My, how the mighty have fallen.
Once, on top the world-- living a life that the blue-collar majority have wet dreams about.
Once, a staple for all gimmick match gimmickry.
Once, and I quote, “A top drawing heel.”
Cancer Jiles, sole survivor of the first and only Defiance Rumble, appears to be COOL...
...no longer.
Currently, Cancer is humped over on a street curb, looking and smelling likes he’s been without a shower for a ridiculously extended period of time. There’s even a shopping cart full of useless memorabilia idly in tow.
Mostly Jimmy Kort autographs, but at least that guy has got toilet paper.
Heh, I guess Cancer does too.
[ZING.]
Anyway, Cancer’s usually picture perfect short blond hair has now run ragged, and hangs down past the ear. The clothes he adorns look to be straight out of Bronson Box’s hamper, and that’s saying something cause Box is Scottish and they got like, _NO_ style.
MOST NOTABLY THOUGH, Cancer doesn’t even have his shades. Yup, those patented, jet-black Terminator Skull ****er edition shades that he once wore so proud, and at all hours of the evening mind you. I know, remarkable isn’t it? Almost makes ya wonder what type of pickle he was in to have parted with such a cherished item.
That’s another story, for another time though.
So, Cancer’s homeless-- if you couldn’t tell. No longer with Edward White (Cancer’s former billionaire tag team partner) as his finical institution, the once Crown Prince AND King of all things COOL has fallen on extremely tough times, even taking a job for a short stint with another wrestling promotion.
[Nameless.]
After that, he was broke.
He lost everything, and has since been pretty much doing the same thing that he’s doing right now... shaking a cup to earn a living instead of crushing skulls and egos into an endless abyss of unCOOL through the use of a debilitating Mongo Chawp.
Let it be known, the vagabond on the corner who looks like the inside of a titty-bar ashtray could scale a ladder quicker than Justin Brooks, and he’s a ****ing fireman for Christ sakes.
[He’s also black.]
Jiles would egg at random, for the sole purpose of egging at random and no one does that.
No one.
Angus Skaland of all people loved him, and might have even thought of Cancer as an illegitimate son.
To think Cancer Jiles beggar, in stay of a King...
Well hot damn it’s good thing for second chances.
And by that I mean the gentleman wearing a suit who just placed an I-Phone in Cancer’s coffee cup. That phone can fetch upwards of a few hundred dollars on the right market, so this was like getting two year salary in one day. He could maybe turn his life around with money like that.
The act of generosity caused Cancer to smile... or try to smile that is. It was a more like an onion-wince if anything. Then, he attempted to look up at the man, but the sun was so bright, and burned the inside of his eyes.
It’s unknown at this time if Cancer remembered how to speak or not. The slew of broken English cardboard signs also resting in his shopping cart abusively abused the apostrophe “s” rule, so who knew where his motor skills lay.
Before having the chance to find out, the phone began to ring.
The ring-tone, a familiar one.
Jay. Hawkins.
AKA, Screaming Jay Hawkins.
Cancer perked up his posture, remembering the man he once was. His pecker even moved some, at the thought of a word he now whispers. Slowly, he reached out and removed the phone from the cup as if he were playing the game Operation!, and gingerly held it to his ear. Shyly, he asked, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was also familiar, but not Screaming Jay. The man, bawsish in tone, only had one to thing to say to the former Champion of COOL. “You forgot these. Call me.” Then, as if the juggernaut in the suit had been listening in on the conversation, he reached out and placed a second item into Cancer’s change cup.
Jet Black, brand spanking new, hot off the press Terminator Skull ****er shades.
Edition, 2.0.
[**** just got real.]
Once, on top the world-- living a life that the blue-collar majority have wet dreams about.
Once, a staple for all gimmick match gimmickry.
Once, and I quote, “A top drawing heel.”
Cancer Jiles, sole survivor of the first and only Defiance Rumble, appears to be COOL...
...no longer.
Currently, Cancer is humped over on a street curb, looking and smelling likes he’s been without a shower for a ridiculously extended period of time. There’s even a shopping cart full of useless memorabilia idly in tow.
Mostly Jimmy Kort autographs, but at least that guy has got toilet paper.
Heh, I guess Cancer does too.
[ZING.]
Anyway, Cancer’s usually picture perfect short blond hair has now run ragged, and hangs down past the ear. The clothes he adorns look to be straight out of Bronson Box’s hamper, and that’s saying something cause Box is Scottish and they got like, _NO_ style.
MOST NOTABLY THOUGH, Cancer doesn’t even have his shades. Yup, those patented, jet-black Terminator Skull ****er edition shades that he once wore so proud, and at all hours of the evening mind you. I know, remarkable isn’t it? Almost makes ya wonder what type of pickle he was in to have parted with such a cherished item.
That’s another story, for another time though.
So, Cancer’s homeless-- if you couldn’t tell. No longer with Edward White (Cancer’s former billionaire tag team partner) as his finical institution, the once Crown Prince AND King of all things COOL has fallen on extremely tough times, even taking a job for a short stint with another wrestling promotion.
[Nameless.]
After that, he was broke.
He lost everything, and has since been pretty much doing the same thing that he’s doing right now... shaking a cup to earn a living instead of crushing skulls and egos into an endless abyss of unCOOL through the use of a debilitating Mongo Chawp.
Let it be known, the vagabond on the corner who looks like the inside of a titty-bar ashtray could scale a ladder quicker than Justin Brooks, and he’s a ****ing fireman for Christ sakes.
[He’s also black.]
Jiles would egg at random, for the sole purpose of egging at random and no one does that.
No one.
Angus Skaland of all people loved him, and might have even thought of Cancer as an illegitimate son.
To think Cancer Jiles beggar, in stay of a King...
Well hot damn it’s good thing for second chances.
And by that I mean the gentleman wearing a suit who just placed an I-Phone in Cancer’s coffee cup. That phone can fetch upwards of a few hundred dollars on the right market, so this was like getting two year salary in one day. He could maybe turn his life around with money like that.
The act of generosity caused Cancer to smile... or try to smile that is. It was a more like an onion-wince if anything. Then, he attempted to look up at the man, but the sun was so bright, and burned the inside of his eyes.
It’s unknown at this time if Cancer remembered how to speak or not. The slew of broken English cardboard signs also resting in his shopping cart abusively abused the apostrophe “s” rule, so who knew where his motor skills lay.
Before having the chance to find out, the phone began to ring.
The ring-tone, a familiar one.
Jay. Hawkins.
AKA, Screaming Jay Hawkins.
Cancer perked up his posture, remembering the man he once was. His pecker even moved some, at the thought of a word he now whispers. Slowly, he reached out and removed the phone from the cup as if he were playing the game Operation!, and gingerly held it to his ear. Shyly, he asked, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was also familiar, but not Screaming Jay. The man, bawsish in tone, only had one to thing to say to the former Champion of COOL. “You forgot these. Call me.” Then, as if the juggernaut in the suit had been listening in on the conversation, he reached out and placed a second item into Cancer’s change cup.
Jet Black, brand spanking new, hot off the press Terminator Skull ****er shades.
Edition, 2.0.
[**** just got real.]