What Culture

Crownless King Of COOL

“I don’t know how this can get any worse. Maybe vacationing in Tartarus with the Avalons.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 3rd, 2024.

ReVival number forty-seven is in the books. Aka, the one where everybody forgets who I am. Well, everybody except for Twist-Tie Williams I suppose.

The slowest draw in the West.

I digress.

There he is. Coral Avalon. The MAIN EVENT is over. He’s done it. He’s gone the distance. He’s accomplished what I’m sure seemed impossible for someone like him.

Salty much?

Belle is also with him, and she is in tears. Joyous, tears. As she should be; her man is in the middle of the ring absolutely shining as the Golden Bandit. 

Fuck.

Shining is an understatement. Coral is thermonuclear. So much so, they can see his plume from a space station orbiting above the Earth. That’s not a slick forehead joke, either.

It’s a subtle forehead joke.

And here I am, backstage, watching the whole thing unfold on a TV screen while getting my picture taken like a crumb. A whimpering, spiteful, venomous, small, salted, crumb. 

My how the mighty have fallen.

Twenty wins.

Hooray!

Twenty of them. 

BEER!

Two. Zero.

Double the amount of Stanislob.

Ha.

Yet, no one seems to care. No one. Not him. Not her. Not them. Not me. Not even a tortured soul left to rot in the Brigadier's gallows. 

No one.

And I know why that is, too. It’s not because no one likes Cancer anymore, and hating on me is the kewl thing to do. No, not this time around. This time around the reason for such high level hubris is because I have become forgotten here in PRIME.

Yup.

That’s right.

I, Cancer Jiles, THE MAIN EVENT, have become so enshrouded within the shadow of Coral’s monstrous, grotesque, enormous, phallic forehead that I no longer register. Even with my simmering head of hair, T-shades that blot out the sun, and salty boots to walk across it... 

...I’ve become the Greek God of Invisibility

Shame.

Truth be told I never thought I’d get to this point. Certainly not while I’m still heavily invested, but here we are. The hardest working man in PRIME was outplayed BY A BANDIT. Shit, you’d think I was the one who got lumbered away to cryo all those moons ago. Oh well. Could be worse I guess. It’s not like he used my finisher to show me up or anything.

Oh.

Wait.

Fact is, I’m not even mad about him using Terminal Cancer. I should be mad. I want to be mad, but I can’t be. See, I had it coming. I snubbed the snubber. I skipped out on the entrance to possibly the biggest match of his career. I chose to be a distraction, if only to him. 

In other words, I deserved it. 

I deserved to eat shit.

Silver spooned, chicken shit.

And eat shit I did. 

Who cares if my jaw hit the floor when his foot connected? Who cares if the blood vessels in my eyes instantly burst after the count of three? Not me, because that’s what happens when you put yourself first and lose. I was salty about him being in the MAIN EVENT, and me being in the BATHROOM BREAK. I was upset it’s now his turn, and no longer mine. I know I should have been there for him. I know I should have walked him down to the ring, and sat with Nick and Dick to make sure win or lose he got his flowers.

I didn’t.

And now I know eggsactly how he feels about it.

I say fair is fair. 

I say even is even. 

No bad blood. 

No problems.

Well played.

Message received.

Besides, it’s not like he’s getting a Universal Title shot.

Cheese!

---

USS Octane The Gallows Group Therapy

“Coral’s a great guy. He is. He really is. I can support him. I’m capable. I want him to win at Tropical Turmoil and become the second Bandit to hold the Universal Championship. I will be happy for him if he does. I will. I just know it.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 21st, 2024.

 

There’s a mob of derelicts inside the gallows that meet every so often for a group therapy session.

This is one of those sessions.

Well, I should say there used to be a mob seeing as at one point in time we had a lot of attendees. There were all the former PRIMEates I had sent down here to either deep fry or sing. There were those who were already down here to begin with-- the prior baggage if you will. Toss in a stowaway and whichever incarnation of Doozer was around and the sessions turned into quite the melting pot.

Fast Times at Gallowsmont High.

Now though, that is not the case. I’m no longer Captain of the ship, and my tyrannical grip has considerably loosened. As such, only those spiritually bound to the gallows remain. 

So, just the soul of Dan Ryan. 

As luck would have it, there the two of us are. We’re sitting across from each other in the dark and the dingy, bemoaning the decrepit. Luckily for me, the soul of the ship just so happens to be in his cardboard form for my little ventilation pit stop; which basically means he’s ready to listen and not recite the Iliad.

Ha.

“But yeah, he dropped the belt and the fifteen minute man was no more. It was about as wholesome and tasteful as Bobby Dean farting in your mouth if I’m being completely honest.”

Lovely.

“Then, after all that, after he used MY move, on the very next show your fucking girl opened with Cracking News! Coral Avalon! Night two! Main event! Universal Championship! It was like I didn’t even fucking exist! That wench! I know she did it just to spite me. I just know it.”

Disgusted, I spit.

Then, of course, my blithering continues.

“I’ll say this much, see if I pay the rest of that fine for super kicking Dirty Dick now! I don’t think so, Jack. No sir. Two can play this game!”

Dan’s soul looks at me sideways, or maybe that’s just the angle he’s positioned at. Either way, I can tell he’s just as astonished with the whole thing as I am. Being so, I’m not even going to bother mentioning TAL shaking a Snow globe.

“Mind you, on this same show that she spit in my face, Crumblood and JCH for my old belt wasn’t even the MAIN EVENT! Instead, they had some hometown high fade crumb brulee up against the always discordial Jarry Sykes.”

Ha.

“Like, how embarrassing is that? A Universal Title match that doesn’t close the show? No wonder Crumblood looked like shit out there, he got jinxed. Not to mention, now if Coral wins at Tropical Turmoil he’s going to inherit the foul stench left on the belt from such an atrocity.”

Poor thing.

“A stench that will only go away after his reign has been properly eggsecuted.”

I gasp.

Whoops.

“I mean cleansed.”

Good thing it’s just me and my silent witness down here.

“Hopefully he can withstand the nausea until then. He’s definitely got the forehead for it. Still, I’ll have to be nice, and keep an extra close eye on him. He’s in the upper echelon now. It’s a tightrope where he walks. There is no room for error, ya know?”

Before continuing to rattle off the diabolical details to my sinister plan, I scratch my clean kept face as if I’ll find a different answer to all of my problems hidden beneath my cheekbones. 

Nope.

I got nothing.

Just T-shades.

Sorry bro.

“At least he’ll finally be able to say he’s acquired that which has eluded him for so long. He’ll have that, which is good. He should also be able to find some sliver of solace that what he lost will be found by righteous hands.”

Wink.

I take a moment to sit and really ponder all that is to come, and what I must do in order for it to happen. It’s silent down here, so it’s a good ponder, too. I foresee blood. I foresee peril. I foresee anguish.

…I foresee the possible death of the eGG Bandits.

And I foresee Jason Snow getting cut the fuck up.

---

The Ivory Tower

“Home is where the heart is.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 29th, 2024.

I’ve been busy. 

Plotting. Scheming. Wondering. Remembering what it was like in the womb. Doing my hair. 

The like. 

And one thing has made itself clear to me. Two things really. One, My hair is amazing. Two, I’m willing to do heinous things to get the fuck out of this bed I’m in and back to the top of my mountain.

I’ll explain.

Obviously, first and always I’m a cool-blooded cockroach who will do whatever is necessary to survive. Yet, I’ve been on life support for a while now. I’ve been close to coming off of it on a few occasions, but unfortunately remain bed ridden.

It’s a King.

Ask TAL.

That said, never before has the path to recovery been more clear. Granted, I will have to be a very bad person, and I will have to do some very bad things in order to walk it. These bad things won’t be beneath me, but they will be close. Thankfully, if all goes accordingly I’ll get to take out some of my frustrations along the way. Cash in some receipts as the kids are saying these days. It’s a good thing, too, since I need to get better. 

Honest to God, I don’t know if I could beat him as it stands.

Lights.

Cancer.

I mean The Golden Bandit just to be clear.

ACTION~!

There I sit atop a plush throne. The Shades are on. The alfredo is simmering. The collar is popped. The electric-blue jacket is unzipped.

“Jason. Snow.”

I slightly nod. Albeit, very appreciatively.

“The Original Virgin.”

My chin goes up. My legs go out. Yet, my gaze stays fixed on the happenings outside of a nearby portside window.

“La Cosa Snowstra.”

This is exactly what I needed, as evidenced by the wide smile cracking across my face. I then take a deep breath to show proper pause. This is Jason Snow we’re talking about here.

“Friend. Of. Mine.”

Being so, I choose to speak slowly, and clearly, so that he can understand me.

“Imma gonna kick ya in bouf ov yur meatballs, ya spicy Pizmo crumb.”

An appropriate hand gesture, involving thumb, index, and pointer finger ensues. I also squint, but you can’t see it because of the T-shades.

“Just kidding, Jay.”

I turn my gaze inward, and abandon the beautiful view of the sun setting.

“Don’t go putting a hit out on me just yet. You should wait until the end so you know how many clams to spend on it.”

Pro tip.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll even be able to stoke the flame and you’ll be brave enough to do it yourself. You were eager to try before when your eyes were bigger than your stomach, but I won’t presume you feel the same way now that it’s time for your dessert. Plus, I don’t want to put too much pressure on you.”

And people say I don’t look out for the little guy.

Just ask Two Books.

“I will warn you though, if your associates show up backstage and start bothering everyone about how well the fish sleep...”

The adrenaline in my veins is palpable. This is a MEGA MATCH for me, no matter how deadpan I might seem. MEGA not because Jason Snow was last relevant when MEGA MAN 9 was, but because I am Cancer Jiles and showing out is what I do.

“…our Queen isn’t going to like it very much. I know this because unlike you and your questionable ties, me and most of my questionable ties have been reviving this place for over two years now.”

And there go the gloves. Good thing too, because I might need to use both of my hands to calculate what comes next. Yes, that is to say I might use my fingers to count. 

It’s a lot of days to not care about.

“I know, I know. No one told you about it because we were all so scared.”

A jerking motion.

“Better yet, you were too busy time traveling, or plotting assassinations, or getting the numbers to participate in the past two Almasy’s.”

More motioning with my wrist.

“No. I know. Hessian used your excuse and you needed to come up with another one.”

Ha.

Money?

Ha.

“I got it. You were trapped in a Snowglobe. That’s it. That’s why it took you over forty ReVivals to return.”

My head shakes, and my shaded eyes roll rather annoyingly.

“Say Jason, I have a funny story I want to tell you that I think you’re going to really like. It’s true, and will help frame just how I feel about you.”

It’s not that funny. 

Well, it’s more funny to me, and probably everyone else not named Jason Snow.

TBH.

“Stop me if you heard this one before.”

My throat clears.

“Once upon a time PRIME’s longest reigning champion came back home. When he did, he thought it would be a good idea to brag about his past accomplishments from when the Revolution was televised.”

In the form of burned DVDs sold out of the back of car trunks.

Stop by my Viper to purchase your copy of MY greatest matches from the turn of the century! Get in from the cold and in on the action!

”He also thought it was clever to call out people who, simply put, he didn’t stack up against. Then, or now.”

Amazingly enough, that’s not even the funny part of this story.

“After I heard him do this, I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed. I won’t lie, I had a darling piss over it.”

Still not the funniest part.

“Bobby can tell ya. He was there with me when it happened. He started laughing too, but it was more because I was laughing so hard and not because he knew what I was laughing about. When we were done, Jay, I looked down and I'll be damned if I hadn’t pissed all over myself. Ironically enough, when I looked at Bobby, he had pissed himself, too. He refused to confirm if it was from a prior incident or during our giggling fit.”

I sit up in my chair, and act as if there’s actually an important part to tell to this story.

“Between us, I have my suspicions.”

The condescending is real, as is the disrespect.

“I think he was just wearing piss pants to begin with, Jay. However, before I chastised him about it, I asked Bob if he could ever imagine saying something like you did out loud, with people like us around.”

Here comes the funny part.

“And Bob, cuter than a button, responded back to me... Us?”

No, Bob, not really us.

“I started to laugh again. Louder, actually. Bobby, not so much.”

To be fair to me, I didn’t say no. Sure, it was heavily insinuated by my piercing cackle, but I never told Bobby no.

“And that’s my funny story, Jay. Bobby and I pissed ourselves, definitely me anyway, laughing at you.”

I remain unimpressed with PRIME’s greatest champion.

Supposed.

“I’m not proud of it. It wasn’t my finest moment. It’s just... it’s rare to see Frosty melt down so quickly.”

I frown. It doesn’t last long, and is not an accurate representation of how I actually feel. As to why, well I feel bad for the poor guy. A Frosty joke and it’s not even Christmas.

For one of us anyway.

“Get ready to eat some yellow Snow, man.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.

---

The War Room

“I am a student of the game. I will suffer to get better. I will do the diligence. I will leave no stone unturned. I will tap every resource I have available to me. No matter how big, or how small.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 30th, 2024.

Debriefing.

Many people question why Tony Gamble is an eGG Bandit. Hell, even Tony does. The answer isn’t because he moves merch, takes the pins, and stands on top of telephone books.

You might think so.

Not the case.

Tony is the Bandits link to PRIME’s past. It might not seem like it, since he’d rather spend most of his time saying stupid things on Jabber, but the knowledge in that brain of his is vast and runs deep. That being said, it was interesting talking to The Grin about the ReVolution, and more importantly listening to him reminisce about his time during it. We dissected some of his biggest matches, and even managed to watch some old DVD’s he appeared in.

Girls Gone Wild mostly.

Crazy to think Gamble held so many championships back in the day. Especially when taking into account his record now. It’s almost like just because you were a big deal then, doesn’t necessarily mean you are a big deal now.

Food for thought.

Tony thanked me for curb stomping Nova twice since it was he who thwarted my fellow Bandit’s Universal aspirations back in the non-HD day. I told him I was more than happy to do so, and had I known then what I know now I would have done Nova even dirtier. He also mentioned his undying love for Kaiser Vashaun, and how one of his biggest regrets from back then was never getting Watermelon Head’s autograph. I never heard of the guy but still offered to pull a string to two.

Then, we got down to business.

Tony’s smart.

He knew what I wanted out of our exchange.

Access to the vault.

The 8mm stuff.

We talked about the origin of the Original Villain, and about his Great Run. About old stables, and being mistreated. Tony, and his big brain even played Devil’s Advocate and brought up the fact that maybe, and this is a big maybe, but maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. He said that maybe I should use Snow’s notoriety as a springboard back into the spotlight.

I told him I’d sleep on it.

Respectfully.

When we were done, I thanked Gamblepedia for his time and then the craziest thing happened. We’re leaving the ship and he says to me, “I was nervous at first when you reached out to me. I thought this was going to be about helping you stab Coral in the back.”

I did say he was a smart guy.

Let’s just say what I was able to learn from Two Books was certainly valuable, and more than worth my time.

A jewel in my crown.

Ha.