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D.o.M._2K9 presents: Episode 2 Apparently I'm under your skin... I've done everything I wanted to... And you think YOU'RE GOING TO WIN??? Let me take a moment here and change that topic... Because, actually Mike, I AM a World champion leaving my fed for bumblefuck IOWA. But you didn't know that, so it's okay. You honestly think I even listened to half of what you said? Look at you. You're scared shitless and don't even have the scrotum to admit it. A boring rerun from over a week and a half ago, and then some nonsensical bullshit from today after I verbally bitch-slapped your ass. Hah... So what's the fifth grader to your wallet Mike? Half your budget? Oh I dunno.... the same price I paid your wife? A three dollar bill and an ice cream bar? Wow Mike. Anyone can talk shit. Least I'm original, and unique. But where do you stand in a wrestling ring? Kinda funny there, cuz the way I see it... you don't. Every time I see you in a ring.... You're on your back. Don't expect First Strike to be any different... oh yeah... ------------------------------------------------------------------ {Thursday, March 20th 2K8} {3:13 pm} {Last Plane to No Place... Fast} I sit there on the plane gazing out the window, and I can see plainly the ground below. I can't remember where the fuck I'm headed because there's just to much cocaine in my system by this point. I hadn't stopped showing straws in my nose since Tuesday, and I couldn't remember a fucking thing since last Saturday. All I knew was I had to land, Catch a cab, lace my boots, kick some jobber boy's ass, fuck his old lady, smoke a doobie, and then finally... I could go to sleep.... "There's something not a lot of people know. Sleep deprevation, when combined with large amounts of uppers and energy supplemental shit... aka 'coke' and 'Monster'... makes a person lose there ability of cohesive thought... Oh sure, I may not be able to form a complete sentence... but the longer I stay awake... The farther gone I get. In other words the more primevil. I kinda like it when I get that way.... Yea.... I think I do......Do you like it when you're more of a psychotic beast? I'll bet you do..." A figure materialized before me, and just went off on how drugs and no sleep drive a person beyond normal insanity. I didn't quite understand it, but at the same time I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had gone there many times. Fact I usually tried to be awake one day in advance of any match I was in. Also that same day I was awake, I would fast, not even a drink of water. By the time the bell rang, I was practically drooling on the ropes. Over the past twelve years I guess I had found a way to develop a bloodlust, and that was partly why I remained here. Then again it was also partly why I was here to begin with, it was always just the bloodlust... "bbbbbbbooooooooommmmmmmmmmmbbbbbb-DIGGITY!" Ripper screams in my ear, jolting me awake. I fell over the side of my chair, and had to shake free some cobwebs and try to figure out what exactly was going on. 'snnnnnnffffffffttttt' I closed the abdomen of the spider on my right hand and stood up shaking the last of the webbing in my mind, to see Ripper standing there with a peverted, childish, shit-eating grin. I simply scowl, as I regain my seat, "HA-fucking-Ha... So very damned funny." "So did you hear all the shit Mike was saying this morning.... Paying a 12 year old to call you a tool... I mean that was original... Then talking about how he's obviously got WAAAY less." Ripper just started going off like a chatty Cathy doll. What was sad was he was going off about MY... opponent. I almost felt bad for whoever his opponent was as I tried to make sense of anything, but couldn't. The only real thought I could cling to was tonight a no name rookie was going to learn a hard lesson about who not to fuck with. I press a hand in front of Ripper's face, and he pauses from talking about his opponent now. "I heard what Mike had to say, don't get confused, I didn't take any notes because most of it was pure bullshit from a scared little boy, but I did happen to catch it makes him happy in the pants that I'm a juggalo and he want's to smack me because of it. What makes that statement alone his downfall... Is the fact that it gives way to every one of his lies. I have not once, nor have I ever stated that I am a Juggalo... And indeed I am not." "What's a juggalo?" "Some type of ICP fan. I do like the hatchet as a weapon however that is only part of my native american heritage. Which if he'd have done his homework, he'd see that I... James Albert Caine, am a fan of southern rock... part native american, half racist, and nothing near a juggalo. Instead he found some no name wannabe freak who took my name... and probably cleverly misspelled it, and attempted to knock me off in some ridiculous fashion... Whatever." Ripper takes a step back and holds out his hands, "Hey... Dude... I've seen your bio... you were in JCW... you fought with Shaggy 2 Dope, and Violent J..." "They said: We'll give you money if you hit people with a chair for us." I smiled, knonwing full well that was exactly how that had worked. Ishifted my weight and proceeded to enlighten Ripper. "I was out of work for a week, when they called me up and said 'Hey, You wanna wrestle?' Obviously I answered 'Yes... yes I do.' Apparently they had caught wind of me while I was in whatever fed that was before that, God help me if I'm too wired to recall what fed that was right now, Seen me, then Somehow the fed I can't remember went belly up, or I pissed off somebody, or some shit happened... and they seen the opportunity for a nice free agent. Happens all the time. Look at me now Rip. Flying on the last plane to noplace fast with a guy I knocked around not too long ago, just cause he wanted to shake my hand." "Oh.......Oh...Oh...ooooh.... shitballs.... Falconi's gonna get hurt isn't he?" Ripper said, his facial expression changing from understanding, shock and some form of empathy. "Indeed he is Ripper... and you're about the only one here who could ever understand how that works." "Why me?" he says turning his head. "Because you understand.....the psychosis of the beast." I say as I rest my head and close my eyes for three seconds before a slap hits my arm. "Are you stealing my line?" Ripper says. "No, I'm rewording one of my own to fit the context." "......Oh....Well that's okay then.... I guess..." Ripper just shakes his head in puzzlement and heads back to his area of the private craft, as I laugh myself to sleep for the rest of the trip. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Paying attention Mike... You don't know Jack! Erm... wait... Maybe you do know Jack... Cuz you sure as hell don't know me yea.... I find it fucking hilarious, knowing before I get there. I mean I find it wonderful knowing... The entire time... Since I answered Nate's question to sign. That you had no chance. It didn't matter who it was. Exile. Quaide. Cobra. Ripper. 2 Douches. No one here.... Holds a candle to my flamethrower. I am the best at what I do, not because I am that damn good. But because I am that much better. I am that much better.... Because I am that..... Far..... GONE! Allow me to explain... Any moron can ramble off this incredulous jumble of insults left and right, day and night, up and dwn, and make this nice big thing about absofuckinlutely nothing... but I go ahead... I break that down, so that when dumbshits like you come along and still don't get it... It makes you look that much worse! So, where does that leave us... Oh yea... All that shittalking you wasted MY AIR on... Doesn't make you a better wrestler... Seen my tapes? Shoulda watched past the first match... I was never lower than a mid card since my third year. The only shows I opened were Monster events because the boss asked, and I double, triple, and sometimes quadruple booked.... But once again... You didn't know that did you. You just sat on your fat lazy ass... Watched me jerk a curtain for some extra cash to blow on your wife and an eightball... And said, Oh he's no good. Missing the main events. But that doesn't matter now. You'll eventually get the point. You see your pathetic attempts at Promos... Were strikes One and Two... By you even being at the arena... Is Strike Three... I could ask you if you're ready Mikey... But I already know you're not. So write up your will son, you're about to feel the heat.... Yea...It's coming. --}'Psychosis' James Caine 
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