Once a Bandit, Always a Bandit

The Yellow Pages

“Who’d have ever thought Vickie has relatives that still want to talk to her? Not me.” -- Jiles’ Journal, June 9th, 2026

Let me just say this...

...I’ve crawled out of a literal PIT.

...I’ve lost back to back Universal Championship matches to Brandon Youngblood.

...I’ve lost the Universal Championship to Hayes Hanlon in the COOLOSSUS MAIN EVENT.

...I’ve been broken by Ivan Stanislav, and even suffered through a Red Army Cold Open.

...Jared Sykes stole my GOLDEN TICKET.

...Coral Avalon is known as the GOLDEN BANDIT.

...Cecilworth Farthington has bested me and defended the Universal Championship the last two times we’ve faced off.

Same fucking reign, too.

...Chandler Tsonda retired me.

...Did I mention crawling out of the PIT?

Yup.

WELL, let me just say, I would rather live through all of those prior moments combined than be doing what I am doing right now.

That’s how bad it is.

Keep in mind I get to eggsecute Gamble at 89, then scalp BY in front of all my homies at UltraJiles, and still, I’d welcome the end if it meant the end of... this.

“It’s going to be a quick thing. In and out. We’re in the area. I swear they aren’t Adam or Jonathan’s relatives. It’s my second cousin’s kid(so her sister). I haven’t seen them in forever since we’ve been traveling the world. It would mean a lot to me. Then, we can bump uglies underneath the bleachers.” -- Vickie Hall, right after our plane landed in Newark

That quick thing Vickie spoke of is about to enter hour number three with no end in sight-- and it’s her niece’s DANCE RECITAL

Her niece is seven.

That’s right.

Imagine it, and me being there suffering, and then realize it’s worse than you think. I’m in some random high school, crammed inside a crumby little theater, surrounded by screaming parents who have to be faking their obnoxious levels of enthusiasm. I mean, it’s either that or they need to stand in front of a train.

No middle ground.

They are worse than the PRIMEates.

Honestly.

What a wretched experience it has been. The seat sucks. The old schlep next to me needs his diaper changed. Some kid behind me hates his Switch 2, but he hates his Mom even more for not charging it. To top it off, there isn’t a smoking section inside the theater, either. Like, what type of kid friendly place? The look on the usher’s face when I asked him for an ashtray-- I’ll never forget it.

Pure embarrassment.

Not to mention, I never knew how much I hated kids. My anxiety is fogging up my shades watching these runts bounce around to a headache inducing song after a headache inducing song. I’m praying that at any moment Crumblood bursts through the doors and suplexes me off the second floor balcony.

I’d let him, too.

Put me out of my damn misery.

I would do anything to escape all these stupid faces smiling brightly.

“At the conclusion of our next performance we’ll be having our FIRST 15 minute intermission.” --The announcement that sends a chill down my already COOL spine

Yeah, I too am wondering why the word “FIRST” was used. Is that to imply there will be another intermission, or is there a possibility of there being other, multiple intermissions? Regardless, I won’t know. I’ll either be dead, or have successfully sneaked out the side door during the first intermission.

“She’s up after the intermission. Hold our seats while we go grab a drink. Then we can sneak out during the next one.” -- Vickie, completely testing the limits of my patience

I sigh.

It is heavy.

“There better be a pillow underneath those bleachers.”

And a place for the belt she likes to tie around my neck.

Ha.

---

I Love New York

“I escaped that recital just to remember I was still stuck in the worst city imaginable. Some homeless crumb walked up to me and started blabbing about how Crumblood was going to clean my clock at UltraViolence. Then, he asked me if I could get him tickets to the New York show. I spit on him. Well, I wanted to.” -- Jiles’ Journal, June 10th, 2026

The show is a couple days out. My brain and sanity have both refreshed post recital. Yes, the underneath the bleachers screw fest definitely helped. Now, Vickie and I are posted up in some swanky hotel that I doubt most other PRIME superstars can afford. The ashtray in our non-smoking room is full, and the sheets on the king size bed are an absolute mess. Outside of that the rest of the place is pretty nice, and even big enough to fit Big Ian Salt. He’s got his own room, and bathroom. Bobby would be so jealous. There’s ninety-seven ply toilet paper, and a XXXL silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.

Luxury.

“What exactly do you think she means when it says Banditry is banned?” That’s me. I’m laying down with my Valkyrie in my arms. We’ve just gotten done... smoking. “Do you think she means like a straight up match? If so, I’m getting DQ’ed at some point because there’s no way I’m not smacking some sense into that short fuck with a telephone book.”

Vickie snickers at my oath knowing full well I plan to uphold it with dignity, diligence, and honor. Then, she responds, “Just think, babe, if the match were to happen after UJ it would mean Brandumb is banned from interfering.”

Now it’s my turn to snicker.

Ha.

She’s not wrong though. After I pelt him and his soul becomes mine to move about the chessboard, in this case with the banned Banditry, he would be banned from the match.

“I think Old Crumbo is going to make a good Bandit. Not on the same level as Coral -- certainly not Captain material -- but close.... even if I have to carry him around like it’s Weekend at Brandon’s.” We both snicker at my unmatched wit. Then, I get practical. “Probably go with a cardboard version after the initial bit. You know, no sense in carrying around the dead weight.”

Ha.

She nods. “Makes sense. Now kiss me or risk losing me forever.”

If you say so.

.....

.........

Of course I kissed her.

No, it has nothing to do with the fact that I never would have made it to the elevator.

---

The Yellow Pages

“If Tony won’t come to heel then I will make him come to heel. Youngblood for everything is up on deck. It’s UJ. It’s possibly the biggest match of my career. I need all of my eggs back inside the carton ready to hatch at a moment’s notice... even the rotten, treacherous ones.” -- Jiles’ Journal, June 11th, 2026

Tony Gamble.

An eGG Bandit, and a member of the Red Army.

Allegedly.

I used the term “allegedly” because Tony is so short and Ivan is so tall that whenever the camera is on Ivan it means Tony is out of the shot, and since Ivan only cares about Ivan, well, you can see my point.

Simple semantics really.

Oh well.

Not my problem.

Ha.

Let’s be real.

Tony had his chance to come home, and instead he huffed and puffed and blew himself down. Shit, I even tried doing things the nice way, too. I did. I really, really did, but The Grin refused to smile. I’m serious. Go back. Check tape. My arms were open. WIDE. OPEN. So much so, patrons coming through the drive through started asking Bathory where Cancer Stapp had gone.

Ha.

Bygones were bygones. Water was ready to once again flow underneath the bridge instead of coming from Tony’s eyes at bedtime. I had forgiven him for turning his back on the Carton. I mean, it’s not like I was there standing next to him when it happened. I was gone; dropping fryers and taking orders, so far be it from me to hold his betrayal against him.

Right.

See, I am capable of being the bigger man.

Ha.

That’s why when I did come back, and the ship was once again under my command, I told Tony not to worry about it. I told him it’s okay, and to breathe. I told him he was allowed to smile again. And what did Tony do? Better yet, what was Tony’s response to the person who picked him up out of the gutter after he had thrown up his pride inside the middle of the ring? Nay, better yet, what did Tony tell the person who selflessly secured him a tag team championship title shot? NAY, what did Tony say to the person who picked him for Squad Goals when the Yellow Army was too cowardly to do so?

I’ll tell you what he said.

He wrote the addresses on them perfect.

Tony said, “Cancer, sorry pal, but go kick rocks. I love being a high ranking nobody inside the Red Army. I hate the pressure that comes with constantly being in the spotlight as a valued member of the eGG Bandits. So, yeah, here’s your two telephone books back.”

Yup.

An eGG Bandit.

Tony Gamble.

Needless to say I have done a lot for Tony Gamble. I took him in when no one wanted him. I cured him of the virus known as “old PRIME” and breathed new life into that faded smile of his. And that do I have to show for all of my hard work and gratis? Just the shit Tony took in my hands.

Not the funny, Beautiful Bobby Dean type of shit, either.

Lights.

Cancer.

Action~!

There I sit, a man atop his plush, electric-blue throne.

On my person, a brand new set of funeral blacks for the momentous occasion. Just the pants though. It’s too fucking hot for the jacket. On my clean shaven face, and sitting on the bridge of my nose is the coolest pair of sunglasses to ever come off of Skynet’s assembly line. In my hair, enough designer product to cover an adult elephant.

“Tony 'Bandidick' Arnold.”

Big Ian, radioactive shovel in tow and ready to shield me from any and all threats, stands behind me.

“The Upside Down Grin.”

My lovely darling of a Valkyrie, Vickie Hall, dressed to kill, is to the right of me.

“The only Bandit to ever make Doozer look good.”

On my left, my lucky fern.

“The marching ant of the Red Army.”

And now in the air, after I had coughed it up from the disgust ring located around my heart, is a charcoal coated loogie that would prevent an alien invasion.

Then a beat.

More like a moment.

“Tony Gamble.”

I take a deep breath. Yes, I’m getting ready to go in Tony’s size 26-22 Bugle Boy jeans and do something dirty.

“Friend. Of. Mine.”

Vickie cackles, Ian grumbles, and Bandits not present sigh in disbelief. That’s right. The whole carton can’t believe the balls on Tiny Tony.

Past and present.

“Where do we begin, Tony? Should I ask you how Hessian is doing? Should I ask you if you think he’s nursing his injury? Should I dare you to ask me if I think he’s going to be all of a sudden 100 percent better after I sprinkle some salt on top of your head at the next show?”

I don’t think it’s possible for Tony’s head to be any smaller, so I’ll skip the Beetlejuice joke and continue along.

“No, I’m going to leave him out of this-- besides, I have a new Big Ian to mold and conquer with if you haven’t noticed.”

The Salt Mark groans, and for some reason the walls shake because of it. Each and every time I see him, or am around him, he does something or something happens that dare I say is... COOLYMPIAN.

I can’t wait for him to meet my brother Hercules.

Ha.

“Instead Tony, you two-book having crumb bum, maybe we’ll just cut right to the chase. Skip the ceremonial mumbo jumbo because frankly you and I both know much of what I would say would wind up going over your head anyway.”

I smile. No, it’s not a grin, or was the prior rib a short joke. Nonetheless, the smarter than you pearlies still get put on display.

“Let’s just ask the million dollar question, shall we Tony? I mean, it is the one that keeps me up at night."

Vickie shoots me a funny look, like she already knows the question that keeps me up at night isn’t if I slipped one past the goalie or not, or if I plan to become her next husband.

“WHY, TONE? WHY? WHY!? WHY!?! WHY!?!! WHY!!?!! I’ve done everything I can to try and get you back. I picked you, Tiny Tony, and we even found victory together against the man we could not beat... against the man where this all started for us.”

Yes, the tone shifts.

“You were my Alfedo, Tone. My sauce. I asked you to come back and make spicy meatballs and eggs again, and instead you shit in my hands and turned your back to me.... ME OF ALL FUCKING PEOPLE! Like you want to meet the bottom of my boots.”

Yeah, I’m standing up now, chest out, face red, and my T-shades are starting to fog. Maybe one day I’ll realize it’s rejection that scares me the most. One day. Just not today though.

“You broke my heart, Tony, and you didn’t even have to pin me to do it like most people do.”

A Cancer scorned.

“And even now... knowing what I must do... knowing what the Bandit code of conduct calls for... there’s a part of me that believes there is still hope for you, and that you can still right your wrongs and come back to The Carton.”

I shake my silly head, at such a silly thought.

“Granted, it’s gonna be in about 6 to 8 months time, and after an eggstenive amount of Cryo.”

A beat.

"Don't worry, I know just the place."

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.