Bobby Bourbon has been on quite the downward spiral of late. Having lost not only the Tag Team Championships in two companies, an Xtreme Championship match, and now a Universal Championship match, is there anything he can do to turn his career back onto a more fortuitous track?

LAST YEAR'S MODEL

We see the Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts. It's, well, somewhat different from when we last saw it. In one corner we see the ring set up, and students train alongside peers to perfect their talents as wrestlers. In another, Dunkin Donuts, which has no available seating due to CoVid restrictions, regardless of how many people are within the dojo and just sitting on the floor sipping on beverages and noshing on what-have-you. In another corner, the kitchen, or rather kitchens, 4 cooking stations lined up ala Chopped while culinary students busy themselves paring, mixing, and performing other tasks to make the finest foods their minds can imagine. In the south-east corner we see a new development; a studio complete with a news desk. Behind it we see signage that reads "True People's News" and nothing else in this darkened corner of the dojo.

With that, Bobby walks into the dojo. Time stops as everyone turns and stares at him. He solemnly walks in, glancing at the news desk peculiarly, as he makes his way to his office which is at the center of the dojo. He approaches the door and grabs the knob, which doesn't budge. Bobby steps back, incredulous that he's locked out of his own office. He bangs on the door.

Yo! Open up!

The people of the dojo all stop and peer at what's happening. The door opens slowly, and a figure steps out. He's smiling, but his eyes tell a different story, one of disappointment.

Hello, welcome to the Bourbon Dojo, may I help you?

Who are you?

I'm Geoff Sparks, I manage this place. Who are you?

Bobby’s eyes widen. A bevy of people smirk.

I'm Bobby Bourbon.

The onlookers chuckle.

Right, wiseguy. Bobby is out at the moment.

Where are my Bourbon Men?

Those clowns? Look, they got fired. This dojo had to catch up with the times. Ash put me in charge to make sure of that, I even host True People's News. Now unless you plan on signing up for some classes, I suggest you…

Bobby?

From within the office we hear a familiar voice.

Hey Ash, who's this prick and why is my office locked?

Geoff looks surprised as Ash, Bobby’s Stylist, opens the door behind him. She rushes out and clings to Bobby with a massive glomp of a hug. Bobby awkwardly pats her head.

Hey brosis. Where is everyone?

Like I said, I let them go. This place needed a new image.

Ash peels back and looks up at Bobby, who stands more than a foot taller than her and towers over Geoff. She rolls her eyes then glances at Geoff with malice.

While you've been of galavanting around with BOB, DC needed a new hero, someone ready to stand up and take charge against the problems of today. You built a strip club and ate hot dogs, bravo. We've done more while you've been gone. We're in broadcast, bringing the truth to the streets. Your Bourbon Men, as you put it, were just relics, and they mostly just absorbed money from this organization. Those funds are needed to go towards producing TPN.

TPN? What kind of shit is this?

You haven't seen it? We're huge in Germany.

Germany? How does that help these people?

Bobby gestures around to the people in the dojo. Geoff smirks.

Today Europe, tomorrow the world! Look, Bobby, it's time to modernize. You're just not prepared for the world of today. You're a classic, but you're last year's model.

Bobby purses his lips.

I used to say that about my opposition.

Geoff shrugs.

Well, it is what it is. Why don't you go and enjoy yourself some more? We have everything under control here.

Bobby glances around. Most of the onlookers had returned to their business. Ash looks at the ground, almost pouting. Bobby shakes his head and turns around. He marches out of the dojo as Geoff sneers, returning to the office and locking the door behind him. Ash looks up and watches Bobby walk out. Bobby pulls out his phone and presses a few buttons. His screen reads "Brother Knuckles" as the phone rings. The other end answers.

Yo, Bobby!

'Sup, bro. I think you’re right. I just need some time away, cool my jets, refocus.

Oh yeah? Bro, I need to cool my jets. You and me, well, we did shit I never fucking thought possible. The two of us were, and will be again, something incredible, but part of that is you're fucking god damned amazing. Just remember that.

Bobby half smirks.

Thanks bro. I just don't know what I'm going to do.

I don't fucking know either.

There's a pause of silence as Bobby listens, hoping an answer would form, and TK waits, thinking Bobby would respond.

Well, I'll hit you up later bro.

Yep. Peace.

Bobby boops the red button to end the call. He takes a deep breath and looks around. He's home, but it's a home he's been away from for so long the home felt he was out of place.

Last year's model. Shit.

Bobby slides his phone into his pocket. As he does, he hears a commotion from behind him.

This place was better! It sucks now. Assholes!

Bobby turns to see Fuschia, Rockin' Space Babe tromping from the dojo in utter frustration. She's in jeans that hug her impressive hips and a hoodie, her distinct hair showcasing a menagerie of colors ranging from magenta to lavender, a purple denim backpack hanging from her shoulders.

Fuschia?

She stops and turns, squinting at Bobby.

Do I know you?

Bobby takes his hands and places them over his face, making gaps with his fingers so his eyes can peer out.

Bobby?

Yep.

Shit, I barely recognized you.

Heh, join the club.

Bobby lowers his hands.

So what the hell is up with your dojo? I go in there and some little prick tells me I'm bad for your image.

That's Geoff.

Do you think I'm bad for your image?

I think I'm just glad to see you. Geoff is just doing what he thinks is best.

Yeah, well, I think you've changed if you're willing to accept that.

Well, I did lose my mask.

Not just that. You lost to Jim. The Bourbon I know wouldn't have hollered at him to get down from a shed, he would've ripped the damn thing down himself. You lost to Alias, really noble of you to not give up when you were put in that dopey hold of his, but the Robbie I know would have broken space and time using Alias as a club to do it.

Bobby nods slowly.

I'm sorry, you go by…

Bobby smiles and looks up at Fuschia.

You can call me Robbie.

Well, you used to just go out there and rip, not even thinking about it, but somewhere, somehow, you tried to calculate. You're clever, dashing, and smart, sure, but let's face facts, you've always been a shitty bad guy. Villainy isn't in you, I mean look what you did to poor Betsy, you had to know James Raven wouldn't dare come out of the woodwork for anything.

I didn't.

Because you aren't a cold and calculating creature!

Bobby takes another deep breath.

Right.

I know I'm right!

She reaches out and places her hand on Bobby’s shoulder.

What are you going to do about it?

Bobby reaches out and puts his hand on her waist.

Something. Let's go find my friends.

She smirks.

Do you know where they are?

I have an idea.

Bobby starts to walk away from Fuschia and towards the side of the dojo. Fuschia hustles to catch up with him.

What, you think they're hanging out around back?

No. I'm getting my car.

That beat up red stretch Humvee?

Nah. I said my car.

Good, that thing was…

Bobby rolls up a garage door. Within we see an ice cream truck.

Well I was going to say the stretch was ridiculous but now I see otherwise.

That's not mine. I think it was Popsicle Pat's, either that or Soft-Serve Stan or Sundae Driver Sandra.

Who?

Eh, I've had a lot of Bourbon Men.

Bobby walks over to the wall and pushes in on a brick. As he does, the floor of the garage beside the ice cream truck slides open, and a canvas draped object emerges smoothly as it does on a hydraulic lift.

That's fancy. Is that the Batmobile?

Hardly.

Is it more cocaine?

Bobby takes a deep breath and sighs.

That was dumb of me, I know.

That was dumb of you. Are you going to do a bad movie parody with it? While we're on the subject, why have you been telling everyone you're asexual? I mean…

You weren't around.

Bobby turns and looks at Fuschia. He isn't smiling, but his eyes say otherwise. Fuschia is caught by his saying this, and her jaw slowly seals itself. Bobby turns and snags the canvas, pulling it off, to reveal a candy apple red 1971 Dodge Challenger in pristine condition. The licence plate reads "HOT DAMN".

Oh.

I've been saving this beast.

It's a classic.

Bobby chuckles silently, his gaze set on the piece of American muscle in front of him.

Last year's model.

Bobby opens the driver's side door and settles into the leather bucket seat. The key rests in the ignition. As he reaches to turn the car over, the passenger side door opens.

You're coming?

Fuschia settles into the car and closes the door, taking her backpack off and setting it on the floor as she does.

The only reason I was here was to see you, I'm not letting you drive off in your fanciest car alone.

She place her hand on his shoulder. Bobby stops and looks at her.

It's good to see you.

It's good to see you too, Robbie. I mean Bobby, sorry, I...

Bobby smoothly places his hand in the back of Fuschia's head and pulls her closer as he leans in. They exchange a kiss, one deep and passionate, and long overdue. Bobby leans back and is beaming, his eyes locked with hers. She smiles with pursed lips.

What?

I'm gawking at you, and you can call me Robbie.

She bashfully glances away as her smile widens. Bobby turns the ignition, and the car roars to life. He slowly pulls out of the garage into the alley, and then turns onto the road.

I got you something.

You didn't have to.

I know I didn't, but I did get you something, do you want it?

What is it?

Fuschia unzips the backpack, reaches into the opening, and pulls out a package of Pepperidge Farms Tahoe cookies.

Well after we beat back the combined forces of Famous Amos and Mrs. Fields in the gamma quadrant during the great intergalactic bake sale, the Pepperidge Farms wars were quickly over. So they gave us free reign. I know they aren't keto, but you can have a cheat day now and then.

I can. White chocolate with macadamia nuts, those are the best.

I'm glad you like them. Want one?

Yes please.

Fuschia opens the packaging and pulls out a cookie. She goes to hand it to Bobby, who snags it in his teeth. She giggles.

Easy, Cookie Monster.

Bobby reaches up and pulls the bitten cookie away from his lips. He chews a bit.

I met the Cookie Monster, it wasn't what you'd expect.

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

We see Bobby sitting in an airport. As he doddles on his phone, wireless earbuds poking from the sides of his face, he glances up to see none other than the Cookie Monster in the same nearly empty terminal. He removes his earbuds and approaches the Cookie Monster cautiously, obviously star struck.

Uh, excuse me, Mr. Monster? I just wanted to say I'm a huge fan, and I wanted to be a cookie monster when I grew up, can I buy you a cookie?

The Cookie Monster removes his sunglasses and rolls his googly eyes.

Me not know you like that! What you think me am? Me want privacy, not entertain you in airport! Can me just have peace and quiet? Me no want your crappy cookie. Leave me alone!

Cookie Monster puts his sunglasses back on and looks away from Bobby, who looks a little heartbroken.

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

Just goes to show, never meet your heroes.

Well that sucks.

Yeah.

So where are we going?

Best Buy.

Why? Do you need a new USB C? You should have told Cookie Monster that 'C' is for cocksucker, the way he acted.

Bobby grins.

Nah. 'C' is for Cyberjaw.

Bobby parks and kills the engine. He exits the vehicle along with Fuschia, and both walk towards Best Buy. They enter and head straight towards the Geek Squad desk. Behind it we see Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, wearing his white shirt with black tie and slacks. Cyberjaw is overjoyed by the sight.

Bobby Motherfucking Bourbon!

Bro!

Dude, what brings you here?

I'm getting the Bourbon Men back together.

Oh shit!

Another person standing at the Geek Squad desk interjects.

Excuse me, I still need help with my computer!

Whatever. I quit!

Cyberjaw rips the clip on tie off and throws it in the face of the hapless customer.

I need to go be with my bro!

Cyberjaw climbs over the desk. As soon as he does, he raises his hand, and Bobby raises his, and they lock in a clasp. They disengage, and Bobby turns. The trio leave Best Buy and head into the parking lot. As they approach the car, Cyberjaw speaks.

Shotgun!

Nope!

Aw, come on bro!

My girl rides in front fool.

I really don't mind, I mean it's a small car, not a lot of leg room in the back.

Bobby opens his door and slides the seat forward, allowing Cyberjaw to cram into the back.

Comfy?

Not really.

Okay.

Bobby slides the seat back, further cramping Cyberjaw as Fuschia settles into the passenger seat comfortably. Bobby gets in and starts the car.

We getting Diamondback now?

Yeah.

Where's he at?

He got another job too. I can give you directions.

Cool.

Bro, I am so glad you picked me up. I hated that place.

Really?

Yeah. Make a left here. Yeah, all day it was just dumb people asking me why their computer broke, nobody thinks they broke it or did something stupid though. Half the time I had people asking me how to fix their Facebook. Make a right here.

Here?

Yeah. I even had one guy come in and tell me that Google changed his password to Alexa and now his iPad didn't work. Make this left. Seriously, people are so stupid man!

Wow, it sounds like working for a living sure was awful.

It was! You’re going to have to pull into here, bro.

Bobby pulls the car into the lot of a Hooters.

Here?

Diamondback is going to look hideous in orange hot pants and a tanktop.

Yeah here, and he works in the kitchen.

Cool, I wonder if he can hook me up with some wings while we’re here.

Why do you need free wings, you’ve got more money than you know what to do with.

You don’t get that way by paying full price for wings.

Fair.

Can we get out please, it’s very cramped back here.

Bobby looks over at Fuschia and smiles.

What?

Nothing, you’ll see.

Bobby gets out of the car and slides the seat forward, allowing Cyberjaw out. Fuschia steps out of the Challenger. The three of them walk towards the front door of Hooters. As they enter, they’re greeted by a young lady, all of twenty, wearing orange hot pants and a white tank top.

Hi, welcome to Hooters, is it three?

Cyberjaw looks at his phone.

Naw, it’s like a little past six-fifteen.

No, I mean, is it just the three of you?

For now.

Are you expecting others? I can get you a big table.

Get us a big table. Is Diamondback working?

Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Is that his real name?

Bobby, Fuschia, and Cyberjaw all look at each other.

I don’t know.

We don’t ask.

The hostess seats Bobby, Fuschia, and Cyberjaw.

I'll let Diamondback know you're here.

Bobby instinctively looks at a menu. Cyberjaw instinctively looks at the waitress staff. Fuschia instinctively looks bemused by both.

See anything you like?

The redhead can get it.

I was, um, talking to Bobby.

Wings.

Bobby!?

We hear the familiar voice of Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd. He's grinning ear to ear.

Hey bro! What's happening?

Eh, just taking a quick break to say hi.

Break? Dude, Bobby’s getting the Bourbon Men back together.

Oh, well, maybe later? I gotta finish my shift, then maybe I can take Stacy out after.

A waitress walks by wearing a nametag that says "Stacy".

Not happening.

Oh, well maybe Rebecca.

Another waitress passes by, her nametag reads "Rebecca".

No chance in hell you smell like grease.

Huh. Well there's always Tiffany.

A third waitress, this one with a nametag that reads "Tiffany" passes by.

I'd rather fuck a seven week old corpse.

Really?

Really, and I'm not a necropheliac.

Dude, you should just quit.

No! Diamondback, you need to continue your shotgun approach to meeting women, make me about a hundred wings in 911 sauce, then quit.

A woman in grey slacks and a golf shirt with the Hooters logo embroidered on it approaches.

Diamondback, what are you doing out here?

Oh, taking a little break.

Diamondback, I'm sorry, but this isn’t the time. I'm going to have to ask you to get back to work.

Diamondback takes his apron off and throws it on the floor.

You can't fire me, I quit!

Diamondback, I'm not firing you. This is the fifth time you've done this this week. Please, just go do your job.

HELL NO! WE WON'T GO!

Diamondback marches out of Hooters. Bobby slowly stands, looking a little dejected over not getting his free wings. Fuschia grabs his hand and Cyberjaw follows as they leave.

Sir, you don’t have to go, I would be happy to get you a free appetizer.

Bobby hesitates for a moment until his arm is tugged by the still walking Fuschia. Bobby skips forward to keep pace, biting his lower lip, as Cyberjaw tries to wave at a Hooters girl. The three of them step outside, where Diamondback is puffing on a blunt.

Fuck that place.

It seemed like the manager really liked you.

She poses.

Diamondback passes the marijuana cigar to Cyberjaw, who immediately takes a drag. The manager steps out.

Please, Diamondback, I will give you a dollar an hour raise to come back immediately.

Where do you get the nerve?

That's pretty generous.

Yeah, and I'll get free wings.

No way. I'm a Bourbon Man.

Well I'm sorry to hear that. Come back any time.

She seems more than fair.

I try.

Karen’s a liar!

Cyberjaw tries to pass the blunt to Bobby.

No thanks, I’m on hiatus from the weed, I gotta be the thinker these days.

Cyberjaw then looks towards Fuschia.

No, thanks.

Cyberjaw then looks towards Karen, the caring Hooters manager. She reaches out and accepts the blunt.

Thank you. It’s very stressful managing a bunch of Hooters girls and getting fried chicken out quickly enough. We also serve hamburgers but nobody talks about them.

You know, Karen, I think you’re a perfect fit, how would you like to be a member of an entourage for a pro-wrestler and sometimes mad scientist?

Karen takes a drag.

Don’t do it, she’s a monster.

I would love to, I love wrestling and mad science.

Damn it.

Great!

An alert scrolls along the bottom of the scene that reads *NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT, SHE’S A RESTAURANT MANAGER AND A KAREN”.

Well, Karen, we’ll be back in a half hour or so to pick up them wings, I gotta go pick up like three more people and cram them in the back of my cool but admittedly small-interiored car.

Well, can I wait here?

I want to go.

Bobby looks at both of them.

You both stay here. Diamondback, go help the people in the kitchen. Karen, keep managing this restaurant. Cyberjaw, you find a way to duplicate their recipe for use back at the dojo. We gotta go.

Bobby and Fuschia return to the Challenger as the assembled Bourbon Men continue to get high in front of a Hooters.

Look at you, making decisions.

Hushabee.

What are we doing now?

Well, I reckon I aughta talk about my opponent, Kat Jones.

What do you know about her?

Well, let’s see. For starters, she’s a veteran, but how experienced she is I don’t really know. We shot the shit a bit on Twitter, she seemed keen on letting me know why I should tread lightly around her, specifically because she has agility and stamina, like I’ve never beaten someone who went around spouting off about being agile or, uh, staminish? I don’t know the fucking term and I don’t need to know. Anyhow, she’s making her in-ring debut, and based on her shit from when she was in OCW, I’m pretty sure she has CTE.

You think she’s been hit in the head a bunch?

Lots. You see, she talks.. like this.. all the time.. with these odd pauses.. for no apparent reason.. like she’s a stroke victim.. which means even if she’s agile and has stamina.. she’s about as quick.. on the uptake.. as a taxidermied poodle.

Fuschia chuckles.

She was.. picked up by Theo.. as a charity case.. because she had a weird look.. Okay, okay, enough of that shit. Seriously, I’m going to have a stroke just talking like that. Kat Jones is very white. Like, I’m not just talking extra whipped cream on her latte at at Starbucks white. I’m not even talking Canadian January snow white. Kat, welcome to the XWF, where we actually have sunlight, no reason to walk around looking like a ghoul. If Kat sat down in a bathroom people would be confused which one was the toilet, because she’s super white and also full of shit. Now, I get it, I really do. I know what it’s like to be the new face in a new kind of space and you're trying to showcase your grace, as is the case. You gotta hit the ground running to keep up with the pace in the chase of the whole of the race and carve out your place. Sorry to say you didn't pull a king or a queen you're betting against the ace, hope I don't leave you burnt and in tears like a can of mace. Lookit here, your attitude and look were fresh five years ago at Hot Topic, now you’re sitting there sounding quite myopic, you think you’re bringing heat to me? Bitch, I’m so hot I’m tropic, and I should be sweating you? Compared to me your career is microscopic! I’m supposed to be wary because you dance like you’re the belle of the ball? Name a championship here, I’ve held them and have the pictures on my wall! Now wait a minute, that means you lost them, someone made you fall, but it wasn’t Kat Jones, and it was better to have held and lost than never have held them at all. I’m a big fish in this here pond, this little worm won’t have me baited, she says she’s different, like everybody else, and that she’s underestimated. I’m calling you out, calling bullshit, because I’m not intimidated by some second rate hack that OCW used and donated! What’s the matter, girlie? You couldn’t make the cut? I went and just invaded the fucking place, so what? Little doggie, bark for me, I will bite like a feral mutt, go ahead and run your little mouth, you can’t even keep up while I strut.

Them’s bars.

Yeah, and she thought I was poetic on Twitter. Wait until the real artwork happens and I leave her splattered on some canvas.

Bobby pulls up to a bus station. There, he picks up Xtreme Travel Agent, possible Stockhold syndrome victim, Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax, and RoboBob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it’s wearing a Bobby Bourbon mask with a magazine clipping of Bobby’s face stuck to it’s face with a magnet. They all cram into the back of the Challenger.

Uh, I kinda see why you never drive this thing.

It’s sweet but definitely not a family vehicle. Let’s get back to the dojo.