Well, I don't reckon there's much you need to know about me, or you want to know. I aint nobody special, just a former Alabamahad Chicken Farmer now Profeshnal Rassler. I would've typed this up on one of them there machines, but I couldn't figure out how to start the damned thing up. Tecknology shure is growing by the second aint it? Anyhoo, sorry for the sloppy handwriting and maybe spelling mistakes. Never did graduate highschool or nothing, the farm was too important.
I was born as James Franklin Cagle Junior on August 2nd, 1975. The name sounds fancy don't it? Anyhoo, I was the youngest of four. The other three were my older sisters. My papa, James Cagle Senior told me he'd keep having kids until momma gave him a son, even if they had to have twenty daughters. That's a hoot aint it?
Well, my mother and my sisters worked in the house while me and Papa worked on the farm. We farmed poultry, but not for no company or nothing fancy like that, just for us to live off of. Mama would have a little garden and made the sister pick beans and other veggables while I collected eggs, and prepared the chickens for eating. Nothing fancy in doing that or nothing, just chop the chicken's head off and pluck it. Sometimes when I cut their heads off, I think God would get mad or something and make them run around. Papa told me it was just nachure though. I don't know nothing about nachure and such.
We'll skip past my younger years. Nothing really exciting happened around them times, except when I turned eighteen. Mama introduced me to this gal named Annie Pope. I married her after a year, on July 9th, 1995. Nope, besides that nothing really exciting happened to me. When I turned twenty years old, my father was on his deathbed. He had what doctors told me was what you'd call a "clogged up artery", which became a hart attack. Mama didn't know what no artery was, and didn't know that was why he was aching either. By the time we had gotten to the hospital, Papa was done dead. I remember watching him shut his eyes. I even remember his last words to me. "James, you have a responsibility to carry on the Cagle name. You and your wife Annie oughta have a boy. Do that for the Cagle name."
So I had relashuns with her. And shure enough, nine months and three days later my boy was born. Annie named him Michael James Cagle. Suited me just fine it did. I didn't take no mind to it. I'm sure I would've named him, but I fainted when I saw my son's head poking out of Annie's gina.
... I don't reckon I want to tell you much more. My wife left me for my Cousin Jim. Family aint supposed to wreck no home of yours, not if they're family they aint. I still love Annie to this day I do, and my son who she took with her. I'm gonna to make sure that Jim pays a mighty fine price for doing that someday, and I reckon I'll start with his teeth!
Now, I never did fancy liberals too much. Especially after my farm was reposessed by the governent. Of course, no conservative would possess no real estate of mine. They know a man's gotta make a living. I moved in with my second sister Elizabeth and her family for a little while, 'till my job at the mechanics got me enough money to find me a new home. I was always good with cars, I reckon all southern men are though. It comes nachural, as my late Papa would say.
If you'd ask me how I ended up in FWO, (Which I think they oughta rename to FRO, but I don't think you should tell nobody) I'd tell you that I found rassling easy. It comes nachural for a man to beat the living Beelzebub out of somebody I guarantee. Not even the Lord our God himself can take that away from the human spirit. Nope, don't reckon he could. Anyhoo, I found this try-out poster for a place called Fans Rasslin Organization, right? That sure is fancy. Aint that how it's spellt? My apology to Mr. Higher-Up if I spellt that badly! God knows I aint no speller. Well anyhoo good old James Cagle here tried out, and ended up in the most glorified place in sports except the Crimson Tide football field, the squared circle! I reckon after half a year of learning the trade, the rich yankee higher-ups told me I was good enough to be a rassler. That's a hoot aint it?