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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Savage Boards » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
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Robbie Bourbon Offline
Man of the People

XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

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

Post: #1
06-14-2019 05:50 AM

Robbie Bourbon finally, after 4 fucking years, faces off against Scully.

In a barbed wire death match, no less.


We open to see a standard American strip mall. A massive parking lot with a row of connected shops, people parking, pulling out, driving, walking, and buying everywhere in view. People walking out of stores with bags. GameStop. A nail place. A hair place. An Aldi supermarket. A hardware store. Two Starbucks, one on it's own, one in an attached Target. Stomping grounds of the modern consumer ready to buy without having an Amazon Prime subscription. No one looks pleased to be here, neither unsmiling shopper realizing they are about to lay down $100 on stuff that won't last or the unsmiling retail worker, having their soul leeched away watching other people prattle about how good a type of cookie is, why a coupon ended, or asking to speak to a manager.

Into the parking lot we see a schoolbus roll in, full of children, and driving the bus is none other than Robbie Bourbon. Ash is seated behind him. The bus comes to a halt, and Ash turns and points to the children, audibly shouting at them, as Robbie Bourbon opens the door and steps out first. Ash then walks out and the children follow suit, seeming to be glad to be out of the bus.

Well, kids, what did you think of the music? Isn't music fun and good?

Most of the children look befuddled.

I thought we were going to a candy shop!

No, Sally.

It's Rachel!

Rachel. The "candy shop", as described by 50 Cent, was a metaphor. You're probably too young and stupid to get it.

My mom said 50 Cent was a bad man.

Your mom probably drinks piss on cam for fifty bucks a pop.



The children look doubly confused as to, well, everything.

Well, kids, welcome to Robbie Summer Camp. Now, your parents all paid two-thousand dollars each to make sure you went to my camp, the greatest camp on earth, the camp where you actually get to be a part of my airtime. Isn't that great? Now, you, little girl.


Yeah, Mandi...

It's Rachel!

Rachel, here.

Robbie pulls a dollar out of the single strapped side of his spandex singlet and hands it to Rachel.

Go get me a Coke, and you'll get your first Bourbon Bronze Star.



Can I have a Bronze Star?

Maybe, kids, maybe! The Robbie Bourbon Bronze Star system is how we are going to give awards at the end of camp! So far, if Rachel here gets me a Coke before it gets warm, she gets a Bronze Star! If she doesn't, though, welp, Rachel doesn't get a blanket at bed time.

Robbie turns to Rachel, who is still standing and listening.

Um, Coke? Now!

Rachel rushes off towards a soda machine unsupervised.

Alright, kids, what is your favorite candy?

The children all start shouting random answers. Reese's. Kit Kat. Smarties.

Oh, did I hear you guys wanted candy for dinner?

The kids all start cheering.

Well, let's go get dinner stuff!

The kids all happily yell as Rachel returns, looking dejected.

Robbie, the sodas are a dollar and fifty cents.


You gave me a dollar. I need fifty cents.

Well, Rachel, today you get to learn about capitalism. If you can't make that fifty cents, well, I don't think I can give you that Bronze Star we talked about. Instead, you get a demerit. You don't want a demerit, it goes on your permanent record.

Rachel looks shocked.

Better go find fifty cents, Rachel.

Rachel, on the verge of tears, rushes off and starts panhandling strangers. Robbie turns to the rest of the children.

Alrighty, lets go!

Robbie steps towards the store and the children all rush past him towards the doors, scrambling in random directions throughout the store. Robbie yells at the top of his lungs in the Aldi.

Demerits for all of you if you don't get back here right now and get in line!

The kids ignore this, going hog wild within the grocery store like a pack of unruly beasts unleashed. Kids throwing stuff. Kids stealing purses. Kids opening boxes of food and eating them. Robbie looks at one child opening a box of crackers.

Hey, hey! Stop that!

The kid stares at Robbie and drops the box of crackers, which spills all over the floor of Aldi. Aldi employees begin to fight off the children as best they can, like a battle between heaven and hell itself. Aldi employees armed with push brooms, smocks, and freezer gloves all standing their ground but not deflecting the onslaught of a busload of unsupervised children. Robbie rolls his eyes.

Never work with kids.

So, what are you going to get them for dinner?

Robbie shrugs. He walks through the calamity of the battle torn Aldi and approaches a freezer. He opens it and gets two hefty bags of mixed vegetables. He starts to carry them to the register. Rachel returns, sobbing, and holding a Coca-Cola.

Thank you, Margot.

It's Rachel.

Robbie snags the soda he made a child pay a third for and opens it, guzzling it instantly. He hands the emptied bottle back to Rachel.

Recycle this.

Rachel runs off, hoping to earn a second Bronze Star. One of the other children approaches Robbie.

Hey, I thought you said we can have candy for dinner!

The kids all congregate as the battle subsides. The Aldi employees, struck by the ceasefire, stand down as well.

Well, this has corn in it. Corn, as you know, is nature's candy.

But we want real candy!

Fine, we'll pour sugar all over the vegetables to make them candy.

The kids all cheer resume battle with the Aldi employees as Robbie puts the bags of frozen vegetables down. Ash approaches with a bag of sugar.

Sure, that'll work. Wait! They need protein!

Robbie walks over to a display of tuna cans, and looks them up and down.

Hrmm, in natural oil. This, uh, should feed kids, right?

I don't want to eat oily tuna, mixed vegetables, and sugar.

Oh, we're grown ups, we get grown up food like lobster, these little shits can munch on this stuff, gotta keep that profit margin up! No reason we shouldn't be banking eighty-five percent of the cash paid to watch the little things for a week, no way am I overpaying for child food. Oh, look! Just as good as tuna!

Robbie points to a display of canned cat food, which is priced at one third of the cost of a can of tuna. The display reads "real mouse flavored".

See, there you go, real mouse! Mice are just made of protein, look at snakes!

Robbie snags a few cans of minced mouse cat food. His menu for feeding children over several days seemingly complete, he bypasses an Aldi employee having their eyes ripped out of their sockets by two children and walks up to a cashier. The cashier, bored they didn't get to participate in the massive battle, looks up with a distinct malaise and totals Robbie's purchase. Robbie reaches into his sequined jacket pocket and pulls out a wallet, opens it, and pulls out a plastic card. Robbie sticks it into a small pin pad next to the register, presses a few buttons, and we hear a beep. The kids all rush madly out the door, knowing the shopping is done, and Robbie follows with two hefty bags of frozen vegetables, sugar, and cat food to feed somewhere near thirty children for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, because it was the most profitable option he had. He lobs the bags of food into the school bus and looks into it as the kids scramble to get in. Robbie's eyebrow furrows as he turns to Ash.

Is this how many we are supposed to have?

Ash shrugs.

Dunno, we never did a head count.

Right. Well, kids, you guys did good being in my promo and all, thank you so much, but now I have to do other things with my airtime, the viewing public is waiting for a wrestling megastar, and you guys did great. Ash is going to drive you back, and we have some really fun activities lined up for you!

Yeah! Who's ready to make some sneakers!

The kids all cheer as Ash sits in the driver's seat and closes the bus door. She pulls off, taking the children to presumably work in a sweat shop making sneakers, because if most of you look at your feet, that's where what you are wearing has come from. Especially socks. Robbie turns and heads towards a hardware store.

Yeesh, those little shits sure were awful. What kind of an idiot wants those?

Robbie rolls his eyes and walks into the hardware store. He approaches a weed wacker and puts his hands on his hips, considering it. He shakes his head no and walks over to see a nail gun. Robbie rubs his chin.

I could give him the stigmata with this, get in with the super religious crowd. If there's one cash cow I am not milking yet, I guess it would be God.

With that, a beam of light cascades down onto Robbie, and we hear the voice of God, Morgan Freeman.

Robbie, don't take my name in vain, now.

Oh, come on, what, your slacker son couldn't come down?

He's busy, doing Jesus stuff.

Is he in Ibiza? He was always talking about going to Ibiza.

Yes, he's in Ibiza. He likes it there. It's pretty nice.

So, what do you want?

I am the almighty, the creator of all things, and you just ask what I want?

Robbie smirks.

Who else has been as direct?

I guess nobody, there was always some question about existence, like why I made the universe, can I help a team win a championship, why is there cancer and pain...

God, will you get to the point?

I digress. Robbie, you need to watch what you're doing. Exploiting child labor is one thing, but exploiting people who worship me and have faith? That might send you somewhere kind of bad when you die.

Nope, not happening. I started worshipping Thor.


Thor shows up, standing next to Robbie.


Me damn it. Really?

Really, I'm going to Valhalla when I die, not a part of your whole whatever anymore.


Thor, his cameo fulfilled, nods and gives a thumbs up, then is off like a bolt of lightning.

So, what did you want?

God sighs.

Look, would you not fuck with Christianity as a way to profit?

Robbie rolls his eyes and shrugs.

Eh, Joel Osteen has the market cornered on that, good thing you're talking with me instead of smiting the dick out of him, Old Testament style. Y'know, if you did more shit like that again, I might go check out a church.

God sighs again.

Joel Osteen stopped taking my calls.

Aw, well, God, don't be sad. Cheer up. Go, I dunno, make a rainbow someplace. It's pride month, wait...

What is it Robbie? Maybe God has an answer for you.

Maybe, just maybe, God, you could give Scully a chance in hell of surviving this Saturday at Savage when I shred him like a slow cooked brisket. Just meat, falling apart in my hands, getting dished out hot and fresh.

Robbie walks over and grabs a sledgehammer and grips it. He stares at the head intently.

Scully, you are too far out of your element here. You might have survived death matches before, but sure as shit you ain't never survived a death match against Robbie Bourbon. Any weapon I want? Any weapon I choose?

What fucking weapon do I even need?

Scully, you couldn't offend the senses with your stink. You are putrid, and disgusting, and all around trash like most of the pieces of garbage that line up to buy tickets to see me, that pay their cable and internet bills to watch me, the garbage that lines my pockets hourly, the XWF Universe. You, however, are a fucking daisy compared to most.

Seriously, Scull, let's have a look at what you have to say about me?

I tell the fucking cosmos that you drink piss, and you tell me it looks refreshing.

I tell the fucking cosmos your wife is nasty, and you deny her, not even standing up for her because you are worth less to her than the used tampons she clogs your toilet with.

Because in reality, Scully is a soft hearted, wishes he was a good guy, wishes he was doing something alright, pretend, phony, wannabe bad ass who has coasted on the coattails of whomever could carry him to victory. Playing tough guy, just happy to be here, Scully.

Robbie shakes his head no and replaces the sledge. He walks and stops suddenly, a huge grin on his face.

God, you know what? Don't even sweat it.

Sweat what?

Well, being here, even, because no God can save Scully from me when I get him in a death match. Barbed wire. Oh, fuck yeah. The blood, Scully, the blood. The blood sprays everywhere. I haven't smelled it in so long. That strong, coppery scent of it, soaked in my mask, in my clothes, in my skin and beard. This time, your blood, Scully, will be what I smell in that ring. That amazing place where I can do whatever I want to a human body and not go to prison.

And the things I will do to your body.

Scully, did you know I bench press your body weight?

Usually in sets of twenty?

That means I can sling your body around like it's nothing. And I will. Imagine, Scully, me hurling you into barbed wire. The first time, it wraps into your ribs. You grab at it, knicking your fingers, realizing that pulling at the wire itself just hurts more. You thank God above, it doesn't hurt anymore, some angel has pulled you off the barbed wire, then swiftly realize that it's no angel at all. No, I'm no angel. I am just a businessman. The more blood, the more they will talk, the more they talk, the more they will watch, and the more they watch, the more they see me and want to buy shit just because my name is attached to it. Think about it, Scully, the second time you hit barbed wire, this time straight to your face, gouging at your nostrils, your lips, your eyelids, that while you experience all of that, I'm doing it because I want to sell lunchboxes and coloring books.

The third time I throw you into the barbed wire, well, the wire hits your back, and as it tears and stings, sweat pouring into the wound, helping it fester, you forget all about your face and ribs long enough to recoil from their pain shortly after.

I'm going to slaughter you, Scully, with whatever I want, however I want, because you're just going to say I'm fat, or ginger, or something else moronic and think that demoralizes me. Nah, not in the least. My morale to watch you bleed buckets is at an all time high. I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting to face you, Scully. Forever has passed. Who else has seen as much of the XWF happen as I have besides you these days? And you hid long enough, got humiliated enough, and started believing your own hype, thinking all Robbie Bourbon is fat, and ginger.

You silly shitstain.

You were worthless as Arby Beef. You were worthless at War Games. Scully, rejoice, I come and bring salvation, I will fill you with worth.

You are going to become the MVP of the bodies in my highlight reel.

The camera spins to show what Robbie is pleased about, showing a pallet of cinder blocks. Fade.

[Image: 18ytmde.png]
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