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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Leap of Faith 2017 RP Board
Road Stop
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist
TITLE - X-treme Champion



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
10-11-2017, 06:08 PM



Robbie Bourbon was recently greeted by his father outside of the arena as he was leaving Warfare after dancing around for a bit.

What, that's what happened.

ROAD STOP

Somewhere, Midafternoon, Mountain Time, North America

We see a long flat stretch of highway beset by miles upon miles of barren wilds. The landscape looks harsh, unforgiving, and stretches beyond perception. On the highway, going down the road at a moderate pace, is seen Robbie Bourbon's bitching Challenger.

The camera shifts focus to within the vehicle on a dash mounted cam. Inside we see Bourbon sitting at the driver's seat, wheel in hand, and beside him is his father, a shorter unmasked fellow with rosy cheeks, a pointed nose, bright blue eyes, and a smattering of gray hair atop his head. He looks over in displeasure at Robbie.

Bob, you can open up this thing, there's nobody around for miles.

I'm already doing fifteen over the speed limit.

Oh, okay.

The elder Bourbon rolls his eyes as we hear the engine hum louder, Robbie's shoulders tensed as he grips the wheel preparing to go twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. He might even hit twenty-five.

Man, it's quiet in here, why don't you play some music.

I don't want to.

What do you mean?

Well, I mean it's your car, isn't it? I want you to pick the music.

You hate my music.

I don't. It's your car, play what you want.

Robbie shrugs, and mitts his phone in his right hand, glancing at it and back up at the road as he speeds up to a solid eighteen miles per hour over the speed limit, not really pushing it. Suddenly, the sounds of Metallica's Battery start to dulcetly grace the car, the opening guitar strums lulling you into a sense of calm before a massive rush of metal. To the trained ear, that is. Robbie's dad quickly picks up the phone and silences it.

What, what are you doing?

I hate that song.

Robbie's dad puts the phone down. Robbie looks at his father with some shock, then back at his phone.

What did you play instead?

Nothing, you're a grown man, this is your car, play what you want.

Robbie rolls his eyes in unison but opposite direction of his father. Robbie grabs his phone again and fiddles with it as he finally peaks at twenty-four over the limit, and the opening beats to Brunch by Action Bronson starts to play over the stereo. Robbie's dad looks out the window, back at Robbie, then picks up the phone and fiddles with it, silencing the car again. Robbie sighs.

...

I didn't like that song either.

Robbie picks up the phone and fiddles with it again, this time playing surf guitar. His dad looks at the phone, then back out the window. Robbie glances at his father briefly, then back at the road. Afterward, Robbie's Dad picks the phone up and fiddles with it. In a moment the silence returns.

What was wrong with that one?

We're in the Canadian badlands, nobody listens to surf guitar here.

Pssht. Well, what should we listen to?

Look, son, you're a grown man...

I should pick the music.

Right.

Robbie and his dad both roll their eyes in unison. As they do, Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus starts to blare throughout. Robbie's eyes widen as he grabs the phone.

Wait, I like this one!

It's my ringtone.

Let it ring.

It's mom.

Oh. Answer it.

Robbie presses the face of the screen with his thumb. A woman's voice is heard over the speakers in the car.

Hi Mom!

Hey Bobby!

Hey Shirley.

Oh, Bingo, it's so good to hear your voice. Have you been taking your medicine?

Robbie's parents names are evidently Shirley and Bingo.

Yes, I took my pills this morning.

All of them?

Yes! All of them! Look, did you bring the recycling out?

Robbie smirks as his dad starts to turn beet red.

Yes Bingo, I did! Have you been pooping good?

Robbie and his dad glance at each other, Robbie easing into a bigger smile as his father forces one.

Smooth as silk. Like shitting in cotton fields.

Good, good. So, how are you guys doing?

Pretty good. About to go eat.

Oh, good, where at?

Anywhere. I'm starving.

Me too.

Oh, okay. Well, it was good to hear from you. I love you Bobby.

Love you too, mom.

I love you, Bingo.

I love you too.

Okay.

There's a pause as Robbie and his father both look at the road ahead.

Goodbye.

Bye.

Both men end the conversation with Shirley in unison.

Have you really been pooping good?

Shut the fuck up.

What, I don't want you to stain the seats, this is a new used formerly impounded vehicle, it would be a shame...

I said shut up about it, alright!

Robbie pulls the car off the road into a small roadside diner's parking lot. He puts the car in park as he and his father step out of the vehicle.

Mmm, smell that mountain air.

I smell grease.

Well, that too. Means good chow inside.

Maybe.

Robbie and his father enter the diner. A lone waitress patrols the place with a smattering of tables filled. Robbie and his father seat themselves in a both, each man taking up a majority of each bench. The waitress approaches.

Can I get you guys something to drink?

I'll have a Coke.

And you?

Unsweet iced tea.

We don't have iced tea.

Robbie's dad rolls his eyes. Robbie rolls his eyes. The waitress rolls her eyes.

I'll have water then.

Okay.

The waitress walks off.

So, you think you're ready this time?

For what?

Your title match.

Well, what do you mean?

Bob, the last few matches you've had, well, you've been less than stellar.

I busted through a Punjabi Prison!

Right, and lost.

Okay, and?

And what about the last time you had a shot at the Universal Championship?

Well, I had it...

Until you bust through an Elimination Chamber.

Hey now, that's part of the legacy of the XWF now!

Yeah, a legacy of you losing, Bob. And James Raven has you dead to rights for the stunt you pulled. Keeping your little team together? Pfft. Jack split as soon as he could, now didn't he? Engy seems to have gone crazy, and where is your Bearded buddy at anyhow?

He's doing the dirty work in Korea.

Right. And you're stuck running around from arena to arena while Barney Green goes off and challenges the Kings. You know you could have taken them down with Raven, instead...

Instead I wound up the number one contender after wrecking Chris Chaos's face.

So? You don't just betray a friend because of a small change. You could and should have handled this a lot better, Bob.

Well, what about Raven?

What about him? He's a tough competitor. I've seen his matches.

He lost to Chaos.

He barely lifted a finger against Chaos, he didn't care, his heart wasn't in it. He was probably more fixated on you.

Maybe. Maybe he was more fixated on where he wanted to go with the Universal Championship.

What do you mean?

You didn't hear? Raven threatened to walk out on the company.

Yeah, he did it in the name of a friend of his. It showed backbone. It showed character. You, pfft, you just became an opportunistic dork like...

Don't say it.

Like Peter Gilmour, or Scully.

Ouch.

Son, I know the truth hurts, but you need to confront what you are before you dare set foot in that ring against Raven.

Yeah, well, the Greatest of all Time doesn't need to throw hissy fits and threaten to walk with the championship. People have been invested in tickets for our match for a while. Ever since the world knew there would be Robbie Bourbon versus James Raven, the fans were ready and willing to throw their hard earned dollars towards seeing it happen. Ever since the universe knew there would be a match between us, it has sat and waited for us. Ever since the whole of creation, multiverse after multiverse, including some of those other universes James Raven seems so fucking focused on instead of defending his name against Chris Chaos or his title against me. Sure, I lost to Jim Caedus. I lost to Robert Main. I beat Chris Chaos, though, that's pretty fucking evident. Look where I'm headed at Leap of Faith. Sure, I never fought Chasm, but hey, dude was too chickenshit to even step into the god damned ring with me to begin with. To threaten, James, the very universe that they would be denied this fucking match, to spew silly horse shit while quoting another Raven, nevermore, is a helluva diversion from what this is really about.

You want to be up in arms over getting your dick stomped so hard it turned into a pussy or something here, dude? I guess you needed the little stay of execution by facing B listers while I fought A list talent with Z list personalities. You now have a stiff shot coming, straight Bourbon, no chaser. Heavenly body, hellish attitude, hit you so hard you'll be a real stargazer. They'll be spinning your head so fast you'll see Sagitarius, I'm a cosmic event like the dawning of the age of Aquarius. I'm nefarious, and your situation is precarious! You just got to beat the man who humiliated you, just beat me like it's pathos.

But instead, this oversized skidmark that somehow oozed it's way into his momma's panties to let himself cook for nine months, this little dandy boy who get's as much touch as a poisoned cactus, who couldn't turn on a light, dick-stays-dry-even-in-a-kayak, which is fucking hard as fuck as those kayakers out there would attest, who couldn't get an Uber to come, who couldn't get sucked by a leech or eaten by a cannibal, this non-pussy-getting recluse who insists on his running buddies from the past to keep him company wants to play the role of the primadonna? The diva?


Bob, you're not getting all the girls. You're eating lunch with your dad.

Well, yeah, right now, but...

ENOUGH!

Another diner in the diner stands up. He's rough looking, to be poignant. Scraggly beard, a long scraggled mane of black hair on his scalp, an eye patch covering a left socket, visibly scarred, a bloodshot right eye glaring at the table. He's muscular, worn, and aged. He steps toward and approaches the table as the place stands still.

Why the fuck are you shouting in this diner? I'm trying to eat, so is everybody else here.

Shit, I got caught up in promo mode. I'm sorry!

Yeah, well, just shut up already!

Bingo starts to laugh at Robbie.

What?

That guy has something up his ass.

What'd you say?

I said you had something up your ass about what my son was doing. Is that a problem?

Look, old man, you shut your mouth too.

Hey!

The diner stands next to Robbie and his father's table.

Hey nothing! I'm Iron Tooth Maloosky. You'll do what I say or you'll be dead!

Bingo looks at Robbie, and Robbie looks back at Bingo. They both erupt in laughter. Maloosky, in a fit of rage, slaps Robbie's father. He recoils, a man of prime age to recieve social security, into the booth holding his head. Robbie continues to laugh as he stands up, cracking his knuckles, a full two inches taller than Maloosky.

You think it's funny I hit your old man?

Robbie struggles to stop laughing to speak, putting his left index finger up as if to say 'give me a second' as he catches his breath. Maloosky grabs the finger.

How about I break your god damned finger?

In a flash Robbie's right hand is around Iron Tooth Maloosky's throat. Maloosky releases the finger in a panic.

I do think it's funny you hit the old man.

Hey!

What, you were being a pain with the radio before.

Robbie's dad sits up, looking less than pleased, his arms folded across his chest.

You know what, you're an asshole!

I know!

As Robbie and his father continue to bicker, Iron Tooth Maloosky's face starts to turn purple as he gasps for air, his hands fruitlessly swatting away at Robbie's arm. The waitress returns.

Um, you're going to kill him...

No, no I'm not.

Robbie flips up Maloosky's eye patch, revealing a horrific socket that looks more like some kind of deranged sex toy that somehow bred a new STD from overuse. Robbie kicks Maloosky's knee, sending him crashing down to the floor of the diner.

I'ma skullfuck ya, though, for hitting my pops.

Oh Jesus, I'll be outside.

With that, Jesus Christ, rarest of Bourbon Men and main character in the second half of the Bible, is seen in the diner. He looks at Maloosky on his knees with Robbie's hand around Iron Tooth's throat. He stands next to Bingo, shoulder to shoulder, watching as Robbie reaches behind him for a salt shaker.

Oh, I don't want to see this.

Robbie starts to edge the business end of the salt shaker closer to Iron Tooth Maloosky's rancid, vacant eye socket. Jesus and Bingo walk out of the diner. They stop beside the hood of Robbie's car. Robbie's dad's hands are on his shoulders as he looks quizzically at Jesus.

What do you see in that guy?

From within the diner, we hear the screams of a man having a full shaker of salt shoved into his open empty eye socket. They end almost as abruptly as they started.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, Bingo. Robbie Bourbon, well, not so much.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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