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A Coffee, a Cap and Caedus - Printable Version

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A Coffee, a Cap and Caedus - JimCaedus - 09-12-2017 11:43 PM

---5:40 AM PST---

I wake up on a Tuesday in my room at the 2-story house in Northwest Long Beach as I do on any other weekday morning during this time in my life: ecstatic at the sound of mom closing the inner door, locking it, the soft thump of the front double door closing...and finally the ignition of her purple '98 Ford Taurus before rolling down the street.

My last match for the indy UPW on Saturday still has my muscles on ache-mode but it doesn't stop me from scrambling down the ladder of my loft bed and switching the CD in my 3 disc changer stereo system to Bone Thugs-n-Harmony Collection Vol. 1 and scanning forward to the hidden track.

Ahhhh "P.O.D."...still the best fuckin' weed song to date.

I duck under the loft bed to my oak rolltop desk beneath, plop down into the chair, reach into the shadows beneath and behind the desk itself and pull out my electric green plastic bong. I'm a lazy smoker, the water inside is filthy with floaters and suck-through ash. I once again reach into the darkness and produce the sandwich baggied half ounce or so I have left of Chronic (back when Purple Haze, Maui Wowie, Northern Lights and White Widow were the few other actual strain names passing around So-Cal) and I pack a fat bowl.

Naturally I take a fat rip, the soiled liquid BUB-LUB-LUB-LUB-LUBling within. I hold it...I count 20 seconds and exhale, coughing up a storm (always have since my old Iranian bff and fellow former West Side Mafia member Armin got me into the habit of hit-then-inhale-air whilst smoking weed) and I set the bong down for the moment.

I open one of the right side desk drawers and pull out my Gameboy Color, powering it on. Pokemon Crystal pops up. I play for awhile, attempting to finish working my way through the game, taking breaks here and there to scan to all the good songs on the Bone Thugs album one at a time, to hit the bowl, soon to switch to Dre's The Chronic album and pack a fresh nug...I loved my morning ritual. The perfect way to start my off-days building up to whatever trouble I could get into later in the afternoon or evening.

Thoroughly faded over 3 hours later, at the stroke of the 9 AM hour, the third and final disc of my morning ritual (Notorious BIG's Ready to Die) ends and in the sudden silence I catch-


-sounding from the family room.

I exit my room swiftly. For all I know this is my cousin Jeff or maybe one of a few Cypress chicks I'm currently hooking up with looking to have some fun. I pick up the corded receiver.


"Jimmy, are you watching the news?"

Mom? What the hell are YOU calling for with such a stupid question?

"Watchin' the news? Why would I be doing that at 9 in the morning? I'm working out."

"You need to turn on the news."

I fail to veil the irritation in my voice.


"Just...just do it. I have to go."


I hang up, sighing through an exhale.

Fuckin' retarded.

I head to the living room, switch on the TV and flip to ABC on channel 9 while I remain standing. I see a sky scraper belching black smoke. I hear some guy speaking to the unseen anchors over the phone.

Fuck's goin' on here?

I don't hear the answer before a massive commercial airliner suddenly enters frame and flies into the tower around the opposite side, exploding.

I take a seat frowning, my eyes wide, mouth agape.

---Tuesday•September 11•2001---


"A Coffee, a Cap and Caedus"

---Tuesday•September 12•2017•7:01 PM LOCAL---

"Babe this place sucks. It's dead."

I don't blame Tala for saying so; I don't disagree with her either, this place IS dead, at least for the moment. Still...the espresso's pretty good here at Jimmy's Coffee on Portland in Toronto. I take a sip of my large house Hoffa Blend before answering.

"Wanna check out the stores? Supposedly this is Toronto's Fashion District; an "in" place to shop. You may find some stuff you like."

"Yaaaaaaaas, anything is better than this."

I reach into my pocket and pull a money clip, stretching with a fat wad of colorful Canadian money, free, holding it out to her.

"Couple thousand there."

"You aren't coming?"

"I can't right now baby, I got a late start in my promo war with Engy what with everything goin' on: recoupin' after that Holliday match, joinin' you and Jas' on Savage for that kick ass win over Cuck and Jenny, that goddamn jimsonweed trip...I gotta play catch up. It's important that we-got-him-to-smoke-rolled-lawn-clippings-but-he's-pretendin'-to-be-high-anyway fakin' ass Eng', the fans and the XWF brass see how important this match is to me. I need that title, Tala."

"You think handing me money, after what Chaos and Myst said, after the shit other people have been talking, sending me off to shop sends the right message? I'm not with you for the money, Jimmy."

I put my espresso on the ground and turn my full attention to Tala, pulling in closer to her on the bench outside Jimmy's. I slide my right arm behind her back, my left beneath her thighs and I lift her onto my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck.

"I know you ain't, baby, I never thought you were. Look, you're my girl, right?"

We gaze into eachother's eyes. My heart flutters.

God she has gorgeous eyes...


"K, so this is how I do for my girl. I take care o' you like a man should. You ain't enjoyin' yourself where we're at but I got shit to do at the moment? I'll do whatever I need to so my girl can have a good time while I'm doin' it. I've had money, I've had none, now I have it again...spendin' some on you, especially if it might help cheer you up, makes me happy. Fuck what anyone else says, I do for you what I WANNA do, baby."

We kiss. Then:

"You'll just let your girl walk around all by her lonesome?"

I hold my clip out again.

"That's what the money's for; I figured those Canadian Prime Ministers (or whoever the hell's on Canuck cash, who cares) on those bills could keep you company. Plus you got security, girl." The XWF camera pans to just outside the entrance where two large members of Tommy Gunn's security force await us in plain clothes. The view returns to Tala and I. "You go ahead. I'll be along soon, then we'll hit up one o' these restaurants. Cool, baby?"

Tala stands, accepts the clip and leans in for another kiss.

"Okay babe. Don't take too long."

I nod an affirmative then watch as she departs, then I retrieve my Hoffa Blend espresso and resume sipping.

Whatever's supposed to go down in relation to my being drawn here from the moment Tala and I arrived by that "psychic force" that's been leading me around to collect mysterious items...I don't want her getting involved. I don't even know who or what I'm waiting _for_. All I know is it ain't here yet and it will be soon. In the meantime, shooting a vignette won't make my waiting look suspicious.

I NEED to respond to The Engineer's third promo anyway and this IS the perfect time.

"The Engineer"." I smirk and take another sip. "Funny how you keep up the cloak o' moronic mystique, playin' second fiddle to Madison Dyson when the definition o' your designation is _mastermind_ among several similar synonyms like it wasn't some amateur's idea of a pre-planned "remember THIS?" reveal. Then again, maybe you just outsmarted yourself and underestimated the intelligence and/or patience o' your XWF rostermates. Don't mistake others not bringin' this up before as ignorance, even if you ARE one o' the most sarcastic sacks o' smartass thinkin' your nutless lil' passive-aggresive jabs with Doug Hutchison don't paint you as a pussy without the gumption to be a man in this confrontation. Besides, I already stated no one was buttfucker enough to ruin your sophomoric shenanigans before now and, for the record, had you not decided to come at a man possessin' a well-known-among-the-XWF drug history with that punk poser's rendition of a hallucination usin' ME _against me_ (what kinda dumbass thinks that's acceptable?) I might've allowed you your fantasy. Honestly, the hell didja think I was gonna do in response, bend the fuck over and let you have at me? Oh but you're maaaaaad noooow, ain'tcha? That's your fault, faggot, you shoulda done the research on me. It truly chapped your bad boy wannabe juvenile ass to hear me shine a light on the truth behind the game you've been playin', didn't it? Christ and the arrogant attitude behind your response reminds me all too much o' the way Dolly Waters refused to take a fuck up on the chin everytime I called 'er on one in favor o' playin' off of it with "comedy" like she meant to do it...like that strategy don't still display the perp as a liar and a COWARD. You're weak, Engy. You, your bullshit manager and all the content you jerk out in my direction to try and save face. Pathetic. Oh...by the way...next time you use an actor and script 'im sayin' he needs money, food and work, do a lil' research into THAT before puttin' your cred on the line. Doug Hutchison LITERALLY just took part in the filming of "The Bend", scheduled for release next year. Dude just got paid you stupid fuckin' imbecile. Shoulda taken a moment to breathe, calm yourself from the fluster of "oh SHIT, Caedus KILLED me" and put some effort into crafting a vignette _without_ more holes than Edward James Olmos's face. Perhaps, as well, a lil' less o' the hyperbole-be-damned Jim-just-made-a-whole-lotta-sense-to-those-smart-enough-to-possess-abstract-intelligence-or-even-those-with-half-a-brain-for-that-matter-so-I'll-drop-the-same-Caedus-makes-no-sense flacid deflections every OTHER opponent he's had and destroyed did. 'Cause callin' someone stupid when they clearly have your number ain't a bitch move, it's what those with honor and pride do, right? Or am I actually too good at this for you? Am I truly dashin' your brains with nothin' more than words and visuals? You that feeble-minded? Suck my cock, hack, you failed. You even lost your grip on that oh-so-well-constructed "Engy the dummy" style. Now be a good goody-good geek and swallow the Caedus Effect, ain't no way around it now, while I fill those holes.

What holes, you ask?

For starters, your limpdick dodge with Dyson claimin' that hallucination didn't really happen, now it's "semi comatose delusions". What'd I say not two minutes ago? Just like Dolly, your camp thought it best to avoid the nailing and try to skeet out some explanation to make my apt ammunition irrelevant. Nice try, desperate douche, but after buildin' that brain pill bullshittery up through two intense promos you know GODDAMN well you woulda continued the plot had I not cut it down with ONE swing...and so does everyone else. Your all-too-easy addition o' tryin' to make ME look like some kinda junkie after your hilarious failure won't fool anyone. My, my, my...the ego of Engy is unbelieveably unjustified. You've got the debate skills of a child refusin' to own up and instead usin' accusation, insult and denial to argue back. Pussy. Wouldja like to know WHY I did what I did? I coulda pulled a Chris Chaos, read off a wiki page. I coulda simply settled for semantics and spoken on my experience. Hell, I coulda FAKED my way through it like you did...but I chose to do what YOU attempted first: "to entertain", like your camp claims, with content the fans could experience along with me. The difference between us is, my shit's legit, yours ain't and not only did I call you out on it but you've now decided to paint it as somethin' entirely different in the wake of FAILURE. Wasn't your droppin' the act one o' my predictions? Yeah...that'll show the fans you're to be taken as anything BUT a joke, jag-off. Nice whiffer. It's too bad, seein' as THIS is your strategy now, I ain't gonna let you hit back against my facts. You woulda been able to toss up another just-to-contradict-me misfire fulla fallacies and fakery peppered with time-wastin', purely-because-you're-butthurt-and-embarrassed nonsense quotes and overused memes like you got a lil' too much feminine in your blood, bitchmade Motherfucker. "Make 'em laugh", Eng', since you're so unbelievably deluded you think we ain't laughin' AT you and your spineless ways with Dyson's Dolly-ish dodge game claimin' I put my health and career at risk to torpedo your deception. Cunt, please...if I must reiterate then I must: had I not ruined your psychadelic circle-jerk you woulda played it out with Engy already having used a pistol to open a pill bottle and downing the contents en masse. Is THAT not "a risk to health and career"? Of course not, no? It woulda culminated with a smart Engy (your goal to drop the charade you've been sufferin' through) and I'm sure you woulda had several excuses of ill-providence ready to go as well to say "it's not that now, it's THIS and THIS time I MEAN it" or "dgcjkebzgdhf skxbcjfksbsjd Caedus is crazy" if I'd given you the opportunity to pollute the XWF with another focused fart fib and do so. Hey...you act like a bitch I'mma fuck you like one. You know what bitches o' both genders say? Whiny, illogical things like:

"Hey Jim, check this. If you get to be all knowing about putting dangerous chemicals in your body, then I get to be all knowing about the topic of dealing with retards."

Hey Mad and Eng', check this: "get" has nothin' to do with this situation. I _have_ experience in somethin' neither of you do. You tried to fake it AGAINST me in our all-important war of words, a concept this business is all about. I shot you down. Period. You? You don't "get to be" learned in shit if you ain't been through it or can't, at the very _least_, do the research to avoid criticism, least of all if you're claiming a guy who speaks as well as he does when you two don't catch it is legit stupid and you're an expert on the subject. That's your hiccup, hacks; don't hate the player, hate the game...the game you tried runnin' on this player before he flipped it around and pounded it right up both your asses. And for the record, I already demolished the "Engy is stupid" crap, how can you POSSIBLY think not only keepin' it goin' but dialin' it up to retard is the right move? Fuck's wrong with you? It's like you cut that promo just to keep talking, not to make any legitimate counters or valid points. Anyway, you havin' a problem with me not allowin' you to spin your hackish yarns at me is pointless...I've been doin' it when needed since I got here and accrued quite the tally with it thus far. Seems to me a lotta the big dawgs and Legends do the same, as do newer faces like Neville Sinclair, our current TV Champ, who's been schoolin' opponents on their mistakes since signin' on as well. My bad though...I apparently didn't realize Maddy and Engy have been contracted immune from such avenues of attack. I musta missed the fine print.

Kinda like how you say I missed the memo on brain injuries. Hmmm...yep, that's another subject I'm educated on seein' as I was stomped to death back in 2003, sustaining personality-altering brain damage. What'd I say about research? Yes, Madison, brain damage can and does cause a whole host o' problems. Yes, it is an open and still not fully understood concept in our current society which, lucky you, provides a grey area o' vagueness for you to wrap around your lies in defense, congratulations. All except for the fact you yourself state it can affect certain aspects and leave others untouched. See, Engy didn't exhibit that, he displayed noticeable inconsistencies with ONE aspect: his linguistics. The dick started talking one way, then he outta nowhere switched up to smart, then he fell right back into "stupidity". NOW his speech, as evidenced by the 3rd vignette, is portrayed somewhere between the two and all o' that ain't because o' no brain injury, idiots, it's due to the fact Eng' sucks at this. That's all. Your all-too-convenient explanation might have saved THAT lie had you not already been ousted as fakes and liars to begin with, draining you of any trustworthy buoy with which to keep afloat. Occam's Razor, assholes.

Assholes...assholes, like Chris Chaos, Jenny Myst, Dolly Waters and Madison Dyson will take what someone said and completely INVENT statements never uttered to use against them in context. You know, like how you, Madison, question me by asking "do I honestly think a man being retarded makes him any less dangerous in the ring" as if I alluded to that. Problem, Mad, I spent time accusing Engy of NOT being STUPID. Strike one. Second problem: you see any not-Eugene ACTUAL retards in professional wrestling mixed in with the rest of us "normies"? No, you don't. How could they POSSIBLY be entrusted to carry out their complex responsibilities in the ring, hand to hand combat, keeping rules straight, and in promotions like the WWE, keeping the STORIES straight with kayfabe goin' strong? You "honestly think" the Special Olympics exist because those, God bless 'em, poor sweet souls are ABLE to compete with the opposite spectrum mentally AND physically? Strike two. Third: Anything affecting the intelligence and ability for thinkin' on one's feet in THIS sport WOULD be a disadvantage, so yes, Engy, if you were truly incapacitated against a man who's built his successful career here on exposing weakness and mistakes it WOULD make you less dangerous an opponent for me. Strike three.

You're both out and Engy...I'm afraid you've reached the end o' your illegitimate reign as XWF Xtreme Champ. For all your bitchin' and moanin' you ended up deliverin' exactly what I said you would: an abandoning o' the original plan, exposing it all as a lie, which you say is ok "for now". I gotta say, woulda been a lot more graceful to simply refrain from a response in realization you'd been raped but...as I've also exposed...the size o' the ego between you and Dyson would NEVER allow that. Instead, you've wasted everyone's time sayin' jack-shit like we're all dyin' to view your materi-"


The words appear before my mind's eye, halting my tirade. The draw...the "psychic force"... My target's nearby.

"Excuse me, your material. My apologies, continuing to speak to you two too-proud-to-blatantly-give-up-WHILE-you're-givin'-up fuckin' losers is turnin' my stomach. Engy...I do feel bad turnin' the tables on you so effectively when clearly you were butterin' me up with maybe-sincere-maybe-not cordiality and compliments but like "I" said durin' your drug trip farce...this is a friendless business with opponents. It's war. We've been booked, bro, and I'll be damned if I'll let this golden opportunity slip through my fingers to avoid hurt feelings. I'm takin' that strap and that's all there is to-"


"-it. Feel free to upload a blind fourth "surprise" in which you suddenly ARE tryin' to fight back. Wouldn't put it past your shady ass. In fact...I'd be willin' to bet you WILL. And why not? You've shown nothin' BUT a lack o' balls in this here donnybrook and with your stacking the deck with styles and strategies not your own I'd assume you'll copy those like Blingsteen with the "I give up" segued into "ha haa, here I am" jackassery. Problem is, no matter what YOU say or do at this point, you've still lost all credibility. Go fuck yourself with your frantic floundering, fool, I'll kick your ass regardless. See ya tomorrow night numbnuts."


I begin to slowly rise from my position on the bench as a man wearing an empty .357 mag shell casing dangling from a cheap chain walks up alongside who appears to be his wife or girlfriend.

"You sure you want a coffee this late, Marc?"

"Yeah, I don't know why. I'm just jonesing I guess. Do you mind?"

"Knock yourself out hun."

I turn to leave as "Marc" enters, crashing into him, making a mess of my espresso on both our shirt fronts.

Endorphins release in my brain.

"Shit! Hey!"

"Fuck, I'm sorry sir, I didn't see you."

"Clumsy asshole! Look what you did to my-"

He stops in shock, grabbing at where his chain used to be.

"Easy, hun, it was an accid-"

"My chain!"

He looks to the ground where the broken chain lies.

"The shell! Where's the damn shell!?"

"Look, I'm really sorry sir but I've gotta jet. I hope you find whatever it is you're lookin' for."

I know _I_ did...

I walk off towards the car Tala and I rented, hand in my pocket, shell in my fist. Another successful collection. Tonight a mystery item...tomorrow the Xtreme Title.

Now to catch up with my girl and grab a bite to eat. Even figurative fucking has me working up an appetite.