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JimCaedus · (02-13-2018)

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---MONDAY---

---CASTLE CAEDUS---

"Donald Trump."

"_WHAT_!?"

"You heard me, scumbag, Donald Trump."

"............_WHAT_!?"

"Whuddayou, Marlee fuckin' Matlin?"

"You want _me_...to _kill_ the _president_."

"Stop bein' such a pussy about it, Jimmy."

"You're LYING."

"Yeah. I am. Funny doh."

"No, the story behind dark Sicilian skin is funny, _that_ shit was uncalled for."

"Watch it jag-off, I'm Sicilian."

Carmine, my contact with the Pappalardo Crew out in Primm, Nevada. You may won't remember him from my promo "Aw, Shut the Fuck Up" during the High Stakes II hype cycle. You know, one of those times Finn Kühn was off at home in Hamburg not trying, not caring, not aiming...just irresponsibly dousing his own monitor, keyboard, mouse and desktop with his Nazi seed while fappin' to crush porn like the borderline pre-peeper, future weakling serial killer who uses poison like a little girl that he is. Anyhoo...

If you were one of the lucky ones who follows Drew Archyle promos (and if you aren't, shame on you) you may have caught the recent wrinkle to his story that saw his debt to one Mr. Falcone and his crew outta Chicago taken off of his shoulders and placed onto mine through the debt-inheriting Pappalardo Crew with the help of Falcone's daughter who happens to soon be marrying Don Pappalardo's son... Look, like Henry Hill said in Goodfellas, it's "real greaseball shit". Drew and I are just along for the ride. Well..._Drew_ hopefully is outta the clear for good. I, on the other hand-

"My bad, bro. Hey, I'm just relieved you were fuckin' around so I'm kinda unfiltered. Heh. Honestly though..._me_, kill someone? Ridiculous. Huh guys-"

I look to my APEX brothers as Floyd swings our view to both Drew (snacking on carrot sticks from a Tupperware on the kitchen counter, current carrot betwixt his teeth as he pauses in subtle "really?" response) and Robert (smoking a Maker's Mark in a recliner and catching what's on TV, his back to us).

Drew remains leveling Jim with the "really?" for several seconds before no-look flinging the carrot he was about to consume at Robert, smacking him in the side of the head.

"OW! What the fuck, jackass!?"

Drew inaudibly (from our distance away) mutters something as Robert takes a pull. When Drew finishes, Main chokes, hacking out clouds of smoke, before turning in the chair enough to level Jim with a crooked mouthed "really?" as well.

"The fuck? We just went over this back in Tunisia, remember? With Brigadier Ziyad? When I was waiting and ended up waiting still longer for Finn to hype the fuckin' match or respond in a timely manner, now he thinks he can talk shit gettin' a lil' of his own medicine?"

"That was about murder, Jimbo, not killing."

"Oh yeah...... Well, semantics...'cause English is my first language and also, murder is what Carmine was jokin' about. Huh Carmine. Thanks for waiting for all that to play out by the way."

"Fuck you tawkin' about now? I AM tellin' you to whack someone out."

Deadpan. "What..."

"You 'eard me. I was just jokin' about Trump is all."

"......"

"The family wants you to clip Finn Kühn. And make it messy, we wanna send a message."

"To who, The Victor Von Club? Let 'em know they lost their totempole-headed FrankenChairperson and we don't want no "Fire Bad!"s 'round here?"

Carmine laughs on the other end. Another thing you won't remember from his previous appearances is that Carmine is an avid XWF fan, so he's completely legit. He's now one of my biggest fans.

"Oh shit, Jimmy, you sure know howta boil a hotdawg."

That's an odd expression.

"Really doh, we want you to clip Calvin Broadus."

I laugh.

"Ok, maybe that one's a little too much o' the same bit."

"Bit? What bit? I ain't jokin' dis time. We want you to kill Calvin Broadus. And the whole messy wid it still applies."

I laugh again, a little more forced out of stress and not so much out of amusement this ti-

Hey... Wait... Maybe Finn's right... I watched the opening music video of his first of two promos before I got this call but I got the hint. Maybe I AM a fake! I- Wait...again... The hell am I saying right now? I'm as real as it gets. ...Like Finn is as dubious and transparent in motive as it gets, though I'm starting to think HE may be taking that narrow win over Chaos as one bitch of a feather in his cap and the wind beneath his Icarus wings.

I laugh again, this time at the bonnie visual of Finn falling to his death, being too young, stupid and cocky to realize wax melts in high heat, OR...

FIRE BAAAAAAD!

Wow, it's like six-degress of Kevin Baconstein with that bubbled-out fiveheaded freak. Everything applies. Unlike him. Meaning he doesn't apply himself. Unless it's Jim Caedus he's facing, then he sorta applies himself.

You're welcome, Finn.

Fucking hack.

"You doin' one 'a doze extended inner monologues or sumthin'? And what the fuck are you laughin' about? Kid-"

I'm older than Carmine. He's also delivering this with an incredibly intimidating tone I don't care for.

"-this ain't a fuckin' joke. You owe Don Pappalardo, remember? We relieved your friend Archyle of his debt outta respect for you and the money you made for us."

"Yeah, double what was loaned. Out of gratitude."

"Where's dat gratitude now, Jimmy? Drew is off the hook. Where's the gratitude?"

"Dude, why the fuck do you guys... Why _him_? Why _me_!?"

"Him? 'Cawze uh the Dawggfatha album."

"_What_!?"

"Leave it, kid. Suffice it tasay we don't like no mulignan makin' a mockery outta the outfit. We had to let it slide for awhile. For appearances."

"That's...just...nuts."

"I said save it. As fa you, you happen to be in a unique position to get close to dat bum."

"How the FUCK do you figure?"

"Don't you raise ya voice at me ya sunuvubitch. And we figya 'cawze he's a celebrity, you're a celebrity, both from Lawng Beach. Capiche?"

"Carmine...I can't do that. I know I owe you guys but I...bro that's not any kinda life I lead. Murder? Shit's happened in my past but I'm not some cold-blooded-"

"Jimmy I don't give a shit. Whatever it is, I don't give a shit and Pappalardo don't give a shit neitha. You owe, you pay. Figgur it out. You don't, YOU die. Unnastand? I'm sorry kid but dats just the way it goes."

::BOOOP::

I can't stop my hand from shaking, though I definitely try to in light of my brothers, as I lower my phone and backarrow to the home screen.

"What's up?" ::CRUNCH:: Carrot sticks, remember?

"Drew...they want me to shoot Snoop."

Drew's jaw drops, carrot fragments raining onto the floor. I wanna say something but this really isn't a laughing matter at all anymore, so I let it go.

Drew remains jawdropping at me however, for several seconds...until he turns to Robert, still watching TV, with a look of irritation and pegs him with another carrot.

"Goddammit, what!?"

"Bobby...turn it off." Main complies.

"There, what??"

"Brother...I have to kill Snoop Dogg."

"Uncle Snoop!?"

I shiver. "God I hate that creepy fuckin' handle. But......yeah."

Robert stands to face me, ashing his cigar.

"Um...Jim, we don't do that kind of stuff. Besides that, that's the dumbest shit I have ever heard. Shoot Snoop Doggy Dogg?"

"Murder is the case that they gave him."

Shaming tone. "Oh, Drew..."

"Shut up Floyd. I'm trying to break up the tension, do you mind?"

"Guys, seriously, the FUCK am I gonna do here?? Shoot Snoop?? MURDER Snoop Dogg?? MURDER _ANYBODY_!?"

Drew strides over and slaps me across the face with a handful of carrots since they're all too small and short individually to do much towards snapping me out of it.

"Jim, snap out of it!"

Shaming tone as his lens takes in the mess on my nice hardwood floor. "Oh Drew..."

Drew raises a warning finger.

"Floyd, don't make me tell you again. Now look, Jim, just take a breath, alright? Calm down...we'll figure something out."

"Out of the question. This is _my_ debt, I ain't dragging you two into-"

"Bollocks."

"Bollocks??"

"Yes, bollocks. You don't get to do the same move I tried to do back in Chicago, Jimbo. If I'm not allowed to face the nightmares of being in debt to the mafia alone, neither are you. We're a team."

"That's right. Brothers."

"Damn straight. Like I said, we'll figure this out. In the meantime, why don't you finish watching Finn Kühn's two promos and respond? Take your mind off murdering Snoop Dogg by putting your mind on murdering Finn Kühn and getting that much closer to the Universal Championship."

"Ok, good idea Drewzer."

I switch my television back over to net surfing and press resume. Lines of poetic verse appear onscr-

::As he did in reaction to Danny Imperial doing the same (see "Lions and Tigers and Caedus, Oh Shit"), Jim abruptly and mysteriously snaps into a trance over the wielding of poetic verse in _Finn's_ hype material::

"Jim? ......Yo, JIM!"

::Jim doesn't respond, face slack and devoid of emotion, while he lifelessly peruses Finn's promo::

"Aw hell. Robert...Jim has gone bye bye. I knew it'd happen sooner or later, I just can't believe Finn Kühn of all people pulled it off."

"Oooh shit! Wait! I know what this is!"

"Yes, a complete mental break down, we've established that."

"Nope." Robert laughs with almost fiendish relish. "It's the poetry. Watch. Watch what happens, it's crazy."

"Par for the course with Caedus."

::The two wait quietly as the promo plays out and draws to a close...

...Robert grins...

...then both flinch, startled as a hip hop beat inexplicably hits the very air around them, providence unknown::

"Da faq??"

King James
"Pray"
The Caedus Cutz
XWF Entertainment

"Mwahahahahaaa... I've been awakened once more!"

"...daaaaa faq??"

"SHH!"

"Ah, Finn...keep foolin' yourself. Keep settin' yourself up for humiliation you obnoxiously overzealous, amateur mindgame playin', shady maggot. Fake? Ain't no secret what you really think of me you gutless, gullible, weak minded, two-faced little dickling. Who gives a shit?

Keep trying...Jim Caedus will never be your springboard. Now reap what you sow. Ho.

ACT I

Salty kid? Feelin' properly motivated?
Manipulated into jaded, soon to be terminated
Eliminated, penetrated, mercy fresh outta stock
Cruel coital killing perpetrated by this yard stick cock
You wanna act like a bitch, I'll wreck that ass like a slut
Finn Kunt, fascists to ashes like I murder a blunt
Puff puff and pass that asshole around
On to the next 10 muthafuckas that's gonna knock him out
There ain't no doubt, so I advise you to mark what I say
I'ma bury that Kaiser, permanente
And he know it, blowin' hella smoke and bullshit talk
'Cause he aimin' to blame his leg when he can't walk the walk
This poser punk Shitler Youth has always got an excuse
I got a new one: most of us is workin' harder than you
I can see you need a lesson in life, you need owned
Like when I kicked Rob Bourbon's face off clear out to the back row

HOOK

When it comin' to my enemy, please Father forgive
For he knows not who it is he's - fuckin' with x4

ACT II

Pathetic liar, yeah I know what inspires your hate now
But you can't faze King James, my credit stacked to the clouds
Who the fuck you think you judgin' bitch, those people my fam
And all the thugs show me love 'cause they know who I am
I was _raised_ in the ghetto, you view the hood through a lens
Kid, that culture's in my blood, you got a couple of friends
But _I'm_ fake? I'ma knock your fuckin' teeth out, Kraut
Go ask the porcine marine, he know what that's all about
It made me wonder why the hell you rankers comin' at me?
Just simply for the braggin' rights of takin' down JC?
If that were true, everybody'd be kickin' my door down
Not just you, Battle Sow and the fat redheaded clown
Hell with it, I'll take all-comers got a problem with this
And in Libya, Finn Doomed, you're at the top of the list
You wanted me pissed, I'll leave you with your dick in your mouth
And _still_ be there to help you up 'cause a hero in the house

HOOK

When it comin' to my enemy, please Father forgive
For he knows not who it is he's - fuckin' with x4

ACT III

Finn Kraut, big mouth but not a lotta clout
And he'll look worse after the match for squawkin' so damn loud
I gave you fair warning, then I gave you friendly advice
Even showed you respect, you made this a personal fight
Well aight, Finn, if that's the way that you want it, cool
I'll boot your ass straight from the ring to the emergency room
Then I'll visit you, and pay for all your hospital bills
Physical therapy covered, I'll foot your tab on the pills
I'll help you train in the ring, get you back to A plus
Second round I'll pound your crown right onto the short bus
Have you walkin' down to ringside like "Hey yooou guuuys!"
Stupid smile on your face and vacancy in your eyes
You're lucky this shit a tourney and not a throwaway match
If it was, I'd beat you back up into yo momma's snatch
But it ain't, so I'ma settle for breakin' your bones and pride
And keep my eyes on the prize, so my second-coming arrives!

HOOK

When it comin' to my enemy, please Father forgive
For he knows not who it is he's - fuckin' with x4

::Jim then proceeds to C-walk like a jackass but if we didn't know him it'd look less ridiculous, more so pretty impressive.

Drew, meanwhile, is locked in an open jawed expression of shock and Robert...Robert's bobbin' his head to the beat, big grin splayed across his face.

They both watch in silence until the music ends and Jim mysteriously snaps back out his trance unaware of what just occurred::

"Ok as cool and...insane as that just was, I'd hate to see what happens if someone rhymes at him during a match."

"Jimmy would kick that someone's ass while rapping about it I guess. I think this only happens during this type of situation though. We were both in a bar fight a few months ago with the Warwick Davis Leprechaun and the ghost of Dr. Seuss and neither of them would stop rhyming but it didn't happen then."

"What're you two talking about?"

"Nothing Jimbo, handle your business."

"Act MXCMXCIX: sFINNcter Says What? (Part 2, Ch. 1, Subsection D)"

"Well hoooooolyyyyyyy _shit_. Finn _actually_ hyped the match after only a full week and a whole lotta bravado he's too naive, too inexperienced and too shameless to understand will have him lookin' like a giant horse's ass should he fail!

Woot wooooooot!

Cool beans, Funyuns, you've now shown as much effort as you did in your previous match. Look out world, Finn Kühn gots bare minimum for day! Uh huh, singular. Oh, and looky there, a second! What took you so long? Oh well, what's important is that you're working so hard day at a time. Uh huh, singular again. 'Cause you earned it champ and English ain't your first language, ain't that right?

Y'know...you may be lazy, unjustifiably arrogant, losing a tug-o-war with your own hairline, unmotivated, easily distracted, thus far presenting yourself exactly as I predicted and amusingly caveman Bonk top heavy...but I never pegged you for a flat out liar, Finn. I thought maybe, just maybe, honesty was among your _shining_ qualities."

"You're a goddamn fool, Caedus.

You're going to attack me for adding one measly syllable more to a line? Truly? You're going to attack me for how I speak despite the fact it's already been established English was not my first language?"

"No, "truly" I attacked your audacious declaration of war and prediction of victory you were too giddy, too hasty, too frightened or all of the above to deliver without hilariously contradicting the intended seeding of intimidation like a dumbass, remember? You know, the one you couldn't vomit up on camera fast enough following Warfare?

What's more, how did you, one of the most well spoken (in English and with a knack for Western style sass no less) men on the roster defend yourself?

---> I no speaky English so good <---

Finn.....S I G H.....Taco, Squiddo, Juni the Mutated Jap and _Scully_ no speaky English so good. You, however? _The chip on your shoulder_ and _the stick up your ass_ have a better grasp of the English language than most people who speak nothing but.

Look, you ungrateful little douche...

...for the moment, do us all a solid and set aside your alarmingly "mom, that bag o' weed you found in my pocket isn't mine, I'm holding it for a friend" teenagerish level of "clever" then listen very carefully...the quickest way to ensure you keep failing in the ring is to make the mistake of assuming everyone else is a dumbshit. Don't ever insult the intelligence of your peers and all those with half a brain or better again, least of all with well-known _no_-brainer BS. Hell with ownin' it, flipping it and voiding the impact, huh? Weak. Sad. Utterly pathetic...even for you.

Here, lemme show you how it's done and what to expect when your balls eventually drop:

Hey, nice catch on the Finn name flub. Also-

-since I took time to specify, in no uncertain terms, fuck a name. It's your flesh and blood scheisse shaft my right Redwing'll be droppin' in on like D-Day, Herr High Brow, but excellent expense of energy anyway and danke for that. Gotta give you _somethin'_ to get your camper ass into the game, don't I?

Insert shiteating grin here.

You see? It's that easy. Or rather, it _would_ be if you weren't such a stubborn krautard refusing to or incapable of learning from and correcting the same mistakes and habits that consistently prevent you from attaining glory in the XWF.

An unreliable fuck-up is an unreliable fuck-up, youngster, both in action and words.

Words like calling Caedus a "shell of his former self" and a "hack"(you cut 'n pasting the same shit you used on Chaos now? Ecks dee. Also, stop sayin' the exact same shit I used to say as the fiery underdog, idiot, get your own material) and action like somehow overlooking the undeniable facts I ain't ever been better and I ain't lost a match since October 14th, 2017. Wanna guess what matches are included in that streak, your majesty travesty? I'll save you the ample time you have to check but won't because you're now, _again_, wasting time jackin'-off backstage and tell you...

The 6 Man Leap of Faith Rafter Match in which I won my second 24/7 Briefcase for the year and currently hold, Doc's 21 Man Shove-It Rumble in which I won the Tag strap I currently hold and...uh...dammit, what was it again? Oh yeeeeeeah, War Games 2017, the one where my team won, and your team lost.

Hey Finn? Next time you let fly accusations, "make sure you know what the fuck you're talking about", ya line pirating, parrot prick. Folly wanna cracker?

It must suck nailing a single botch only to immediately resume fumbling the ball. Much like it must suck havin' a head shaped like a high top fade without the hair to explain it. Coincidentally enough, it must also "truly" suck to try slamming me for losing to an inarguable talent like a full-throttle Brucette Blingsteen (you do realize she'd whip your ass without breaking a sweat, right?) when you lose to damn near EVERYBODY...not to mention, Jenny Myst contributed multiple losses to your tally and made a laughing stock outta you, "The Kaiser", what was it, three times in a row?

Oops. Seems like someone shoulda taken his own, legitimately embarrassing in-ring history into account before opening that which by now must have been amply stretched to Steven Tyler-like proportions so as to fit both feet comfortably with room to spare.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! EASY there Finnkenstein, don't pop a neck bolt over the fact you barely beat Chris Chaos and his _bitch_ consistently owns you, I'm simply the messenger. It's not my fault you're half a man.

It's yours.

Like it's still your fault you don't receive the faith and respect from your peers you so desperately crave.

Like it's your fault you no bullshit, honest-to-God sincerely believe a win over a man who's never beaten me in combination with making the same amount and type of mistakes that same man who's never beaten me made against the same man you now face and shoutin' out you're gonna win at the top of your lungs means victory will magically be delivered unto thine entitled ass.

Like it's your fault your complete lack of cred in lecturing or tryna one-up me on anything at all wrestling related is like a pile o' dogshit tellin' a bottle o' bleach to clean up its act.

Like it's your fault you can't fathom my decision to not cash in on Robbie Bourbon knowing I can beat him in a square one-on-one because the concept of class is beyond your comprehension. Always lookin' for a shortcut...

Like it's your fault you lost every. single. match. you ever lost and refuse to own up to it, naturally assuming I'd blame Graves for Blingsteen defeating me because it's _your_ default setting to deny.

Like it's your fault you haven't a clue what will, drive and determination are as I've defined them in this very promotion, becoming one of the most highly decorated in accolades names on the roster, active or inactive, before even hitting a full uninterrupted year, I repeat, _a full uninterrupted year_, of competing. A run that's now at 14 months, F-Y-I.

You're failing, Finn. Right now. And to me, it seems like you're _trying_ to fail.

I've accomplished what you've accomplished and succeeded where you've failed.

I AM what you are AIN'T...

Dedicated.

Consistent.

Proven.

Have you any idea how ludicrous you sound comin' at me from the avenues you've taken? Trying to discredit me? Outright lying on my abilities and current standing?

This is why you're failing.

Yet you wanna know what _I'm_ gonna do to stop _you_ from stoppin' _me_?"

Scoff.

"Simple.

Show up.

......Bitch."

"What was that about bustin' ass, Finn?"

"Mhm. You have to respect the youngster's sudden and convenient gumption but... At this point, I'd say, in every way _not_ his all-bark-no-bite-baby-bitchlette-launchin'-lies-just-to-keep-talkin' mouth most assuredly twisting it in sophomoric fashion (because, if you GOTTA give Finn another thing beyond the gumption, it's his innate ability to channel the mind of a high school smartass who thinks shouting obscenities, how good he is and all that shit to a "grown ass man, dawg" on the public side of the campus fence means he's tough. Luckily, Finn's of age and I'm gonna beat the sauer-sass out of 'im, so for him, the situation is more like---)

"I wouldn't disagree with that."

"Kay, so...now that that's outta the way and Finn realizes he won't be advancing but will probably flap his scrote-cozy again anyway, do we have a plan yet, Drew? For the Snoop situation?"

"You mean did I figure out a plan while you were diss rapping and trash talking Finn? No."

"Diss rapping?"

"Never mind. Let's take this conversation on the road, I'm starving."

"You were just eating carrots!"

"Who am I, Roger fucking Rabbit? Carrots are not a meal."

"Can I-"

"No Floyd, you can't come too. We need some privacy for this one."

::Our Floyd pov watches as APEX head out the front door of Castle Caedus, Jim closing it behind them::

::creeeeeeeeeak::

::Our pov swings to the slowly opening linen closet in the hall...

::CRASH!!::

...to see a galvanized trash can, a Zipperloc gallon bag of marijuana and a child proof pill bottle of the same come spilling out onto the floor!::

"Holy BLOOP BLOOP, I thought they'd never leave!! Get the hell off me for Poopssake!!"

::The gallon bag named Lieutenant Sack slowly slides off the sideways grounded Lord Trash Can to the hardwood floor::

"Muh muhmmy."

"Oh it's fine, Lieutenant, no apology necessary. PFC PRESSINTWISTE!!"

In his typical Tommy Chongish drawl, though in frustration- "What, caaaaan? You have to yell so loud?"

"Fetch me Donald Stuck and Gunny Herrer, I need my shitty nugs!"

"Gunny Herrer is dead can. You smoked up all his guts."

"Pity...he was a good soldier. Alright then, fetch me Captain Cookies."

"Captain Cookieeeees the Girl Scout Cookies strain or Captain Cookies the Costco box of 10 Oreo sleeves?"

"Yes, perhaps I was a bit lazy with the names there. Anyway, the nugs, dummy. I'd have thought that was obvious."

"You smoked up Captain Cookies too can."

"Oh that's right. Yes, another good soldier gone before his time. ...Lance Corporal Crystal Blue?"

"Nope. Dead, can."

"Private Purple Goo?"

"Dead, can."

"Chaplain Alaskan Thunderfuck?"

"I don't know what to tell you, can, you smoked them all to death."

"No... No! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!!"

"Yep."

"MASTER SERGEANT MINTZ-PISTOL!!"

::In a flash of bestowed incredibly powerful cosmic...uh...power...the disembodied head of Chris Mintz-Plasse teleports in to float before our Heinous Highness and Kaiser of Crap::

"Yesth, my liege?"

"Whudja summon him for, can?"

"I can no longer get what the Terrans call "high", which means I actually have to face my responsibilities, which means, kill me, Sergeant Major. Right now. Right in the temple."

"Uh, ok."

::Sergeant Major Mintz-Pistol opens his mouth and his tongue, a pistol...hey this sounds familiar... Anyway, his tongue, a pistol, extends and...zips back in::

"Wait, where's your temple?"

"Oh for- Here..." Lord Trash Can slightly swivels in mid air. "Fire away."

::Sergeant Major Mintz-Pistol extends his gun-tongue and-

BLAM!!!

-the bullet pierces through both sides of the Regi of Refuse's temple and hits the wall.

In slow motion, (maybe a dramatic edit by Floyd, who can tell?) Lord Trash Can tips over and crashes to his side on the floor with a CLATTER, his lid popping free...

Lord Trash Can...............is dead.

In solemn fashion, Lieutenant Sack, PFC Pressintwiste and Sergeant Major Mintz-Pistol look upon our now fallen liege.

Lord Trash Can stirs slightly then float-leans up to a 45° position toward Mintz-Pistol as his lid zips back to position to illustrate speaking movements::

"Wait, how does this work? I'm not dead."

"I guess you'll just hafta do your work, can."

"aaaAAAAAAOOOOHHHH!! FUCK!!"

::TRASH STATIC::

TBC

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