Welp, let's have a look see at the next contestant on the Robbie Bourbon Universal Championship Open Challenge.

Do we see a worldbreaking threat come from the shadows to knock me off?

Fuck if I don't know I'm the man around here.

The man with the target on his back, forehead, chest, and balls, still walking around out in the open.

You see me?

Awesome. That's great.

You see this?

Robbie holds up the Universal Championship belt with his left hand while pointing at the screen with his right.

This is all that fucking defines me. I have lost a lot. My position with the government, my fucking pay rate, my old lady is off in God know's where on the globe playing the real life Carmen Sandiego or some kind of thing like that, fuck. All in one day.

Then I grabbed my belt and went and fucking defended it.

I can't lie, I really have NOTHING else to do anymore.

I couldn't lead the Motherfuckers, yada yada yada. I couldn't beat Jim Caedus or Robert Main, blah blah blah.

I'm the joke of a fucking champion that, let's face facts, will annihilate some shithead from time to time.

Danny Imperial, or Imperial, or Dimpy, which I happen to like myself, you sir, are that shithead.

Come on down! You're the next contestant on the Robbie Bourbon Universal Championship Open Challenge!

Now, a thing or two before you go off and write a fucking sonnet or some bullshit about the fucking match we're going to have. You and your band can go play a song about me in some shithole dive that pays you in beer.

And for fucks sake, put the face paint back on. Go ask Gene Simmons how well things went for him without make-up, and he's an actual rock star. Go ask any given stripper how things went without make-up.

This is all there is to offer?

The Universal Champion is not satisfied with the Universe's sacrifice.

You ever watch Jurassic Park? The original one?

Do you remember when they're rolling along on their electric rail SUV's and see the Tyrannasaurus Rex pen?

Remember when the dinosaur just didn't show up?

So they put out a goat.

A fucking barnyard animal.

And the fucking T-Rex had no goddamn reason to show up for a fucking goat.

A morsel.

T-Rex wants to hunt.

So I come around, when it's raining and pouring, when the shit is awful, and I'm hunting, and I'm the fucking top predator in the god damned jungle, and lookie here.

A fucking goat.

Now sure, I'll rip the fucking walls of my pen down, as I'm apt to do, just go watch any War Games match I've ever been in, and the Elimination Chamber.

Then I'll run down that shitty SUV, eat a fucker on a toilet, chase Jeff Goldblum, and eventually snack on a pack of fucking raptors.

But for right now, a fucking goat. Dimpy the Goat.

In my pen.

When you finally come out, and see me in the ring, you see this belt...

Robbie points at the Universal Title Belt, then lowers it.

You see that belt get handed off to the timekeeper. You hear the people, the whole god damned Universe, come to watch the fucking offering of meat, bone, and blood to not me, but it, the Universal Championship and what it means and what defines it, and your heart races.

Is this too big for me?

Yes, yes it is, Dimpy.

Will I be able to handle this?

No, no you won't, Dimpy.

That's when you see the worst, most horrific sight of your life.

A cage coming down.

A cage keeping you locked in with me.

The Universal Champion and King of the Jobbers.

The Oxymoron.

Notorious.

It won't hurt long, Dimpy.

But it will fucking hurt.

Now play us a dirge, call up the air raid sirens, hoist the spotlights, man the guns, do whatever you think you need to fucking do.

Because I don't give a fuck about any of that. There's a Robbiebomb coming with your fucking name on it, then three seconds of euphoria.

Robbie holds his right hand up and points his pointer finger in the air.

ONE.

Three seconds of bliss.

Robbie raises his middle finger along with the pointer.

TWO.

Three seconds until it's finally over and I'm done smashing you to bits like the Universal Champion should.

Robbie raises his ring finger on his right hand, counting three.

THREE.

Then you are allowed to leave my pen.

If you survive.