The Diary of Cecilworth Farthington, Aged 38 Years, 11 Months, 21 Days

24th May 2025

So Phil is able to walk again?

How long has he been hiding that one I wonder? Sometimes it feels like that wheel chair is a device to drive us into doing his bidding, rather than the fact he ate a superkick a year ago. Sure, he was murdered by Julian Bathroom and The Roach before that, but he’d got better from that.

I suppose if I truly want to give my mentor the benefit of the doubt, I can conceive of a world where if you see Vickie Hall leaping out of a cake with a knife in her hand, all the holy divine powers of the world will imbibe you into natural healing of broken legs.

Only true evil can repair bones and brains and we know that particular Alien suction monster is the very embodiment of evil in our universe.

Now, with that said.

I WAS ALMOST STABBED TO DEATH.

I have to make this clear, there was some kind of Bandit plan involving a cake, that somehow didn’t involve Bobby Dean, and the conclusion of the plan was that I would be stabbed to death very much, just before I face Cancer Jiles at Ultraviolence.

What was the plan there?

Did The Bandits think that Lindsay Troy was going to allow Jiles to wheelbarrow my dead and very stabbed corpse into the ring in the main event of a two night PPV, pin my corpse and become the Universal Champion?

Actually, now that I think about it, that’s probably exactly what he thought. I don’t know if it would have worked out in the way that he’d hoped, but really to me that wouldn’t have mattered much, what with being dead and all.

There’s just something about me that invites the wish of death I suppose.

That reminds me, I need to schedule some time to call Max after our little coffee shop chat.

26th May 2025

It’s been a couple of months since me and Max sat down in that coffee shop in secret. To be honest, I respect the fact that he actually honoured the secrecy and that it wasn’t pasted over Jabber or The News. Maybe there’s actually something there.

I can’t really explain it to my friends in Glue, hell I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it to any member of the PRIME roster. It just doesn’t make sense when you think about it. There’s been a man in my place of employment who spent the best part of a year concocting a variety of schemes that would result in my death…

Side thought: why do people keep trying to murder me instead of wrestling me? It happens way more than I would like to count. Look, when you’re working for a Shitty Deathmatch Company where people live in arena holes or are in coffee cans or whatever, you kind of expect people to be trying to slay your spirit at all times and that keeps you on edge, but PRIME is a wrestling company.

Yet, I was almost stabbed to death this week, and have also had 12 over attempts over my life in the past two years.

Although, Max’s plans were kind of quaint. Like, it was big Wild E. Coyote energy. He just kept trying to send me pipe bombs in the post with notes like SURPRISE HEH HEH.

Or at least I think it was him. Could have just been a bad impressionist. Max Kael impressions are pretty straight forward, you just go “heh heh” and get people’s blood to run cold, and call it a day. It’s basically the PRIME version of going “WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH AIRPLANE FOOD”, in terms of universally understood impressions.

There’s a complexity to my relationship with Max that most people watching a blood drenched brawl at Colossus may not have fully comprehended. Yes, Max Kael is a monster, yes he has kidnapped people’s wives and tortured countless innocent people on a casual whim for no more  reason than his own curiosity. Yes, he has used my own dead father as emotional leverage to ruin my will and desire to stay in the wrestling industry.

That’s all true and very hard to debate with there being factual evidence of every single thing I just mentioned.

But, before all that… Max Kael was my best friend. He was someone I could rely on. He was someone who had my back for years. He was the person who helped me to navigate my life in the pit known as High Octane. He was my guiding light.

We relied on each other.

That’s what people don’t see and I don’t blame them.

I’ve got this condition I think, I just can’t let people go in my life (unless they’ve refused to pay a tab), particularly when they’ve done so much for me in the past. When someone looks out for you, you see a side of them that the rest of the world doesn’t, and the loyalty remains, buried down, no matter the strife and who’s trying to kill whom…

Perhaps drinking in each other’s blood is the thing that brought us back together.

But can you imagine trying to explain that concept to others?

People like Haye, FLAMBERGE and Joe, people who have protected me from this supposed monster. People who have risked their very selves to try and rid the world of the man trying to kill their Glue pal…

How am I supposed to explain to them that I went on a coffee date with that same man? It wouldn’t make any sense to them.

It only makes sense to me and my own fucked up moral compass.

I could never abandon Max because I’ve always known that old Max still resides within him.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, diary pal, that old Max was also a terrible and despicable monster, but he was also my best friend.

At least back in those days, most of his crimes happened in North Korea. Makes it much easier not to think about. Very little media coverage.

No, we have to keep this secret and low key for now. The balance of Glueminati, the success we’ve had, I’ll fucking kill it all if they know about Max.

I don’t plan to explode that bomb just yet.

27th May 2025

No answer from Max.

Not surprised, I’m sure he’s questioning this whole thing too.

Maybe a bit of spring cleaning will take my mind off that whole situation.

This little hotel room I’ve been staying in… there’s a lot of bugs around here recently. Creepy crawlies. I think there may be a few roaches too.

Now, I know that the outside world is always surprised at my more humble living arrangements outside of Farthington Manor, but being realistic, it’s all I know in America. My entire time in the country has built this weird sense of frugality. I am supposed to be this Nepo Baby, right? A real Daniel Green. Yet beyond inheriting a Manor that is now some kind of combination Jolf Course and Minotaur Tourist Attraction, I can’t say that I’ve been one to indulge in the lifestyle of opulence.

Nah, dirty and dingy, that’s just America to me. Not to insult the country or anything, it’s just I suppose a bit of nostalgia to me, the days of me, Dirk and Hank fumbling our way around the industry, hunting for our first break, looking to show the world that we mean business and that our business is mean.

I suppose the recent announcement of the ACE Network’s acquisition of the Empire Pro Wrestling library has got me in this nostalgic mood. Hank was so excited that people could now live stream his success as a tag team competitor. He feels it gives him a bit more of a reputation in the industry beyond “man who somehow killed Dusk even though Dusk lived for like nine more months and was also ill before any of this happened.”

The dirty rooms though, that’s just what I do when I work in North America. I’ve got to get back to Canada in a few days, but this bug problem has been a real bastard in this little Chicago shithole and I’m finally going to take a stand and do something about it.

I will be the master of the roaches, they will bow down to me, or they will die trying.

Actually, given the potency of the spray I just purchased, I don’t think these bug boys will have any other option other than death.

I wonder if I should wear a mask before I spray this thing around…

28th May 2025

I should have worn a mask before I sprayed that thing around. Glad I’m writing this down for future reference.

In the meantime, I’m just going to be spending the day with a porcelain god and hoping that I haven’t succeeded where all of my enemies have failed in terms of killing myself.

Oh god, I didn’t know there was even that much food in me. How can an entire Subway footlong sandwich come back up outside of my fully formed?

Actually was that what killed me and not the spray? Are the sandwiches trying to kill me now?

That’s what I get for not electing to go with more of a classy triangle sandwich. After all, the flavour in the triangular shape.

Well, little diary buddy, I’m going to take a little nap and I’m sure everything will be better tomorrow.

29th May 2029

Oh god, it is not better, it may be worse.

Time for a lil sleep.

Sleep is good. Sleep is for Cecilworth, the good boy, the nice Universal Champion. What a lovely lad.

30th May 2025

Was I so out of it yesterday that I thought I was living in 2029?

It’s important that I’m making a note right now to investigate if you can get high on bug spray.

If so, is this something that Glue can monitise?

Some sort of Glue-based bug spray that we just the kids know with a wink and a nudge will get them an amazing high?

I guess we’d have to tell people not to spray it all over their house unless they wanted their entire place to be a combination of moist and sticky.

Now, there are some people looking for that in their lives but not enough to roll out an entire product line about.

Remind me to talk to Dirk about “Sticky Spray”.

Could bring us millions.

30th May 2025 - Afternoon

Fucking “Sticky Spray”!

Are you kidding me?

How far out of it was I that I thought that was going to be a good idea.

No wonder I got an immediate call from Phil and Dirk that was mostly the words “fuck” and “idiot”.

I mean they’re both Scottish, so sometimes it’s difficult to work out if they’re actually angry or using swear words for punctuation, as Scots are prone to do.

I don’t think it was punctuation though, I felt like I could feel the spits of rage coming down the phone line. It was probably my imagination but I’m half sure that Phil figured out some form of technology that would allow him to spit on my neck in anger through a telephone line. The man just has that kind of power.

They probably weren’t all that pleased with the fifty grand I spent on creating “Sticky Spray” advertising.

Probably because it was a single diamond ring with the name of the product engraved on it.

Not my best idea.

Might be my worst.

No… no… that one was definitely still TAB.

31st May 2025

I heard they did the drawing for the Almasy last night.

Still got some residual trauma over the last one.

Four matches of wrestling excellence, four matches of the best of the world going for it all to feel like they were the greatest wrestlers on the planet.

Then one match with a fucking clown show.

And that was the tournament final.

Very unsatisfying.

Going to war with Brandon Youngblood, with Coral Avalon, hell even with my own stable mate in Hayes Hanlon. All of us hungry and eager to prove ourselves.

Then as the spotlight of Colossus shone upon me, as I entered the true main event, the Night One main event, and went to battle… suddenly the whole thing became a spectacle about Vickie Hall and her idiot minions.

I don’t count JCH in those numbers, I don’t think people should fall for the old “sad cuckold” image he wants to portray, that little fella knows exactly what he’s doing. I’d go as far to say that he probably used Vickie as much as he used himself.

Actually, I don’t like the mental imagine of JCH “using himself”, I wish I could erase that but I wrote this in pen so it’s just something I have to live with now and when I go back and review this document to remember my life in the dimension times, I’m just going to have to live with the idea of seventy five year old me reading these notes and picturing JCH jacking it.

The Almasy Final was the first time I started to question what I was doing in PRIME. I’d been chasing glory and accolades, I’d been chasing the idea of being the best wrestler in the world, I’d been chasing the concept of looking in charge and in control of all things Glue.

I was in a battle with myself, trying to prove myself to myself.

Yet, I’d lost sight of why I’d even come to PRIME in the first place. I came out of retirement for a specific goal, a unified purpose… The Destruction of the Coward Jiles.

Instead I was battling ghosts from my past, trying to coach a team of young talents to glory, trying to head up a War Games team but losing sight of the enemy.

War Games was another chance to avenge Phil and I failed again.

Tropical Turmoil last year, ditto.

I just never had the right plan because Cancer Jiles is a cockroach. If you hurt him, if you hurt his pride, if you try to stamp him out, he’ll just come back stronger than ever. The brutality and anger of others is nothing but fuel to him. It’s all consuming, it’s what he wants us to do. We feed the troll time and time again and god knows I did last year.

I played the game on his terms because after all of these years of standing across the ring from him, in PRIME and elsewhere, I had never quite figured out how to truly hurt him, how to cause pain, how to make him suffer like he made Phil suffer.

Cancer Jiles ripped away a man’s crowning glory that he had to scrape and claw for decades to achieve. Just as an industry finally recognised him for the talent he truly was. Just when people finally saw Phil Atken as the killer that he should have always been…

POOF

It was gone.

And neither Jiles nor Bathory cared. It was sport to them, an amusement on their own quests. A side mission. Beating him up meant nothing to them, they just simply moved on, without a care of what they had done to the man.

I was supposed to be the axe. I was supposed to be the revenge. For two years, I failed at that job.

Yet, with Ultraviolence coming around the corner, and the Universal Title strapped around my waist, as I face the new version of Jiles in the Manhunter, well, I think I’ve just gone and done found Cancer Jiles’ “Sticky Spray”.

Nope, that name still doesn’t work. It definitely doesn’t seem as badass as it did in my head when I view it in writing.

The point is, I think I’ve finally cracked how to make the egg man suffer. You can’t hurt his friends, he doesn’t care for them. You can’t hurt his pride, it doesn’t exist.

The only way to truly deal with a roach is to deprive them of oxygen. To deprive them of what they want and need.

Until I somehow managed to conquer the towering figure of Ivan Stanislav at Culture Shock this year, I was never in the position to deliver the punishment that fits the crime. The way to hurt the man, the way to create suffering.

Now though? Now I am.

We’re almost there, and I will be more than happy to pull the trigger.

1st June 2025

When I returned to the wrestling industry at Culture Shock 2023, I did it for Phil. I did it for revenge. I did it to make sure that Cancer Jiles would never breathe an easy breath again in his entire pathetic life.

Day one, that project was rather successful. I was the one that took him out of the Murder Rumble and destroyed his dreams of success and glory.

It felt so good, it felt like I’d truly avenged Phil in a very small part. I had come into PRIME and done exactly what I was supposed to do - look out for the interests of Glue. I wanted FLAMBERGE to fell justified in waving the proud banner of Glue and we were there. Just for one day. Then I lost sight of it all, tied up in side quests, ignoring the job I was supposed to do.

My default mode in life is to be aloof. To be disconnected from the daily dramas. There’s not much purpose or meaning to them, they normally settle down and resolve themselves over time. I should've been in PRIME earlier, I should've been there to make Bathory and Jiles suffer but I was in my own world, dreaming little Cecilworth dreams. That was mistake one.

So sure, I managed to get this small little morsel of cheese in revenge when I first came back to the company, but since then, I’ve just sit back and let Jiles and the Bandits feel safe. Secure. At home. At ease. If I’d done my job well, Cancer Jiles would not have enjoyed a single day of peace since I came to this company. He should have been looking over his shoulder every single day, terrified that it would finally be the day to pay the price.

I failed in creating that concern.

Yet, I have created a moment where he can AND will pay that price. A moment where I can make him feel real feelings, make him feel pain, feel suffering, feel humiliation.

See, there’s a little thing called the “Power of Yet”.

It’s been the thing keeping me sane all this time. It’s why I haven’t let the regret of letting everyone down weigh on me. It’s why The Glueminati has remained a tight knit team.

It’s the long game.

It’s resilience.

It’s Ultraviolence 2025.

It’s time for the sword to fall, or hammer I suppose, if you’re in that Hayes Hanlon Freddie Mercury category.

Cancer Jiles just had the biggest win of his career at Ultraviolence. He did what I couldn’t, what no one else could, he won Manhunt. I can’t stomp my feet and cry to the gods, he did it under the terms of the match, he earned the win and he earned this match.

The man is so proud of that win that he’s been going around calling himself The Manhunter for months now. It gave him meaning and purpose, even after humiliation by Steve Harrison. The Five Star loss was water off a duck’s back, because he was still The Manhunter.

Because he thinks he’s going to step easily in Ultraviolence and reclaim the Universal Championship that he’s tried for so many times.

The belief is through the roof, because I’ve let the belief go through the roof.

All part of the plan.

All these years of his pride growing greater and greater, allowing his self-belief to get out of control.

Well, that makes a fall hurt all the more, right?

So just think about it, that little roach, thinking he runs the house, as the comes down to the ring with another twenty fucking minute self-aggrandising entrance and then the lights dim, and out comes the spray.

The moment he thinks to be his greatest achievement ends in nothing but humiliation and pain.

Taking away the one thing his desires, “the spotlight”.

So many have got in uproar about his antics and they’ve found themselves playing the game on his terms.

So for Jiles, when that bell rings, and he looks at the referee presenting him the Universal Championship. I want to allow him to believe that his little insect legs will be crawling around it at the end of the night…

That’s when the bell rings.

That’s when revenge happens.

That's when I uncap the spray.

That’s when you lose it all at my hands. That's when the dream dies.

Call me the “Cockroach Killer”.