Bobby Bourbon, the number one contender to the XWF Universal Championship, has been snagged. The folks at the office hired Genevieve Trot, an image consultant, to work with Bobby, to help develop who he is on screen a little deeper. Miss Trot asked Bobby, quite openly, what he wanted. Bobby, ever whimsical and one to push boundaries as far as he can, opted to be mounted on a donkey wearing a diaper.

Well, Mr. Bourbon, how does the ass suit you?

Bobby smirks.

Hey, lookit you, dad jokes, sweet!

You’re quite welcome. So, this is what you’re really all about, behind the scenes? Celebrity Donkey Rodeo?

No, it’s Celebrity Donkey Basketball.

A couple celebrities ride by on donkeys in diapers. One is holding a basketball. You recognize them, they’re celebrities, I’m not name dropping, you just really like one and were surprised as hell by another.

And to be honest, Miss Trot, I came up with the notion because I heard your name and thought of a dad joke, but since those suck and aren’t actually funny, I wanted to see if you could organize this.

Absolutely, Mr. Bourbon, I am, after all, here to take your image and present it as best as possible.

Huh. Who have you represented in the past?

Bobby looks quizzically at Genevieve, this being an insanely rational question for the quirky Bobby.

I assure you, Mr. Bourbon, that’s not necessary right now. So, if you’re just farting around with this, what is it you really want, if not celebrity donkey basketball?

Um…

Bobby rubs his chin.

Celebrity charity donkey basketball?

That’s exactly what you’re doing right now only instead of our sponsors getting the proceeds it’s the doomed.

Woah, uh, okay, okay.

Bobby looks befuddled.

Let’s try this…

~~~~~

San Fransisco, California. One of the biggest media markets in the world, let alone the United States. Filbert Street.



Here we see, at the crest of the hill, which is blocked off with thousands of screaming fans watching, Bobby Bourbon in a racing suit holding a matching orange helmet. Beside him is a soapbox derby car, painted black and covered with the BOB logo. Genevieve approaches.

Now, Mr. Bourbon, Urban Bobsledding! This is the kind of spectacular thrillseeking you like, and I love it! The people are going to adore seeing you in your natural element!

Bobby bites his lower lip, nodding briskly, contemplating his natural element. As he does, Thunder Knuckles pulls up beside him in a 1968 Ford Mustang Bullitt GT. The fans roar as he does, and TK revs the engine. He steps out of the vehicle and approaches Bobby. Bobby looks at the Mustang, then back at his measly soapbox derby car.

Oh, man, that is so fucking cool!

I know, fucking right it is!

From within the car, we see Lilabeth in the passenger seat. She waves.

Hi Bobby!

Right, I gotta go.

TK turns.

Lilabeth, slide over, you’re gonna learn to drive now!

Lilabeth, all of ten, gets into the driver’s seat of the car. TK gets into the passenger side.

Alright, it’s like a dance, your right foot hits the clutch, your right foot the gas, your right hand on the stick, your left hand on the wheel.

Got it!

Lilabeth brings the engine to life and roars down the famous Filbert Street. Bobby watches, and drops his helmet.

No helmet! Edgy!

No, I, uh, I want a mustang now. It doesn’t have to be from Bullitt, I can take a Cobra like from Cobra.

So get you a…

No, then I’m just ripping off my friends, that was so fucking cool. He taught a kid to drive, that is absolutely fantastic.

Bobby looks pouty. Genevieve approaches.

Well, you’ll think of something. What else do you want?

Bobby shakes his head, lost, then looks at Genevieve.

~~~~~

Anywhere, in the USA, we see Bobby Bourbon standing beside Genevieve Trot. Bobby is holding a hot dog in his right hand and a Starbucks cup in his left.

So, you’re into sightseeing and cheap food?

Bobby slowly blinks.

Yeah, I guess, I kinda thought this would be cool, maybe if I cut a promo here?

Maybe, in due time, Bobby, but this is about showing the Universe who you are.

Bobby takes a bite of his hot dog, slowly nodding.

I gotchu.

~~~~~

St. Louis, Missouri. We find Bobby Bourbon at a place called Chuck’s Barbecue. A swath of XWF fans of arrived to watch as Bobby is there. Genevieve approaches.

Well, I think this is a good idea, what do you think?

Bobby smiles.

You mean I just come and eat some ribs in front of people and you record it?

Well, yeah!

Fucking sweet!

Bobby sits down, and a rack of ribs is presented to him. Gleefully, he rips one off, the meat just melting off the opposing bone like liquid, and he takes a bite. Bobby silently nods and chomps in.

Uh, Bobby, so what do you think of the ribs.

Bobby just nods, his eyes widening to take another bite. His reaction is that of pure bliss, these must be some fantastic ribs he’s eating.

Bobby? You need to talk more about the ribs, and how this is a metaphor for your life?

Bobby pauses and looks up at the camera. He chews, then swallows.

I eat this so I don’t die. Listen to me, people, starving will kill you.

Bobby takes another chomp and enjoys the succulent ribs. Genevieve looks bemused at the simplicity of this supposedly great man.

~~~~~

Memphis, Tennessee. We find Bobby Bourbon at a place called Buck’s Barbecue. Once again, a swath of fans are on hold to see Bobby do his thing, showing up at a local barbecue joint and eat some barbecue. Genevieve is seated beside Bobby, who looks more relaxed and at ease this time. Maybe riding around and having the XWF buy him racks of ribs everywhere that’s Zagat rated was a pretty descent schtick, if he thought so, and Genevieve was a fan of how it showed that Bobby was a man of common and humble likes.

Miss Trot, this is a good idea.

Thank you, Mr. Bourbon. Ooh, here they come!

The plate of ribs is placed in front of Bobby. Bobby once again peels a rib off and bites into it. He looks at Genevieve then back at the camera.

Chuck’s was better. Can we go back there next time?

No, Mr. Bourbon, we can’t just have you eating ribs at the same place every night.

I’m sure I could make it work.

Look, Mr. Bourbon, you get to travel places, and review restaurants, but be nice and uplifting, not constantly harken back to what was good.

Huh. Well, that’s fair, but, really, I’d rather have Chuck’s, if I’m being honest.

A chef steps forward.

Oh yeah? Well, what do Chuck’s ribs have that mine don’t?

Well, besides meat? Flavor.

The chef looks absolutely gobsmacked by Bobby’s flagrant insult of the meal given to him. Bobby peels a rib off.

These aren’t bad, though.

Genevieve looks disappointed, this wouldn’t work.

~~~~~

I apologize, Mr. Bourbon, I thought I found something you wanted.

Miss Trot, that’s not at all your fault. I’m just the kind of guy who, well, if he wants something, he goes out and finds a way to get it.

Bobby smiles. He and Genevieve are in the back of a limousine. Genevieve has a tablet out and she’s madly working away at it.

My endless nature is just one of my charms, I suppose.

But, Mr. Bourbon, you have to show the fans some hope that, yes, you do follow your whims, but that there’s some reason they should follow along. If you’re going to ride a donkey one minute, then insult cooks, just because it’s something you felt like doing, that’s fine, but people don’t find that relatable, or even believable.

Oh, hah, yeah, I know that!

Bobby smiles.

I worked for a living once, you know? I had a job, a real honest nine-to-five life that was secure, and safe, and frankly, boring as hell. I was surrounded by good people, don’t get me wrong, even those above me who saw me as a set of statistics, parameters to be met, they were just doing their jobs. I know what it’s like, to make ends meet. It’s the absolute drizzling shits. Then, well, one day I started wrestling, and I am good at that shit. You don’t know what it’s like to stand out there, powerbomb somebody, then hear them all chant your name after.

You’re right, Mr. Bourbon, most don’t.

Bobby cocks his head slightly.

I suppose that makes me out of touch. I mean, here I am, in the back of some limo, being ridden around to places like a spoiled little kid. Huh. Miss Trot, stop the vehicle at the next rental place. I want to drive, for fuck’s sake, and see for myself, not be ridden around place to place because it’s just what I want.

Um, okay, yes, Mr. Bourbon.

Genevieve smiles as she pulls her phone out, setting to task of booking a rental car.

Stop that.

Genevieve gives pause and looks back at Bobby.

I’m going to do it myself at the counter like an adult, damn it, I don’t need hand holding.

Bobby’s brow is furrowed as he smiles towards Genevieve.

You just get your paycheck, because if you’re not getting what you want, I don’t want you around.

Genevieve puts her phone down. She rolls the cover across the face of the tablet and sets it beside her. She folds her hands and looks at Bobby.

I want to go get something to eat, you started bullshit at Buck’s.

Do you want to take a limo through the drive through?

Genevieve half snorts at the notion.

Sure.

Cool. Driver! Yo, take us to get a burger someplace then a car rental place.

The limousine peels into the drive-through of a Wendy’s. Wendy’s, the official hamburger of the XWF and gingers.

~~~~~

Somewhere in America along some two-lane highway at night. Bobby Bourbon is absolutely blaring music as loud as he can in their Prius. The jam gets turned down by Genevieve, stricken by the breakneck speed Bobby is pushing this economy vehicle to, as quiet as a mouse.

Mr. Bourbon, the speed limit is 45, you’re doing like 90!

No, Miss Trot, it’s 79, that’s what the cruise control is set at.

But, Mr. Bourbon…

No buts, Miss Trot, you gotta ride on the open road!

Blue lights begin flashing behind Bobby.

Mr. Bourbon, it’s the police!

I see!

Bobby slows down the Prius and pulls over on the side of the road. You know it’s serious because the police officer is at his window pretty quickly, this isn’t some run of the mill stop.

Sir, do you know how fast you were going?

What’s the speed limit?

The speed limit is 45 sir!

I was doing 49.

49? No way, buddy, I had you clocked doing 83!

What? That’s absurd! Look, this thing is a rental, I would have heard the engine if I was doing 83, you know? I looked at the speedometer, it was doing 49, you want to test it?

The police officer shakes his head.

No, I want you to slow down! Let me see your license and registration!

Bobby reaches into his back pocket and pulls his wallet out. He opens it and slides out his driver’s license and shows it to the officer.

Why are you wearing a lucha mask in this picture?

Look, it’s an old picture.

The cop looks absolutely confounded by all of this.

Officer, we’re shooting a documentary about Mr. Bourbon here, our cameras will show exactly how fast the car was going.

The cop looks in the back, stunned, then turns back to Bobby. He hands him his license.

Slow down, I was surprised this thing could go that fast.

Yes sir.

The police officer turns and gets back into his vehicle. The police cruiser hooks a U turn and speeds off in the opposite direction, lights flashing. Bobby smiles at Genevieve.

Thank you, Miss Trot.

Bobby puts the car into drive, and slams on the gas, once again reaching his desired speed of 79 miles per hour.

~~~~~

The shopping mall. Now often referred to as dying, still living and hosting merchants hauking wares and representing massive online storefronts ready to deliver every size you can’t find. Bobby and Genevieve walk through it.

Mr. Bourbon, you could have told me you wanted to go to a mall, we could have set up a presser, had some fans come out, you know, let social media know!

Miss Trot, I simply didn’t want that. I just wanted a pretzel.

Bobby and Genevieve approach the mall pretzel stand. Every mall has one, you’ve seen it, maybe once bought something there. A fan, randomly spotting Bobby out in the mall, yells out.

Hey, Bobby Bourbon!

Bobby points back at the fan smiling.

Hey, not me! Pretzel time, how are you doing?

Oh man, I want a pretzel too!

You know? They’re tasty from time to time!

The fan points at Genevieve.

Is she a new Bourbon Person?

Nah, she’s an image consultant making sure I do what I want, so I drove a plain ass car to this mall to buy a pretzel.

Cool!

Bobby turns and looks at the pretzel counter personnel. That seems like the wrong term for a pretzel sales consultant, and that seems like the wrong term for someone working at an Auntie Anne’s.

Can I get a pretzel please?

Do you want cheese?

Nah, thanks.

Okay.

The kid puts on gloves, then grabs a tiny slip of paper. He grabs a pretzel from a rack, and slides it into parchment paper pouch, then putting it in a paper bag, then putting it in a plastic bag. Bobby takes his plastic money card from his wallet, some debit or credit device with a chip you blame when you’re broke, and presses it against a card pad until a lazy beep is heard. A receipt gets printed and slid into the plastic bag. Bobby retrieves his pretzel and leaves all of the rest on the counter in front of the pretzel worker. He takes a bite of it and waves at the fan.

Later man!

Yeah!

Genevieve grabs Bobby’s trash from the counter; what kind of heathen does that? Go to any fast food place, order indoors, unwrap your food exactly where it is handed to you at the counter, and leave the wrapper, you’re a madman if you do.

Mr. Bourbon, your trash!

Bobby shakes his head.

I don’t need it, they have a trash.

You have to throw it away!

Do you really want to be holding my trash right now?

Genevieve looks absolutely flustered. She walks directly up to Bobby and stands in front of him. She takes him by the left wrist and shoves his garbage into it while he uses his right wrist to manipulate a hand into feeding his mouth more pretzel. Bobby slowly blinks.

I want you to clean up your mess!

Ah! Ahahaha! There it is!

Genevieve looks sharply back at Bobby.

There what is, exactly?

You’re just a stooge here to make sure I don’t wreck the place up. I get it.

Wreck the place up? Shit, Mr. Bourbon, feel free! Grab a hammer and start knocking down walls right here, fuck, go destroy one of the Foot Lockers, call it some statement against commercialism, do something! You’re literally doing very little, just going place to place, and here we are, and where the hell are we?

Springfield.

Bobby grins.

Thank you.

Springfield WHERE!

Virginia.

We’re in Virginia because you wanted a pretzel!

No, we’re in Virginia because we’re like 20 minutes from my dojo. We’re at the mall because I wanted a pretzel and my dojo doesn’t have those, you have no idea what a pain in the ass it is to open one of these.

Your dojo? What do you want there?

Well, Miss Trot, my bed is there. I want to sleep in my own bed for the night, I’ve been traveling around with you for two days, from LA to San Fran to Starbucks to St. Louis to Memphis, I’m kinda tired. I’m on the road a lot, and nights where I just sleep at home are seldom. I’ve been everywhere, at least twice by now, and I’ve rocked it out wherever I’ve been, but sometimes you just want a nice night’s rest to relax and reset, you know?

Genevieve looks plainly taken aback. Once again, this man, often perceived as great, really is a simple dude at heart.

I have a couch you can use.

I can get a hotel room, Mr. Bourbon.

Oh, you definitely should do that then, I don’t feel like making sure the couch is all that clean.

Thanks. However, may I see your home?

What, my dojo? There's like hundreds of promos out there.

You sleep there?

No, well, not in it, I have an apartment above it.

I want to see it.

Oh yeah? Well I don't want to show it.

Too bad.

Genevieve points at a trash can.

Throw your garbage away, I want to see your home. You said you don't hang out with people who don't get what they want. Well here I am, getting exactly what I want, and that's to see your dirty ass couch, and how you live, it's what I've wanted to do since I've introduced myself to you, Bobby. That's my job, damn it, and I'm good at it! I remember my first ever memory in watching wrestling, Bobby, and do you know what that memory is?

No, and why are you bringing it up so excitedly beside a mall pretzel stand?

Genevieve composes herself with a quick breath.

Come, tell me in the car.