Bobby Bourbon defends his Television Title for the first time against Vita Valenteen. He's also proven to be some kind of transdimensional entity defying time and space of late.

Let's get Savage.

DEFEND YOUR TV

We open to see Bobby in his lovely Subterranean Lair beneath the streets of New York City. Living like a Ninja Turtle seems to be a dream for some, and Bobby is living the dream. Well, it doesn't look like it's a dream, since Bobby looks frazzled. He's standing in front of his couch across from a TV which is not turned on. He flips up one of the cushions and looks under it.

Oh, come on, where is it?

Cyberjaw, the man with the Cybernetic Jaw, walks into the den of the subterranean lair holding a Coca-Cola. Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, also walks in holding a sandwich. They look at Bobby quizzically.

Whatcha doin?

I can't find the fucking remote!

Did you check under the cushions?

Bobby turns and looks at Cyberjaw like he has a third cock sprouting out of his forehead.

I'm doing that now! Have y'all seen it?

Nah. We've been in the arcade room playing video games.

Wait, what?

Yeah, you have an arcade in here now.

I do?

Yeah, we built it in the weird card room with all the chairs.

What? That's me and TK's cigar lounge!

Since when do you smoke cigars?

Bobby puts his hands on his hips.

Look, I was going to start, and we were going to play poker.

Just you and TK?

Nah, we were going to bring Ozzy down, and maybe Big Preesh too, and hustle the shit out of them.

That sounds underhanded.

You sound underhanded!

Bobby turns and checks under another cushion.

Is it there?

No, it is not here!

Bobby snaps back at Diamondback sharply.

Woah.

Bobby takes a deep breath.

Look, I'm sorry, but I've been looking for like an hour, and this is like the third time I've checked under the cushions.

Is it under the couch?

Bobby shrugs. He picks the couch up and looks in the place it was. We see there's a little area cut out underneath, and Bearded War Pig is sleeping in it.

Shit! That's where you've been.

BWP looks back up at Bobby and scrunches his face. He waves at Bobby to put the couch back so he can get back to bed. Bobby makes a face as if to convey 'oh, shit' and does so, allowing his pal to get back to sleep. As he does so, Thunder Knuckles walks into the den along with Jimmy. Jimmy is carrying a metal case.

What the fuck is up, fellas?

Hi guys!

TK, without turning, punches Jimmy right in the dick.

Squa!!

Jimmy doubles over and drops the metal case.

What's up bro.

Hey TK.

Bobby, are you fucking redecorating or something?

No, no, I can't find the stupid fucking remote!

Did you check the fucking couch cushions?

Bobby picks up the couch cushions and tosses them to the floor.

Not there.

As Bobby completes this pointlessly dramatic gesture, in walks another Bobby Bourbon. His hands are immaculate. Cyberjaw and Diamondback look confused.

Hey, uh, what the fuck?

Oh, yeah, I'm a transdimensional force of nature, there are infinite of me squared divided by two. That's Hand-Model Bobby.

The Bobby with great hands waves. Those are some beautiful hands. The camera zooms in. Well manicured, pristine, not the rugged and calloused meat hooks of the Bobby Bourbon you know. As this happens, another Bobby Bourbon walks in wearing a red velvet smoking jacket, a white silk shirt, a bow tie undone hanging from the collar, and some sharp black slacks.

Who's this?

TK rolls his eyes and looks directly at Bobby. The one we're focused on that's defending his TV Title at Savage.

That's Swanky-Lounge-Crooner Bobby.

The Swanky-Lounge-Crooner Bobby nods and shoots finger guns at TK. As this happens, another Bobby walks in, this one is juggling.

Let me guess.

Okay.

That's Juggling Bobby.

That is indeed Juggling Bobby.

Where are these guys coming from?

Bobby shrugs. Not like Shawn Warstein. Shawn Warstein got crumpled up at War Games.

I'm like some big interdimensional convergence or some such, but that's not important. What is important is I find the remote control for the TV. You, other Bobbies, have you seen the remote?

The other Bobbies shake their heads no. As they do, another Bobby walks in playing a flute while another Bobby carries a basket with a snake being charmed by said flute. Yet another Bobby Bourbon glides in on a pair of roller skates.

This is getting confusing.

Yeah, how do we know who the real one is?

TK walks up to Bobby Bourbon, TV champion of this universe and brane of existence. They both look at Cyberjaw, Diamondback, Jimmy, and the assembled Bobbies, and exchange a patented no-look fist bump.

Are you fucking kidding me? It's obvious!

All the Bobbies, including Completely-Naked-From-The-Waist-Down-Only-Wearing-a-Sock-Over-His-Junk Bobby, Cat Bobby who is done up like a character from the musical Cats, Arctic-Adventure Bobby (in a parka), and Elk-Antlers-Growing-Out-of-His-Head Bobby, all of whom just entered the room, nod in agreement.

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

We see a young man with a pair of cheapo-retro headphones on. They're connected to a Discman, and he's holding the contraption tight to avoid any kind of skippage. He takes off the headphones and looks at the camera.

Oh, hello! Are you a music fan like me? Of course you are! Well, the geniuses at BourbCo have released the hottest CD of 2021, and well all know that's the Bobby Bourbon Entrance Music Anthology.

We hear the tunes of Elby Brass playing in the background.

Remember this hit?

Suddenly, the Thieving Magpie is playing.

Oh man, another great track!

2 Skinnee J's starts to play.

Another classic hit.

The camera cuts to Bobby Bourbon.

Hey, I'm Bobby Bourbon. The Bobby Bourbon Entrance Music Anthology is the definitive list of songs I've come out to the ring to in my time in the XWF. Over three dozen amazing tracks covering my career over the past five years. This is the perfect gift to get for that hard to gift friend, a niche piece of wrestling that barely qualifies as memorabilia just because, hey, my name is on it!

I, Don Quixote starts playing.

Man, I don't remember this one, but I'm pretty sure I walked out to a ring and beat the shit out of someone after it played because BourbCo makes quality products. Order today, just three easy payments of $19.99 and this special three disc set, with a fold out personally signed by me, can be yours!

A phone number begins to scroll across the bottom of the screen, but the commercial cuts off before the number can be seen.

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



We cut to see Bobby standing in an empty arena in an empty ring, the Television Championship draped over his massive shoulder.

Well, hello XWF, the champion of all television here, and I have a few things to address right now. For starters, to Corey Smith, whom I beat for this Television Championship, beating you was not difficult, took very little effort, and I don't see where all the hype you get is coming from. Whatever mystique people claim you have is about as functional and real as the hype Shawn Warstein gets. To Warstein, pinning you at War Games was also no sweat, and I hope you can go off into the wild and tell everybody how you had nothing to prove and thus, proved nothing at War Games besides for an old man you can take a beating like a young man. To everybody else on team Betsy, or Reggie's Angels, I want you to know that you are all beneath me, not only as competitors but as human beings.

Bobby smiles and nods.

Eh, there's a catharsis about discussing your recent conquests, isn’t there boys? Haha, well, at War Games we saw many facets of just who and what I am. Bobby the destroyer. Bobby the basher. Bobby the monster in a goddamn cage, but ultimately, Bobby the failure.

Bobby looks down. He forces a frown.

I do feel bad I wasn't enough to help my teammates get to the end of War Games. I promise, I guaran-fucking-tee you, there would have been a totally different outcome if it wasn't a blatant, flagrant, and out-and-out four-on-one affair in the big cage and in both rings. Alias and Corey, were they frightening anybody? Nope. Paper Champ and future Paper Champ, lock step with one another on a road to nowhere. Robert Main and Dolly? Please. Robert is following the Chris Chaos playbook of "I used to be relevant, but now I wonder why I'm not" and Dolly, well, she got the graces of scoring the pinfall on my ass after the mugging that took place in the steel. As such, you all know my current line-up of asses to be whooped. Alias, Corey, Robert, Dolly, the beatings will continue until morale improves. Line up, put whatever gold you have on the line, I'll put whatever gold I have, and in the end, I'm walking out of the ring, you're getting carted out.

Bobby looks directly at the camera. He holds up the Television Championship belt.

However, I have pressing matters to attend to. Vita Valenteen. Bobby Bourbon fangirl number one, or at least she used to be, who knows these days. So, Vita, it looks like you got tired of getting your ass kicked on Anarchy by Ruby, so now you're coming to Savage to get your ass kicked by the Television Champ. Huh, I guess that's a bit of an, no. Nope. It's not really an improvement, just lateral movement. Oh, shit, I rhymed there!

Bobby smirks.

Time to get mean, gonna tear out your spleen, make husk out of the body of Vita Valenteen. Toxic like benzene all up in your canteen, the worst kind of beating some have ever seen delivered by a post-apocalyptic type of war machine! Time to break out the torch, talking acetylene, it's unnatural like polystyrene the way I get obscene on the scene carving you up lyrically like I was Wolverine! Berzerker barrage! Call your entourage, our dance at Savage won't be a match just a violent montage of me slinging your tiny ass and it's pure carnage and I leave you looking like a shitty photo collage. Vita you show up with the scarcity from obscurity, and you're coming to Savage to lose, what a pity! I'm more than two of you, I'm a Vita Committee and you're just the itty-bitty little kitty coming to Jacksonville City to get Bobbybombed back into antiquity! Razed, demolished and rocked down to your foundation, in my summation, through my oration, which brings ovation, you're headed for a big ole' ruination! You didn't sign up to face me, you signed up for your own damnation! Is it to your vexation I perpetuate your career stagnation? Squaring off against a pure aberration, a beast with perfect pronunciation, a razor sharp wit and tongue, the size and the power, the Television Champion of this here Xtreme Wrestling Federation!

Bobby snorts. He cocks an eyebrow.

Vita, I'm not going to lie. You have proven, in the past, to make sure that I am completely out like a light and sprawled out, unconscious. Your promos put me to sleep faster than chasing a box of Benedryl with a quart of gin. At Savage, you become the first martyr, the first body destroyed by the Champion of all Television, the Saturday Night Slaughterer, the Most Savage on Savage, me, Bobby By-God Bourbon, and then I move on and carry this Television Title with the pride it deserves.