Posted on 10/29/22 at 8:26pm by Cancer Jiles
Event: ReVival 18
“Someone better tell him the year is 2022, and no one smokes anymore. Such a silly, old, time traveling convict. You’d think someone who’s had proceedings with the future would know that.” — Jiles’ Journal, October 27th, 2022.
As soon as I hit the curtain I made a beeline for my skybox. No one, and I mean no one has a gas at Cancer Jiles’ expense.
No, I didn’t run per se. Though, I would have, and the only reason I didn’t was because Bobby wanted to keep pace. He assured me he was doing it for the team, and said something about wanting to have my back in case a scrum broke out.
That was a lie.
First, Bob doesn’t even know what the word scrum means. He kept calling it a scone, but I’m pretty sure he meant scrum.
Second, I know firsthand Bob never got a chance to ask Nova for his autograph all the way back at ReVival 3, and that he’s wanted to ever since. Sadly, he was too busy walking Cocaine back up the entrance ramp then.
And Bob is not a collector. He wipes his ass with them. However, tonight would not be Bob’s night to wipe with the stars. See, the smoke had cleared by the time we had gotten back to COOLYMPUS(skybox). Nova was nowhere to be found. Nor was his lackey, Wade. Gladly, neither of them took a shit on the floor, or did something similarly PRIMEy. Although, there was a smoldering cigarette left in my proverbial mashed potatoes.
“Don’t worry.” I said to Bob, dejected and morose. “They’re gone.”
We did try.
Dooze eventually came lagging behind Bob and I. With him, the rest of my D1 security detail followed. They’re supposed to be two steps ahead of me, especially on a show night. In this instance I didn’t have the belt so they let their foot off the gas some. Plus, we were short men. Two, actually. If you’re wondering what happened to them before I took off to wish death upon a trespassing star I threw the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP at Mom as she passed through the curtain.
The whole bit was quite humorous if you ask me.
It’s not like it hit her in the face or anything, and I’m sure if she was looking at me when I did it she would have caught it.
Pretty sure she broke a nail.
One of the Enemigos passed out. I think it was Four. Don’t know. Don’t really care. Then, after he dropped, I looked right at Bolamba. Right into his sad, dead eyes, and I smiled at him. Hand of the God I thought the Samoan Slob was going to break rank and try to tattoo my face right then and there. Luckily for him Dame quickly got between us. As did my own hand picked watcher of the watchers, Laser.
“Laser, put an APB out with the MGM Grand security team for those T-Shades.” I decreed from the doorway to COOLYMPUS. “If they find them, retrieve them and then find a steel mill with a lava pit to properly dispose of them. Use the jet if you must.”
Golden Ticket Redux
“He couldn’t beat me then, what makes him think he can beat me now?” — Jiles’ Journal, October 30th, 2022.
A few days had passed since the show.
More like since Mom had tried to show me up.
I am alone.
Not by choice, but by design.
Laser is posted up outside of the door incase of an emergency, or if there is word on the stolen T-Shades. It’s not like he’d fit inside this coffin they call a room anyway. My hair, as per, is its usually wonderful, luscious, golden blond self. My good pair of T-Shades sit on the bridge of my nose, and are capable of blotting out ten suns. The collar on my eclectic-blue tracksuit is popping off the charts.
When in Rome as they say.
My mind wanders.
Not too far.
“I guess it’s safe to say neither of us are the same as the day we faced off in the Almasy.”
“God, that seems like forever ago, don’t it? The Golden Ticket. My first MAIN EVENT. Cocaine. Tell me, how many times since then have you headlined the place you put on the map?”
That of course is rhetorical since I know the answer to such a question.
“I know that since then — since I toppled over one of PRIME’s supposed pillars in what was at the time dubbed as an upset — I’ve gone on to headline more shows than anyone else has.”
By a wide margin.
Almost as wide as my proud smile.
“In fact, I’ve wrestled so many times in the MAIN EVENT that I have a subcategory to reflect it in my win loss record.”
On my Stevenspedia fan page.
“Fuck, I’d even wager that I’ve appeared more times in the MAIN EVENT than you’ve even had matches since PRIME’s return.”
Me = Cancerous PRIME.
Nova = Optimus Crumb.
“I wonder who has more? Me with MAIN EVENTS, or you with hairs on the top of your head?”
Another chuckle, and no I don’t wonder. I just wanted to make a bald joke while further belittling the insignificant speck of shit stuck between the salt crevices on the bottom of my shoe.
“I wonder who has more? Me with MAIN EVENTS, or you and the amount of yellow stains on that cot you’ve been sleeping on?”
I smile, as if to concede and say he’s got me there without actually having to say it.
Stubborn till the end.
“I’m sure Wade has helped add to the collection, too, you cheating bastard.”
I wink. Not that you would know because of the obnoxious size of my sunglasses.
“And here I thought I was pegged as the more underhanded of the two.”
A shrug. It happens. Sometimes I am wrong.
“And let us not forget since our last encounter — back when I took your soul and put it in my tracksuit jacket pocket to sell on Ebay at a later date — I have gone on to become the UNIVERSAL Champion. Mr. Number ONE by Definition.”
“I have stepped on the throat of PRIME with all of my might, just like I said I was going to do, and have yet to let my salty boot up.”
I point down to my illustrious salt shoes. They are out of the shot so you’ll have to take my word for it that I have them on.
And a pair of pants.
“Since I beat you back at ReVival 3 I have gone on to become everything they hoped you would be, Nova.”
“And then some.”
“While you… have failed. For the better part of however long it has been, you have seemingly been traveling through space and time trying to find the old you. The version people cared about. The one other wrestlers feared, and that PRIME loved. The Hall of Famer, for whatever that is worth.”
“Regrettably, that person does not exist. Not as long as I’m around.”
I jab my thumb into my chest for extra clarification.
“This is my UNIVERSE, and I have the belt to proe it.”
Man and Snake
“He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t realize he was right where I had wanted him.” Jiles’ Journal, October 31st, 2022.
There is a story.
Nor tall, nor small.
It ends in tragedy.
And is rumored to be true.
It starts with a man.
A remarkable one.
This man was as good as it got.
He was untouchable.
To challenge him was unthinkable.
To approach him was unbelievable.
To praise him was undeniable.
His aura was so rich, so sublime, so encapsulating. His accolades were long. His accomplishments were longer. He was revered by all. He was the goal. He was the physical and spiritual embodiment of aspiration. He walked where people were afraid to follow. He set the trend. He was a shining example.
He was a star.
Then, he fell from the sky and landed in the Garden of COOLYMPUS. At first he thought because of who he was that he would be safe. And why wouldn’t he? He had a full pack of cigs rolled up in his sleeve, and a cozy, pee stained cot to sleep on.
However, the man thought wrong.
What he didn’t know.
What he couldn’t know.
The Garden in which he landed was home to one of the most vile, decrepit, rotting lifeforms to ever hatch from an egg. A creature of the dark who stares into the abyss by choice; who lives for suffering; who dies by the sword; who bleeds for his cause.
The heart does not beat, simply because the creature does not have one.
The soul can not be stolen, simply because the creature does not have one.
To look into the creature’s eyes is to see yourself in absolute fear.
A true snake of a being whose cool blooded nature runs deep.
And when the star who fell from the sky came across the snake it didn’t matter what he had done, or how bright he had shown. It didn’t matter if he was fun or not, or if he was considered well known. It didn’t matter whose hero he was, and how many looked up and wished upon him. He was in the snake’s garden now, and the snake was blinded by his light. Threatened by it, so much so the snake wanted to wrap his body around the light and suffocate it. Snuff it out. Completely. Not only that, he wanted to make everything around it the same way just for being inconvenienced.
So he did.
And the star’s light died.
However, something happened to the snake. A metamorphosis. He wasn’t inconvenienced like he thought. In fact, he shed that skin, and experienced a sensation that warmed his cool blooded nature. He was instantly addicted to it, and already started to yearn for the next opportunity to experience it once more.
I was happy.
Golden Ticket Reduxes
“I will do anything to spurn Mom, and she goes and does this? For my first title defense? Is this too good to be true? Has she finally come around to her senses? Or does she think I am injured beyond repair? One thing is for sure, she has lost all faith in Brandon Youngblood. Poor guy. Went from boiling hot nemesis to cold french fry.” — Jiles’ Journal, October 30th, 2022.
I’m still stuntin in my one room coffin. That is to say not much has changed. Well, except for the amount of yellow stains on Nova’s cot.
Nah, I just got done taking a little smoke break.
Although, just prior to this I did say the UNIVERSE was mine and that I have the belt to prove it, and while on paper that might be true if I had said in my possession it would make me a liar.
And I hate liars.
“Why do you think Mom decided to drop you inside my cage?”
I’ve heard of a heroic white knight before. Even a proud white horse. But never a shining white mouse.
“Is it because she thinks you’re at the forefront of the race? That you are deserving of the spot? Maybe she thinks that since you beat Brandon in a dark match when I never could that you’ll be able to beat me in my MAIN EVENT for my CHAMPIONSHIP that I have bled and almost died for?”
That was a lot.
“Maybe it’s because she is just so utterly desperate to get the title off me that she would turn to anybody brave enough to try? Or stupid enough to think it even possible?”
I cackle with egregiousness.
My laugh game has been upgraded for part two.
“Do you think she wants to kill the next pay per view by having you headline COOLOSSUS instead of me?”
A pause, as I anxiously await an answer.
“The answer is no, she doesn’t.”
A cracking newsflash shoots across the screen. It simply reads, ‘she doesn’t’.
I was never considered tech savvy.
“And the reason why she doesn’t is because I told her I would stay if she let me leave an egg on your face again. I told her all the funny business would be put to bed, and we could all relax and be hunky dory. PRIME could heal, and we would do it together. As a family.”
Or a fancy twist of the truth?
Or just outright fib?
“That’s right. She buckled, meaning the whole bit on the last ReVival was just a clever ruse. I knew you’d be up in my skybox because I’m the one who put you up there. I mean, come on, did you really think I would just leave a pair of T-Shades lying around like that by accident?”
Remember, I hate liars, so be careful if you look to discredit me and my ten foot long nose.
”But before the big dance Mom and I agreed that you had to work on your moves a bit. Moreover, we had to give you some credibility outside of a chance pirouette around a slumping Brandon Crumblood. Not for me, and not for you, but for the PRIMEates to cling onto. They adore you, but aren’t as stupid as they look. They know you wouldn’t stand a chance against a CHAMPION like me. Not without a wave to ride in on.”
The whole lot of them.
“And speaking of Brandon, I hope the irony isn’t lost on you that the very man you beat to ‘earn’ this spot against me will now be off the hook as PRIME’s greatest and most resolute failure. Now, that mantle will fall to you, Nova. Congrats on the promotion. It sounds life changing.”
See, someone tell Brandon I’m not as bad as people claim.
“Plus, I don’t know if you are aware of this or not but I’m running out of opponents to MAIN EVENT against. That’s ultimately why it happened so quickly. The being slingshotted back into the bright headlights of Cancerous PRIME.”
I nod my head like I had just gotten done talking to my oldest son about the facts of life.
“Basically, your only purpose is to fatten up my ego before COOLOSSUS.”
That’s how she put it to me.
Go on and ask her about it.
“Basically, you’re not the one, Nova, and I’m going to punish you for even thinking so. I’m going to punish PRIME for hoping so, and I’m going to punish Mom for dreaming so. My reign doesn’t end at ReVival 18. It, along with the ominous shadow I cast over all things PRIME, will continue to grow.”
My finger wags.
“I know. Deep breath. The pressure is on. Don’t want to let the team down. Fear not, soon I will feast and it will all be over. When I am done, you and whatever is left on your bones can go back to playing ‘cotalingus’ with Wade while your parole officer sits in the corner watching.”
I grit my teeth.
A real shooting star.
“There’s no stopping COOLOSSUS, Nova. It is etched in stone. It is going to happen. My will alone will make that so. I will be in the MAIN EVENT, and I will be defending my UNIVERSE for the all to see. Maybe, and when I say maybe I really don’t mean it and I’m just trying to be nice, but maybe I can put in a good word for you and get you a spot on the card.”
Just Another Day
A Walk in My Shoes
“Not seeing the Bandits as often as I like was starting to get to me. Bobby has been greasy handing all of his texts as of late, and Dooze has gone radio silent. It is almost as if someone else has taken him over. I even heard a rumor about a cardboard cutout leaving the den. I miss it there. Maybe this war isn’t worth fighting.” — Jiles’ Journal, November 3rd, 2022.
I was out and about.
Had important things to do.
I already went to two doctor’s appointments for my neck. I should just call them regular check ups at this point since I’ve been going on the weekly. Good news is I continue to be on the mend, and when the main event rolls around for ReVival 18 it’ll be the closest I’ve been to a hundred percent since the early rounds of the Almasy.
Then, I had a radio spot I was mandated to do. It was for an AM show with some evangelists. Dancing With Snakes it was called. I guess Mom thought it would be funny. I won’t lie, I thought it was some MESSIAH trap at first but the host wasn’t a bad guy and by the end of it I felt right at home. I even have an open invitation to return. We talked about life, glue, and exceptionalism for the most part. I even joked around with the listeners, and asked them all to say a prayer for Nova since he is going to need them.
Maybe I was wrong about those cults.
After the radio spot I had a quick, in and out, three hour hair treatment that ended with thirty minutes of cryostasis to revitalize my roots. I enjoyed it thoroughly. Probably more than I should have. It was a first class operation. I even saw a woman get a weave in under ten minutes. Bitch looked like Lil Wayne. She then took a picture with a fan, and I realized me and Mom go to the same day spa.
When my treatment was over I was famished, so I started drawing up plans for lunch. I tried setting something up with the boys, mainly to check in with them and go over the game plan should things take an unexpectedly horrific turn for the worse. I got back a text consisting of an 162 letter word from Bob that seemed enthusiastic from the scattered emojis, and nothing from Dooze.
It would seem as if I am on my own.
I guess gone are the days I could count on the growl of Bob’s appetite to keep me company.
I hope not.
And who knows?
Maybe Dooze is really here with me and he’s just playing hard to get.
Or maybe my vicious pursuit of dominance and PRIME’s total annihilation are going to wind up costing me everything.
That is the prophecy after all.
That is COOLOSSUS.