[The Promoe Boof.]

[Correction.]

[The, “on the go” Promoe Boof.]

[By, “on the go”, I mean an Australia sized yacht, powered by angels shoveling coal that was mined from the deepest depths of COOLYMPUS. As you might imagine, the amenities and exterior of the continent-sized floatation device named, “Uncle Eddy’s”, fit the rest of the bill as well.]

[Basically, think GOLD and BLOOD DIAMONDS everywhere.]

[And platinum, rhodium and titanium - oh my]

[Anyway, after deciding to step away and catch up like two people of their ilk do, “The Sophisticate” Edward White and “COOL” Cancer Jiles now find themselves vacationing where only the richest of the rich vacation.]

[The Bermuda Triangle.]

[Makes sense now doesn’t it.]

[Tanning on one of the massive ship’s numerous decks, the former World Champions drink on  the finest of the fine, dine on the finest of the fine, and smoke on the finest of the fine.]

Cancer Jiles: [inhale]
You know, Eddy...

[Mellow-yellow, Cancer eases back in a chair built for ten kings. He’s bare chested, T-shade protected, and has his legs extended outward, with the heels of his feet nestled into the back of a supermodel who’s on all fours. She is playing ottoman, and getting paid quite rewardingly to do so.]

[All the while, a twelve fingered Asian girl no older than thirteen massages The Count’s bare left foot.]

Cancer Jiles:
I can’t say I didn’t miss the fruits of your labors.

Edward White:
I’m more than glad to oblige.

[Edward grins. He nearly cackles, but resists the urge. A man of his stature has standards and spouting off about how much money he has... well, is one he does quite frequently, if not constantly. Catch phrases and mannerisms however, those are carefully planned like any good business strategy.]

Edward White:
I still can’t believe you lived on the street. I imagine being homeless is about as much fun as being Jeff Andrews.

[The two chuckle. Bawdily. Cancer chokes some, because he was holding one in still.]

Cancer Jiles: [recovering]
It’s not that bad.

I mean, sure, I ate of trashcans, went weeks without showering, and begged for any scrap of money or life I could find... but it’s no Jeff Andrews.

Edward White: [nodding appropriately]
When you put it that way, you make a valid point. Plus, the fact that you’re still alive is proof enough that being homeless isn’t as bad as being Jeff Andrews. I know if I were him, I would have pulled the proverbial trigger a long time ago.

Like I did on those Facebook stocks.

Cancer Jiles:
Ya know, I never got into the Facebook. I figured being who I am and all, I would probably shut that fucker down with the onslaught of people wanting to know me.

Edward White:
Right.

Cancer Jiles:
Really. That wej Zuckerberg called me, and asked me not to sign up. Said, I would crash the system if I did. I told him I already knew that, and then made some off kilter hanukkah joke.

Edward White:
How’d that go over?

Cancer Jiles:
He hung up. I still laughed though.

Edward White:
Jews. What ya gonna do? You can take them out of the oven, but you can’t take the oven out of them.

[The Mongo Slayer loses his gut laughing. In his defense, he’s stoned out of his mind and drinking champagne imported from the future that gives you giggles instead of gas. Now, that’s not say he isn’t a distasteful person, who enjoys pointing and revisiting the misfortune of others. Cause he is, it’s just not the main reason he almost peed himself at White’s rib.]

Edward White:
You know Jiles, in my absence I've been thinking a bit too much about the inconsequential nature of the wrestling business.

Cancer Jiles:
Hold up. Is this going to be some mindblowing shit? Because I don't know if I can handle anything with another plane of existence right now.

Edward White:
No, quite the opposite. I'm grounded in the notion that we should command more respect. Similar to how I command the captain of this vessel, who in exchange commands the sea as we head to my private island.

[Victor Mandrake does not approve of the existence of this Island.]

Edward White:
We must instill respect into our opponents hearts, souls and minds.

Cancer Jiles:
Dude, get this, like, I've been trying that same thing. For like_FOREVER.

Edward White:
Yeah, I saw.

[Cancer shoots up from his reclined position. The supermodel reacts wisely as well, quickly rolling out of the way.]

[He pulls down his COOL shades and gives Eddie the stinkiest of all stink eyes, ever.]

Cancer Jiles:
So you saw me, in the gutter, eating hot trash, bunking with degenerates and making tomato soup out of ketchup packets and rain water?!

Edward White:
Yes. Yes I did.

Cancer Jiles:
And not once did you think of throwing your old buddy COOL Cancer Jiles a hundo or something?

Edward White:
You forget Mr. Jiles, I am a self made man. I built my empire from rags into riches. I pulled myself up from my boot straps, rolled up my sleeves and muscled my way to this prestigious of prestigious positions. I can't just give away my money like it grows on trees.

[Vote Romney 2012]

Cancer Jiles:
I don’t know what to say.

I guess... you’re a dick for leaving me in the wind.

[Almost awkward silence.]

Cancer Jiles:
However, after hosting this little voyage to Bermuda, a place I’ve never been before, all is forgiven. Honestly, Ed. I’m just happy to be bunking with proper thieves again.

Edward White:
I know the feeling. Most of my former business associates are either in jail or missing. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. When you said Bermuda, I thought you meant the Tri and not that place where normal folk go to have a good time.

[Confused, Cancer ponders the many things “Tri” can mean. After a few seconds of wearing a face more blank than Christian Light’s personality, he succombs to the pressure.]

Cancer Jiles:
The Tri?

Edward White:
Yeah, as in, the Bermuda Triangle.

[Surprisingly, Cancer doesn’t flinch. Or flipout. Or jump off the ship and begin to swim west. Instead of panic, he laughs, as if he should have known the answer to such a silly question.]

Cancer Jiles:
I knew that.

[No. He didn’t.]

Edward White: Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure ya did.

BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.

Cancer Jiles: BOMB!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!

[King COOL tears ass and leaps off the side of the vessel. The drop being a good hundred feet, and it would have been every inch of Rambo had he actually completed it. See, he landed eight feet down on another one of the ship’s decks, and through a coffee table.]

CRASHANDBURN~!

Edward White: Well, this should be good.

[Calmly, White checks the time before getting up and nonchalantly heading over to the ledge Cancer gracefully lept from.]

Edward White: Uh, no bomb. It’s my alert watch, telling me I have to adjust the satellite to keep on recording this.

[Rolling around in the pieces of an ancient Egyptian casket, which may or may not have belonged to King Tut at one time, Jiles shouts out.]

Cancer Jiles:
Awesome. Just. Awesome.

Edward White:
Don’t worry about it. The coffee table only cost seven million dollars. I got a few more in storage somewhere.

[Truth.]

[Up on his feet, and still a bit wobbly from the fall, Cancer brushes fragments of who knows what off his shoulders and body]

Cancer Jiles: [flustered]
I’m so going to MONGO CHAWP Andrews in the face for this. Like, top rope, four-fifty style.

Edward White: [confused]
What’d he do? Besides being born.

Cancer Jiles:
I blame him.

Edward White:
For what?

Cancer Jiles:
Everything.

[cut.]

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