Training Wheels

The Snake Den

“Finally, it took an army, it took everything we had, but we beat that son of a bitch.” -- Jiles’ Journal, Night Two of Culture Shock

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t pretty. It totally sucked, and every bone in my body is going to hurt for the foreseeable future.

Insert Anna Daniels joke here.

However, at the end of the day, Team Snake Pit got the job done.

Hooray!

So, let’s celebrate, if only just for a moment.

In time.

The night is not young. No, in fact, Night Two of Culture Shock has come to an end, and I, we, Team Snake, are back in our collective pit. We still wear our wounds and our gear. We have been beaten to shit. Blood, sweat, tears, bruises, liver failure, heart failure, concussion like symptoms...

We got them.

How.

Ever.

What we don’t have?

WHAT WE DON’T HAVE?

Eggs on our faces.

Ha.

We won tonight.

I finally beat that fucking crumb tonight.

What seemed like it would never happen, happened tonight.

Well, for Tony anyway.

And I have the three people sitting with me to thank for that. So, before we go our separate ways, or not, before the sun rises on a new day and the embers of war once again turn to flame, I need to offer my thanks.

Dare I say it, tip my hat.

Ha.

To the Cowboy, to the Shell, and to the Grin.

I’m actually a little nervous.

I don’t do gracefully and humble well.

At all.

“.....”

As I search for the words, and hopefully they come to me before I bleed out or pass out, no telling which will happen first but rest assured one will, I find myself fortunate to have this overwhelming sense of relief coursing through me.

It was a big match, and a very big monkey.

“......”

Yup, still nothing. I was pretty clear with the stakes beforehand, so I’m sure they know how grateful I am for all that they have done for me. Plus, it’s not like this lot needs a pat on the back, or an Attaboy, especially from the likes of me.

I’m sure they know.

Can’t hurt to try one last time I suppose.

“.....”

It’s not that I don’t know what to say. I do. I just don’t know how to say it. How do you thank a person with no moral compass? How do you properly show gratitude towards a snake? Do you hiss at it?

Ha.

The thought of me hissing, and then in turn, the team return hissing back at me enters my mind and causes me to laugh.

“Ha.”

The mental image is quite the animated one, too. Tony is a smiling Blacksnake. Daytona is a Diamondback wearing a cowboy hat. Max, well, he looks the same. Except for his tongue. It’s split at the end and runs halfway down his chest.

“Ha.....ha..........haha....”

One by one, we all start to laugh. My head pounds with each concurrent gas. My chest, my ribs, my spleen, crack and splinter with each haughty chuckle.

Still...

We laugh.

“Hahahahahaha!”

How funny indeed. How uproariously funny, indeed. Laughter is the best medicine they say, and I’m sure all four of us could use some of that right about now.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

Knees start to slap.

Tony, seemingly unable to contain himself, begins to roll around on the floor; laughing his little ass off.

Oh wait.

No, he’s standing, but still laughing his little ass off.

Forgive, I’m a little hazy.

Max, among the chaos of all the manic laughter, and after spitting out a tooth to go along with a mouthful of blood, playfully blurts aloud, “What bounty?”, and the whole room absolutely loses it.

Like, buckling over, almost pissing ourselves, loses it.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!”

I rise to my feet, wobbly as ever, and almost having slipped in Max's blood pool. My now newly soiled tights are still on, and I am really feeling my oats. Remember, it was a big fucking match for me, and I owe a debt for the victory. So, damned if I do, I stumble my way over towards our Vanguard, my Diamond in the rough.

THE SOLE SURVIVIOR.

I take off my T-shades to stare into his soul.

“Fuck it.”

Then, the unthinkable happens: I take off his hat -- the one that makes Clay Byrd’s look like a child’s toy from Rodeo City -- and I place it atop of my bloodstained head.

“If any of you ever tell anyone about this I’ll kill you.”

More laughter ensues, and as it does, as me and mine, as Team Snake Pit erupts and our collective cackle echoes throughout all of Mexico, I can only wonder what our future foes are thinking.

I wonder what Brandon is thinking.

I wonder how he will finally deal with the salty taste of defeat.

I wonder if he knows it’s still not over, and the worst is yet to come.

“Hahahahahahaha!”

Ha.

---

Venomous Vickie Hall

“I promised her that I would not enjoy any of it. Not even the three count. I even swore I wouldn’t slap her; strictly kicks to the face.” -- Jiles’ Journal, April 11th, 2026

I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw the booking. It felt like I was looking up at the top of the mountain, and all I could see was the snow rushing down it.

Cancer Jiles vs Anna Daniels

Yup, that’s her. My fire-breathing, not a threat but a promise making Valkyrie. The two of us are currently flying on an airplane, and have just gotten done mile-highing. Is it weird we had the Night Two MAIN EVENT playing in the background? Not the video portion, but the audio from the Cartel broadcast.

No.

I digress, and I know, we have some crazy ass pillow talk. I will admit, for this go around it’s going to be a little one-sided.

“I’m serious. I’ll torture her. I will make it so she suffers every day for the rest of her life.”

Needless to say my Valkyrie is not happy with the thought of another woman putting her hands on me, nor the thought of me having to put my hands on another woman.

“Cancer, I swear to Zeus, I will cut out her eyes if she even looks at you the wrong way!”

Thankfully, since I am a man and as such my brain is bigger and I am capable of rational thought, I won’t ever experience what Vickie is going through right now. I will though give her the time and space she needs to fully express herself.

It is the very least I can do.

“I’ll rip that cape off of her scrawny neck, wrap her up in it, and beat her with a shovel if she even thinks about hitting you with a low blow!”

I believe her. Usually, when Vickie's eyes are bulging out of their sockets like they are now, and her hair is standing straight up like it is, and she’s frothing at the mouth like Cujo bit her, and her shrill voice has a terrible bass to it, she’s telling the truth.

Rather, the truth doesn’t matter, and whatever she says is law.

My lovely, protective Vickie.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking bit! When I see that Lindsay Troy, you better fucking bet I’m going to rip her a new fucking asshole for this one! What does she think she is doing? Who does she think she is!?!?!”

All I can do is nod. Anything else would be detrimental to my well being. Same goes for the pilot’s well being, the integrity of the plane, and who or whatever we would crash into. Though, given her adamantium-like hormonal raging, I’m sure Vickie would walk away unharmed from such a catastrophe.

“You get one fucking kick! You hear me! ONE! Make it count!”

Some say compromise is the spice of life, and a necessary evil in any healthy relationship.

“AND WE ARE THROWING THOSE BOOTS OUT WHEN YOU”RE DONE!”

I guess that means to wear my backup pair.

So the black ones.

Pepper.

---

Salt And Pepper

“The Bandits have been reborn. BIP is just as menacing as I thought he would be, and will make the perfect shield for me to stand behind. Moreover, the perfect Bandit. Tony, in the wake of our victory over Crumblood, now has no choice but to come back into the warm and welcome arms of The Carton. However, the status of Max Shell remains a mystery. I will not give up my pursuit of him or the Yolkulele. Ode to the Bandit won us that match just as much as Double Diamontes did. And as for...” -- Jiles’ Journal, April 15th, 2026

When I first met Big John Pepper he was splitting logs inside a Cartel death dungeon.

With his bare hands.

Blindfolded.

One foot firmly ensnared inside a bear trap.

The other, soaking in an acid Epson bath.

Humming along to Yanni.

After drinking 97 two liters of Vanilla Dr. Pepper.

So 194 liters in all.

Beyond impressed, I thought to myself, “Man, this guy is such an idiot. I bet I can talk him into interfering in my Culture Shock match and becoming an eGG Bandit.”

Ha.

Well, don’t look now but it turns out I was right.

I also thought while watching him rip and tear without hesitation or fear, “He’s certainly strong enough to follow in the footsteps of my former Shovel Bearer.” Now, time will tell about that one, but we’re definitely off to a good start. As such, Big Jon Pepper has already been promoted to my Eggsecutioner, and for his rapid ascent up The Carton Chain, he will receive a new call sign.

Big Ian Pepper.

BIP.

Oh, and no, I don’t care about the fact that he’s rumored to be older than Stanislob, or that he’s a disciple/student/runaway of 16-time Rookie of the Year, Fred Dick, or that maybe his "mythos" is greater than that of even COOLYMPUS.

As if.

BIP is mine now. He belongs to me. I will position him on the board as I see fit. I will mold, and mentor him in my ways, and turn whatever color both of his multiple hearts are, black.

Carte Blanche.

From this moment onward, to come for me, to come for the Bandits, is to also come for him.

All damn near seven feet and three hundred plus pounds of him.

Good luck.

---

The Ivory Tower

“Anna who?” -- Jiles’ Journal, April 16th, 2026

There we are.

The eGG Bandits 2.0.

All dressed up in matching EB tracksuits.

Real quick. A weird/funny story about the tracksuits. For as big as Hessian is, he never fit in Bobby’s tracksuit. Bobby’s wears a 4XL, and Hessian, a 3XL. The new guy. The new Man, Myth, and Legend if you will, well he does. The jacket anyway. Bobby’s pants are obviously still too big to fill, but you never know.

Room to grow.

Anyway, back at it.

There’s me, and I’m still wearing my wounds from Culture Shock well. Same goes for the tracker and T-shades. I’m perched upon my throne; the one built for eviscerating and butchering with no remorse.

Behind me, my shiny new shield stands. Soon, my gaze will become his gaze. Where I point, he will go. The longer we stay together, the stronger our bond will become, and eventually, when the time comes, BIP will die for me and I’ll replace him just like I did the first Ian.

Ha.

Just kidding, I mean Big Ian Pepper is a nice guy and I can’t wait to climb COOLYMPUS with him.

More like, ride up COOLYMPUS on him.

My disgusted ball and chain is firmly supplanted to the right of me. Vickie the Valkyrie, my very own Ice Queen, looks even more menacing than my shield does. More monstrous, too. More of everything, actually, and she’s even holding back.

Scary bitch.

No matter, even in Vickie’s heightened deranged state she knows better than to stifle me here.

In this space.

Also of note, Tony Gamble, The Grin, is not in the scene. He is not here. The Grin is not in The Carton. Even after he was abandoned by Stanislob. Even after we beat Crumblood together. Even after all we’ve been through...

...he’s not here.

Rest assured, his punishment will fit the crime.

It will just have to wait.

A stay of eggsecution.

Lights.

Bandits.

Action~!

“Eh. Dee.”

I smile. Vickie fumes, and BIP, well, I bet he’s wondering if he’s going to have to break up a domestic dispute on his very first day.

Did not sign up for this.

“Aka, the girl in the beige cape.”

It’s a jacket.

Sounds like a really bad Hayes Hanlon retcon if you ask me.

“The one and only Miss Carmen Anndeigo.”

Yeah, that sounds more like it, since I’ve been left to wonder where in the world Anna has been this entire time.

Ha.

“Friend. Of. Mine.”

Vickie lets out a bemoaning growl. I ignore it and continue on.

“I’m going to shoot you straight here, Timecop. I had no idea you were still active. I figured you got lost in a time loop after finally getting past Teddy Palmer in the first Almasy.”

I snort.

Yes, conceited comes to mind when describing it.

“Then, here I come to find out you’ve been competing this whole time. Same damn ring as me, too. I was shell-shocked, Hanna, and that doesn’t happen often.”

Outside of the MAIN EVENT that is.

“True story, Hanna. No disrespect. I was sitting inside the War Room onboard the USS Bandit when I learned you had over forty matches under your cape.”

My head nods and bobs along, as I act all impressed. The fact is deep down some part of me probably is, however, it remains forever foreign and unrecognizable, like most of the substances in my hair and/or body.

“I can even remember saying to Vickie, over forty matches? Like, when did PRIME get a preshow, or secondary show that I didn’t know about? Is that where Doozer has been?”

Mostly I was befuddled because outside of the MGM, I can hardly remember any of Anna’s matches. Like... yeah, none.

Definitely not War Games.

“Honestly, Hanna. I mean it. I couldn’t believe it. Tell her, Vick.”

My Valkyrie slowly shakes her head no, as if someone had asked for her nail file. She then mutters to me, “Her name is Anna, and you keep calling her Hanna.” I think about it for a second, callously shrug, and then move along without breaking stride.

“Sadly though, HANNA, instead of wearing a pair of T-shades and riding the razor’s edge, well, you’ve been more like if TAL had worn a cape and ate some spaghetti."

A snicker.

“I guess you could hang your hat on being brave enough to show your face in public, or would wearing the mask violate the terms of your Only Fans agreement?”

I chuckle, and it still hurts. Not as much as it once did, certainly not post match bad, but it still hurts.

“I’m sorry. That was below the belt, Hanna, and you deserve better. After all, you’ve been at this for as long as I have now, haven’t you, you old hag?”

Ha.

“That is to say that there’s not many of us left from the first tournament, are there, Hanna? Just... people who went on to do bigger and better things, like becoming UNIVERSAL Champion and a FIRST BALLOT HALL OF FAMER... and then, well, people like you.”

A beat for the sake of posterity.

“People who did not.”

Ha.

Even the new guy BIP pops for that one.

Rookie move.

“It’s okay, Hanna. Breath easy. Not everyone is cut out to be King COOL, or Queen COOL as far as your case is concerned. The crushing weight of expectations is just a feather on your shoulder, as opposed to the two elephants that sit upon mine. Still, you got a GOLDEN opportunity this coming ReVival to change all of that. You have a chance to finally step out of the shadows and do something memorable. You have a chance to prove your worth, Hanna.”

Hopefully she doesn’t squander it by stumbling out of the blocks early.

Oh wait.

“I can promise you an opportunity like this one won’t come around again.”

Finally, I release a charcoal discharge far into the air. It soars effortlessly, like a Cancer Jiles Superkick, and also like a Cancer Jiles Superkick, it dents whatever it just lands on.

“It’s taken over 80 ReVivals for you to finally cross into my lane, Hanna. That’s a lot. I regret to inform you it’s only going to take one for you to realize that the bike path was always where you belonged.”

A beat.

“Don’t forget your helmet, Hanna, you will need it.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.