TEAM PLAYER

TEAM PLAYER

Posted on April 28, 2021 at 9:57 pm by Cancer Jiles

Is it wrong for me to say that I wasn’t expecting much to begin with?

HA. Fucking. HA.

I know. No one ever said it was going to be easy– I just thought aligning with the Devil and becoming part of the Best Alliance would make it such.

Idiot, is me.

The Bee EH.

We went from Kings and Queens, to the King of Queens in one breath.

JOKE.

So go on. It is free admission. Join the rest of the pigs in slaughterous laughter. The shit is just over there. Take a roll while watching my, nay OUR similarly themed show.

Speaking of Shit Show, what was Steve Solex thinking?

“This is going to turn out great! This is going to blow minds! Look. Look at me everyone. I’m THE BOSS. I’m Baby Oil Steve Solex!” — Steve Solex’s thoughts, possibly. (but also probably)

I’m kidding. I swear. I like my new teammates. The quirky, lovable, group of failures that they are– and trust me I know a QLF group when I see one. It’s just, well, it sounds like I don’t because half the time the shit I say winds up being true.

The ultimate victim of circumstance.

Take for example, and I’m just spitballing here, if I were to say that Steve Solex has failed to live up to his expectations outside of the first Jiles glamour shot, and water is not wet. It’s all fun and games until you realize that water is in fact wet. Then, I start seeming like the bad guy.

Shrug. 

I guess it could be worse. It’s not like Steve is Jatt Starr. The Jattapotamus, the mediocre, morbid man of mischief and malfeasance who somehow managed to mystify by making Teddy “My Mundane Man” Palmer seem like some massively mountainous mother to fuck.

A. MAZING.

I can already hear the scabs not brave enough to stand on the line fawning over Sailor Ted and his close relationship to Aquaman. The Vinny Chase one.

“Look guys! It’s Ted! How did he get all the way up there?! Oh, that’s right. He rode a wave called Starr to get up there. Say, do you think he can see Cancer Jiles? I hope he doesn’t strain his neck trying to look up at him.” — Cowardly, curious scabs, probably.

Imagine.

That.

Teddy. Fucking. Palmer.

What a fucking gas.

More importantly, what time does the train come, am I right? But you see, I’m not going anywhere. No, I just want to jump in front of it to wake me from this alternate reality I’ve stumbled into. The one where Conor Fuse is a PS5, Teddy Palmer is actually Kelly Slater, Lindsay Troy can lead, and All Day Ray doesn’t stand over putts for ten minutes. Like, what’s behind the next door on the Weird and Improbable Fun Hour? Zeb Martin is going to successfully defend the Tag Team Titles? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Right. My fucking ass Zeb Martin. HA. Good one. HA. HA. ha….. ha.

wait. wut?

It’s like I joined the Best Alliance and it turned into one, giant, flaccid, uncircumsized, tremendously bad, dick joke.

Oh well.

Fuck it.

I’m still standing.

USS Octane
Trust Fall Exercise
All the King’s Horses

There I was, back aboard the USS Octane.

Before you ask why, I ask why not enjoy the free ride to where the shows are being held? Oh, and did I mention I hate flying, and that nobody is going to boat jack me when I’m riding around in this thing? Let’s not forget team building! And it’s the Best Alliance Mobile Base of Operation.

BAMBoO for short.

That’s why.

Just to use BAMBoO.

Plus, as you may or may not know, now that I’m family I have complete access to the behemoth tear factory. Even got my own quarters, which is ship slang for room. Kind of like how Solex is ship slang for loser.

So, there I was.

Home.

Back on the ship to stand guard over our clinging to life benefactor as he recovers from Dan Ryan’s courageous sneak attack of a blind man. As it stood, the sun was up. The temperature was cool. Literally. The sky was a vast sea of light blue. No drip drops. No clouds. No misery. The occasional flock of birds flew joyfully past. The winds blew just right so that I never had to smell a fart.

Simply put, it was a gorgeous day.

The boat had long been in motion, and headed toward wherever the next show was being held. I was out on the deck of the sprawling, decommissioned tear vessel in full uniform: funeral black jumpsuit and 97red BA-shades. Laser was with me and in the same uniform I was in sans the BA-shades.

Also present was my new spicy partner in crime, Steve Harrison.

Gasp.

Steve wore a shameful potato sack because the jumpsuit mega store was all out of cool jumpsuits.

Just kidding.

He looked like he worked at Quiznos.

Here’s some fun and useful information on Steve Harrison before we continue:

— He’s an unwilling future member of the Megan’s Law website.

— He enjoys or enjoyed skim milk.

— He recently got his salad tossed by a salad.

— He is a part of the Best Alliance’s last line of defense.

— He and I go back, and then we go way back. He once defeated me at INSERT PPV NAME HERE, and in the lead up to that match I told him that me losing wouldn’t matter because I am me and he is him.

**Looks at High Octane World Championship**

— Wasn’t lying.

— Also, he may or may not DREAM about a ten plus year grudge.

Basically, we’ve never gotten along.

“You are sure you’re not going to drop me? You gave Marley your word.” His back turned, Steve asked from standing atop the chair. I smirked behind his back, and Laser just blank faced because his range of emotion is limited. We were standing behind him with our arms entangled; ready to catch him should he decide to fall.

Promise.

“You can trust me.” I told him in my most compromising of ways. “This is different. Our defenses are down. We are wounded, and about to be passed over for a Twenty Four KAY reunion.” I snorted, as… ifily. “We need this win. We need to bring them belts back home, and reestablish a foothold in the unholy Union war that WE are losing. If for no other reason than for our begotten benefactor’s best wishes.” Steve nodded. I passionately continued, “In order to do that, WE must find a way. It is up to us, Steve. Hughie… I don’t know. Maybe. Regardless, we can’t risk it. We need to be the ones to right the ship. I trust you feel the same way.”

There was silence. Then, the Miracle Man calmly said, “I do.”

“Great.” I responded like a tiger eating cereal. “In order to prove it you must fall into my welcome arms and then suck from Laser’s awaiting teet.”

The wiseass standing on the chair quickly cracked back, “I was wondering why his shirt was off.” I laughed. To myself. Laser had his shirt on, just so you know. “Okay. I trust you… wow, that seemed much harder than I thought. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”

I cracked my knuckles loud enough to signalize I was no longer in the catch position, and then reassured him, “We could drop you and you’d fall off the boat.”

“So death?”

“Yes. Death.” He shrugged off my coy response like I wrote it up for him myself. It was probably a better fate than the one he would suffer should we fail this Saturday night. Once Lee got his feet underneath him that is. “Hey, did I mention there’s a death pool for you on the ship? I have today. It’s not a lot of money though, and I fancy not letting our benefactor down unlike the rest of you.”

“Stop. You’re making me blush.” For the record I wasn’t trying to. “Alright. Here goes.”

USS Octane
Sailor Moon Studios
Tag Team, Back Again

Before it gets bleak, unforgiving, and finger pointy, I legit thought Ray Romano was promoting his role as the bad guy in Tin Cup 2 up until the opening bell of the main event last week.

For real.

I’m not ashamed to say I was excited about it being a fan of the first movie and all. I just didn’t want to break from the ranks so to speak. Luckily, I later found out it wasn’t Ray Romano, but a stunt man pretending to be Ray Romano who in turn was acting as if he was Ray Romano promoting his role in the fictitious summer romp, Tin Cup 2.

All for naught in other words.

Shoes. Salt. Fern. Couch. Hair. Uniform. Swagger. Arrogance. Pomp. Circumstance. Large. 97. Red. Leather. Strap. On.

ACTION~!

“If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”

Right, Conor?

A short smirk. As if to say, hello again losers.

“It does make you wonder…”

Will there be a series of questions that follows from the War Room on the USS Octane?

“Do the Union have the Alliance’s number?”

I shudder at the perilous thought.

“How will the World Champion and Steve Harrison coexist in a must win situation this Saturday night?”

Another shudder. More my shoulders sighing if anything.

“How long will Lee Best be in a wheelchair for?”

Did he see it coming? I wanted to ask it but why kick a man when he is down.

“What fate awaits Dan Ryan after putting his hands on the benefactor of the Best Alliance?” I laugh. Deviously. “I’m sure Hughie Freeman and Steve Solex will have something to say about it. Maybe even the newly returned Jace Parker Davidson perhaps? Clay Byrd’s gonna lasso him some justice, because as the Sheriff of the Best Alliance he demands it! Oh, and you can bet your ass Laser and Redrum will also want to have a word. Not many, but a few.”

I wag my finger, decreeing as I see fit.

“Shit is not going to stand. No sir. Jarr Statt will rise to the top and protect his biggest fan’s honor. I would bet Sektor’s and Harrison’s lives on it.”

I spit. I’m just so tossed over what happened to Lee Best, I spit again and curse Dan under my breath.

“Stupid Dan. He’ll need a fucking higher chair if he wants to rattle my attention.”

Quick clarification incoming in case I was too loud.

“That’s not a challenge by the way.”

I gulp.

“Sorry. Just thinking about Lee turns my mittens inside out. Let’s get back on track here. What I was getting at before being sidetracked was that even with all the shit showing on our pants, why is it I still feel like it’s a formality this Saturday night that the Best Alliance finally holds court?”

A corrective pause.

“As a team that is. Sorry.”

Conceited, thumbs up.

“In a word, TRUST.” A big, friendly, secret knowing smile. “Steve and I have set aside our past issues because we both trust in the fact that we have no other choice but to deliver.”

A beat.

“Now, this isn’t the Breakfast Club. We aren’t Bosom Buddies. We aren’t arm and arm Alliance shipmates ready to sail the seven seas together. We just both know that losing to simpleton crumbs like Conor Fuse and Ray Mcasomething would be so embarrassing to the Alliance that it would shatter. In fact, if I were a deep six mole I would be playing my part perfectly if we were to lose– that is how much rides on this match.”

The thought enters…

Tantalizes.

…and then leaves.

I’m not going to clarify or reassure that I’m not.

It’s not needed.

I hope.

“So to Conor Fuse and the rest of the Wizards of Waverly Place Golf Team, plug in your controllers and replace your divots. You get a World Champion whose back is against the wall this Saturday night. You get a man who will not accept defeat, because damn it Lee Best needs a glimmer of hope in this fight against the Union and I guess I’m the only one who can give it to him.”

Wait. Did Harrison fall? Hoora-

“It’s why I signed on in the first place.”

Oh look a cricket. Ha. No, in reality I signed on because I needed a shield, and a right of passage to get where I’m going. Those were my unnamed rewards for bringing the World Championship back to the Alliance. However, in order to pull on the strings attached to them I must shine in the most dire, darkest before the dawn moments.

Moments like this Saturday night.

But yes, doing it in the name of the boss sounds much better.

Scores maybe.

Plus, what good is a shield if no one believes how tough it is?

Head tapping gif.

Apologetic, I hold my hands out to wave off any concern. “I know it’s hard to believe since everybody else has been saying it and falling short, so instead of banging on my chest and threatening your nightmares I’ll leave you with this. It pretty much means the same thing.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.