Cancer Jiles
MGM Grand
Principal Troy’s Office
Unconventional Punishment
“She said I have to donate 97 grand to the Phil Atken GoFundMe. Like I got that kind of money just sitting around. Who does she think I am? Timo Hollywood? Oh well, at least it is for a good cause. Hopefully he can come back even taller than before.” — Jiles Journal, September 9th, 2022.
ReVival had ended. Bobby had been lifted out. Doozer was nowhere to be seen. Youngblood was off looking for some Abreva. Phil was no longer a threat. Bathory. That mongrel. That pimple of war. That hairy assface. That Hansonite. We’ll get to him later.
For now…
There I sit. Backstage. Behind a closed door. Getting read the absolute Riot Act from Mom. As such, and since it is a behind closed doors meeting and I wouldn’t want to betray her trust by quoting her exactly; and while she might not have said this outright but I for sure understood it as being implied– yes I totally agree with her sentiment that there are way too many softies running around in the back.
Fragile. Delicate. PRIMEates.
And, AND! without some sort of heavy levy. Without some sort of anvil to fall from the sky. Without some sort of cruel and unusual punishment… how would the fragile and the delicate sleep at night knowing the whip wasn’t cracked?
Ha.
Just kidding. She’d never say something like that. It would be much more eloquent.
Much more indeed.
Of course, because my luck be damned or I am just an insipid prick of life – you decide – I had on my dress reds for the encounter. No, it wasn’t to further enrage my Queen or test the limits of her wrath, rather it was I had left my dress blues on the jet. I would have changed outfits is what I’m getting at. It might have helped.
Might.
Oh, and while I’m at it, I definitely shouldn’t have sat there with my collar popped. Sadly, that’s just HOW that particular tracksuit is.
Womp. Womp.
Now, I didn’t bother to argue with Mom over the stiff monetary ruling she handed down. Sure, I’ll appeal later down the road and/or get on some sort of penny a day payment plan till I die. That’s not the point though. The point is she’s right. What happened out there to Philip was wrong. It was uncalled for. He deserves better after coming back to the ring after all that time away. He deserves the right to defend himself and his prestigious championship in a dignified manner. And, as much as I hate to agree with her, Phil did what I could not. How he went out, like a simpering Scottish Salami, well that just wasn’t right.
Sorry, Doctor.
Which, and this should come as no surprise, is probably why I enjoyed the whole GAWD DAMN thing so much.
Ha. FUCKING. HA.
NOT SORRY.
But I get it. I’m an adult. I understand reason. Treachery can not rule the day. What the eGG MESSIAHS did opened the door for bigger problems down the road. To prevent such things from ever happening again, which is convenient for me since I am going to be the next UNIVERSAL Champion, we needed to be dealt with.
HARSHLY.
You can’t have people like Bathory running around doing whatever he pleases.
Nobody wants to see that.
Except for that one kid who sits ringside.
We have a business to run.
Ha.
What I did not understand…
—
MGM Grand
The eGG Pen
Downsizing
“There is a line and she crossed it. I didn’t bark about the money. I swallowed the pill on the no escape clause. I even sat there smirk free looking like I was listening to her the whole entire time to show proper respect. But this…” Jiles’ Journal, September 12th, 2022.
It smells.
Like rot.
It stifles me.
It makes me clammy and agitated.
I hate it here.
I hate even more that Mom really knows how to warm my skin.
What am I one lining about you might wonder?
Well, I’m referring to ACT 2 of my severe, cruel, and unusual punishment.
I’m talking about my new room.
My cryogenics machine doesn’t fit through the door. I have no view. ZERO VIEW. Yes, that’s to say I can no longer see myself on the marquee in front of the Grand. The door to the bathroom is missing, as is the toilet seat. There’s a weird stain moving around on the carpet(Doozer’s shadow). No mini fridge(Bob took it). The TV is a tube, and only has two channels that you have to change manually. The hotel information channel, and some channel that appears to be scrambled, but if you look closely enough you can see a single bewb. Bobbo would love it. Luckily, I’m not him. Or would it be unluckily? My knees couldn’t handle it if I were. The water pressure in the shower/green hose coming out of the possible glory hole in the bathroom wall is horrible, and just like the view there’s absolutely no room for any of my hair products. Even the bed is a Cots For Cons donation, so basically smells like cigarette butts and feels like shivs.
Like…
Okay MOM I GET IT. This is what happens when you Termiblast Phil.
THIS SHIT ASS FUCKING ROOM.
Cold blooded.
I heard she took away Julian’s rattle.
COLD BLOODED.
Not only that, my status, my privilege inside the MGM Grand… I’ve gone from Blue Diamond to Red Zirconia. The Tower has fallen. Ivory has become mud. My couch is gone. It’s been replaced with a figurative Iron Chair. Mom, in all of her infinite wisdom, knocked me down a peg or thirty floors.
Stupid popped collar.
I’m a commoner. ME. The Closer. The COOL. The One Who You Don’t Fuck With. I just saw Nick Stuart walking down the same hallway as me. You know who I would see walking down the hallway leading to the eGG Den? No one. You needed a special shell white key and an oxygen tank to ride the special elevator up to it.
Eat your heart out, Wonka.
All because Phil couldn’t glue his glass jaw back together. I’m sorry. I mean all because I had to open my big mouth and threaten to leave the company with the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP around my waist.
Oh well, you reap what you sow.
At least Bob and Dooze are comfortable. And I’m sure his stupid kid is happy now that she’s got my room uncontested.
Reminds me.
Question.
Is it odd Bobby needed to stress test the limits of my toilet over a 48 hour period, and now the toilet seat and door are missing?
I thought it was, too.
—
MGM Grand
The Parking Lot
Memory Lane
“She called me at five in the morning to tell me I had to do it again. The kids wanted to dunk Cancer Jiles for free tickets to the show. I didn’t have to be there till ten, but she was going to have someone call me every half hour to remind me of my obligation.” — Jiles’ Journal, September 16th, 2022.
It’s hot out. Like, what are you doing outside, hot out. The asphalt parking lot amplifies the heat like a win over Cancer Jiles does for one’s career. It’s purely tortuous, like a win over Cancer Jiles does for my career. Even for me it’s excessively hot outside and I’m COOL by nature. Good thing my T-Shades are worth every penny. And good thing that dunk tank is going to be a blessing in disguise.
Or so I thought.
Once I saw the dunk tank, and how there wasn’t any water in it, I immediately thought otherwise. I guess it could be worse; at least it’s not broken glass in there. Or Bathory’s streaky underwear.
Or both.
“So, how many tickets are we giving away again?” I arrogantly ask while taking my perch.
Yes, I’m trying my best to elicit a snide response.
You’ll see why.
Lady Troy smoothly replies, “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll be back later. I’m going to get my nails done.”
I slump.
Her cuticles are a mess.
Going to be a while.
Unless she means her toes…
Going to be an eternity.
She’s got talons.
HOOT. HOOT.
Then, I hear a familiar sound. The sound I hear every time I walk down to the ring. The sound that lets me know people aren’t too fond of Cancer Jiles, and enjoy seeing bad things happen to him. It usually warms me to my COOL little core – the hate – and causes me to tape down.
This time…
Not so comforting.
Shrinkage.
The plank I’m sitting on starts to shake, as if the quickly approaching mob’s voracious shouting alone were going to be enough to knock me off my perch. Before Mom is out of sight I jokingly call out to her, “I thought you said this was for the kids?”
“I lied.”
Women.
—
MGM Grand
Mud Tower
Standing Room Only
“The time for games is over. I mean it. My whole body hurts after taking bumps in that damn dunk tank. There was a college baseball team that showed up and they really had a go of it. That poor MESSIAH fan from the last show, though. He came with his coffee mug and the people there got him all riled up and…. bloop. He even botched the second try. Nerd is gonna nerd I suppose.” — Jiles’ Journal, September 17th, 2022.
This place is ridiculous. Even a vampire has more room than this when he sleeps. This dormitory. It’s not only a shack, it’s proving to be a shackle. I have no couch to sit. No couch to eviscerate. No couch to pontificate. No couch to exacerbate. No couch to alleviate. No couch to EGGSTERMINATE.
JUST HAD TO HAVE THAT COLLAR POPPED.
But, like I have said since day one– I am a cockroach. I thrive in even the harshest conditions.
And I don’t lay down for anybody.
Apologies if you get claustrophobic.
Jet black, mirror tint, capable of eclipsing the sun T-Shades, go. The COOLest blonde hair you have ever damn seen, go. Electric Blue, PRIME issue tracksuit because I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake twice, go.
Action~!
“Julian Bathory. See. I do know your name.”
I smile. Me and Julian are pals now. We have bonded. Soon I will take him out on a date. One he’ll want to forget, but a date nonetheless.
“And how couldn’t I? After what you’ve done. After what we’ve done.”
I wag my finger. Naughty boy. Such an instigator. So devious. So spineless. So… younger me. Just minus the mentor and cult fetish. And the scrappy chin strap. And of course the horrid hair. And lack of T-shades, personality, vibrance, and promise.
“Before we get into that I want to extend my most sincere congratulations. You have made it. Your first MAIN EVENT. Your first chance at the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP. That’s a big deal, pal. Shit, you might even get laid if you happen to win, so tell Bruce to keep those fingers crossed.”
I chuckle. Julian. Popping his cherry. With that facial hair. It is a fine jest. Almost as fine of a jest as him winning.
“Seriously though, not bad for a guy who when compared to say the man he faces, is still an infant in terms of the lengths of their careers. Shit, come to think of it, not bad for a protege, either.”
I nod.
Impressed with all the young calf has done.
All zero or so of the MAIN EVENTS he’s been in.
“Not to brag, because I know first hand you did go to a time limit draw against Cancer Jiles at a Pay Per View once. Sure, it wasn’t the MAIN EVENT or GIMMICK RIGGED so it wasn’t when I was at my COOLest–”
That’s what it says when you check out his list of accomplishments. I’m also assuming that’s what the link in his PRIME bio is all about.
“But, I’ll have you know this is my third STEEL CAGE match for the MAIN title I guess we’ll call it in as many different promotions. Yes, I have been there before. Inside. Surrounded by the embrace of chaos. Where survival is the only way, and the prize and the stakes get no higher.”
True story. Defiance. High Octane. Now PRIME. I could retcon DREAM but Dooze gets confused enough as it is. Plus, I’d hate for his panties to get all twisted when we just got done unraveling them.
“So, when I say you have a massive opportunity in front of you, you should believe me. I know what a match of this magnitude can do for a career. I know what it turned me into. I know how many subscribers it can fetch you– I’m sure they’ll all be clamoring to join the MESSIAH Twitch and donate their life savings away.”
I snarl. Then, I chuckle once more while picturing all those water jugs full of change.
“That is, if you were to win.”
I flash my fangs. Well, not my fangs. I know the history with this place and I already referenced a vampire once. I flash my pearlies, proud and confident as could be.
“You should also know that opportunity comes with cost. If you’re to win at UltraViolence everyone will now be inside of your shadow, Julian. Jack. Me. Brandon. Noah. Big Baron Fang. Phil’s ghost. We’ll all be looking up at you and while the thought may be enticing; the reality is it’s a lot of pressure keeping us in the dark. Even for a young, well established, super junior like yourself.”
A very, very, condescending smirk.
“Although, maybe you’ve grown. Maybe that tie of ours has aged you like it has aged me. Maybe at age twenty-nine you aren’t as green as you look. Maybe now, you aren’t afraid to miss.”
I ponder.
“I guess I could just ask Phil about that one, huh?”
I ponder some more. Then, I shrug. I remember. Julian’s still a virgin. In life, and to the cage. And to the stakes. And to bright lights of the MAIN EVENT. Julian Bathory is a victim of circumstance, and that circumstance is simply put he is not ready for what lies ahead. He needs to get wet before he gets over. That doesn’t happen in one night. That doesn’t happen against Cancer Jiles. No amount of Crapathian Power Punch is going to change that.
“Speaking of Phil, I will say, Julian, I did not see that coming. It was quite the play. Forcing my hand. It’s not often I am moved in such a manner. Bravo. However, while adept as it might have been, you used up your surprise. Now, I see you coming. Green or not. Ready or not. Friend or Foe. Man or Mouse. You made sure that I’d know your name, and I do. I also know it’s not going to be on the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP after UltraViolence.”
Pucker.
Kiss.
Goodbye.
—
MGM Grand
The eGG Den
Checking In
“I did not expect to see what I saw.” — Jiles’ Journal, September 18th, 2022.
So, it turns out I left my bright light, special occasion, last worn when I rode Cocaine down to the ring, T-Shades up in the Den. And, with my current ban in effect, and the fact that I can not risk Bobby, Dooze, or even Belle to retrieve them for me without incident– I was in a pickle.
So, I ate it.
Luckily, my special key card to the elevator still worked.
Which meant my room key still worked.
Silly Mom, I guess she figured me smart enough not to try anything, since if I did go back and get caught I would wind up back in the dunk tank. Plus, this time around it would be filled with Julian’s streaky underwear. As such, it was imperative I keep a low profile. Being so, I choose to go fetch my special T-Shades during the Bandit Witching Hour. The time of day Dooze is fast asleep, and Bobby is taking a nap after gorging himself.
So, any time after 4 PM.
Belle was the wild card. Though, she is a teen, and that means she’s probably hiding from her Dad, tucked away in my old room. Fortunately my shades, in case of emergency, swatting, or gang land ransacking, are hidden away in the bathroom.
That said, I figured the intel was good enough to move on.
I snuck in unimpeded.
I am a master borrower.
I tiptoed across the room, cognizant that I might randomly bump into Doozer going to take a piss. If he drinks raspberry Mojitos during the day he gets up to take a pee in his vanished state. Taking that into account, I was extra careful upon entering the bathroom, since I also know that sometimes Bobby Dean likes to silently fart into the toilet just to be safe.
He was not currently “safing” as he calls it.
No, he was sprawled out on my blue couch, fried debris everywhere. The audacity of the man! I wanted to act on it, but the risk was too great. I needed to be smart if I wanted to safely exit. So, I opened the shower door, and retrieved the shampoo bottle I hid my special T-Shades in. The bottle has a false bottom, and was made by Hudson Hawk’s son. I went to open it, and to my surprise they were not there. Then, the light flicked on, I spun on a quick heel, and standing in the doorway was Belle.
Always.
Belle.
Of course, Bob’s princess and resident thorn in my side had on my priceless, sentimental, one of one, irreplaceable Terminator shades.
“Looking for something?” She asked not so innocently.
“I needed a roll of toilet paper. The maid doesn’t turn down my room. It’s a literal shit hole. In fact, I’ll just take two and be on my way. COOL shades, where’d you get them?”
She moved out of the doorway and replied, “I found them. I was thinking about bedazzling them to really cool them up. What do you think?”
I sighed. “I think I need those shades.”
“Sure. You can have them. You just have to do me one favor.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” My optimism shouldn’t have been as high as it was, but she was a simple little 15 year old. Then again I probably shouldn’t have been as high as I was, either. I tend to forget just how devious 15 year olds can be. Especially the evil spawn of Dean.
“Call Lady Troy from the house line.”
“Sure, I’ll call her as soon as I get back to my room with those shades.”
“No, you misunderstood me. Not from your room. From this one.”
I gulped. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Fine. Then tell me this then. Are you going to leave us here if you win?”
By now I smelled the raspberry lurking on Doozer’s breath. I knew he was idling nearby. I peaked over Belle’s shoulder to confirm Bobby was awake from his slumber and also dropping the eaves.
He was.
I glanced over at my couch and the dent he left in it in the short time I have been away.
Damage.
Done.
“Us? No. You? Yes. Unless you give me back my shades and forget I was ever up here. You do that and we can all leave on a jet plane, and I know I at least won’t be coming back again.”
“You’re serious? You’re really going to leave then?” Belle, the persistent little tick continued, “You’re going to go back to what? A coffin? A job? You’d snub Mom that badly?”
“She did it to us so why can’t I do it to her? Fair is fair.”
“Is that what this whole thing is about? Is that why you really hate PRIME?”
Fed up with the questioning, I hollered back, “THAT IS ALWAYS WHAT IT’S BEEN ABOUT! We begged. We groveled. We courted. And she turned us down over and over again. Now, it is going to be her turn to grovel. Her turn to beg. Her turn to ask, and I will be the one who answers. I will be the one to remind our Queen what the price of her ignorance cost.”
I smile.
My depravity.
The depths of my despair.
Just eggsactly HOW fucking petty I am.
All on display.
“Gold.”
I snatched my special T-Shades off of Belle’s shell shocked face, and stormed past Dooze and Bob who shared her same look of enthusiasm.
Smell ya later, PRIME.
Nice knowing you.
Don’t blame Julian.
Blame Mom.