(backstory seen in "Heroes and Douchebags" will continue in the next roleplay)

CAEDUS REWIND: In April of 2003, Jim was ambushed and subsequently stomped to (as the doctors informed him) a seven minute timeframe of oxygen-free clinical death by one "Buddha" Henry Eugene Spade in Long Beach, CA. It didn't take. Jim survived, reanimated, and acted as his own witness of victimization during the criminal trial. In late January of this year, in light of his newfound promotion-provided ability to travel and the recent release of Henry from his 12 year stretch in prison for attempted murder, Jim decided to pay a close friend and meth-related business associate of Spade's a visit to gather information on his killer's location as seen here: ( http://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=26363&pid=116350#pid116350 ). Following up in early February on the info provided while in Oregon, as seen here: ( http://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=26415 ), Jim did in fact locate Spade's mother and sister but unfortunately came up empty handed as far as Henry himself was concerned. For months now, no further word or discovery has been made and Henry Eugene Spade, for all intents and purposes, seems to have dropped from the face of the earth, seemingly and effectively robbing Caedus of his much deserved revenge...





"In A Pig's Eye Ear Ass"







-Monday May 29 2017, 11:20 PM EST-

-The Inn on Biltmore Estate, Vanderbilt Mansion, Asheville, North Carolina-


XWF mainstay interviewer extraordinaire Steve Sayors (with accompanying film crew) knocks lightly on the door to room 101.

"Jim? It's Steve... We're here for the promo appointment."

Steve waits patiently for about ten seconds before knocking again.

"Jim? You awake in there yet? It's Steve Sayors."

Again Steve waits patiently, this time for a full thirty seconds, leaned into the door with his left ear listening intently for sounds of movement within.

Silence...

He knocks a third time, louder.

"Hey Jim! It's Steve Sayors! Wake up in there!" He gives it ten seconds before knocking a bit louder still. "Jim! Hey! ...You told me not to give up until I woke you, I'm not going anywhere until you answer, bud!" He pounds this time. "Heeeeeey Jiiiiiiiiiiii-"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

-Less than a mile south of Biltmore Estate, deep in the nearby forest...-


Right about now Steve Sayors and the XWF film crew will be knockin' on my hotel room door, convinced I'm inside, resolute with responsibility to wake me and cut a promo as planned. They have no idea, no one does for that matter, as to my true whereabouts or current activities. I had no choice but to deceive them, to misdirect; absolute privacy was required.

Given my strenuous first three months in the XWF culminating in my capture of the most highly desired prize in all of professional wrestling, the XWF Universal Championship, I'd seen enough airtime and rise in popularity that the prey I'd been hunting since January had, at long last, seen and recognized me on tv and run his fat fuckin' mouth to the wrong wicked ears.

None other than Daniel, the gay black bitch who'd sold me out to Spade in the first place (telling him _I'd_ been the one who'd thrice burglarized his 450 square foot hovel leading to the suprise attack that'd temporarily taken my life), had texted me outta the blue (either remembering my coincidentally unchanged Long Beach area code cell number or simply still having it logged) in an effort to score an easy, sleazy, double-cross payday. $100,000 was the number he'd requested, in cash, in exchange for Henry's current home address if I was interested.

Oh...I was interested alright.

I'd played the part of a pal who missed the good ol' days, missed his friend and couldn't even recall WHY the friendship had gone belly up in the first place, to the hilt. I'd laughed off the 100k price tag in pure douchebag fashion and tacked on an extra 50k out of appreciation. I'd very carefully debated Daniel on the difficulties of both sending and receiving such a large sum of money and managed to get him to agree to a meeting. I'd sweetened the already overflowing pot with a first class round-trip flight, hard-camera ringside seat tickets for both Savage and Warfare, the promise of two weeks' worth of hotel bookings, strictly name signed sellable merch...I even cast a line baited with shit which he took to like the mincing meth mackerel I correctly assumed him still to be.

A visit to neighboring Virginia had seen me locate a local glass dealer and I'd gotten my hands on a full ounce...an amount I knew very likely to be more than he'd ever been presented with at one time and definitely enough to break down any further walls of doubt he may turn out to still have. I'd take no chances with a 110 pound skinny black twink who could, at any moment in alarm, dash away into the darkness of the trees and escape. Fuck that. I've been waiting 14 years for a break...14 years for revenge...

Around four hours ago I'd picked Daniel up from Charlotte-Douglas International Airport.

Two and a half hours later we'd arrived back here at Biltmore Estate where we'd argued over whether or not to immediately book his room and get it over with. I'd told him I REALLY wanted to get to the deal and sprackin' to convince him otherwise. This had led to a second argument over why we couldn't smoke shit in the room, which I won as well, pointing out there were only non-smoking rooms equipped with very effective, very LOUD smoke detectors that would, undoubtedly, be tripped by meth smoke.

Fifteen minutes ago we'd safely and quietly arrived, without being noticed, to the deep interior of the nearby forest where we intended to both exchange cash and info and celebrate by gettin' fucked up. I'd handed over a plastic bag with exactly 25k in twenties. That much cash in his face had proven enough to fool him into thinking it was the entire 100k following a cursory once over. He'd giddily given me Henry's address, I'd logged it into my safenotes app and he'd then requested the goodies.

What I'm assuming to be roughly 2 minutes ago, while Daniel was taking his third roll and hit of the pookie, I'd sprung into action, wrapping my right arm around his throat from behind and locking the choke in with my left hand on my right wrist. Shortly thereafter, both his carotid arteries clamped, his wild struggling had ceased and he'd gone limp in my grip.

At this very moment, as the excitement dies down in the silence of the night, I'm no longer noticing a pulse against my skin nor the strain of attempted respiration... I need to make sure so I hold on a bit longer...and I speak quietly in his ear...

"You piece of fuckin' shit...you really thought I'd PAY you? After what you did to me!? You're lucky- _lucky_ -that I can't clean up before returnin' to the hotel for my promo or I'd be choppin' you into six sections. I hope you can hear me in there...I hope my words, absorbed and registered, resound in that fading miasma of inner awareness, monopolizing your existence like the voice of god itself. I'm taking your life, Daniel, there's nothing you can do to stop me and when I'm done I'm leaving your body to be eaten by the native wildlife. You're worthless, a bad person who destroys lives, and you're not goin' to heaven or any positive afterlife destination in kind. You're headed for an eternity of torment and you deserve it. Always remember who sent you there."

Finally, I let go and Daniel's body crumples lifelessly to the forest floor in the involuntarily awkward and humiliating position of the inanimate. I check for a pulse and come up negative, then I kneel and lightly wipe the contacted area with the sleeve of my jacket. I retrieve the plastic bag with the 25k, I bury the ounce of glass and the pookie and I distort my footprints both at the scene and leading to, in reverse, and once I reach the main trail I begin walking back to Biltmore Estate.

-28 minutes later...11:53 PM EST-

Kip the Grip, the cameraman and the boom guy are all sitting with their backs against the hallway wall alongside my room as I approach, Sayors seemingly still stubbornly at it, pounding on my door. I knew he wouldn't let me down.

"Awww SHIT," I fake, "Steve, I completely forgot about this, I apologize. I got hungry a little while ago, got a five course meal in The Dining Room and completely lost track o' time. Which reminds me, the thyme and black pepper chicken is to fuckin' die for. Anyway, then Micheal Graves called me, makin' sure I had a real-time seat while recollecting his taking of the Xtreme-"

"Jim...I've been here knocking for half an hour. It's almost midnight"

"Like I said, I apologize. Bro, it didn't strike you as wise to maybe check around the estate, ask the front desk? If you had asked, you would've found me wandering the grounds on my phone. I mean, I'm not tryin' to blame you, Steve-"

"Oh you're not trying to blame me. Thank you for that, Jim, I've only been doing EXACTLY what you told me to do! I don't appreciate-"

I combine genuine annoyance with intimidation and I close in on him.

"I don't appreciate your tone. In fact, I'm fighting the urge right now to get violent with you."

Sayors raises his hands in submission.

"Let's not lose our cool now."

"You're upsetting me and ruining the meal I just paid $95 for and that ain't including tip. Get the hell outta here before I hurt you, Steve. Interview cancelled, I'll handle my promo myself."

"But-"

"Fuck off! _Now_!"

Sayors and crew hop to at that, though not without a goodly amount of muttering and cursing under their breath. I let it all go. Alibi attained.

I don't feel wrong in my decision to do what I've done, no guilt or gnawing self reflection questioning my actions. I feel justified. Beyond what was personally perpetrated upon my head, the fact that Daniel, Anthony (North Side Longo meth distributor and friend of Henry Spade, as seen in "Like a Moth to the Flame") and Henry were/are the worst kind of people, a sincere cancer on society, makes me feel more like a vigilante. A hero. A hero befitting the world in which we live. All three deserve- no, NEED to die. Two down. One to go.

But now is not the time for haste and further distraction in vengeance. Now is the time for professional priorities. As much as I want my completed revenge, it'll have to come when it can...I'll not allow it, or anything else any longer for that matter, to prevent me from what matters most in my life: remaining the XWF Universal Champion.

As impossible as it would prove for some to resume normal routines after enacting what I have, less than an hour ago no less, I'm quite practiced, as I've shown in the past, in the art of absorbing the venom, the evils, the darkness...transforming it all into the fuel driving me to achieve great things in this promotion, my home.

I enter my room, bounce into the bathroom where I check myself over in the mirror for any signs of the evening's earlier events, then immediately set up and prepare my phone for promo.

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

"UuuuuunFUCKINbelievable! Chaos...you're gonna answer for your actions. And BWP...I'm not entirely sure why Dolly failed to unload upon your head her particular brand of incredibly inexhaustible evisceration via vignette and even having witnessed it with my own eyes, I, along with everyone else I'm sure, cannot BELIEVE you actually beat 'er, even with Chris Chaos's help.....but...you did and you _are_ now very much the XWF Unified Xtreme Champion. Oh wait, no...you already lost the title to my boy Graves. Easy come, easy go, eh? Well, whether Dolly's game was off, her zest for the business has waned or Micheal did a psychological number on her, you can bet you ain't gonna be receivin' the same inexplicable good luck against _me_. In fact...I'll be balancing all that out with sheer asskickery. And of course, that all begins by continuing our war of words before Warfare.

I see you insist on callin' me Jimmy Balls. I guess you think that's not only an insult but some sorta hardcore diss, like how you still believe "OINK OINK MOTHER FUCKER" is a killer catchphrase. Look, limpdick... A: Jimmy Balls just makes me sound cooler. B: if Boss Lane's pet pig _Taco_ were sayin' OINK OINK MOTHER FUCKER _that'd_ be some shit. Guaranteed viral video footage. You on the other hand, it's lazy. It's trite. It's . Call me Jim "The Cur" Caedus. WOOF WOOF BITCH. Catch my drift, dipshit? Snap into _that_ Slim Jim, with your all too revealing obsession over shovin' foot long lengths of meat in your mouth, punk Poffo pissant. No, I don't like Slim Jim, I prefer beef jerky that looks like it wasn't processed out the ass and runs ad campaigns that are actually entertaining. Jack Links for example, with the furry fucker always injurin' idiots fuckin' with 'im. Yeah...I identify with _that_, while you...you identify with men wearing streamers takin' spears of flesh down their throat. Men trudging through the hot desert equipped with greasy, high sodium snacks. Whadja wash that down with, bottle o' piss and a seawater chaser? Why the fuck do you think they issued you dimwits sodium tablets? So you're able to efficiently replenish electrolytes lost through sweat without compromising your mouths and thirst with a craw full of salt, dumbass. If you fools hadn't been so busy lettin' what smarts you had vaporize in the sun while "field fucking" and foot racing camel spiders you simpletons may have arrived at the simple answer of a second sodium tablet. I don't need to be "over educated" for that to occur to me.

"Over educated", by the way? I went to junior college, bro, I'm not over educated, I'm just naturally smarter than the average person both book and streetwise and I'm creative enough to make my promos unique and fun to view. I'm also possessing of a lot more than the "concept of standard western intelligence" Professor Pyle. Not that it matters, a headless corpse has more brains than you do, otherwise you wouldn't have lost that 24/7 Xtreme Title you JUST won off DOLLY WATERS in less than 24 hours you fuckin' flacid imbecile. I also never commented on your education, for the record, I basically just called you stupid and questioned your witless lending of vindication to the popular and apt belief that most Marines are, for the most part, not all that smart. As for your life choices, I didn't criticize you there either. To the contrary, I commended you on your service, which you then happened to recall a minute after accusing me of the opposite. Is that your game plan? Tryin' to draw me in and infect me with your idiocy by assaulting all logic each time you open your trap? No...no I think you truly are that scatterbrained and that's all there is to it. Mind games are as foreign to you as the concepts of consistency, polishing, editing video and second takes. You really think you stand a chance against me in our match demonstrating so severe an inability to keep your own thoughts straight? Keep pullin' your pork and futiley fantasizin', fuck-o, you'll be callin' for the corpsman at contest conclusion."

"I’m going to deliver such an American style ass whooping, the Japanese are going to be calling up the white house wondering if they should be concerned. Because this match is going to have more of a damn impact than Little Boy and Fat Boy combined you hear me!"

"What? The fuck does that even mean, moron? The only impact this match will have, and IS having, is to show just how ludicrously outmatched you are by comparison. You could be 7 foot, 400 pounds, I'd still kick your ass into the nosebleeds with little effort.

You speak on "juvenile insults" then call me a virgin? I'm as much a virgin as you're a threat to my Uni Title reign, youngster, you're 22 years too late to be slingin' that schoolyard mud my way. Lame. I expected a lot more from you. A lot more than you being incapable of differentiating between metaphor and true intent of fuckin' you up the ass, dumbshit, and a helluva lot more than havin' to feel embarrassed for you while you unwisely wing it with every weak, nonsensical "slam". The fuck is a "self hate filled closet" and what does it have to do with the speed in which a body burns, bitch? Stop tryin' so desperately to sound clever, you're sinkin' your own battleship, shithead. Somebody stuff an apple in this pig's skeet sucker before he bursts into flames off multiple misfires. Keep callin' in the aerial support on your own position, pussy, your tactics are for shit, as are your potshots at my sexuality. You legit gung ho boner-up reminiscing on stickin' beef between your lips and you call ME gay? Maybe you SHOULD'VE been a therapist, you'd have been familiar with the whole projecting of one's own desires and/or flaws onto others and not currently be guilty of makin' such a fantastic faux pas. Maybe you should've actually paid attention in fuckin' high school, you wouldn't have needed a military fallback and you wouldn't be so irritatingly dense in the arena of textbook metaphorical linguistics and novice level debate. I'd say I can't believe you've wasted so much time pursuing so many errors made through your own lack of comprehension skills but this all started with you callin' me "the cock of the roost"; you've been fuckin' up from the get-go. Think I'm too easy, do you? You're half right...I've been far too easy on you."

"Jody didn’t get my wife because I wasn’t that fucking stupid to get married before I even deployed yet. Jody, however, did give it to my high school sweetheart while I was deployed. Ungrateful sluts and piece of shit men, yeah he knew. The act and her betrayal wasn’t the painful part about it. You know what was, finding out with my one phone call after an IED exploded underneath my left foot."

"So Jody DID snatch your snatch, eh? Damn I'm good. Wasn't even trying to make a legitimate claim there and I did anyway, that's pretty impressive. I'm sorry that happened to you, bro, but join the fuckin' cunts-are-evil club. How many of us in the XWF do you think have been cheated on and not just by a fuckin' girlfriend, that'd be 99% of us, no, cheated on by women chosen as our life partners, perhaps even mothers to our children? I just recently found out my WIFE who died burning alive in front of me was cheatin' on me too. While that may sound like a retrospective karmic wet dream, it still resulted in the utter annihilation of my heart and it wasn't "the act or her betrayal that was painful", it was the fact that her pullin' away from me led to so much constant physical separation while together, our daughter started regularly spending time with her in the same fuckin' trailer that ended up in flames...with both of 'em inside it. Don't try tuggin' at MY heart strings over tragedy, Pagliacci, I no longer have one. What about you? Not a heart, mind you, a foot. You said an IED exploded under your left foot. Are you 10% Jason Sensation now? Didja lose it? If so, you can have mine if you manage to remove it from your pale porcine ass after the match. If you DIDN'T lose it...perhaps you could tell us all exactly how one keeps his foot, more accurately his _leg_, after an IED point blank blast beneath it. You gonna tell me it mangled your hoof, War Pig, but you still have it and it works? How big was the IED, the size of a fuckin Tic Tac? It was a just a firecracker, wasn't it...I'm seein' someone fuckin' around in the tent throwin' lit firecrackers on the 4th of July, you stompin' on it barefoot thinkin' you could stamp out a fuse like a flame and takin' that friendly fucking on detonation. Whatever the case may be, if you were standing at ground zero in an explosion and you not only survived but survived without losing an extremity at the very least, you're definitely the luckiest sumbitch I've ever encountered and your lil' sob story amounts to exactly squat, beyond a bar tale that'll get you pussy."

I pout out my bottom lip and make an overly theatrical sarcastic sad face.

"Awwwww...you say you used your one phone call to hit up the whore instead of your own "mother who gave you life"?"

I drop the act and allow the venomous spite inside to surface upon my visage.

"Must be nice to have a mom who's alive, motherfucker, 'cause _mine_ ain't. Neither is my pop and every aunt, uncle and cousin, even my own grandma, avoids me like the plague. How's the whole sympathy play strategy goin' for you so far, dickhead? By my count you're 0 and 3...I think you knew that too, that's why you dove headfirst into the cheap heat pool with that dedicating our match to fallen soldiers shit. Nice move, McMahon. Why does that smack of a plea to the Gods of wrestling? Well two can play that game. My grandpa William Ballard fought in WWII, my cousin Eric did 8 years for the Army in Afghanistan as well. I'll pick up your slack, dedicate the match to them and every fallen and LIVING soldier in America and abroad. Because Hell, if we only laud the dead are we not opening the floodgates for more hippy protesters to start throwin' bags o' dogshit at our still kickin' vets? I'd say so, especially when you take into account how many vets have gotten and still get royally fucked by this country after their service. Some brother in arms you are.

I'll assume you makin' that bullshit dedication led you to believe you suddenly have this in the bag 'cause you once again lost your grip on reality, got all confident and began layin' into me with fabrications. When did I say TRAX beating me was a fluke? The answer: I didn't, dumbass, I took the loss regardless of the circumstances. Strike one. You say I blamed my stable for the loss. The truth: No, I didn't. I questioned them on their whereabouts both during the match when I was attacked and after the show's conclusion. Strike two. You questioned if I ever admit that I lose. The skinny: You really are . That's all I've ever done in context with both Robert Main and TRAX. I LITERALLY just said these things in my first promo...but you missed all that? Strike fuckin three. B...what the fuck's wrong with you? You canNOT come at me with these lies and mistakes and expect to do anything other than have your ass shown right back into retirement. You're such a glorious fuck-up, however, I'm not sure you'll even SURVIVE the match. Don't you know who I am? You don't stumble around me, jag-off, not in promo and not in the ring. I'll humiliate you as I have been, I'll knock you out in the match, press down and exert as much pressure as is required with my Red Wing to split your cranium, pull it apart with my bare hands and eat whatever brains you've got sloshin' around in there before I pin you with my teabaggin' nutsac. But wait- that's not all! Soon as I take the dump composed of, well, you...I'll be sure to package it up and gift it to Bearded Ma Pig so she'll have proof that her son did always have shit for brains after all.

Did I really hear you say "whoopidy fuckin do"? Wow. You think the gayness of both "whoopidy" and "do" are made less gay with the use of the "fuckin" in there? Was mama a bit of a foul mouth or are you just so much a fuckin' mama's boy you actually quote her as "manly" as possible? No real man says whoopidy fuckin' do, dork. Now I AM feelin' sorry for you. You know, I was just bein' a prick before...well, no I meant it then too, but now I TRULY 100% do believe you are legit slow as fuck. I'm still gonna brain you, bitch...but take comfort in knowing I may lose a few minutes of sleep over it...and that's all I'll be losing. Mark my words. "Anything can happen at anytime in the XWF", brilliant words, wimp, we ALL say them including ME...but that "anything", for you, doesn't include defeating Jim Caedus on Warfare this Wednesday and for the record, that's like, three times you've made a pass at the Gods of Wrestling. Fucking pathetic, BWP. Necessary for a loser like you but pathetic nonetheless. It won't save you from me. You better let that sink in.

Speaking of sinking in...hey B, on the subject of you telling me I better have Ax3 at ringside if I wanna retain: You know all those matches I've won thus far? Ax3 were present at ringside for none of them. The TV Title, 3 months of hustling on every card, the Federweight Scramble, the Lethal Lottery 4 finals, cashing in on the biggest pussy I've ever come across in Gabe Reno to win the XWF Universal Championship......yeah that was all me, motherfucker. Who the hell, by the sweet pink cotton candy cooter o' Christina Ricci, are YOU beyond the guy who had to have CHRIS CHAOS of all people help him beat Dolly on Savage, you fuckin' hypocrite? I took on TRAX AND Dolly at the same time, alone...while Dolly was on some psycho verbal onslaught shit, so don't even think about tryin' to compare her no-showing and tripping up with _you_ to what _I_ had to grind through. You ain't shit compared to them, B, you ain't shit compared to ME...and you know it. The one person I need to take you out is the same person I've justifiably and successfully depended on this entire time. Myself. That's it. You're also overlooking the fact that I don't even NEED to waste time on you to retain the title, numbnuts. If I wanted to I'd just get counted out or kick off between your legs in plain view of the ref, take a DQ and walk out STILL the champ. Problem with that is, and lucky for you...that ain't my style. I enjoy fighting through to a clean win. I've actually got honor. If anyone interferes it'll be for YOUR benefit, buttfucker, but I'd wager that hypothetical scenario won't end up as it did with TRAX two weeks ago. You go right ahead and "charge right in like the Marines do", you'll find yourself charging right into your own 21 gun salute, and B...I'll make it a closed casket funeral with Limbs Missing stamped on it.

"Jim 'Boot Dick' Caedus" you called me? "Purple waffle Hell" you say? My God...is that the kinda shit you got "famous" for around here before I arrived? Stitchin' random words together to sound creative and original but just managing to sound like this is either all a big joke to you or simply not worth the time it would take you to upload something worth watching? What a joke. Fuckin' Mad Libs usin' hack; do yourself a favor and eat a bullet before you embarrass yourself any further. Boot Dick...yeah you'll be wondering which it is, a boot or a dick, when it's tearin' up your foxhole, jarhead jag-off.

You asked how I consider myself the underdog. Of course you did. I explained that, _in full_, in the very same promo you pulled that question from but of _course_ you asked. Why? You're an idiot with the memory span of a goddamn goldfish. You smoke a SHITLOAD of weed too, don't you. You make so many fuckin' mistakes, the most I've ever seen, that I'm actually running outta unused-in-this-promo synonyms to describe you. Who the fuck did you beat that actually fought back and was worth a damn, douchebag? You dropped GT's name? I'm not impressed and neither is anyone else. You took Doc to the limit? Yeah, sure you did. I can see now the steam you're running on is pure delusion. You haven't put in more than 6 months time here? You DIDN'T train and don't intend to? And YOU say you paid your dues? Jesus fucking Christ, you're the exact opposite of a man deserving of anything in this business whatsoever you unjustifiably entitled piece o' shit. That's why Graves took your title already you complete fucking imbecile, you're a punchline, not a powerhouse. You ain't a threat, a challenge, you ain't even competition, cocksucker. All you do is flap those pussy lips o' yours on full blast, queefin' out the WEAKEST insults, the most INACCURATE accusations and the most pathetically flacid self-fellating hype I've ever heard. You are, without a doubt, the worst wrestler I've ever come across in 21 years, aside from that reject Mr. Tidbits. You're a loser. You always will be. Own it. You gave up your one shot to create a true legacy for yourself as a name on a fuckin' memorial wall but you blew that by surviving. I'll fix that. When I decimate your ass in the squared circle I'm gonna knock out all your teeth and use the one least ground down by constant vibrator in the mouth use, along with a very small mallet, to chisel your name on the wall of a bathroom stall. Every time someone has a bowel movement they'll be reminded of you and that's about as fitting an honor as you've ever earned.

You wanna know why you've been handed all these title shots? 2 reasons...and not the two YOU imagined.

1: You probably over-sold and over-hyped yourself as "ready to bring the pain"...and as we all know, you then failed to deliver even ONE DAY as a successful Xtreme Champ.

And

2: We champs need SOMEONE to smack around. You're as good as any.

The audacity you exhibit...claiming _I_ was keepin' _your_ spot warm for you in your absence...claiming you're here to take it back? There is no comparison between us. I'm Jim Caedus, I've ACTUALLY paid my dues, I actually earned everything I have. You? You're nothing. Nothing but a viral YouTube video of some dude squeezin' 2 liters of piss-yellow pus from an ass boil onto a diaper. You're a car wreck. People watch you so they'll witness the horror you'll go through tryin' to bow up and act tough towards people like ME. They watch you to see you get your ass kicked. People like me fuck up people like you. I don't give a damn what you've been through, what you claim you're capable of...you have ZERO credibility. ZERO drive. Fuck did John Blaq, who HATES MY GUTS, say when you started snortin' and squealin' about this match?

"You're gonna lose."

He knew what I didn't, that you suck at this. I overestimated you, BWP. I thought you'd be giving me a real challenge in promo. Yeah, yeah...you're a lot bigger than I am so you'll definitely be tossin' me around in the match...of course, 75% of all opponents I've faced, and will CONTINUE to face, are, and I still seem to emerge victorious anyway. You never should've told whoever you told you were ready. Not for me. Not Caedus. I've given you ample opportunity to say something HARDCORE. To really take it to me. You failed.

The only disgrace in this promotion, in this business, is you. You don't belong. Feel free to leave once I've finished guttin' and hangin' your piggy ass by your hind feet. Fuck what you day dream. I'm Jim Caedus. Big Dick Daddy. The motherfuckin' Star Killer. The. XWF. UNIVERSAL. CHAMPION. Too much pressure? I'll show you pressure when I'm crushin' your nuts with my boot heel in the ring.

POP POP MOTHER FUCKER!"
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