In response to the intensity shown by Robbie Bourbon in his last promotional video, and towards Kirk MacClay, Austin Fernando has in turn presented a promotional video of his own. He's told Robbie to prepare for death, even going so far as to lump Robbie Bourbon in with the likes of Shane and Vinnie Lane.

The last we checked, Robbie was already in a pissy mood to begin with.

AUSTIN HAS HAD MORE FULL CONDOMS INSIDE HIM THAN A TIJUANA DRUG MULE.

We open scene to see Robbie at a boat launch, the super awesome Wednesday Night Warfare speedboat setting in the water. Kirk MacClay and Matthew Oaktree are seen standing beside the souped up van Robbie gets around in, his stylist Ash standing next to them. Both Ash and Oaktree look bored and are playing on their cellphones. A heavy set man approaches the group.

That'll be fifty.

Woah, fifty?

Robbie spins towards the dockmaster with urgency, a huge grin across his face.

Uh, heh, I thought it would be cheaper.

Nope. New boat licensing fee, plus launch. Fifty bucks.

Well, what if I drive my boat out of here?

You'd have to get in it.

The heavy set man points towards the docks, a locked gate with barbed wire running across the top preventing anyone from accessing them.

Ah. Clever. Welp, why not? So, where's the paperwork?

Ain't no paperwork, dude, just fifty bucks!

No, there's paperwork. New boat licensing paperwork. No paperwork, no deal. I'll find somewhere else to launch.

The fuck you will! Fifty bucks, now dude!

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Lemme speak to a manager.

Ain't no fucking manager here, shithead, I own this dock! Now pay up for using my fucking launch.

Robbie turns and looks at the threesome loitering by the van.

So, uh, any of you mugs got cash on you?

Kirk rolls his eyes as Matthew and Ash continue to play on their phones.

Well, no cash. You take credit card?

Nope. Cash only.

Jesus. It's two-thousand fucking fifteen and you don't even take fucking credit cards?

Nope. Too expensive.

Well, fuck me, if you didn't spend all your fucking money on that fucking fence and barbed fucking wire, maybe you'd have a few more boats on your docks and a little more business.

Look, if you don't pay me my fifty bucks, I'm gonna call the cops.

Call 'em.

I will!

Do it.

I fucking will, you motherfucker.

What's stopping you?

The man takes a step towards Robbie, creating a situation where their bellies touched. Robbie immediately takes a quick step back.

PAY ME MY FUCKING MONEY!

Robbie shrugs and looks at the guy.

I don't have any cash. I'd pay you, but you don't have any way for me to use my plastic.

Then you don't get your fucking boat!

What?!

With that, Robbie takes the heavy set guy and bull rushes him into the fence between the parking lot and the dock. It shudders against the force of however much his heavy set man weighs being thrust violently into it's steel mesh wall.

You listen as hard as you fucking can, you stupid little shit. I'm not paying you one fucking red cent. You aren't keeping my boat. If you say one more word, I'm going to use you to climb over this fucking fence twice.

No...

I SAID NO WORDS!

Robbie takes the man and hoists him onto the rail of the fence, which is also atop the barbed wire spiral. He howls in pain as a trickle of blood drips down the chain link fence. Ash starts to giggle as Kirk's jaw hits the gravel parking lot. Robbie climbs the fence, putting full pressure on the man, sitting on him at the top of the fence. As he does, the man makes a unique sound.

Hnnnnnnngggg...

Generally, the sound one makes when all the air rushes out of their body due to a significant change in pressure. Robbie hops down to the other side of the fence.

Oh, look, your fucking fence was a waste of fucking money, you fucking shit sucking mongrel.

Robbie climbs the fence a second time, back to the gravel parking lot. The man is weeping in pain now as Robbie climbs over him again. Ash is full on laughing at the happening as Matthew turns around and unzips, taking a piss into the bushes. Kirk MacClay has a hand over his face, cringing at the sight of the dockmaster being mutilated in such a way.

Ooh, really fucking impressive fence. Gee, ain't it fucking funny when people set up walls to feel all secure and someone comes around and does worse than knock them down? Isn't it always a shot to the pills when you set yourself up to fail? Motherfucker. Just like that retched, rancid rat cock Austin.

Robbie pulls some keys out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. He walks over to the others.

Yo, Matthew, I can't drive that thing, you wanna show me the ropes?

Matthew Oaktree nods. Robbie tosses the keys to him and they all walk down to the speedboat. The camera hustles to catch up.

Hey, wait up, I wanna go on the boat too!

---

We come back to see Matthew Oaktree at the helm of the rocking Warfare speedboat. Kirk MacClay has his sleeves rolled up, and Robbie and Ash seem to bask along with him in the sunshine hitting the Potomac river on a gorgeous late August afternoon.

Well, ain't it just fucking cute the way you treat that poor, defenseless heavy bag, Fernie. It's a God damned shame that you're fighting me, you know. Especially considering I hit back. That's no way to train for me, no sir. Let me set you straight, stud. If you stood in front of a dam, punched out the concrete structure itself, then diverted the oncoming deluge with a stream of your own piss, kid, then maybe, just maybe, you'd be half prepared for the oncoming physics lessons you've got coming to you. Stud, you're about to be a variable in all expressions of Newton's Laws of Physics, because there's one hell of a force coming to put your ass in motion.

Ash giggles.

Austin, so sweet of you to finally address me by my full fucking name. Strong work, you take commands well. Why don't you do me a favor and go paint the 37th floor of the Chrysler Building blaze orange and tell everybody you like to play with your balls in front of your pancakes while you're at it, if you're being considerate and all. So, Fernie, lets us delve into the heart of shit already. You're right about one thing, in the past month I've not only headlined Warfare a few times, but also fought for two, count 'em, two separate championships here in the XWF. I've been busting up arrogant little shitsuckers like you like it was going out of style since the first day I stepped into the XWF, and beyond that too, stud. Hell, I've been in fights since longer than you've even been alive! First time I ever punched someone I was at least six, and that was still a full three years before your daddy got drunk and the condom broke when your mommy was turning a trick to pay for her smack fix. I mean, pardon me for being brusque, Fernie, but how else are we to explain your brain damage other than the fact you were the progeny of a one night stand between a drunk and a heroin obsessed cock-sucking, asshole-tonguing, brown-shower receiving sixty dollar whore?

The boat begins to slow down.

Considering all that, shitberg, why the fuck should I see fighting you in a match to see how I can get you to follow in your mother's footsteps and bury you in shit while you get paid for it as any kind of fucking moment in a lifetime? Well, shit, I've had a lot of unpleasant moments in my lifetime, some pretty fucking awesome ones, maybe a few pretty tepid ones, but who the fuck wants to hear about those anyway? I'm the Wednesday Night Wrecker, come to be the Monday Night Mauler, and I've earned those names the same way anyone else around here has earned any amount of respect. Shameless self-promotion.

The boat stops as Ash giggles.

So what in the fuck makes you such an incredible fucking moment? I have not seen you do shit in the few months I've been here. And it's true, I am a rookie, but then again kid, sharks are born swimming, so maybe my being new around here ain't such a thing after all. What I wanna know is whether you can make up your feeble little mind for one fucking second. Just for one, fleeting, however beautiful, second, consider things for a minute. You want to tell me that I'm going in a body bag, you wanna talk to me about proudly slinging two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, all on a sesame seed bun, you want to emphasize that you're beyond me, that you're something to be in awe of. Are you shitting me? You have done a load of fuck all so far as I can see. Where's your title? Where's that legacy you speak of? Where's all the righteous dignity you want to shovel on other people without a shred of fucking evidence to actually back up a word you fucking say you little pig? Fernie, the self-inflated ego versus Robbie Bourbon, the Bulletproof Man, doesn't sell tickets like you think. Robbie Bourbon putting a beat down on your silly ass in the most vivid way possible before dunking you in shit like you were McNuggets to spicy mustard, however, that, that is the show to watch. That's the ticket people are buying. That's what the people fucking deserve. Not another snot-nosed Maverick wannabe. You will be eliminated, and humiliated. If you want to think you have a ghost of a chance of killing me when you can't even comprehend what that would take, which is going to be a hell of a lot more than anything you do to a piece of canvas filled with some crap in a gym, well slick, make sure your emergency contacts are up to date because they're going to need to call someone to sign all the forms that are required when you visit the intensive care unit. I don't kill 'em, stud, I don't have to, I leave 'em broken and twisted where they stood, and whatever picks 'em up after, I could give two fucks.

With that, a much larger yacht zooms by the boat, knocking it with it's wake! The camera plunges into the murky waters of the Potomac...