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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
The Crest
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
06-26-2018, 04:08 PM

Robbie Bourbon, recently concerned with his cannabis crops, also fared fairly poorly at the last Warfare, looking like a chunk of marzipan being carried around the ring by his partner, Bearded War Pig.

Does the guy even train or just scheme?

THE CREST

The National Mall, Washington, D.C. Far from the hot spots of the D. Sizzle, often the place where tourists from all across the country will visit when coming into town. It's a beautiful, bright sunny day as mounted police, tourists, more tourists, even more tourists, and the homeless litter the streets. Among them, here and there, are joggers, all in short pants and light tops.

One jogger, in particular, is of note, as it is none other than Robbie Bourbon. Failure, superstar, hero, heretic, what can't be said about the man, other than he's skinny, waif like, or a bean pole? Robbie hustles down the sidewalk, sidestepping other pedestrians along the way. This is no small feat. People rarely look where they're going these days, the inherent sense of entitlement among those raised in a child-proofed era. Strollers swing wide. Hapless doofuses (doofusi?) meandering their way with a face stuck looking at a cell phone. For his size, Robbie's footwork seems uncanny. He stops at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. As he does, he glances around and narrowly hops out of the way of an oncoming group of tourists on bicycles. He looks less than pleased, then rolls his eyes before looking dead at the camera.

What is it with people? I mean, God love 'em, I know I do, but awareness seems to be...

Robbie sidesteps a guy eating a large egg roll.

...at an all time low.

Now, I know I looked like shit last time I stepped into the ring. That's an understatement.

I looked like the bottom of a chemical toilet. I reckon the only difference between myself and that particular filth is that the bottom of a chemical toilet has some modicum of consistency. Just like my opponent at Warfare.

I'm not going to waste your time or my breath running down Louis D'Ville. There were a few good lines here in there when I last saw him on my screen. Calling my friend Nickelback? That's, well, downright insulting, to say the least. Also, untrue.

As creepy and vile as Doc can be, he sure as hell ain't topping Nickelback.

Calling my girlfriend Bluetooth? Well, I guess that's a zinger, but all-in-all, a little more sophomoric than I anticipated from the man. Maybe not.

Either way, Doc, they're, well, exaggerations. I can get behind exaggerating, I do it from time to time.

Sometimes I have to tell people their hideous baby is precious. Sometimes I have to tell people their disgusting food is delicious. Sometimes I even have to tell people I don't like to have a nice day, to take care of themselves, and to be well. Even under circumstances where I really hope they get hit by a bus, or spill capsaicin in their own eyes, or on their genitals. Now that I think of it, just about any incident that causes their genitals to be injured. But I don't outright tell folks that. It's rude, it's wrong, and it doesn't benefit anybody involved.

So when I exaggerate, I lie.


A stroller collides into Robbie.

Oh, excuse me!

The woman pushing the stroller gives Robbie a look and weaves around him. As soon as she's out of view, Robbie's forced smile fades and he looks back at the camera.

See? That's a great example. Could I have told that woman she was an idiot, that she's probably not really all that fit of a mother if she's pushing her baby into strangers, and that she needs to be more careful? Yep. Did I? Absolutely not! I have no reason to make her life any more difficult, who knows what horrible things she thinks about herself already or whatever else is swimming around in her head.

Frankly, being an asshole to the people, being blunt, just doesn't fly. Not for the most part.

But then, there are my opponents here in the XWF. The ones I confront, week in, week out, or at least did when I was raring to go week in, week out. I'm ramping back up, to be sure, and without a shadow of a doubt, my path doesn't end this Wednesday either, Doc.

I don't get why you think Pig shat any bed, he sure didn't last time I stepped into the ring against Chubby Pete and Chris "Maybe I'll Feel Good About Myself Now" Chaos. That man carried me like a lunch box, my doughy, marzipan-like body just ill prepared for what waited for me in the cage. That said, I'm not sure if that makes you a liar, or just grossly incompetent to the point you can't explain facts. An idiot.

Maybe mistaken? Who gives a fuck.


Robbie does a pirouette, avoiding a string of children being led by a chaperone.

I can put whatever polish I want on your words, Doc. I can say it's the telltale signs of a mind gone feeble, I can say it's some sudden piece of whimsy befallen you, I can say you just had a little too much scotch before you spoke and got your story muddled. None of that matters, really.

What matters is what happens in that ring on Wednesday.

You, stepping into the ring, me, stepping into the ring, then us, wailing on each other to a hearts content. I've felt it before, none of it is really all that unexpected to me. I would say it's like you're going to be hitting a brick wall, but me? I'm no brick wall.

I'm your carousel. Around and 'round I go, the people overjoyed that I'm there, the bright lights, the fun music, the ride they'll experience all too familiar, all too fleeting before I come to a stop and then it's someone else's turn to get on and get the Robbie Bourbon experience. The next week, there I'll be, the next month, next year, any amount of time. I spin, I move, but I don't dare budge from my place.

You won't see me across the way, up the block, or making way for anything any time soon. There's one place the carousel stays, and it stays put, and the people look for it in that place. Me, with all my big sounds and fun times, always reliably there.

You? You're a Tilt-A-Whirl. Same concept as me, the attraction, the amusement, the thing some people love, albeit a little more scary, and I would not be surprised if carnies had sex on you at some point. You move faster, you might smell like vomit depending on the last time someone actually cared to check, and eventually you'll hit the road and move onward, who knows where.

So stick to being under a rock someplace, lurk, and build your momentum. Look around at the world, though, it sure has changed a bunch, hasn't it? Every time you poke your head out, fewer and fewer people take note. It used to be anybody who was anybody would look for you, and you'd welcome them with open arms. It used to be I would look for anyone who was anyone, and greet them with open arms. Same coin, Doc, just the opposite side of me.

Hell, look at what happened to you in Africa. That's not cunning, or planning, or brilliance. It was happenstance. You don't even control the wicked things that happen around you anymore.


Robbie bounds over a leash as a dog and it's owner walk down the sidewalk.

You've become a spectator, and ultimately, you're just as unaware as anybody else in the world.

Suddenly, behind Robbie, a flood of people come screaming from inside the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Robbie's face goes from coy to panicked as he swivels to see the commotion. As a tidal wave of people run by him, the front doors explode, and the sight of a skeletal Tyrannosaurus Rex bursts into view. Atop it is a crazed looking old man.

Jesus!

The crazy looking man cackles.

Mwahahahaha! They said I was mad! They said it couldn't be done! But, behold, my Reanimatricodex works! I am unstoppable! Mwahahahaha!

The T-Rex skeleton opens it's mouth as if to roar, but sans vocal cords just kind of clacks it's jaw.

Hey, dickhead! You're fucking up a National landmark!

Mwahahahahaha!

The mad scientist points at Robbie, and the skeletal T-Rex leaps from the top of the stairs down to the street below, pouncing on Robbie! Robbie sidesteps, and grabs the tibia of the dinosaur! Robbie yanks on it, pulling it loose, and the skeleton comes crashing down in a heap to the ground, the mad scientist left sitting on a mound of broken up dinosaur bones.

Wait, what? Hey! How dare you...

Robbie swings the massive fossil and cracks the mad scientist over the head. The mad scientist goes out. Robbie drops the dinosaur bone and looks around.

Welp, I got a jog to finish.

As people crowd around to look at the defeated and dismantled menace that was, just seconds ago, what appeared to be all of their doom, Robbie jogs off.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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Doctor Louis D'Ville (06-26-2018)




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