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+---- Thread: The Word Count is Important (/showthread.php?tid=44201)
The Word Count is Important - Prof. Bobby Bourbon - 08-05-2022
Welp, I reckon I best come up with some cool sound bites here.
Nah. They don’t give a shit where it happens. They just know how you do shit. Unfortunately.
THE WORD COUNT IS IMPORTANT
Not quite what was expected here and now, exposition! Except with pointlessly added inflated verbiage so you could feel complete according to a word count source. Hold on, maybe we can get a parody caricature of my opponent here! Ooh, maybe I can hop on with another character after playing this one into the dirt and consider myself a success (Hey Charlie/LSM!). But hey, word count! Word count, word count, word count, because some people can’t achieve quality so they spam the fuck out of quantity (Charlie/LSM, you’re back!) Why get to the meat of the matter when we can have a long, dry, narrative that exists for no other sake than to be filler material and make a piece seem important when, ultimately, it does nothing. Really hope you’re paying attention to that, though, because who needs a message or to make a point, the promo has to be long enough first!
Today Bobby goes out and gets actual fucking results. By beating ass? Hell to the naw! Nobody does it that way, no sirree! Toughing it out and taking it on the chin, why, who would ever do such a thing? Nope, today Bobby gets his results by, you guessed it, pissing and moaning (Why not, it worked for Corey when he wanted Thad in War Games but not for me to have replacement partners; spin it how you want but that’s how it looks!) Bobby walks directly into Theo Pryce’s office. Theo seems gobsmacked as he’s talking to someone. Who doesn’t matter, it’s just some nobody. This is sold solid as Bobby grabs the nobody by the collar.
Bobby! What are you doing!
The nobody looks absolutely stunned as Bobby drags them to the door and tosses them outside. Bobby slams the door shut behind him, then drags a large bookcase in front of the door, barring it shut. Theo has his arms folded across his chest. They look like beefyish, but not super muscled arms in a suit coat. Ahahaha, word count. We described Theo’s arms for no good fucking reason.
I’m here to get results, Theo, I’m here to complain.
What are you here to complain about?
Whatever I make up that I think should be egregious because it makes my day a trifle more difficult, that’s what!
Theo’s face turns to one of sheer and utter dread.
Not that! Anything but that!
Oh yeah, that! Theo, how long have I been loyal? I mean, dead on, flat the fuck out, ride or die fucking loyal? Five, six years? Every time you have pointed at something and said “Yo, Bobby, it doesn’t need to stand anymore” I went and knocked it down.
Bobby walks towards Theo, who is backed up and leaning against his desk. His beautiful cherry desk with a platinum inlay. The cherry was cut down from somewhere in New England, the platinum, oddly enough, was plucked from thin air using some of Ozzy’s magical chicanery. Word count! We were able to kill time enhance the reader's agreement of my imagination of a desk! What technique! RP of the month for sure, definitely not a huge ‘fuck you’ to a gang of nerds who want to sound alike and pretend one is fancier than the next. Anyhow, Bobby stops a foot away from Theo.
Bobby, I get it, War Games didn’t go as you expected, you underperformed.
I was slapped into a fucked up team, by you, after months of having my chosen title, my rightly chosen as king fucking title, mocked online by your staff, then accused of cheating by the somehow undead Madison Dyson when shit went to shit. Fuck, Theo, how long have I been loyal, and how hard do you want to test that loyalty?
I don’t…
Bobby grabs Theo’s crotch. Theo’s face turns to sheer consternation. Do I get bonus points for using language you have to fucking google here or is it purely word count? Word count. Okay, the definition of consternation: feelings of anxiety or dismay, typically at something unexpected. Theo is having feelings of anxiety or dismay, typically at something unexpected, such as having the massive Bobby Bourbon decide to grab your nuts. Theo is undergoing consternation.
What are you…
I will rip ‘em off and make you eat them, Theo. It’ll be easier than saying my ABC’s and take a fraction of the word count to get it done.
What the fuck do you mean by ‘word count’?
Theo looks panicked by Bobby’s insane acknowledgement of word count in character, the finest 4th wall break he’s ever done, RP of the decade shit right here, and we might as well pat ourselves on the back for it even more because word count. I learned this from Charlie/LSM, if you can actually put enough words up there that people skim they don’t actually notice you’re not saying anything, it’s like the Robert Main effect. Jenny is fucked now because I’m employing the technique. Bobby’s arm tenses as he squeezes Theo’s nutsack, by the way, but that’s just what’s going on in the scene, not that sweet, sweet word count fluff, the fluff you need, the fluff you crave. Theo is getting no fluff, his balls are in a vice, and that vice is Bobby’s right hand. Theo’s eyes widen, like he’s a fat kid being squeezed into a roller coaster seat by a bored looking twenty-something. Like my eyes. I am large and must need squeezing into roller coaster seats. The employees always look so satisfied to press all their might into my chest and bend it to contort to the safety standards of the machine I’m sitting in and not my chest itself. Tumbili at Kings Dominion is fucking baller. Word count happened. Theo is in for a roller coaster ride.
My testicles!
Theo, I know you get bitched at. A lot. You have to play therapist for every other athlete here in the XWF, and sometimes I baffle the fuck out of you by not seeking that therapy but still having manic episodes so epic they should have been RP of the month. Instead, well, I just sit back and listen to you discuss what bothers you, I’m your listener. I am a strong listener, Theo, you know it. Vinnie knows it. It pisses you both off to the highest degree sometimes, and hey, that’s okay, my paychecks never stopped so you’re cool. Thing is…
Bobby clears his throat. A bead of sweat starts to trickle down Theo’s brow, his eyes darting, trying to get a lock on Bobby’s face, which while still, is not looking directly at Theo. Bobby’s looking down, and kind of away, avoiding eye contact. It’s almost like Bobby is watching for something else to happen. Maybe he has a plan to have gas come in through the vents, and at that time he puts on his gas mask to avoid the effects, as seen in Bobby Bourbon RP #233, SMOKE ON THE WATER, or Bobby Bourbon RP #498, FLUID DYNAMICS, and possibly Bobby Bourbon RP #6,898, CRAZY PURPLE KNOCK-OUT GAS. Not this one. Not good ole’ THE WORD COUNT IS IMPORTANT. You forgot Bobby is holding Theo Pryce by the nutsack, because god damn, that word count.
Because I have you by the balls. And for my match against Jenny, which you granted me, by the way, I have no right to complain or bitch, but I am grabbing your nuts and threatening to feed them to you…
What?
Theo looks mortified. There is literally, and figuratively, nothing stopping Bobby from wrenching Theo’s testes off and feeding them to him. So much so, that Bobby rips Theo’s testes off of him, through his suit pants.
YEEEIIIGHG!
Theo howls in agony as his pants get ripped off. Bobby looks down, confusedly.
Well, fuck me, you didn’t have any balls to begin with!
Bobby steps away from Theo who is hung like a Ken doll. Absolutely no genitalia to speak of whatsoever. It’s like someone just needed a life-form with no actual ambition to do things. Well played, Vinnie. Theo smirks.
Looks like I got you this time, Bobby. You fell for the oldest trick in the book! I don’t have any balls at all! When someone bitches and moans, well, if I had a pair, I’d stand up and tell them to shut the fuck up, like a real man, instead I have zero testicular fortitude to rely on. When it’s time to nut up or shut up, well, I just shut up.
Sad nineteen-eighties keytar music starts playing in the background. We know this because a sad nineteen-eighties keytar band has walked into the room through one of Theo’s hundreds of secret passages he keeps just because he knows assholes like Bobby will show up and bar the door here and there and never reveal in the promo how they unstuck the door (spoiler alert_), and when you have no balls, a secret passage is perfect. Through another secret passage we see a flight of pixies hovering into the scene, all giggling at Theo for having a hole in his pants and at Bobby for holding the torn out fly of a pair of Theo’s pants.
Theo, we forgot to mention…
That’s right Bobby. I don’t have a dick. Total lack of manhood on my behalf, no balls, and nothing to swing with it. I sit down to pee, and it was while I was sitting and taking a number one that I was called by Jenny about how you were awful for cutting just one promo last time.
Bobby snorts. He tosses Theo’s fly to the floor. He grabs a pixie and bites it. Bobby immediately regrets the decision, spitting the top half of a pixie to the floor. The other pixies look mortified. Fortunately, they’re with Theo. Let ‘em bitch and moan.
That tasted like everything in Bath and Body Works on a raw hamster.
Word count rules, because now we get to make a comment on how Bobby knows what hamster tastes like to make it super explicit because tongue in cheek storytelling is for us Boomers (Rock on Charlie/LSM!). Here goes; ‘looks like Bobby has eaten a raw hamster or twelve in his day’ LOL OMG UNEXPECTED NUMBERS THE GREATEST JOKE EVER RP OF THE EVER! *AIR HORNS AIR HORNS AIR HORNS!!!*
Alright, Jenny, I don’t know who you gussy yourself up for, because it isn’t for yourself. It sure ain’t for me. It can’t be for this guy, because Theo has no dick.
I have no dick.
Theo has no balls.
Them too.
He doesn’t find you attractive.
I can’t, no will to have sex whatsoever, although not because I’m asexual, because I literally do not have sex parts.
No sex parts on Theo.
I look stunning yet obscure in a speedo.
So, Jenny, I hope you’re ready for the asswhooping of a god damned lifetime coming your way. Whoo-ee, I’ma beat on you harder than concrete. I, if you gotta know, am pretty fucking frustrated with how some shit has shaken out the past week. They’ll think they’re ahead because I’m pissed, but woah man, they’re fucking doomed. You’re first up on the docket.
For starters, you got bitched out of War Games harder than I did, and don’t even start to bring up the shit storm that was the bitching and moaning going on prior to War Games. I hear tell you thought I cheated you last time we knuckled up at Savage, my poor dear, you must’ve had your bell rung, bless your heart. You, on the other hand, fucking bailed on your own stupid ass stipulation that nobody ever wanted.
Oh, by the way, to make this short and sweet, we’re doing a hair versus hair match. See, I don’t want to just take the TV Title from you, no, I’ma take your hair. Bald Jenny Myst, the heiress of hairlessness, the slick chick, it’s going to fucking happen because you already know you’re going into this a loser, because you know you’re a fucking loser, and you’re going out looking like Mr. Clean. I checked, I can have that as the fucking stipulation, before you start clacking away private messages to the fucking staff about how mean ole’ Bobby is picking at your feelings. Jenny, you are the most overhyped, overblown, and oversaturated thing in the XWF, like a sponge floating in a urinal. Nobody can help but piss all over you because you just take up too much space in the shitter. So, I’ma flush you, real quick, watch you run off somewheres else as you’re apt to do, and start reigning in as the rightful fucking Champion of all Television. Fuck the Goldi nonsense, it’s childish, just like you. You probably think eating cereal for dinner is cute when it’s just being gutter fuck poor and out of pasta.
You know what? I was going to slam down some bars on Jenny Myst, but what’s the fucking point? Jenny Myst doesn’t put in the effort for Jenny Myst, why the fuck should I waste words on that bitch?
Bobby, we pay you to do rhymes. It’s fun!
Dammit, Theo, grow a pair!
Theo squeezes, applying pressure to his nether region. He sighs and shrugs.
I tried.
Well, go, I dunno, win the Tour de France or something, you could probably chill on a bike seat for decades!
Au Revoir!
Theo runs off to get in on the sweet, sweet pro cycling circuit where his lack of balls is an asset; proper addition by subtraction as many would say. As others would say, word count.
Jenny, I get to personally disarm you of the Television Championship and your hair this Savage. This, well, this pleases me. It’s good to be the King sometimes, even when the kingdom doesn’t seem to be doing so hot. I’m not just pissed because of Jenny, no, I’m pissed because BoB is fucking fractured. TK got mugged for the Xtreme Title, who knows where Charlie has run off to, Marf is so fucking fired it’s not even funny, Ring Master won’t return my calls, and fortunately we still have that pillar among men, Ozzy, keeping it together like the sweet honey that keeps granola clumpy. Ozzy is my granola clumpy. I gotta step the fuck up, especially after the shit show that was War Games, and lead the way for my fucking dudes. I will do that, and where else, on television, week in, week out, as the Iron King of Savage or some such, although that one does sound cool.
~~~~~
A brief commercial about spaghetti happens. I didn’t feel like writing it out, but it’s really just what you’d expect. A family of four is sitting around a table, all holding their forks and spoons with empty plates in front of them. A flying spaghetti monster swoops through, as they do, plopping full heaping plates of spaghetti in a rich and vibrant bolognese. The father stands up and his eyes roll back into his head, and screaming, his face melts away revealing bone, but it all goes back right after, he was just that fucking happy to get a meal from the flying spaghetti monster. His wife is crouched on the chair and eating the spaghetti with no utensils whatsoever, face planted in pasta, like she’s a dog. The son is now instructing the family dog how to play the ukelele. The daughter has turned into a spaghetti golem. Buy some spaghetti, put some sauce on it; you know, a regular ass spaghetti commercial. Oh, it makes fun of Jenny Myst too. Relevant.
~~~~~
Bobby and Theo are seen in Theo’s office, beside Theo’s beautiful, ornately hand carved cherry wood desk, as Bobby is duct taping the crotch of Theo’s pants back on.
Bobby, I don’t think this is necessary.
Pleh, I bring wanton destruction and massacre, since when do I care about necessity?
Bobby applies the duct tape, which now just looks like a silver hexagon emblazoned on Theo’s crotch.
Good as new.
Word Count: 7 pages.