Have you ever taken the time to just stare at money? It's so pointless, right? Just a piece of paper, but it owns you, it controls you, it defines you. Its a piece of paper that decides whether or not you go to college, what house you live in and what car you drive, a piece of paper that defines your status as a human being. A piece of paper that controls the world, your way of life and sometimes whether or not you live or die.
But when you really break it down, a piece of paper is really worth the same thing.........no matter if you have 100 one's or one 100, you still have the same. Money is an illusion. You can make people think you have a lot, but it is all how it is perceived. You can drive a BMW but not be able to keep your lights on. You can have a nice house, but drive a car with the mirrors falling off. You can have a stack of bills but barely be able to put gas in your vehicle. Money is so powerful, but so fragile. It has the ability to make fragile ego's inflate, and rock solid ego's crumble like the bottom of a bag of chips. Really, it is all about how other people see your money, not about how much you really have. The richest people are the cheapest people, and the ones with the less spend the most. It's a cycle, a push and pull, but in the end it is all worth the same. But money is the root of all evil, right? Money is what drives people to do horrendous things, but can also save someone's life. Think about it, a piece of paper with some ink on it. Some of the worst atrocities to ever take place on this planet were because of a simple piece of paper, or a piece of metal, and nations were formed and shaped--each creating their own and making their piece of paper worth more of less in perceived value than other nations.
Why does one country's piece of paper mean more than another country's piece of paper? You got it, perceived value.
Money is the chains that bind us to a live that someone with more pieces of paper than us tell us we have to live. A life they draw out for us like a schematic, like a torandic destruction map with the red blotches being the most damage, and the poorest people. Notice how much red there is? You can never get ahead, because paper with ink tells you that you can't. Manifest destiny is lie. You have owners, they own you, and they make you feel like your pieces of paper matter.....they don't.
They are just ink and numbers.
The Minimum Wage is supposed to be a "Living Wage", but if it kept up with inflation--another perception idea--it would be over $30 an hour right now. Companies make you feel like their being wronged for having to pay their employees enough to eat, then raise their prices as soon as they do. Their greed is what is keeping prices up, and they have all the control.
Shit, the entire system is made up. Money isn't worth anything, its only worth what we perceive it to be worth, so why not just perceive it to be worth the same as it was in, say, the 1960's? Simple. They wouldn't make a profit. That is all this is about. Profit.
Socialism has a history of poverty and death behind it. People need to read an economics book and get educated and trained for better jobs than McDonalds, because why would someone with more pieces of paper want to watch what they worked hard for (what exactly did they work hard for?) be devoured by someone wanting 15-20 dollars per hour for something a tenth grader can do. With inflation, the unchanging wages are illusory, the buying power of your paycheck goes DOWN each time. More control. A lop-sided employer-employee relationship, and most people chalk it up to negative social cost.
It's not. It's life. It is how humans view other humans.
Counterfeit isn't just monetary, it can be people too. Fake people, doing fake things, all because of their perceived value.
Chris Chaos sat Indian style in front of a burning trash can. Next to him was a stack of money, on the other side a can of Lysol and a box of matches. He had a snarl on his face. His breath could be seen in the cold air, an there was snow on the ground behind him. His jeans were wet, and his black XWF hoodie appeared to be sticking to him. He had his hood up, his face just visible. His head was down. The trashcan in front of him illuminated the scene, but not for very far. It appeared, however, that he was in some sort of vacant lot.
He picked up the stack of money, running it through his fingers. It made a noise like a dealer shuffling cards, the bills looked brand new--though they were crumbling and bending in the moisture. He had to have close to $1,000 dollars there, but they were all in single US dollars. The stack barely fit in his hand.
Reaching into his hoodie pouch with his other hand, he pulled out a MUCH smaller stack. It was probably close to the same dollar amount, but it was in US $100 bills. A grin crossed his face. He set the bills down, side by side, both stacks, and looked at the camera.
"To some, the pile on the left, may be more. Its not. They are the exact same. To the average eye, if I pulled out the stack on the left, people would think I was wealthy due to the sheer amount of paper and ink I provided. To the naked eye, the stack on the right is worth less, despite the numbers on the paper being higher, because there is less of them. Less is not more, to most. The fact is that they are exactly the same, neither one better than the other, both being worth same amount. Jim Caedus is the stack on the left. Big, imposing, and looked at as being worth so much more than he actually is. I am the stack on the right. People see me, they know I have some worth, but they put me side by side with Caedus and they are in sheer awe of the size--both in name and in body--when we are worth exactly the same. Both are sure fire hall of famers. I bet if you looked at me as this stack, you wouldn't think I have held every belt this company currently offers. You wouldn't think my win total is over double my loss total. You wouldn't think that my name is one that is reveared and iconic within the annuls of XWF history. All you would see is the bigger stack and think that I have no shot. Take it for what is is. Jim Caedus appears to be so much more. A former champion, a nearly flawless record, and a stature that makes him appear as though he is insurmountable. Look how much taller his stack is than mine. It dwarfs in comparison."
He stands up, picking up the massive stack, needing both hands.
"Its all an illusion. I can buy the same thing with the smaller stack as I can with the bigger one. This is all Jim is, an illusion of superiority. Jim is nothing more than the scenic route, he is no more than the long way around, he is your hero when really he needs you to be successful. He needs you to flaunt him, flash him around, show him off. He needs to that perceived image.....because individually, he is worth much less. Look at Jim's career....it is nothing without his buddies in Apex. It is nothing without being supported by the others around him. Take him as an individual......"
Chris plucks a single dollar out of the large stack of now moist currency
"....and he is pretty insignificant isn't he?"
He takes a 100 out of the stack.
"Look at me on my own.......the two don't stack up. It is the percieved value that Caedus has surrounded himself with, that he has hid behind. His reputation. My reputation.......in the end, I always come out on top."
He takes a more singles out, until he has about 100.
"I ended Jim Caedus in the blink of an eye, and I took away his perceived value."
He throws the wet singles on the ground, spraying them with the Lysol can. He lights a match and smiles wide as he drops it onto the bills.
"But look what he has left. The Jim Caedus stack is still much bigger than mine, isn't it? His perceived value is still much more to the naked eye.....his stock big enough to be listed on the Nasdaq. Truth is, my stack is now worth so much more.......I am the champion that XWF needs. I am the leader than XWF deserves. I am the currency, the lifeblood, the power source. I am the underdog. That is exactly how I want it to be......"
He laughs as he tosses the Caedus stack into the burning fire. Many of them flew up into the air with the slight breeze. They caught fire however......the flames nicking their edges and causing them to flutter down from the sky as nothing more than ash and melted ink. He laughed as the mini-comets rained around him. The Jim Caedus stack was burning, and soon, there would be nothing left.
The scene cuts as Washington's face melts away as the greenish white paper turned orange then black on an up close shot.
The bar was quiet, but there were enough people to stay open, despite the weather outside being less than desirable. A few girls sat in the corner, chattering among themselves. They each had a drink, something fruity and multi-colored. An older group of people sat on the other side, near the dart board, and were complaining about the music the group of girls put on the jukebox. The N word was used more frequently than it should ever be. One of the men had a MAGA pin. He hated these girls because they were young and their perceived value was one word, LIBERAL in capital letters. And those letters may as well be SATAN to a MAGA person.
The dance floor had booths around it, and there were people scattered between those and the tables in the restaurant section of the bar.
The inside of the bar was briefly illuminated (other than the obnoxious strobe lights they had on the dance floor area in an attempt to be cool), by the lights of a car coming into the parking lot a lot faster than it should have been. If you were to look out the window at that exact moment, you'd see it drift into the parking lot sideways, because, you know, that's the cool thing to do in the snow. The car couldn't have been newer of 2013, but it would look newer to ignorant people because of the spoiler on the back, the rims on it, and the license plate anchored to the side like a bad ass. Plus it was kept in pretty good shape.
Ignorant people are like a fart with no smell. What good is that?
The car skidded to a stop, almost toppling the concrete stopper because of the low profile tires failing to stop even after the brakes engaging. The car had a rumbling bass, obviously not factory, and a blue light coming from the inside. The doors opened and a cloud of smoke poured out, along with three guys in black bubble coats, jeans, FUBU boots (because Timberland is too expensive), and button down shirts. They all had their hair gelled the exact same way, and diamond (cubic zirconium) studs in their ears. They couldn't have been much older than 18 or 19. Maybe one was 21.
Behind the bar was a college aged girl. She was pretty, wearing a low cut top and tight jeans with too much makeup. Her hair was in a ponytail. Her face lit us as the three came in. The bar had been slow and she had pondered calling last call, but now she would wait a little longer. The three came in, and stood around the bar because they were too cool to sit in the chairs. They got glares from the old MAGA people, but did seem to, at least briefly, catch the attention of the young girls in the corner.
The young bartender did do her job by asking for the ID's of the three guys, and they provided them. She simply looked at a birth date, but didn't really inspect them. She asked what they wanted with a smile.
It was at that moment that the one in front, the obvious leader of the pack, reached into his bubble coat pocket. He pulled out a stack that had to be as wide as a softball, rubber band wrapped, with a $100 bill on the top (the most visible). The rest of the stack was one dollar bills. This caught the eye of the bartender as well as the girls at the end of the bar. They stopped their conversation with each other to look over. The perceived value of this douche just went up, simply because it looked like he had more money than he actually had. The guys, pack hunters, saw this subtle eye movement, and grabbed their drinks. They moved down towards where the girls were. This time they sat down, confident now because they knew the girls had an impression of them that favored them. These girls thought these guys were the shit, all because of some paper and some ink.
The night went on, and the bar stayed open, mostly because the guys kept buying drinks. Shots for the ladies, shots for them, anything the girls wanted. "Money wasn't an issue". Even the bartender was leaning on the bar, head on her hands, smiling and engaging in conversation with the group.
Finally, the normal last call time came and the bartender told them she would have to close up, and they needed to pay out their tabs. She said this with a smile and a hair flip. The guy, the alpha of the group, told her no problem. He pulled out this wad again, flipped past the hundred, and proceeded to count out the bills (all singles) out loud. He knew she wouldn't count them because she watched him do it, and she was enamored with him anyway. He paid the entire tab for the ladies in the corner as well. On the way out the bartender slipped him her number with a wink. The ladies in the corner left with them as well.
1 Hour Later
She was doing her close up paperwork, counting down the register and smiling to herself about the "good night" she had even though it was slow. She would surely get complimented for this. She thought to herself about the guys again, especially the one with the stack. She figured he would text her, she hoped.
As she was about to close up and lock the register drawer, something caught her eye. Something subtle, but it was enough to make her double take.
One of the faces on the bills didn't look right. She didn't know why, but something just seemed, off.
She pulled the bills out with a sigh, annoyed that her gut feeling would make her have to recount them, but when she held it up in the light her heart sank. She couldn't see through the bill. It was basically thin construction paper. She took out her marker in a rush, and started to mark the bills.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Every one of them was fake. A sweat broke out on her brow. She began to mark the bills with more tenacity each time.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Every single one. Tears rolled down her eyes as she dialed the police.
After what seemed like forever--seemed like hours of answering questions, describing the guys, explaining herself, the owner arriving, cops coming and going.....she lost her job. A night that she thought was going to be one of the best of her life as of late turned out to be her last in the industry.
She was fired, and she had to come up with the full tab amount that she caused the bar to lose out on. How could she ever come up with this much without a job?!
She couldn't.
A few weeks later, the pretty bartender hung herself in her studio apartment after her rent, car payment, heat and electric and cell phone bill all went overdue. All her money went towards the bar, court ordered. They found her a few days later.
The guys in the car were eventually caught as well. So cocky because of their trick working on the poor pretty bartender, they tried it at several more bars. Eventually, someone caught on. The three were arrested, the car impounded. The alpha was brought up on several counts of scamming and counterfeit charges. The other two were guilty by association, knowing he wasn't what he seemed but never saying a word. Playing along. Now they all faced jail time...........
And even worse, they knocked up the girls from the bar that night.
7 lives, and 3 potential ones, ruined because of perceived value. Never judge a book by its cover they say. Never take someone for how they seem because this world is a dark, cold, and above all, fake place.
Jim Caedus is house money. He is counterfeit paper, something that was the supposed ace in the hole for an over-cocky champion who feels like the world is in his palm because he holds a belt that was gifted to him. Jim Caedus is an insurance policy. Hell, Robert Main is facing Sebastian Duke this week. For real? He has had no real competition since the belt was awarded to him and finally Chris Chaos decided to call him out and he panicked. Jim Caedus, the forgotten face, the name that disappeared into the chapters of time, has been resurrected in a desperate attempt to make sure the champions stays put. Now Jim Caedus, the supposed brother and best friend of the greasy haired champion, was supposed to step in and win the fight for him while the champion cowers in the corner, getting lip stick marks on the belt he shouldn't have in the first place.
Jim Caedus is counterfeit. He is fake money, he is a tab being paid by someone with no real drive to earn it himself. A champion who has made a career of hiding behind his hired muscle. What has really changed? Well, besides the ring rust that Caedus is bound to have, nothing much. The Sasquatch of a man who is so feared was made human all those months ago by Chris Chaos, was brought down to mortal level, and was exposed. Jim Caedus can be rattled. You can get under his skin. He can make mistakes. The image he portrays is a facade.
Anytime you can make Jim Caedus look bad, and can prove how stupid he looks, he panicks. He begins to talk in circles and stuttering. He runs from one corner to the other like a trapped rat, with no place to go but the belly of the snake waiting for him. Jim Caedus is cocky, arrogant, chest puffing, and fake.
There is a fine line between confidence and disrespect.
But the only one Jim is disrespecting is the man who brought him back. He is disrespecting Robert Main by coming into this match with a chip on his shoulder. Coming into this match with something to prove. There is nothing left to prove for the big man.
He has already showed us his true colors.
Jim Caedus has only lost a handful of matches here, but if you look back at the ones who beat him, the formula is simple. Get in his head, get a jump on him early, and make him question himself. Its doable. It hasn't been done much but in the words of Kevin Garnett "Anything's Possible!"
Jim Caedus thinks that Chris Chaos is a pushover. Jim Caedus thinks that this match will be a walk in the park. Jim Caedus thinks that he has the upper hand. Jim Caedus is going to get hurt.
Jim Caedus has the public image, the perceived value, the top free agent title. He is the money man, the one everyone wanted to sign. He came back from the dead to handle unfinished business, but it would have been better off for him to stay dead. Jim Caedus is the big stack of money next to the small stack of money, but both stacks cost the same. Chris Chaos is big bills with the smaller image, while Caedus is nothing but the annoying stack of singles that people think they want until they have to count it themselves.
Jim Caedus is the girlfriend who used to be hot, but the age has caught up and you stay in the relationship because the sex is decent but mostly because you are afraid to be alone. You don't feel like you can get anything else. You would rather put up with the perceived value than go out and find real value. Jim Caedus is nothing but house money, nothing but a cash voucher, a lottery ticket that we play when we have nothing left to do but hope. Jim Caedus can't deliver anymore because he is already behind the 8 ball. The days of Apex are numbered, and Jim Caedus is loan that they hope can keep them afloat.
Jim Caedus is counterfeit, and his real value is finally going to be seen.
Nothing.
Jim Caedus is talented but you all treat him like a god. He is no different than anyone else. This time, you're going to judge a book by its cover once again and only be disappointed when it finally ends.
"So it looks like we are going to dance the tango once again, aren't we Jim? Although, this time, things are different, much different. This time, the tables are turned, this time the chips are in my favor. This time, you aren't the monsterish machine that is running roughshod over the roster, getting grease and A-1 sauce all over the place. Oh no, this time, you are nothing but an insurance policy. Robert Main knows he can't beat me, he knows his back is against the wall, and he knows he needs help. You're nothing but bail money at this point. Robert Main, for perhaps the first time ever, actually fears Chris Chaos. He knows what I did to AX3, he knows that when I put my mind to it, I can be the most diabolical force on this roster. He knows that there is a chance that, maybe, just maybe, I may beat him and take his title. So he wants to police the belt instead of being a fighting champion and giving me the shot, he ressurects the remains of everyone's favorite trailer park kid, who, I happen to be winless against. You've had my number for quite some time Jimmy, and I'll give that to you. I've beaten everyone there is to beat, except you. Well played by Main, a classic bitch move from a scared bitch. Well, now I have to bring it, don't I? I have to come out and perform like I have never performed before. You may think there is no pressure on you, Jim, that is is all on me. You're wrong. Imagine the big comeback, the big pop, the big reveal, only to fall short. Imagine coming back and being expected to run over my like you have so many times before, and not getting the job done. Imagine having everything resting on your shoulders, and all you have to do is win, but you fail to get the job done.
There is no pressure on me, because if I lose, I fade back into the shadows and live my life with Jenny, in my condo on the beach and my XWF paychecks continuing to roll in.
For you, this means so much more. You are nothing but the get out of jail free card, but you can only be used once. Now you know how I have felt for so long.
Now you know how it feels to be Chris Chaos.
To have everyone looking at you to get the job done. To have an entire group, and entire crowd, an entire company, with eyes on you in the biggest moment. Now you know how it feels to be the one who is fighting for pride, fighting for loyalty, fighting for the name you carry around. When you fall short, you will finally know how it feels to be Chris Chaos.
Big match after big match, most of them against you, I pushed you to the limit. I was right there at the end. I was on the edge of glory, but it slipped from my grasp. Each every time the pressure was on me. I made a habit out of losing the big match, and losing the big match to you.
I wasn't focused back then, Jim. I was too focused on my ego, I was too focused on power, I was too focused on what people thought of me. I, back then, just was expected to be the best, and when I wasn't, it threw me off my game. Truth is, I was stretched too thin. My feud with you, with the remaining members of the facade that was AX3, with my quest to get my title back, with the entire roster wanting my head on a stake. I felt I had something to prove. After you left, I had a TV title run, I was damn near undefeated, I was the face of the company with my girlfriend running the show on Saturday Nights. I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, without anyone getting in my way. Engy was the champion then, as you may know all too well Jim, and he did all he could to keep that title away from me. So I left. I left to get my head right. When I won the Hart Title from Mandii Rider, only to lose it a week later, I knew I had gotten in too deep. I needed to re-focus. My entire goal here was to take back the belt that I felt Reno, with the help of Vinnie Lane, took from me. STOLE from me. I had gotten away from that quest. I had fought too many other battles for too many other people. Now, I have ONE goal. MY Universal Title that Robert Main is currently got his grubby paws on. Have you seen what he has done to it? Its down right ugly now. It's a shame.
So now, Jim, YOU are the one who has to take out a focused, one tasked, driven Chris Chaos. This isn't the always-looking-over-his-shoulder Chris Chaos you've become accustomed to. This is the same Chris Chaos who came in, fresh faced, and beat Doc to advance to the the Elimination Chamber to earn my title match to begin with. This is a Chris Chaos with literally nothing to lose, a man with the ball in his court. Main thinks he has one upped me by making me play his little game but all he has done is but you in a position to get hurt. I no longer care about reputation, about what people may think, all I care about is my title. Win it, great. Lose it, and I'll be gone until Main isn't champion anymore.
......the fact is, there isn't anyone else on this roster who can beat Main besides me, and he knows that. So what does he do? He panicks. He brings you back, the only OTHER person now on the roster who can beat him. Good fucking move, Omega. Check mate. What is supposed to happen, Jimmy? You are supposed to make some dramatic comeback...beat me....then sit in the shadows of the man you helped put on the map? You're supposed to sit there and kiss the feet of a man who is only the champion because you aren't here anymore? You're supposed to be the errand boy. Since when, Jim? Lets say you do beat me, this entire plan is going to implode on itself and I am going to sit back and watch it happen, and enjoy it. I mean, him and Drew spent an entire promo beating the shit out of you........now you are going to forget all that happened? For him of all people? The one who rage quit when he didn't get his way and left you to fend for yourself? I thought Jimmy C had bigger balls than that.
I guess not.
But you won't beat me. Not this time. You are going to be dropped right back to obscurity, right back to the discount rack, and Chris Chaos is going to dismantle your own creation while you do nothing but watch and wonder what could have been.
You're a fighting champion, Jim, but you have been brainwashed by Main. You know, the irrelevant member of AX3, the member of that group who was only in it because he sucked enough dick to keep you and Graves satisfied. You're letting him play you like a fool, and I love it.
Jim I have changed. I have had time off to better myself. My approach is different now, and my mind state is as dark as it has ever been. Evil enough to do anything I need to do---and you thought I was an evil bastard before. Pssht.
But have you changed, Jim? I am anxious to see that. Is this a different Jim Caedus or is this going to be the same old dick swinging contest of who can use more four letter words and call each other a goat-fucking-hillbilly-clownass-cuck? Are you going to stumble through promo's with your might be from Kentucky, might be from Alabama but either way didn't pass 3rd grade style or are you going to change it up? Are you going to represent Long Beach the right way, or are you going to further slap California educational standards in the jaw? Are you going to come at me with the PBR, cousin fucking, couch on the front lawn, lip fulla chaw, lifted truck, overalls in the winter approach or is this a new Jim Caedus? I guess we will see, won't we. Damn right we will.
How does it be to be a three dollar bill Jim? Cool to look at, a novelty, one of a kind, but not worth shit. That is all you've become Jim. Do you think this helps your legacy? Do you think this makes you better than before you left? If anything, it diminishes you. This isn't Jim Caedus doing whatever the hell Jim Caedus wants to do, this is pandering to the lowest common denominator. This is Jim Caedus kissing ass up to corporate ladder in order to perhaps get a shot to matter to someone again in the future. Nobody wants me to hold this belt Jim, nobody wants Chris Chaos at the top, so if you get the job done you'll get the pat on the back, the good boy baby talk, maybe even some wet food, but then you'll go back to being an afterthought. The XWF has moved on, it is a new era. Shit, the days you and I remember are gone. New talent, new faces emerging, new promo styles. The battles you and I had are looked up on YouTube and regarded as the "old days", and the feud we had all but forgotten except by a select few. Your little comeback, the mind games, arriving at Warfare to confront me in person, it is all for naught. You see, Jim, if APEX wanted me taken out they would have done it. You're nothing but a robot who is given his marching orders. You could have easily taken me out, put me on the shelf and gotten your revenge, hell you were 5 feet from me. But you didn't. Apex didn't. This isn't about taking out Chris Chaos, this isn't about the hatred that I KNOW you and I both share. This is about the limelight. This is about the ratings. You guys want this to happen on Warfare because you want a national television audience to see you put me away once and for good, just like a national television audience watched you burn alive in that car. Jim you don't want to get revenge, you just want people to care again. You want to hear the crowd, you need them to get the juices going. You want to have some validation to back you up. DVR. You aren't Jim Caedus anymore, at least not the Jim Caedus I know. You're nothing but a showman, a pawn, a circus act, a reality TV star. After Warfare, you're nothing but a trophy, a signature piece that I have an nobody else does. You are a memory, nothing more. Jim, I am going to finally erase you.
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