"'Ey...'ey white boy."

White boy? Who the fuck-

::I spin around to attach a face to the unfamiliar voice. I see a black thug I assume must be in his early twenties and he's shadowing me. I stop, __he_ stops.

Ohhh yeeeeeeah, I remember this. It's early 2003, a good month or two before I end up murdered in an alleyway not one mile away down and off Butler Avenue. At the moment I'm standing on Artesia Boulevard beneath the 710 and 91 freeway overpass. I'm back in North Long Beach, at least in my dream, and I'm fuckin' loving it::

"Do you know me," I hit up, "'cause I don't know you. Whatchoo claim, Original Hood? You know O? You with Boulevard Crip across the street? I know you ain't with Four Corner Blocc."

::Shit always sails smoother with this type if you know how to talk to them. I'd grown up here; the OGs, the knuckleheads, they all knew me. I'd shared a hundred blunts by now with the resident "gat"-packin' crips and they loved "Big Jim". The only white face in a five mile radius who had the balls not only to approach but associate::

"Nah, I ain't know you-"

Neither a native nor a wrestling fan. Check.

"-I ain't bangin' cu'. I'm from Lynwood. I'm just lookin' for a friend, homie."

"I got enough friends, I don't need no more," I state as I turn to continue my walk home.

"Yo, I could be a _good_ friend, homie, a _real_ good friend. You smoke weed?"

Fuck is this motherfucker gettin' at?

"What?"

"You like boys? You like men?"

"What!? Nah man, I ain't fuckin' gay!"

"Well check it out then, I'll give you _ten dollars_ if you let me suck your dick, cu'. Ten dollars buy a lotta weed."

::This wasn't the first time I'd been propositioned in Long Beach but it was definitely the first time I'd been offered cash for cock...in mouth no less::

"Getchyer -ass the fuck outta here motherfucker. Ain't nobody payin' me to suck my dick."

"Come on, cu', I'll suck the nut right outchyo' balls and you get ten muthafuckin' dollars! Get you some good weed!"

I don't _want_ weed you buttfuckin' black bitch, I want some fuckin' crystal...and ten dollars will get me half a dub. Hmmmm...

"Lemme see the money."

::He does indeed, with a derisive hiss, produce Mr. Hamilton from his pocket before shoving it back in::

"You're gonna _pay_ me to _blow_ me," I confirm with a skeptical tone?

"Yo, I just wanna know what that white dick taste like."

"......All right, fuck it. Where we doin' this?"

"We can go back there cu'," he replies while pointing through a hole in the chainlink fencing back towards a small scattering of oceanic shipping containers also beneath the overpass.

::He leads the way and I follow::

This can't be real, this has to be a setup or some shit. Soon as we get behind those containers he's gonna have two friends there waiting for the three of them to jump me. Or maybe not...if he was local that would apply but as far as I can tell, he _is_ from out of the area at least. God I want that fuckin' money.

::He makes his way around and behind the containers and I cautiously follow to find......no homies, just him::

Wow. He really means it. That's fucking crazy.

"Hell yeah baby," he breathes out, "take that dick out for me."

::His gaze drops to my crotch and as I unzip he begins grabbing on his own::

Fuck this is horny.

::After a moment or two of hesitation I unbutton my jeans, reach into my boxers, pull them both slightly down and pull my cock out::

"Oh my God," he says through a shiver, "that shit look so _good_!"

::He approaches...he kneels...

The instant I feel his fingers on me I hit him as hard as I can on the back of the head::

"FUCK," I cry, shaking my hand in agony!

::He falls forward into my legs, pulling my dick down with him painfully before I yank free. I backpedal, trying not to trip as he reaches out to do so.

Fuckin' meth has me fifty pounds underweight at this moment in time and my strength isn't what it should be. He should be unconscious::

"Muthafucka," he screams while rising to his feet!

::I'm still trying to tuck my dick in and button my pants when he rushes in to attack, swinging both arms extremely wide at my head over and over in a flurry. I'd taken Shizukana-Do self-defense and coordination classes from age twelve to fourteen however, so I block half of the swings with my right arm easily enough. The other punches that land just piss me off.

I take two free swings as I button up then do my own advancing, using both arms to deflect each shot he takes. When I see my opening I take it.

The first punch splits his lip. I follow up with a right-left-right combo that completely throws him off his offensive after I break his nose. He backs into a container. I straight punch to his face once...twice...and as my friend Armin Majidi, an Iranian import with a black belt in Tang Soo-Do, had taught me oh so long ago, I finish with my favorite move: my Purgatory Punch, the spinning backfist.

He crumbles awkwardly to the asphalt and I painfully remove the ten dollar bill from his pocket as quick as I can with hands that don't want to obey.

I leave him bleeding while I hoof it in hyperspeed towards Henry's house to pick up a dime of crystal, my fists throbbing.

Cadryn suddenly pops into my periphery and before I know it he plants an ever so delicate kiss on my cheek::

"What the FUCK!?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You Sure Aren't, Sugar-Nuts, but I AM Jim Caedus"





I awake in shock. Disturbed. Off-balance. What began as a good dream for once ended up...well...just uncalled for.

'That was a _good_ dream?'

My head is pounding. The rest of me aches. What with Nixon nearly crushing my skull like that prick Henry Spade and Isabella bludgeoning my body on that cruise ship I'd been run through the wringer.

It'd been a full day since the flight to the Lone Star State-

'Champions enjoy flights AND first-class accomodations.'

-and although I'm sore...I'm rested and amped for my first XWF Television Title defense against-

'Cadryn Tiberius.'

-indeed.

'The Cereal Killer.'

Fruits. Fucking fruits. I fucking love fruits as every gym-jacked, health-whacked, bench-breakin', muscle-makin' man should. But fags...fuckin' fags...I fucking hate fags as every cooze-kissin', titty-twistin', toe-suckin', fem-butt-fuckin' boy should. Fucking fags.

'So get out that phone and promo. That mincing man-meat lover already has two out.'

I take a moment to take in my title.

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

"Congratulations are in order, Cadryn. You've swiftly sucked your way into a Television Title match with gonad gobbling gusto. And how is it you spend your time? Training? Scouting? No. You patronized a comic con, kidnapping the man who single-handedly made Spider-Man 3 worth watching."

'Hey, he said you haven't been spending your time all that wisely either. Correct him.'

"Given your one-two prissy punch promos, the first of which you did nothing but mutter mindlessly under your breath like a bitch, I find myself less concerned and more confused.

You question my friendliness for fans? Where the FUCK where they when I was digging donuts outta dumpsters, dickhead? You denigrate my dedication for spending time in the cruise ship strip club? I don't possess the means for blasting my ass around like Bob Bourbon or like Izzy, teleporting around terrain. I had no choice but to await docking procedures and board a plane. You dash my determination claiming I'm deep in the drink? Were you paying attention to that footage fuck-o? Full nudes don't serve alcoholic beverages and I don't fuckin' drink. Perhaps a cleaning of cumshots from Capt'n's corneas are in order. I'd say if one of us is distracted it's the man, maybe, into his man Gravy's man-gravy. And while it's clear a cock in your craw could complete _you_, crippling through competition and catabasis completes _me_. You doubt my knowledge of your talent while tearing mine to tatters?"

'Well ain't that the big gay pot callin' the kettle black.'

"I'll not ignore your accomplishments, which have been impressive, thus far. I'll not ignore the threat you represent...and if you had brains unburdened by ball juice you'd realize just who it is _you're_ set to square off with. No, you ain't Kevin Bacon but I AM Jim Caedus, cocksucker, and I itch to break a bitch.

While you've been on a search to safely circumcise the foreskin of fate between you and 'Gravy', I've been doing my research on your in-ring repertoire. Am I taking you seriously? Goddamn right I am. Am I afraid you'll pin me in the squared-circle? No, I'm not. I'll not be had by a hypocrite who has Micheal Graves on the brain beyond his opponent and I'll not be mind-fucked by a man who fucks men's behinds. What I _will_ do is tear you apart like so many rusty rectums you've ripped into. Have you ever felt the blackening of a brown eye? You will.

Your actions already speak scrot-loads in context with your competitorial ability. You're a coward, Cadryn. A coward who couldn't manage to make the best of his first promo out of fear. A coward who assumed my schedule and lack of instantaneous response represented an opening to _somewhat_ go all-out on my ass with what would turn out to be callous and clichéd insults. It's gonna take more than what you seem capable of to take me down, dipshit. Is your interest piqued _now_?

Take a peek at what piques my interest..."

I focus the lens on my precious title.

"I had to hoof it through Hell and back to win that belt, Cadryn. You lack the respect for both the man I barely survived and the man who made it happen. With respect comes awareness and you just don't seem aware of the danger you've dipped into. You can shower me with shenanigans from sunrise to sunset but it simply won't faze me. I know why you call yourself the 'Cereal Killer'; it's all a game to you, a joke. If one of us is what's wrong with this business it's Cadryn Tiberius. This may be a game for _you_ but this is my _LIFE_ motherfucker...and I'll be damned if I allow you to eclipse all I've been through to get where I'm currently at.

So, by all means, suddenly find the spark to seriously compete. I'd love to see how you attempt to win our war of words before stepping into that ring Saturday night. I've already seen how soggy the 'Cereal Killer' can be. I, however, stay hard...and I'll make sure to stiff the shit outta that loose anus of yours, asshole. I'm gonna leave you bloodied, beaten and broken in so many faggoty fragments not even 'Gravy' could piece your humpty-dumpty homo-ass back together. But fuck Mother Goose and fuck Graves. Fuck games. I'm Jim Caedus."