The scene begins on some desert island. Where our castaways are doing the best they can, let's laugh at the fact they're lost at sea and while they're being mourned somewhere, however, they look terrific and have been shaving daily.

Here on Bastard's Island.

BEACHED

J.B. Moneybags and his wife, Mrs. Moneybags, are seated in a pair of wooden beach loungers, looking relaxed to the max not far from a wrecked ship, The Minion. Mr. and Mrs Moneybags are sipping drinks out of coconuts, complete with straws and little umbrellas.

I say, dear, don't you think it's just a wonderful day?

Mrs. Moneybags nods, still staring at her phone screen, probably setting up another weird alliance, and then takes a brief sip from her coconut. Her eyes widen as the corners of her mouth perk up. Whatever is in that coconut looks pretty good.

Profess-Cent and Banana Li-Maryanne show up.

Well guys, I have great news! While I have made a radio out of a potato and a coconut, trained dolphins to guide Coast Guard ships this way, and have built us huts, while I can't fix a boat because shipsmanship is just baffling to me for some reason, I found a way to make a wonderful coleslaw, all we need is vinegar and mayo!

Ghinger shows up. She's covered in blood and carrying a dead boar.

Hey! I killed another pig. Dibs on the ribs!

Oh, wonderful! Look at that, Dear! The actress supplied us with roasted pork for supper! The boys at the dinner club would be jealous of that!

Mrs. Moneybags doesn't even acknowledge her husband, instead, he's ogling Ghinger for a long moment. Mrs. Moneybags sips her beverage again. As she does, Banana Li-Maryanne looks at Ghinger as well. Profess-Cent is not impressed by the sight of a warrior woman who has slain a fucking boar.

Well, that does sound good, Ghinger, but remember, we need to think green. We can survive on soybeans and rock sludge too.

Mr. Moneybags looks disgusted by the sound. At that time, The Skipper and Gilligan show up, both men lugging a treasure chest!

Oh, gee whiz, Skip! I wonder what's in this chest!

Hey guys, I thought you two were supposed to be getting crabs!

Well, Gilligan, here, he kind of messed that up.

Please.














You can all call me Gilly.

Well, okay, Gilly had the crabs. But when we went out to fetch them from the cages, Gilly freaked out, frightened by a coral formation that looked like a leopard. I told him leopards don't live underwater.

But Skipper! I swear, it was an underwater leopard!

Gilly, you already messed up enough.

Gilly puts his head down for a second before his ADHD kicks in and changes the subject.

But, what's that chest?

Well, on our way back to the beach, we saw this sticking out of the sand, so we brought it back!

Let's open it!

Gilly tries to open the lid and fails. This doesn't discourage Gilly, no. He continues to try until Skipper takes off his hat and swats Gilly away.

Come on, Gilly! There's a lock on it. Use your brain!

Skipper looks over at Professor Cent.

Got any ideas on how to open this thing?

Have you tried the key?

Gilly looks over at Skipper who seems very annoyed. Skipper looks back over at Gilly.

Go other there and bring me the biggest rock you can carry.

Okay, Skip, I’m on it!

Gilly saunters off into the distance. The professor is holding a coconut to his ear as Banana Li-Maryanne nervously watches him. Profess-Cent then pulls the coconut away from his ear and then begins yelling at the coconut. Mr. Moneybags can be seen in the background laughing at Profess Cent while trying to get the attention of his wife Mrs. Moneybags but to no avail.

THIS IS PROFESSOR CENT TRYING TO CONTACT ANYONE! WE CRASH-

Skipper interrupts Profess-Cent.

What are you doing Profess-Cent?

Profess-Cent looks back at Skipper in bewilderment.

I'm trying to radio out for someone to save us.

By yelling at a coconut?

[b]I'm a Professor. This is now a coconut radio.

Uh-huh.

At this time Gilly has returned with a fairly large rock with a somewhat pointy end.

[b]Think this will work Skip?

Great Job, Gilly!

Gilly, with a smile that could light up the night's sky, hands Skipper the rock. Skipper wastes little time once the rock is in his possession and smashes the rock but nothing happens. So he repeatedly smashes the lock until its old rusty lock breaks. As the lock breaks the treasure chest bursts open. The Skipper leans in to take a look inside the chest. Gilly peers over Skipper's shoulder. What do you think they find inside?





Gilly, you know what this is?

It’s a silver statue.

The Skipper rolls his eyes and wrings his hands.

No, Gilly, this is…

...wait, yeah, it’s a silver statue.

Profess-Cent meanders his way up to the box.

Say, I’d like to run a few tests on this, see if I can figure it out!

What kind of tests?

Well, I was going to sit and talk with it about politics. All while being a pompous ass about it. I must find out if it’s conservative! If this statute is indeed conservative it does us no good!

Banana Li-Maryanne looks at Profess-Cent.

That’s right! And see if it would swear at us or use spooky language! I hate that stuff!

The Skipper’s face is becoming blood-red with anger.

It’s probably not a conservative because it was locked up and-

The Skipper takes off his hat and starts swatting Gilly again while yelling,

WILL YOU SHUT UP, GILLY! YOU'RE NOT HELPING!

The Skipper looks over at Profess-Cent.

It’s clearly a inanimate and has no allegiance to any party. Just find out what it’s supposed to be Profess-Cent!

I can try… But I really should talk to it first.

WHATEVER! Do whatever it is you two need to do to find out what the heck this thing is!



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





Hey everybody!

Bobby here.

I'm one half of YOUR Tag Team Champions!

Now, me and my esteemed partner have been tearing up the ranks here in the XWF in the tag division, and since we didn't just put it on the map, we were the fucking cartographers that charted the whole tag team universe, well, we look forward to facing whomever wins Tag Team Turmoil at Leap of Faith.

You stupid motherfuckers out there, patting yourselves on the back, whether you're the Dissentients, Demos and whatever partner he feels like trotting out, or a fucking soggy oatmeal cookie and a fucking one eyed eel, I don't know, I don't care, whoever wins the damn thing, really, is just the team sending themselves to death row when Them No Good Bastards come and outclass the electric chair, make the gas chamber obsolete, and put lethal injection to shame with the elegant efficiency of the Rainbow Laser Death Sequence.

However, at MAYDAY!, it looks like Centurion has signed up to tag up.

Well, we are just downright humbled to accept your challenge! Come on down! You're the next contestant on The Bastards Are Right!

Oh, and don't take my word for it. Here he is, ladies and gentlemen.

The Relentless Legend himself. The other half of YOUR tag team champions. We are pleased to present to you on behalf of B.O.B. and Them No Good Bastards, as seen on BOBTube, the good and noble Thunder Knuckles, ready to give unto the heathens, unto the infidels, unto the nonbelievers a healthy dose of high holy hellfire.

First, let us give pause...

Bobby raises a finger to the heavens and looks skyward, taking a deep breath as Thunder Knuckles appears in the shot.

Preach.

Bobby glances at TK and smirks, slowly eyeing towards the camera as his partner takes the microphone and slams down the smack talk like only two men in wrestling today can.

Playgirl's centimeter centerfold Centurion says he has a special partner, Bobby. Well, if it isn't Ruby, no one gives a fuck. So let's just hope Centurion doesn't drop the fucking ball and go with someone else like... I don't know. Tula. Not that Ruby is going to fair any fucking better but at least she’s not a fucking bust.

Thunder Knuckles rolls his eyes.

This isn't a food-inspired holocaust of a match. I mean, unless you want it to be. Ol' Thunder Knuckles isn't afraid to kill either one of you goddamned superhero types in the center of the fucking ring. Now, that brings us to Banana-lime Blunder. This is just a warm-up to what you have coming from BOB their princess. Because Miss Fury is fucking coming for you and she going to take your little goddamn belt too. Frankly, Bobby. I thought we told management we didn't want to pussyfoot on our first defense and this is what the fuck they do? Seriously, mother fuckers? This is going to be like shooting children in a high school hallway with a M249 light mother fucking machine gun.

WOAH!

Bobby Bourbon looks at Thunder Knuckles shocked. TK smirks and shrugs just long enough not to be sued by L.I.E.

What? I'm just saying it's going to be easy thats fucking all.

Filter, man. Filter. For fuck sakes do you have a plan for that?

I was a teenager once! I mean, Goddamn. Even had a sick fucking duster.

Oh, Lord.

Well, you better take it over from here Bobby. Looks like I'm only throwing heaters today.

Oh yeah?

Fucking right. I'm up on you, aren’t I?

Fuck, you’re right.

TK chuckles to himself.

You fucking got me with the high school line.

I know.

I'll get you back.

Try.

Do or do not.

There is no try.

Right.

So, if what you're proposing is lining up, Mr. Knuckles and your sermon turns into prophecy, then I daresay, we are facing a pair of the ugliest little boys from the same seventh-grade gym class.

For starters, this isn't the brand of B.O.B. you see on Anarchy week in, week out, TK. This isn't the safe space that's been erected with all the care and courtesy of a Chuck E. Cheese's, and moreover, we're not just a pair of goofy, bumbling supervillains predisposed to come up with deathtrap, after a hackneyed death trap. That's Fury's bag. That's Oswald's hobby.

We are the end of the line itself, the culmination of a team's work. We are the XWF Tag Team Division. Period. We didn't perpetrate some robbery or heist, or crime to get these championships, oh no.

Just a good ole' fashioned ass whooping.

From the greatest team in wrestling.

Ever.

So, when I hear that we're facing Centurion, I'm like cool. The creepy old bastard who looks way too into Starbucks. We have a saying about Centurion in the locker room, he acts like his shit doesn't stink.

Well, he's actually kind of there. His poops are so tiny, they're like a Cheeto, and he wipes with one single square of paper, but the sounds he makes while squeezing the buggers out, it's like he's dropping seventy pounds. And he never fucking flushes.

Which brings me to the other little turd involved in the contest, Ruby.

Hiya kiddo.

Love your work. You're a gem on Anarchy. Mopping up ne'er-do-wells and nasties as an inspiration is great. Little girls like to dress up like you for Halloween, no shit! I saw kids in my neighborhood, at least three of them were dressed up like Ruby!

I told them to fuck off when they showed up. Verbatim. I told them if they didn't leave, they'd see their mommies and daddies go to the emergency room and they wouldn't walk the same ever again.

Did you?

Huh?

Bobby stops and swivels, looking back at TK.

Did you really threaten children on Halloween?

Bobby turns back to the camera.

No.

Bobby shrugs nonchalantly.

I wasn't even home on Halloween. I didn't give any candy to children.

Yeah, you were with the rest of us doing the B.O.B. Haunted House, you definitely gave candy to kids, and you didn't threaten anybody.

Look...

I'm still up on you.

Fuck.

Okay.

Ruby, I know I want you to win. I want you to be right. I want you to be the graceful, gutsy hero we all know you to be.

But heroics has nothing to fucking do with it.

Cent, I know I want you to finally bring home some big gold. Let's face fucking facts, these championships? These titles?

Bobby points to his and TK's Tag Team Championship Belts. They clack them together, followed by a no-look fist bump from the other hands. Smooth.

This is about more than that. It's more than ideals, it's more than pride, it's about fucking greatness, about being the best, about being more than a hero, more than a good guy, it's about being legendary. These belts are harder to win than almost any other championship in the XWF, for fucks sake it took me five LONG years to finally capture them, and that's with the greatest fucking partner in this world or the next.

This isn't just hyperbole.

This isn't just hype.

This is the Tag Team Championship.

We don't give a shit about your heroics.

We don't give a shit about who the good guy is.

We're going to go into MAYDAY! and we're coming out the same way. Champions. After that, Cent and Ruby can go on the talk show circuit, teach kids how to floss or something, or whatever the fuck it is they do.

Then maybe, just fucking maybe, Ruby could stop just one goddamn school shooting!

Bobby looks over at TK and shakes his head no because TK went there again.

What!? It's for when the kid in the back tries to commit suicide! You know, for having to listen to Ruby's fucking bland-ass boyfriend talk for any goddamn duration of time. Like nails on a fucking chalk boar- Wait. Even nails on chalkboard are more entertaining than Cent.

How so?[.color]

[color=#FF0000]It draws a reaction. Fucking negative reaction but still a reaction.

Tk looks over at Bobby and holds out his pointer and middle fingers.

Two. I'm up on you by two now. Which Is going to be the exact number of times Ruby has stepped into the fucking ring with us and lost. Once MAYDAY comes and she eats a fucking The Rainbow Laser Death Sequence and that's no goddamn joke. That a fucking fact. You know what, Bobby?

What's that TK?

I'll give you the fact that this is more about Them No Good Bastards legacy than it is about the tag straps at this point. CentRubion couldn't have defeated Cuntinuum. They couldn't even get the job done against Crap-a-clysm... So, I guess, that only makes me up by one.

TK puts his index finger down thus flipping off the camera.

TK, TK, TK…

Let me ask you a little something.

What manner of creature, what kind of monster, wishes to inspire kids to do what we do?

Shit.

Oh, I guess that language might harsh the Mormon missionaries and the little old ladies that obviously aren’t tuning in to our programming when they can watch Little House on the fucking Prairie reruns on the Hallmark channel.

Hey, Cent, how are you fucking even propping up this conservative little nabob bent on poisoning kids heads by saying what we do is clean or family-friendly?

Shit, Ruby, you want to inspire people?

How about healthy eating instead of a box of sugar and carcinogens with a free toy inside called Ruby-Os?

How about a nonviolent resolution to problems, how about showing how to rehabilitate criminals, how about carrying that idealism over to some media that doesn’t involve adults throwing each other into hellfire and barbed wire?

Nah, that’s not the ticket.

See, the thing is, you feed off the brutality. You know your line of work is violence, not healing. Shit, Ruby, when’s the last time you showed anyone how to do CPR or basic first aid? Where are all the lessons on life-saving techniques that matter and work? Beating up the bad guys on your own say-so, though, is the worst kind of malarkey you can shove down a kid’s throat.

Fuck, you could have gone to nursing school and healed people, but you didn’t. Either because you were too stupid to get that diploma or were smart enough to know you were meant to hurt people.

Now, I don’t discredit your talent at that. It’s verifiably greater than your partners, amazing how quick he shot Boris down when he heard we needed competition at MAYDAY!

Ruby, love you to death. You have done more harm to damaged people than any kind of addiction that could kill them. You’ve lied to them.

And shit, what about the truly talentless and helpless? Those who have no choice but to stay humble, dig ditches, and keep their head down because they don’t have the tools necessary to survive otherwise? The ones who’ll never punch a mugger, they get stabbed by them.

Shit, fuck CentRuben.

I’ma call you High and Mighty, because not only are the both of you pious for nothing but the stink of your own asses, but you’re high if you think you have a chance at MAYDAY! against us, and you’re mighty fucking stupid if you think we’re not ready and willing to take you on as our first, and abso-fucking-lutely not last, challengers for the XWF Tag Team Championships.

Thunder Knuckles looks at Bobby Bourbon and nods.

Well, I take it back Bobby. Maybe, Cent should have gone with Tula. By the way, that last dig on that fake ass superhero. We’re even on the trash talk scorecard again. TNGB is here fuckers and we're not going anywhere mother fuckers!

Thunder Knuckles gives a thumbs-up as Bobby’s smile steals the promo.