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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Tiny Bones
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
09-07-2017, 07:04 AM



Robbie Bourbon and Jack Cain, the Motherfuckers, find themselves paired with Travis McCoy in a match against the Sugay Sisters and Kennedy Robinson at Warfare. Is McCoy a potential Motherfucker?

Do three competitors each weighing less than half of the massive Robbie Bourbon even have a chance?

TINY BONES

We open to see the interior of that great facet of Americana known only as the local Hooters. Girls in skin tight t-shirts, orange hot pants, and sheer leggings walk around bringing food and beverage to a predominately male crowd as several games are shown on flat screen televisions adorning the walls, along with kitschy and corny signs letting you know how tacky this place truly is.

Seated at a table by himself is none other than Robbie Bourbon, along with Bearded War Pig. Both men seem to be catching up, considering BWP's status as MIA in the XWF but really running covert ops around the globe in the name of international security and American sovereignty.

Wait, you shot three guys with two bullets?

Yeah! It was actually a fluke, but then their fourth buddy was all like "blah blah blah" in some Korean gibberish I didn't understand, and he just dropped his rifle!

Hah! That's insane. Did you get into...

Nah, I found the silo, but getting in there to disarm the warheads was more than a one man job.

Damn. Well here's hoping the boost to AEGIS we installed on the Hubble telescope will knock their missiles out of the air before they're above ten feet.

Well our counter system already knocked out three of their headed for Guam.

Good deal.

Robbie and BWP give each other a fist bump, pleased with the fact they have saved the U.S. from North Korea yet again. As they do, the Engineer, the latest member to join the elite group of crack commandos known as the Motherfuckers, is seen walking in and sitting at the table with Robbie and BWP. Robbie's eyes light up.

You made it!

I did?

The Engineer looks around confusedly. Robbie backhands BWP on the shoulder as both men share a grin.

This guy is a total Motherfucker.

Engy sits at the table and pulls out a piece of cardboard covered with tinfoil.

What's that?

My tablet.

Engy opens a moist towelette and begins to wipe down the foil. A waitress, adorned in regular Hooters attire, approaches.

Hi, my name is Angelica, I'll be your server today. Can I get you guys started with a Pepsi, lemonade, or anything else to drink?

I'll take an unsweet iced tea.

Gimme a Sierra Mist.

Do you have blue Kool-Aid?

The waitress looks at Engy incredulously.

Um, we have Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Sierra Mist, Mr. Pibb, root beer...

I want blue Kool-Aid.

Psst.

Robbie waves the waitress over. She rolls her eyes, anticipating some tongue in cheek pick-up line as has been tossed her way dozens of times before.

Get the guy a lemonade and add some blue curacao to it.

Robbie whispers to the waitress, whose expression brightens like the screen of a smart phone when you get an incoming call.

Got it.

Angelica walks away. As she does, Engy stands on the chair.

What's up bud?

I'm getting awful reception, my apps aren't working.

Here, let me fix that.

Robbie pulls a green crayon out of his pocket and starts to scribble on the front of the 'tablet'.

Where did you get the crayon?

I forget.

Robbie doodles five lines on the foil.

There, now you have full bars.

Thanks!

Engy sits back down. As he does, Jack Cain walks in, not only towering over the whole of the establishment, but with a lit cigar in his mouth. Angelica approaches him.

Sir, you're going to have to put that out.

Jack throws the cigar over his shoulder and onto some random table. He immediately pulls out another cigar and lights it.

Sir!

Oh, you want me to put this one out too?

Yes, please.

Jack rolls his eyes as sticks out his hand and puts his cigar out on his open palm. Robbie chuckles and backhands BWP again on the shoulder.

I love these guys!

Engy looks up.

Thank you!

You're welcome.

How long is this going to take? I have to go meet up with Madison and I have to try some new vitamins*.

*(read all about it in The Engineers latest RPs against Jim Caedus, on news stands everywhere!)

Relax, bro, we're going to have some food together, you need to eat, right?

I'm starving.

No worries, Jack, we're going to have plenty to eat.

Good 'nuff.

Angelica returns with an unsweetened iced tea, the Sierra Mist, and a glass full of a blue fluid for Engy. As she lays straws out, Engy snags each one and puts all three into his glass. Robbie and BWP shrug and sip from their cups anyway. Angelica turns to Jack.

Can I get you something to drink sir? We have Pepsi, Diet...

I'll take a whiskey. Black.

A whiskey?

Black.

I'm sorry, what's a black whiskey?

Oh, just pour him a whiskey on the rocks and add a dash of char from the grill.

Um, okay...

Also, we're going to need four orders of fifty wings.

Four?

Angelica starts scribbling into a notepad frantically.

Yes. Fifty smoked, habanero dusted, fifty Daytona style, fifty spicy garlic, and fifty chipotle honey.

Okay, did you want celery or fries with that?

Celery.

Blue cheese or ranch?

Both.

I want fries!

Angelica looks back at Robbie.

Add a side of fries too.

Okay, so I got fifty smoked with habanero, fifty Daytona, fifty spicy garlic, and fifty chipotle honey.

And a whiskey. Black.

And a whiskey, black. Okay, let me get you your drink sir and the wings will be about fifteen to twenty minutes.

Angelica walks away, befuddled by the strange order. BWP gets a good view of her buttocks squeezed into the tight orange hot pants.

Do I have to eat all fifty of mine?

No, pick at them if you want. They're for sharing. Dibs on twenty of the smoked ones, though. They're the truth.

They are. If you haven't had the smoked wings at Hooters, go to Hooters and eat the smoked wings. Bring your wife, girlfriend, or mother if you think the place is sexist.

So what's the plan for Warfare?

Whoop some ass.

Got it.

That simple?

Well, yeah. It's what we do as Motherfuckers.

Right.

Really?

Yeah.

But aren't you worried about the Sugays or Kennedy?

Nah.

The Sugays don't weigh as much as Robbie, sure don't weigh as much as me.

Well, I don't know weight matters. Size matters, don't get me wrong, if the Sugays were any bigger they wouldn't have a job in the XWF, a lot like the waitresses here. When's the last time you saw a plus sized XWF woman wrestler? Probably the last time you saw a plus sized Hooters waitress. They just don't exist. But just because they're way smaller and by proxy more fragile than our husky selves and our ultra-sturdy physiques isn't what takes them out of the equation here. Jack, stranger things have happened...

Bourbon, Cain, and BWP all glance at Engy, who grins and pats his XWF Xtreme Championship Belt, suddenly draped over his shoulder. Engy goes back to playing with his tinfoil-covered cardboard 'tablet'.

I can't get Candy Crush on this.

Damn. Here, take my phone.

Robbie reaches into his pocket and hands his phone to Engy. Engy places the phone squarely on top of the 'tablet' and starts to doddle around on the screen.

Thanks!

No problem brother.

So, I still think being superheavyweights is a good thing.

I do too, Jack. I do too. The thing the Sugays and Kennedy Robinson don't have on us is we're flat out meaner. We're nastier. We're the baddest men on the block, knocking any kind of King out the box. The only concern I have is the X factor in the match, Travis McCoy.

You think a bunch of girls can beat him?

I don't know. I don't know where his head is at, what he's capable of in the ring. I hope he feels like rebounding after losing to Peter for the Hart Championship, like I did a year and a half ago. Me, I'm just a low down mutt patrolling a scrap heap chomping down on whatever piece of meat I can find in my yard, no matter how vile, gross, or ugly it makes me look. That there is an edge against the Sugays, for certain, we don't have to worry about being pretty any time soon.

I'm pretty.

Well, okay, Engy, you're adorable.

Engy grins and goes back to playing on Robbie's phone.

So, you think he's just a fuck?

I don't know. We'll see. He might even be Motherfucker material. If he can demonstrate backbone and character in the face of adversity, I'll welcome him to our table.

Angelica comes back with a huge tray of wings. Three other waitresses are with her, each carrying a massive tray of chicken wings. The manager, telltale by his being a him and wearing a Hooters golf shirt, is carrying a little basket of celery and a cup of blue cheese dressing, along with Jack Cain's blackened whiskey, living up to his salaried position by being a team player. Robbie's eyes light up as he sees the food. BWP's eyes light up as he sees four Hooters girls. Jack Cain's eyes light up as he sees his whiskey with bits of grill char floating in it. Engy's eyes light up as he presses a green button on the screen face of Robbie's cell, which starts to ring. As the waitresses and manager set the order down on the huge table, Robbie glances at Engy.

Who did you call, bud?

The phone rings for a moment until a voice is heard, disjointed and distant, like any voice coming from a phone on TV.

"Hello?"

Who did you call?

Engy laughs and stands. He puts some wings in his pocket, and leaves the restaurant. Robbie, BWP, and Cain look bemusedly at each other, each recognizing the voice.

"Robbie? What do you want? I'm really kind of busy here..."

Uh, hey Vinnie. Wanna come to Hooters?

A sigh is heard on the other end of the phone.

*click*

The face of Robbie's phone goes dark.

Chicken wings, if you didn't know, are often separated into two distinct parts. Drumettes, which resemble tiny chicken legs, and flats, which are the portion of a chicken wing with the most meat but also with two tiny bones inside. Robbie digs a finger into the center of a flat and pulls back, and with a snap splits the wing open. he then pulls one of the tiny bones out of the meat, and then engulfs the other bone, pulling it clean from his mouth, now full of delicious hickory smoked chicken. Jack Cain sips his whiskey, and BWP is now nowhere to be seen, having vanished like the American ninja Jedi knight he is. Robbie barely drops the bones from the flat as he pulls a drumette up from a platter and bites into it. Angelica chuckles at him.

You like your wings, don't you?

Robbie swallows whatever was in his mouth, possibly whole.

Yes ma'am.

Robbie cleans the bone of the drumette and picks up a sauce laden flat. He snaps it open like one would shell a peanut or twist open a bottle of Coca-Cola, with a smooth fluid motion denoting it's an activity he has performed a lot in his life. His lips smack around the bone as sauce smears across his mug, never touching his mask. Angelica hasn't even stepped away from the table due to the efficiency with which Robbie Bourbon can tear into these tiny pieces of meat.

You're getting a little messy there, huh?

They don't pay me to be pretty.

Jack Cain raises his glass, then knocks back his blackened whiskey. He then sets to work on the massive amount of chicken wings along with Robbie.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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[-] The following 4 users Like Prof. Bobby Bourbon's post:
JackCain (09-07-2017), JimCaedus (09-07-2017), The Engineer (09-07-2017), Theo Pryce (09-07-2017)




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