Surviving The Game

Forehead Ya Later

“O Captain, My Captain!” -- Jiles’ Journal, February 17th, 2025

The Golden Bandit has been vanquished.

Long live the Crownless King.

After ReVival 63 was over and the dust settled on a legendary run, Coral and I spoke privately in the throne room. No lie, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I told him to take as long as he needed with getting his paperwork together, congratulated him on an epic run, and then apologized for not being there when he needed me the most.

Of course, being Coral, he played it off as nothing and told me not to worry about it.

Cool.

Oddly, that wasn’t good enough for me. Not at that moment anyway. In that moment, all I could do was feel a sincere swell of admiration for the man who brought the Bandits back from the brink. So, with my pride getting the better of me, I reached out and shook his hand, grateful for having known him and everything he’s ever done for me.

Even for the blazer.

Words that might not have been spoken during the exchange, certainly were understood.

I hope so anyway.

Then we talked about the time he tried to give me back the keys to the ship. It was a heavy conversation that will remain behind a closed door. Back then though, I told him that he needed to leave the boat better off than he found it if he didn’t want to be the Captain anymore. Which, at the time, I thought to be an impossible task.

Herculean if you will.

Yes, I would know. I’ve met him.

Anywho, Coral asked me if he had done so, if he had left the boat better off than he found it. I shook with disbelief and was rattled to my core. I thought to myself, how could I have failed this man? How could I have let that pig Stanislob be the one?

Ashamed, all I could do was mutter back to him, “by a forehead’s length.”

Ha.

Needless to say it was all very emotional, and I struggled mightily with the whole thing. Shit, I’m still struggling with it as you’ll come to see. I never expose that side of me.

Never.

Feelings?

Emotions?

Just another salty discharge.

Still, at least he knows.

Then, I left him. As I walked away, the only thing I could think about, or determine was even worth breathing for...

...was salt.

...and yolk.

...and the shovel.

...and vengeance.

The Perfect Omelette.

---

Video Game Kid

“Let’s work something out.” -- Fuses’ Phonics, March 4th, 2025

There we are. The Gallows. Me, and my old friend, Mr. Konami Code himself.

ANotheR ThiNg.

We’ve been... talking, interrogating, and agitating each other. Well, I’m agitated. He’s still very good at pushing my A and B buttons it seems.

aNothEr ThInG.

I know. The nerve of him. Nay, the balls on him that have yet to drop.

ANotHeR THiNg.

This is my boat. He’s my bitch. He’s my pet project. He’s my Manchurian Candidate. Not some bald motherfucker’s with a GOD complex. Not Bowser Jr’s. Not Samus Troy’s. Not Coral Avalon’s. Me. King COOL.

anotHER THInG.

I still have yet to meet a single person, incel pit dweller or not, who isn’t SURPRISED BEYOND BELIEF he got the job done back at PWA 2.

ANothER THINg.

I can’t wait to accidentally kick someone in the face again.

Oh well. It's fine. Breathe, Cancer. Remember, you need him. Be the bigger man. It’s what Coral Avalon would have done. Besides, if he’s as good as I remember then the headache will be worth it. Plus, I can always have Vickie put the heels to him if need be.

Yet.

I am still me. As the kids might still say, someone who does not give a fuck.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Ha.

Fuck him.

---

One Last Time

“This was going to be it. The last time we might all be together for who knows how long. The catharsis could bring me to my knees. Hopefully Bobby doesn’t fart and ruin the whole damn thing. After all, the honorary blazers I got everyone cost Timo’s credit card a lot of money.” -- Jiles’ Journal, March 1st, 2025.

Coral’s sail is set towards the horizon.

His watch is over.

The time has come for us to say goodbye.

We’ve all gathered together on the dock of the bay to wish him well on his voyage into the Blue Bayou. We, being the Bandits. The gang’s all present and accounted for: Coral, Belle, the babe, Me, Vick, Bob, Belle Jr., Tony, Ian, Minion, Chris Chickentenders, CBD, possibly Dooze, and even a few others from past Bandit lore. There’s even someone, presumably the very puss pocket of life, with a black bag over his head off to the side whining about PSN being down.

And maybe Lady Troy.

The sun’s out and shining brightly down upon us. The clouds have parted to ensure smooth sailing lies ahead. The breeze is at our backs, and the wind behind our sails.

It’s a good day.

But, as is the case in life, all good things must come to an end.

Here goes nothing.

Most times when a Bandit leaves there are no solemn goodbyes. There are no chances to reconcile, and leave things where they need to be. To say thank you, and show gratitude towards your brother for all they have done. The reason being is because most times when a Bandit says goodbye he doesn’t actually say anything at all. He just pulls Doozer and vanishes into the night without a trace.

Guilty.

However, that is not the case this time around. This time around a chance for class, and dignity, and homage, and respect, has presented itself.

A chance for humility.

A chance to heal.

A chance to move on properly.

A chance to change.

Golden Bandit for a reason.

You might say it’s a brave new world for the Bandits of the eGG.

One by one, everyone started to share a moment with the former Captain. Bobby of course reminded him of the snub, and then I of course reminded him of failing to save me from Jared Sykes. Then, luckily, Hessian told us that’s not usually how this type of thing is done, and started to heap praise upon his ReVolution and ReVial co-star. Tony tried, but after Big Hess there really wasn’t anything left to say.

Eloquently anyway.

So, The Grin handed Coral a telephone book we had all signed.

Talk about your yearbook gesture.

Coral then addressed us as a group for the last time as our Captain, and much like the conversation we had that will remain behind a closed door, his words to us on that dock will remain right there, for us Bandits only.

Yeah, you guys are so fucked.

I will say when he was done there wasn’t a dry eye on that dock, and thank Skynet for T-shades. After experiencing something so powerful I figured a grand gesture was due. Like, a GOLD WATCH for THE GOLDEN BANDIT. I didn’t have a watch handy, so, maybe a tad impulsively, I gave him the boat instead.

It’s not like he hadn’t earned it.

In typical Coral fashion he gave it back to me after changing the name to USS BANDIT.

Golden Bandit for a reason.

Then he asked about the jet and, well, “You should have taken the boat when you had the chance.”

Ha.

I think I'm going to miss the guy.

---

The Ivory Tower

“For Coral.” -- Jiles’ Journal, March 10th, 2025

You know the spot.

Couch. Fern.

You know the look.

T-shaded with a slick Alfredo simmer.

You know the aura.

Hardest working man in PRIME, and actual hunter of men -- TWENTY FUCKING SIX OF THEM TO BE EGGSACT.

Serial numbers.

You know the players.

A cold-blooded COOLympian and his vindictive Valkyrie.

I guess there’s really only one thing left to do...

...win the whole fucking thing.

Lights.

Cancer.

ACTION~!

“Hello, crumbs.”

You know who you are.

Everyone.

“Hello, those who dare. Hello, those who doubt. Hello, those who wish to tempt fate. Hello, those who desire pain, heartbreak, and suffering on a scale they never knew existed.”

I mean in regard to Manhunt, and not this serenade.

Though...

“Hello, friends of mine.”

My grin is wide, pearly, and big enough to eat two telephone books.

“I want you all to know I hear the little whispers. The nay-saying. The second-guesses. I do. I know what the topic at the water cooler is. I know what you’re thinking about on the treadmill, or inside the batting cage, or while in the shower.”

More like on the shitter.

A ponderous, gentle tap of the noggin.

“Does he really think he can win Manhunt? And isn’t it a little crazy he has this grand event to prove to the world, to PRIME, to the Bandits, and most importantly of all, himself, that he belongs back in that chair?”

Ha.

I digress.

“Or is it, what are the Bandits going to do now that Coral Avalon is gone?”

I snort.

Six in one.

It has nothing to do with nerves.

“I know, is Hessian finally going to pick up the mantle of Eggsecutioner and murder someone with a fantastic head of hair? Is Tony going to find a third book to stand on? Will Bobby Dean wake up from his endless slumber? Best yet, can Captain COOL really steer the ship back to prominence?”

A pause, quickly followed up by me laughing like I never left it to begin with; so aloud, obnoxiously, and very much like every other kid did at Conor Fuse while he was growing up.

“Allow me to quell any and all concern with a simple question of my own.”

I look at the Valkyrie perched by my shoulder. Her voyeuristic gaze, Tantric, yet deadly, is fixed upon me. As such, my focus sharpens and my attention unwillingly returns to those who dare.

“Do you see this collar? Do you see how it is popped? Do you see these T-shades? Do you see the designer belt my girl has around her waist?

Okay, maybe a series of questions. I stand from my plush throne, confident, adamant, and with my chest puffed out.

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE I AM CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR WHISPERS?”

Hopefully not, because I for sure ain’t. No sir. Not me. I’m totally not. They’re not getting to me at all. I know I’m standing up, posturing, screaming at the top of my lungs. I know my face is probably a little red especially in contrast to the hair, but all that was for effect, and so the older one’s participating in Manhunt can get in on all the fun.

Promise.

It’s not like I dropped a Golden Ticket on my big toe and was sent to The Gallows the last time I was the Captain of the ship.

“I AM KING. FUCKING. COOL. I AM A GREEK GOD. I AM A HALL OF FAMER. I AM THE MAIN EVENT. I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THE EGG BANDITS. I STAND BEYOND THE PINNACLE."

Vickie cackles like a string of firecrackers being set off and suddenly Pavlov Jiles is in need of a book to cover his crotch.

Chucky T.

"WHAT I HAVE DONE IS ALREADY COOLER THAN ANYTHING ANY OF YOU CAN, HAVE, AND EVER WILL DO.”

The intensity drops a beat and I retake my seat atop a plush throne. Then, my Valkyrie does what no one else ever dares to try, and runs her adoring hand through my slicked back hair. My blood chills, and the lenses on my T-shades start to frost.

Kinky.

“Better yet, do I look like the type of guy who is going to worry about what any of you think?”

Yes.

“In fact, if I’m being honest, the only thing I’m worried about is if there will be enough of you to satiate the entirety of the Bandit palette.”

I spit. Yes, it's got girth, is charcoal in color, and would have to be cut out of someone’s hair if it were to get stuck in it.

“Make no mistakes, PRIME. After the events of ReVival 63, and after you all acted like we didn’t even exist as ReVival 64 went off the air; flaunting about like the Bandits time in the sun was over, well, let’s just say me and mine are plenty hungry so my worry is more than justified and leave it at that.”

Starving.

Especially if Bobby is up and about -- and somewhat alert -- instead of ya know, sleepwalking through catering. If not, still plenty hungry regardless.

"In closing, while we all anxiously await the ringing of the dinner bell, I'll leave you with some food for thought.”

My posture straightens, and my tone turns a touch more serious.

“Coral Avalon was the very best of us Bandits. Now he’s gone, and what remains is the very worst of us. Our backs are against the wall. Our pants have been pulled down around our ankles. Our eggs are exposed, flailing aimlessly in the wind, just waiting to be cracked."

A beat, for breathing’s sake.

“I would tell you for those reasons alone it'd be wise to be careful... to be hesitant before you come looking to finish us off. However, in reality that would just be a big waste of time since we’re already planning to hunt each and every one you crumbs down anyway.”

A grin in the shape of a shovel forms across my face.

Ha.

Ha.

“Culture Shock 2025. Night TWO. MAIN EVENT. MANHUNT."

I look out at a fictional horizon, maybe the same one Coral was supposed to be sailing towards.

"...might as well be called Day One for the eGG Bandits.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.

---

Video Game Kid(Epilogue)

“If you can’t beat them, make them join you.”-- Jiles’ Journal, March 6th, 2025

Okay.

Time to let bygones be bygones.

ANoTHER THING.

Time to replenish our ranks.

ANOtheR thiNG.

Time to make a statement.

anOTHeR ThiNg.

Time to swallow my pride.

aNoThEr ThInG.

Time to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes.

ANOTHER THINg.

Time to stack the deck.

ANoTher THINg.

Time to make a change.

There we are. Once again, me, and Mr. Konami Code. Back in The Gallows. Back at the negotiation table. It’s been pretty much a one-sided affair thus far, but I have a feeling things are about to take a turn.

“So I ask again, are you ready to quit playing Pong? Are you ready to get out of this place and free yourself from the shackles of yesteryear like so many of us others who have come before you? I could always bring Bobby back in if it will help. He was so excited to see you the first time I think he shit his pants.”

Wet fart.

As I stand there in the dark comforts of my former lodgings, waiting for an answer, it dawns on me. Mr. Fews' mouth is still taped shut because I hate the sound of his voice.

“Shit. That’s right. Let me get that for you.”

With the delicateness of a fed up foster parent of 97, I rip off the black bag covering his pimple ridden face, and then the tape covering up his chapped lips and yellow teeth.

“Say, I bet if I popped one of those pimples Mountain Dew Code Red would squirt out of it, wouldn’t it? No? Not too funny? Yeah, telling JCH about Vickie and I wasn’t too funny either, now was it?”

Comet knows better than to talk. He sees what, and more importantly who I have with me. A seven foot giant with my favorite shovel in his grasp.

“Don't worry, like I was saying, that’s all in the past now. I’m ready to forgive you and make all of your dreams come true. You get to join me and my brethren, pledge your allegiance to the shell, and become the next member of the eGG Bandits. And who knows? One day you might even follow in the footsteps of Coral Avalon and become known as THE GOLDEN CARTRIDGE BANDIT.”

Ha.

Comet's eyes bulge at the thought. Not in a good way, either. Normally that would be worrisome of a new recruit, however, since it’s Pew-Pew Fews, I can’t help but to smile at his misery. Also, I got time on my side and am not the one rotting away down here.

This time around.

Or is "not yet" worse?

So, I spin on a heel to make my exit. Before I can reach the door I hear his little, prepubescent voice cry out to me, “WAIT!”

His will has broken.

He's chosen the yellow pill and not permadeath by Hessian. “When do we start?”

I turn to face him. He’s no longer my sworn enemy. He’s a brethren of the shell, and someone I will blindly stand behind if and when the moment calls for it.

Non-title.

“Manhunt.”

Before the newest Bandit's jaw can drop faster than a controller hitting the floor after a rage quit, he bellows out, "BUT I HATE THAT GAME!”