"KNOCK OUT"



The scene opens and I'm no longer in my fantasy amongst the old skool partygoers (truth be told I've never been to a REAL party), nor am I caught mid coitus with a live cisgendered female, snuffing simians or even stuffing veggie waffles up my snatch while choking down non-alcoholic beer and the semen within. I'm simply, depressingly, back in my room at my parent's house very visibly penetrating the vasolined vinyl orifices of one of the inflatable women I adore spending my time with. I'm so happy my cock extends a mere two and a half inches erect, otherwise, with the staggering amount of repeat fucking I put them through, I surely would've popped one or more by now and then where would I be? Having to focus on improvement rather than remain static? _Fuck_ _that_! All I know how to do is make everybody's head spin as I quote and nonsensically argue, not very well mind you, and creativity is clearly not my forté. Thank Caedus, my one true God, I never have to worry about wasting MY time with originality. My Lord Caedus can do it for me.

=================================




-March 1, 2047-


I, Jim Caedus, 67 years of age, am sitting comfortably in my favorite Xtreme Hero 7.9-hide easy chair within the spacious walls of my multi-billion dollar palace. Yes, I'd finally made it to the big time around 30 years prior, taking the reigns of the shitty life I'd been suffering through and molding it into a monument to success.

I smile warmly as the youngest 7 of my 19 grandchildren play in the Caedus Man Cave, enjoying such distractions as the fully immersive virtual video gaming's latest franchise releases of Mortal Kombat 19 and Madden NFL 48, as well as the finally invented, fine-tuned and perfected hoverboard we've been expectin' since the opening day of Back to the Future II. It kicks ass, wait'll you all see it.

One of my favorite grandsons, little Jimmy Caedus the 4th, wanders over taking in one of my walls of accomplishments behind me adorned with championship titles, numerous panties (belonging to a plethora of pussy throwin' super models, pop stars and even a few female presidents, all of which had had to experience what a true man like Caedus is capable of), ancient and recent weaponry and even a line of mounted fabricated human heads (each with it's own accompanying golden info plaque) meant to represent a list of the greatest super stars I'd defeated during my 40 years in the wrestling business.

Jimmy the 4th takes it all in, jaw dropped in awe...then notices a mount without a head or a plaque. The empty, stained backboard of long extinct oak comes with a tattered cardboard sign and a red button beside the mount. Jimmy the 4th tries to read the text on the cardboard sign but it's so old it can longer be read by any but those who already know what it used to say.

"Grandpa? What's this one?"

I twist in my easy chair.

"That there is the only actual head on display my boy. The only cranium I actually had to take off in 40 years of wrasslin'."

"But...there's NOTHING there."

"You're half right whippersnapper but there IS a head there, it's just invisible. Press the red button beside the mount."

Jimmy the 4th does so...and an unwrapped candy seemingly appears to extend on nothingness _from_ nothingness. Jimmy accepts the candy and pops it into his mouth. Once finished, he hits the button a second time. Another piece of candy, exact in all ways to the first, pops out. Jimmy accepts this one as well and presses a third time. Again, the same candy.

"All the candy from this invisible head is the same?"

"Indeed. You see, that head belonged to a subhuman incapable of creativity, and magically so, and no matter what, the only thing that pops out of it is the same damn flavor every time."

"Oh...that sucks. Did you kill that subhuman, grandpa?"

"That I did, my boy, that I did. Wanna hear about it?"

"Yes please!"

I chuckle.

"All right youngster. Settle in. It all began in the second round of the XWF's Lethal Lottery IV."

Jimmy, a current XWF fan, gapes in shock.

"WOW! XWF has been around a long time!"

"Since '99, Jimmy. The only promotion to survive the wrestling wars of 2031. But that's beside the point. You see, the taking of that invisible head represents the moment when all finally understood that I was everything I ever said I was and claimed to be. Once that became clear, not even the sky was the limit. Before then, the piece of garbage that head belonged to had seeded spite and doubt in your grandpa..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


-February 28, 2017, Monterey, Mexico-




I'd spent my morning in my hotel room first reviewing the Savage broadcast from a viewer's perspective then poring over the promos that NOCMM had released for his client in Xtreme Hero 7.9.

By the time I'd finished, I found myself cooking in a heated, murderous rage. Not at all over NOCMM's responses to the Buromen's second co-op promo but in light of a few details that had surfaced since I'd walked down that ramp to enter into battle with Cadryn Tiberius. I'd decided to handle it professionally.

First things first...to respond to NOCMM's latest stillborn pile of webbed feet, blood and shit.

'I'll go ahead and sit this one out champ.'

...............................................

"NOC, why are you still talking? Why are you still 'trying'? Why are you still uploading snippet after snippet of loose stool smelling of Burger King onion rings and the infected pus of popped rectal pimples? The answer is simple: you're as tired of being NOCMM as the rest of us are of you being NOCMM. Naturally that means you want to die. Works out well for us both because, well...I want to kill you. No, really. I want to throttle you, relishing your panicked in-pants urination, enjoying the at first magnification of your pounding pulse beneath my palms before it slows and fades away along with the life in your eyes. Your client Xtreme Hero 7.9 will meet you in Hell once Buronan and I massacre him tomorrow night.

Your opening salvo was ridiculous getting back into God talk. I know, I know... Hero is God, but not _a_ God but he is but he isn't but the XWF and everyone in it are a joke to me, NOCMM, so why not be a joke myself? That about the gist of it? Fuck off with your gayrod giddy geek 'mental warfare' you undoubtedly hop on Skype to laugh about like the pansy bitch you are. Clearly you're one of those types referred to as trolls who lacks the backbone for real life confrontation so instead only talks shit from behind a computer like a coward who'd get his ass handed to him in real life for saying it. And calling me lazy for not actually editing you and your words into my promo... I choose not to display my opponents in my promos NOC. My promos are meant to showcase me and me alone.

You continue your quest of quotation by, par for the course, trying to find something else to build and contrive an argument upon. This time the subject of fags which you aren't all that great at pulling off, ironically unlike being adept at pulling off other men's slacks for any dripping dick in waiting, .

You trudge 'forward' to proclaim nothing you or I say will change anything in context with Hero 7.9 in the match, how it won't affect his decision in the ring. I won't bother breaking the 4th wall in response, I'll simply ask, what decision? Whether to lie down for an immediate pin or just walk out and hand the Buromen the victory with a count out? May I offer a third option to Xtreme Hero 7.9? Get your fucking ass kicked from pillar to post, lose like you're meant to then leave. Don't ever come back. You and your 'manager' are scum, dog shit I'm forced to scrape out of the waffle of my boot with stick and I wish you both death in light of what I'll be addressing soon enough. I _am_ tired NOCMM. Absolutely tired of playing this game with you that if were in the Federweight Hall would've already been called in the Buromen's favor on account of repeated beatings to a pulp.

Fuck your ironic tirade on quality and quantity once again meant to simply appear like you're fighting back when we all know no one in their right mind, including you, believes the rhetoric you rub out. Dude, you know _I_ know what you're up to so why the FUCK do you keep it up? You're not competing, you're fluffing. You're making me look good after being slapped on the wrist for stepping over the line...and you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Matter of fact, why continue feeding into your bullshit? You ended your 'finish' in lackluster fashion and I'm tired of giving you the satisfaction of causing argument over semantics, ideals and unreality. Buronan is right, you don't do SHIT but bitterly play the loser role and cut others down in doing it. I've been non-stop in the XWF for MONTHS now, competing on Savage, warring on Wednesdays, taking part in events, opting in to a THIRD show...all while you bitch and moan about why your infantile ass doesn't get to spend another ten minutes dropping two little dookies in a row. While names like Cadryn Tiberius work hard to create an entertaining and amusing product you LITERALLY do nothing but continue to mildly modify the same damn promo time and again. Micheal Graves, starving for a championship, kicking off a popular premise that had four other wrestlers taking part. Graves got 11 fucking Likes for that on the XWF official site last time I checked. 11. Do you know how it feels to truly be appreciated for your work like him? Of course not, you shart in your hand and smear it on the faces of EVERYONE who's in this business to become great. You peddle puny and generic and you love it.

However, you also push buttons you should never press and make challenges on subjects you haven't the FIRST CLUE about. Worse...your flawed analyses spread to others and has THEM believing in your judgmental poison. What exactly do I mean, for those still unaware?

At the start of NOCMM's round 2 volley of nothingness, he cleverly inserted a comment stating something to the effect of 'if Jim were plagiarizing someone he could afford to not look homeless'. Now, at the time that pretty much meant no thing to me since, point in fact, I AM homeless and wouldn't expect anyone to doubt it. After Savage, it became crystal clear to me with the fans buzzing, during my apparent 47 minute walk to the ring, about my washed and perfectly conditioned hair, muttering words like 'two faces' even though they tried to disguise it by slurring their speech. It bears theorizing that these fans echo the assumptions of most in the XWF and that not only troubles me, it pisses me off.

I think of myself as lucky to be a paid, though still technically homeless, gladiator among the ranks of the XWF, booked into hotel after hotel, enjoying a comfortable life of easy hygiene and three hot meals a day. It makes me think back to when I was suffering as nothing BUT a homeless person who was either living out of a 97 Ford Explorer, in a hotel once or twice a MONTH or 'enjoying' an occasional $150 a week rental of a trailer with no water hookups and a busted water heater even if it DID have running water.

The more you have above zero the easier it is to overlook things especially things that happen in context with one of the only things you've got in your life other than watching the tumbleweeds roll by or going back to those enjoyable moments in life getting denied for every job you apply for so you get to _keep_ having nothing. Oh well, no one can be expected to understand everything. No one can be anything less than who they are, including me.

Then...I delve deeper into this line of thinking and I wonder, what would life be like if I was NOT Jim Caedus but instead some poor bastard playing a part online, STILL suffering through that kind of lifestyle? I wonder what he would say in response to being called a LIAR about his situation because he picked a time to take a picture that coincided a single day after staying a single day in Motel 6 on Cataba off Main St. in Hesperia and being able to shower. He'd probably be very upset that people couldn't grasp his need to try to appear as presentable as possible so as not to humiliate himself any further as a homeless guy AND to keep in line with being a character being booked into hotels on the regular.

He'd probably think about the fact that he's been walking in body mud, wearing the same pair of socks for weeks on end, socks turned brown and smelling of death, worn in the same boots he's been forced to wear since October 2015. He'd probably point out how the white shirt he was wearing was his last in a pack of 6 bought in November of 2016 and he'd been saving it for a special occasion like dropping his guard for those he thought to be his friends and taking a picture of himself. He'd feel like a loser in admitting that doing so is his definition of a special occasion and given his shitty circumstances, it would be the truth. He'd then think to his lack of underwear, having to free ball it because when more than one person is living on a single minimum wage income financial choices have to be made between not what is it isn't needed but necessity and necessity and...unfortunately in public it's what's on the OUTSIDE that counts. He'd feel disgusting that he has to free ball in his last pair of pants and usually after bowel movements without toilet paper the later it is in the two weeks following payday. He'd call attention to the fact that he has NO change of clothes because EVERY SINGLE stitch of alternate clothing he had has been lost during unlawful evictions or destroyed in the freezing snow and rain winter weather of Phelan, piles doused in rusty water leaking through the stripped ceiling and exposed screw holes in the Explorer roof during storms over the Christmas 2016 holiday and now not only smell of mold but are COVERED in it. He'd reflect on how that same wet winter weather got him so sick with near pneumonia he had to visit the free clinic to survive and actually show up for responsibilities in the XWF of which he'd told Jefferson Jackson himself back when it happened.

Then, he'd come to the conclusion that drastic measures ARE needed, that he clearly needs to further humiliate himself by taking another picture wearing the SAME MOTHERFUCKING CLOTHES EVERYONE SAW HIM IN A FEW WEEKS AGO ((see "HEEEEEEERE'S JIMMY" under Wednesday Night Warfare LLRound1)) BECAUSE HE'S _BEEN_ WEARING THEM FOR _MONTHS_. Eyes speaking death to doubting Thomas, white collar now yellowed from filth and sweat, face even less pretty because it's now two weeks and two days removed from it's last washing, beard still growing wildly and uncut, fingers yellowed from smoking collected cigarette butts around town because he can't take the stress and has a karmic desire in context with his mother to get cancer, scalp full of dandruff and probably miniscule insects, hair darker, oily and stinky despite still appearing blonde and 'clean' because he tends to keep it up in a bun and under a hood. He'd probably want to rip off a piece of cardboard from a box full of odds and ends since he has no paper, spend an hour trying to locate a working pen in the jumbled chaos of his belongings, scrawl a message on that cardboard meant for ALL who doubt him but MOST SPECIFICALLY for a cocksucker named NOC who started the whole witch hunt in the first place. And since he realistically, at least not right NOW, can't show up at NOC's house and pound every fucking tooth out of his fucking skull, he'd most likely simply end his promo with that picture as an exclamation point and he'd upload at the last minute so as to prevent NOC from trying to argue around it and create more lies from truth. Truth like this:"











































(Am I looking tired, ugly and haggard enough motherfucker or do I need to roll around on the ground, rubbing mud and dirt on my clothes, face and in my hair so YOU find my reality more believable? I may be homeless but I'm not a homeless drug addict sleeping in boxes, I'm a homeless fucking human being with pride and even _I_ try to look my best with what I've got. Try living off less than $1000 a month with more than a single body in an area with no jobs and little to no support or pity for the homeless and see how easy it is for YOU to have enough food, drinking water, shelter and gas to get to work so you can survive. Do it without a single family member to help you out. You'd already be dead.)



"You outsmarted yourselves boys. The truth you, NOC, and those who perpetrated accusing me of lies refuse to believe is that you're being outdone by a fucking bum. A BUM. A FUCKING HOBO WITH MORE DRIVE, STRENGTH AND TALENT THAN YOU COULD EVER HOPE TO POSSESS!!! How's it feel knowing that? How do you feel about yourself? Inadequate, yes? You should...because up against this homeless sack of shit, you are LESS THAN and you ALWAYS WILL BE. The Buromen will be advancing to round 3 while you and Hero, you can die for all I care. Fuck your 'conclusions', I'm Jim motherFUCKING Caedus and I just knocked you the FUCK out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"And that, Jimmy Caedus the 4th, is how your grandpa took the head off one of the world's worst people and went on to achieve great things he never thought he'd ever accomplish. Now get your little tush in the kitchen, grandma is cooking up something delicious and she may need a hand. Give her a hug and a kiss and a thank you because you don't know just how lucky you are having people around who love you and feed you."

Fade to an extreme shade of white.

The. End.

Roll fucking credits.