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Jim Caedus App
Author Message
JimCaedus Offline
Trash Talker Skywalker

XWF FanBase:

(loved by some; hated by some; dips between clean/dirty)

12-20-2016, 04:47 PM

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In-Ring Name:
Jim Caedus

Wrestler's Real Name: James O'Connor

New to XWF or a returning roster member?: New

Wrestler Date of Birth: 2/12/1980 (age 41)

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 227lbs

Hometown: Long Beach, CA/Billed from Naples Island, Long Beach, CA

Personality: Honest and true to his opinions through speech but as a heel prone to shady actions to achieve his short and long term goals. Jim maintained a strong and true sense of spirituality, honor and justice until a build-up of traumatic experiences warped his views. A man who used to make friends easily and strike up conversations with strangers now alienates and suspects, ready to respond with lethal force at the drop of a hat, possessing a very touchy gauge in context with what translates as disrespect. "Stubborn" isn't apt enough to describe his will and neither is "obsess". "Love" and "hate" pale in comparison to how Jim loves and how Jim hates and so do the words "despise" and, again, "obsess". "Grudge" is a silly word better applied to a horror film. To Jim, "V for Vendetta" comes closer to the mark. A lifelong problem with his inherited Irish temper mixes quite well with his once-latent-and-easily-stifled-now-present-and-easily-riled psychotic thoughts and tendencies, though Jim's pride, high intelligence, self awareness and crafty nature prevent him from truly psychotic behavior (at least in public) and consequently would also prevent him from pleading insanity in court should it become prudent. Strangers say he makes them feel uncomfortable and on edge. Close relatives say he makes them feel uncomfortable and on edge. Jim's mother would say he's a caring, cute, sweet, smart boy with tons of talent and potential but Jim's ex-girlfriends' mothers would say he's a vapid, crazy, sadistic, creep with tons of temper and potential for prison time. Then his face turn happened, now Jim can best be SELF-described as a superhero, others would call him a vigilante.


Stable: [Image: EXIHzku.gif]

Looks Description: Short and muscular with long blonde hair, full beard and empty blue eyes. He has no tattoos, for reasons of necessity, but he does have scars: a 40° angle 2" slash between his eyebrows and a vertical surgical scar running from right knee to the first few inches of the top of his right foot as well as dual inch and a half ovoid frontal exit wounds midway down the shin left of the scar and the smaller entrance wounds on the back of the calf, right rear side.

Ethnicity: Irish-German American

Pic Base: Hangman Adam Page


Strengths: 1-A mental force of will and focus that defies all obstacles.

2-A level of biological toughness that has allowed Jim to survive anything that has come his way including a very real ambush murder attempt having no relation to wrestling by a man standing 6'9" and weighing 380 lbs.


Weaknesses: 1-A temper that can turn Jim from cool to crazy in a heartbeat and get him into legitimate trouble.

2-Trust. Going against the grain of his history with being stabbed in the back, Jim seems to have finally flipped that coin and now can be trusting to a fault, seeing potential good in most people, with few notable exceptions. This now raises vulnerability via betrayal once more. However, the horizon on stables and tag teaming with Jim has been raised to not only dependable but loyal af.

3-A very dark side. Coupled with his temper this is both by precedent and theory what has and can lead to Jim getting himself into trouble.

Solo Entrance Video:

NON-PPV SOLO ENTRANCE: The now familiar opening notes to "Ready Steady Go" by Paul Oakenfold begin to blast from the PA moments before the ring announcer plugs. The fans erupt. As the spiel is unloaded the lights cut, plunging the arena in darkness before silver strobes begin to flash and silver spotlights begin to continuously wave from along the length of the entrance walkway to the crowd and back.

Obviously practiced and well-timed, the moment the announcer finishes, "ready, steady, g-g-go!" is let fly by the song's vocalist and silver pyro erupts from the egress. Before the cloud of smoke dissipates, Jim Caedus emerges as the house lights come up. His hair hangs freely, bandanna covering the majority of his face, his eyes absent of emotion as he surveys the crowd of cheering APEX and/or Caedus marks and smarks as well as the BoBliophiles shouting insults, Fuck You and booing.

As the music continues he turns his attention to the ring and it's inhabitant(s) before advancing forward while carefully gathering his long blonde hair into a secured samurai-style bun. At ringside he removes his bandanna and scales the steps, ascending to the apron and stepping through the ropes into battle.


(w/Drew Archyle) Double-Tap:

(w/Robert Main) Riders on the Storm:

5 or More Commonly Used, Standard Moves: Basic 15 Moveset:
-machine gun right, left, right punch combo sometimes ending with a "Purgatory Punch"
-alternating kicks/stomps to the body and head
-hard clothesline
-snap suplex
-release German suplex
-overhead belly to belly suplex
-half-nelson suplex
-T-bone suplex
-jumping piledriver
-snap DDT
-tilt-o-whirl back breaker
-reverse STO
-counter leg sweep or drag off various kicks/punch counter catch and shoulder toss
-counter ground guillotine choke with body lock off spear

Trademark Move(s): 1-"Wrexus Plexus"

2-"Equal Ground"

3-"Purgatory Punch"

4-"Point Blank"

Description(s): "Wrexus Plexus" (lung punishing, debilitating yakuza kick to the solar plexus usually employed as a set-up to "Katabasis")

"Equal Ground" (stiff standing or jumping roundhouse kick usually employed as a set-up to "Hold Your Breath")

"Purgatory Punch" (an extremely swift and powerful lefthanded spinning back fist Jim Caedus has become surgical with and is quite fond of using without warning in almost any situation) (has been known to KO opponents)

"Point Blank" (stiff swift headbutt counter or shocker first strike intended to break the opponent's nose)

Team Trademark Combos (under construction): see APEX roster page

Finishing Move(s): 1-"Katabasis"

2-"Nail Driver"

3-"HYB" (Hold Your Breath)

Description(s): 1-"Katabasis" (Kenta Kobashi styled Burning Hammer)

2-"Nail Driver" (Half-nelson Wheelbarrow Driver, can be held for the pin)

3-"Hold Your Breath" or "H.Y.B" (body lock rear naked choke)

Team Finishers (under construction)

Tag: -Riders on the Storm (Main/Caedus): See APEX Roster Page
- (Drew/Caedus)

Favorite Hardcore Attacks/Spots: 1- Pepper spray

2- Jim will target genitals, throats, eyes and noses.

Additional notes: Sample RP

::I awake and open my eyes...and I'm staring up into a cloudless blue sky::

Around one in the afternoon, I think to myself using one of the more elementary Boy Scout skills I'd acquired in my teens.

::I raise my head and it's then that I notice I'm lying on concrete::

Why would I fall asleep on concrete, I ponder silently? I don't do any drugs that would make me just pass the fuck out. And in the middle of the day no less.

::My immediate surroundings suddenly seem alarmingly tall in my periphery, giving me the impression of what it must feel like to be a small animal. I sit up and I realize I've been lying in what appears to be a familiar alleyway. I'm very confused::

Why the fuck would I fall asleep in an _alley_?

::My confusion is one hundred percent sincere with no hints of suspicion or precedent. I don't feel anything other than that until I start to feel stupidity and embarrassment for lying here so I stand up. I follow through with a nice big stretch and yawn and I notice the word "stiff" in all caps written in-

I don't know...weird, darkening, definitely not primary-red paint?

-on the pale yellow brick wall beside me. I find myself wondering why a Piru nicknamed Stiff would venture into the Crip capital of California, Long Beach City, to hit up a wall in broad daylight. Then I wonder how he got the nickname Stiff::

Whatever, I should get home.

::I start walking::

Beautiful day.

::Halfway down Butler Avenue a car passes by going the opposite way and the driver, a very attractive Hispanic girl around my age, can't stop staring at me. Like I'm delicious::

So are you girl.

::We both crane our necks to keep staring, I actually turn around grinning in the end, until we're both out of naked eye view::

Goddamn. Fine as fuck. I hope she lives around here...

::A second car passes whilst I'm about three hundred feet from the Butler and Artesia 710 overpass intersection. Again, two eyes flat-out staring me down. Like I'm being studied. Except...::

That's a fuckin' thirty to forty somethin' year old white dude. The fuck?

::I remember the statistic I'd read somewhere not that long ago, probably online, citing Long Beach as having a fairly large homosexual population. I'd seen two unquestionably murderous Boulevard Crips fondling eachother's nuts before in Eddie's Jr. Market up there on the right so I guess it's not _that_ surprising::

I _am_ hot as a flamin' bag 'a dogshit.

::It becomes readily apparent that really I'm just an idiot when I cross the Butler and Artesia intersection. Seven cars, multiple occupants of varying race, gender and age all with amazed, slack jawed gazes aimed at me. I check myself over, nothing amiss::

The fuck? Is there somethin' on my face?

::So as not to call any further attention to myself I just lower my head and continue on. Home is close now, two minutes tops::

"Hi Jimmy!"

::My neighbor Julie, the resident rescuer of stray dog and cat alike and currently sitting on a population of nine large backyard hounds and fourteen indoor-outdoor felines drives up slowly to exchange greetings and lightly screeches to a halt::

"Jimmy what happened to your _face_!?"

::Her tone exudes genuine concern and shock. Plus-::

"My face?? What happened to my face?"

::I mime like an arrogant moron though my tone as well exudes legitimate concern. The shock, or rather _horror_ hits like a sledge to the head once I speed walk up to her car to gaze at my visage in her tinted rear passenger side window::

::Bloody ground meat::

Where did my face go?

::I am _really_ confused::



I awake in a sweat and I instantly realize this isn't the day of my surprise beaten-to-death (as the doctor would describe it, "seven minutes in oxygen-free heaven") by a much larger former friend in Long Beach in April of '03 but December of 2016 and the Hell I currently find my ass skewered and spitted upon the flames in: San Bernadino County's High Desert, southern California.

Reclusive 'Nam vets. Career criminals seeking off the grid status. Meth heads. Coke heads. Then there's people like my girlfriend and I who came up here expecting to get ahead with lower rent and utilities. Stop spending like fools and bank those pro-wrestling checks. Work my legal medical marijuana grow on the side. Make enough money combined with her pay as an RN to save up for that Goonie movie house up in Astoria, Oregon and start a family. Cute dream. _Attainable_ dream.

"We all know how _that_ turned the f*ck out," I growl to myself.

I don't have time to rehash the f*ckin' past right now, it's all I do. I roll off of my ridiculously small twin bed, relishing that at seven in the morning it's a comfy 30° Fahrenheit. Thirty f*ckin' degrees. I hate the f*ckin' high desert.

I exit the sh*tty 25' × 10' garage-turned-illegal-domicile with no bathroom, kitchen or water and trudge out to the back of the 1.9 acre property I rent on for three hundred a month and I pull my d*ck out. I let loose my stream into the dirt kicking up miniature clouds of dust and steam and I glance over at a burned-up twenty-two foot Wilderness fifth wheel trailer not ten feet away.

I feel nothing in context. I should...but I don't. Not anymore. There's nothing now but that gnawing hunger that only seeing every last man, woman and child lying with their eyes fixed in that creepy, inanimate manner of death can sate. However I'm not a comic book supervillain with powers nor a billionaire with the funds to plan and carry out such a task so there's not much point to continue this line of thinking.

I'm poor. I need more money and it's getting harder to feed my ample five foot nine inch, two hundred and forty pound frame to keep my mass going and pay rent. Laughable unemployment checks and food stamps add up to a whole lotta "211's the ticket" moments and not even the three temp agencies within twenty miles are hiring right now.

'I need to get back in the ring,' I think to myself as I shake the last drops free and zip up. 'Today's the day. Probably an email response from XWF waiting for me right now.'

"Sorry baby but there ain't a choice here. I've been lucky so far gettin' away with sh*t but the possibility of f*cking up accompanies every lick. I'm too smart to gamble on rising odds in house favor-"

I catch myself talking to myself, rehearsing a dialogue. 'Goddammit knock that sh*t off. People will call you crazy. Then you'd have to f*cking kill them,' I self-chide. 'Too much prep. Not worth it. Yet.'

I begin walking back to my cubby of a room set on locating my smartphone. 'XWF is our ticket outta this Hell. There's gotta be a response...'


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