Alexi, how do you say crumb in Russian?

COOLYMPUS
Has
Fallen

“Not only have I lost EVERYTHING, but to have abandoned my conviction in the process? I can not believe I even thought for one second that PRIME and Cancer Jiles could coexist; and worse yet that I might have a chance to be happy.” Jiles’ Journal, January 19th, 2023.

He really did it this time.

Life changing.

Career altering.

MEGA OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME.

Squandered.

What a fucking mess. A total, complete, and utter catastrophe.

COOLOSSUS. Life. The fast lane. My hair. Take your pick. Yes, it would seem I botched my time in the sun so badly I’ve been relegated to italics quipper and journal quoter.

For now.

He has suffered. He is still suffering. He will continue to suffer.

Who needs fucking sleep anyway? And someone please tell Grace not to worry– I’ve finally reached the bottom. Turns out it was quite the fall and she had every reason to worry. 

All of the agony. All of the failure. All of the empty. All of the rot. All of the despair. All of the shame. All of the poison. Always there. Always permeating. Always suffocating. Always leading the way while pushing from behind.

Wonder Boy did it again. That pig fuck. Walk. Off. Home. Run. For all of my COOLYPIAN marbles, too. More like Wonder Man. 

Ha.

I hate life.

He does not know if he’ll be able to pick up the pieces and get back.

I’m sure my charming rendition of Humpty Stanislovy set for later on in the show will provide some insight into the matter. Stay tuned. 

After all this was COOLOSSUS. It was his moment. It was prophesied. He was Champion. He had actually worked to achieve something. He aided and abetted in the disappearance of Phil Atken. He washed his dirty ass in the river known as Bathory’s Bloody Nose. Then he spent the night in Arkham sleeping on top of Nova’s cot; trading cigs and time traveling stories.

He, Cancer Jiles, COOLYMPIAN, and steadfast eggsecutioner of the eGG Bandits had earned a proper and to some extent dignified coronation. All he had to do was win and it was his. Instead, he failed and lost everything in the process.

Poof the Magic Dragon.

Now, with it all seeming for naught he has a choice to make. Does he persist, or does he perish? To persist, he knows it won’t be easy. He knows he’ll have to exceed the very lofty expectations he brought upon himself. He knows if there is to be any hope of redemption, any hope of salvation, any hope to once again walk across the sun he must become more. 

He must evolve. 

He must climb higher than the mountain top.

Shouldn’t be a problem with this here three footer double chamber.

He must leave his protective shell behind, and beckon towards the moon.

HOOWWWWLLLLLLL~!

His ghostly hair demands it.

Tell me, were there ever any werewolves in PRIME? If so, what is the name of the brave man or woman who dared to dance among them?

HA.

Just kidding. I know PRIME is Team Edward. Plus, I’m no werewolf. Sadly, I am just a man who has pitch white hair now because his NaCl levels have literally gone off the charts and landed on top of his head. 

That, or I have the second worst case of dandruff that Ivan’s freshman year ballerina teacher has ever seen.

—

PWA 1
The Main Event
The One That Ended The Show

“There I stood doing my best not to be seen. I was watching, stalking, lurking, and learning from afar. I wanted to see how he handled it. I wanted to see if he would shine. He did not disappoint.” — Jiles’ Journal, January 14th, 2023.

A little while back Cancer did a small yet massive favor for this tiny, shitpot, backwater, worse than crumb organization that also competed at PWA 1. Maybe you’ve heard of them, maybe you haven’t.

Missouri Valley Wrestling.

MVW for short.

Fooled ya.

The favor was King COOL going down to the ole bayou and partaking in a handicapped match for the High Octane Tag Team Titles. 

A two on one match. 

Though, I’m sure an argument can be made. 

Anyway, MVW was an utter shitpot. They only used two ring ropes, and claimed it was because they were trying to be trendy. The amount of geese shit Jiles stepped in had both his boots brown by the time he reached the ring. Plus, they didn’t even have any merch stands.

Someone better have caught Anna Daniels.

Not to mention, the owner, some Old McDonald type, paid in barrels of hay. 

All definitely true.

Luckily for the Bandits but not so much Jiles, Bobby Dean will eat just about anything so the whole thing would wind up working itself out. Regardless, and more importantly the point of all this if in fact there is one, Jiles’ reason for being there was his opponent at PWA 1 worked for said tiny, shitpot, worse than crumb place.

Rah.

That was Jiles’ opponent’s name.

THE POINT.

He wasn’t there to scout Ivan. 

I swear.

He swears it. 

It was through sheer coincidence that later on that night, and as hard as it is to imagine, Jiles’ up and coming future PRIME opponent, Evan Stanislob, would also be in competition. As such, and since it was purely coincidental, the Maestro of COOL hung around and watched. He listened. He observed the Soviet Submarine from the shadows of the Cold War Honda Center. He’ll never admit to any of this obviously because of what it would mean, but let’s just say rumor has it he walked away impressed with what he saw. Some even say he stayed for the entirety of Ivan’s match, and didn’t just watch his entrance to see if he was picturing the right guy in his head or not.

Full disclosure. I wasn’t.

After the main event concluded, and Ivan stood tall with both momentum and credibility holding his arms up high in the sky, Jiles’ Uber conveniently arrived and he scurried off into the night. As he closed the door, he said aloud for some unknown reason, “Here’s the good news, at least he’ll have been beaten down by the time he gets to me.”

The driver turned around in his seat and looked back at Jiles like he had a full head of ghost white hair. Which, of course Jiles does so the driver’s confusion might be lost some. Needless to say he was confused.

The driver.

“Ignore that.”

—

A Hotel
Inside a Room
Somewhere on the Road

“Time heals all wounds. Just not this one. The answer is death. I choose to perish, and to do so as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.” — Jiles’ Journal, January 22nd, 2023.

I don’t even know where I am.

Hooray! He’s back! I was getting tired of eating all that fluff.

I haven’t seen anyone. 

I haven’t talked to anyone.

I’ve been sitting here waiting.

Waiting for this.

Lights.

Cancer.

Action~!

I wait.

Concern begins to crawl all over me.

Hesitation…

Even the starch in my jumpsuit erodes.

“First and foremost, congratulations go out to Homrun Hayes Hanlon. You did it. YOU REALLY DID IT. Believe it or not I’m so happy for you, and trust me when I say you are going to accomplish so much more than this that one day you’ll look back and won’t even remember who I am.”

I snort.

“I am proud of you, Hayes. I truly am.”

My thumb goes up to solidify the kind gesture.

“Secondly, Ivan. Don’t kill me. Please. I’m begging you. Please, Ivan. Please. The shot at the UNIVERSAL Championship is yours. I’ve had my fill. I’ve had enough opportunities. I don’t deserve another, not when there’s people like you around. I’m sorry, just please don’t kill me. I’ll gladly take a count out, or could hit you with a chair to get disqualified if you wish. Your call. But please, I don’t know where Red October is, I promise.”

I can’t help myself, or the charade, and it isn’t long before I erupt in debaucherous laughter. My general disregard for my well being and also my opponent really brings my spirits up it would seem.

“Of course you know Bolamba.”

A charcoal is color, sticky in texture, gratuitous lunger is brought up from the lung bowl and gets sent flying through the air. If there were active sonar inside the room there’s a chance it might have registered.

“Crumbs, the both of you.”

My teeth grit. Then again, why would I ever get a fair shake? We have to make the matches fair, don’t we?

“But I’m not going to worry about that. I don’t have the time, or the luxury, or the patience. Plus, I got enough to worry about with just you, don’t I, Ivan? Big man steps up to the plate and delivers. A story I know the other side of all too well, don’t I, Ivan? A story I have suffered through time and time and time again, haven’t I, Ivan?”

Shit, I’m just realizing he’ll probably never see any of this since I don’t plan on posting it on Jabber.

Oh well, we press forward.

“This time is different though, Ivan. This time I don’t face Cinderella, or Wonder Boy. This time I face Lady Tremaine… or Harriet.”

I wince, knowing I might have confused my foreigner from another brother.

“Sorry if the references are lost on you– just chalk it up to American propaganda.”

I pause. I’m a pro, and Ivan deserves a little better than that.

“Better yet, this time is different because my opponent stands on the same sideline as me. You understand, Ivan? You get it? We’re in the same division. We are not part of them, and the last time I faced off against a fellow We a river was filled with blood. Sure, some of it was mine, maybe even half of it, but rest assured you have a GIANT problem on your hands. I won’t go down without a fight. I want my Championship back more than a hungry EAGLE wants to pluck a fish out of the water.”

I look down at my imaginary watch. 

My eyes explode when realizing the time.

And that I am out of it.

“Say, remember the start of this for me, won’t you?”

Pucker.

Kiss.

At least there’s still the rumble.