-Lakewood CA, Late May 1993-



He knocks over my stack of pogs mid-game. Strike that. "Knocks" isn't accurate. Kicks. He _kicks_ over my stack of pogs. Black kid...must be over 6 foot 'cause he positively towers over my 7th grade 5 foot plus.

Dave Black and Matt Bogosian gather their own pogs into tall plastic tubes and stand. I WANT to gather mine from the asphalt but I won't. Ever. They've been destroyed as far as I'm concerned. I stand as well, only then noticing this piece o' shit has two black friends with him. One looks old enough to be an actual high schooler but can't be...junior and senior high school lunches take place at separate times. The other is probably my exact height and weight. All three are dressed like the bangers I've been noticing growing more prevalent back home in Long Beach: chains, baggy clothing, sagged pants/shorts, lengthy belts pulled tight with long unlooped ends hanging from the buckles...very unusual to see at Mayfair. Most of those knuckleheads I knew and they'd known me since my family moved into Northwest Long Beach from the more financially stable west side in '88. These three...never seen 'em before in my life. I bow up.

"Why'd you do that, jerk!?"

I catch myself sounding less confident and cool than I'd like. My bow up retracts.

"He said jerk? _This_ nigga. Lil' white ass bitch." The trio laugh. That makes me mad. This is my first ever real confrontation. I'm on edge and afraid of the worst that could happen...but I don't care.

"It was jerk-off, 'cause you and your friends are gay."

Meh. Better...but that was still lame. I'll have to work on my shit talk. Still, it seemed to rile Boyz II Men up as they all snap from laughter to gettin' in my face. Cursing, threatening, showering me with spit while they do it. The tallest pushes me.

"Fuck you said lil' white boy!?"

Ok, I definitely don't want this to go any further. Dave and Matt aren't doin' a damn thing but standing by silent and afraid. Still I can't help but push back like a smaller smartass would.

"I said, gotta take my jacket off, it's getting real hot today."

The trio frown in confusion, I'm not sure whether they literally hadn't heard me the first time and just reacted to my speaking at all or if they DID hear and were just unaccustomed, unprepared, to deal with that response. Dave Black laughs behind me. The trio take that as I've fucked with them in some way they don't fully understand, and I guess I was.

The main antagonist moves to step forward but the shortest of the three bars his path with an arm and steps forward himself.

"Nah cu', lemme handle this punk muthafucka."

"Yeah, you _should_ nigga. Earn yo' spot, cu'," the tallest responds.

Oh ok, I get it.

"Jimmy, let's go," Dave Black offers. I heartily agree and my smaller, meeker trio turns to walk away.

It isn't until about 100 paces, passing between the west side of the gym and the east side of the weight room heading towards the field seeking peace and quiet that it becomes apparent the tallest and smallest of the ghetto trio have followed us.

"'Ey muthafucka, come 'ere," shorty orders. Both Dave and Matt peel away from my flanks and stop as I continue with the duo in brisk walk pursuit. Less than a month before summer vacation, can't we all just get along?

"Leave me alone," I reply, a feeling of dread overwhelming me.

This wasn't going to end well. I can't escape through denial of confrontation and I'm not willing to run. I make it around the back of the gym building onto the grass field before shorty speed walks up, removes his backpack and swings it into my side and shoulder...hard.

"Come on muthafucka! I'll FUCK you up!"

Fear, hesitation...anger over humiliation and physical violation has booted them right out the window.

I'd earned my purple belt (third degree for my discipline) in Shizukana-do during a competition in Cerritos over the weekend and that test had included sparring for points. Sensei Jerome Walczak always told us never to use what we learned in class outside unless it was for self defense. This is it.

"Alright-," I respond with a tone of "I tried to warn you", hastily removing my own backpack which I drop to the field.

"Hell yeah, GET 'IM nigga!"

I raise my fists in perfect position for both deflecting and connecting shots and begin bouncing my weight back and forth from forward right foot and rear left.

Shorty raises his fists.

I move in...

TBC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Black Man Will Blush"




-Thursday May 11 2017, 8:42 PM EST-

-Harriman's Virginia Piedmont Grill, Miiddleton, VA-


Just over the eastern border of West Virginia in Middleton, VA I rouse from my musings at the shriek of some bitch out of my camera's frame, apparently because her early 30s, drunk, trust-fund boyfriend or gold-digger fodder booty call tipped his or her glass of wine into her lap, perhaps after reaching for the salt.

I glance over then return my attention to the unfinished feast before me, a moist and succulent piece of partially consumed Angus beef filet with asparagus and Castelvetrano olive pestou enticing my appetite and focus on feeding to return.

Using my fork and knife I slice into the perfectly prepared meat, delivering the savory slab to it's final destination with a stop over in acid town.

I chew.

I swallow.

I raise my glass of milk to my lips and drink.

I pop an asparagus spear into my mouth and devour.

Another gulp of milk.

I do so love these dining experiences, having spent what felt like a lifetime in poverty and worse, my time spent homeless living out of that piece o' shit Explorer. The commotion at table 3 has quelled...I relish the ambience of silverware contacting plates, wine glasses clinking, the buzz of now polite volume controlled conversation; virtually the same in every fine dining establishment across the nation but it never gets old to me.

I look to my phone sat at an angle, video camera at the ready. XWF drones and camera crews have been a welcome change of pace, much as I hate to admit it...but I am fond of returning to the simplicity of my smart phone when alternative options become less practical. And right now...promo is a priority.

I've allowed my new hectic schedule as Universal Champion, my gained obligations, to distract me from my normal level of airplay long enough. I'd barely defeated Gilly, now I face TRAX...if I'm to survive my second encounter with one of the toughest competitors I'd ever faced in 21 years, if I'm to truly continue my reign as Uni Champ, I MUST be on my A-game. Groupies and local pieces of ass had been dominating a much larger chunk of my free time than I should've allowed. What's important to me is my new career, not some sudden revenge trip I'd been on since going through my late wife Holly's smart phone to discover hardcore infidelity after it had finally been delivered to my new address along with the rest of her belongings that had been seized (the night of the fire that claimed her and our daughter's life late last year) for the investigation. Pussy must play second fiddle to my aspirations and current success. I refuse to give up what I worked so hard to attain.

TRAX has been running his trap long enough...now it's my turn...

I reach with my right index finger and press the red record touchscreen circle...

"Actions speak louder than words; a popular proverb tossed around as often as the cliché colloquialism "I wasn't born yesterday"...and despite the trite nature of both, both most certainly apply _here_ and _now_.

TRAX gets it, he recognizes something's amiss and is aware as well his appearing to associate with Ax3 has led to a dubious booking against me. The truth, though, my nig...feel free to call me that too by the way...is you've got the subject slightly skewed. Look at it from my perspective...

Doc D'Ville and The Kings are outspoken on the pushed pathetic propaganda that they fear no one and, in fact, claim WE are all afraid of THEM." I can feel the amusement creep across my lips, relaxing the usual angry edge to my eyes. "I know, ludicrous, right? I admit, I haven't been too keen on facing Doc in the past. However, now that I've been thrust into battle with that bitch and his has-been buttfucker brigade, after I so easily backhanded he, Theo Pryce and Samuels in the halls with nothin' more than what I claim: the pertained same game that attained me fame, I find them to be less inducing of hesitance and more akin to a challenge the likes of which I'd adore takin' on. Names not only worthy of adding to a tally sheet...weighty names capable of completely comprising one alongside such illustrious handles as some I've been collecting over the past months. This is a point Doc and The Kings understand...just as they know a man like me and those I surround myself with in Ax3 are quite capable of adding their representative notches to our belts. You and I, TRAX...we're dangerous. We stand as a threat of breakin' up the circle-jerk The Kings currently got cookin'. They don't like that. You know why they immediately began criticizing and condemning your actions, insulting you? It scares them to think you've thrown your hat in with us. Period. That's also why you and I are now set to spend what could very well be an Iron Man Match length bout forcing us to seek the win without the aid of finishers. They wanna drive a wedge between us, bro, they wanna try and sever that competitorial connection the two of us have. They wanna turn our mutual respect for one another into hatred. They wanna tire us out before High Stakes II, TRAX, hoping you'll fall to D'Ville and I'll lose my Universal Championship if I manage to retain at Warfare following this coming. The two of us beatin' the piss outta one another kills two birds with one cowardly, curmudgeonly kidney stone and it ain't just about "doing their work for them", it's about divide and conquer. While the words of The Kings would lead all to believe they're here to usurp the New Era and sink my flagship ass along with Ax3, their actions in stealing the tag titles, snatching 50% control, swerving Chaos and Graves, firing Micheal, THIS match...they all speak to a different tone: sabotaging out of fear of being silenced and struck down by the talent of today they so thoroughly despise. We'll hafta show 'em this kinda horseshit won't do a thing but give two titans a workout and the fans one helluva fight. Of course, as they know full well, neither of us is gonna give away the win...and of course...you and I have a full week's worth o' word warfare to wade through first and you're already 2 deep in promo. Let's set the record straight, shall we?

I suppose we can start off with the fact that the whole actions and words shit surely ain't stoppin' with Doc and The Kings...it continues with you, dawg. It's apparent in the way _you_ so "overzealously" ran down to ringside to "rescue" Ax3 and inject yourself into the feud, shaking my hand, before perpetrating the same pitiful pussy act you pulled in the weeks leading up to the Lottery finals. You recall choosin' Dolly to be afraid of, more or less teamin' up with her to push points of paranoia and tin foil mad-hattery? Naturally you never, and WOULD never, describe what you did as indicative of fear, just as you'll deny displaying so strong and effectively an urge to, and I quote, "make a statement" to The Kings by "coming to the rescue of Ax3" only to so desperately declare you ain't involved as soon as the ol' hacks started barkin' at you doesn't constitute fear of being lumped in with us in pursuit of avoiding their full, unbridled wrath in context. In short, you wanna look like you're tough and milk off the attention of a high profile stable feud like a ho in a multiple glory hole cubicle. However, like that ho, you want no part of the real nitty gritty beyond the safety of your partitions. You're a wannabe talkin' shit, squabbin' it out in a lil' altercation but as soon as the shells start spittin' you're teleportin' the fuck outta there, which is ironic with your bullet proof energy shield...oh and the fact you're black, from Brooklyn and the "wrong side of the tracks". A word to the unwise: you may claim to be a lone wolf, just as I have in the past...but no lone wolf can stand against a pack. The whole "one man army" role has always been a cute selling point for the Goldbergesque phony in fantasy but in the real world, you get six bodies on your ass at once, consider it a closed casket conclusion. I say all this outta concern, cu', not criticism, because when the shit hits the fan, and it will...anyone not enlisted one way or another will find themselves royally fucked. This war isn't simply for straps, TRAX, it's about the XWF itself...or haven't you been paying attention...again? Shit, people think I've been scarce lately, and truth be told, the schedule IS a helluva lot more hectic with the Uni Title around your waist, but I always keep an eye on the developments around me. Even if I wasn't, it's vexing to consider remaining somehow ignorant of The Kings' antics as of late.

Speaking of which, no one needs to tell Ax3, least of all myself, how to take down a stable. "Take out the leader" you say? Fuck is this, a dramatic penal film epic? Fuckin' American Me? We gonna see Olmos get shanked and dropped, lunar surface cheeks and all, from the second tier? You really think pinning Doc would send 'em scurryin' like roaches in fresh light? My nig...you don't crush a rebellion by takin' out the leader, you massacre the entire motherfuckin' formation. Kinda like if you kill a man, you make sure to merc any offspring to avoid the cycle of revenge. Kill 'em all, that's how you snuff the subversive. As for Doc...I, not you, will be the one introducin' 'is ass to a new era reamin' much like I'll be, and don't take it personally, havin' my hand raised in victory at the end of our Frienemies Match next Wednesday and it ain't gonna matter what you call me.

You have a problem with "Big Dick Daddy"? A: It doesn't imply a huge cock, I don't talk about my cock size with the exception of my using the whole baby dick setup as a lure to entice earlier opponents to piss me off in promo. It implies _I'm_ a big dick, which I am, despite my cordial backstage nature. It also pays homage to one of my personal inspirations in this business, Big Daddy Cool. B: That line about "people who say they have big dicks usually don't got 'em" is fuckin' . We're not talkin' 'bout "mums the word on murder" concept, we're talkin' 'bout the male pride. You honestly tryin' to say dudes with big dicks don't brag, givin' silly sluts they see out in the world, after a card or perhaps, say, on Fuck-Buddies.com, the invitation to dare them to prove it? Can't just do what you black folk do, dash up to white women, pull out your pecker and rape your way onto the evening news. The slightest amount of gameplay is required, at least, if you look like me, and once they have that furious fuckstick in their face it's ballsdeep or AND bust. Anyway, it's an accurate nickname...and at least I ain't doin' somethin' sophomoric and staggeringly AOL-chat-era irritating like, off the top o' my head, bein' some dipshit spellin' 'is name in all caps. Hey TRAX, why the fuck are you starting discussions on phallic related subjects anyway, ?

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_that's_ what you should be focusing on; not The Kings, not Doc nor High Stakes II, hell, not even Ax3...just Jim Caedus. Me. It's nice to know you've insulted me by stating you've got a chip on your shoulder over my victory at Lethal Lottery IV, much like, I'm sure, many others I've survived. Whatever you do, bro, DON'T give me any credit for taking you and Dolly out at the same time by spectacularly hurlin' that-which-engorges-Graves at your black ass like a javelin so as to acend the ladder and secure the 24/7 Briefcase. You say you made the mistake of overlooking and underestimating me the first time around yet here you are doin' it again. You have a real problem breakin' outta bad habits and cycles, superfly...if I was able to fight two talents of your and Dolly's magnitude off what makes you think I can't bring it to you alone, asshole? A bit assbackwards, don'tcha think? True, there was no pin...but it wasn't a matter of a chain involving one of you taking out the other before I took the victor out, this was me knockin' the both of you outta the way simultaneously while Dolly was attackin' me and YOU were about to join in. You speak of "you ain't better than me PERIOD, no way" in the wake of my accomplishment and your shortcomings? Denial serves no purpose but to set up for disappointment, dickhead, and right about now you've dropped trou', spread your ashy asscheeks and begged to discover just HOW big of a dick Daddy Caedus has that he AIN'T been talkin' about. I'm not saying I AM better than you, PERIOD, mind you....anyone has the ability to beat anyone in the XWF...what I'm sayin' is I'm pretty goddamn good at what I do, I've become adept at drowning the underdog label, I'm the XWF UNIVERSAL CHAMPION and when it comes to my factor of "replay value", so to speak, I stand proudly on a record of...let's see...5 wins and zero losses with The Kings' cowboy comedian representing two of the five and the new two-time TV title holder Thomas Nixon, Nate Higgers and a Waters thrown in for good measure. Are they TRAX, before you say it? No they aren't...TRAX is the guy already lost once in a match with me who should be fearing a repeat.

"Do I think I'm ready for TRAX 1-on-1?" Do YOU think you're ready for ME 1-on-1? I don't give a shit if you're leadin' me in airplay, I'll catch up and don't you doubt it. You know damn well what I can do just as I know your capabilities, cocksucker, don't get cute. Kinda hard to intimidate me when I've already faced you AND managed to emerge victorious with DOLLY WATERS in the mix, don'tcha think? In fact, fuck the thinkin' do-rag, that's right, I brought it back, and strap on the sickle cell skull saver, stupid, I'm seekin' to smash melons like that gayrod Gallagher until the point is literally hammered home and the apron overflows with crimson and curly hair like a sheddin' pussy on PMS.

You're wasting your time and mine waxin' on about conspiracy you "tin foil" hatted hack. What? When I see signs of foul play it's "crazy" but you're allowed to smell a rat and you ain't nuts? The reasons behind this match are as I described earlier; no more, no less. Ain't no one from Ax3 gonna interfere unless the uppity black man in you feels the need to get jumped in, ya ghetto bastard. As for The Kings...they don't have the balls. Like you said, the two of us make just as good a team as we do opponents and beyond that...I'm the "Star Killer" Jim Caedus. I've been pretty reserved thus far, playfully pimp slappin' Pryce, John and Doc...successfully I might add...they don't wanna truly piss me off. No one wants to piss me off. Don't come at me anymore with accusations of Ax3 interference, "I can count the times I've been pinned clean on one hand" and that "needin' eyes in the back o' your head" horseshit, don't start gearin' up for an excuse if you lose. Reno was a case of poetic justice you could say...other than that, I have no precedent for drawin' on shady tactics to win and for all I know, somethin' could go awry in my game and cost me in the end. Anything can happen in the XWF, anyone can be beaten...but I sure as hell am gonna be gunnin' for that W and I've got the cred to back it up. Anyway, fuck The Kings, with ME your ass could be covered head to toe with eyes like a burnt-fried fuckin' potato, see ME comin' or not I'll still kick that colon so hard I'll separate spirit from flesh like Stephen Strange and astral-asshole projection, sendin' it a week and a half into the future so you can attend your own motherfuckin' funeral services, bitch.

Don't bother advising me not to overlook you, if you beat me it won't be because I failed to comprehend the competition. I know very well who you are: the guy who seems to have a problem grasping the notion that anyone could be better than him, hands down. Granted, many of us believe that personally about ourselves but few of us walk around broadcasting it for fear of looking like an imbecile sayin' he's gonna win the Lethal Lottery then walkin' out empty handed. I'm confident, you're overly so. You called Ax3 overzealous in your first promo...well if that ain't the black callin' the black black. Take a look in the fuckin' mirror, wiseass, how many defeats have you flapped those prehensile primate lips into in the past? Ever think it was time you started exercising a bit of caution? Goddamn black people...couldn't spell humility if Jesus 'imself was holdin' up a cue card. If you beat me, barring any "exterior manipulation" you suspect, I won't be surprised, TRAX. You're a beast in that ring, like me. Ain't no asskicker predator in the wild without it's own set o' battle scars, I've already got one of my own. YOU on the other hand, the man who when it suits him states that "a wins a win" then tosses around statistics of "dirty losses", would seem to be the type to claim anything OTHER than a clean LOSS at every convenience. There's always somethin' isn't there? Did I whine about my bro Robert Main using the ropes to pin me? Ever? No. He beat me. He was better. That's it. Skill can't be contingent on control, it requires the reality of the random, thinking on your feet and whatnot. I've ever survived and succeeded despite dirty dicking and I've been the victim of said as well. No one splits lists and tallies into clean and dirty columns but those who refuse to see the truth. Unless those "dirty losses" o' yours all include an asterisk attributing loss to numbers of 3 or more you're nothin' but deluded. If you couldn't get the job done that's all there is to it. Own it. Don't you worry about my stamina, either. I'll fill mouths, shaven cunts and anal cavities all day and night 'til my balls are drained and keep chuggin' at painfully swollen full-mast. It ain't nothin' but stayin' horny motherfucker and true competition always has me at diamond-cutter stiffness. This "next time" you're predicting will only turn out rougher...the more numb I get, the longer I'll outlast you to orifice bleeding climax. Now imagine just how long I'll be poundin' that pissant ass in our Frienemies Match to arrive at that point of "I'm a pornstar" status. Oh I know you'll give as much as you'll take, I have pictures of my wounds and extensive bruising on skin surface alone following that Triple Threat Ladder Match to prove it. Like I said, I ain't overlooking you...and you may just pull off an upset, yes TRAX an UPSET, I'm the fuckin' XWF Uni Champ for fucksake, but the undeniable truth is this: I've proven time and again I've the will to accomplish everything from the unlikely to the impossible...and no matter what might slow me down temporarily, nothing short of a death that sticks will ever stop me. Two lives down...still mashin'. That ain't arrogance, that's fact.

Arrogance, by the way? Cocky? Arrogance maybe...a little. But cocky? I love how shit around here is purely black and white; if I'm not uncertain, I'm suddenly cocky. What am I missing here? Far as I can tell, I'm still the same douche with nothing more than a noticeable raise in confidence and why shouldn't it be that way? Fuck do you expect, me to continue wondering if I truly have what it takes to become the Universal Champion AS the Universal Champion? Don't make much sense, does it? I'm not about to second guess myself when for the first time in my professional career I've reached the pinnacle, and in the pinnacle promotion no less. I'm gonna believe in myself, TRAX, not commit self-sabotage. That ok with you? The nicknames, bro? 100% inspired by fans and friends. Did you not hear the ribbing I received at the House Show? "Winner...Jim "I Need a Nickname" Caedus!!!" You give the people what they want, especially when you represent the company they spend money on. It ain't like I was runnin' around hypin' myself WITHOUT the Universal strap like a certain sack o' supreme ego callin' 'imself "Mr. F'n _Dominance_", dipshit. You're projecting, what you're accusing me of is more aptly applied to you. You "THOUGHT you were untouchable until you lost the Uni title"? Goldfish memory havin' motherfucker, did you forget you lost it the moment you left the ring, 'cause you ain't lost a step with that punkass peacockin' far as I've seen. I've NEVER seen another you, TRAX, you've always been like this. The kinda guy claimin' he saved my ass when I actually saved myself. Check the tape, twat, I rolled outta the ring before Doc did any real damage, before he could hit the Lobotomy, and before you'd arrived. Get your facts straight, "sucka". That bank shit...that all came about because I was teamed with you, my nig, you know that. I had a man with superpowers fightin' crime as a tag partner, I was in a bad place, needing to prove to my lost loved ones that I was worth a damn. I accomplished that by snagging the Universal Championship, trying to use that against me now is laughable...like bein' so _cocky_ towards the man who led you to advancement in the tournament _following_ that bank heist and ALSO ended up walkin' outta the finals with the briefcase. You deserve a gold medal alright, for the 100 Meter Dash Off A Cliff in the Special Olympics; your arguing points are droppin' like shitbombs from Graves's carrier pigeon. You ain't gonna be "humbling me" either, ass, that's a hefty heapin' helpin' o' crow you're gonna hafta choke down yourself, win OR lose Wednesday. Meanwhile, I'll continue dining on the finest cuisine each XWF destination has to offer and persist to sup on a spread of victory I've earned through drive, skill and determination. Sorry, TRAX, but no coloreds allowed on this asshole's route to XWF Legendary. I refuse to let myself become stagnant and self-destruct when I've already accomplished so much. All the hell I've suffered throughout life, whether self-inflicted or outta my control...I will NEVER allow that to happen again, EVER. This is MY time, TRAX, not yours and not anyone else's for that matter, I don't give a fuck HOW long the list is for contenders, bring 'em all on! You can see how a talent like yours re-energizes me, bro, they can ALL see it. Let them come, with great talent in opponents comes my ability to amp up in response. Catch-22 Caedus. You should've recognized that in our Triple Threat Match, moron, when I had to keep up with AND surpass you and Dolly Waters.

Unfortunately...you ARE TRAX and that means in one ear and out the other. Fine by me. No finishers means I'll hafta get extra cruel with it, you're bound to learn a lesson this time around. You claim you don't need finishers...my nig, you ain't known for non-finishing maneuvers and trademarks, I am. Wrexus Plexus may as well be a finisher, it caved in Scott Steiner's chest, it'll do just as well against you. My Purgatory Punch? Yeah, used that one to win many a match in the past, including here in the XWF. How 'bout my stiff headbutt? You really think _I_ need finishers, fuck-o? I'm known for outlasting opponents already, I can deal with havin' to pile on the pulverizing punishment and completely draw every ounce of struggle outta you for a pin, knockout or submission. I don't need to kill you, just beat you down until you can't take any more. Fuck a Frienemies Match. I'm Jim Caedus. "Big Dick Daddy". The "Star Killer". You can say you have what it takes to beat me all day. I can say...I beat Nate fuckin' Higgers down with a smaller adult male. The fuck you think I'm gonna do to make sure I put YOU down for the SECOND time?"
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This ain't over yet, TRAX. #2 is incoming...