Cancer Jiles
Unlucky
Number
Seven
“What would become of him? Would he follow in their footsteps or would he forge ahead like I had done? He is young. He is prideful. Maybe he could escape the curse and avoid the fate his idols had succumbed to.” — Jiles’ Journal, December 10th, 2022.
The UNIVERSAL Championship.
My baby.
Joey Crumb, Billy Public, and Nancy PRIME might use words like prestige, dignity, and coveted to describe the UNIVERSAL Championship. But me? I use the word CURSED, and yes I have the fun facts to support such rambunctiousness.
Here goes.
Since PRIME reopened its lovely and decorated doors only a select few have competed for the biggest pot of gold in all the number one by definition land. Six to be exact. They are as follows: Brandon Crumbblood, Repulsive, Gorilla Glue Atken, Jillian Bitchboy, Vega Bond, and me; Current Champion of PRIME and all things COOL, Cancer Jiles.
Out of that salacious six, three are gone. Repulsive is away sewing blankets for the blind and calloused, Glue’s still looking for his stick, and Jill Bitchboy remains forever steadfast in living up to her last name. As for the remainder: Crumblood, Bond, and myself, aka KING COOL, aka Cancer Jiles.
Well, it doesn’t get much better.
For two of us anyway.
If you are to believe the recent news it would seem my old pal Crumbblood, the very furst UNIVERSAL Champion, winner of the Almasy, and supposed pillar of PRIME, before the biggest show of the year mind you, leaked that he’s unhappy with his contract and thinking about leaving.
Moe.
Ron.
Couple that crumbing with all the other crumbing Brandon’s been doing as of late and it is easy to see the scarlet letter on his wrestling singlet. Quick aside, if you ask me I say just let him go. I’m sure there’s a long line of people who would absolutely die to play opener for PRIME’s up and coming Woods and Water Tour.
Long line.
Next among the remaining three is the cherry on PRIME’s electric blue cigarette, inmate 00769420, Nova. After his most recent encounter with the UNIVERSAL Championship he’s been cursed so badly, so horribly, so unforgivingly that he’s now refereeing matches instead of wrestling in them.
Novalamba.
Ha.
I am aware Nova is wrestling Sunny Silvers at COOLOSSUS. I’d like to point out that it’s not the main event nor is it against Sunny GOLD so does it even count or matter?
No.
That’s five out of the six so far that are UNIVERSALLY cursed.
Save the best for last.
Only one remains.
A true highlander.
A Greek God among men.
A blood diamond in the rough.
The only star left shining.
The only one to have stayed with it. The only one who refused to be denied. The only one whose will was strong enough to endure.
The Champion.
Me.
Cancer Jiles.
When it comes to the curse I know firsthand the peril it sows, and as such I vow never to suffer its wrath again.
Not even if some home run, good luck, Wonder Boy wishes it so.
However, and speaking of Wonder Boy’s, soon we will welcome another into our tortured group. An unlucky seventh. Sadly for him, for young Hayes, I fear the curse might be too much for him to bear.
Yes.
The thought does make me smile.
—
MGM Grand
The eGG Den
The Boys are Back
“Hayes will be tough. He’s hungry, and he thinks he can do it because he’s done it before. Granted, I wasn’t me then. I wasn’t Master of the Universe. Still, if I am to succeed I’ll need my eGG Bandit brethren. I’ve always been at my tallest when standing atop their shoulders.” — Jiles Journal, December 14th, 2022.
It’s been a while since I’ve been allowed up here.
Inside the den.
Elon Troy lifted the shadow ban.
With my Bandits.
I don’t know why I thought it would smell like the room wasn’t doubling as a hamper/trash can/toilet, because it certainly does. I guess chalk it up to wishful thinking on my part. To further exemplify the erosion of my sense of smell; the reason I used the word toilet in the pungent room description is because there is a near full piss bucket next to the clogged toilet in the master bathroom.
First class.
I don’t even know what color that is supposed to be.
It’ll come to me.
Or why there’s a bubbling froth coming from the toilet and it’s lake placid in the bucket.
Got me there.
Who knows how long it’s had to have been like this to even create such body waste wizardry?
Better call Hogwarts. The number should be on Hayes’ bedsheets.
Curiosity piquing, I begin to question Bobby about the temporary urinal. He complains to me, “I can’t find the turn down the room sign you’re supposed to hang on the doorknob.” He then swears that I took the sign as a prank. I assure him I didn’t, and then ask him if he knows how to use a telephone to call housekeeping. He mutters something about them taking the phone away because he was calling the 1-800 numbers again. I unsurprisingly shrug, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, call it furthering my morbid curiosity, ask where he drains the bucket.
Such a mistake.
Bobby’s very deadpan response, “It depends.”
Let’s just say no one should ever use that shower or sink again.
As for Freddy Doozyhew, I don’t know how he’s survived up here all this time. With the room being in utter shambles it seems more torture chamber than hospice. Maybe when he disappears he goes to a different place. A quieter one that doesn’t smell like the inside of Bob’s asshole and stale urine. Yes, there is a difference. I can see how you might get confused since Bob sits down to pee; which really puts a mystified twist on the piss bucket.
Teabucket Nectar.
That’s the color.
Anywho, luckily for me I’m just stopping by the eGG Den and not moving back in. We, the Bandits, are going out for a fancy dinner to celebrate our stay coming to a close at the MGM Grand. I even ordered a coolossal COOLOSSUS cake ahead of time for our dessert. Ya know, in celebration for all that WE have accomplished.
I know they are just going to love it.
Right.
As we’re leaving I turn to Bob and Fred and say to them with my trademark sincerity on full display, “Thanks for this. I know my focus has been more singular, and you guys might have suffered because of it. Just know I would never be where I am without either of you.”
Neither of them break from their excited stride, but both do laugh in my face as they pass me by. Fred then chirps back to me, “Let’s go, crumb. Don’t try to weasel out of paying. In fact, why don’t we stop by your room on our way out and make sure you didn’t forget your wallet, again.”
I frown.
Busted cold.
Brethren till the end.
—
The Wolf
Of
PRIMEstreet
“I forgot to tell her the good news. I’m not fucking leaving.” — Jiles’ Journal, December 11th, 2022.
It’s been a few long months since I said it.
For everyone.
Since I said I was going to leave PRIME.
We get it.
More precisely, since I said I was going to win the UNIVERSAL Championship and leave PRIME.
Such a knob sometimes.
Well, if I’m being precise, since I said I was going to win the UNIVERSAL Championship and leave PRIME while dragging my bare ass across the floor like the dirty dog that I am.
Go on then, scratch that itch.
In fact, ironically enough, after Hayes Hanlon pulled the ole wool over my eyes is when I said I was going to leave. I think I started adding the UNIVERSAL bit to my repertoire after realizing how easy it was going to be at UltraViolence. Not that that matters, or has a point in all of this. Anyway, if I had known then what I know now, I’d be a fool for even thinking about it let alone saying it aloud.
Leave PRIME.
HA!
Good one, Pizmo.
What a gargantuan mistake that would have been. A blunder for the ages undoubtedly. Regret on a seemingly unfathomable scale. Just think though, if I never said it Brandon could have been the first one to come up with it.
Zing.
Back to the point.
Leave PRIME.
HA!
Such an idiot I am. Sure, I may have used my dubious machinations to propel me forward and launch me into a stratosphere that PRIME never knew eggsisted, but at what cost? To clarify, I mean in the figurative sense. In the literal sense we all made a boatload of money off of me saying I was going to leave so as fate would have it it was of very little actual cost to any of us. In fact, PRIME was even able to add a second column to their website just in case any news of my impending departure cracked.
What’s that? That’s how it has always been? Oh. Fuck Matt Mills then.
They say the grass is greener on the other side; I say I’ve seen that grass and it’s definitely not green, that much I know. Moreover after seeing the grass it scared the ever living shit out of me.
Figuratively speaking.
Still quite the price to pay.
So much so I realized just how good I got it.
Very cozy. Very easy. Very laissez-faire. Very scared straight.
That said, I truly am sorry for my selfish behavior, and no I don’t care if my apology is accepted. I know I should have never threatened to leave. I know it was wrong for me to do, and I have seen the error in my ways. Just the other day I was sitting in my cubicle/dormitory pondering just how lucky I am to have not left since it would’ve meant I missed out on salting over the likes of Dusk, Nova, Bathory, and in the very near future Hayes Hanlon.
True story.
Also, who else has the BEST and BIGGEST show of the year named after them?
Literally named after them.
Oh, and a skybox to perch around in and eat grapes?
And I wanted to leave such a place?
Silly, silly me.
Fear not, no longer do I wish for such dastardly amputation. Fact is the closer COOLOSSUS gets the less my nostrils burn when breathing in the air around PRIME. One might even say my dislike has cooled to a tolerable level, and since I’m being completely honest I wouldn’t be surprised if that level extended upwards to dare I say an enjoyable one in the very near future.
Now, I know it’s hard for me to seem sincere, and I totally bring that upon myself, but I do mean it. I’m sorry for all the trouble that I might have caused.
Kind of.
But definitely not really.
Rest easy PRIME. Your Champion is home and he isn’t going anywhere.
EVER.
P.S. It would seem it is more fun to spite Mom to her face than it is from a far. Who knew?
—
MGM Grand
Morimoto
Eat Your Cake
“All I could do was pray that they didn’t have fresh crab legs.” Jiles’ Journal, December 14th, 2022.
There we are.
All dolled up for our fancy dinner. Well, as dolled up as can be. Bob’s got a pair of slacks on that have an elastic waist, and honestly you can’t really tell that they are fat pants. His collared gold shirt is a wrinkly mess but surprisingly stain free. Fred has on blue skinny jeans and a denim blazer like he’s Canadian all of a sudden. I’m donning a fancy silk shirt that is mostly unbuttoned with Miami white linen pants. Yes, most of my chest is showing. Hair, shades, all booked.
Dinner is over with.
It’s soon time for dessert.
Before I can share my cake it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention some of the things we Bandits discussed during dinner. Fred told me why he changed his name again, though I forget why already again. Bob talked about the origins of the bucket, and about how Belle and him were further apart than ever before. Luckily for my appetite and sanity I was in the bathroom for that part. When I came back I interrupted him to tell them the war against PRIME is over. We won. It was ours. COOLOSUSS was proof of that, and no matter the outcome they could never take it away from us. I made it abundantly clear I meant the outcome of their match and not mine. We even glanced over what to do if Hayes decides to take me up on my offer.
It’s not having him speak in French.
We also talked at length about HOW bad of an idea it was to let Doozer make group decisions. I told a funny joke about HOW if he started saying his blunder was the reason for changing his name then I would probably have a better chance at remembering it. Right after that we all said HOW we weren’t going to talk about certain things anymore. Then we even figured out HOW we’re going to rope our eGG Queen back into the Bandits.
HA.
Just kidding.
Or am I….
“So let me get this straight.” Fred furrows his brow and confusingly continues. “Right when your music hits and she’s out there holding the Championship you’re going to turn to her, lower your shades, get down on one knee, look her square in the eyes, and tell her you’re sorry for putting her through all of this. Then we take a knee next to you to bring the whole thing home? That’s your crazy idea?”
It does sound crazy when hearing it like that. Maybe I won’t bend down on a knee. Could be too dramatic. Maybe I’ll save the whole thing for after the match instead of before it. My entrance is going to be long enough.
We shall see.
Anyway, dessert has arrived.
You should see the look on the gang’s faces. Bobby is tearing up, and Fred is flashing in and out of visibility. The cake is absolutely immaculate. It’s in the shape of a mountain, and along the mountain are the many crumbs I have encountered along the way. Sprinkled in with the crumbs are bits of egg shell that are really icing. At the very top of the mountainous cake sit the gates to COOLYMPUS. Behind them, the eGG Bandits. Bob and Fred are shoulder to shoulder, with me standing tall atop them.
Fred boasts, “Oh that’s cute.”
Before the cake is cut/Bobby reaches in with his bare hand and helps himself, I lower my shades and look into my brothers’ eyes. I wait until I have both of their attention, and when I do a quiet calm comes over the table. The rustle and bustle of the busy restaurant around us ceases. Conversations that were once within earshot go silent. Even the leaky faucet in the kitchen tightens its drip.
Not even a mouse.
Slowly and carefully I lean forward in my chair, my eyes piercing into their yolky souls. Then, as if it were the last one I was ever going to take, I breathe in and ask them what I would ask of no ordinary man.
And only of a brother.
“Are you sure you don’t want to help out with the check? That cake was expensive as fuck.”
—
COOLOSSUS
IS
HERE
“I’ve headlined some big shows before, but none were ever named after me. None were ever part of the prophecy. None were ever carte blanche in regard to my entrance runtime. As such, I do not prepare for war on the 17th of December, but rather I prepare for Hades.” — Jiles’ Journal, December 15th, 2022.
Here we are.
The moment of truth.
Just a man in a funeral black tracksuit sitting atop his sweet blue couch waiting for the gates of hell to open and devour him whole.
No more games, and nothing left to offer but some shade.
T-shade that is.
Lights.
Cancer.
ACTION~!
“Dearest Hayes, I do hope you’ve reconsidered my offer.”
I know better, but a boy can STILL dream.
Regardless of his tie color!
My smile is wide, and my teeth are pearly. My hair is radioactive in both sheen and glow. I’m as COOL as I possibly can be. This is my moment, and I am relishing it.
“Tell me Hayes, do you wonder why PRIME officials changed the frequency in which the UNIVERSAL Championship will be defended?”
I wait, even managing to sneak in a quick whistle to help pass the time.
“Do you think it is because they are looking to set you up as a fighting champion? The young stallion who romps his way all over PRIME with the Championship firmly strapped around his waist?”
Slowly, and along with the rest of the waking world, I shake my head no.
“Or is it because they are desperate to get the belt off of me, and the only trick they’ll have left after you get done sniffing my salts is to run me into the ground? Which, sadly for you, is a more clever and underhanded way of saying that Mom really doesn’t have any faith in you, does she Hayes?”
My eyes pop open, as if I can smell her nefarious intentions from a mile away.
Attrition.
Smart.
“I mean, not to be rude, but isn’t that the whole reason Nova is going to be out there with us? So maybe he does the ‘right’ thing in case I don’t happen to slip on a banana peel again?”
I snicker, because not even Nova would even dare to do something that dumb, and that costly.
NOT. EVEN. DARE.
“Gosh, this revelation has to be frustrating for you since you’re one of two people to have actually snatched victory from my chiseled jawline, and pinned my shoulders to a PRIME mat for the count of three.”
Yikes.
Awkward silence.
“I can’t even imagine how betrayed and loathsome you must be feeling right now. Ya know, since the frequency change pretty much added your name to my list of successful title defenses.”
Clear your cache if you don’t see it in the bio.
“Just imagine if you had someone to help you work through those emotions. Someone to look out for you in these situations.”
I nod sympathetically. I assure you the whole thing is meant to be very sincere, and very welcoming, especially should a certain someone all of a sudden decide to wise up. If not, he’s young, and I’m sure the process will serve as a good learning experience for him.
Curse be damned.
I’ll sleep well regardless.
“Maybe you can find some solace in the fact that even with what they’ve done, and that is hand you over to me on a silver platter, I still refuse to look past you, Hayes.”
I sharpen my gait, and inch up in my throne. I mean, UNIVERSAL Championship or not, namesake super show or not, I do still owe him one.
Petty till the end.
“You see, I can not and will not afford myself to do anything less. This match means too much to me for you to spoil it. It is my crowning achievement and my greatest accomplishment all rolled up into one. I will not allow it to go up in smoke.”
All sorts of proud I wipe an imaginary tear from my T-shades.
“For me to fa–”
I quickly snort. The enormity of my situation must have snuck up on me.
Hopefully that’s the last time that happens.
“Let’s just say I better be dead if the day after our match comes and I’m no longer PRIME’s UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.”
Hades, bitches.
“See you on the slopes.”
Pucker.
Kiss.
Good bye.