An egg

COOLYMPUS
Land Before Time
The Climb

“Getting up there is one thing. Staying up there is an entirely different story.” — Jiles’ Journal, June 10th, 2022.

There’s a common misconception in regard to me. It’s an easy one to make because of the hair, shades, and top billing. But, most think I reached the summit of COOLYMPUS on my first try. Some, the devout, even say I jumped up there in a single bound. 

Truth is it took forever for me to get up there. 

I’ll have you know the climb isn’t an easy one. It is long. It is hard. It is tough. And I stumbled. I fell. And I fell again. And again. However, like the cockroach, even in the worst conditions I survived and found a way. I would not allow myself to lay down on my back and accept defeat. I kept getting back up. Stronger. Blonder. COOLer. And I kept climbing. Each time, higher and higher I would go. The only problem with reaching new heights is that the higher up I would go the more it would hurt when I came crashing back down.

So over, and over, this process repeated. 

So much so, I eventually became hardened to the fall.

And then one day I got close. I got confident. I saw the top for the first time. It was heavenly. I knew that it belonged to me. So, I smiled and started to climb once more. I only took one step before crashing all the way back down.

I thought I was hardened to the fall.

I was wrong.

—

Take a Seat
We’re Going To Be Here a While
Hades Hath No Fury Like a COOLYMPIAN Scorned

“I am going to crack open that candy coated egg shell sitting on top of his neck, and watch as the sweet-sweet color of regret stains my salt whites. Then, I’ll smile wide and ask him where his beloved Babylonian King is.” — Jiles’ Journal, July 7th, 2022.

Take her in. 

The Tower.

Home to more shit, piss, and blood these days than Ivory. 

Same goes for the yolks. 

Anyway, Back to the Tower.

Ha.

Over there hanging on the wall is a large flat screen TV. Under my feet is a fancy throw rug covering the floor. A well worth it’s money cryo chamber is tucked away in the corner. There’s a small kitchen. I know, how ironic? There’s a king size bed in my room. I think there’s a mud pit in Bob’s– in my defense it does change quite often. For instance it was a dog crate just the other day. 

A very large one. 

Lastly, in old man Doozer’s room there’s a hospital bed in case that dodgy hip of his goes out. Again.

Just the three of them. They can make it if they try. Space, that is. For Jiles’ hand picked, presumably soon to be Bandit prodigy, GREAT SCOTT.

The Ivory Tower comes with a view, as one might expect with a place called such. You wouldn’t know of this view since the blinds are currently drawn shut, but if they were open you would see the electronic billboard in front of the MGM Grand with my name on it.

THE MAIN EVENT

Our suite also has a couch. A few of them. That said, I fancy one in particular as you may or may not know, and it just so happens that I’m lounging atop of it. It, of course being my blue velvet, fit for a COOLYMPIAN throne.

Fuck skulls. Plush for the win.

My precious T-Shades rest on the bridge of my nose. My immaculate blonde hair is divinely incomprehensible. My company issue, electric blue tracksuit checks all of the fashionably late boxes. The jacket is unzipped, so the o’s on my chest tattoo are visible.

Not by design.

COOL belly tat, nerd.

I’m still a little beat up. Physically anyway. Mentally, I’m shot. It’s been tough. 

Oh well. 

The show goes on.

Oh, and if you’re thinking, how can Dirty Bob and the Boys afford to stay in a formerly luxurious three bedroom suite at the MGM Grand for the past four months? Between my high price hair, Bob’s hellacious hunger, and Doozer’s arthritis medications not being covered by medicare? 

It just doesn’t add up. 

Well, I’ll have you know Mom worked it out with the MGM Grand so we get a discounted rate. Ya know, since the Bandits are first class entertainers. 

One of them anyway.

Granted, part of the arrangement is that I can hardly leave the grounds. Something to do with insurance purposes, and them not being able to fully guarantee my safety outside the confines of the hotel. 

Got to protect that MAIN EVENT investment.

—

COOLYMPUS
Land Before Time
The Climb

“Despair haunted me. Confidence eluded me. I was alone, and I was in a dark place.” — Jiles’ Journal, June 11th, 2022.

To be that close…

To see the sun…

To bask in its glow…

To almost be able to reach out and touch it with your bare hands…

Then, to only see dark. 

To hurt, like I’ve never hurt before. 

I remember thinking I’d rather just lay there in the dirt. I then thought that maybe, if I were lucky enough, a boulder would come rolling down and squash me. Put me out of my misery. I didn’t want to face facts, and I couldn’t find the strength to prove myself wrong.

I was lost.

You’re not the only one.

Then, the damnedest thing happened. The one thing I never thought possible. Not for me. Not in a million years. Someone helped me up. Two people actually, and with their help I started to climb again. The difference being now they were there to help break my fall. And each time I would fall down they would boost me back up. Then, after our uncrackable bond had become forged by failure, after they never faltered in believing in me, and after I trusted them to catch me should I get dazzled by the view again– I made it.

I reached the top.

—

Hope You’re Sitting
Still Here
Hades Hath No Fury Like a COOLYMPIAN Scorned

“ACTION~!” — Jiles’ Journal, June 7th, 2022.

“Who bleeds for PRIME?”

I pause, my head slightly tilted to the left.

“Who packs the house when he’s on the bill?”

I pause again, head still tilting.

“Who sacrifices each and every time he steps inside the ring?”

Last pause. Well, in this string of dramatics anyway. I straighten up and point at my clean kempt face. No smile. No shit grin. No nothing.

“I do.” 

My head shakes. Disbelief comes to mind. Bewilderment among others.

“And the prize for being me? Tie goes to the loser.”

Fucking Timo.

“Ya know– I don’t care that I was pushed to my limit, or that my reserves were tested. I don’t care that I found out how much water the Bathtub can hold. I don’t care that no one else on the card wrestled for as long as I did.”

Unhappy, I grind my teeth.

“And sure, I didn’t lose. And sure, who is still in the MAIN EVENT and who still hasn’t been there yet? And sure, I’m still going to UltraViolence where my destiny will be fulfilled. But.”

Uncharacteristically, I stand from the couch. I stretch my weary, broken maybe, but definitely bruised bones. Then, to really go off script, I walk over and open up the shades concealing Sin City. What do you know? The sun is up. Best to keep these closed.

“But, I’m getting awfully tired of that rat weasel screwing me over. The so-called Protector of PRIME. More like the tear in its condom– Timo Balalalalalalalalalalalabomba.”

Por ti sere.

I do a little cha-cha dance because, well just because.

“I went back and watched my match against Violet Julian’s Turnip. Guess what? Bell to bell. By MY stopwatch it was twenty-nine minutes and fifty-two seconds.”

With vigor I jab at my chest to be crystal clear on who the stopwatch belongs to.

“That crumb called it early.”

The nerve.

“Now, let me go on the record and say I couldn’t give two shits if it would have taken me eight minutes or eight seconds to cover Bathandbody after I Termiblasted him to COOLYMPUS.”

It’s true. I couldn’t. I would have said one shit, but since I mentioned it I went with two.

“However, what I do give multiple shits about is the fact that we’ll never know, because once again Uncle Timo decided he thinks he knows what is best for PRIME. Not the GODS. Not Jumping Julian’s Beanstalk. Not Dirty Dick Parker. Not the PRIMEmordials. But TIMO MOTHERFUCKING BOLAMBA. AGAIN. THAT FUCKING RAT.”

Rat face.

“I swear to Zeus, if Mom has been instructing him to screw me over I’m going to burn the house down. The whole damn thing. The wolf will walk once more across the ashes of PRIME.”

Yup, my hand is up, and maybe my hair flashed powder white for a second.

howl.

“That’s how blatant it has been. That’s how obvious his treachery against me has been. No one goes out of their way like that. No one. Not even me.”

Ha. Good one. 

No really, that was a good one.

“If it weren’t for me enjoying the look in his eyes when he has to raise my hand in victory — on the rare occasion it does happen — I’d contemplate bringing my own referee in just to ensure a fair shake.”

Wonder what Holly Brianwood is up to these days?

“Stupid, painted faced, loser. It’s funny– and not to jump entirely off topic here, but all I keep hearing about is how Wild Bill Arlin from Scottsdale Arizona is this dangerous threat. That I should be worried about him. Truth is, each and every time I hear someone say it I laugh. No disrespect to him, but when you’re me the threat is everywhere. The refs. The announce team. The Mordials. Management. The inhibitions of your own stablemates. When you are me, it is inescapable.”

You’d think with all the dreadfulness that comes with being me I wouldn’t be smiling right now. But, my tune is about to change, and deep down where it counts I am still the COOLEST man to have ever walked this Earth.

“Shit, my threat plate is so full that by the time I can even get around to worrying about the locker room there’s nothing but crumbs left.”

ZING.

“Crumbs like this week’s visitor to MY MAIN EVENT.”

More righteous, self indulgent thumb to chest jabbing.

“I know this much, Hazel Eyes Hanlon better take his shoes off if he knows what is good for him. Best he pay me my proper respects. I don’t care how down in the dumps he thinks is. He’s in the big pond now. MY pond. There’s no room for small boats out here. Check the billboard outfront if you think I’m playing.”

For the fifth time. 

And a guarantee to be a sixth at UltraViolence.

Something, something, homage, man.

“If he does, there’s a chance it might be easier for him. Might.”

Oh look, there goes a cricket.

“Then again, who am I kidding? Once he took up residency under the armpit of Brandon Youngblood his fate was sealed.”

I snarl. I think to myself, GEE, I am going to enjoy this bout like a pre match slap to the face.

“Not to mention, like I’ve been harping on for the past couple of matches now, Brandon’s armrest is guilty of crimes against the COOL. In fact, he might be the most guilty of the entire PRIME lot.”

No small feat. 

Got to be up there with being a former 5-Star Champion.

Struck, all I can do is marvel at Hayes’ impressiveness. Of course I mean in regard to him playing peanut. However, then I remember there’s no gallery for him to hide behind at ReVival 11. He’ll be on MY turf. Under MY bright lights. He’s a guest in MY house.

“The moronic, stupid, delicate, starry-eyed, insignificant, useless coattail rider, Hayes Hanlon. Just a complete and utter fanboy. In fact, I bet he carries around a picture of Brandon in his wallet, and that he’s even got Youngblood sheets and pillowcases for bedding. Worse yet, he’s probably got an old singlet of Babelbrain’s that he sleeps in.”

Sign my yearbook Brandon, please.

A beat.

“Forever unwashed. All of it.” 

Those poor sheets.

That poor singlet. 

Who knows how many rides the two of them have gone on?

“If Homerun Hayes had any balls before our match he’d ask Brandon if he thought he could hit one out of the park against PRIME’s closer instead of a slap across the face.”

That’d be a wakeup call worth going to the ballpark for.

“Though, I do wonder? Knowing what a classless, spineless, and bald human Brandon is, aka just another Canadian, would he lie to him? Would he sit Little Hayes down, look him in his star struck eyes and say with a straight face– yes Hayes, you have a chance at doing what only I have done, eh.” 

I spit. Just talking like Brandon puts me in a bad mood.

Worse mood.

“My bet is he would– the coward.”

“HEY! STILL HERE!”
Don’t go losing to Wild Bill.
“Screw you.”

Calmly, because the thought of waxing Hayes’ face with my boot does that for me, I head back and retake my throne. I sit there, scratching at my chin thoughtfully. It is as if the whole not being able to leave the MGM Grand thing is making a lot more sense now. Then, epiphany realized, I begin to cackle. Out loud. For all to hear. It shakes the building, it’s so obnoxious. Like, if I were eating grapes the juice would be squirting out of my open chewing mouth.

“Ya know, before I might have alluded to management being a threat, but the more I speak about Hayes the more I’m starting to think they couldn’t be since they’ve given me such a tasty treat. Maybe Mom does know how many buckets I’ve filled, ALREADY MIND YOU, and that if I can’t scalp High Chief Youngblood just yet then maybe his understudy’s mustache will do for now.”

I nod.

“She’d be right.”

Yes, she would be.

—

COOLYMPUS
Land Before Time
The Climb

“It didn’t belong to me. It belonged to us.” — Jiles’ Journal, June 12th, 2022.

And what did I find at the summit of COOLYMPUS?

Not T-Shades.

Not fancy hair gel.

Not Zeus waiting to give me the birds and the bees talk.

Not a variety of company issue tracksuits.

Not the location of the secret elevator.

Not the MAIN EVENT.

Not a BEAT CANCER t-shirt.

An egg.