(ooc: Apologies for the wait, Gilly)


-Long Beach, 2004-


5468 Cerritos Avenue.

This is the place. She was right...she's literally 5 minutes walking distance away from 5551 Lemon, my home.

It's been over a year since my stomping to death in that alleyway, less than said since assuming caretaking responsibilities for my father, 4 months into my unfortunate relapse with meth...and a solid month under suspension from the MVW, my current promotion where I wrestle as Jimmy Logan, a regrettable Wolverine gimmick. I need money or I don't get to sprack...and that copy of Final Fantasy VIII ain't gonna break itself.

Took me all of sixty seconds to recall I'd met many chicks in AOL chat rooms...took a day to find and compile a list of local middle aged women looking for love...took a week to coerce three of them into agreeing to _pay_.

Sounded like a brilliant idea at the time...now all I can think of, as I quickly make my way up to the front door, is some angry, work-worn husband kicking in the bedroom door and catching me with my balls in his wife's mouth. Hopefully "Nancy" is single...

The family pictures displayed around the front room blow that idea all to Hell. Nancy and I stand there, silent, awkward. She said she was 39 but she looks to be well into her late 40s. Lady, you're payin' me, there's no need to lie.

"So...what is it you want," I ask?

Nancy isn't ready to go full-tilt; a few minutes and three shots of whiskey later I'm going down on her in the bedroom.

This comforter is insanely cozy, I think while trying to distract myself that this woman's snatch smells like Campbell's condensed chicken noodle soup.

Nancy's legs quiver with what I'm assuming, via much more enjoyable experiences, is an orgasm but she keeps relatively quiet out of what I'm guessing is caution. Smart woman, I'd like to hear the front door open and react as well...

As I wash my face I wonder if she takes offense that I am. Meh, whatever...

Nancy hands me fifty bucks. That'll last me about four days in glass.

As I depart safely, checking for any nosy neighbors on my way out, I feel like I've truly accomplished something...though it's probably just the excitement over being able to buy more fuckin' shit.

What the fuck am I thinking for? This is no time to think, this is a time for dialing Tank (my new hook-up)and tell him to bag up 50 for me. No...no, 40. I'll use the other ten to buy Buglers. Lord knows I'll be in a smokin' mood soon enough.

It's always amazed me what lengths I'll go to to get what I want. Sure, I may lose from time to time...but when all's said and done...Jimmy O'Connor knows how to get shit done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's Eating Gilmour's Grapes?"







-Monday, May 1 2017, 8:00 PM EST-

-Silverball Pinball Museum, Asbury Park, New Jersey-

I snap outta my musings, shivering with distaste in context, and step through the doors into the Silverball Pinball Museum.

This jaunt began as a curiosity. Bam Bam Bigelow had always been a talent I'd given my full attention to growing up, I wanted to see Asbury Park for myself. And this...this is what I call entertaining. Who the fuck from my generation doesn't love pinball, 80s arcade games and air hockey-

_Air hockey_!?

Oh shit...I fuckin' LOVE air hockey.

Thankfully all the patrons, if any wrestling fans be among them, are far too involved with their fun to notice the new XWF Universal Champion stalking the premises. I'm not in the mood for marking out, I'm in the mood for competition...I'm in the mood for a nice overly aggressive few rounds of highly competitive "you ain't smilin' now" air hockey.

Both nearby tables are taken. At one, a pair of drunks who can't manage to do more than consistently lunge and miss are given a wide berth. The lesser drunk of the two men finally connects but succeeds only in sending the puck sailing away and disappearing amidst a throng of gamers legs. Dipshits...

The second table is currently representing the coddling of a young boy by his weenie of a father. The ol' "nice one, champ, you're beatin' daddy's butt, aren'tcha" deal. I wait until the game has concluded, 7 year old boy undoubtedly victorious at 10 to 0 or some other ludicrous count, then slide in beside poppa and pop the correct change into the machine.

"My turn, dad. I wanna shot at the champ!"

"Uh..." He looks to his son. "No, I think it's about time I get the lil' guy home."

"I wanna beat 'im, dad!"

"Nooo, now Paulie, it's past time for bed, we've been here long enough."

I take note of the XWF camera crew appearing virtually outta nowhere beside me as I'm suddenly cast in the glow of the grip lights.

How the fuck did they know I'd be he- Doesn't matter. This is good, let 'em get this on camera. I need to promo for my steel cage match against Peter Gilmour on Warfare anyway...

"Come on dad, I saw how good the kid is, I'm sure I don't stand a chance." I wink.

Dad relaxes a bit.

"Ok Paulie, one more game but that's it. Got it?"

"Got it! I'm gonna whip your butt mister."

"Don't be _too_ rough on me, kid." I turn to look full on into the lens. "Oh, hi! Didn't see ya there... Howdy, Gilly! My apologies for the wait bro, hectic schedule being the new XWF Universal Champ and a legal medical marijuana entrepreneur and all, you understand..."

As the cushion of air jets forth from the myriad holes across the table, I position the puck and slam it. It shoots into little Paulie's goal slot before his eyes can register the action. Dad clears his throat in my direction.

"My bad, lucky shot. Not too much competition for Paulie the champ though, huh Paulie?" The boy shakes his head no, smiling. "Speaking of which, Gillster, you're correct. I DO appreciate finally having the honor and privilege of facing the great Peter F'n Gilmour in battle. Unlike every other opponent you've had who'll waltz on in without showing you the respect you deserve as such an amazing talent with the most impressive tally of XWF acclaim I hope one day myself to accumulate, I'll tell you that you are indeed a legend here and don't deserve the jeers you receive over your status as a former _transitional_ XWF Universal Champion. I, unlike they, understand that some men are cut out for the pressure and some aren't. You're still THE Gilly."

Little Paulie smacks the puck-

-I smack it right back with a hook. The puck ricochets like a rocket off the left side and right back into the boy's goal, again before his eyes can catch up.

"No big deal, kid, you still got this. And Hell, Pete, not only do I admire what you've done here, I actually LIKE you. I'm sure you know that...you were among the first names in the XWF I approached backstage to ask to form a stable with, remember? You said no..."

The kid tries again. Again, I deflect and expertly execute an experienced shot to raise the count to 3 and 0.

"Dang it!"

"Ok I think that's enough now, Paulie, good ga-"

"No! I wanna win!"

"I put that behind me, Pete, I took no offense to your declining the offer. As evidenced by the words of your rostermates who peer pressured you into rapidly and dangerously gaining a shit ton o' weight and your actions in carrying OUT that oh so fucked up request...you've got ENOUGH friends in the XWF, you don't need someone like me who would never ask you to put your health at risk for my own selfish entertainment, do you? For you there is no value in a true friend telling you these people are making a mockery of Peter Fuckin' Gilmour, clearly looking to see him keel over from a stroke before the age of 40 and that's fine. I'm sure your posthumous XWF 3 disc bio release 'Suck My Stiff Dick: The Peter Gilmour Story' will sell like Flamin Hot Cheetos in an inner city elementary school vending machine from the quarterly Wal-Mart wrestling DVD $5 deals end-cap section. Shit, I'd pay full pri-"

Little Paulie takes me by surprise-

-in my blocking the shot, the puck rebounds instantly straight back into the boy's goal for the fourth time. It's pretty hilarious. Paulie erupts into tears. Dad levels me with hands on hips like a fruit.

"You asshole."

"Easy there, chief. Paulie, it's ok, you're the champion here I just got lucky."

The kid doesn't acknowledge my attempt to calm him down. Dad grabs him by the hand and leads him to the door, kicking and screaming.

"Fuck did you want me to do, LET him win!? If he had the skill he WOULD HAVE!"

An angry man around my age and size (though his weight centers around a beer belly) approaches the opposite end of the table.

"Fuckin' over a little kid. Not very classy, pal."

"You mind, motherfucker? I'm tryin' to shoot a promo here, I'm Jim Cae-"

"Yeah, yeah. Jim Caedus. I know who you are. You got lots of fans, fuckhead...but I ain't one. Challenge."

I snort.

"My pleasure, pussy." We play...and while I slaughter this overzealous zero, I continue to promo, unconcerned. "I appreciate you approve of my relieving Reno of the Universal strap in poetic fashion, returning the favor of fibs and flattery rooted in dubious motives. Unfortunately I'm gonna hafta deny your wishes to cripple me in the cage and inform you we'll be running a little experiment instead: how much pressure it takes to force your body through the cage and in how many pieces you'll end up in the process. Peter I'd rather kill you and face the consequences than allow you of all people to put another L on my record. You, the king of hack HOF half-assery, who entered the Lethal Lottery 4 tournament detailing how you'd fallen short of victory previously and had every intention of capturing the 24/7 Briefcase...only to phone it the fuck in when partnered with my Ax3 brother-in-arms Micheal Graves and wash out. You think the man who actually DID snag the briefcase is gonna fall to the likes of YOU?"

The table's air ceases to pump. Not counting the score against little Paulie, the game ends at 6-0.

"Next?" The loser flips me the bird and steps aside as another takes his place, popping in coins...the moment the air kicks in, I nod and smile. Again, I play while I promo. "Gilly, on the subject of Micheal Graves and Ax3 as a whole, minus myself of course as you knew goddamn well to tickle my fancy nuts with flattery and not rile me of all assholes up, you seem to have a problem with my associating with them. Well, that's none of your concern, cocksucker, is it? And forgive me for hittin' hard with it, but in these trying times of elderly dickheads arising from the well of jealousy like the attention-starved jag-offs they are, it pays to solidify with one's comrades...and Pete, you're pissin' me right the fuck off insultin' 'em. I'm gonna hafta hurt you for that...and I'm not talking a nice Xtreme romp in the steel cage, I'm referrin' to paralyzin' you Pete. I'm alluding to robbin' you of your mobility, your physical freedom. I'm looking forward to standing at the foot of your hospital bed laughing as your tears of frustration stream down your suddenly bulbous fat boy cheeks. I'm gettin' a full-on fantasizin' on readin' the future headline: 'XWF Legend and Quadriplegic Peter Gilmore Swallows Tongue, Takes Own Life. Many Laugh.' I'm not gonna bury you, Gilly, I'm gonna destroy your entire being."

My opponent storms off after 5 straight goals. The next arrives...

"Not sure what you meant by 'having the advantage and being the master of the cage match' while simultaneously 'not having the best record in cage matches' to your credit. I AM sure you're a complete fuckin' idiot. Moving on. You have no need to worry about interference in our match, Gilly, that's not how I roll. I enjoy defeating my opponent's cleanly and I definitely don't need anyone to take you on anyway. I survived Dolly Waters and Trax in a Triple Threat Match, bro, fuck I need besides my own proven skill to take YOU apart? B-T-W...the reason this isn't a title match is because you're Peter Gilmour of the current times. Fuck have you done to earn a shot, shithead? Maybe that's another reason you couldn't hold on to it, you clearly have no inkling as to the prestige my championship holds, you don't whore it out to every invalid imbecile comes-a-callin'. Besides, I'll defend the Uni as often as it's booked and against any opponents the brass see fit, including The Kings; to think I'd duck YOU is ridiculous. Matter of fact...your level of self delusion borders on clinical insanity. I don't think any new age methods of reprogramming will suffice either...I think I'm gonna hafta dip into more classical methods to wake you up, Pete. Somethin' approaching a caveman clubbin' the skull of an intruder to fragments and a fuckin' puddle.

Fuck what you think you're gonna accomplish come Wednesday, weakling. I'm Jim "Big Dick Daddy" Caedus...the "Star Killer". You thought you were gonna have an easy go, Gilly. Instead, you're gettin' gutted. I'll see you tomorrow for round two, twat. Now suck MY dick."

I smack the puck so hard it zooms into the bridge of my opponent's nose and he squeals, cursing. I turn to the line waiting to challenge.

"That's game, go fuck yourselves. I've shit to do..."
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TBC