Just a few words from your fearless freak for friends, and fans.

A house show is a professional wrestling show run by a major promotion, that is not televised or taped. Promotions use house shows mainly to cash in on the exposure that they and their wrestlers receive during televised events as well as test reactions to matches that they think that the television viewing audience would like to see.

**James Caine is seen chilling with his usual tophat, Marlboro Menthols, and crystalline cane in a little white room watching a little television. The last thing seen on the tele is a small black cock resting on the OWF Network title.**

::Caine::
Now that was uncalled for... All of that was completely uncalled for. Not to mention I really didn't need to see....

**Caine turns around and lets fly a few chunks of vomit, then turns back and wipes his mouth off.**

::Caine::
I understand how pathetic the roster just made itself look in that silly ass tournament, that I didn't even bother to sign up for... Oh shit.. That little camera thingy's back again. Well I guess that just means people out there in TV land can hear me again.
A lot of people ask why I didn't bother to sign up for the WWC tourney. I say because I don't much less care about it. In fact I don't care about it at all. What the hell good does it do me? None, it's just a waste of my time. Improve? I've already proven I'm one of the best in this business, so there's not really much improvment I can make is there? Hell this house show is really a waste of my time. I mean look at what a house show is. It's giving the fans what the bosses think the fans wanna see. But as of Monday night, I don't think the fans really matter to me anymore now do they? Regardless, let's take a look at the match I'm in. Ali Khadafi, and Jeff Thomas. One the Network champ who doesn't give a shit about the title or the company, and the other...well who the hell knows where this guy came from. Who really cares.

**Caine lights one of his Marlboros.**

::Caine::
So let's see. Khadafi, Caine, and Thomas. This is something the fans wanna see? I'm sorry but could somebody PLEASE explain to me why the fans want to see me kick the shit out of two nobodies? Oh wait that's right this is just testing to see if it's what the fans want to see.
Well I guess this should make up their minds when the match lasts all of twelve seconds. I kick Thomas in the Jaw, turn to Ali... Drop a psycho crusher and that's the end of that. But oh... wait... According to Ali, who can't even get my name right... I don't stand a chance in hell.... Chance in hell.... What? Are we playing monoply with Satan?
Correct me if I'm wrong but this is a wrestling match. That means fucking bitches, pissin on chicks, and putting a bullet in someone's ass aren't going to do you a damn bit of good... So Ali... Why not come back when you get some real skills, because anybody can do that. Oh wait... Is this the part where you bust a rhyme and go, "I gots mad skills yo!"
Sorry, but you're not Savage Youth. Next time you wanna say that somebody doesn't have any talent... well first off you might wanna actually get their name right, and then... you might wanna know who the fuck you're talking about.

**Caine outs the Marlboro out in the glass ashtray before him, reaches down next to him and pulls up a beer. He takes a drink of the beer, sets it on the table, then reaches into his pack of menthols and pulls out a nice doobie.**

::Caine::
Yea, this is about as hard as I'm training for this match. Jeff Thomas is just another Rage. A mindfucked loser who doesn't even know where he is. Oh wait the guy won the number one contendership to the PDA title. Good for him, too bad Powers didn't show up or else that would've been different. Oh well, Mr. Thomas still isn't shit when compared to me, and Ali...Well Ali underestimates his opponents... Just take a look at what he thinks of me. I'll bet that opinion changes real fuckin quick don't it Ali. I'll bet if that shiny belt your dick was on was on the line you might not've been so overconfident huh. But see this is me. Title on the line or not. This is who I am. You get the mad hatter everytime, and whether ya like it or not... that ring is my home plate, and I throw the heat bitch.

**Caine stands up from the chair grabs his hat, cane, and smokes and walks out the door.**




I rolled over and lit the cigarette I left on my nightstand. It was midnight, Ivy was back in Michigan while I was in a Panama City Hotel room. Tomorrow night I would be in the ring kicking the ever living holy dog shit out of the OWF network champion who assumed everyone in OWF was complacent and wanted everyone to do their shit for them.

The guy was dead wrong, and maybe by kicking his teeth in, not only would I make the bosses happy, and myself feel good. I might even get a shot at that network title.

I put the cigarette out halfway and sat there only a moment longer pndering who Jeff Thomas was, before I laid back down. As I laid there I found myself thinking about everything that was coming. The Tag-team titles for myself and Seraph, and a possible Network title. If the cards were played right by this time next month the world would be golden.

I am in great physical condition, I am in great mental condition, and the world is mine for the taking. The only real question is, can I trust Seraph?

I drifted to sleep wondering how far I could trust him.