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A chance to be the Coolest of them all.; Kid f'n Cool
Topic Started: Apr 24 2010, 08:11 PM (146 Views)
CCJ
Check the sig.
[ *  * ]
"Victory is amongst the finest of delicacies. You're gonna want to savor in its flavor my Cool apprentice. Trust me... cherish the joyous moment of triumph while you can. 'Cause when the next day rolls around, it's gonna be your job to remind everyone of it." - Cancer Jiles

I have tasted victory for the first time. The Cajun spice of the sVo, proved to rank among the sourest of flavors. Especially when being thrown down against the sweetness of my Cool-Aid. More importantly, Cancer was spot on. Victory tastes freaking wonderful, and amazing, and superb, and fantastic, all rolled into one. Tastes like warm apple-pie on sunny day. Tastes like a Pat's cheese-steak before a ballgame. Tastes like a cold beer after a hard days work.

Hope Howie's got a keg ready. Maybe even two of them. He's sure going to need them.

I have a chance to do something Cancer Jiles has never done. I have the chance to one up Mr. Cool, in just my second match ever.

All I have to do???

All I, the unproven, the new kid on the block, the barely wet behind the ears, the next Las Vegas Champion has to... Oh, fuck me. Sorry, kind of ruined it. All I have to do is win my next match. You know, the one against Mr. "call me Howard, and yes I'll take tea with his crumpets" Thompson.

Now before the preaching even has a chance to begin; the answer is yes. I'm fully cognizant to the fact that peeps don't usually get spoon fed layups like the one being fed to me toooooo often. Knowing this, I beg of you. Please keep the rhetorical, "better not squander the opportunities," and the "never know when it's going to come around again," to yourselves.

In case ya'll haven't noticed, I'm the Coolest mother fucker this side of the Mississippi.

Not some cheap Oceans 13 knockoff.

I've been waiting for this moment my entire COOL life. I remember holding Cancer's COOL title, and fancying it as my own... wondering if, and when the day would come where I could create legend out of folk-lore.

The time is now.

I know it is.

I've checked the card like, twenty times. Made sure it wasn't a misprint.

It is not.

I also know because RIGHT NOW, I'm standing at a podium, fielding questions about my first title defense. The room I'm in is oven-hot, clammy... balmy, if you will. I know, I'm Kid f'n Cool. You'd think I'd have some type of immunity. I'll have to ask Cancer about that one. Anyways, the sweat-box is some sort of makeshift ballroom, located inside of a seedy Vegas hotel. It's tiny, and mute colored walls completely contrast against the bright lights of Vegas.

Oh by the way, this happens to be my first media blitz. And while I should be standing here, reaffirming everything that is COOL, I'm not. I'm on pause, pondering as to why an awful lot of media coverage is being garnered for such a low match on the card. I know it's a title match, and that I'm in it... but still, there's a sea of reporters out there. The same kind of media sharks Cancer warned me about. "When you're COOL... you're always a target. Whether it be shining in the ring, walking down the street. Standing at the podium. Pooping in the john. Skydiving on Mars... you'll be a target. Being so, treat the world as if it were shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe."

Yes, I said my title defense. Some reporters, those aware of the COOL bloodline have gone out on a Redwood and proclaimed me as the winner. Sadly, none of them are present at this time. Instead, I got a room full of haters, wanting to know if I'm worried about facing the Bank. "KfC... tell us, how do you plan on breaking the bank?"

Fucking Shylock.

I almost vomit at the reporters pathetic excuse to be witty. I recover quickly though: clearing my throat, I somehow mange to fix my gaze and respond. "I'm going to rob that mo'fo blind. The Bank teller is nothing more than a stepping stone... the next to fall in a list of many. His title, even his life... yeah, they're as good as mine. If he thinks any different, then he can take that to the bank and choke on it." When I said "that", my middle finger was raised, prompting another reporter to fire a question. Little did he know, I'm full bore COOL mode and not to be interrupted. "I'll be doing the sVo a solid when I erase the lack-luster shine Howie Thompson has left on the next COOL title." That was a good one, causing an onslaught of meaningless questions. With my hand high in the air, I try to quell the crowd. To no avail, they continue to badger me with questions about Cancer, and Whammy, and other KfC non-related shit.

I have had enough of this non-sense. I mozy over to the main light switch, flicking it off and on repeatedly. I do it about twenty or thirty times before I'm finally given my required gentleman's silence. Once granted, I finish with a promise. "I will move mountains on Sunday night. I will also sit atop mine own, as Las Vegas/COOL Champion." That's when the realization of being COOL champion set in. I got a hot flash, and threw up all over the podium. One of the backstage guys helps me exit stage-left, where I continued to vomit some more. It was a combination of the atmosphere, and that silly question... I swear I'm not nervous.

For Christ sake, I'm Kid f'n Cool. I'm too COOL for jitter-bugs.

&

I'm also the Las Vegas Champion.

Bank on it.
You're not even close to being COOL enough.

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