(continued from backstory in "Aw, Shut the Fuck Up" & "Fuckin' the Past")


-Late 2002-


As I walk slowly through the house towards the back door and yard, armed with my hunting knife and the pookie, I can't help the images of Heather's cocked crimson cunt from flashing before my eyes, each time an accompanying stab to the heart filling me further with the feeling of urgency to handle the betrayal that's been up in the air, unaddressed, for far too long.

Dusty, you and Sean ruined my life. You not only sabotaged the first relationship I'd ever taken seriously, not just stabbed me in the back to slip your own dick into my girl...but you halted my momentum headin' into a bright future, a potential as-perfect-as-one-could-hope-for life brimming with success accrued via confidence, intelligence and talent. I would've applied to real colleges instead of wastin' time and money at Long Beach City College. I wouldn't have kicked off a quest of short-lived rebound failures and booty calls with every slut showin' me attention to boost my own self esteem or seek out the next solid girlfriend in Kristie McEvilly for a year long stint ending in the second bitch to cheat on me. I wouldn't have lost faith in monogamy. I wouldn't have needed to escape to Cypress and undergone my transformation to a legit drug addict. You succeeded in destroying me... It isn't fair you've been walking around this whole time. Laughing. Loving. Living. How fucking dare you? I refuse to let you continue, regardless if your life is even shittier than mine at this point. I REFUSE.

Reaching my right hand into my right pocket as I close the backdoor quietly behind me and approach Dusty, his back to me, I produce the pookie and unwrap it from the blue bandanna I use not only to protect the thin glass pipe but to cool it between hits and I tap him on the shoulder.

He turns and smiles, accepting the pookie from me, examining it and nodding. I'd recently cleaned the bowl with water, a scant and faintly noticeable heat-dried crust of residue around the inside the only indication of this and therefore its previous use. Smoking meth is best executed and enjoyed by those who obsessively keep their pipe clean; anything, from curly dust motes to eyelashes to miniscule clothing fibers or even charred remnants of previous bowls would corrupt the pool of melted chemical, drastically altering its color, smell and taste to nauseating levels...and I'd already experienced a growing tendency to gag purely off the flavor of crystal.

Dusty pulls out the gram, pulls apart the ziploc seal and tilts it over the tiny hole at the top of the bowl. Two clear shards tumble in, a third drops to the grass. Out of instinct I instantly drop and search for it in futility. Carpet is one thing but locating a centimeter or two of glass among towering verdant blades, soil and whatever the hell else populates the back lawn is the spiteful neighbor of "needle in a haystack".

"Fuck it dude, it wouldn't be clean. And don't worry about the money, this is on me. I kind of owe it to you anyway. After...you know."

Oh you motherfucker...no you don't. You ain't gonna weasel your way outta payback.

"Dusty I told you no worries, it's in the past. Thank you though, go on and take the first hit."

"I'm sorry though, Jimmy. I'm really sorry. What I did wasn't cool."

Fuck you. Die motherfucker.

He raises the pookie to his lips and lights his bic beneath the bowl. The shards melt a second later and Dusty begins the rocking of the pipe side to side by rolling the stem between his fingertips, forcing the liquid to vaporize off constant movement and spreading contact with the heated glass, not allowing it to simply burn in place like an amateur. The pookie fills with the telltale thick white smoke and Dusty inhales a massive hit which he holds, against the better judgment of all who've heard how bad for your lungs it is, before exhaling and cooling the bowl's heated underside on the bandanna I hand him.

He holds the pookie out to me presented on the bandanna in one hand and the bic in the other. A thought crosses my mind, my heart leaps with anticipation...and I act on the impulse.

I hit him. Hard. As hard as I can, leaning into the right handed swing and landing the blow on the left side of his head with a crack of my knuckles and the resounding smack of impact.

Dusty falls to his right side and hits the grass along with the pookie which coincidentally drops to the ground still atop the blue bandanna. I instantly cry out from the agony shooting through my phalanges and hand, I'm sure I broke my middle finger. This enrages me and I kick Dusty's prone form mid-back with a deep thud. The DCs I'm wearing don't protect my foot. I end up hearing a crack and experience pain resembling, through recollection, a stubbed toe. I begin hobbling, favoring my right leg, and waving my right hand in pain, cursing.

I don't try using that same hand to delve into my pocket after my knife, I reach around my waist with my left, trying to angle my arm and wrist correctly so as to be able to grab and pull the blade free. This proves difficult as I naturally lean to my right putting unwanted weight onto my now throbbing right foot so I stumble-step to the side. I put my hurt right hand out without thinking, to catch myself against the wall of the garage.

"_FUCK_!" I roar it with anger, frustration and pain.

I begin to panic. This isn't going so well. Dusty stirs, uttering a prolonged low volume moan.

The adrenaline hits. I forget the pain in my foot and hand and I frantically jam it into my pocket, wrapping stiff fingers around the grip of my hunting knife, pulling it free.

Stab him! Hurry! Before he wakes up!!

I advance...

TBC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(continued from "Aw, Shut the Fuck Up" & "Fuckin' the Past")


"Killin' Chaos"






-Sunday June 11 2017-

Minutes before midnight this past Monday evening (immediately following my first promo) I'd been summoned by my silent partner, the man responsible for the hefty loan enabling me to not only start growing medical marijuana again (as I'd done successfully before from 2012 to 2014, small-mid level) but on a massive scale out of a leased warehouse in Palm Springs, California. Furthermore, he'd ensured the paperwork and red tape required for commercial legality and the forming of Canna-King LLC had been pushed through with unparalleled speed, ironically, I'd assume, via illegality.

Tuesday (previously unrevealed on "request") had been spent unexpectedly at the grow warehouse, coincidentally in time for, at long last, the first day of the first harvest. Along with the muscle sent to fetch me (Carmine), a handful of "legitimate" pencil-pushers and a bookkeeper, I was passively punked, dragged around like an employee on my own fuckin' business site for inspections, questions...they'd even interviewed my entire workforce including supervisors.

Well into Wednesday, once following the wishes of Carmine (more accurately those of my benefactor) to visit my recently purchased home on Naples Island in Long Beach, which he seemed to appreciate, we'd finally headed for Nevada. Halfway through the trip, interrupting Carmine's marking out over XWF history, I'd shot my second promo.

Not long after, we'd arrived in Primm on the border of Nevada and pulled in behind the Villa Fresh Italian Kitchen restaurant...

::WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON::

Justifiably on edge, I watch as Carmine pulls open the service entrance door and gestures with his head for me to enter. I pause to double check my zipper (one of the hookers, the blonde, had given me roadhead in full view of all in attendance in the limo, which had proven quite surreal) and I step in.

Carmine passes me up moments before I hear the door slam behind us, eliciting a slight flinch from me, and leads the way into a private dining room. At long last, having never met in person, communicating through a go-between, I stood before my silent partner...and eight of his henchmen, capos, whatever they may be.

He's huge, I'd say a good 300 plus pounds of well fed flab wrapped in a $30,000 suit. He's introduced to me as Don Pappalardo. Despite my nagging urge, I manage _not_ to ask if that's joke.

::PRESENT::

Pappalardo had hit me with a few requests...at least, _he'd_ labeled them as such, including the expectation of being paid back his original loan, thankfully and shockingly without interest, before receiving profit myself. That meant I wouldn't be seeing a dime for around 12 more harvests. 12. Despite the fact the perpetual grow will provide a harvest now every two weeks, it goes without saying I hadn't been pleased.

::WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON::

"Bullshit! All of it!? That's...that's six months of me working for FREE! That's MY business! "

One of Pappalardo's beefier men stands in anger.

"Speak ta da Don like that again you'll be doin' business wit' the rattlesnakes in ya own personal hole in the desert, tough guy!"

::PRESENT::

That's when the threats were levied. Or...not so much threats but promises. Promises to outright snatch Canna-King LLC out from under me. To blow up my home. To..."encourage" me further in any way they saw fit to extract the money I owed. I had no choice but to relent.


-The Venetian Hotel and Casino-


Normally comfortably enjoying whatever digs I'd been booked into, whether the cuisine, pool or gym facilities, I found myself unable to relax, even days after my sit down with the Don of a well hidden, very real mafia operating in the state.

Truth be told, I hadn't left the hotel grounds since arriving. I'd kept up with my eating and exercising in the room, attempting to find it in me to respond to Chaos's third promo. It'd been a struggle...I had no intention of giving up, in spite of the twists and distractions over the course of the last two weeks. It was all coming to a head now. My situation. High Stakes II. MY Universal Championship on the line in a match I found myself once more the underdog. I could actually lose my title...

Hell with that. I have to step it up. I have to respond. I refuse to be overshadowed by the likes of Thaddeus Duke and worse, Chris Chaos.

I set about preparing my phone for promo...

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

(responding to Chris Chaos promo #3 "We the People..." P.1)

"Chris Chaos...why? Why are you still trying? You've been thoroughly wrecked and not by Thaddeus, though he did set you up well for what truly leveled you: my very first promo. The kinda promo known to have competitors suffering from "writer's block" pertaining to the less-than-magic they scribble onto their cue cards. The kinda promo I'm sure made it difficult for you to sit comfortably sans pain. Yeah, that's alludin' to fuckin' you up the ass and there's another one for you to quote, queer. I do so hope you enjoyed the opening tune, that was for you. Anyway...shall we commence sealin' your fate?

I'd like to start by askin', where the hell'd that opening quote come from? You know, the mouth fulla hot cum thing. Definitely sounds like somethin' I'd say, I'll give you that...but I'm pretty positive I didn't say it to either you or Thaddeus. See, that'd be one of my favorite questions to ask a chick in the heat of ecstasy gettin' my dick sucked, building up of course to a wonderful oral creampie. Sayin' that to a guy...well, that WOULD be outright queer. Aggressively so. And I see you stated it was a flashback. Hey...wait...Chris you aren't the, what would it be now, the fourth fuck-up to impossibly be listening in/viewing my memories would you? Meh, no big deal...it ain't like a single competitor to do that has defeated me in the ring. Ever. Thank you for pushing that awesome snippet regardless, bringin' up one of the many times I got head and blew a load down Nicole's throat not only makes me look like a champ but displays how into my sexual escapades you must be. Tell me the truth...you jerked off to that memory, didn't you?

Chris I'm disappointed. You went on a tirade complaining about my fondness for violent homosexual metaphor, a subject I already covered as mental warfare, pay attention, asswipe, claiming it represents the majority of my content over the past 5 months while you repeated the handle "Redneck Riviera Poster Child" 5 times. What's it like bein' unable to make a point on repetition without proving yourself guilty of TRUE repetition in the process? I mean for fucksake, at least I make an effort to customize and keep shit fresh, you didn't even have the respect for myself or your viewers to come up with five distinct insulting labels? Not to mention what really matters, the fact that I only recently started gettin' so heavy handed with that approach. That first match with Cadryn, as, again, I've already explained, was an attempt to match him gay for gay. The meat and potatoes of my promos before and after, excluding when I decided to include this strategy, contained very few pushin'-shit-in shenanigans. What the fuck did I tell you about doin' your research? Did I not warn you? You ain't exactly the type to learn from your mistakes, are you? Think that'll help or hinder you in the match, moron?

As if to prove my point, you made a wild insinuation, for the second time after bein' corrected, that I'm gay, followed by a reference that would seem to be pulled from personal experience about virgin teen nerds, pc pussy and snappin' when bein' challenged. The fuck does that all mean? You couldn't possibly be speakin' of me. I haven't been a teen since '99 nor a virgin since '95. The virgin route on ME, B-T-W? How weak can you get? Pullin' pussy from behind a computer screen is somethin' I've enjoyed since the AIM days and have now found a renewed interest in through online hookup sites and apps...but I know you didn't mean that, you meant jackin' off to porn exclusively like some kinda four-eyed friendless fapper. Do I jerk it to porn? Fuckin' A, who doesn't? Actually, I'm sure you "don't", come to think of it, am I right? Everyone knows how "cool" you are, we're all familiar with the type o' pussy you "get". Callin' me a virgin...callin' me gay...shouldn't you be savin' ammo like that for someone it'd apply to? You know, like a creepy cocksucker contacting people, pretending to be a woman through Personal Messaging? Textbook buttfuckin' boner-huntin' homos are who I refer to, like whomever it was that REALLY left me voice messages in the guise of Jenny Myst but, despite the feminine lack of bass in his voice, failed to fool me with his uncomfortably spot-on impersonation. . As for the comment on "snapping" when challenged, try again, detective dickhead. Nothing you've said to ME specifically bothers me. It was when you got into the whole callin' Thaddeus fake that I decided to piss on a pissant. Of course, officially that never happened. Still, I'd advise you to tread carefully before you embarrass yourself any further...and haven't I accomplished that enough on my own at this point? Legitimately I've already up-the-ass assassinated you. I think many would agree with me. Oh, log that up-the-ass bit I just said. You'll need to quote that in your next promo since you foolishly believe that avenue is workin' for you.

Quotin' like how you continued to do in your "attack" on my character which really only amounts to you once again performing on your default setting of futile history lessons and givin' your opponent a portion of what should be YOUR camera time in your own promo, dumbass. It's nice to know you seemed to notice your repeating "Redneck Riviera Poster Child" five times in a row meant you should phone-in an attempt to show a modicum o' creativity by adding "Not-So-Ambiguously-Homosexual" which, unfortunately, you then repeated three more times since apparently you harbor hatred for soundin' original while you call someone unoriginal. With that said, none of what you quoted falls into the category of what you were pushin' prior. The "Jimmy Balls" line 'bout bein' "ballsdeep in the other white meat" was clearly a play on the name "Jimmy Balls" BWP blessed me with. "Motherfucker I'll grease an IED up your ass, text my dick pic for detonation" holds no gay connotation, was customized for a Marine and was clearly edited outta context, like that urethra line you quoted, removing referencing a WOMAN PERFORMING FELLATIO, fuckhead, to serve your weak argument. "A: It doesn't imply a huge cock, I don't talk about my cock size with the exception of my using the whole baby dick setup as a lure to entice earlier opponents to piss me off" is not only even further removed from your bullshit "gay admission" asshattery but it was in direct response to an opponent's fuck-up over assumin' the definition of the Big Dick Daddy nickname. Finally, the "I'll be collecting your balls as a keepsake and trophy" line...again, and I shouldn't have to explain this, void of any homosexual connotation and, in fact, like any and all comments of shovin' anything other than a dick up an ass, remains a well-travelled trash talkin' route for both genders and all sexual orientations. What's happening with all that, Chris, is you're clearly a closet cumdumpster, a hack homophobe, findin' gay references and hints at every mention and form of the words penis and testicles because those words excite you, they command your attention like "tight pussy" and "fat titties" command mine. Remember how I already told you that's mental warfare? You fell for it anyway like the fucking imbecile you are. Now we all know droppin' reference to male gonads gets your balls drippin' and your inch and a half prick standin' at the full 3. I mean, shit, look atchyou...gettin' so fuckin' hot and worked up over my words, sweatin', breathin' labored...Jenny's just a smokescreen skank, or wishful thinking, ain't she? You _truly_ are for real 100% legit gay. I get it now. Chris, your betrayal of Ax3 and our impending Iron Man Match at High Stakes II aside, lemme show you a bit o' compassion and encourage you to be who you are. Be gay, bro. Be proud. Own it. You never know, you may find a few names on the roster willin' to let you touch their cocks WITHOUT all the expended energy and inconvenience o' havin' to pretend you wanna wrestle in a NON gay way. No, wait, strike that, there's a fully gay promotion that exists; why not inconspicuously put in your two weeks notice and quietly sign up where you'd feel more comfortable? It's cool bro, no need to thank me."

I wave, eyes wide, corny smile, spastically, sarcastically.

"Bye Chris, happy hard-on boner-beatin' trails!

...Oh hell, I may as well shut down the remainder o' your half-assed "Hey, look everybody, Chris Chaos lost his A-game" F-game before you go.

I suppose I'll repeat your golden Freudian semen slip: you said, "That is all your promo's have ever been, Jim. A mouthful of hot cum. It feels good coming out, but you are going to regret it later. That is all your promo's are and have ever been.......a salty surprise that ends up getting swallowed away, digested and shit out later......."

U
H
.
.
.
.
.

A mouthful of hot cum is how you take my promos? ..................."

Once again I wave, like the film ending of Pete bidding Elliot goodbye in the original and only acceptable version of Pete's Dragon, nothin' but a "sincere" adieu.

"Bye Chris! Enjoy deepthroatin' thirteen inch dick in the ring to capture the Heavyweight Milking Championship strap in that gay promotion! ...Can I ask you somethin', sperm for brains? Would it not be ultimately, and for once aptly by your own pov on what makes gay comments, gay for a man to liken ANYTHING to a very vivid description o' takin', swallowin', digestin' and shittin' out nut? I make homosexually themed threats o' dolin' out violence, you make comparisons coinciding with catchin' a cumshot in your own craw. That's just about the gayest shit I ever heard any "heterosexual" man say, Chris. Let's see...AND it started with you inexplicably referencing my own inner musings of askin' a chick if she wanted a mouthful o' hot cum. So, in fact, you construed and constructed your entire themed attack around cum-in-mouth and you bookended it all by making a first-person perspective telling of receivin' and swallowin' jizz."

I clap emphatically.

"Fuckin' fantastic job, Chris, congrats on earning a lifetime Promo of the Month accolade in that promotion where male musk is an eau de toilette scent on THEIR shop.com page!

My God...you make far this too easy. How the HELL did you hold onto my Universal Title for as long as you did? Oh, that's right, you USED to be that good. My bad.

Well...all good things must come to an end unfortunately...luckily you saved the best for last in that lameass asinine abortion you coughed up. T-B-H, I did NOT expect you to be SO FOOLISH you'd DARE to defend your cowardice in context with not responding to my threats way back in January before I was big-time. You claim you didn't respond because I "didn't matter to you"? Whadja do, somehow miss how I preempted that EXACT defense in the same promo immediately followin' that revelation via pointin' out all those instances you responded to a new face and name callin' you out, with such consistency, I might add, that The Doc himself scolded your ass over it? Did you overlook how I exceptionally explained you responded to them, those names that didn't even stick around for 30 fuckin' days, because you knew you could beat THEM and that you DIDN'T respond to ME because you KNEW you couldn't defeat me? Fuckin' idiot, how many times didja scorch yourself at the stove as a bubbled-out forehead fledgling fuck-up 'fore you fathomed "fire bad"? You suck at this, Chris, I'm gonna gut and garrote you with your intestine in that ring come High Stakes II, twat.

You never got screwed outta my Universal strap, you lyin' limpdick dipshit douchebag, Gabe legit kicked your ass and took it. If you were as good as you think you are you would've avoided any "screwing" like I avoided Graves's interference in my First Blood match against Cadryn. But you aren't that good, Chris and you haven't been since that failed defense. Oh, and, F-Y-I, I didn't grow up in a trailer park you ignorant motherfucker, I grew up in the exact opposite a setting: northwest Long Beach bordering southeast Compton. Once again, a detail one click away from discovery in not only my XWF profile but numerous Jim Caedus promos. Truth be told, I've never lived in a trailer park. Ever. A trailer in the desert? Yes. Trailer park? No. Too expensive for my then homeless family for rental and as far as space renting, year restrictions for make and model always disqualified us. No, Chris, you're shootin' blanks, which for a man so infatuated with personally swallowin' semen must be frustratin' in some way. In any case...

CHAOS IS ABSENT

CHAOS IS EMBROIDERED UPON RAINBOW FLAGS AND DECALS

CHAOS IS COMING...IN HIS OWN MOUTH AND SWALLOWING JUST LIKE HE SAID

Fuck Chaos. Caedus killed it. Thaddeus...you're next."
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