Post by Robbie Bourbon on Dec 8, 2018 10:47:41 GMT -8
Robbie Bourbon faces Donovan Blackwater for the Xtreme Championship at the Super Pre Christmas Show.
Donovan Blackwater was a solid champ.
APOLOGIES
We open to see Robbie Bourbon once again strolling down H Street. He's bundled up, rocking the vaunted double hoodie, one significantly tighter than the outer. Neither hood is pulled up over his mask. Beside him, walking along and speaking to Robbie, is a total bombshell. She's tall and incredible to see, she grins and excitedly converses using her hands to describe and accentuate her inaudible speech. Robbie is smiling as well, seemingly pleased with his present company.
The two stop suddenly, however, when a manhole lid flies open paces in front of them. Robbie, perhaps instinctively, steps in front of the lady. As he does, a half man, half aligator leaps from the open manhole. While certainly not the oddest thing to ever come out of a manhole in the XWF, it's not what one would consider "run of the mill". It is, however, not at an all a lizard person as described by a swath of former XWF stars or Alex Jones, it is a genuine anthropomorphic alligator man. It hisses.
Shit! It's a crocodile man!
Naw! That's no croc! 'At's a gator, ya can tewl buy tha snaout.
Her thick Australian accent cuts the air like peeling carrots, which, while esoteric, is actually the perfect way to describe an Australian accent.
Oh, well, Alligator man! Hello, Alligator Man!
The Alligator man turns and looks at Robbie.
Hello, surface human! I come seeking a good chilidog! I have had a hankering for a while, and all the stuff in the sewer is getting unpalatable!
Well, Alligator man, go to Ben's! Get yourself a half smoke, tell 'em Robbie sent you!
Oooh, 'at's smahrt! I wanna goe!
Okays.
Robbie turns and smiles at the lady, his dimples pushing up on the sides of his mask, his eyes nearly shutting from his cheekbones skyrocketing.
C'mon, Alligator man, we'll show you how to get there.
Hsssssss. Thank you, surface human!
Do you keep saying that because there're subterranian humans?
What? Uh, no, it's, well, it's a good trope, you see.
Oh.
The lady laughs as she laces her left arm around Robbie's massive right and the Alligator man follows as they approach Ben's Chili Bowl. When they get to the corner where Ben's is, across the entire intersection, a 1991 Ford F-150 squeels up into the center of the intersection, which was super fucking busy, causing massive pile ups on H Street going in either direction. Driving the truck is Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw. Riding shotgun is Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd. Between them is Mini Morbid, who is wearing a Pikachu hat. In the bed of the truck are Murphy, the Pittsburgh Hammer, Joe Biden, Vice President 4 4 4 4 Life, Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax, and referee Todd Pettingill, the referee from Robbie's last match, former WWF backstage interviewer, and all around weird looking 90's man. Todd is in a body cast in a wheelchair, which means he's riding in a wheelchair in the bed of a pickup truck which was speeding through the city at breakneck speeds wrecklessly, which means as weird as your memories of Tedd Pettingill might be, he's fucking xtreme as shit to do that.
Fuck, you guys caused a huge fucking pile up! What the hell?
Robbie, we were watching you have your date again and saw the Alligator man!
Wait, you got here really fast...
Yeah, we were parked around the block again.
You guys are stalking me?
No, it's good we're here! Now we can help with...
Everybody stops and turns and looks at the Alligator man.
Gary.
Huh?
My name is Gary. Stop calling me the Alligator man if you think it's so ridiculous I call you "surface humans".
We can help with Gary!
I don't need help, we're going to Ben's.
Uh, nao.
The girl steps away from Robbie.
I didn't know your frieends we're comin' tooo, Robbie. 'Is is just wei-ard! I think I'm going to go back to the hotel and wait for you, don't get back too late.
The lady scampers off. Robbie looks at the assembled Bourbon men, rolls his eyes, then back at Gary and shrugs. Gary shrugs back.
Sorry, did we scare off your new Blue?
My new what? No. No, you didn't, she's cool people, that's all, it's nothing...
What about Rosie?
What about Rosie? She's cool people too. I'm not really looking for commitment, I'm looking for a pleasant evening where I don't have you maniacs speeding up at a moments notice.
We're pent up!
Yeah, we've been bored as hell since last May, we saw Gary here show up out of nowhere, and, uh...
Gary rolls his eyes at Axe's less than veiled, um, speciest remarks? Racist? It's anti Alligator-men.
Look, I love you guys, but you need to stop focusing on me getting laid. Go find some legit crimes to fight or whatever, give me a call.
Where did you meet that girl?
Did you hear a word I just said?
Yeah, is she...
Robbie blinks hard and rubs his eyes. He turns and watches the lady walk off and hail a taxi. He then turns back to the Bourbon Men.
She's Alexandra Vegemite, heirress to the Vegemite empire.
Did you meet her in Australia?
Yes, I met her in Australia.
She's hot.
She has her charms, sure. But, look, don't worry about her. She's cool and all, but I'm not seeing her as a Bourbon Man.
...yet.
No, not yet, ugh.
Robbie looks up at the sky and wrings his hands.
Hi Todd. Look, I'm sorry for what happened at Warfare.
Robbie walks up to the truck and lifts Todd Pettingill, wheelchair and all, out of it and sets him on the street.
To make it up to you, I agreed to let you come hang out with us and do lunch, since XWF referees usually only get fed scraps from a trough.
The screen blurs as we cut away to see the referees locker room at any given XWF event. Todd Pettingill and the others are sitting, chatting away, when a door swings wide open. Barney Green wheels a horse trough in then cuts open a bag of raw oats and pours it in. The referees all get on their hands and knees and start to eat oats from the trough. The screen blurs as we cut back to the present.
Well, Robbie, I really...
Shhh, no Todd. I don't like your voice.
Joe Biden pulls out a large knit cap.
Look, I found your favorite hat!
No, that's not my..
Shhhhhh. Your favorite!
Joe slides the hat down over Todd's face as Mini Morbid hops up into his lap, riding along in the wheelchair.
Look, lets just go get a couple of half smokes from Ben's.
Okay.
Robbie, Todd, Gary, and the assembled Bourbon Men all leave the scene of the massive automobile accident at the intersection of H Street and 10th Street northeast. People begin to climb out of the cars, as none are injured whatsoever or worse for the wear, though each of the fifteen cars looks totalled.
Woah, should we help those...
Oh, you should totally drive that truck away from the scene, the police will be here any minute and I'm pretty sure I stole it from some redneck that pissed me off, so...
Murphy's eyes go wide as Cyberjaw hustles towards the truck.
Uh, sorry everybody! Sorry! I'll, uh, move my truck now!
Cyberjaw gets into the cab of the 1991 Ford F-150 and slams the door shut. He peels out and tears off down the street. As soon as the car is around the corner and out of view, the echoes of its tires on pavement and roaring engine filling the sky, Cyberjaw very nonchalantly walks up to the rest of the Bourbon Men.
Wow, that was fast!
It's his holographic surrogate.
The real Cyberjaw is driving right now, he made these cool doohickeys that project his image like he's still around.
Blah, blah, pointless exposition about some device that will eventually have something to do with the plot.
The Bourbon Men all start to walk into Ben's. Robbie goes in first, pushing Todd and Mini Morbid, swinging the door wide so Gary could catch it. Gary swings the door wide with his tail, conveniently protruding from some wrecked looking pants he must have found in the sewers somewhere, for Cyberjaw. The holographic projection just goes through a closing door, and Diamondback, right behind hims, slams into a closed door. Joe Biden collides with Diamondback, and Axe Mannix bumps into Joe. Murphy stops and looks. Robbie turns around.
What are you doing? Come on.
The 3 men pile up, not to be confused with the 15 car pile up in the street next to them, untangle themselves and enter Ben's. Robbie approaches the counter. The person at the counter greets him.
Welcome to Ben's sir, have you been here before?
Yep. I need eight half smokes, all the way.
Okay, do you need something to drink?
Yeah, eight sodas please.
The lady unstacks eight cups and hands them to Robbie. Robbie pulls his wallet out.
That'll be $80.
Robbie pulls a small plastic card out of his wallet and inserts it into a credit card terminal chip first. He starts to divvy out the cups, one to Mini Morbid, sliding one into Todd Pettingill's hand, one to Gary, one to Joe Biden, one to Diamondback, one to Murphy, and one to Axe. Cyberjaw looks upset.
I want a soda!
You're not here, you're a hologram, stop it.
But I want a soda and some food!
Is the real Cyberjaw communicating through that thing?
No. Cyberjaw has no idea what's going on. That thing is preprogrammed.
The holographic projection continues to fuss and glow an unnatural shade of blue. Robbie removes his card from the chip reader. A loud buzz happens, causing all the line cooks and other patrons to glare.
I'm sorry sir, your card has been declined.
Jesus.
With that, a light shines from on high, and in this ray of sunshine, Jesus Christ, the holiest of Bourbon Men, cascades down onto H Street, ignoring the massive car wreck, and walks into Ben's Chili Bowl. Bedecked in brown cordoroys and a purple turtleneck, high fiving a Muslim dude on his way in, Jesus walks up to Robbie.
You rang?
Oh, hey. Long time no see.
Yeah, I know.
Tell me about it. That time where I saw one set of footprints was me going it alone it looks like.
Jesus rolls his eyes.
Whatever.
Jesus reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet that says "BAD MOTHER FUCKER" like from Pulp Fiction. He opens it and pulls out a pearlescent credit card and puts it into the machine. It immediately says approved.
Lunch is on me.
Okay, we're square. So, what's up?
I dunno, I thought you were working through some shit, but you finally seem to be doing what you do, which is beat people up. But...
But what?
Well, my birthday is coming up and all, and we haven't talked in a while, I was wondering...
What, you thought I was going to skip Christmas? Dude, I wasn't, I was just hoping for a nice quiet, uneventful, peaceful holiday.
Robbie purses his lips before guffawing heartily. The rest of the Bourbon Men, Jesus, Gary, and Todd Pettingill laugh along.
Okay, okay, you got me. I know what's up.
Okay, cool. Because that heirress you were dating and left unattended? Well, she's been captured by Krampus!
What?
Yep! Laters!
Jesus hightails it out of there as Robbie's face goes from befuddlement to shock to anger.
Looks like it's that time of year again. Time for Robbie Bourbon to save Christmas.
Or, you know, just a rich hot Australian chick.
That too.
How are you going to fight Krampus?
Uh, by beating the shit out of it and stuff.
Yeah, but isn't it like some mythical creature?
Psht. Mythical creatures, metahumans, dudes in power suits, whatever, it's all just a matter of what flavor of conjecture you want at the time. I'm pretty sure if I can survive in the ring against D'Ville and Gamer Girl, Krampus won't be too tough.
But, what about the other metahumans?
The whosits?
Blackwater.
Oh, those guys.
Yeah, they have powers and all, but in the grand scheme of things that's all like a boardgame stashed in your grandma's attic, not really all that relevant and you'd have to think really hard about the last time they actually used those powers and all for any real reason. I mean, sure, I'm bulletproof, but that doesn't apply itself to any sort of wrestling match. Well, Donovan likes his pistols, but if he brings that thing ringside come Christmas, I'ma make him give that pistola of his a blowjob. Gliding the tongue back and forth, sticking it out to touch the trigger, constant eye contact as he does his best to please his own gun, because if he doesn't do a good enough job, he's going to get an anal creampie from it.
You've made my naughty list, Donovan.
And why the fuck does he look so much like Luca Arzegotti? It's uncanny.
Like, I disappear for a while and think I'm watching Luca fight Duke, and come to find out, you guys had so much plastic surgery to look like existing XWF stars that you wind up looking and sounding like the dollar store variant of existing XWF stars.
But, lo, the powers that be saw what kind of fucking damage a real, genuine, and original fucking piece of meat that I am, that there ain't shit quite like Robbie Bourbon, and they were like, "Say, fellas, I got an idea, how about Robbie Bourbon becomes a fucking grand slam champion at Christmas" so they shot me a line, told me "Hey, Rob, we think you're a violent and bad enough sumbitch to fight Donovan Blackwater for the Xtreme Championship", and I was like, well, am like actually, "That's cake, bossman." I'm not looking at you like you're the lump of coal along with two other terdlings stuffed in my stocking that I gotta deal with. You're not some punishment or hazing thrown at me. You're my Christmas present, Donny, you and your brothers, a trio of wannabe superheroes with all the power and talent in the fucking world but still not worth lacing up my mask or ready to feel my swollen, hardened knuckles plow into them. Last Warfare, I Robbiebombed the world. Tommy Wish, Rocket, even poor referee Todd Pettingill got the bomb, and Universe was ready for that kind of explosion to happen in that arena, on their screens, and in their god damned souls when the Wednesday Night Wrecker came back to Warfare and put an ass whooping so incredible on display that someone had to say "can't wait to see Robbie do that to someone else."
But enough of that shit, finish up guys, I gotta go save Christmas!
Gary places the half smoke in his alligator mouth and chomps it in one bite. Axe Mannix places the entire half smoke in his human mouth and chomps it in one bite but it's way grosser looking as stuff spills out. The rest of the Bourbon Men grab their half smokes and hustle out into the street. As they do, Cyberjaw comes running up and the holographic surrogate dissipates. Cyberjaw looks confused.
I don't get a chili dog?
Go get the truck.
Cyberjaw slumps, spins, and runs in the opposite direction as the holographic projection comes back. People from the car accident are all chatting and singing Christmas carols. Mini Morbid hops off of Todd Pettingill's lap and finds a stick, jamming it into the wheel of Todd's wheelchair. Joe Biden starts feeding Todd Pettingill a half smoke because he's in a body cast. From the sky, a breeze blows a Santa hat into view and it lands squarely on Robbie's noggin.