red as his mouth squeaked a muffled protest and his nose sniffled in concord, all the while his mother’s body was being jammed in next to him one slack limb at a time.

This was not technically a janitorial affair, as had been his rescue of the Dumpster Damsel due to her proximity to a refuse vector and the dumpster-diving nature of her antagonist. But this was wrong, and, far beyond the prevue of his sanitary specialty though it was, an injustice such as this could not be tolerated—not by Janitor X.

The man chanted, “I ought to take you away!” as he stuffed the unresponsive body of the blonde woman into his trunk and the baby cried.

Janitor X cut off his scooter, dismounted, gave the dismount signal to the Dumpster Damsel, deployed his dollar store Dennis the Menace replica sling shot, grabbed five marbles, popped four in his mouth, and placed one in the delivery pouch.

He presented the Y, acquiring the target, drew the pouch back as far as it went, and let fly. The marble sailed through the air impacting the man in the temple and staggering him.

The villain staggered and stood straight, seeming to wonder what he was doing, his mantra no longer escaping is lips. Then he turned menacingly to look at Janitor X, and said, “I ought to break your neck!”

The baby cried and Janitor X let go another shot, taking the fiend right between the eyes. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he staggered. But then, as Janitor X was reloading, the villain gathered himself and resumed his chant as he took an ominous step forward, hands extended as if to strangle.

“I ought to break your neck!”

Janitor X sighted coolly through the Y and let fly, sinking a glassy marble into one blue eye, from which blood squirted and the eyeball protruded distressingly. Obviously in great pain the man would not be discouraged from his course, and took another step, strangling hands extended, as he chanted, “I ought to break your neck!”

Remembering Custer aiming coolly with his famous six shooter at The Little Big Horn, Janitor X spat another marble into his hand—the saliva helping with the windage—took aim with another marble, and let it fly, right into the open mouth of the man, who hiccupped, gurgled, and staggered, but then continued on, his voice recovered from the shot to his tonsils, but now with a raspy edge, “I ought to break your neck!”

Janitor X was down to his very last marble and the villain was one step from wringing his janitorial neck! He sighted calmly and coolly, like Sergeant York himself, and decided on giving some extra power by pulling the pouch back a little farther. Just as the zombie-like extended hands of this evil blonde man passed the Y of the sling shot on either side, having no other aim but the janitorial neck of the litterbug slaying hero once known as Archie Jones, disaster struck. The rubber band of the sling shot broke, whipping Janitor X across the face, and placing him in hand-to-glove combat with a towering litterbug easily twice his size!

Janitor X made a Mister Clean fist with his right hand, wrapped around the marble for extra density, and sunk his best punch into the pit of the towering man’s stomach, only to feel the ridge of hardened abdominal muscles and the painful failure of his wrist.

The two big boney hands gripped his throat, no longer protected by his red scarf, and began to squeeze.

“I ought to break your neck!” the man growled, emptily, as Archie was pulled off of his feet and dangled helplessly like an Imperial Stormtrooper who had earned the displeasure of his heavily breathing master.