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+--- Thread: Don't Do Drugs (/showthread.php?tid=29318)
Don't Do Drugs - Prof. Bobby Bourbon - 09-11-2017
Robbie Bourbon was recently given a federal indictment on doping charges in the XWF. A man of his word, and the people, Robbie Bourbon eagerly awaited his day in court before a senate subcommittee looking into the legitimacy of performance in the XWF.
Meanwhile, the Sugay Sisters seem to have busted into Jim Caedus's last hidden meth stash. Sad.
DON'T DO DRUGS.
We open to see a huge judicial chamber somewhere in the U.S. Capitol. Seated in a group are Senators Lamar Alexander, Republican out of Tennessee, John Barrasso, Republican out of Wyoming, Sherrod Brown, Democrat out of Ohio, Maria Cantwell, Democrat out of Washington, and Diane Feinstein, Democrat out of California, and facing them at a table is a team of crack XWF lawyers and Robbie Bourbon. Diane Feinstein, presiding officer of this hearing, bangs a gavel. Feinstein runs her hand through her hair. Cantwell runs her hand through her hair. Barrasso runs his hand through his hair.
Robbie Bourbon runs his hand across the scalp of his mask. He then looks at his own hand, shrugs, and looks back up at the Senate Committee in charge of the hearing.
Mr. Bourbon, do you know why you're here today?
Honestly, Senator, I don't. Everybody knows Robbie Bourbon is all natural. I do it on coffee and hot dogs. All the pep and protein I'm going to need to get through anything. Wake up, have a cup of java, down two pancakes over sausages on a stick. Do cardio. Have a can of vienna sausage and an iced black coffee. Hit the weights. Chest and arms on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Legs on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
Sherrod Brown runs his hand through his hair.
After that, I have three chili dogs with onions. The onions are good for your blood. I wash it down with a cup of coffee. Then I go and get to doing the real work out. Smashing tires with a hammer. The tires don't break, I just swing a hammer for an hour. Get a good sweat going. Then I practice hitting the hammer with the tire. It's a different grip, works different muscles.
Lamar Alexander runs his hand through his hair. Feinstein bangs the gavel.
Mr. Bourbon, we don't need to hear about your work out regimen.
I think you do, Senator. That's what has been called into question today. After I play with a hammer and a tire, I have two grilled bratwurst with sauerkraut, stewed onions, and mustard, and I wash it down with a large iced coffee, black.
Is that like a black whiskey?
No, it's black coffee. Don't be ridiculous. Who drinks black whiskey? Anyway, after that, I go for a swim, after waiting for thirty minutes so I don't get a cramp and drown.
And where do you swim, Mr. Bourbon?
In a pool in a sublevel in my dojo which I have yet to showcase to the public in a promo. I now feel like I owe the XWF Universe such a promo.
Thank you.
You're welcome, Senator. After that, I take the biggest, healthiest shit in the world. All that coffee and all those hot dogs and all that exercise really put a load in the colon, so I go and spend about twenty to thirty good minutes on the can, and that's where I pick up on the news and world events.
Like details of your next match?
Pretty much. After that, I go have a shower and set about my business duties, such as shooting promos for the XWF, teaching students in my dojo, or even working on my finances.
Feinstein runs the gavel through her hair and bangs the podium in front of her with her hand.
Mr. Bourbon, you are aware that you're under oath, and everything you say is on the record, are you not?
I am?
Yes, Mr. Bourbon.
Well, in that case, I have a few things I need to say.
Robbie loosens his tie. He takes a sip of water. Blue, Robbie's Girlfriend and Handler, who is seated next to him, pats his hand. Robbie turns to the Senator.
Senator, I feel like the match I've been put in is a complete and utter waste of fucking time for the XWF fans. Warfare is in Toronto, one of the greatest cities on this continent, in our great partner to the north, Canada. I'm the number one contender to the Universal Championship, and while the Universal Champion fights Chasm, a complete and utter schlub who doesn't have the fucking spine to face me in a match, who's so chickenshit even the chickens learned to flush after seeing him, who hasn't won a single fucking match that mattered this year, this decade, or even this century. That is a complete and utter travesty, Senator, that instead of pitting the number one contender in a match to fine tune his skillset in preparation for his rightful and earned title match, the powers that be in the XWF have decided to plop my happy ass in a carnival sideshow battle of the sexes.
Let the record show that it's most likely Theo Pryce, still butthurt over the ass whooping of a lifetime the Kings ate like starving mutts in the back alleys of some god forsaken hellhole. It could be Vinnie Lane, thinking it'd be funny to see me squirm over the fact I have no desire to pummel the latest eye candy, masturbation aides, and sex objects in the XWF. Seriously, I'm a fucking destroyer, Senator, I crush bone and soul in that god damned ring, and someone thought 'hey, let's have the greatest beast we have on our payroll have a match with the tropes from a sorority porn parody'.
On second thought, yeah, I have a tougher night ahead of me than James Raven.
I find it laughable that Kennedy Robinson thinks I'm going to be interested in throwing a bone into a body so tiny, so ill equipped to fuck like a god damned demon while a clydesdale like myself mounts her and tears through her fallopian tubes like they're tissue paper. Senator, earlier this year, after being controlled by a nasty parasite, I myself was a bit of a sex object. They set up a slide, Senator, and women from miles around rode down it to bounce on my penis once or twice just to say they fucked me. Yes, Danny Sex is gone now, and good riddance, but I was at the bottom of more panties than tags that say 'Victoria's Secret', Senator. The only feesible reason Kennedy Robinson would have to want to fuck me, to have me grab her lady parts, besides the fact I'm a god damned physical phenomenon with baby blue eyes, dimples, and a cute smile, is because Kennedy Robinson's mom, sister, aunts, and cousins already took a ride on my dick and she's eager to find out if the gleam in the eye she sees in most women she already knows can appear in her eyes too.
*BANG*
The report of a .44 revolver is heard in the chamber. Robbie doubles over, holding his head, while bulletproof, has succumbed to the sheer force of such a weapon firing. Beside him, holding the revolver, is Blue. Blue brushes her fingers through her hair, exhaling and rolling her eyes. Feinstein bangs the gavel.
How does she have that weapon in here?
Senator Feinstein, I have a permit.
A bailiff approaches the podium and whispers to the Senators. Robbie looks at Blue. Before he can speak he's cut off.
You know what that was for.
Well, do you feel better now?
Yes. Stop bringing up you fucking other women.
Sorry.
It's...
The bailiff steps away. Senator Feinstein bangs the gavel. She then throws the gavel away.
Sorry, I'm getting carried away with that thing.
Senator, may I please speak?
Yes.
Senator, Robbie Bourbon is not interested in any of those women he's facing at Warfare. Come Wednesday, he will not be pummeling a group of women, he will be conducting a training seminar with them since they are painfully inexperienced in the XWF. These women, Senator, even believe that beating Chris Chaos is something of note around here. Robbie's done it twice. They think taking on the Kings will be easy. It won't. Not without Robbie's guidance and help. Not without his tutelage.
Not without hot dogs and coffee either!
Not now, Honey.
Okay.
Senator, I also wish to go on record as saying that if Tala Sugay thinks she's hard, when she's really just a bitch, she's got her head stuck so far up her own ass she's checking out what she ate for lunch yesterday. Tala, that's all you are, is the bitchy one here, and I don't care if it's you, or the naive one, or the whore, but if Robbie is too bashful to defend himself while you treat him like a sexual object and violate him...
I wouldn't say I'd be violated, honey...
Blue points the .44 at Robbie's face. Robbie shrugs and backs off.
If any of you dare try to come on to him, I pull the trigger once, a bullet puts a hole in you twice, and you show us all more blood than your last three miscarriages combined.
The senators all look to each other and speak in hushed tones. They run their hands through each others hair. It's not as sexy as you'd think. They turn back to Robbie and Blue and the crack team of XWF lawyers.
Is that all, Blue?
Yes ma'am.
Um, Senator, where did these claims I was on some kind of performance enhancing drug come from?
With that, a figure jumps forward from inside the chamber, beyond the army of journalists covering the hearing. It tosses away a trench coat and fedora and reveals a tiny man in a massive metallic body frame. Standing near eight feet tall in this strange suit or device he speaks.
It was I, Dr. Sanchez! I lured you here, Robbie Bourbon, as I am your arch nemesis.
Robbie, rightly perplexed, looks at Blue, then back at Dr. Sanchez, then at the Senators.
On the record, I have no idea who this guy is.
Don't ignore me, Robbie! You may have defeated many a foe in your day, but on this day, the mighty mind of Dr. Sanchez has you beat! I trumped up the notion you were doping, and the Senate was quick to indict a professional athlete like you to look relevant! Mwahahahaha!
Robbie walks over to the laughing midget in the suit, reaches up, and unbuckles the safety belt. He pulls Dr. Sanchez out of the suit, which slumps without a pilot. Dr. Sanchez looks at Bourbon with shock.
Hey! Put me back in that cool robot suit!
No.
Yes!
No, you're being a dick. Senator, you see what I have to deal with? I don't have time to score any kind of illegal substance, I have goof balls like this, Peter Gilmour, and Michael Graves to deal with on the regular.
You're right Mr. Bourbon. We find you clear of any and all misconduct.
Well, not any and all.
Robbie turns Dr. Sanchez around in his hand, tosses him up slightly, then punts him. Dr. Sanchez travels all of seven feet after having Bourbon's massive size fourteen wrestling boot hit him square in the taint then crashes into the robot suit, causing it to collapse.
I'll never be finished engaging in misconduct.