20 Completely True, I Swear, Kind of, Cameos to Expect in Avengers: Doomsday.

Hollywood has always been a town built on secrecy. Scripts are locked away in underground vaults. Actors are smuggled onto sets beneath tarps. Studio executives communicate exclusively through burner phones. Actresses pretend they didn’t have sex with Harvey Weinstein for five minutes of screen time in Jackie Brown.

I digress.

Marvel, in particular, guards its upcoming movies with the sort of security normally reserved for launch codes within the nuclear football, alien autopsy footage, or the recipe for the long celebrated return of the McDonald’s McRib.

Fortunately, I have an inside source.

Trust me.

You see, I know the roommate of the favourite barista of the assistant to the directors’ best boy. And while that may sound like a somewhat distant connection, I assure you that this individual once overheard nearly half of a telephone conversation, while cleaning the espresso machine, about how Tom Cruise will only do a movie if he’s allowed to inexplicably run at 100 mph for no reason. That makes my information substantially more reliable than anything you will find on Reddit, YouTube, or that one newspaper that once claimed that a human baby was somehow fused with a bat. You know, the credible places.

Naturally, I cannot reveal my source’s—Jimmy Jackson, of 324 W. 34th St. in New York City— identity. Doing so would jeopardize their position as someone who occasionally leaves passive-aggressive notes about dishes in the sink for a person who once served a cappuccino to someone who may have briefly stood near the set of Avengers: Doomsday. I take journalistic integrity extremely seriously—particularly when inventing most of it.

What I can reveal is that Marvel has been lying to us. The publicly announced cast, already as long as the ash on Wendy’s cigarette in The Shining, represents only a mere fraction of the characters appearing in this movie. The real plan is far more ambitious, far less sensible, and apparently designed to make every person over the age of 35 point at the screen and yell, “Wait—why?!”

According to the classified information relayed to me verbally and then confirmed through a series of increasingly blurry screenshots that make the Lochness monster snaps look like fuckingJames Cameron IMAX footage, Avengers: Doomsday will feature some of the most ambitious and unexpected cameos in cinematic history.

Why are these people involved? What role could they possibly play in the battle against Doctor Doom? How much of the film’s reported budget was spent locating them/possibly resurrecting them from the dead via a complicated translated passage written in ancient Sumerian in the Necronomicon? These are all excellent questions that deserve the stupidest answers possible.

But I will try.

What follows are 20 completely authentic, exhaustively researched and only occasionally fabricated cameos you can absolutely expect to see in Avengers: Doomsday. Every revelation has been independently verified by me asking my source, “Are you sure?” and receiving the legally definitive response, “Wait, aren’t you that guy who steals all the creamers off the table at Starbucks, and took a shit in the bathroom sink? I thought we banned you from here six months ago?”

Warning— the following will absolutely not ruin the Avengers: Doomsday experience for you. Your time? I can’t make that promise.

Every superhero team needs someone who has already stared down an unstoppable armored killing machine—and paid for it in the most geographically unfortunate way possible. After somehow surviving RoboCop’s remarkably precise approach to hostage negotiation, this anonymous Detroit criminal, and what remains of his penis, brings courage, resilience and extensive firsthand knowledge of where not to stand during a gunfight. Marvel has yet to reveal his powers — although it is believed to be rapid cock regeneration—although insiders claim he becomes visibly nervous and instinctively cups his twig and berries whenever War Machine raises his armoured metal arm. Better safe than sorry.

When Doctor Doom threatens the multiverse, the Avengers will require someone who has not only stared down costumed criminals before, but who is uniquely capable of securing its most strategically important location, and likely the place where the near apocalyptic final battle takes place: the food court. According to my sources, who somehow, someway, once predicted that Johnny Depp would make a film where he gets to wear elaborate costumes, has informed me that the pivotal final battle will take place between the Mrs. Fields cookies and Orange Julius respectively. LaFours will alternately be found worthy to pick up Thor’s hammer to rabid applause, just as Thor returns the favor, and somehow picks up the equally enchanted straw hat of the longtime mall security guard. Trust me. Tears will be shed. And Google searches will be made. “Who the fuck is that?”

Every team needs someone dressed entirely in an unfortunate, nude, snug-fitting spandex bodysuit, and since the Giant Gonzales is dead, Slim Goodbody is the only candidate left—and one considerate enough to display the exact location of his vital internal organs directly on his clothing, creating a much easier target for Dr. Doom to focus on as opposed to our standard, non-organ-displaying heroes. He is ultimately expected to pause the final battle halfway through to teach everyone about cardiovascular health, proper digestion and why consuming a big fat plate of fucking Shawarma immediately after an alien invasion was nutritionally and culturally irresponsible. Don’t they know what those people did to New York City on 9/11? Not nearly as much as the Chitauri, you say? OK, moving on.

Marvel’s greatest weapon against Doctor Doom may not be vibranium, (other things that vibrate, maybe) sorcery or unstable multiversal energy—it may simply be directing him through the wrong door and into the Blue Oyster Bar. Once that familiar tango begins, history tells us escape is impossible, his asshole may not emerge the same size as it entered, and a leather-clad biker named Bruce likely holds the entire fate of the Multiverse in his overly-familiar hands.

Marvel reportedly recruited Jack Black’s deeply unnecessary character from I Still Know What You Did Last Summer because every multiversal crisis needs one guy who arrives in dreadlocks, sandals and a shirt visible from orbit. His role remains classified, although leaked footage allegedly shows him monopolizing the Sanctum Sanctorum’s hot tub and smoking a big old bowl with Doctor Strange’s sentient cape. I don’t make the rules.

Dr. Doom is not one to need allies. But every evil despot needs a weapons specialist/torturer/man sporting the hair and matching Fu Manchu of a diminutive Asian Hulk Hogan. Apparently, the Latverian background checks are now being conducted by someone who has only seen Tango & Cash—the greatest movie ever made, assuming one discounts the entirety of Hollywood history.

Armed with two jumper cables and a pair of soaking-wet kitchen sponges, this veteran henchman—perhaps the henchiest man ever to hench—will confront the Avengers using the terrifying power of unsafe, makeshift electrical practices and questionable plumbing. The Avengers have reversed time, stopped gods and even saved the world from an alien invasion—but have they ever dealt with a man holding something that looks like it was assembled behind an AutoZone in roughly 60 seconds?

I have no idea what this guy is doing here. All I know is that I nicknamed this character from the movie Se7en “Knife Dick,” and the unfortunate handle has stuck among my family and friends for more than 30 years now.

“Hey, I didn’t know Knife Dick was in this!”

I have no idea what this unfortunate and pathetic victim of the serial killer known only as John Doe is capable of contributing to either side of this conflict. But if you need a prostitute’s nether regions obliterated by strapping this poor bastard into an unfortunate sexual apparatus at the behest of an evil psychopath hell-bent on committing murders corresponding to each deadly sin, Knife Dick is definitely your boy.

So far in the MCU, the Hulk has been the only enormous behemoth shown to regenerate in any capacity.

That is, until now!

Well, unless we’re talking about type 2 diabetes.

Introducing Wilford Brimley—specifically, Wilford Brimley from Cocoon! One minute, he’s an elderly grandfather seemingly unable to eat a chocolate bar without dying; the next, he’s performing full-on cannonballs off a diving board and into a local pool that also happens to be the storage facility for regenerative cocoon pods containing the resting bodies of luminous interstellar beings.

Along the way, he drains those poor bastards of everything until their lights go out and they shrivel to the same degree your balls do after watching the complete collection of Sydney Sweeney nude scenes from all three seasons of Euphoria.

That’s right.

Anyway, maybe he can convince the Avengers to eat oatmeal or something.

When reality itself begins collapsing, the Avengers will likely search the multiverse for two heroes to assist them in their cosmic efforts: the legendary Duke boys!

Yet somehow, they’ll return with Coy and Vance instead of Bo and Luke.

Yes, the temporary replacements who briefly took over while the ones anybody actually gave a shit about were unavailable and haggling over their television contracts.

Anyway, Coy and Vance will die in about 30 seconds. Then everyone on Earth will forget about them all over again.

Perhaps the final key to defeating Doctor Doom will not be an Infinity Stone, a cosmic Tesseract or an ancient mystical weapon. Instead, it will be an equally mystical item, long forgotten and abandoned to time: the one and only season of The Torkelsons released on DVD, discovered facedown beneath twelve copies of Police Academy 5: Assignment Miami Beach and Freddy Got Fingered in a Walmart bargain bin located somewhere within the elusive, interdimensional Time Variance Authority.

Perhaps the Avengers need it because streaming rights do not extend across the multiverse—and only this mildly scratched, five-dollar physical disc contains the forgotten knowledge required to save existence. Or perhaps they simply want to follow the struggles and triumphs of a quirky, cash-strapped family living in Oklahoma.

Makes sense to me.

When the Avengers’ combined strength inevitably fails, their final weapon will be unleashed: one aggressively oiled man, no shirt, seventeen pounds of neck chains and a saxophone solo powerful enough to rupture the multiverse and obliterate every incursion. As Doctor Doom prepares to deliver his victory monologue, the mysterious musician will emerge from a brightly lit TVA door, widen his stance and begin pelvic-thrusting directly at Latveria. Doom’s armor can withstand cosmic radiation—but nobody has yet tested it against eight uninterrupted minutes of sexually confident saxophone.

With Tony Stark deceased, the Avengers desperately need a new technology expert—and apparently the geek squad was not available because Best Buy was closed. Enter the “Dude, you’re getting a Dell!” guy, carrying an enormous backpack filled with installation CDs, tangled Ethernet cables and a computer powerful enough to run Minesweeper on its highest settings. His mission is to infiltrate Doctor Doom’s castle, replace its advanced operating system with Windows ME, and grin enthusiastically while Latveria collapses beneath an unstoppable barrage of error messages.

Despite being dead and presumably free to haunt anywhere in existence, this man has chosen to spend eternity riding the fucking A train—rather than, say, permanently occupying a Victoria’s Secret changing room like a ghost with even the slightest imagination. Admittedly, his lack of a corporeal form limits his usefulness against Doctor Doom. Still, he can telekinetically fling empty 7‑Up cans at Doom’s mask every few minutes, creating a mild but persistent irritation comparable to a smoke-detector battery annoyingly chirping somewhere inside Castle Doom.

While keeping to the Ghost theme, the twirling, turning clay pot that Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze were working on before deciding to discard the project entirely and simply fuck before he is tragically killed, will somehow be making a cameo in Avengers: Doomsday. Not even I can explain this one.

However, I always hoped that there was a bonus scene in Ghost, where Demi Moore, hours later, looks at the sloppy mess left behind, and says, “God, this is gonna take me like six hours to wipe all this shit off my fucking furniture. What was I thinking?” But hey, that’s just me. ;)

He probably won’t be much help in the actual fighting. Instead, the Crying Native American will follow Doctor Doom silently throughout the multiverse, appearing behind him every time the masked despot drops a soda can, abandons a conquered planet without separating its plastics, or throws an entire alternate reality into regular garbage. Again, Doom can endure energy blasts, sorcery and vibranium—but can he withstand one profoundly disappointed tear rolling down Iron-Eyes Cody’s cheek every time Doom refuses to recycle? Probably, yes. But it will make things pretty uncomfortable, right?

Mrs. Ochmonek may seem like an absurd choice until you remember that she spent years insisting her neighbours were secretly hiding an alien—and was completely correct! That makes her more observant than S.H.I.E.L.D., S.W.O.R.D. and every government agency in the MCU combined. Armed with a telephone, unlimited free time and absolutely no respect for personal boundaries, she will uncover Doctor Doom’s plan by overhearing one suspicious noise through a wall, immediately reporting it to every woman in the greater Los Angeles area, and then running the entire Department of Damage Control by film’s end.

Old Biff possesses access to time travel, meaning he could hypothetically journey into the past, prevent Doctor Doom’s birth and save the entire multiverse. Unfortunately, he is far more interested in using Gray’s Sports Almanac to bet on every athletic event across infinite realities, and make sure his fate does not include washing Peter Parker’s truck for the rest of his fucking life. While the Avengers fight for existence, Biff will be placing a 900-leg parlay involving the 1987 World Series, to finance a sleazy sex hotel approximately six minutes before creation is destroyed anyway.

When Earth’s greatest heroes are battered, exhausted and ready to surrender, one man will step forward with no weapons, no powers and no chance to be the primary star of any movie that does not already have Adam Sandler cast in it. He will simply point at them and scream, “YOU CAN DO IT!”—then disappear until Secret Wars, like a man whose entire career exists solely due to the fact that he’s best friends with a much more famous and talented person.

When the only G.I. Joe more useless than him, Chuckles, wisely refused to participate, Marvel was forced to call Big Lob— a literal cartoon human being, dressed for battle in his military standard… basketball uniform. As the Avengers charge into battle, Big Lob will contribute by shouting not-at-all annoying bullshit like, “Doom drives the lane!” and “Thor goes downtown!” He will then disappear forever, and nobody will ever ask about him again. That’s kind of how it goes with this guy.

Basket Man has no powers, no combat training and absolutely no relevance to Doctor Doom’s plan. He is here solely to please the ladies (even if there will be many a splinter to pull out of a satisfied vagina.). While husbands sit mesmerized by collapsing universes and billion-dollar explosions, their wives will quietly imagine abandoning them for a sensitive, sentient wicker gentleman who listens without interrupting, never leaves wet towels on the floor and smells faintly of a old patio set. By the closing credits, Doom may be defeated—but thousands of marriages will have been destroyed by one emotionally available basket with a cock.

OK, I lied about 20. There’s always room for one more. Even if “one more” features one of the worst television show endings in recorded history. For the sake of argument, we’ll just pretend that the entire MCU will ultimately be revealed to have been conjured from the mind of one mentally challenged boy from the mid 1980s.

And not just written by one lol.

OK, I lied again. One more for the road. And if you can’t hear this picture and the familiar end credit jingle that followed it, that means you were probably born after the 1990s. And like Ubu, this is how we’re ending it. Good dog. Ruff.

I’m Sean.