ALL ABORED!

ALL ABORED!

Posted on February 11, 2021 at 10:27 pm by Cancer Jiles

Mike.

Let this serve as a friendly heads up from one guy in the locker room to another guy sitting up in his impregnable ivory tower. Relax. I don’t think your doctors would appreciate it if they knew you were sitting with your nose that close to the screen. Ease back, rest those tired eyes, and take a deep breath. 

You’ve earned it, Slugger. 

Also, regardless of if they are coming from me or Dan Ryan, do yourself a favor, and learn how to take a compliment. I get it. The like and subscribe gang doesn’t know how to properly give them so half the time it turns into what wing of the Hall of Fame you reside in. Just try to remember you’re the World Champion, and it’s your face that’s on the High Octane Best Bucks. 

We are all looking up to you, Champ. Try as we might, we follow your lead.

Be a better ambassador.

For real, bro.

I’m trying to help you out here.

You can’t wrestle forever, and Dan’s going to be in a home before you know it. You’ve killed your brother, and Cecil ain’t walking through those doors anytime soon. There’s always Hollywood, and I don’t mean Tinseltown. So if I were you, I’d try a little bit harder at showing a little more class when a peer tips his cap in your direction. 

I give gold to my friends, Mike. 

You give your friends golden showers.

It would break my already broken, incapable of loving heart to see you wind up all alone with no one to shake hands with.

Honest.

Even you deserve better than that.

Good luck out there on Saturday night.

I think you might need it.

USS Octane
Day One
I Am Your Father

“Who the fuck are you? Where am I? How’d I get here? Is this the smoking section? Yes, that is pretty cool, ain’t it? They actually magnetize to my face if I become distressed. Did you put them on me? I can feel a fingerprint on the left arm and that’s a terminal offense. Just saying. Also, why are my pants unzipped? And how long have I been out for? I’m concerned about my fern.”

Truth be told, I thought they were fucking around with me at first when I woke up on the USS Octane. I was looking for Zeb to be fishing off the bow and Bobby loaded into one of the cannons Evil Knievel style.

Boy was I wrong.

Instead, I got Laser. With an S, because he never learned Z. Technically he lucked out, because I’m sure he would have used the Z from the look of him. He’s a picturesque, big boned Mongoloid that doubles as the super bodyguard tasked with protecting the decks of the USS Octane and by default, its Captain. He’s such a square I thought he was in on it. I mean, he did dump a freezing bucket of water on me as a friendly wake up. So, after I playfully asked him the barrage of questions at the top, he no-sold me and handed me a toothbrush. Brand new one, too: it was small and featured the likeness of Grover from Sesame Street on the handle. I played along with what I thought was a ruse, and casually tossed it overboard like I had the heads of dolphins mounted in my garage. That back and forth went on for a good twenty minutes, and not once did he act like there was going to be a shortage of toothbrushes.

It was like Laser had raided a kid’s dentist office the night before. Which only further fueled my being pranked inclinations. Finally, I had enough after about a hundred toothbrushes went overboard, and blew him a kiss to signal that the jig was up.

I said to him, “It’s time to go pop some streamers.” He didn’t like that very much. I guess he confused my popping streamers hand motion with a jerking off one.

They are kind of alike.

Fed up with my antics, Laser Costner tried to choke me out like I was trying to sneak into the green room for a picture opportunity with an up and coming R&B singer I may or may not be stalking. It was quite the chase, the jumping and the prancing all over the deck while I laughed and laughed. Remember, I still thought it was a prank. And then, I heard him laughing. Not Laser. Not any of the Bandits. Not my italicized subconscious.

I never laugh.

But the Captain of the USS Octane.

His unamused, tracking chuckle boomed over an intercom system that could probably be heard in outer space and also the deepest, darkest, recesses of Hell. It was deafening, stopped me cool in my tracks, and sent shivers down my slinky of a spine. Suddenly, the laughing stopped and the Captain spoke to me.

“I’ve got my blind eyes on you.”

Time stopped. The moon instantly turned off. Wind stopped blowing through the air. Waves, giant slabs of ice, or Kostoff’s body ceased crashing against the side of the ship.

Laser was gone.

All I was able to see was a neon red, child’s toothbrush with some Star Wars character plastered on the side of it. I soon realized I had nowhere to run, and that my only means of escape was death– to plummet some hundred feet to my doom off the side of the ship.

“Fucking, Vader. I’m screwed.”

USS Octane
Day 2
Home Away From Home

I saw it.

Already erected and waiting for me.

My new home.

It was a 97red, camping tent that was positioned towards the bow of the boat. There was no heat. No running water. No whiff of luxury. All I had was a sleeping bag, a towel that doubled as a pillow, and a bucket.

I asked Laser where I could go to the bathroom, he pointed to the bucket.

I asked Laser where I could get a shower, he pointed to the side of the boat.

I asked Laser where I could get a drink of water, he held his hand under a dripping icicle.

I asked Laser where I could get a cup to drink out of, he pointed at the bucket again.

“I don’t think I am going to like it here very much.”

USS Octane
Day 4
Fourth Day Jitters

I had just gotten back to the ship.

It was the first time I was permitted to leave since I got there. Laser told me he’d be taking me to pack an overnight bag, and then we’d be returning right away. “No stops,” he said. He wasn’t lying either.

I remember snidely saying to him before we left, “I guess I won’t have to pack a toothbrush, huh?” Stupid mongo never even cracked a smile. He was probably too busy thinking about changing out the Captain’s eyes.

LaNerdser.

So there I was, back aboard the sacred flagship with all of my hair nets and bouffant caps in tow. Of course, because Captain is Anti-Fern, my bag was checked by USS super security three times, LIKE I MINDED THE DELAY. After getting the all clear and answering some strange questions, I made my way to the stern of the boat with Laser the quality assurance jerk off following closely behind me. The stern is where I left off scrubbing earlier in the day. It doesn’t have any special significance other than being the place on the ship I plan to jump from should the time come.

“Scrub!” Lazy Laser bellowed into my ear. Then, he mockingly dropped my Vaderbrush at my feet.

Defeated, and ears fully rung, I looked down at the piece of neon red ship cleaning equipment and mouthed the words, “FUCK ORAL-B.”

“SCRUB!” He bellowed again, this time louder than before.

I was distraught from all of Laser’s dog barking, but luckily for him something caught my eye before I tried to shove a toothbrush in his jugular. I slowly panned to one of the many security cameras positioned throughout the gigantic war vessel and saw it moving to better focus on me.

Concerningly, I asked as if I’d get a straight answer, “He’s not taking pictures, is he?”

“SCRUB! Or leave!”

My eyes shot open. I popped for the new words. It felt like when RICK would learn a new word, and that reminded me that there was a life outside of this ship. To “leave” was to jump overboard, by the way. I don’t want people thinking I could have just walked out without peril.

“You fucking suck, Laser.” I pointed at him like I was picking someone out of a lineup. He then pointed to the stern like a Gestapo Bitch Lord.

“Scrub.”

I lashed out and screamed at him, “Can I at least get an electric fucking toothbrush!?!? Jesus fucking Christ with this kids dentist bullshit lightsaber shit!”

“Scrub!”

Resigned to my fate, and not wanting to hear that fucking prick say the word “scrub” again, I began chipping away the frozen bird shit that had come to litter the stern of the ship.

“I’ve been working on the sailboat, all the livelong day…”

USS Octane
Day 9
Laser is a Mongoloid

Point and scrub.

Point and scrub.

ALL FUCKING LIVELONG DAY AND NIGHT WITH THE POINT AND SCRUB.

I wouldn’t mind it at all if one day I forgot to scrub part of the deck and Laser slipped his ass overboard. Hopefully he lands flat on one of those giant pieces of ice out there and freezes to death instead of drowning in the… harbor? Sea? Ocean? Lake? Fuck, I don’t even know where this behemoth is docked. It could be at Hollywood’s pool and I wouldn’t even know it.

Though, I haven’t seen Mike sunbathing anywhere so probably not Hollywood’s pool.

Oh well.

Back to work before Laser blows his horn again.

“I’ve been working on the sailboat, just to scrub my time away…”

USS Octane
Day 14
I Know How to Love

Oh.

This.

When Bobby Dean broke my heart like he’s done to dozens of toilets around the world.

I wasn’t even scheduled for deck duty being that it was a show night, but fuck if I wasn’t out there after the curtain dropped on the LSD Title match with tears frozen to my face and scrubbing away.

I’ve known Bob for most of my wrestling career. If I ever have children, chances are he’d be godfather to one of them.

Not anymore though. His future child godfather status has been rescinded.

I’ve held sterno candlelight vigils by Bob’s bedside on more than one occasion. I measured his waist from plump all the way down to slim. I fed him dog food out of the palm of my hand. Willingly, and while also sober. I encouraged him to take a shit on a desk. Also willingly and while sober. We rode across the world together, dicks out for most of it. We Dreamed together. We Defied together. We eGGed together. We cried together. We were buried underneath the Friday Night Chaos set together. We’ve had leg numbing chats while sitting on toilets that faced each other with both of the doors wide open. We won the tag titles at War Games in the first ever, double cage, tag title ladder match. We fooled every batter that came to the plate that day. It was the Bandits’ crowning achievement.

And then he came for the heart and threatened my T-Shades.

At least he knew better than to come for the hair………………………

My head spun from the utter devastation.

There was always that glimmer of hope that one day we’d once again storm the gates of eGGhalla.

But it was gone after that.

So, I scrubbed. And I scrubbed. And I scrubbed. And then the sun rose. And I kept scrubbing those decks like they were one big scratch off lottery ticket. After each prize came up a loser, and there was no more bristle left on the brush, I still kept scrubbing. And scrubbing. Then, the toothbrush snapped and the sound it made was so loud I thought one of the guns on the deck had gone off.

That was the end of the Vaderbrush.

However, it wasn’t the end of my time on the ship.

“Can’t you see his eyes are rolling, I better scrub the decks till morn…”

USS Octane
Day 15
Message In A Bottle

My face was frozen.

My hands throbbed.

My face throbbed.

My hands were frozen.

All were true.

I didn’t care though.

I had one thought on my mind.

Clarity.

“Scru-” Yep. Not today, Laser. No scrubby for me. The stern was clean of bird shit. Spotless, like Mike Best in 2021.

“I want a pen, and I want a pad of paper. And I want to go the fuck inside. Now. Tell the Captain.” Frozen stiff, I demanded of Laser like I was the one who got to boss the other around. It felt good to be on the other side of it for once. The look on his face though, WOW. He was hot. His eyelids touched the top of his elongated, prehistoric forehead. His nostrils flared so badly I teetered back and forth from the severity of the gusts. He went to shout again, and that’s when I showed him the toothbrush. The broken one I had accidentally fashioned into a shiv while emotionally scrubbing the decks the night prior. I won’t say Big L was frightened, maybe he was just a Vader fan and the tortured image that was now on the side of the shiv sent him to the same place Mike goes to after receiving a compliment. I don’t know. I probably looked like a lunatic, too. I had an icicle hanging from my nose. My face was chapped as bad, if not worse, than my as of late asshole. I’m sure my teeth would have been chattering if my jaw wasn’t cokehead rigid from the cold.

But, I wound up writing a lot of notes that day.

The shiv got confiscated, but a lot of notes were still written.

All to one man.

I was allowed in the kitchen to figure out my thoughts. First thing I did, though, was hold my mangled hands over the gas burner on the stove until Laser came in to check on me. He wasn’t happy that I had been in there for a few hours and hadn’t written a thing. I wound up having to barter with him by telling him I’d also write him a letter if he let me stay. Of course he couldn’t read, so we had to settle on a fancy paper airplane. I drew some stripes on the side of it and off he went. I remember hearing a scream that trailed off the further away it got. The scream also sounded like someone yelling the word, SCRRRRRRRUUuuuubb as opposed to the run of mill, visceral, life or death roar I’ve been accustomed to hearing on the ship.

Huh.

I didn’t think twice about it then.

But I also saw Scrubby the striped paper airplane flying close to the side of the ship with the short railing.

You don’t think?

“Can’t you see his eyes are rolling?”

USS Octane
My Last Day
Job Done

Well.

I haven’t seen Laser in a few days. As such, the deck of the USS Octane looks like it did when I first boarded. Bird shit everywhere. I don’t know where he hid the spare toothbrushes or I would have kept up with the scrubbing instead of hiding out in the warm kitchen till my transport to the next show arrived.

And that transport just did.

Bye-bye, popsicle stand.

The transport is just a long bridge they extend so you can leave the ship. It connects to the dock, and then Laser and I would usually just pick up a cab because both of our Uber ratings are shit. I guess pointing and telling the driver to go to Scrub Street doesn’t win you any stars.

Not that it matters for him anymore.

Hey! I just realized something. I never slipped once while on the iced over decks of the ship. Not once, for however long I was there for. I bet it was because of my salt shoes. Who’d have thunk it? Certainly not me. They probably saved my life. I bet if Laser was wearing them he might not have possibly gone overboard chasing a paper airplane.

Crazy.

There’s something else I just realized. I never did get a chance to talk to Captain. I wonder how he felt when I kicked Bobby Dean in the face? Hopefully he doesn’t try to feed me to his lion.

“Laser, blow your horn and go away.”

 

 

Credits

Cancer Jiles…… Scrub a Dub, Dub

Lazer…… Laser

GOD…… Capitan

I…… 

 

Didn’t think you’d make it this far.

But of course you did.

Even with that deviated septum you still sniffed me out.

Oh well. 

Fuck it. 

I can’t do this anymore anyway. You were right. You got me. Hand in the cocaine jar. Sherlock Mike strikes again and scores another win for the righteous little guy! It seems 2021 is going to be your year after all. Go on, take a home run trot around the bases. I’ll wait for you to touch them all before I cordially apologize for my massive blunder. 

First Base is that way, Mike. 

Good stuff. 

Yes, next you go to Second. 

Then Third. 

Yep. Now cum on Home. Nice. Good job. Hooray. Yeah, you really sunk me good, pal. i’M SOrrY U r geTtiNg bOArD, BuT I’M moRE oF a bATtLeShIP gUY.

A.1. 

Direct hit.

You fucking turd. Fuck your euphemisms. Fuck you. Fuck your perch. Fuck your blog. Fuck the end credit scene where Daddy is feeding me with a silver spoon and wondering what to do with all the two dollar HOW Bucks with your likeness on them.

You feeble crumb.

Me and my cute, salty shoes are going to chute all over your face, Mike.

Bold that.

Dope.

I don’t care how high I have to climb on that ladder, I’m taking it all. Your belt. Your streak. Your daddy’s love. You girl’s love. Your new lease on life. All the two dollar bills. Dan Ryan. Max’s ashes. That throne from the Academy. Hollywood’s corvette. Your new profile picture. The guitar. 

All of it. 

But most importantly, Mike. I’m going to Shang Tsung your fucking soul and make it my pet project. I’ll put a nice leash on it and tie it to the tree in my backyard. I hope it likes stories about Murderer’s Row, and being asked how good I look wearing your title.

Who knows?

Maybe one day it will even be a Bandit.

My name is Cancer Jiles. 

I’m leaving the Best Arena on Saturday Night as the new High Octane World Heavyweight Champion.

Pop some fucking streamers to that.

Pucker.

Kiss.

Good bye.