Robbie Bourbon and Jack Cain, the Motherfuckers, recently discussed whether they could trust Travis McCoy in their upcoming match against the Sugay Sisters and Kennedy Robinson over a huge meal. The Sugays and Kennedy Robinson had similar concerns, but seem to be on the same page.

Wait, does Robbie Bourbon even hit girls?

THE NOBLE DOOFUS

We open to see the interior of a local neighborhood Hooters, with Jack Cain and Robbie Bourbon sitting in front of a table holding four large platters littered with the bones of chicken wings. Robbie is patting his sizable belly, a look of satisfaction on his masked face as Jack Cain stands.

That was good.

Fuck yeah.

What now?

I dunno, I got a thing to do, I'll run into you later.

Okay.

Jack Cain turns and walks out the door of the Hooters. Through the glass door, we see him reach into a pocket and pull out a stogie. He lights it, then disappears from sight, stepping off into the rest of the world. Bourbon picks up the tab left for him, blinks at it, then reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opens his oversized wallet with a New York Yankees logo on it, pulls out a pair of hundreds, and lays them on top of the bill. He stands, stretches his arms, pats his gut again, then makes his way to the door. A Hooters girl says something inaudible to him as he smiles at her and waves. As Robbie steps through the exit of the Hooters, his eyes widen briefly and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

"Got an alert. Looks like one of the Sugays did a promo." Robbie fiddles around with his cell and presses a button. The latest promo from Jaslene Sugay, featuring Kennedy Robinson and Tala Sugay, starts to play as he steps off the curb and walks towards the Bourbon War Wagon, his souped up Road Warrior Dodge Challenger. He opens the door to his car, left unlocked, and sits, watching the promo. "They're adorable, each of them. Hope Blue don't get jealous. These girls are pretty but they don't got anything on my baby." The promo plays out as the sound of Robbie's car starting are muffled, along with the audio of the promo, the sounds of Robbie's inner thoughts taking over for the moment. "How'm I going to wreck these ladies? I'm Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon, the big bad big bad of big bads, THE thing that goes bump in the night, the guy monsters tell each other stories about when they want to scare one another. I don't go around beating up girls who look like they couldn't even beat me to the buffet table, let alone a no limit, no rules XWF match on Warfare. Me, the Wednesday Night Wrecker, and they're a bunch of cute lil' things. It'd be like running over puppies with a lawnmower, gruesome, grotesque, and gory for no reason." Robbie sighs. "Well, they think Travis is a Motherfucker. I mean, I hope he is. I hope McCoy has as much sand as these girls to show up. Sure, he didn't beat Peter, but real grit is picking yourself up and getting the engine running again, not coasting in the slow lane." Robbie looks in the rearview and checks his teeth, sucking at them where bits of chicken wing lurk, stuck in between the teeth of the big man. He glances back down at the phone. "Wait a minute. Seriously?"

Robbie presses something on his phone and stops watching. He smoothly glides the transmission into reverse and pulls out of his parking spot. He presses the face of his phone again, and we hear it ringing on speakerphone again.

Hello?

The voice of Blue, Robbie's Girlfriend and Handler, is heard on the other end of the line.

Hey gorgeous.

Hey you. What're you doing?

Nothing, just did lunch with the boys. Got to catch up with Pig, you gotta meet the Engineer.

Where'd you eat?

Hooters.

Was your waitress hot?

Compared to Jack, yeah, compared to you, hell no.

Blue giggles on the other end of the line as a smile forms on Robbie's face, pleased with himself for amusing her.

So, babe, I had a question.

What is it?

What's PMS like?

There's a brief silence on the other end of the line, almost as though you can hear Blue contemplating the question.

What do you mean?

Well, what is it like? How would you describe it?

Imagine your testicles being enflamed for a week straight as blood oozed out of your dick every month.

Fuck.

Yeah, I think that's how it goes. I mean, my ovaries feel like they're rebelling against my body and trying to kill me right now. Why?

Well, the Sugays and Kennedy Robinson said they wanted to give me a dose of PMS. So far as I can tell, none of the Motherfuckers have ever suffered from PMS, don't see why we'd start now, but...

A still of Ghost Tank holding the Hart Championship flashes on the screen beside Robbie's face.

...stranger things have happened.

Graciously, the picture of Ghost Tank leaves the screen.

I guess that one time we went to the Maldives together and you were on the rag the whole time I suffered from PMS, just because we were in such an awesome place and we couldn't bone.

We could have.

Sweetie, I'm a wrestler, not a hockey player, I don't play for the Red Wings.

Well you could dare to soar tonight if you want.

Nah, that one time we did I felt like Norman Bates, pulling my bloody tool out of you after some vigorous stabbing.

Gross.

I don't see a problem. When we go to Outback or Texas Roadhouse you get your steak medium rare, I don't know why you can't have a slice of pink meat that's a little bloody otherwise.

Well I like my pork to be thoroughly cooked and juicy, not bloody, though.

Are you saying I'm pork?

Better than bacon.

Gee, thanks.

What, you say I'm your cantaloupe.

Big, sweet and cool.

Indeed.

Blue giggles again.

Look silly, do you need me to address the Sugays and Robinson? I know you don't like to hit girls, and insulting them seems kind of hard for your usually scathing promos. It isn't in you to handle them like you did Chaos, or even James.

Robbie sighs.

I don't hate James. It's just something that had to be done for the sake of the Motherfuckers.

I know, honey. And from the sounds of things, for the sake of the Motherfuckers you better beat these women at Warfare. How are you supposed to be taken seriously as threats to the Kings if you don't?

Well, good point.

I know you loathe the notion of hitting women, but you owe it to Jack, Engy, and Pig to go out and win your match.

I know.

There's a small pause.

What about McCoy?

I haven't heard from him yet. I tried to get in touch with him, sent him an email to see where his head was at. Has Caedus sent word to the dojo at all? I've been meaning to get in touch with him too, especially since he and Tala seem to know each other.

Nope.

Damn. Well, I'll be home a little later. I think Jack wanted me to meet up wtih him.

What are you guys going to get into?

I don't know. Hopefully something to take my mind off of the fact I'm facing a couple of ladies in a match, and moreover, how I don't really want to smash a couple of ladies in a match.

Don't you owe them your fullest effort?

I guess I do, but still, in the back of my mind, I really feel like it's kinda wrong.

Robbie's gaze narrows ahead through his windshield.

What the fuck?

As Robbie pulls into the parking lot for his impressive, Costco sized dojo, a swarm of reporters and a man in a suit are waiting. The reporters all flock to Robbie's car as he steps out, cameras all focused on Robbie.

People! What's happening?

"Mr. Bourbon, how do you feel about the allegations that you've been doping to enhance your performance in the XWF?"

"Sir, are you aware of any other XWF superstars who are using performance enhancing drugs?"

"Robbie, how long have you been doping?"

Robbie's face contorts into shock.

What are you guys talking about?

The man in the suit approaches as the world goes mute. "What the fuck is all this shit? Doping?" The man in the suit hands Robbie a folded blue document. He says something inaudible to Robbie. "Indictment? What the shit is this shit! I don't use drugs! Well, not the kind that's performance enhancing. No HGH, no fucking steroids, no nothing! I don't even go to GNC!" The man in the suit walks away, ignoring reporters trying to stop him. More cameras flock to Bourbon as more reporters stick microphones in Robbie's face, looking for a comment. Robbie starts to mouth back at them, words unheard to us the viewer, his face beaming, a smile carrying through every lie jumping past his teeth. "Why the fuck does anybody think I'm doping? Look at this belly, people think I'm not a hundred percent natural?" Robbie waves at all the cameras as the reporters dissipate. "What the hell is happening now?"