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JimCaedus · (02-14-2018)

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"21 Crip Street"

"Neva left". My slightly larger right nut you "neva left", ya traitor sumbitch...," I bitterly mutter as I take the next right freeway exit behind the wheel of my black, v8 '86 Mercedes 420 SEL.

"Jim what's your problem with Snoop? Yesterday you sounded all concerned with shooting him and today you won't stop with the peanut gallery criticisms."

"Yeah, everyone loves Snoop. Like, literally everyone. Also, you do sound like a highly confused idiot when you backpedal."

"I'm _not_ backpedaling; me not wantin' to murder a man doesn't mean I hafta _like_ him."

"What possible reason could you have not to? Everyone knows you love hip hop so that excuse is off the table."

"AND he's from Long Beach, Mr. "JimmyLB"!"

"Oooooo, gin, Jim. Nice one, Bobby."

"Oh I know it."

"That's _precisely_ the reason. He put Long Beach on the map, then he moves out. You have any idea how much rich suburban pussy I started getting by Sophomore year purely because of Snoop and the facts I both lived in Long Beach and went to school in Lakewood?"

"How's that work?"

"You live in Long Beach? No way! Have you ever seen people get shot??" "Hell yeah, every DAY there's a new body on the lawn. Wanna kick it after school?" Like that."

Laughs derisively. "You lying douche."

"Whaddaya want, I was in high school. Hey, they wanted to believe it, I just- Look, that isn't the point! The point is: he moved out, he JUMPED labels to No Limit, I hated his new sound and he ain't ever returned to the Snoop I _am_ a fan of. Death Row gangsta rapper."

"All I've heard so far are personal opinions and reasons for you to be eternally grateful to Snoop. He got you laid. Hater. Backstabber."

"Bro, I _love_ Long Beach is all. He gave me a reason to be _proud_ of my hometown then he sold the fuck out. How you gonna be the first person screamin' "Loooong Beeeeeeach" then move out? _Then_ have the balls to release an album called Neva Left? I'm not the only one who thinks this, every G I know in Long Beach has hated him since he bounced."

"What a stupid reason. You're stupid, Jim. You're just mad because gangster rap is over and things change. They should come up with a name for your kind. The white boys who were too heavy into gangster rap in the 90s and hate the current sound, spending hours whining about it online while trolling Lil' Yachty and Kendrick Lamar. But, since there is no official designation, I'll just say stupid fucking dumbass."

I react in shock, jaw dropping.

"_Dude_, what's with the hostility??"

"Maybe he's pissed you have us looking like a couple of assholes, Jim." Ashes his cigar, ash dropping into his lap.

"I wouldn't disagree with that."

To Robert. "Can you not ash on yourself please? These outfits were kind of expensive." Robert ashes again anyway. "Guys, we had NO time to plan this out any better than we did."

"You mean any better than YOU did. In YOUR opinion. I seem to recall Robert having the bright idea of posing as weed dealers."

"Bingo!"

Scoff. "Psh... "weed dealers". "Hi, Mr. Dogg? We're three weed dealers who just happened to be in the neighborhood and-" ...Come on. Really?"

Robert and Drew exchange incredulous glances before both return their stare-daggers in my direction.

"...You ARE a weed dealer! You OWN a commercial grow! You took me and Robert there THREE days ago for a personal tour!"

"Yeah but how does that apply to Snoop Dogg?"

Robert leans over from the passenger seat to awkwardly strangle me. The car starts weaving.

"You're not getting in there good enough, Bobby, he can still breathe."

"GAAAAK!! NO- URK! NO CHOKING THE DRIVER!!"

I nearly run us off the road, the wheels squealing as I accidentally accelerate while sharply turning us back between the lines. Robert relinquishes his grip.

Left hand rubbing at my throat-

"OKAY! I adMIT it, this idea is the WORST! But I swear to fuckin' Christ...something tells me it _will_ work where the others would've failed."

"This will never work! Ever!"

"This isn't a sitcom, Jim! No one would ever fall for this, I don't even know why Drew and I are going through with it!"

"Because you both know, deep down, as crazy as shit gets, I always know what I'm doing."

"That...is...definitely not the case."

I'm suddenly far too anxious to respond, my palms immediately adopting a clammy, nervous sweat. According to the maps navigation, we've arrived...

[Image: J9fyCOB.jpg]

---Yep, Snoop Dogg's House---

---((address stricken to avoid lawsuit))•Diamond Bar, CA---

"Well, in the words of Finn Kühn if he was honest about himself, here goes nothing..."

We unsteadily make the monumental 3 foot trek to the mouth of Snoop's driveway, to find ourselves being halted and examined by a burly, maddogging black man wearing an ear piece and lapel camera.

"Fuck y'all s'posed to be?"

Floyd takes in our forms, dressed to the "fuck me" nines in hooker outfits. The effect is 100% unconvincing, most especially given that Robert and I didn't shave and we still have massive beards.

Before I can respond in an even more unconvincingly masculine-trying-to-be-feminine voice, the man places a finger to his ear and-

"Aight, go on up."

Needless to say, looks of disbelief are exchanged between my APEX brothers. Even I can't believe it and I was illogically banking on this shit working.

30 more feet of hooker mule heel near-ankle breaking later, we're halted once more at the front door by a second guard.

"Man-bitches back the fuck up, turn the fuck around and kick rocks 'fore a nigga gotta-"

He too suddenly places a finger to his earpiece then looks to us begrudgingly before orally smacking in irritation and turning to open the door for us.

"How in God's name is this working," Drew asks as we enter?

"Shh!! The hell bro, you'll blow whatever the hell cover we've got goin'!!"

"Jim...there is no cover," Robert adds, scratching at the underside of his painfully out-there man bulge stuffed into undergarments not meant to be worn by anyone with a wang.

No sooner have the three of us entered than a third guard pumps the breaks on our progress.

"Jesus, are we allowed entry or not!?"

"Y'all crossdressin'

gotta hold up 'til Mister Broadus is done blazin'. He ain't like to be disturbed when he smokin'."

"Ok, sooo...see you at the funeral? Or will they be placing a lit blunt between the decedent's lips as well?"

He ignores Drew's sarcasm and opens a door to our right in the foyer wall.

"Wait in here. I get yo' gay asses when he ready."

I try to ignore the burning glares aimed my way from my brothers in reaction to being unacceptably, incorrectly and hatefully labeled as they have been and lead the way. When we're all in, the guard pulls the door closed with a-

"And don't y'all nasty muhfuckas make a mess."

::KA-KUNK::

And now I'm left in silence with two men who more than likely wanna finish strangling the life outta me and Floyd. I take about ten full seconds of rage-gazes before-

"......I _was_ right though. Here we are in the house of Snoop Doggy Dogg, are we not? Mission halfway complete."

"Jim, you see Robert's face right now?" I look to Robert and back. "That's the face of the guy who brought the literal house down with a sledgehammer at Leap of Faith. Now...while I will relent that your plan has, SOMEHOW, indeed gotten us inside the cavern of Snoop Lion, there's no taking away the fact you have us humiliating ourselves in the process OR any assurance that we'll be walking away from this. But if we do, Robert and I get one punch each."

"Two."

"Two punches each."

I move frantically to change the subject. "Uhhhhh how about we take our minds off this situation and check out Finn's third promo, huh? He's always good for a laugh."

Both Drew and Robert lose the anger and abruptly chuckle. They can't help it. And I ask you, who could? Chris Chaos himself will be laughing next go-round.

"Yeah that's true."

"View, laugh and be merry, for tomorrow he dies and can no longer provide the hilarity. Go ahead, Jim, let's see it."

::CUT-TO-::

Amidst guffawing, hee-hawing and wiping of ha-ha tears, minutes later we finish perusing Finn's first ever foot long turd he undoubtedly will be proudly and secretly snapping out (despite the fact shit is still shit, no matter how impressive) to every fivehead fetishist he'd ever met and "allowed" to dominate him off Grindr, explaining his vehement disapproval of and intolerance for homosexuals with that brilliant "

" talk, as well as his "tough" "alpha male" attitude in direct defiance of the fact he usually gets his ass kicked in the ring and, logically, outside of it...because he's really a flaccid little salad tosser and the older he gets, the harder it is to maintain the façade and he needs to unwind with some "me-time" or he'll kill himself.

"Two questions:

1. The fuck is Kid Dicarus talking about my "opinion of rap" or whatever? And-

2. Regardless of that, did a guy from a country that worships David Hasselhoff for his musical efforts honestly just say anything to anyone at all about musical taste? Oh!-

3. Does Finn ever attack from an avenue that doesn't either also directly apply to him or exclusively describe him?"

"2. Yes. Yes he did.

3. No. No he doesn't.

1. I think he's referring to your diss rap...uh...uh...I don't know, trance or something?"

"Most definitely a trance."

"Diss rap trance? Fuck YOU guys talkin' about?"

::Drew produces his phone, pulling up Jim's latest promo, and presents it to him.

Five minutes later...::

"Huh...that bears some investigating. Pretty rough. Not half bad though, lyrics were hilarious and definitely on point. I should like to meet the mysterious source of this diss rapping and shake his hand."

::Jim hands Drew back his phone and looks to the camera::

"Finn, shame on you. You know _god_damn well you enjoyed that...whatever the hell it was as much as you hate the fact it got you to bob your head and consequently level that El Khan Hotel you were stayin' at in Libya, ya wrecking ball headed fuck.

I love by the way that you responded to that mysterious and original content with the work of someone else. Wayta half no-ass it in desperation you frantically uncreative dipshit. A quick "fuck you" slap will never trump a haymaker.

As for the rest of your foot stomping "NU-UUUH!!" bitchfest-"

::APEX bursts into laughter::

"Awwwww, baby supew mads now? Baby gonna poopy in angew? Gee, I must've really been upsetting you this whole time, huh kid? You know what might feel better?

Not continuing to speak and look worse.

Are you STILL trying to sabotage this for yourself or are you just so nervous and uppity you ain't aware of your massive botches?

Scully's been rapping forever has he? You mean like your hero Robbie Bourbon did? And John Cena? And The Truth? And Roaddog? And Mo of M.O.M.? I'm sorry, I'm missing the part where that accusation of "stealing Scully's gimmick" isn't a complete load of shit, especially considering names on that list precede his work as a wrestler and he sure as hell ain't been doin' it. I heard him sing Jimmy Crack Corn during Lethal Lottery IV but that most certainly doesn't define rapping.

You're still floundering, idiot.

Like how you keep trying to argue for your SWEET fuck up in ironically stating you ain't to be taken seriously and all that second language and denial of silver-tongueism crap. After legit saying "I dunno" in the same vignette, unwittingly revealing just how expertly you've taken to the English language since you speak with our lazy, American way of smashing words together and that, my friend, does not showcase ignorance of any kind on the subject. When you gonna grow up and stop thinking a position of "deny, deny, deny" in the face of evidence is one of solid ground? Immature lyin' lil' shit.

Arrogant Aryan toddler dicked duncecap.

Did you honestly do a cut-away-footage-quote of yourself?" We laugh again. "Finn, I gotta tell ya, when someone screws up as mightily as you did with your

declaration of not to be taken seriously in the wake of your upset victory, you can't say a damn thing if your opponent calls you out on it. I guess I coulda opened with how lame your career has been but- oh wait, I did include that. Because there's nothing else of note about you beyond your lame career, a single win you're so proud of and a two entry accolade tally sheet. That ain't grasping at straws, that's enjoying a complimentary 3 course meal. It doesn't matter how much you wish I never noticed, how much you can't take the heat or how loudly you curse and fling baseless accusations to distract, you're a fuck up who doth protest too much. WAY too much. You're obsessing over your lies now trying to save face you don't have. Get over it.

Like you need to get over the idea that constantly echoing the same shit I say to you back at me is a winning strategy. Or sampling from my underdog attitude from my earlier XWF days. Or sampling from Phantom Panzer's bit of calling everyone

, you not-as-pithy-as-Panzer hate-mongering sack o' Nazi shit.

You are just BEGGING for a beat down aren't you?

Case in point: you trying to say..._what_ about me cashing in on Gabe Reno like 7 out of 10 of my opponents do because they don't take the time to research into this old hat and irrelevant slandering? You're trying to discredit my honor by citing how I cashed-in on a guy that was suddenly, shadily and dishonorably pretending to be my friend to avoid me cashing in?"

::More laughter::

"Nice try, dumbass, but if you'd been around working like you nigh never are, you woulda known about that. And quoting my words over ditching the Motherfuckers only solidifies the fact that I don't take kindly to villainy, so, thanks for making me look even better.

For the record...

At this point you don't look like you "somewhat respect Robbie", you look like you're doing the work for and as the pawn of Robbie Bourbon, master of brainwashing psychology where an imbecile like you is involved, an even bigger, fatter imbecile who just can't seem to NOT end up on the shit end of the stick against me and you apparently will serve to suicide bomber levels. Lemme tell you something...

The fact that Robbie thinks I respect no one because I didn't take kindly to his bullshit means that he's an asshole, not that what he, OR you, is saying is the truth. Would it better suit you if I didn't try to win, Finn? Is that the deal? You think you can't sincerely respect someone AND yourself enough to pursue your own success? Christ, how twisted is your idea of competitive sports? Oh, wait, no...you're the guy who's demanding respect and ass kissing because you upset Chaos, my bad. Obvious. Moving on...

Nice direct sampling of Scully's very consistently utilized in recent history "sister-wife" shtick after accusing me of stealing a gimmick that isn't Scully's and he hasn't been using.

Anybody else you wanna legit steal from in a flurry of hastily trying to piece together something of substance, wimp?

I'm sorry, did you also bitch about anything hype cycle related that doesn't include "what really matters, the in-ring" concept as a majority in-ring failure and youngster fool who won't stop crying and throwing a tantrum over "ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE"?

_Who's_ the walking contradiction?

How did I get to where I'm at?

By not being like you Finn, I'd have assumed that'd be plain as day to a consummate failure. I also out-wrestle my opponents, that should go without saying. Here's the truth...

You're mad that I slam you so hard and accurately but you spray and pray blanks at me to fight back like you count your spoken words and think the more you say, despite inaccuracy and outright truth, as long as you say enough of it you're somehow NOT gonna wind up gettin' your ass handed to you as well as sample HEAVILY from everyone else in a flailing, hasty attempt to sound good.

Try being yourself.

You're also clearly butthurt over my successes over Robbie and it wasn't very hard to drag that outta you.

Try fighting for yourself.

You lack the ability to own up to your own mistakes and instead choose to flood the person who nailed you with lies and self-projecting slander.

Try growing up.

You try to discredit me while having no credit.

Try earning some.

You hate my success and try to deny it, impossibly, from a stance of...nothing at all.

Try accruing some.

You can't seem to NOT screw up every avenue of attack you take.

Try taking time with your "effort". Right about now, it won't matter if you drop a fourth hype stillbirth, I can guarantee nothing you say will be correct or relevant.

You clearly have a personal problem with me. And you know what?

I don't give a shit.

The only disappointment here has been you, Finn.

Fuck everyone who thought you couldn't do it?

Remember that when you can't do it. Don't be looking for nods or words of respect. Least of all from me. You ain't shit Kühn. Your fucked up attitude voids what few qualities you have. You're as much of an asshole as Bourbon is.

Most of all, you're ungrateful.

When have you ever put forth this much effort-for-Finn? When have you ever been this inspired to participate? Who was it that pulled this, albeit a clusterfuck, all outta you?

Jim.

Caedus.

I gave birth to your heart. I got you to go against your grain of laziness and apathy. I made you do this. Me.

You know what that means?

I

O
W
N

Y
O
U

And just like they say, I made you...and I can break you.

Hail nothing but your Big Dick Daddy, son."

::KLIK...::

The door opens.

What excellent, convenient and not at all planned on timing!

"Aight y'all. Come on outta the closet."

It takes a surprisingly long time given the short bursts of start and stop and start leading up to this point in being chaperoned through this massive estate to the Uncle Dog Lion but eventually we're standing before none other than Snoop himself, kickin' it with no less than four more security guards in his den. Blazing up.

"I thought you weren't to be disturbed while smoking?"

"That's my private smokin' time. This is my after private smokin' time smokin' with the niggas time. It precedes my after private smokin' time after smokin' with the niggas time blunt break and my after private smokin' time after smokin' with the niggas time post blunt break blunt break. Then private smokin' time again."

"You should try some of the shit _I_ grow, bro. It-"

"Nigga, I got my own shit. I ain't need yo' shit. Only reason I let y'all in is 'cuz I saw three swole-up white boys in muhfuccin' stripper clothes on the security fee' and had to see y'all wit' my own eyes."

Shiteating grin to Drew and Main. "Only reason you let us in, ey? Imagine that."

"Yup. Now y'all can get the fucc on out."

"Wait, wait, wait! You don't wanna know WHY we're here?"

"Oh I know why, nephew. I ain't swing that way though, so, there's the do'."

"Calvin. I was sent here to kill you."

Unimpressed. "That right?" He's handed a blunt, kills it halfway, and passes it off.

"Well...yeah."

"Who?"

"Some very pissed off Italians."

"They took offense to your Doggfather album. I owe them a favor. They asked me to whack you out."

Still unimpressed. "Oh fo' real?"

"_Yes_. For real. I feel like you ain't takin' three grown men stuffed into stripper gear seriously. I mean in context with the fact we did this to get in here."

"Cuz, let's take into account this some stupid ass shit I'm hearin'. Now I'ma tell you how many niggas wanna kill the Dogg and how livin' my ashy ass still is. Fucc outta here with this shit."

As the four guards converge to physically force us out.

"CALVIN! This is NOT a stunt! They want you _dead_! Send me away, they'll just kill me and send someone ELSE! But I have a plan to save your life AND mine if you just let me speak!"

"Hol' up, hol' up."

The guards take a break, allowing us some breathing room. Finally, a moment of clarity from this guy, thank GOD.

Relief. "_Thank_ you, bro."

"Come into my crib threatening my life like y'all some hard merkin' ass niggas? Now I'ma fucc y'all up."

"Wait, what!? No, you misunder-"

Loudly. "Where my nigga at!?"

A sudden flash of amber light-

What the fuck!?

-heralds the arrival of Snoop's warrior.

"YOU!?"

"Sup Caedus."

"THIS is where you've been!? What you've been doing!?"

"Yup. Sup Main."

"Long time no see, friend."

I laugh in disbelief.

"Well this is fortunate as all hell ain't it? Bro, you know me, tell this guy-"

"Sorry bruh, got a job to do."

The blinding flash of the force beams that blast me into the wall don't hurt my eyes as much as the whole hitting the wall part does.

I hit the floor, gasping for air following all 3 impacts.

Ugh...I think that may have injured me. Note to self, blame injury if I can't beat Finn Kühn.

"Whoa! What the hell are you doing man!?"

"I don't know who you are...but no one treats a member of Apex like th-"

A double blast from both arms, one each for Main and Drew, silence the latter's retort as they too are blasted into the wall behind them.

"Ey, nigga, you fuccin' up my walls!"

"My apologies Mr. Broadus. Allow me to end this."

Our attacker stalks forward, descending upon us, his eyes glowing amber.

"No, wait, don't do this!"

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

::A flash of amber segues into APEX dropping en masse onto the roof and hood of Jim's Mercedes from a height of, oh, let's say fifteen feet. ...And it was in perfect condition too...

Once the three have collected themselves and regrouped at the front of the vehicle...::

"Ok, clearly that didn't work. We'll hafta come up with something else. But hey...we made it out alive didn't we," I add cheerfully?

::Robert and Drew exchange, for the umpteenth time, glances. These though are of fiendish fashion...as they advance on me::

"Why yes, Jim. Yes we did."

::FADE TO BLACK::

::PUNCH!::

"I deserve that."

::PUNCH!::

"And that, but-"

::PUNCH!::

"Really? We're goin' for the full four?"

::WHAM!::

::STATIC::

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