Before We Go “If a picture is worth a thousand words, consider me over the limit.” -- Jiles’ Journal, January 3rd, 2025.

The day is young. Well, not really. Not anymore. It was when Vickie and I first arrived some three hours ago, but now it’s more like midday. Appearance-wise, we’re a bit disheveled. Not my hair, but my shirt is missing, and my T-shades are crooked. Vickie, my Valkyrie, she’s in a gown, not an evening one, and chain smoking Virginia Slims. As to where the two of us are, I’m not going to divulge those details just yet. I will say that the room we’re in has a normal-shaped window that doesn’t open all the way, with a wonderful view of a lovely retention pond.

So yeah, we’re not aboard the Octane.

Also of note in regards to the room, the surrounding walls are muted in color, the neon lights up in the ceiling gently hum, and a flat-screen TV is tuned to a daytime soap opera (General Hospital). There’s also a lone single bed and various machines/devices/monitors that go beep. Truth be told, I have no idea what most of them do or are called, but I do know I have been hooked up to a majority of them at one time or another.

Something, something, an oximeter.

As for what’s been going on for the last three hours, well, Vickie and I have been busy. Being a gentleman, I won’t say what’s been keeping us busy, but the worst recesses of your imagination should easily suffice.

Boffing. Boff City. Boffathon 2025.

Now, we’re in the middle of some much-needed respite.

Me, more so than her.

Sweaty brows and all, I call out to my Valkyrie, “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable: you, how tired I am, or the fact that no one has come in here yet?” Yes, my astonishment is real. “I mean, I was howling at one point. Just goes to show you that no one cares. Poor sap. I almost feel bad.”

My smoking hot Virginia Slim viciously claps back, ”NOT!”, and our ensuing uproarious laughter lasts for quite a while. Eventually, the boisterousness dies down and cigarette number five gets flicked out the window.

Uh-oh, she’s got that look again.

My love rolls her neck, arches her back, cracks her knuckles, and then starts to seductively hiss in my direction. Each Tantric step closer she takes, her gown rattles freer and freer from off her shoulders. Problem is, I’m still very much drained, exasperated, and about to be on my third reused condom. As such, my hands go up, and I desperately plead with my darling before she can strike.

“No lie, babe, I’m depleted. I need to find an IV if we’re going to go another round. A Gatorade. A honey shot. Adrenaline. Double espresso. Something.”

Don’t judge me.

It’s been hot and heavy for the last three hours in JCH’s recovery room.

Whoops.

I mean...

Luckily for me, Vickie relents. “Fine. I was getting tired of this threesome anyway. I’m going next door to Phil’s room to see how much of him still works. You should try joining us once you’ve... repleted.” My lovely sugarplum casually grabs her things -- just the pack of Slims -- and exits while still wearing JCH’s game-worn hospital gown.

Poor Phil.

As for the aforementioned threesome, though I guess Phil would be considered more of a two-and-a-half-some, thus there’s really no need to clarify, let’s just say for the most part Jonny laid there with his eyes closed. Sure, he would twitch whenever we had to roll him over for Good Cop Bad Cop, but his hands never got dirty.

No harm, no foul.

His face and bedding however are a completely different story.

Now listen, I know on the surface it might seem like we were taking advantage of Jonathan, but we weren’t. I swear it. In fact, as far-fetched as it might sound, Vickie’s and my motivations stemmed from a good place.

Allow me to explain.

The Convoy of COOL’s New Year's resolution this year is to help others. The problem is, as you might have guessed, we’re pretty new to the whole helping thing. It’s our first MAIN EVENT if you will. That said, they say it’s good to talk to them. Them being coma patients. That it helps with their recovery process. As such, JCH seemed like the right place for us to start.

How thoughtful.

Granted, in this instance when I say talk, what I really mean is laborious groaning, passionate grunting, intermittent crying, and primal, extraterrestrial, nocturnal, prehistoric, visceral, sadomasochistic, carnal-like moaning, but you gotta start somewhere.

Growing pains.

Anyway, before I suck it up and chase after my lover, I notice Little Jon’s eyes are open. Not only that, but he is staring at me like he wants to get up out of that bed and do something about the mess all over his Transformers pillowcase. Sadly, he’s not even wiggling his big toe yet, so sweet redemption against 2022 Megatron will have to wait.

Though, one last quip will not.

“You’re awake! I knew it would work. Vickie is going to be soooo excited.” I swear that wasn’t sarcastic. “While I got you, we are going to be overseas for a while. If you need to get a hold of us, feel free to send your pen pal a message in a bottle.”

I bet that one filled his colostomy bag.

“Hope you enjoyed the BANG show.”

Ha.

---

Once A Bandit “I’ll never say it out loud, but it feels good having everyone together like this. Maybe not Coral as much. Still, even his golden aura is not as bad as it once was. What could have changed? Vickie? Could she be the cause? Is she softening my shell?” -- Jiles’ Journal, January 10th, 2025.

It’s the start of year four, and we’ve got a full house aboard the USS Octane for PRIME’s trip Down Under! Plus ones and plus twos are in tow, and even some plus threes managed their way onto the manifest.

Good thing it’s a big boat.

We’re already a couple of days into our journey across the high seas. A journey, mind you, that started off with all of us gathering inside the circle of trust to proclaim our goals and dreams. I should have never gone first. No one went after I did. I stated my goal was to dethrone Coral, and my dream was to throw him overboard afterwards. I know. A bit much. I apologized for saying it and for the erection I had while doing so.

Water under the bridge.

Since then we’ve been planning, plotting, and scheming away. We’ve acknowledged that the stakes are high to start the New Year for us Bandits. Jackson. Byrd. Winters. We also all agreed a clean sweep would send a resounding message to PRIME and anyone looking to encroach on our territory: You’re in Carton Country, Crumbs. Don’t like it? Get yoked. I know, lofty indeed, but that’s our mandate.

I’ll have you know we wasted no time getting to work on it.

We’ve been having these intense, marathon group film sessions to help us prepare for our opponents. However, we got stuck on Crash Jackson right out of the gate and have been binge-watching The X-Files with no lights on ever since. To our credit, we’re already past season seven.

We’ve also held impromptu seminars on cow tipping because Clay Byrd is a coward. Let me tell you, it’s tough getting a cow out in the middle of the ocean. Too tough, so Bobby started getting down on all fours during the end credits of X-Files, and we tried tipping him over instead. One time Tony knocked the literal shit out of him with a telephone book. It was one of the craziest things I’ve ever seen.

We’ve even shared some wine to toast Donny out with a Whimper. You could say it was a bloody good, full-bodied, 5-star-rated Cabernet that paired well with the season 7 finale of The X-Files. In fact, to make up for my lead-off death threat, after drinking so much of it, I wound up washing Coral’s feet with it.

He peed on them.

They said there aren’t any pictures or videos, but I know better.

I could go on and on about the many extraordinary measures we’ve all been taking to make sure no Bandit, big, small, or COOL, stumbles out of the blocks in 2025.

But, I won’t.

There are other Bandits for that.

Just know things like preparation, urgency, and diligence are at all-time highs as the USS Octane splits the seas on its way to ReVival 61.

---

Always A Bandit “The sex demon is blind to the cross. She’ll be of no use to me when I face off against Don. That is, assuming he is as pious as his penguin. Regardless, I suppose it’s a good thing I found out now as opposed to inside the ring. Could have cost me.” -- Jiles’ Journal, January 13th, 2025.

It was late.

Very late.

We had just wrapped up a long film session. Not an X-Files one, either. This was a real one, where we dissected Donny Cromb’s Iconic title run.

Ha.

Afterwards we said our goodbyes and retreated to our quarters. Not me, though. I knew what awaited me in mine.

A vixen with a hungry vagina.

Not that I don’t love my girl, but I needed rest and not reverse cowgirl. So, I chose to take the much longer scenic route back to my room with the hope she would fall asleep before I could return.

She did not.

In fact, once Vickie realized I was running late, within minutes of her being on the prowl she had picked up my scent. No matter where I went or whatever shortcuts and smokescreens I used...

...HISSSSSsssss.

Things looked bleak. My Valkyrie was quickly closing in, and her mating call was getting raspier and raspier. I was scrambling, shuffling, dodging, and scampering. I was dizzy. I was aloof. I was ready to accept my fate and maybe visit Rob Williams afterwards to discuss my options. Then, by absolute sheer luck, I stumbled through a door and entered into a place I never knew existed.

A chapel.

Yes, a chapel.

Maybe you have to be aimless in order to find it, but there’s a chapel on board the USS Octane. No chaplain, of course, but a chapel. It’s nothing crazy. Nothing ornate. Nothing stained. Well, glass-wise. There's a couple of dusty pews and a cross on the wall. Outside of that you’d only know it was a chapel because it says so on the wrong side of the door.

97Red Chapel.

I know.

Gag.

Anyway, I stumbled into the chapel, scurried over to a pew, and started praying for the best. No, I didn’t see a premonition of a penguin or hear the voice of GOD. I did hear Vickie, though, homing in on my location. She was in feral heat, and catcalling for me to come back to bed.

Meow.

I peaked back towards the door. It was still ajar. In my haste and aloofness, I hadn't closed it all the way. I was frozen with fear. However, when Vickie approached the chapel, she didn’t see it. She even used her echolocation hiss around the doorway, but then kept on walking.

A miracle.

As much as it pains me, and also emasculates me to say it, I sighed in relief. I’m pushing 40. I’m bumping Viagra just trying to keep up with her. I needed the break.

Then, a familiar voice call out to me.

“Hide in here often?”

My heart skipped a beat. Not God, but Hessian. He was sitting in the pew across from me, and I never even saw him. A guy who is very hard to miss, even from outer-fucking-space, and I never even saw him there.

That’s how traumatized I was.

I took a breath, regained my composure to the best of my abilities, and responded, “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

“I was going to say, don’t tell me after watching Don’s tape you came here looking for an edge.”

Good one, Big Hess. It’s nice to know after all this time you can tell jokes.

“No, between you and me, I’m hiding from Vickie. She’s a real hellcat in the bedroom. A sex demon. I can’t keep up with her.”

Hessian nodded, not at all interested in the throes of my torrid sex life. “That’s... more than I needed to know.”

Noted.

“So wait, you think I need an edge against him? I’ve beaten Don before you know, and that was without you watching my back.”

“You tell me.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” My confidence brimmed. “Sure, he's really come into his own over the past year. He’s got size and prowess. He’s tough. He’s comfortable in his boots. He’s not going to lay down. He's got a game plan that works against high-level competition.”

High praise.

Emphasis on high.

The Murderer of Shows was intrigued, or he was silent farting. One of the two. Regardless, I continued, “He still has a weakness though, and think I know what his is.”

Big Hess prodded me, “What might that be?”

”It’s past his bedtime.”

---

The Ivory Tower “Webster’s Dictionary states that an altar man is an altar boy who has done some things but, for whatever reason, remains prepubescent in terms of the MAIN EVENT.” -- Webster’s Definitive Writings, April 14th, 1828.

There I am...

...the first ballot, top of the class, Hall of Famer.

...the hardest-working man in PRIME.

...the righteous eGGsecutioner.

...THE MAIN EVENT.

...The Greek GOD of COOL.

Cancer “Prayers Don’t Move Mountains Named COOLYMPUS” Jiles.

Ha.

I’m seated atop my plush, eclectic blue throne. My holy fern is with me. My collar is popped, my T’s are shaded, and a COOL breeze blows through my alfredo-flavored hair. By my side is Lady Luck herself, Viagra Hall. I mean Vickie Hall. My Valkyrie. My rock. My pillar. My Manager of the Year. My reason. My everything. My rabid sex demon.

Together, the world will be ours.

First, we take the stars.

Five to be exact.

Lights.

Cancer.

Action~!

“Don Winters.”

I smile widely, as does my lady. We have good reason to be happy, too. Well, outside of being madly in love, a Main Event layup, and an easy title victory.

“Donny Cromb.”

My juice is back! My tongue is silver, and my spit is charcoal coated once more! Now sure, I know that’s not the most surprising news since we all know that stealing the love of the innocent cuck-clown you put in the hospital will do that for a person, but still, it’s back.

“Donny Nailz.”

I remember my first crucifixion match.

“The Catholic Cobblepot.”

In nomine Penguin, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

Amen.

“Mr. Fourivvvvvvee Stars?”

A shrug, as if to say I’m unsure of the actual amount of stars.

“Friend of mine.”

I spit. It’s thick, heavy, and you guessed it, charcoal in color. It also sticks to the floor like a piece of gum waiting to be stepped on.

So like Don.

“Let’s start with some good news.”

Yes, believe it or not, there actually is some.

“After all of your hard work, Don, you finally have something to be proud of for the first time in your PRIME career.”

Drum roll, please.

“Your first MAIN EVENT!”

My sincerity shines.

“Best of all, it’s against me, the actual MAIN EVENT! Like, wow! Somebody call Hallmark, because isn't that something!? Your first, and my... bah, who knows how many.”

15.

”I do know this though: you’re certainly going to remember it. Virgins always do. Whereas I... well, it’s not COLOSSUS, right?”

Dejected, I snap my fingers towards prior opportunities lost.

“Sorry, don’t let my lack of enthusiasm get you down.”

It might not seem like it, but I really am looking forward to squaring off against Donny. For all the wrong reasons, of course. Deep down I’m a sadist at heart, and when I look at him, I see so many opportunities to make myself happy. His precious championship he cares so much about. His streak out of the limelight he prides himself on. His MAIN EVENT cherry pie that’s been baking in Pious Penguin's oven for the last year.

It’s Gin Rummy.

“Fool’s gold or not, that championship is going to look fantastic around Vickie’s waist.”

She grins. I wink. The latter goes unnoticed.

Mirror tint.

Also, even if it’s only for five uses, part of me is hoping the 5-Star Championship can double as a chastity belt.

A big part.

“Now, before your feathers get in a ruffle, I know you’re no longer the altar boy I bent over inside the confessional back in Round 2 of the Almasy. In fact, I know that ever since then you’ve gone on to do bigger and better things and accomplish feats that have never been accomplished before.”

See, not everything is doom, gloom, armageddon, and MAIN EVENT jokes.

“Now, you should know when I say bigger and better things, what I mean is you’ve gone from being an altar boy to being an altar man. You’ve gone from third chair soprano in the church choir, all the way to first chair second fiddle.”

Quite the leap. As such, Don gets two thumbs up.

“And when I say you’ve accomplished things that have never been done before, I mean sure, you’ve managed to win, win, and win some more, and defend, defend, and defend some more, but for some reason or another you’re always at home and in bed before the show ends.”

My head hurts just having to think about it.

“The longest mid-card winning streak...”

Okay, now my head really hurts from having to think about it.

“What gives, Donny? Is it against your religion to be in MAIN EVENT? Are the lights too bright for you? Are altar men allergic to full pews and overflowing church baskets? Is it something simple like needing directions? If so, I know a guy who can help with that last one.”

Happy New Year.

I know Donny isn’t going to miraculously show up and answer me. However, with him being new to the MAIN EVENT scene and me pretty much being grandfathered in at this point, well, I want to extend every courtesy to the virgin rookie. Therefore, I pause for a few to chat up my Valkyrie just in case he’s walking on water before continuing.

“Whatever the case, Don, you better figure it out fast.”

I tap at the imaginary watch fastened around my wrist.

Tick, tick, tick.

“It’d be a real shame if you finally got your chance to step out from Father Penguin's shadow and deliver your first Christmas Eve 5-star homily... only to wind up getting unceremoniously baptized in the MAIN EVENT -- by the MAIN EVENT -- because it took place past your bedtime.”

Zzz.

“Sleep well.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.

---

Snitches Get Stitches “The Gallows are vast and full of horrors. They are also a great place to hide if you’re brave enough. It’s high time I paid our stowaway a visit.” -- Jiles’ Journal, January 6th, 2025.

 Epilogue 

Ha.

However, little did we know someone was paying close attention.

More on that at 11.

First, HOW I figured out who that person was.

Some time ago while making my rounds on the deck of the ship I came across a bottle with a message inside of it. The message was written in crayon, on a piece of toilet paper, and started with, “Dear Nintendo,”. I didn’t even have to finish reading it to have a good idea who it was from. Then, a few days later, I found another bottle with a message inside of it. This time around it was made out to JCH, had the Konami code scribbled on it, and wished him good luck in his upcoming match against... me.

Crumb.

Now, the area of the deck where I found the bottles, underneath it, well, way underneath it is the Gas Leak section of The Gallows. The GL wing is home to some of the worst atrocities the world has ever seen. I’m talking about serial monsters like “Big” Blocke Paragraff, Tito 2 Swill, and Elipp Zee.

Legends.

Only a certain caliber of inmate is allowed entry into the GL wing.

Ha.

That said, through some top notch detective work I was able to obtain the inmate identification caliber of my rat.

ATRI2600

Aka, The Video Game Kid.

“Say, Conor, have you heard the news about the pit yet?”

Closed.