There are heroes who save the world with shields. There are geniuses who build suits of armor, gods who summon thunder, assassins who wield silence like a blade. And then... there's **him**.
He doesn't have a codename. Or a tragic backstory. Or abs sculpted by Olympus.
What he *does* have is a rubber chicken in one hand, a banana phone in the other, and the uncanny ability to appear wherever the script needs "something absolutely insane but kind of wholesome." He's not from this universe. In fact, no one's really sure where he came from—one day the camera panned too far to the left, and there he was, sipping soda with Deadpool and arguing about cartoon logic with Loki.
This is the story of the Marvel Universe being invaded—not by aliens, or killer robots, or multiversal tyrants—but by a walking, talking, fourth-wall-winking **chaotic good anomaly** whose only mission is to make the brooding, trauma-ridden, and heartbreak-hardened heroes of Earth-199999 smile again. Even if it kills them. With laughter. (Hopefully not literally.)
He'll crash Tony's memorial party. He'll hijack a portal mid-battle to drop into Thor's therapy session with a karaoke machine. He'll teach Hulk to cook, convince Dr. Strange to take a nap, and force Nick Fury to wear birthday hats. His chaos doesn't break the world—it bends it into a hug.
So buckle up.
Because the MCU is about to be rewritten by a new kind of wild card. One who believes the greatest superpower of all... is comic timing.