Robbie Bourbon faces off against two of his teammates from the last Shove-It after a tough loss to Hart Champion, Peter Gilmour.

CRAWLING BACK FROM UNDEATH

We open to see Robbie laying in a hospital bed. There are monitors showing his heart rate and breathing, which seem completely fine considering the friendly slow-paced beep of everything like on medical TV shows when a patient is okay. Suddenly, the beeping goes faster, almost like an alarm, as a team of doctors and nurses rush to Robbie!

"We've got to stabilize him!"

"Get me a BLT, stat!"

I'M FUCKING HUNGRY!

Robbie thrashes about in his bed as doctors and nurses are tossed aside! A young orderly carrying a plate of bacon rushes into the scene. Robbie looks at him.

What do you expect me to do with that? Huh? I was killed by Peter Gilmour last week!

"No, sir, you're alive."

No. I'm undead.

Blue, Cyberjaw, Diamondback, Clyde the Orangutan, Ash, Pest, and Morbid Angel run in.

Pest: Robert, you are not undead.

Fuck yeah, I am. How else would you describe it?

Honey, you landed on a pad, it was spectacular, the people loved it.

Nope. Sorry, babe, I love you, but I'm undead now. I'm a zombie.

"Robbie, you're not a fucking zombie."

Fuck you, Kyril, I'm a zombie, watch. Clyde!

Clyde the orangutan approaches Robbie.

Pbbbt.

Robbie grabs Clyde by the throat. He sits upright and grabs an empty IV rack and impales the orangutan with it. Clyde thrashes at Robbie, clawing at his mask, and with a twist of his wrist holding the hand holding Clyde's throat, he snaps the beasts neck. He then punches Clyde in the skull repeatedly, violently, brutally. He punches until blood flows from his knuckles and the spot the orangutan is getting hit. He then sticks two fingers into the wound, and with a loud snap rips it's skull open. With the other hand, he grabs a handful of brains.

I eat fucking brains. I'm a zombie now.

Robbie shoves the handful of orangutan brains into his mouth as everyone wretches. Robbie gags, and grimaces, and chokes down the orangutan brains.

Jesus, what the fuck was Indiana Jones even thinking!

Pest: Robert, that was exhilarating.

Shut up, I'm still fucking starving. I need people brains, not animal brains.

Robbie hops out of the hospital bed, rips off the hospital gown, which covered in orangutan, to reveal his wrestling gear, and starts to walk towards the door.

Honey, is this like some metaphor for what you're going to do to your opponent?

An orderly walks into the room with a mop and bucket. He sloppily pulls out a mop and starts to just bump it into the corpse of the orangutan.

I don't think it's a metaphor, look at what he did to Clyde...

Robbie stops and turns.

My opponents?

Woah, hold on.

What fucking brains does LeStrange have to eat? Seriously, what the fuck was he talking about with all that noise about the Rockin' Bulldozer, and what the fuck is he talking about the Dope Show reunion being over.

LeStrange, I want you to listen as hard as you fucking can.

You are MY dope. Mine. Lock, stock and barrel, you're mine. Hook, line and sinker, you're mine. Signed, sealed, delivered, you get the fucking point already.

Your ass is mine until I get tired of it, stud. I pulled you up by your fucking bootstraps when you couldn't, kicking and fucking screaming every step of the way.

Now I'm going to earn money. More money. You're going to earn for me too.

Bitch, I can pull out a pair of high heels just your size and scout out a street corner for you to give hand jobs until you get carpal tunnel syndrome if I want to. You are going to be the paid source of strange for lonely truckers, tweeked-out psychos, and just flat-out guys who want to forcibly dominate an asshole. You're going to collect fucking sperm from whomever has enough money for you to give ME. Don't you ever fucking misunderstand that, don't you ever think otherwise.

You can pull up your nostalgia and think I'm some hero from your past all you want.

I'm the bastard pushing the buttons and pulling the strings on your fucking present.

If I say jump, you ask how high. If I say run, you run until I say you fucking stop. You don't come around on XWF broadcast and declare the Dope Show reunion was fun, or it's over.

I didn't say it was over, did I? Did I tell you that you were done dancing and playing in your Dope Show t-shirt for the universe to see?

Shit, this sumbitch even went so far as to accuse me of fucking his mother.

Wait, what?

Yeah, this sumbitch accused me of fucking his mother.

LeStrange, your mother isn't worth the fucking boner. Your mother isn't worth the double dose of Viagra needed to get the fucking boner. Your mother isn't worth the trip to Mexico to get the double dose of Viagra needed to get the fucking boner. Your mother isn't worth my penis or it's time. Your mother isn't worth a dog's dick. Your mother isn't worth Peter Gilmour's dick. Your mother is worthless, because your mother produced you, and you're just a waste of her fucking vaginal fluids. The greatest crime in history was someone busting a nut inside your mom's honey box. The second greatest crime was when her fucking water broke.

Robbie storms from the room and heads into the hall as everybody follows.

But Rebel Star...

Rebel Star is dangerous.

Robbie leads the procession into the morgue. Inside we see Dim, the Professor of Insanety sticking his finger up a corpse's ass.

Pest: Jesus.

Yo, Dim, what the fuck is this?

I'm checkin this asshole for dick scarring, to make sure he ain't gay.

Dim pulls his finger out. Robbie walks up to him, grabbing a stainless steel surgical tomahawk, and splits his head open. Robbie rips Dim's skull open and scoops out a handful, immediately scarfing it.

.

Jesus, it's fucking grape jelly, I knew it.

Dim puts the top of his skull back on and walks out of the room, drinking a Bud Light Lime.

Honey, I know you think Rebel Star is dangerous, and you don't like fighting women and children, but you do have a match against her at Shove-It, too, you can't just pick on LeStrange.

I fucking know. But, shit, she's a lady, and I don't...

You don't know what to say right now. I get it. I hired someone to help with that. A special guest manager.

Robbie rears back with the surgical tomahawk and strikes the head of the corpse on the slab. With a sickening crunch, he splits the skull, and shucks the cranium open like he was peeling an orange.

Who'd you hire?

"Me."

We turn to see Vanessa Gibson standing in the morgue doorway.

Oh, crap, you're gross though.

"Said like a fucking man."

Robbie grabs a handful of the corpse's brains and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Rebel Star is not a real womyn. She flaunts herself like she's some kind of eye candy, making the penis culture swoon with their dicks in hand waiting to see what that little minx can do with her perfectly curved, adorable body with those flashy cheekbones and perfect eyeliner game. Jesus, this little thing, this false womyn, even has the fucking audacity to prance into situations hoping "the boys" all turn and notice her, like she's keeping fucking score with all the other girls in the pisser while some of us were trying to get stoned and take a shit. Fuck this little tart and the fucking shit game she plays."

"Robbie Bourbyn is more of a womyn than you'll ever be, bitch."

Wait a minute...

"Robbie can't even pimp you out like he can LeStrange. LeStrange's asshole is soft and ready and willing to accept the patriarchy's member since he's in their ranks already. You, on the other hand, are a patriarchal puppet, but as pretty and cute as you come off as, you have killed the only thing womynly about you in your vagina. You have a concrete vagina, don't you? Not like a tough or enduring feminine spirit, no, you literally have a rock vagina. You play your game to get noticed, to be this awesome flirting presence like a fucking cocktail waitress at your local T.G.I. Fridays, but you do that because you know that after that facade, after your play, after your show, deep down you have a stone crotch that the patriarchy just never would find acceptable for their fleshy rods. If only, though."

"Rebel Star has a taint and balls."

"She hasn't been given the gift of womynhood, she is a pretender to being a womyn and knowing the strength and liberty we are owed every fucking day we share oxygen with the patriarchy. She's not even a sperm depository to them like I and every other womyn in the XWF, no matter how many gym socks wind up flooded with semen as a result of her. She's not a legit one. No fucking pussy, just a nutsack and a taint below her urethra. Strutting around flaunting tits does not a woman make. She deserves every ounce of fucking beating Robbie Bourbyn has in him, and after she's a broken, bloodied, limp freak with the face of an angel, womynhood wyns."

Vanessa whips out her massive 38DDD chesticles.

Hey, dinner and a show.

Blue walks up to Vanessa.

What the fuck is this? This is gross!

Robbie scoops another handful of brains out of the skull and puts it in his mouth. His face is covered with gore. Vanessa tucks her boobs away and walks up to Robbie.

"Rebel, you are a danger. You're a danger to little girls sitting at home everywhere, instilling in them some need to be a servant, to be pleasing, to be what the patriarchy wants. All that spunk, all that spontaneity, all those cute smiles, your dimples making hearts melt and dicks engorged. Little girls need to learn that they're strong, that they're capable, and they can do more than just look like a dick safe-house. They'll make for stronger, more capable womyn. You're a danger to womyn, because you propagate the rape culture so vividly and loudly that some sick fuck is going to go out and pull some womyn into an alley and penetrate them with you on their fucking mind. Ditch the make-up, sister, this is a fucking bloodsport. You are a danger, but Robbie..."

I eat fucking brains.

Vanessa looks at Robbie as Robbie lets out a small brain burp.

"That's my thing."

I like it.

Vanessa hands Robbie a feminine napkin. Robbie checks it, sees that it is unused, and wipes the excess brain off of his face.

Man, this new diet sucks. Maybe I need to get fancier brains.

Pest: Robert, what in the fuck is a fancy brain, let alone a 'fancier' one?

I dunno, like famous people's brains. Say, do you think we could find Einstein's brain or something? Maybe do some time traveling, get a taste for the Renaissance?

Uh, dude, you're not really a...

Everybody turns to him.

SHHHHHHH

I'm a fucking zombie. I eat brains.