Them No Good Bastards are back at it! Now owning a failed strip club. Can the Bastards turn this dingy strip club into the hottest all-nude bar in America? Only time and budget will tell after entering the…

CONSTRUCTION ZONE

Bobby and TK are standing outside of the run-down strip club. They’re both wearing the coolest shades you’ve ever seen on two grown men. TK’s hair is dancing in the wind as the sound of a bulldozer ramps up.

I love this plan. Buy a building, destroy a building!

This place is gonna be a fucking gold mine. All we gotta do is build the mine and fill it with gold.

Bobby holds up his half of the Tag Team Championships as TK holds up his. Both shimmer in the hot Texas sun as they clack them together.

We definitely have gold.

Godddamn right we do!

Standing next to Bobby is a very uncharacteristically quiet Jon Taffer.

Whatcha think, Jon?

I don’t know why I’m here. You’re bulldozing the building and erecting a new one. Most of your problems seem to be solving themselves. That old building was a dump. What was it a single-wide trailer?

TK looks at Jon Taffer like he’s an asshole.

What’s wrong with a fucking trailer!?

Well, with the amount of money you guys are spending on this place. You can do better than a trailer.

TK drops it before he drops Jon Taffer. The bulldozer takes out the single-wide trailer in two passes, making sure everything is destroyed.

Jon, the reason you’re here is to help us with the interior design, of our new place. Got any suggestions.

I mostly come into places, tell the managers they suck, and that the owner doesn’t know shit from a hole in the ground. Then I make them apologize on national television for ratings.

TK is confused and scratches his head.

Bobby, I thought you said this guy knew what he was doing?

He seemed like he did on TV.

Jesus, Bobby! Everyone knows you can’t fucking trust TV. Well, since ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles lost the Television Championship!

Good point.

I mean, I have rescued over 800 bars-

Shut the fuck up, Jon Taffy! Are you going to help us with the goddamn interior design, or what?

I might know someone. Let me give them a call. I normally don’t have to do this on the first day, it’s normally an exterminator.

Jon Taffer pulls out his cell phone, begins to dial, and walks off-screen leaving Them No Good Bastards on screen.

Now what?

Fuck if I know what for our building to arrive the construction crew seems to have this all taken care of.

As TK finishes his sentence, a small crane shows up to load the debris of the trailer into a dump truck.

When’s the other building supposed to show up?

Tomorrow. I fucking figured it would take longer than this to get rid of the goddamn memory of this dump.

TK shutters at the thought of “Miss” Betty Howard.

Gross.

The hot dogs weren't that bad. I like them well done.

No, Bobby, I meant the dancer.

I dunno. They sure weren't sexy, but neither of us can do the moves she did with her walker.

Well she sure put some pep in your step, whatever y'all did behind closed doors.

TK looks disgusted.

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

Earlier that day before the demolition crew gets there. We see the venerable Betty Howard sitting in her dressing room. Bobby walks in.

Hiya! Well, we're the new owners, and TK sent me back here to fire you, but I feel you deserve retirement! How does $100,000 a year plus health coverage sound?

Oh dearie, such a sweet young man. Do you want me to…

Betty removes her teeth, then motions her fist back and forth in front of her mouth, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue, the international symbol for a blowjob. Bobby looks absolutely terrified.

No!

Betty looks taken aback, who has probably taken enough dick in her life it could be measured in meters. Bobby softens a bit. As in his demeanor, you perv.

I, uh, well we're friends, now, Betty, and I'm sure in no time there'll be plenty of cock for you on your own time.

Okay, dearie. You remind me of my great grandson!

Aw, thank you Betty.

Here, I want you to have this.

Betty reaches onto a nearby shelf and grabs a small metal tin. She hands it to Bobby.

Thanks, Betty, you don't have to.

Oh don't be silly, dear. Open it!

Bobby opens the tin and looks inside.

Is this…

Pure Columbian. Go ahead, do a big fat rail!

Bobby turns and looks at the camera. He shrugs and smirks. We cut to see TK finalizing the deal with Rosco.

So, good luck, fella! Hyuk, you're gonna need it!

Whatever you weird little fucker.

Bobby steps out into the room, bug eyed and grinning ear to ear. He wipes his nose.

TK CHECK THIS SHIT OUT!

Bobby picks up a table and throws it through a wall.

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

That’s my business. Besides, that table had to go.

Dude, you then went and did, like I don’t know, two-hundred fucking jumping jacks, clotheslined a cactus, then ranted for twenty minutes about how you had an idea for how to become telepathic. By the way, how’s your arm? You fucking destroyed that goddamned cactus? It exploded that time we shot at that BMW packed with a hundred pounds of goddamn tannerite.

My arm? It’s fine and the telepathic shit would have totally worked if Rosco wasn't such a grump.

You wanted to put a HAM radio in his brain!

Yup. Would have worked if he wasn't such a grump.

Jon Taffer waddles back up to Them No Good Bastards.

Well fellows, you're in luck. I got the best contractors in the area to build your new bar.

Strip club.

Jon looks a little shocked.

A what?

I believe my partner means a gentleman's club.

TK: Nah, I mean titty bar.

Bobby smiles and winks at Jon.

JT: How can I put this on TV if there are strippers everywhere?

TK: Why the fuck wouldn't you?

BB: Yeah, it's a celebrity rescue, you're helping two hard working guys get back on their feet with the failing business they just demolished.

But why out here? The only demographics around here are farmers and meth labs!

Huh.

Who cares what the democrats are, we aren't political.

He meant the folks we should try to attract locally.

Conservative dollars are just as good as liberal ones!

Jon Taffer looks like he can't believe what he's hearing.

Jon, thanks for setting us up with a contractor and building the stuff on your network's dime. I think you’re right. We are out of the way, we should offer rooms for our guests to stay in too!

Fuck yeah. With hot tubs, and basic cable!

You guys sound like you're opening a brothel!

Bobby and TK glance at each other with the same childlike glee peeling apart their lips and curving them upwards, like they just opened a birthday present.

Bobby, I take it back, this guy is a genius.

Absolutely! This will truly be the best little whorehouse in Texas!

Is that even legal?

It should be.

Jon, just make sure your contractors get here, we're gonna need a lot of black carpeting and soft pink and purple neon lights to cover jizz stains.

Yeah. And a nice new rolling hot dog grill.

Bobby turns to TK.

Yes!

Bobby turns to Jon Taffer.

This is way different from any other rescue I've ever done. I can't believe I'm opening the Bastard's Bordello!

That is a cool name…

Hrmm. You fucking know what? I think we can tweak it just a bit.

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

A family of four is seen sitting around a table. A deck of playing cards is strewn about the table. The average looking dad, kinda pudgy but not obese, looks woefully at his family. Mom looks despondent at the notion of what's happening. The father speaks.

DAD: Well, kids, another good family night. What should we play?

The children, a boy and a girl, look displeased. The rather gloomy room is drab and everything seems to have a pale blue tint.

SON: I don’t care.

DAUGHTER: Game night, again?

The mom throws her hands up.

MOM: We've already played all the same old board games and card games a million times!

SON: If we play Uno one more time I will go into a coma.

DAUGHTER: We should do something different!

DAD: You're right!

The father at the table pulls out a snub nosed .38 revolver. He opens the cylinder and puts a single bullet in. He spins it, puts it back in place, and sets it on the table.

DAD: Guess the only fun we can have now is Russian Roulette. Whoever pulls the trigger and gets the sweet release of oblivion is the winner.

The family sighs. The mom picks up the gun and puts it to her head. Suddenly, in a puff of smoke and dressed like a genie, we see Christopher Lloyd!

CL: No! Don't do that! What you guys need is adventure!

With another puff of smoke, the family is magically transported to the gates of BOB Flags!

KIDS: Yay!

MOM: Oh, look, something not emotionally scarring for the kids to remember for the rest of their lives!

DAD: Wow, great thinking Christopher Lloyd!

CL: What are you waiting for, go in!

Christopher Lloyd takes the revolver from the mother.

CL: No weapons, though!

The family laughs and laughs as though that was the greatest joke ever. As the family runs towards the entrance to BOB flags, the handy voiceover from most of these BOBTube commercials chimes right in.

That’s right! This Summer, make BOB Flags the destination for your family!

We see the family taking pictures with the big mascot versions of Bobby Bourbon, Thunder Knuckles, and Andre Dixon.

Bring a towel for the all new wet n' wild Dolly Waters Splashdown Spectacular!

We see the family riding in a large gondola as it exits a giant re-created image of Dolly Waters's face from its mouth, shooting down a steep water slide and kicking up an enormous splash.

Experience the thrills of The Rainbow Laser Death Sequence: The Ride!

We see the family of four whooping it up in a roller coaster car, mom and dad in the rear seats as bro and sis take the front. A load of vomit from some weak stomached soul in front of them splatters all over their faces as they scream with joy.

So what are you waiting for!

The family is seen together, the son with a funny hat made out of balloons, the daughter drinking out of a souvenir Chronic Chris Page bong/cup, dad with his arm around mom's shoulder.

DAD: Well, maybe we'll do a murder suicide family slaughter some other time! BOB Flags rules!

The family all laughs as Christopher Lloyd poofs back in front of them. He has a tourniquet around his left bicep, looks completely desperate, and is holding the pistol at the family.

CL: Give me your fucking wallet, man! I need my fix!!!

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

As we come back from commercial break, we see a fabulous new building in place of where the dumpy trailer used to be. Jon Taffer looks pleased as he shows it to Bobby and TK.

Well, guys, the contractors put in a ton of work, and here's your brand new strip club!

Wow! What a fabulous new building! And it's right in place of where the dumpy trailer used to be!

Fuck yeah!

Let’s go inside!

Jon leads Them No Good Bastards inside. Once they have entered, Bobby and TK marvel at what they see.

So, you see we put in a brand new light up stage, it will illuminate booty and boobies from the ground up, and an impressive 3 pole array, all of which is titanium, which means durable! We went with the finest leopard print wallpaper, and stain proof black carpeting. Vomit, jizz, blood, if anything hits these floors your staff will have no problem cleaning it up! Over there we installed a state of the art bar system, and beside it is a brand new DJ booth!

I like that.

Yeah, they had the fucking dancers putting bills into a goddamn jukebox before.

I have the perfect DJ in mind.

I know who you're thinking.

Guys, there's more.

Jon leads Bobby and TK to a hallway.

Down that hall are all your VIP rooms for private dances. Champagne rooms, lap dance rooms, we even installed a personal dance booth. And here, gentlemen is the elevator upstairs, where we have another floor for dancers personal quarters, a pool hall, and even rooms so guests can have a place to sleep for the night!

Fucking awesome.

Yeah, yeah, that's swell and all…

Bobby looks a little dejected. Jon winks at TK, and TK looks confused at why he's doing that.

Let’s head to the penthouse.

Jon winks at TK as he leads both he and Bobby into the elevator. Jon hits the button to the top floor. When the doors open, Bobby marvels at what he sees, his mood immediately brightened because what he was hoping for was here all along.

Guys, this is the world's largest hot dog buffet.

Bobby steps out and sees a set of rolling grills that are 20 feet long. Beside it is a salad bar set up. Sauerkraut, push-cart onions, raw onions, grilled onions, coleslaw, Vidalia onion relish, sweet pickle relish, dill pickle relish, ketchup, Sriracha, seven different mustards, Cincinnati chili, Texas chili, sport peppers, tomatoes, pickle spears, celery salt, poppy seed buns, potato buns, pretzel buns, and more; the single most extravagant event in the history of hot dogs.

It's…

Bobby wipes a tear from his eye.

It’s beautiful!

So what do you guys think?

I think the best way to repay you, Jon, is to give you telepathic powers!

Bobby produces a tranquilizer gun and shoots Jon. Cyberjaw, Diamondback, and Delores Blumpkins all drag him away.

I think we need to get to the fun part and hire some fucking strippers!

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



In front of the newly constructed, as yet named strip club that Them No Good Bastards have had built, we see none other than the boys standing at the ready.

Oh my dear brothers and sisters, those congregated today under the roof of the Bastard, we come to you as you to us graciously, humbly, and with the utmost dignity. Let us all give thanks and praise for the gifts we have been given, for the results we have pushed for, and the magnanimity we forsake! For it is one man who said turn the other cheek, it is one man who said an eye for an eye leaves the world blind, but it is the will of the Bastard to retaliate in kind, to have no mercy in the name of an enemy, and to leave no trace of their existence in your lives lest they sour your days! Let us not create enemies, no, let us be great to each other, let the festivities of joy resound, or as Bill and Ted put it, be excellent to each other and party on, dudes! I say this in the name of the High Holy Hypocrite I be and our salvation, Smacktalker Jesus hisself, Thunder Knuckles. Now, congregation, let us give pause.

Bobby and TK bow their heads for a moment. They exchange a no look fist bump. Both men look up at the camera.

Preach!

Bitches and dickbags alike, now we pay homage to the greatest tag team in XWF history! That’s right, mother fuckers, we’re talking about us. You see, not everyone can be a team as fucking compelling as ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon. It’s like when Wayne met Garth, The Dude bought Walter his first beer, HELL, even when Lloyd and Harry crossed paths. Memorable. What’s the most memorable thing The Disingenerators have done?

TK waits a moment before answering his own question, for the ignorant masses.

They Lost to the fucking Dream-A-Manics in tag turmoil. Let me tell you about high-quality opposition, boys. If you had a hard time with that dog shit tag team you’re in for a goddamn nightmare on Warfare. What in fucking god’s sweet embrace were you thinking? You know, trying to pick a fight with a team like us. Honestly, I’d imagine you’ve gotten a fucking phone call from your third goddamned wheel, Bama T. I just know he picked up the phone telling exactly how goddamn stupid you are for wanting this fight. Well, you got it. Now what? You’re to shit the bed like you normally do, that’s what. Fine waste our time. I don’t give a fuck. It gives me and my tag team partner here-

TK smacks Bobby Bourbon’s shoulder

-plenty of time to talk about the rest of the fucking division, and why they ain’t shit either.

Bobby takes a deep breath inward from his nose.

The rest of the division? Bro, for starters, let’s make it perfectly fucking clear that we ARE the Tag Team Division in the XWF and have been for some time. 2021 has been the year of The Bastard according to the stars, and that’s that. We took on all comers, we will take on all comers, and we’re going to keep these motherfucking belts as long as we want them. The Dissentients? Well, we dusted them off. CentRubion? We made them look like hacks! What was the name of that other team with Dock and Corey and Thad that doesn’t exist anymore? I don’t remember, and neither does half of the people watching this promo right now. Who does that leave? Demos and some other stiff he can convince to come to the ring with him? Too bad he can’t challenge anyone in BOB for a title. The Dream-A-Maniacs? The reason they’re called that is because they have to take their naps before hitting the early bird specials at the local restaurants and be back home and tucked in at eight, right after yelling at the screen during Jeopardy and debating who the best host has been since Trebek passed.

Bobby kisses his fist and points skyward.

An angel among men. We lost a real American hero when he died.

Canadian.

Same difference, they rely on our economy and military any-fucking-how.

That aside, then you come to the Thugs, and god knows when they’re coming or going, shit, they deserve a shot at us more than the Disintegrators, then you have the Disintegrators, who are worth as much as a wet wad of lint. Oh, yeah, Apex is back, whoopdy shit, looks like they’re on the warpath to come down and get their asses whooped. Man, remember when everybody hated the shit out of Apex and they needed to go because they were so dominant? Like, for no reason, everybody hated Apex.

Bobby looks dead at the camera.

Like how everybody hates BOB now. For no fucking reason. Now, now, I get it, some of you out there have a damned good reason to hate BOB. Ruby? Shit, every turn of the pass our little club has made your life hell on Anarchy. Well, except for that little time when Sarah Lacklan showed her face for enough time for me to brew a cup of coffee and she was supposed to be your big rival, but that fizzled out. Centurion, maybe, but only because of Ruby by proxy. And TK. Centurion just can’t hate TK enough, and I don’t get why. TK smells like a lawyer cowboy with panache, has impeccable timing, and is downright chummy.

Thank you!

You’re welcome. Robert Main? Yeah, he has a fair claim to hating BOB. After Page took him out to get the Universal Title shot lined up his way, sure, Robert Main could have umbrage against BOB. Makes perfect sense. The Dissentients? Absolutely, we destroyed the Left Hand. Hold up, let me reiterate that, we destroyed the fucking Left Hand. That absolutely terrible group that everybody hated while we were just ‘a joke’, we stepped forward and fucking eradicated. You know what? You’re fucking welcome for that! Did we get heralded as some special heroes? Fuck no? The new fad became #FuckBOB. So, seriously, pretty please with sugar on top, where the fuck does all the hate for BOB stem from coming from so fucking many of you? It literally makes no sense! You have the fuckers in the camp that claim they support Robert Main. Really? What the fuck did Robert Main ever do for you? Remember Cataclysm? Remember the plague that was Apex the first go around? Robert Main has been an absolute shitheel as long as anyone can remember, then he goes and gets his bean thumped by TK with the aide of a Louisville Slugger and, what, you throw him a fucking pity party? What reason did Legacy have to show up and hate on BOB? Well, that’s obvious, we’re starting to get headway! We’re making traction, becoming fucking stars in our own right, and James “The Glass Cieling” Raven couldn’t let that happen. Jim Caedus? Shit, he was having a tiff with ole’ Robert, and go catch their promos, everything seemed to be hunky-fucking-dory when it came down to jumping BOB at Leap of Faith but NOW Drew Archyle is questioning Jim Caedus? Whoo-ee, talk about some pointless made-up melodrama right there, it’s almost as bogus as all the hate BOB gets these days!

They hate us ‘cause they ain’t us.

That’s exactly fucking right, bro. They hate us because we work together, are a fucking unit, are a goddamned family, we have each other’s backs, and most importantly, we’re more successful than they are. Look at Demos, AKA Thrax,

AKA Charlie Nickles.

AKA Charlie Dimes.

AKA the Easter Bunny,

AKA the Sasquatch.

AKA Heatmiser.

AKA the Lindbergh Baby.

AKA A.K.A., Allen Krenshaw Acme, private detective.

AKA whatever fucking name he farts out of his mouth the next time he’s waiting in line at McDonald’s. What the fuck reason does he have to hate BOB? Spite. Jealousy. We’re successful, he’s riding a downward fucking spiral like he’s on a greased up trash bag. Rel Dixon? She even brought us up in her promos against Thad, which makes no sense at all seeing as how she just comes off as a second rate Ash Quinn replacement anyhow. Whatever happened to her, by the way?

She got turned into a toad.

Oh, shit, really?

I don't know. Who fucking cares?

TK gives his signature jerking off motion.

Solace Tatum? Shit, she came into the scene just riled up about how awful BOB was. Didn’t take long for us to give her a legit reason, but fuck, she was pissed because we were here, we were established, and we were fucking successful. Avalanche? Oh, fuck, we didn’t mention them in our rundown of tag teams, they’re that fucking low on the totem pole.

Fuck ‘em. While we’re at it I say we get on this whole #FuckBOB movement, Bobby. We can make cash hand over fucking fist! Hold on.

TK pulls out his cell phone and texts Miss Fury.

Okay. #FuckUs T-shirts are going live in a few days. Sorry Bobby, continue.

Bobby and TK exchange a no look fist bump.

All this hate, all this angst, all this bitterness out of nowhere from a bunch of fucking nobodies that couldn’t lick our fucking boots clean lest they smell like the stink of their breath. The craziest shit of all is that it’s not even all members of BOB catch the hate! Fuck, nobody is batting an eye about Atara Themis. Atty Two Belts is one of the most dangerous members of the fucking roster, but you don’t see anybody trying to call her out. Dolly Waters? She’s a fucking prodigy in this game, and a damned fine addition to BOB, no call-outs whatsoever. Do you know what that is? Sexism. Flat out discrimination. For that, well, for that, we, Your No Good Bastards, will step forward and give you shit to hate. Betsy Granger was the beginning. As far as I’m concerned, the beatings will continue until morale improves. You all hate us because you love to, and you know what? We’ll bring the tough love right back on you. Up next? The fucking Dissintegrators.

So, XWF officials, go and hide our goddamn belts the best you can in the Captial Building. Oh, but don’t for one goddamn second, think you can hide ANYTHING better than ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles. I am a five-time back-to-back Midwestern Ohio hide-and-go-seek champion, for Christ’s sake! I’m sure to fucking find them and we’re sure as fuck going to kick the shit out of the poorly maintained nostalgia act just like in the strip club. What was her name? Betsy?

Bobby chuckles.

No, it’s Betty and… I kinda gave her a retirement package.

I’m sure it’s going to be a better goddamn retirement package than the one we give The Disingenerators. A Rainbow Laser Death Sequence and an empty fucking wallet. They’ll be lucky if they got the Salt and Pepper treatment. Hit’em with the old Belgian Clutch and not let go til they call the fucking match. Nah, these fucks deserve far worse. We’re THE goddamn giants of this division and we’re about to make some fucking bread. So step up Landfill, step up Apex, step up Legacy even though ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles knows you don’t want any, and step up all you fucking tag teams that consider yourself worth a shit. We’re here to cut through you like a fucking katana would bamboo. Oh, and one last thing before we go. A special shout out to my girl Robert Main. This is how you do your job. The End.

TK looks over at Bobby.

I think we’re done here.

I know we’re done here.

Them No Good Bastards hold up their Tag Team Championships, clink them together and give the bird. Which as always queue Todd in production to fade to black.