-December 25, 2010, Long Beach, CA-

Christmas 2009, less than two months following the loss of my father, had been difficult to bare for my mother and I.

As far back as I can remember, all the recognized giftable holidays would always be affectionately accompanied by a complex display of unwrapped presents and sweets (ranging in size from modest to massive) to be found when first venturing forth outta sleep on each family member's corresponding seat in the living room, always constructed in Santa's elf-like fashion over night by mom herself. It was her trademark, a twist on the Christmas stocking concept that allowed for much larger and cooler gifts like video games, movies, in-box action figures and toys...she was one helluva holiday person.

All that ended with my father's passing, my mother's noticable depression robbing her of the spirit that inspired her...and I wondered how much worse it would've been had I told her it'd been my fault dad died in the first place.

By Christmas _2010_...I find myself stepping outta my room, footfalls creaking on floorboards beneath cheap carpeting in the stillness, to an empty house, empty chair...empty heart. Father, over a year gone, pet "Stripe" dying last month from kidney failure coincidentally very near to my father's anniversary in passing, mother solidly staying at grandma's house since earlier in the year and for all appearances with little intent to return any time soon. Even the new girlfriend Holly was currently up for the day with her family in some place called Phelan in the high desert both of which I'd thankfully not yet experienced.

In my isolation I choose not to despair any longer. I choose not to self destruct as I had in the wake of my father's twice over death. I choose to change. Improve. Save. I choose to win.

The text my brother had recently sent me questioning if I'd been aware of the vengeful return of mom's cancer had not only answered why she'd been "sick" at grandma's the whole damn year, it had snapped me out of the self pity party I'd been throwing since my following my father's funeral. It made it easy to drop the alcohol and the cocaine, even as far as simply sprinkling powder onto bud bowls for co-co puffs...hell...I'd even lost interest in flat out gettin' faded altogether. I decided to reject the doom all would be predicting in mom's Stage IV. I decided there had to be an answer. A cure.

Fuck cancer. I'm stronger than that shit and so is she, she already beat it once, she just needs help this time. I failed my father...twice...but I'll save my mother, God as my witness. I am Jim motherfucking O'Connor. Nothing keeps me down, goddammit, not even murder. Cancer cannot claim my mother, I deny it. I choose the route so many have chosen before.

I spend the bulk of the day into the night, powering through the next 14 hours past midnight researching counterattacks.

CBD. That was and is the only legitimately proven literal miracle cure. For fucksake, Project CBD.org was even linking actual scientific VIDEO EVIDENCE of CBD KILLING cancer cells. KILLING. I'd poured over Cash Hyde and all the believable testimonials I could find. I decided this was the only viable option and furthermore...I believed as I do this very day that cancer would NOT plague our society and tear our families apart if the government would cease their greed over DEA earnings and allow the people encouraged access to a single naturally occurring chemical that can save millions. I believed CBD would cure my mother. I'd make it happen.

I locate a high CBD content product called Sativex available in Canada. Legal in California, illegal to ship INTO the states to GET to California. I don't give a shit and I refuse to believe any judge would ever convict me under the circumstances. Perhaps I'm wrong...I don't care. The price tag nears $200 for an order sizable enough to suit months of treatment and the shipping. At the moment I haven't but around 20 bucks in my credit union account. I need to figure a way to afford this. Not only that...the wait says as much as 8 weeks for delivery...IF it makes it TO me. I have to figure out a secondary plan that I control.

At the very least, I can aid my mother in keeping an appetite with the chemotherapy robbing it. Eating little to nothing would only speed her along to a grave I believe she can avoid. THC combats the appetite loss from chemo. I need to find a source of potent weed but I know my mother will never agree to it, she'd said herself the first time she battled through cancer in 2004 that she refused to "smoke some drug dealer's pot". I'd responded with, "what if I grew it for you?". I remember her smiling, her eyes tearing up before she replied she'd be too afraid I'd get into trouble.

That was then. This is now. She seemed to be flattered by the offer the first time, this time I'll act on it. My mother needs a hero. I ignore the notion of fooling her. She's no idiot. She knew what was up with me since I'd first started smoking weed in junior high and she was a super-Mormon. If I expected her to accept my plan I'd have to provide her with something genuine. Something I could prove with picture evidence to have been accomplished through my own blood, sweat and tears, legally. That would be my ticket in. She'd never refuse her little sunshine. I expand my research to include growing weed.

Holly returned on the 27th of December 2010. I told her my plan. She whole-heartedly agreed.

Combined with the money I made turning the eightball I'd purchased days ago (but not touched) around in Long Beach, I was able to double the $150 by the end of the day selling 4 half baggies as $50 dimes and the final full as a $100 dub of top quality shit which, especially in North Long Beach, it most certainly was. Holly combined her $600+ check to the mix.

The next day, Tuesday the 28th, Holly and I patronized a hydro store in East Long Beach right down the storefront mini-mall aisle from Pulp Fiction Comics. I purchased six 1 gallon pots, two bags of Fox Farm soil, House and Garden soil A and B nutrients and both BudXL and Top Shooter additives, pH up and down, some manner of product to further expand yield I can't recall the name of but is basically a potassium bomb, three disposable droppers, a humidity/temp meter, a BlueLab pH meter, a single Sunleaves grow hood and 600 watt bulb and a bag of ZHO root powder.

Holly helped me clear and prep the garage that night following into Wednesday morning, transforming the unused for years space into an indoor grow room. By 3 pm that same day we'd both applied for and received our recommendations for medicial marijuana. By 5:00 we were transplanting rooted 3 weeks into veg clones of Pre-98 Bubba.

I give the clones Thursday and Friday to acclimate while I reach out to the indy sets for open bookings for a pseudo name in the business like mine and I call around for any available jobs in the area. I'm lucky to find both avenues fruitful.

By Saturday January 1st 2011 I start the clones on veg week 3 nutrient calculations and light cycles and appear in Santa Monica that afternoon entering into a temp "contract" with UPW (same indy I'd seen both John Cena and Samoa Joe compete in back around early 2000). On Monday I start my temporary position working deliveries for Ward's Furniture and Appliance.

My mother's siblings had decided to all pitch in on the rent, I'd agreed to take on the utilities. With the addition of an indoor grow I knew the power bill would rise so I needed all the income I could find to compensate and still feed myself. I would leave nothing to chance with my mother's life on the line and I needed to cover all bases.

Second week of January I switch the plants over to flowering light cycles at 12 hours on, 12 off and I place my order for Sativex online.

I have an enormous amount of work before me and I've only just begun. The odds seem insurmountable.

Fuck the odds. I'm in it to win it...

TBC

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





"Purpose and Perseverance"



-Wednesday March 29 2017, 2:11 PM Local-

-"Caedus Isle" @ 39.291605, 124.738011, Yellow Sea-



I rouse from my musings sitting cross legged on the floor within the modest shack/shelter I'd erected, far removed from the stage and set death palace the North Korean government had constructed for the fanciful promo work over my last three vignettes. The citizenship on up to Jong-un himself were indeed huge fans of Jim Caedus, that much was very true...but the price for my approval on staying on the island had been to allow the dictator himself a little fun. He'd had it and I'd had a little fun myself playing into the same realm of fantasy Trax and Dolly seemed to be so at home in. Then my tag partner had decided to turn on me over a rumor.

The fun was now over.

I'd needed to escape back to reality. Jong-un had been accommodating in response, providing me with regular waterborne deliveries of food and water as well as opulent bedding and blankets quite out of place but welcome nonetheless.

Rested, recharged, ready to reenter the fray and pound some semantic sense into Trax and smash our opponents, I prep my phone for promo......

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

"So the consensus from the 12 year old 97 pound girl wrestling with full grown men and the black comic book superhero who can't even keep the _match_ straight is _I'm_ the one wearing the 'tin foil hat'? _I'm_ delusional and detached from reality? I AM reality motherfuckers...it's MY gig and the reality of the situation is, not only have the two of you failed to present anything great enough to prove my apt accusations and evidence false but you've allowed me to lead you around by the dicks since Dollygagging. Congratulations, you let the guy you call crazy control the course of this conversational contest. My STILL tag partner the mighty Trax, totaled and twisted, two-steppin' to the tune of my organ grinder like the simian slave he is. The legendary Dolly Waters, bent over and booted at every mistake and fib, led around like a clueless cunt at a pig party, tryin' so hard to impress the big kids with her overabundant curse words and uninspired, ill-constructed quip combos. Cadryn, still off somewhere campin', plottin', doin' naked cannonballs onto tennis ball sized spherical bedposts because, shit, it's better than gettin' raped by THIS dick for the fourth time in a row. Dolly, Trax, by all means pass whatever smartass judgments you want, criticize my points of attack. Keep talking shit on my lyrics...you lose credibility doin' it while you dance to my music, motherfuckers. Now...are we beginning to understand how I've been earning my reputation and success around here or do you two arrogant jag-offs need another go 'round? I think I'd rather just get back to what I do best, step it up to maximum with the verbal violation then lead you both into the worst position you could ever find yourselves...in the ring with Jim Caedus.

Dolly, not only can you not depend on your own partner to put up the kinda fight it's gonna take to beat Trax and I but you yourself have proven I'm good enough to match you, even SURPASS you, including where it counts most...in the ring. You use your quickness and cunning to out-think your opponents, to counter. So do I. I'm always the underdog douchebag, by the reckoning of most I'm sure even compared to YOUR lil' ass I'm the underdog. The problem is, no matter the challenge, the size or the type of the opponent, I still manage to out maneuver, over power, counter, backslide, schoolboy, choke out and otherwise outlast them to victory. You are, without a shadow of a doubt, unlike anyone I've ever faced before. You present a greater challenge for me than anyone ever has but Dolly...you know goddamn well it's mutual and don't you deny it you lil' sizzurp in a sippy cup slurpin' slut. You, like NOCMM, spray and pray, with an admittedly higher caliber of better aimed shells, but again, like NOCMM, you haven't been able to keep me down in doin' it and my return fire has proven a helluva lot more accurate and devastating than yours. I've embarrassed you bitch, several times, regardless of your ability to keep struttin' around like your snatch don't stink and that's fine if you wanna act like that with a whole shitload of space between us. You'll find it a lot more difficult to ignore my constantly edging you out when I get my hands around your throat and throttle 'til you piss your laced My Little Pony panties in a panic.

Cadryn, you're just not good enough and you know it. That's why you don't deserve any hype in the match rundown on the official site other than '...and Cadryn. Enough said'. Whether you're pussin' out or waitin' for a big mean Cady-cat scratch back at the last minute no one gives a fuck about you anymore. No one cares. That's what happens when you continually butt heads with an asshole like me that never gives up, you get ground into gayrod paté, eaten and explosively shat back out. I expect, like your partner Dolly, you'll find life in the XWF too stressful and find yourself needing to take a break...or rather, your _second_ hiatus in less than a year's time you can't-hack-it-sack-o-shit.

Trax, the only reason Scully had me covered in the ring was because you couldn't pull your own weight in the match. It took a Robbiebomb and 225 pounds of top rope flying limey shit in Scully to get me down for a NEAR three count your lazy black bitchass could've saved me having to KICK OUT OF had you been on point and stuck to me like gorilla glue. If we find ourselves fighting over that briefcase I'm gonna whip your ass like 12 feet of rawhide, boy, bet on it. And speaking of the match...

You truly are a colossal idiot. I guess it never occurred to you to check into that rumor of a Triple Threat with Boss Lane, instead you've made yourself look like a jackass and pissed me off in the process. I'd say it'd serve you well to suddenly discover an amping up of your intelligence among your ever expanding powers but you aren't a real superhero you're just a shithead shine-box black bitch with a low IQ. Playing a superhero is easy, children do it all the time. Playing _stupid_ is easy...and fun. Playing smart however...well, you either have brains or you don't and you, Trax, can't fake what you don't have. In fact, other than a tag partner who carried your ass into the finals and a modicum of success in the XWF I'm not quite sure exactly WHAT it is you have other than an unjustified ego and a wild imagination. You sure don't have a talent for trash talk and that's a fact.

'Tin foil hat'? That's what I get, some lukewarm lameass bit your thieving black ass stole from either the meme theme or Futurama? I don't deserve something original from the superspook who claims he has such a talent for talkin' shit? I give you 'Black Superman/Dark Kent', I give you 'criptonian' and 'thinking do rag' and you slip 'tin foil hat' from your chicken grease slickened fingers? You owe the fans an apology and for that matter, Dolly you owe Trax an apology for making him think he came up with something worth mentioning in a positive light. I know you're trying to encourage as much mediocre as you can get outta the guy knowing you stand a better chance at pinning him than you do me but c'mon, stop pickin' on my idiot before I hopscotch on your head so hard your skull pops open like a bag o' potato chips. Trax, I honestly couldn't care less what you think of me, what matters is I'm better than you and if you think you're gonna turn on me in the match like you just did in promo and get away with it, guess again. I'll kick your uppity ass up and down, blow you apart and give ya the Davey Crockett treatment wearin' your head like a coon skin cap, cocksucker. You know those white boys your race likes to think walk around scared of black boys? I'm not one of 'em. I'm one of those white boys that'll knock you the fuck out if you ever had the balls to truly step to me alone. Do yourself a favor and fall in line with the team before I pimpslap the sunflower seeds outta your mouth and make you pick 'em up while I handle the leg work for the _second_ time in this tournament.

What the fuck was that you said about my insecurity, suckin' Bourbon's big dick in the process? Do you really think my insecurities will do anything more to hold me back than they have in the past, pussy? You think pointin' and laughin' will stop me from breakin' your fuckin' fingers, choppin' off your mitts and opening up shop sellin' genuine monkey paw merch, motherfucker? Did Robbie's words stop me from owning his ass one on one in the middle of that ring before he saw he had to double team me? No, they didn't. I kicked his fat ass face to face just like I've been doing to Cadryn, like I will do to Dolly and most importantly, for that briefcase, like I'll be doing to you. You said it yourself, you know I'm good enough to beat you and you're goddamn right I am. I don't need to walk around talking myself up like you do, I'd much rather be the name constantly beating the odds than the MOUTH constantly getting humiliated. That secure enough for ya dickhead? You better pray this remains a tag match, homeboy, otherwise I stand a good goddamn chance of pickin' you apart like the cotton-pickin' prick you are, snapping your neck with Katabasis and walkin' outta Pyongyang with the 24/7. You know it's what you fear, Trax. That's why soon as you thought this was a Triple Threat you aimed the majority of your trash talk my way...you know who the greatest danger is in a match like that and it'll take two of you to put me down. And STILL...I will NOT let that stop me. I don't care what it takes, I'm on the greatest ride of my professional life and I'll run over whomever I must to continue.

You say I use a thesaurus, Trax? Where in the blue blazes did an ignorant black dunce like you learn that word? I'm impressed...also amused. I realize it's hard for you to understand how someone can have such a grasp on an extensive vocabulary but that's what happens when you excel at English and read books, boy. Try a little less ashcan perusal and broaden your mind with some education, asshole. My vocab is a little less expansive than my in ring repertoire so I guess, again, you've shown how likely Caedus kickin' your ass can be. Dawg...go fuckin' busy yourself salivating over pics of all the white women your black ass wants to rape and try to live up to your little comment about not needing or wanting to view my next, THIS, promo. I'm tired of the weak ass shit you say in response. Dolly was right, you suck at this. Just shut the fuck up and do your job as my tag partner, pawn.

And Dolly...Jesus Christ you flood the airwaves of the XWF with a whole lotta the same ol' shit, don'tcha? You think you're gettin' somewhere but unless I'm leading the topic of debate all you do is make the fans start to lose interest in you with your over-saturation of meh-worthy material. What's the matter? Not confident enough in your abilities to choose quality in less is more? I know you're trying your damndest to overcompensate in light of Cadryn but all you're showing me is you're a much better version of NOCMM and Hero. That's about it. You don't possess the same talent for trash talk that I do, you just curse and talk a lot and fumble what could be gold in favor of overwhelming with your knock-off brand of 'if I say enough, one or two insults have gotta stick' cheap hackery. Then you combine that shit with cameo appearances of big name XWF stars and footage of sexy grown bitches like this is some kinda popularity contest and you're campaigning every motherfucker you know has sway or can boost your views. How fucking pathetic can you get? Stuff the entire roster in there you desperate hillbilly ho, see if it makes me flinch. Lemme tell you somethin' Dolly, Bourbon and his entire army of assholes didn't keep him in the tourney when Caedus was involved and he's a boatload better with the ballistics than you are. I don't give a shit who you serve up onto the donnybrook dinner plate, the only two people you're gonna be able to look to in that match are you and Cadryn and that ain't sayin' much for your chances. I can take you on in singles, tag, triple fuckin' threat though, it doesn't matter, and we'll ALWAYS have a MOTY massacre...but you can't out-class and out-match me, Dolly and I'll always be right there in step, ready to drop your ass at every mistake.

Mistakes like continuing to push lies and act like you've curried no favor in the XWF. Go fuck yourself you little bitch, you've got Thaddeus and Paul Heyman both in your pocket, you got Boss Lane trying to explain his role in that scandal like you're more valuable to him than the Uni Title, you basically made the whole goddamn tournament about YOU and YOU alone and you think that looks like you don't have a HUGE amount of unfair support around here? You unbelievably spoiled little fuckin' brat, you don't think that kinda makes it look like we're all here for DOLLY'S amusement and not out of our own wants and needs? I'm not your enhancement talent, twat, I'm not one of the marks, I'm the fuckin' reality in the XWF and everyone knows it even if you continue to fire blanks frantically trying to save face by calling me paranoid. You're 12 years old and you had a rough upbringing, true, but you've been living a child's dream in the XWF despite the dirtsheet fake news. I'm 37 and I've suffered a lot more than my fair share in life than even you can claim. You may hate your parents but at least you have them. At least you have family. I have no one, Dolly. No XWF superstars of the past and present in my promos, no member of administration to plug my name, no son of a star commanding nigh limitless sums of money, machinery and men at my disposal or side...it's just Jim Caedus. Jim Caedus, the vagrant, the hobo, the piece of fucking shit that lost what no 12 year old little mind, wrestling prodigy or not, could ever begin to fathom losing. Jim Caedus the man who's refused to allow a single obstacle to stand in his way of earning the acclaim and life he's never known, bleeding to pay for his past sins and make proud those he let down. I don't give a fuck who you are or what you're capable of, I will not stop. Ever. You can't do a fuckin' thing to prevent me, Dolly and you damn sure can't put me to rest. Death itself couldn't hold me back and neither will you. You go ahead and keep bringing your hyperactive little ass to the table, bitch, I'll smack you to slumberland so fuckin' fast the next match we'll be seeing of you is the 90 year old wrestling prodigy waking from her coma to whoop ass with a walker, still as sideshow as ever.

You don't impress as much as you usually do, not when I'm in the mix, and the only reason you get more views is because you're a little girl in wrestling facing off against the biggest name right now in the newcomer category. I guarantee if there was a quadriplegic 6 year old boy flying around in a wheelchair, talkin' computer voice shit and runnin' over asses in the ring his view totals on the official site would put yours to shame. Matter of fact, I KNOW a poor little soul like that! And poor NOTHIN', that fuckin' kid talks trash just like ME oddly enough. Who the fuck is Dolly Waters they'll be saying. You ain't so special, you're a sideshow, Dolly; a freak, a gimmick, a story the gap tooth brain damaged hicks will spin yarns about 'round the tire fires at night. The problem is...when they'll tell the tale of Lethal Lottery 4 it'll always end with, 'then Caedus killed her.'

Your life story is a sad one Doll', mine is tragic. Your career rundown includes disappearing from the ring, mine encompasses it. You're trying to come up and make a change for the better well so am I and I've proven a HELLUVA lot more determined to do it and have done so WITHOUT the kinda support you have. You had your opportunity to make an impact and rise to the top but you fucked it up. I'm LIVING my opportunity and I haven't let ANYTHING stop me. You upload as fast and as many times as you can because you don't bother to admit to the lies and face up to the criticism that would leave you speechless. Instead, you take the path of least resistance and credibility flat out denying or further inventing while adding more holes to the story. I take a bit longer to promo because I actually work at this and care about the validity of my statements and accusations. You think you being the last to say something everyone knows isn't true makes it truth and makes you look good. No one here is that stupid, D. We aren't with the memory span of goldfish. Whether or not they agree with my tactics that had you scrambling for more lies they know goddamn well who's moderating here and who's had her little ass handed to her multiple fucking times.

Fuck your gimmicks, games and gangs...fuck your story. This ain't your epic it's MINE. Cadryn, Dolly, Trax...you ain't shit to me but in my way and I'm too psychotic a douchebag to care if you've got a problem with it. Who's been claimin' they're just warmin' up? Fuck warm ups. I'm Jim Caedus on nitrous and you ain't doin' shit but puttering in idle motherfuckers. Now suck my fumes while I run you down for the fifth fucking time."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX