Good Luck

Good Luck

Posted on November 19, 2020 at 11:00 pm by Cancer Jiles


I came.

I saw.

I got disqualified in what some might say was the biggest match of my entire career.



Yeah. Sure. I got a few.

Would Capricorn Jiles have been a better ring name? 

Time to dwell on them?


Brian Hollywood awaits.

HOTv Studios
12:59 AM Eastern Time

Firstly, no couch and no fern. If you’re wondering and I am sure that you are, my mighty fine couch is getting reupholstered. I thought I could live with the rotten smell and look it had taken on since spending time in Lady Troy’s garage. Alas, I could not. As for the fern, its luscious green leaves started to wilt from the wretched stench; so I sent it to Okinawa to have a specialist take a look at it.

Fingers crossed.

Yes, if it sounds like I am blaming LT for my couch and fern’s current disposition it is because I am. And yes, it does feel weird not having them here. Will it bother me? Probably. Will it bother her? Probably not. If it did, she would have never painted on it to begin with. However, I am a professional. Being such, not only will I persist, but I have also found a half worth while solution to my problem. Now, it wasn’t easy getting my hands on all of these goodies, probably because some of them are rumored to have never existed. But I did it. I got them.

They say that if he were real, not even Tony Stark would have one– that’s how priceless some of these items are.

Take a look at this bad boys.


“Hello Brian. My condolences on losing the Tag titles. Take it from me, a true Champion, I know exactly how bad that haircut looks. Awful.”

A beat, and then me not being able to help myself.

“Granted, the only reason you ever held them to begin with is because I mistakenly decided to put shell before gold.”


“Regardless, I promise you that me and the rest of the boys in the back thought it was a memorable run.”

Twenty seconds of silence.


“Now that we got that out of the way, you might be wondering why I’m holding this autographed portrait of Darin in my hand. You might also be wondering why and how I came to be sitting atop this relic from the Five Time Academy. Hell, you might even be wondering why there’s a fancy sports car circling on a platform behind me with Jason Statham and Gordok the Alien sitting it. FUCK BRIAN. FUCK. You might even be wondering if those bills are hundreds or fifties fueling the small, controlled, fire keeping me warm.”




I guess since Mike went off the HOW grid the money hasn’t been flowing in like it once was. Turns out the heat was the first to go. Maybe there’s heat on the USS Octane. I’ll have to look into it.

“And you’d be right to wonder, Brian.”

I grin. Devious in nature, but delightful in spirit.

“You’d be right to wonder if this is my way of showing you how much I think of you.”

I nod, hoping it sinks in.

“To be clear, I think you are a joke, Brian. Me, the T-Shade wearing, COOL lower chest tattoo having, radiant blonde from COOLYMPUS, aka the guy who got disqualified for throwing an egg in his only World Title match, thinks you are a joke. Not a very funny one, either. You’d think with the litany of props at your disposal you’d be able to at least give Gallagher a run for his money.”

I shrug.

“Let me guess, he worked your sweet sixteen.”

I laugh at the mental picture I have of young Brian sitting atop his hoverboard with no one around but his army of robot cronies taking in the show.

Poor Gallagher.

“Honestly, Brian. How hard is it getting up in the morning knowing that you are you, and that will never change? No matter how much money you burn, or how much single malt you spill, or how many tag team partners you fail, or how many academies you flunk out of, or how many movie stars you’ve guzzed… that’s it. You’re still Brian Bollywood. Always, and forever.”


Without repercussion.

“I imagine it being quite difficult, Brian. For that, I empathize with you. Oh, and that means I feel sorry for you, but I can’t relate because not even I, the Crown Prince of COOL can hold a fucking candle in comparison to you.”

Shine on.

“Oh well. I wonder what Homerun Hanson is up to?”





I came.

I saw.

I squandered.

Oh, and I got my head knee’d in.

Extra strength Tylenol is a hell of drug.

I will remember my first ever chance to win High Octane’s greatest prize… only because I won’t be able to forget it. They don’t make tweezers capable of removing that sting is what I’m getting at.


Yeah, sure I survived. I wasn’t murdered. I wasn’t even pinned.

But none of that matters.

Unlike the rest whom have fallen to his sword, I find no honor in losing to Mike Best. It disgusts me. It will keep me awake at night. I expected to beat him. I expected to be World Champion. And I am not.

Fuck him and his whimsies!

That said, Brian, you’ve been to Graceland before. A few times.

And I haven’t.

That’s a whole ‘nother joke in and of itself.

One, that I don’t have time for.

No, I only have time for one more joke, Brian.

I’m not going to promise victory.

I’m not going to swear to put you out of your misery and color your face yellow.

I’m not going to double down and guarantee to Eggsecute you, again.

I’m not going to be BOLD and erase your italics.

I’m not going to say you might be centered but oddly enough it is I who is down to Earth when it comes realistic expectations for our match.



The abysmal thought of you still floundering about a High Octane ring excites me for all the wrong cousin fucking reasons.

Good luck.