Posted on August 5, 2021 at 11:53 pm by Cancer Jiles

To My Dearest Best Buddy,

First, I want to tell you that I forgive you.

Second, actually it is I who should be the one apologizing. You see old friend, this is twice now that you’ve been stuck with my mail, dirty laundry, what have you. Please know it is not, and was never intended as intentional. The fact it just so happens to be humorous is only because I find everything funny. Truth is I hold you in the highest of regard– for whatever that is worth. I genuinely feel bad that it’s you on the other end of the phone. I know it might seem like a slight. A slap. Please, don’t think that it is.

Of course, that’s even taking into consideration the recent events that transpired, and me just being an all around salty guy.

Dickface Benny Arnold. 

Just kidding. 

Like it says in the note, he forgives you. 

Just kidding again. 

Conversely, what it doesn’t say in the note is that he smokes enough to also forget. On purpose. Sadly, as you’re about to find out, it doesn’t always work out that way.

It should come as no surprise to you that I’m no stranger to a hearty ass kicking. You could say I’ve, nay WE’VE been there before, and that I even have a standing reservation at Left for Dead just in case.

Cool Conor joke. Nerd.

In fact, I’ve been there — where you left me — so often I know how to make my body go limp to nullify the toll those kinds of remorseless, ego shattering beatings take. Maybe you heard me speak about my technique before?

I call it my Shaori.


I kid.


I’ll tell you, it hasn’t been easy these past few months. I know, that sounds lame coming from me of all people, the greatest Tag Team Champion High Octane has ever seen, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is true. 

Oh where oh where has that smile of his gone? Oh where oh where could it be? With his fancy blonde hair, and his sunglasses on, the Best Alliance flunky.


Better than JUNKY I suppose.


So tough, I’ve been jockeying with the fact that maybe I’ve reached the end of my rope. 


So tough, I’ve been jockeying with the fact that maybe I’ve reached the end of my rope. 

Hopefully it’s a double knot and the branch doesn’t break.

The past year of my career in High Octane as you know, I’ve done so much. As such, I would think because of this that I would feel the opposite than the way that I do. However, I don’t know if success has defeated me. I don’t know if my lack of yolk intake has shell-shocked me to cuck status. I don’t know a lot of things, to be quite honest with you Steve. I do know that the ring is no longer level. It’s uphill, no matter where I’m standing in it. I also know that it is that way due to no one’s fault but my own.

Oh well.

We’ll see what happens.

Again, no hard feelings on leaving me to rot. Hope all is whole in the Milk world.

Is that like calling Bobby fat?

Still Your Two Percent,
Cancer Jiles

P.S. The only way I know of to make any part of my body go limp is to think of Zion’s mom. My Ziori. HA.

P.S.S. We’ll always have the Tag Titles. 

P.S.S.S. Remember when Cracking News would act like you debuted every week? That was me.

P.S.S.S. No one was holding a gun to my head when writing those nice things I said. IN CRACKING NEWS.

P.S.S.S.S. I wanted to make a joke about who is balder between you and Leebert, so I waited for my fifth P.S. to blow it.

P.S.S.S.S.S. I said blow because from behind you two look like an interracial gay couple who has their pants down around their ankles.

P.S.S.S.S.S.S.  Yes, Lee is a bigger dick than you.