Sage Advice

Whisper Me Timbers

“That son of a bitch.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 9th, 2025

The show was up and running.

Cecil and I had just finished our little pow-wow. A pow-wow which left me a little hot under the collar to say the least. I know, poor choice of words since my collar stays popped-- sue me. As such, I scrambled my way back to the den of the eGG, and maybe tossed a chair or two along the way.

Luckily no dogs were harmed.

Or kicked.

The gang was not all there.

Turns out Bobby was using the bathroom, so yes the place was cleared out when I walked in. Unimaginably, I wasn’t even fazed by it. Not even a little bit. Not his grunting, not the smell, not the sound of the toilet water tsunaming, and not even the weeping toilet seat.

None of it.

I guess I was so mad, so flustered from seeing red that my nose and ears also became blind, so to speak. Not to mention, it’s not my first rodeo when it comes to Bobby Dean and the bathroom. Needless to say, but I have a higher tolerance than most.

Talking Shit.

I’m not proud of that, yet I do consider it a badge of honor.

To some degree.

Anyway, upon entry I slammed the door shut behind me, and not before long The Prince of Honalee called out to see what was what. “Hey! Is someone there? I could use another roll of tee-pee in here!” He sounded nervous, like maybe he should have flushed at the halfway point to get ahead of what was bubbling beneath him.

That poor toilet seat.

I, of course, didn’t answer him. I was still too busy stewing in my own way. So, I lashed out with a series of expletives in regard to what had just happened to me. I went on and on, never once caring about the paint peeling from off the walls around me.

“I’M GOING TO BUTCHER THAT FUCKING CRUMB AT UV! HOW DARE HE! THAT DAINTY, ASCOT WEARING, LITTLE GLUE PRICK! HE THINKS HE’S GOING TELL ME!! ME! I’M CANCER FUCKING JILES! YOU HEAR ME, CECILWORTH!!! CANCER! FUCKING! JILES!!!”

While I don’t think Cecil heard me, Bobby sure did. I know because after I had stopped scream-crying long enough to catch my breath, he called out to me once more from the depths of Hades.

Still a touch nervous.

Still a bit on edge...

“So, what did he say?”

Truth be told I don’t know what Bobby could have said to calm me down, but that sure wasn’t it.

“WHAT DID HE SAY? WHAT DID HE SAY! I’LL TELL YOU WHAT HE SAID! HE SAID TO SHOVE A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER UP YOUR ASS, BOB! THAT’S WHAT HE SAID!”

So, as it turns out, after Bobby saw me in the ring, and the look on my, dare I even say it, shell shocked face, he became scared shit less and headed for the nearest bathroom. Luckily, for everyone, everywhere, the den of the eGG had one inside of it or else the situation could have gotten ugly.

Especially when taking into account it was still early on in the show.

Well, uglier I suppose.

“So, are you saying he can predict the future?”

Bob snickered. It was a funny joke, but I was too busy hating to find humor in anything. That said, my rage exploded. Nay, it erupted with the same vigor Hayes Hanlon gets when changing the number of years he’s been alive for, and flowed out of me like a volcano. Snot and spit went flying with reckless abandon, as if they were pieces of molten rock and hot lava. My hair boiled past simmering, and my T-shades, COOL as they are, fogged from the discontent that filled my being.

Humidity.

“THAT IS SO FUNNY I FORGOT TO LAUGH, BOB. REALLY. I MEAN IT. I GUESS IF THAT WERE THE CASE HE COULD HAVE SAID IF BELLE AND DOOZE WIN TONIGHT THEY WILL BE MORE SUCCESSFUL THAN YOU AND DOOZE HAVE EVER BEEN, YOU CRUMB!”

I know it wasn’t fair for me to take out my frustrations on Robert, and that deep down he meant well and was just trying to make the best out of a shitty situation.

Ha.

I know Bob doesn’t deserve my wrath.

Ben Lynch sure will though.

Ha.

So, in a thankful moment of clarity, a cooler head prevailed and I left. Well, I turned off all the lights in the room first, and then I left.

“I’m guessing that’s a no on the tee-pee?”

---

Riddle Me Whispers

“The thrill of victory was not enough to smooth out the chinks in my armor. We even swept and I’m still not happy with how things went down at the start of the show. 3-0, too. Oh well. Opportunity finds a way of presenting itself.” -- Jiles’ Journal, May 17th, 2025

What did Cecil say?

What could Cecil have said to make me react the way I did?

Was it a Mom joke?

Was it that after he beats me he’s going to take the belt to HOW?

Was it about Phil?

Enough already.

I have been dodging those questions and more just like them all week. Well, it’s more like dancing around them depending on who asked. Still though, Tony, Ian, Bobby, Belle, Doozer, Fuse, Chris Chickentendy, they all wanted to know. Shit, even the alien inside Coral’s forehead sent me a message about it.

“What did Cecil say? He didn’t challenge me next, did he?” -- Sent from Coral’s iPhorehead.

I’ve been telling whoever asks me something different.

Well, kind of.

Ironically enough, in Bobby’s case, when he asked me about it again he was back on the shitter. He wasn’t making his business this time around, rather he was just taking a load off and resting atop his favorite seat. No, I was the one who was making their business, and by that I mean I was checking in on my simmer. Once done, I turned to him and as straight faced as can be and answered him, “If you must know he said he is going to break your arms if you interfere.”

Let’s just say it was a good thing Bob was already where he was and move along.

When Doozer tried asking me about it an electric shock of sorts somehow pulsated throughout his entire body, rendering him rigid and useless. Not kidding. Then he fell. Not like a seizure, but like down on both knees.

Yeah, it definitely seemed a little strange.

Ha.

Then when Conor asked me about it at first I didn’t say a word to him. Instead, I immediately took away his controller, gave him a book to read and vegetables to eat. The book was an old copy of Nintendo Power with Bowser on the cover courting Princess Peach. As for the veggies, they were left over from who knows when so hopefully they’re not too spoiled.

Hopefully.

Afterwards Little Fuse looked upon me like I was Death itself riding atop a headless horse. He hastily climbed into bed and shouted out all frantically from beneath the curiosity of his Sonic the Hedgehog covers, “He told you he was taking the belt to HOW if he wins, didn’t he! This is your way of getting me prepared should you get Harrison’d by him!”

It took me a second or two to process, kill or not kill, but after doing so I simply replied, “That’s exactly right. Better eat all those veggies.”

Fucking punk Video Game Kid.

When Tony asked me about it we were top side, working on our smiles. I playfully told him, “Open up your Yellow Pages to the letter G and call the first Go Fuck Yourself company you can find. They know.”

Tony being Tony, cocked his head to the side and casually replied, “That’s it? I’ve told you that before and it didn’t shut you up like it did when Cecil said it. I guess the next time I see him I’ll have to ask him what his secret is.” He paused to ponder, but only for a moment and it was more for effect than anything else. “Maybe you have to whisper it?”

I snarled, only to try and cover up my amused pig snort. Then I said to him in my most humblest of tones, “No, you misunderstood me. That’s what I was saying to you. I was telling you to go fuck yourself.” I chuckled, and The Grin played along, nodding agreeingly. We then went back to working on our smiles, and occasionally whispering sweet go fuck yourselves back and forth to one another.

I won’t lie.

The whole process was very cathartic.

In fact, that catharsis continued when Big Hess asked me about what Cecil had said. Hessian had pulled me aside, and into the Chapel on board the USS Bandit. He had his shovel with him, and was just as angry as I was.

So yes I might have been scared.

A little.

Actually, come to think of it, he was probably more angry than I was. Albeit, we were angry for different reasons. Me, because of the question at hand, and him, because I went out there to confront Cecilworth alone and could have gotten “GLUED” up if you will.

HOW cute?

My words, not Ian’s.

He uses something different.

As for Ian’s words, well, he sat me down in the Chapel and before broaching the elephant in the room; preached to me about the importance of always having a shield. “We didn’t hunt all those people down just to watch you get... for a lack of a better term, Atken’d.”

See.

I nodded. He was more than right. It was stupid, silly, selfish, and reckless. I would never say those things aloud, but he knew I knew from my nod. Then, he made his inquiry. “Now tell me, what did Cecilworth even say to you anyway? I need to know so I can repeat it to him verbatim after you’ve had your arm raised in victory.”

A smile grew across my face. While Hessian’s motivations sure did brick me up, and I wanted nothing more than to oblige him, I still dodged his question. To be clear, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to tell him what my old pal Cecil had said, but because at that moment I realized it was what I wanted to do.

I wanted to be the one who did such a thing.

So...

“Ask Tony. See if you can get it out of him.”

Ha.

---

The Ivory Tower

“Take it from a vet, that's a rookie ass mistake.”  -- Jiles’ Journal, May 21st, 2025

There I am.

NUMBER ONE BY DEFINITION.

The Hardest Working Man in PRIME.

The Manhunter. The COOLympian. The Captain of the eGG Bandits.

THE ACTUAL MAIN EVENT.

Your favorite Hall of Famer.

King COOL.

Cancer Jiles.

Hi Mom!

Not only is my fern back and in good standing, but the throne I’m seated upon is once again electric and plush.

Scalps and pelts will do that for a Hunter.

Soon enough, the missing piece to my masterpiece will rest firmly inside the palm of MY hands, and the UNIVERSE will once again be mine. First though, before such UltraViolent dreams can come to fruition, a pit stop on the road to enlightenment and a chat about Teen Spirit.

The good news is I do have the hair, T-shades, and more than enough salt for such a journey.

But you already knew that.

Lights.

Cancer.

Action~!

“Sage Pontiff.”

I approve of Sage. He’s been in PRIME for quite a while now, and though he hasn’t experienced a modicum of the success that I have, damn it that doesn’t mean I should look upon him unfairly and with complete and total malice.

Not like the feeble.

Not like the choir.

Not like the fast food line.

Or like glue.

I mean, who cares if even after all this time I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup full of other Bodhisattvas?

Ha.

Just kidding.

“The Capoeira Conundrum.”

I stand from my seat and dance around a bit, showing off my stylish moves. There is some grace to them, but not a whole lot. Bobby doing the truffle shuffle would probably have been better.

More apt.

I mean, they’re called Salt Shoes and not Dancing Shoes for a reason. Though, I do suppose you could make the case that I use them to dance across people’s souls and faces so...

And privates.

“The Nonexistent Man of Many Existences.”

Worrisome, I begin to look around the small, nondescript room as if I’m in need of dire help. Unfortunately, the only help there is for me is in the form of someone putting Sage’s face on the side of a milk carton so I can confirm he looks as stupid as I think he does.

Ha.

“Friend. Of. Mine.”

Cue the trademark smile that makes the whole world sour.

“Say Sage, I don’t know if you know me or not, but in the interest of being a nice mannered COOLympian I think it’s only fair that I introduce myself. I’m Cancer Jiles. I won Manhunt. You know, that match you were too busy rubbing bellies to be a part of.”

I chuckle, while coincidentally enough rubbing my belly.

“Just kidding, Crumbo, these Salt Shoes don’t forget a thing-- certainly not the first person they put down during the hunt.”

5 Points.

My tone quickly shifts from easy going Cancer, to COOL, calm, and collected Cancer. My smile evaporates. My collar on my hunter’s vest starches up at complete and murderous attention. My T-shades start to rapidly frost over, and would undoubtedly give the Layman’s nose a nasty case of frostbite.

COOL blooded.

I lean forward in my throne, making sure the words that come next are precise, and heard.

So that there is no mistake.

“That means I already have your scent on my boots, Sage. That means more of the same is coming your way, Sage. That means you get to be my personal fuckhead yet again, Sage. That means you can forget the sweet taste of revenge, Sage.”

Ha.

Poor guy.

“Technically, all things considered, I guess it’s a good thing for you, ain’t it Sage? For a man who claims to seek enlightenment... who thinks he can reach it through great pain, and great suffering, and intense punishment, well a match against me could wind up being the closest thing to Nirvana that there is.”

Zing~!

“I mean, I should put you down out of sheer principle for debuting on the biggest night of my career, but I won’t. Well, not that I won’t, but I’m going to leave it up to you. Your fate is in your own hands. You control your destiny. It will be your decision, and as such I’d like for it to be an informed one so wrap a prayer rope around your neck and hang out for a bit.”

Ha.

Okay, maybe I lied about the complete and total malice bit, and not knowing who Sage was, but one thing we can all agree on is I’m not lying when I say I could make Sage Pontiff a Wish Kid.

Ha.

“Be careful trying to find what you are looking for against someone like me. It's a known fact I play for keeps. I play for blood. I play to win. I am a finisher. A collector. A hunter of men. I’m someone who needs to hurt others in order to feel and experience true happiness. I’m someone who needs to end others so that he may bask in the sunshine of a new day.”

My posture, much like aura, is radiating vilified arrogance.

“Know that I will not hesitate.”

Translation, no matter what I will not stumble, I will not fall, I will not lose momentum before my third UltraViolence MAIN EVENT. Hell on Earth could come and even it would have to wait for me to put a bow on ReVival 69 and my chances at becoming a two time UNIVERSAL Champion.

DED.

“Not for a second, and certainly not for three of them.”

Obligatory finger counting ensues.

“Trust me when I say, Sage, I’m good at this. I’m proven. I’m legit. I’m the genuine article. The whole thing is on tape so feel free to go back and check if there are any doubts, but it doesn't matter how tough you are, or who you pray to, or how much pain you can withstand when you’re unconscious.”

A beat.

“When you're laying down on the mat, or worse yet on a gurney, bleeding from the ears, nose, and throat, looking at a lengthy hospital stay and a lifelong case of Vertigo at best.”

I spit. As per, the lunger is gum like in texture, charcoal in color, and sticks right where it lands.

“That's what awaits you should you be so bold and daring. It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t push your luck. Live to fight another day. Fuck, live to rub your dick around your favorite Singing Bowl, or whatever Buddha says to make your junk bigger.”

It wouldn't be Rev 69 without at least one dick joke.

“If you choose wrong against me, and you choose to test me and the extent of diligence, Sage, I can promise you two things will happen. Not only will you find the enlightenment that you seek... but you’ll never be awake to enjoy it.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Crumbaste.

---

Master Of Deception

"Things are not what they seem."  Jiles' Journal, May 20th, 2025

To My Love,

The plan is working.

All that is left is for us to give him the same gift you gave Phil.

Though it has been hard to stay away from you, just knowing that soon we will be together again makes it all worth it.

See you at 69.

LOVE,

V.