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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Wild Card Weekend Night 2 RP Board
Rise And Shine
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
12-06-2016, 01:01 AM Exclamation  Rise And Shine -->



Robbie Bourbon's alarm clock only snoozes three times before he has to slide the red button of you're going to miss whatever thing you're supposed to do if you go back to sleep now. Trax and Peter Gilmour did stuff while Robbie was still sleeping.

I reckon it's time to start the day.

RISE AND SHINE

We open to see the bustling and busy Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts. It's massive open warehouse design, with a ring in one corner, a Dunkin Donuts in the next, a full on remake of the set of Chopped for all of the culinary students in a third, and a hair salon not 20 yards from where food is prepared and served. A crew of students wander about with push brooms, constantly sweeping up the hair falling from the chairs in the hair salon to prevent any of that from mixing with the food. Dead center of all of this is an office.

The door swings open and we see Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Robo-Rob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask, and Xtreme Travel Agent, possible victim of Stockholm Syndrome all step out of the door. Cyberjaw turns to Xtreme Travel Agent.

What are you doing here, I thought you were a one-off.

I'm doing the Xtreme! Ever see anybody eat mayonnaise?

Yes...

I'm going to eat an Xtreme amount of mayonnaise!

Why?

A large bucket of mayonnaise is lowered from the ceiling as a spotlight from seemingly nowhere give it far more gravitas than the average large bucket of mayonnaise. We hear a drum roll as the bucket lands gingerly in Xtreme Travel Agent's hands and she just stuffs her face in a large bucket of mayonnaise. Robo-Rob starts to get in on the Xtreme action and spins in place next to Xtreme Travel Agent.

Oh, you're a part of this now?

Happy birthday, Paulie.

He's a part of this now.

It's a he?

We see Steve Sayors step out of the office bedecked in a very 70's feathery wig and a disco suit looking straight from the cover of Saturday Night Fever.

Is, um, this right?

I guess.

Yeah, Robbie just texted me to get you down here and make sure you looked like you were from the seventies.

He did? I mean, I'm honored to interview Robbie Bourbon before such a huge match, but is he doing a disco thing this week?

No, he's been asleep.

You mean he's sleeping now?

I think.

Steve Sayors checks his watch.

It's half past one.

I know.

We know.

You just got me, is he taking a nap after his training as a part of his regimen?

Uh, sure.

Okay. So, could you go get him?

Nope.

Both Cyberjaw and Diamondback fold their arms across their chest.

We don't bug the big man when he's sleeping.

Bad idea to do that.

Hyep.

As they say this, we hear the distinct thump of a very heavy person trudging down hollow wooden stairs. Almost like a thick wooden drum, each footstep resounding with more decibels, signalling the arrival of whatever is creating those wicked footsteps. We see Robbie Bourbon, masked, in his boxer briefs, his eyes barely open and a glum look causing the whiskers of his beard to point downward, walking over to the Dunkin Donuts. He cuts in front of the line, and points. He is immediately handed a large cup of coffee, the steam billowing from it causing his nose to twich and his almost shut eyes to flicker if only for a moment. He stubs his toe on a trash can as he leaves the Dunkin Donuts, to which he turns and grabs it and hurls it with unthinking anger as a group of students rally to catch it and put it back into place. Robbie walks up to Cyberjaw, Diamondback, and Steve Sayors. Robbie points at Steve.

This, this is all wrong. I hate it. You made him John Travolta, I wanted Richard Dawson.

Who?

Shut up.

Robbie walks into his office, turns to look at the three men, and chugs his piping hot cup of coffee. Instantly, his eyes go wide and he's grinning.

One sec!

Robbie closes the door and instantly reopens it, and we see his is both showered and dressed in jeans, a blue button down, and of course, his mask.

That was incredible!

I just needed my morning coffee.

Robbie reaches back into the office and pulls out a wheel with the faces of all five of his contenders within a different wedge on the wheel and spokes coming off the end of it, interlocked with a spring-loaded and hinged tooth sticking down from a jutting part meant to stop the wheel on a specific location, similar to Wheel of Fortune.

Alright, Steve.

Alright, Robbie?

Alright Steve.

No, what is supposed to happen now? I have no idea.

Ugh. This is not what I expected.

I'm, uh, sorry, Robbie. I don't know what you expected, I'm here in my disco outfit like the Bourbon Men wanted, but this wheel wasn't really...

Just spin it Steve. Ask me who I'ma Robbiebomb.

Oh, okay.

Steve looks at Robbie in confusion as Robbie looks in disdain at Steve as Steve spins the wheel.

Who are you going to...

Robbie pulls a can of red spray paint out of nowhere and aims it at the still spinning wheel, and depresses the nozzle on the cannister so each face on the wheel gets an equal coating of red paint. The wheel slows to a halt as Robbie makes sure every face of each opponent he faces is covered with red paint.

All of them, Steve. All of them are going to eat a god damned Robbiebomb at the chamber.

Oh.

Steve looks underwhelmed as Robbie rolls his eyes.

Again, this was way cooler when...

Oh, it's cool!

Steve forces a smile.

You're placating me, Steve.

Well, I don't really get any of this, Robbie.

This cost seventeen dollars, Steve.

Oh.

Oh? That's seventeen dollars out of pocket spent on this promo. Do you know what that means?

No.

It means it's more expensive than the production budget of Trax and Chris Chaos's promos combined. Have you watched any of that bunk where Trax is playing like he's the star of Dune, or Star Wars, or Ice Pirates?

Yeah.

Bush league. Fifteen dollar budget with a two dollar script and dollar store talent. See, that's all on markdown, it used to be that Trax was a high dollar ticket here in the XWF. It used to be Trax would show up and terrify his opponents with just being Trax. Now he's prattling on with some diatribe while in the middle of some hackneyed superhero wannabe fantasy. Who the fuck would ever do that?

Well, Robbie, you've been superheroic yourself while diatribing...

At a budget well above seventeen dollars, Steve. Well above. And Chris Chaos couldn't even pony up a measly five bucks to walk down a pier. I spent seventeen dollars on just spray paint and a fancy wheel that would only be used once. Pitiful.

Xtreme Travel Agent turns from her large bucket of mayonnaise and spews thick, white, mayonnaisy vomit all over the ground.

Plus the cost of all that mayo, Steve. Seriously, these jokers are pulling the cheapest, most ridiculous antics ever seen on screen. It's almost like Trax and Chaos are trying to be more like Peter Gilmour than Peter Gilmour. Also, he used all his food stipend to gamble using the Universal Championship Belt to make his cooze's twat run with fluid for a night, like the title is meant to make a Backpage wannabe of Mia Dim moist.

That's disgusting!

I know, why the fuck does Peter do it?

No, I meant...

You meant to ask about my growing beam.

Your what?

CYBERJAW! GROWING BEAM!

Robbie turns and winks to Steve Sayors.

You want to see something truly fascinating?

Steve shrugs.

Okay, I had Cyberjaw create this Growing Beam for me today.

Cyberjaw hands Robbie what looks like a flashlight. Robbie turns it on, and it performs just like a flashlight.

It's..

It's a growing beam! See, when you use it, the beam grows infinitely, at the speed of light!

Robbie flicks the flashlight off again.

Clever.

Thank you.

Not what I wanted.

I had no idea what you wanted, I just got a couple of texts looking for Steve Sayors to be from the seventies, a growing beam to be awesome, and a horse bad guy.

Okay, still, the flashlight was clever. Where's the horse?


A horse? Robbie, I usually ask a lot more hard hitting questions than this, but what is going on here?

Shh, Steve, this'll be awesome, just you watch.

Robbie flings the flashlight to the side while rolling his eyes. A horse is led in, it looks hairless and very ill.

Oh my god, what is wrong with that horse?

It's evil, right Cyberjaw?

Well, I didn't really understand, so we bombarded this horse with radiation until it was on the verge of radiation poisoning, it'll die from some kind of cancer, I think, but it's a moderately evil horse now.

You bombarded a horse with radiation?

An evil horse, Steve.

Diamondback finishes a cigarette and blows away a puff of smoke as he steps forward.

No, the horse was normal before, the radiation makes it evil.

Robbie, this is...

The horse, after looking horrible and terrified for a moment, bites Robbie's hand as Robbie attempts to pet the horse's muzzle.

Ooh, ow, see, Steve! An evil horse, just like in the other promo!

Other promo? Robbie, this is your first promo for your match!

What? You mean you didn't see the others?

What others?

Robbie looks in shock at Steve Sayors, who hasn't even taken the time or effort to watch Robbie's other three promos, which all took place in Robbie's dreams moments before Steve Sayors was brought to the Bourbon Dojo and put in a disco costume.

Wait, are you making fun of your own promos?

Well, no, but I might as fucking well since my opponents want to bore people to fucking death with theirs. Peter with the same old, same old "I pretend not to be a virgin" routine, Chris Chaos talking about his resume and otherwise being so vanilla and bland to follow suit with Trax being completely vanilla and bland because they're too focused on not losing to actually go out, raise some hell, and get people hyped for the match no matter how silly you sound while being awesome, and Pig and Soldier are fucking calling in sick from the look of things. This horse, Steve, irradiating this horse cost thousands of dollars. That takes effort, Steve, isn't that right, baby?

Robbie pets the horse on the nuzzle with the other hand as Blue walks into the scene.

Honey, what happened to your hand?

I got bit by a radioactive horse.

Ouch!

Ouch is right, but...

I...

Feel...

Weird...


Robbie huddles over on the ground as the irradiated horse keels over, dead from radiation poisoning. Robbie starts to sweat and tremble as a result of being bit by a radioactive horse.

Oh my God! He's...

MUTATING!

Robbie starts to glow green as below his navel everything begins to elongate backwards as his ass grows eight feet longer behind him. As it does, an additional set of legs grow slightly below his elongated trunk as his forelegs, the legs there the whole time no less, begin to shape themselves into horse legs, his normal human feet being replaced by hooves. The other legs branch out into hooves as well as a brushy tail pops out right above Robbie's now exposed horse ass. Robbie stops glowing and stands on his new legs, looking downward at himself incredulously as his upper torso remains unchanged.

Shit, I'm a centaur!

Robbie clops his hooves on the linoleum floor of the Bourbon Dojo as he sways his magnificent tail to and fro.

Wow! This is impressive!

This is unexpected!

This is awesome!

Robbie clops his hooves again.

Wow.

I know! Steve!

I'm blown away, Robbie!

No, interview me!

As a centaur?

No, as a disco guy, I'm the centaur.

Oh, right. So, Robbie, you have racked up an impressive amount of wins over Peter Gilmour during your career in the XWF, he probably knows you better than any other opponent in this match, are you concerned with him spreading his know-how to others to try to defend his title?

Not at all, Steve. Peter is a paranoid little man-thing, and he wouldn't be bothered to work with or trust another living soul unless it were Dim or Trump, and most times, I believe it when I think they're the ones really turning the screws in Peter's melon. Besides, what is Peter's greatest asset, a Super Dick? Who gives a fuck about how super some dude's dick is when you're hung like a horse?

Everybody in view looks down between Robbie's centaur horse legs. The look back at Robbie in wide eyed wonder.

Stop gawking at my dick. Gotta get me some centaur pants.

Sorry, now your other competitors...

My other competitors can't keep pace with the fucking Show Horse of the XWF. I'm the Preakness, Belmont, and the Kentucky Derby champion all rolled into one, the very breed of champion, Steve. Chris Chaos is just another Trax clone, pointing a finger and saying "hur, dur, you dumb me smart", and it's just creating a bland time paradox the way they do it to each other, trying to one up one another in some doomed attempt at out-browbeating one another like two rival algebra teachers in the teachers' lounge at a middle school, just wishing they could send the other to detention to think long and hard about what they said, ultimately quoting Keanu Reeves more often than not in trying to piece together each other's speech. "Woah, you think you can say that? Woah, you really said this? Woah, you dare say blah blah blah? Woah, I sound like a fucking character from Blossom. Woah, I sure am going to get my ass whooped in an Elimination Chamber so fucking hard that my extremities won't function properly for three days!" So much woahing, but I'm not stopping, because this goddamned mustang of a Clydesdale is a hard charger out on the fucking track, taking point and beating the spread, coming into that winner's circle and earning a trophy for my rider, my trainers, and my owners!

Who owns you?

Me, I'm my own fucking horse-man!

Who trains you?

The whole world and all the people, Steve! Every day, everywhere, there is some crazy bullshit happening to just about anybody, and Robbie Bourbon runs and interferes with people's problems without warning and for no real reason.

Oh, man, damn, I'm sorry I always slack on the gadgets and gizmos! Like, I always thought you were just being goofy, I totally forgot your thorough and invasive outlook on helping others, sometimes by being brutal with them.

No sweat, bro, you know I can do without.

No, seriously, I'm sorry. Here, see?

Cyberjaw pulls a small, plastic pistol from his pocket. He points it at Xtreme Travel Agent's large bucket of mayonnaise and pulls the trigger, turning it into an even larger bucket of mayonnaise.

Fucking rad.

I know, Growing Beam, just...

I don't need to be a giant, Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon crushes it and smashes it, Dominates Dominance, is the Chaotic Nemesis to Chaos itself, and owns Peter Gilmour without being ten stories tall.

You're still pretty fucking big.

I'm HUSKY.

You're as big as a horse!

Indeed.

Robbie, how do you think you'll fit in a pod as a centaur?

Oh, Steve...

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAACK.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAACK.

Robbie reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his cellphone. He swipes his finger across the screen, still very much in centaur form.

I'm sorry, backup alarm.

Robbie, how do you plan on fitting into a pod in the Elimination Chamber as a centaur?

I make room for myself wherever I go, Steve. The Elimination Chamber, as hellish, as terrible, as cruel as it might be, I will make it my own, the Robbie Bourbon Elimination Chamber, and I will walk out of the chamber the Universal Champion.

Robbie, what about...

Robbie clutches his stomach and doubles over.

Ugh...

Robbie, what is happening?

Dude, this feels horrible...

Honey, are you okay?

I'll be fine, just...

With the sound of an emense fart echoing throughout the Bourbon Dojo, we see Robbie's upper torso sink down into his horse body, and legs begin to dangle out of the horse's ass. In a matter of seconds, Robbie Bourbon is shat out of the ass of his former centaur body, covered in some thick, viscous slime what's base is probably horse shit and loose horse shit. The lifeless horse body sits right next to the lifeless irradiated horse body as Xtreme Travel Agent continues to treat mayonnaise as her swill for the time being in the most Xtreme act she could come up with. Who would dream such a thing up?

Oh, ew.

Tell me about it, Steve, I just showered like seven minutes ago.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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