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Prof. Bobby Bourbon · (08-30-2016)

Robbie Bourbon recently declared that not only did he believe his opponent to be Doctor Zero, who has been inactive for quite some time, but that he's also going into Warfare representing the U.S. in Cuba.

GHOSTS OF THE COLD WAR

We open to see the interior of the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts and Dunkin Donuts, which is bustling with activity. Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, is instructing students in robotics and we see a small pen set up for robot fights (like you'd see on Battle Bots). Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, is speaking with a group of students as they all just sit in bean bag chairs and toss a koosh ball around to each other. Ash, Robbie's personal stylist, and Robo-Rob, the robot from Rocky IV that's painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask, are instructing and demonstrating professional hair cutting techniques in a salon. In the ring itself, we see Billy Paladin training a few students. Robbie steps out of his office wearing his mask, a Tommy Bahama shirt, and beige cargo shorts with wrestling boots.

Robbie surveys the whole of his dojo, watching as everything seems to be in it's right place.

"Sure, Blue might be gone, but hey, I gotta keep on my keepin' on," Robbie thought to himself. "Everybody is here, they're happy, today is good."

Robbie looked towards his own personal Dunkin Donuts and bit his lower lip.

"I want a fucking beer. I can't fucking talk to women with any confidence without at least three of them. Fuck this internet dating bullshit, too, the only people worth talking to are really boring in bed. My balls hurt from jacking off too much, too." Robbie rubs his chin, and walks over to the kitchen. A group of students approach to watch what he's doing. Robbie begins to prattle on to the students about some kind of kitchen or cooking factoids that he probably read on Facebook after masturbating. "God, I'm glad these fucking guys are here, I'd be going out of my skull if I was all alone," was all Robbie was really thinking as he spouted off about the economy of healthy eating. Something about how pineapples and melons were cheaper than bags of potato chips.

"Mmmm, cantaloupe," thought Robbie, as he continued to talk at the students, who listened with rapt attention as Robbie reached into a refridgerator and pulled out a cantaloupe. "Heh, this'll be cool." Robbie continues to speak to his students, though since we're listening to his thoughts most of the speech continues to be muffled, just noise in the background. The only words that were audible were Phrenology Claw, and seconds later, Robbie crushes a cantaloupe between his bare hands. He picks up pieces of the destroyed melon and starts to toss them at the students, who seem caught up in the moment and start throwing things back at Robbie.

"FOOD FIGHT!"

The dojo goes mad as everybody turns to watch the kitchen. Robo-Rob accidentally shaves off a line straight down the scalp of a student, giving a woman a reverse mohawk. The Koosh ball being tossed around goes unnoticed in mid-air, colliding with a thud in someone's face. A robot spews mineral oil everywhere, and a glazed raspberry jelly donut flies from somewhere in the vicinity of the Dunkin Donuts. Several carts full of pies are rolled into the dojo.

"Right on time, guys, good job," Robbie thought to himself as he starts to throw nectarines and pieces of raw chicken at people getting their hair cut in the salon. Students and visitors rush the trays of pies as someone runs out of the Dunkin Donuts with a super-soaker filled with coffee (not hot), spraying whomever they see. Billy Paladin and the wrestlers all reach into a barrel full of cooked spaghetti in marinara sauce. "Where were they hiding that?" pondered Robbie.

With a loud clang, we see Cyberjaw and his techs have put their fighting robots together, forming a super robot, conceptually like Voltron but more like a bunch of toasters attached to robotic arms on a remote control car. The super robot starts hurling toasted Pop-Tarts at students, who screamed in agony as they exploded and spilled their insides like a sugary, delicious, fruit substitute napalm.

"Whoops," was all Robbie could think for a brief moment before ducking an everything bagel with cream cheese being pelted at him. "Why do they have so many toasters? You know, this really makes it all worth it. The pain, the brutality, every match in the XWF where I've spilled buckets of blood after shredding my skin wide open, it's a miracle I'm not as scarred up as some other guys. Look at Gilmour, he lost his hair and has been in so many Hell In a Cell scenarios that his forehead looks like used bubblegum. Doc D'Ville's ears are so cauliflowered that his head is becoming shaped like a lemon, John Madison had to have a few vertibrae removed, which is why he looks so much shorter now than when he used to, and he can barely lift his luggage at the baggage carousel. Vinnie's got the gout, too many Slim Jims. Lucky me, right? I'm still ready to rock the fucking house at a minute's notice. And when I see this whole dojo, man, it's all worth it."

The actual sounds of the dojo begin to take over as the thought recording device employed by the XWF ceases. Two groups have formed up and are playing a game of Red Rover with three-foot hoagies. Immediately ceasing the food fight, we see a contingent of Secret Service agents run into the dojo and form a perimeter as Vice President Joe Biden walks in.

Hello, Robbie, it's good to see you again.

Joe walks up and shakes Robbie's hand, which is covered in cantaloupe pulp and mayonaise.

Hello, Joe, how're you?

Well, I'm pretty good, but we heard you were rallying the people for America at a bakery, and were wondering if you'd like to serve your country.

Absolutely.

Excellent. Do you have someplace private we can talk?

Robbie nods as he escorts the Vice President and his Secret Service bodyguards into his office. Robbie begins to towel himself off on a Secret Serviceman as Joe Biden sits on the couch.

Well, Robbie, we heard you're going to Cuba, which is great! We need more upstanding Americans such as yourself traveling to Cuba now, more than ever. It's time the embargo completely went down and we opened up relations with Cuba again. But, there's a problem.

What problem?

Quite frankly, we need you to bust the ghost of Fidel Castro.

Oh. What?

I know it sounds nuts, but after you handled the problems in Washington last spring, and since you're going to Cuba, we were wondering if you had any interest in investigating this problem. We've lost three whole strike teams of SEALs, Robbie, and the camera footage we have is, well...

A Secret Service agent goes over to Robbie's desk and sits at it, setting to work at the computer.

Woah...

Whoops! Just, uh...

The sounds of loud moaning and screaming, specifically a female voice hollering "stick it in my dirty little fuck hole", indicating porn are heard as the agent clicks. The agent clicks several more times.

What are you... it's the little 'X' in the top right corner!

I am!

Robbie hustles over to the desk and rips the plug out of the wall. Suddenly, the sounds are coming from his pocket.

Oh, shit, fucking phonecast!

Robbie pulls his phone out and twists it like a pretzel in his hands, breaking it instantly. He walks over to a shelf and picks up a new phone.

Been jerking off a lot lately, Robbie?

I'll do it, I'll go bust Castro's ghost. What do you have for me?

A Secret Service agent hands Robbie a briefcase and a moist towelette. Robbie starts to fidget around with the clasps on the case, and a Secret Service agent stops him.

Woah, woah, easy. Don't open that under any circumstances. You are to hand that to someone haplessly if they get in your way and use it as a trap so you can make a pun.

Oh, it's some kind of cool spy briefcase?

Yes.

Sweet. What does the moist towelette do?

It's just a moist towelette. You never know.

Oh, gotcha.

Good. Now, we're excited to show you how you'll be getting to Cuba.

Oh?

Let's step outside.

Robbie, Joe Biden, and the Secret Service make their way through the huge mess left in the dojo from the food fight outside, where a truck toting a missile is parked.

What's that?

Well, we need you in Cuba now, Robbie.

One of the Secret Service agents walks up to the missile and opens a hatch, showing a compartment where the payload would normally be stored.

Get in.

Fuckin' cool.

Robbie smiles as he places the briefcase and moist towelette into a pizza delivery bag and places it into the missile. He starts to squeeze himself in, feet first, but stops, seeming to be stuck at his navel.

Uh, this is a pretty tight fit, I don't know...

Boop.

Joe Biden presses a button on a large control panel, launching the missile.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyy....

The world gets muffled out again as we watch Robbie soaring through the stratosphere, stuffed into a missile.

"Now this is livin'," Robbie thought as his face displayed the kind of glee usually seen in pictures taken on rollercoasters. He pulls out his cellphone and after pressing it a few times he watches his mystery opponent's latest promo. After it finishes, Robbie puts his phone away and rolls his eyes. "Why the fuck would anybody tune in to see my detective skills? Jesus, this lame brain goofy bastard thinks I'm Encyclopedia Brown or some goofy Lilian Jackson Braun character. The Cat Who Robbiebombed The Piss Out of You? The Cat Who Discarded a Used Dildo That Was Done Violating Immigrants? Maybe this fucker thinks I'm going to consult with Robin in the Batcave or some silly shit?"

"Who the fuck is this guy? I have to think." Robbie furrowed his brow as he opens a pack of roasted peanuts for his midflight snack. "Maybe it's Old Man Feder? I can't recollect anybody else that I have both wronged and done it by displaying mental prowess. Jesus, the old bastard is still salty that I succinctly exposed him and a rack of dingleberries clinging to his ass that his status as a legend in these parts is more like a has-been in these parts. Maybe it's North Korean War Criminal, still pissed off about the fact I took him to task over the damned Federweight Championship harder than any other competitor has in the history of the XWF. Maybe it's just Shane

, who's pissed for whatever cockamamie reasons and thinks I'm the reason nobody cares about the CCWF. Eh, it doesn't matter, now does it? You can march Superman, King Kong, Peter Pan, three lemurs with lima beans in a purse, the 82nd Airborne, the 501st MASH unit, Spetznaz, Morbid Angel on a whole bottle of Viagra and seventeen tabs of ecstacy holding a spatula and a vibrator, or even the devil himself into that ring come Wednesday. I'm going to beat them into submission, I'm going to pummel them into submission, and I'm going to make them cry out in submission, because if whoever they are is so fucking sensitive they have to rape and torture someone to regain some sense of self-esteem, then the question isn't who they are. The question becomes whether they need Pampers or Tampax to make the mess they're making in their britches subside. Mmm, honey roasted!" Robbie discards the wrapper of nuts he just consumed. "Fuck, I miss Blue. She was really good at all this detective shit, putting together facts like puzzle pieces, folding my underwear the way I like it, snuggling, cuddling. I fucked it all up."

The missile starts beeping as Robbie's phone rings. He answers and we see the Vice President on the screen as they video conference and the world sounds a lot clearer and we leave Robbie's head.

Okay, Robbie, you're in position.

Really? What happens...

With a massive boom, the missile detonates and sends Robbie hurtling through the air while holding on to the pizza delivery bag. Robbie tumbles aimlessly through the air, his face in a frozen grin from the sheer adrenaline rush he's experiencing. As he falls, an attack helicopter flies by him and unleashes a volley of cannon fire at him, changing his trajectory.

Ooh, that kinda tickles!

Another helicopter flies by, unleashing another volley, which alters his trajectory again. Robbie's descent is often slowed by the roaring miniguns attached to each gunship, his bulletproof body soaking up every bit of force as the bullets do nothing themselves but make his fall safer. In moments, he lands on a beach. A man approaches.

Hey, senor!

The man hollers back to a group of three other men in Spanish, then turns back to Robbie, who slowly gets up and starts to brush the sand off himself. The man's comrades approach, and each is armed with a vintage looking AK-47 and are dressed in Cuban military regalia.

Que es esso?

No se.

Hey, senor! Who are you?

Oh, I'm Robbie Bourbon, XWF, am I in the right place?

You're in Cuba, senor.

I'm in the right place then.

Can I see your papers, please?

The three other men draw their rifles on Robbie, drawing tension into the air. Robbie smoothly reaches into the pizza delivery bag.

Si, senor. Perdona me, estoy, uh, como se dice 'lost'?

The man who spoke English nods as the three men lower their weapons slightly. Robbie hands them the briefcase that was given to him by the Secret Service.

Cuba, son bella, no?

The man opens the briefcase, and suddenly, inexplicably, bees. Thousands upon thousands of bees all fly out and swarm the Cuban beach patrol. They all scream and scamper off.

Sorry to be a buzzkill, fellas.

A figure approaches Robbie.

That was a lame pun.

Well, hey, I didn't know what I'd be working with. Good thinking, Joe, as scary as beheading, torture, rape, and other ways of violating a human can be, and as common as that shit is around the XWF, sometimes there's nothing more frightening than thousands and thousands of bees. And you might be?

Robbie pivots to face the person who approached him, and his jaw drops as we see a woman standing in the Cuban moonlight.

[Image: MV5BMzU3MTA0Nzc4N15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMDU1...SY720_.jpg]

[Image: MV5BMzU3MTA0Nzc4N15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMDU1...SY720_.jpg]

"Holy fuck, you're hot." Everything goes muffled again as we can only clearly hear Robbie's thoughts. The young lady giggles momentarily as Robbie says something. "There you go, you've got a gorgeous smile." The lady says something back to Robbie, who just shrugs. "What is it with girls in the international cloak and dagger game always being smoking hot?" Robbie continues to speak with the woman, and as they begin to leave the beach, sound resumes as normal and we hear the woman speak.

This way, Mr. Bourbon, we believe it's all happening in Castro's Tomb.

Robbie walks, following the woman off the beach and through a small amount of trees and brush to a road. They begin to walk to a truck that's loaded with caged crates containing chickens. Ugly, clucking indescriminately chickens.

Is that our ride?

Yes, we felt a chicken truck would be good cover.

Cover? For what, we're going to bust a ghost, miss...?

My name is Sonia. Mr. Bourbon, you're here helping the Cuban government in a secret operation, but the Cuban people don't need to know that.

Oh. So to save face...

To save face, the Cuban people will learn that the Cuban government dealt with a Cuban problem.

So no word of Uncle Sam lest we rile up Auntie America.

Exactly. Come.

Robbie and the young woman drive until they come to a cemetery, which seems to holding a massive vigil. Thousands have gathered in hopes of seeing the ghost of Castro this evening, as we see several holding rosaries, crosses, crude poster signs, much like any pro-wrestling crowd only very, very religious (so much like any pro-wrestling crowd only with Jesus as the main gimmick instead of rape, murder, torture, destruction, more rape, and other things of our decidedly X-treme nature).

Quite the phenomenon, when spirits are supposedly spoken about.

Yes, Mr. Bourbon, I hear that you have experience with that.

A shitload of it. Pest was creepy, Doc D'Ville was creepy, Morbid was creepy, they all flaunted death and darkness like they were a suburban Hot Topic. Maybe my opponent is Pest?

No, Mr. Bourbon, your opponent, right now at least, is whomever is drumming up these stories about Castro's ghost.

The truck pulls up to Castro's Tomb. A woman walks up to the truck and speaks with the Cuban agent.

What's she want?

She's a voodoo priestess, she wants one of the chickens for a ceremony.

Oh, wow, is she going to...

Robbie gestures his hand slicing his own throat. The young agent nods in assent, then turns to speak to the voodoo woman. Robbie steps out of the truck as the voodoo woman approaches the stock of livestock in the back of the truck. Robbie grabs the moist towelette from the pizza bag and slides it into the cargo pocket of his shorts. The voodoo woman comes back to the cab, and starts speaking in a very sharp tone very quickly at Sonia, almost as though she's cursing. She then turns and walks away.

What's her problem?

She didn't want any of the chickens because they're all roosters.

So, uh...

Robbie bites his lip before saying anything else and potentially embarrassing himself in front of his smoking hot Cuban guide.

She can not perform her ritual with a cock, Mr. Bourbon.

Robbie snortles as his belly shakes.

Do you think this is funny?

Well, it's more...

Do you think it funny that this woman has no idea what she's doing with a cock?

Robbie bites his lower lip. Hard.

I do not understand your American ways, perhaps you should teach me later. Come.

Sonia leads Robbie into the tomb, which is empty save the sarcophagus in the center with a bust of Fidel Castro at one end. Sonia blesses herself, and Robbie, noticing half a second later, does his own sign of the cross.

Catholico?

Yes, Mr. Bourbon. Will you go to confession with me Saturday?

Si!

Sonia chuckles. Suddenly, the tomb goes pitch black, and the sound of a woman screaming is heard. As the lights come back, the sounds of the thousands surrounding the tomb becomes muffled.

"Oh, shit!" Robbie's thoughts become clear as day as he looks around the room. He shouts something we can't hear or make out, perhaps in fear, perhaps out of anger towards whomever took the girl. "Damnit, damnit, damnit. Okay, it's cool, Rob, it's cool. We got this. I'm a bad motherfucker, I'm going to fuck up a ghost, save the girl, look awesome as fuck, then discuss cocks over fried plantains." Robbie starts probing parts of the wall with his palms. "Maybe there's some secret passage thing. There has to be, nobody opened the door or anything, fuck. Maybe this big ole' coffin..." Robbie walks over to the sarcophagus and touches the bust of Fidel Castro, and the head tilts back. The sarcophagus opens and we see a proper wooden casket inside. "Shit, one of those stupid box within a box things. It'd be pretty funny if another tinier casket was inside that. Well, no, tiny caskets are sad, but in this case, I think a child's casket could be funny." Robbie opens the second casket, and we see the decaying remains of Fidel Castro. Robbie immediately retches. "JESUS. That fucking smells horrible." Robbie looks around and shrugs, thinking to himself, "Well, I guess I gotta bust this?" Robbie punches the skull in the casket, shattering Fidel Castro's decaying head and desecrating the corpse. "There, that aughta do it." Robbie turns, and sees the visage of Fidel Castro. In a flash, we hear Robbie's voice loud and clear, leaving his thoughts for the time being.

Fuck!

Si, Senor Bourbon, you bearded war pig!

That's someone else!

You Yankee pig dog!

Okay, that's me!

You dare come to my island and defile my corpse and try to humiliate my people?

Fuck no, I'm here to represent and help your people, they're all really wigged out you're still talking even though you're dead!

Liar!

The ghost of Castro scowls at Robbie, who backs into a corner of the tomb.

Look, man, I don't know how the fuck I'm even supposed to kick your ass, you're a ghost, and you look confident you can hit me, so look, why don't we...

Robbie is cut off by the report of a .44 caliber barrel and the chest of the ghost of Fidel Castro exploding, sending gore all over Robbie's face. As the ghost slumps to the ground, we see Blue, Robbie's supposedly estranged ex standing in the tomb. Robbie looks on in complete shock.

You know, you watch too much sci-fi...

Blue walks up to the ghost of Fidel Castro and tugs on it's hair, pulling off what is really a mask! The ghostly impersonator is Sonia herself.

...when you should really pay more attention to Scooby Doo.

Robbie pulls the moist towelette out and starts to wipe Sonia's splattered entrails of his face. Blue walks up to Robbie.

It's good seeing you.

Blue chuckles and places a hand on Robbie's crotch.

It's good feeling you.

I've been jerking it a lot lately...

Robbie blushes.

Um, look, can I...

Sure, but we got work to do.

We?

Yeah, I was sent down here by the President to investigate what was going on, this bitch was running a secret underground cockfighting ring under Castro's tomb and pretending to be a ghost to scare people away.

You're right, I should watch more Scooby Doo.

Blue giggles.

We'll binge it together when we get home.

Heh, okay. Well, if we just busted an underground cockfighting ring, does that mean I can have that truckload of roosters outside?

What do you want them for?

I dunno, I just figured it'd be cool to delight the Cubans by bringing a truckload of cocks to the ring, beating my opponent to smithereens with the most cocks ever seen in an XWF or any wrestling ring.

Do you know who your opponent is?

Who? Eh, I'll say it's Old Man Feder, looking to be spooky again, playing Scooby Doo himself, and he would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those meddling kids and Robbie-Dobbie Roo. I don't know why he thinks I'll crap my pants considering he's the chickenshit who came talking but had nothing, said he'd be walking but did nothing, acts like he's hot shit but he is nothing. The only thing worth noting when Feder comes around is the fact the toilets will be cleaner. See, I got the filthy nasty dirty mean on lock down, his old ass has his knees lock up on him, and the only way he can brag to anybody about what a potty mouth he is and why it's special is by licking the toilets clean. Problem is he leaves jizz stains in his pants and on the fucking floor whenever he's treating his own tongue like it's made of Ajax. Maybe if he stopped jerking himself off every once and a while, his balls wouldn't chafe and he'd be a little more pleasant.

That simple bastard thinks the whole fucking world is going to tune in to see his sorry simple ass come back to the XWF. Thing is, the story will be all about how Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon punished some washed up, has-been, wannabe pretender to me. The only three words to be associated with ANY Feder after Warfare?

Who fucking cares. Who they were, what their revenge was, why the were bent out of shape, what's a Federweight and why is there a belt called that, same three word answer for each of those questions.

Who fucking cares.

Are the cocks your advantage?

No, babe, cocks are going to be everybody's advantage. So many cocks in the arena that there won't be an empty hand, a fist clutched around every cock. My advantage was the Bacon Derby.

What the fuck is that?

I don't fucking know, I figured Frodo and Lane would figure it out or something.

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