The Sheriff comes to town
The sheriff comes to town
Some claim he used to be a small-town American sheriff. Others swear he spent the nineties chasing bandits across the dusty backroads of Texas. Large Lad insists Jack was once permanently banned from a cowboy-themed diner in Dublin for taking his job as “honorary deputy” way too seriously.
Whenever anyone builds up the courage to ask, McCoy simply adjusts the brim of his hat, looks off into the middle distance, and mutters:
“That’s classified, partner.”
Then he turns on his heel and walks away. Nobody has ever managed to extract a straight answer.
If you ever saw Sheriff Jack “Trashman” McCoy walking down the street, you’d immediately think two things: Something has gone horribly wrong, and That man is about to handle it.
He wears a broad-brimmed sheriff's hat, a heavy dark coat, steel-toed boots, and a shiny silver badge that looks heavy enough to dent a bonnet. He carries a pair of aviator sunglasses on him at all times. He wears them when it’s sunny. He wears them at night. He wears them when it’s absolutely pouring sideways.
Then, of course, there’s the moustache. It’s a thick, immaculate handlebar mustache that he treats like a sacred national monument.
Sarah once asked him how long it took to cultivate.
“Years of sheer dedication,” Jack said, without cracking a smile.
Susan leaned over and whispered, “Honestly? It’s magnificent.”
Large Lad immediately perked up. “Do you think I could grow one?”
Everyone answered in unison: “No.”
Jack also carries a weathered leather notebook everywhere he goes. It contains a running list of people who have committed serious infractions. Positioned right at the very top of page one is a single, heavily underlined entry:
Large Lad — Eating the physical evidence.
Naturally, a man like McCoy doesn’t drive a regular police car.
He patrols in a pitch-black, heavily reinforced Sheriff Interceptor built to withstand both fleeing suspects and the absolute chaos of a Misfits mission. It’s equipped with lifted off-road suspension, massive bull bars, emergency strobes, a radio unit capable of broadcasting across three counties, and a siren so absurdly loud it rattles the teeth out of anyone within a half-mile radius.
Jack refers to it as The Law Wagon.
Salty calls it The Black & White Bruiser.
Large Lad insists on calling it The Snack Wagon because he’s convinced the boot contains emergency rations. Jack does not find this funny.
Every lawman needs a catchphrase, and Jack’s has become legendary. Whenever a situation descends into chaos, he straightens his hat, stares down the offender, and drops the line:
“Time to take out the trash.”
It’s not about household waste. It’s about law, order, and sweeping trouble off the streets. But the line has caught on so aggressively that even the team walks on eggshells.
Just last Tuesday, McFinleyyy accidentally dropped an empty crisp packet on the pavement.
A shadow fell over him. Jack materialized out of nowhere, standing directly behind him.
“McFinleyyy.”
“...Yes, Sheriff?”
“Take out the trash.”
McFinleyyy scooped up the packet in 0.2 seconds flat. “Understood, sir. Dealt with.”
The dynamic between Jack and Stg. Salty is a masterclass in stubbornness. They are best mates who spend roughly ninety percent of their time arguing over the chain of command.
“Look, Jack,” Salty will say, leaning against the wing of a tank. “I’m the leader of the Misfits.”
“And I am the law,” Jack responds coldly.
“Right, but I’m still the leader.”
“We’ll discuss hierarchy later.”
“When?”
“After we take out the trash.”
Salty pauses. “...Fair point. Let’s ride.”
They actually make a terrifyingly effective team. Salty provides the reckless, chaotic strategy, while Jack serves as the solitary anchor trying—and usually failing—to keep the whole operation roughly within the bounds of the Geneva Conventions.
His relationship with Large Lad, on the other hand, is pure psychological endurance. Large Lad idolizes the Sheriff. The Sheriff looks at Large Lad the way a sheepdog looks at a toddler holding a hammer.
“Sheriff?” Large Lad asked one morning.
“What is it, son?”
“Do sheriffs get free doughnuts?”
“On occasion.”
“How many?”
Jack paused, staring deeply into the horizon. “As many as the situation demands.”
Large Lad’s eyes went wide. “My life’s true calling has finally been revealed.”
When Jack actually needs a job done without someone crashing a vehicle or consuming evidence, he turns straight to Sarah and Susan. They’re organized, sharp, and usually the only barrier preventing Salty and Large Lad from setting something on fire.
“If you want a situation handled properly,” Jack once declared to the room, “you hand it to Sarah or Susan.”
Salty looked up, offended. “What about me?”
Jack slowly lowered his sunglasses, looked Salty dead in the eye, and said, “Do I really need to answer that?”
Meanwhile, McFinleyyy was appointed as Jack’s unofficial communications guy. It was a mistake. McFinleyyy uses his security clearance almost exclusively to send Jack high-volume meme dumps.
At 6:00 AM sharp, Jack’s phone vibrated on the bedside table.
McFinleyyy: Morning Sheriff! 🍩😂 (Attached: A photo of a freshly glazed ring doughnut)
Jack: Very funny, McFinleyyy.
McFinleyyy: Thought you’d want to inspect the evidence! 🕵️♂️
Jack: I am actively tracking your location.
McFinleyyy: 😂😂😂👍
Now, Sheriff Jack “Trashman” McCoy is officially locked in as the Misfits' chief law-and-order officer. Whenever things go entirely off the rails, Salty knows exactly who to call.
“Jack?”
“Speak to me, Salty.”
“We have a minor tactical hiccup.”
“Define minor.”
“There’s a Leopard 2 main battle tank wedged sideways in the Tesco car park.”
A long, heavy silence stretched over the line.
“Salty...”
“Yeah, Jack?”
“...Keep your hands on the wheel. I’m rolling.”
Underneath the silver badge pinned to his chest sits a tiny, custom engraving:
KEEP THE GOOD. TAKE OUT THE TRASH.
That’s the McCoy doctrine. Protect the crew, keep Large Lad away from the crime scenes, stand up to trouble, and whenever the signal goes up...
“RIGHT, MISFITS...” Jack growls, flipping his aviators down and turning the key in the Law Wagon. “TIME TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH!”
Salty revs the tank. McFinleyyy cues up the radio. Sarah and Susan lock and load. Large Lad opens a fresh bag of salt and vinegar crisps.
And the Misfits roll out into another glorious, unhinged disaster.
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