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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Warfare Boards » "Wednesday Warfare" RP Board
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Two Dipshits Done Fucked Up Now
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Robbie Bourbon Offline
Man of the People

XWF FanBase:
Very random

(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)

Post: #1
06-10-2018 06:06 AM

Chris Chaos and Peter Gilmour, the current defending Tag Team Champions, had less than kind things to say about the Motherfuckers, but then again, this is the XWF. Being nice to one another prior to a match is not common. However, 'less than kind' is just not going to cut it against thoroughly vicious and downright vulgar.

We see Robbie Bourbon standing front and center in his dojo for the competitive arts. Wrestlers a' wrestlin', Hair stylists a' stylin', chefs a cheffin' (cheffin'? cheffin'!), and a bevy of students all sitting behind him, as though they're about to get a lesson of some sort. Robbie is holding a microphone. Behind him, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Ash, Robbie's personal stylist, sit and wait.

Okay, y'all, time to go to class.

Sit down, relax, and watch how this shit gets done.

I like to call it "Breaking Down Bullshit 101"

First off, I want to address none other than Peter Gilmour.

Is he my greatest rival? Absolutely not. That'd be like saying cockroaches are rivals to boots, that targets are rivals to rifles, or, shit, that bacon is a rival to me.

Yes, I just said that. I enjoy bacon. I fry it up, nice and crispy, chomp it up, digest it, and shit it out.

Just like Peter Gilmour.

I can't, won't, and shouldn't deny I am larger than life, that I am the Super-Heavyweight Superior, the Sassy Mass of Whoop-Your-Ass, the best God damned, best God willing big man in the business today. You got jokes about my weight?

Face facts, Gilmour, you've said that shit before and it never benefited you. You've seen me in cage after cage after cell after cell, and it's never worked out in your favor. This time isn't going to be any different. You know it, I know it, and most importantly, the whole fucking Universe knows it.

Then we look at your partner, Chris "I'm as reliable as a crackhead with a thousand dollars" Chaos. Well, he had plenty to say about my ability to pack away proteins and carbs, now didn't he? Now, I don't know what a Golden Corral championship is, exactly, I didn't know they even had one. Sure, I like the chocolate fondue fountain. I love the fact I can get all the corned beef hash, scrambled eggs, sauteed mushrooms, and bacon I can eat in the mornin'. They even have cantaloupe. I've never done dinner there, but you know what? I bet it's delicious and savory.

But when it comes to buffet fat fucks, well, dig your partner, homeboy.

Peter Gilmour is so fat he is his own category. Fat, corpulent, obese, morbidly obese, and Peter Gilmour.

Peter Gilmour is so fat he breaks zoning laws.

Peter Gilmour is so fat he thinks his toes are only theoretical at this point.

Peter Gilmour is so fat he doesn't need a toilet seat to shit. And that's in a handicapped bathroom, normal stalls are just too tiny.

Peter Gilmour is so fat when he rolls over in bed the box springs tap out.

Peter Gilmour is so fat it takes a forklift to help him get his pants on. Make that two forklifts.

And I would know for a fact, I've thrown that silly fat ass around like a rag doll. Behold my might and whatnot. So much so, that until further notice, we're just going to refer to you as Chubby Pete.

Then Chris wants to point to the past, bringing up some "scoreboard", and why not? It isn't like he's as good as he used to be. A former Universal Champion bailing out on obtaining that title again and instead settling on being Television Champion. A man who's only famous for starting white hot then cooling off so fast you'd think he put his own career in the freezer. Wait, he did do that to himself. Heads up, Chubby Pete, your partner, Chris "The Past Was Amazing" Chaos, generally has a track record of doing one thing ever since he set foot in the XWF, and that's pissing on the people who support him. Ax3? Dead and gone. Remember that time Chris "I Have No Future" Chaos teamed up with Trax? He'll want you to forget that, Chubby Pete.

Face facts, the only reason, the ONLY reason he is relying on you right now is because he's finding himself in a shit ton of danger at the hands of the Motherfuckers.

Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

THE Bearded Motherfucking War Pig.

He even said he didn't like you, Chubby Pete. He said he respected you, but that's either a complete lie, because I don't see how anybody would ever respect Chubby Pete, or Chris "Sociopath" Chaos is just that much of an idiot to respect Chubby Pete, his army of Maria Brink lookalikes, his propensity to shout at random so often that medical professionals are considering changing the name Tourette Syndrome to having a case of the Gilmours, and his shit stain of a career full of happenstance, more dick riding than a gay orgy, and more losses than Phillip Morris stocks.

If you don't follow the market, that's a lot.

Chris "I Don't Smile For Cameras, I Don't Smile" Chaos, the fluke who choked then drowned.

Chris "Wooden Personality Except Some People Actually Appreciate Wood" Chaos, who couldn't get pussy from a kitten farm.

Chris "I Like Me And That's Good Enough, I Guess" Chaos, kissing Chubby Pete's pimpled, dimpled, simple ass hoping he'll make a good enough meat shield against me and my partner, the man who pulls me up by my God damned bootstraps when I can't, BWP.

Chris "I Can't Get A Date And It's Because I Was Trolled On The Internet" Chaos, blaming his lack of fucking game on anybody else, oblivious to the fact he's a creepy bastard who's more likely to give a woman the heebie jeebies than some dick.

Chris "Defense Mechanism" Chaos, who got her a ring and she got him a restraining order.

Chris "Convinced By My Mom I Was Different But Didn't Know She Meant Asperger's" Chaos, on the spectrum AND the Florida sex offender registry.

Chris "The Tampa Tit" Chaos, peeping through glory holes and sticking his baby PENIS in a kaleidoscope.

Now, I don't think any of this is going to register with you, Chris. Not in the least. You don't live on planet Earth with us, you aren't capable of processing anything that points to you, your high pitched effeminate voice, your odd potential school-shooter personality, or your sloppy, lazy looking body as responsible for anything. Yeesh, you have the physique of boiled celery. Sure, I'm fat, but you look like you don't do anything at all but find the nearest chair, wait for someone to be your partner to carry you in the La-Z-Boy that cradles your soft, supple ass, then pull the handle to recline and knock them out when it suits you.

Chris "I Like Me And That's It" Chaos's career, ladies and gentlemen.

Now, enough about all that horseshit. I'm sure Peter and Chris, who have the official tag team name of The Gaggin' 69ers, won't like any of it, but hey, why the fuck do I care about them? Much like boots don't care about cockroaches feelings, rifles don't care about targets feelings, and I don't care about what bacon is thinking when I chomp it down, the Motherfuckers don't give two flying fucks about what the Gaggin' 69ers feelings. We don't care how awesome they think they are, about whatever horse shit they feed themselves to feel regular, or how they want to function together.

The Motherfuckers are the elite unit in the XWF, end of story. We're so good that we've hit roadbumps but are still functioning. We've been torpedoed but we still float. We've been shot down, but watch us soar anyhow. The Universe knows it.

You're about to be trapped in a cage with it.

That's when Chubby Pete and Chris "The Face Of Auto-Fellatio" Chaos will look at each other and blame one another for the shitstorm they found themselves in.

On the one hand, BWP, the wild Motherfucker, ready and capable of absolutely decimating anybody on the planet with a degree of violence so incomprehensible, so complete that it's a fucking miracle any of us are left standing as long as he is.

On the other hand, me, Robbie Bourbon, the ornery Motherfucker, who could rip your fucking spines out, tie 'em together, and jump rope with them and become the hottest fucking trend on Instagram, SnapChat, or any other app that lets the XWF Universe share pics.

When that cage drops and that bell rings, that's when you'll see what separates the men from the boys. That's when Chubby Pete and Chris "Socially, Environmentally, And Mentally Unaware Of The Real World" Chaos, the Gaggin' 69ers, complete their linking procedure and completely put their heads up each other's asses. That's when the Motherfuckers go to fucking work and wreck a pair of fools too stupid to stay away from the ring on Wednesday but stupid enough to fight.

On that note, gentlemen, I am impressed by the delicate balancing act you two are performing of being retarded but not that retarded.

Wreck you Wednesday!

[Image: 18ytmde.png]
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