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+--- Thread: Ruthless and Cutthroat (/showthread.php?tid=26921)
Ruthless and Cutthroat - Prof. Bobby Bourbon - 03-07-2017
Jim Caedus recently came out and spat in the face of everything Robbie Bourbon believed in him and their relationship, claiming Bourbon never did anything for him.
Tough love comes with even tougher lessons.
RUTHLESS AND CUTTHROAT
We open to see Robbie Bourbon standing on top of a table within the Dunkin Donuts in his dojo. People are filing in, looking for free coffee and a donut within, all while Robbie looks to rant at them. We see a bevy of people all bound for the office, the work-site, or the shop, getting ready for the day, along with plenty of people now who look to be in pajamas, awake and roused for the thought of a freebie.
Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Xtreme Travel Agent, possible victim to Stockholm syndrome and Cyberjaw's main squeeze, all walk into the Dunkin Donuts, and Space Lord, darned cute but naive 3.5 inch tall space explorer flies in on a store bought drone he himself is piloting. They all look less than pleased. Robbie looks at them.
Dudes! Good morning! Get coffee and a donut, on the house.
Robbie, Jim can't come around here anymore.
That asshole threatened us.
He wasn't even Xtreme about it or anything.
Motherfucker Bourbon, I'm worried! I came to this planet in peace, and he wants to cut me open! I'm not a biology project.
Shit, you're not even a two piece meal from Popeye's.
He what? I thought Jim was kinda cool. Weird, but, I dunno, ready to learn.
Not even.
Xtreme Travel Agent turns to the flat screen mounted on the wall in the Dunkin Donuts area and pulls a remote control out of her pocket.
How come I can never find any of those remotes?
Me and Blue stash them, otherwise you put on something stupid like Law and Order and then forget where you left the remote.
XTA changes the screen, and Jim Caedus's last promo plays for all to see. The flood of people forming a line out the front door of the dojo waiting for free coffee and donuts all watch, some looking very alarmed. After it finishes, Robbie turns to all the unknown faces in the crowd.
People, don't worry about the threat of arson. Ever since I burned this very dojo down a year-and-a-half ago, my insurance company has insisted I comply with their demands and making every effort to prevent this building from burning down. We are well equipped with smoke alarms, a fire sprinkler system, and fire extinguishers, along with construction with flame
materials.You rebuilt using asbestos?
No, not asbestos. It's all strictly to code using concrete and cubit zirconium filaments.
The people seem somewhat assuaged by the fact Robbie's dojo/his grandmother's basement is perfectly safe from the threat of fire, if not actually turned into a massive oven. That or they just care more about free coffee and donuts. Robbie hops down from the table and walks to the Bourbon Men, speaking in a lower tone, using his indoor voice with them so as not to alarm the customers walking into his Dunkin Donuts franchise.
So, I invited that guy into my home, and now he's going off like that?
Yeah. It's not fucking cool.
We don't want him around anymore.
I think he's a little distressed, having to face me and all.
Distressed? He thinks I'm to be cut open and taken apart! Like, I took a million X-rays and MRI samples with Blue and her friends at the CI...
Robbie quickly places a finger in front of his mouth.
Shhh.
...at her work, he wants to burn your friends up and urinate himself on them. I think he was just using you, Robbie.
Well, Space Lord, I reckon you've just taken Jim's place as my favorite little guy here in the Bourbon Men.
Thank you, Motherfucker Bourbon, I am honored and pleased to have your praise.
With that, a warm glowing light emanates from above.
Oh lord.
Jesus Christ, rarest of Bourbon Men, descends upon the group, bedecked in black jeans and a skin tight Hollister t-shirt.
Did someone say praise?
Who are you?
I'm Jesus, and you are?
Space Lord.
Ah, I see you come from above as well.
Well, yes, are you also a fellow space explorer?
Woah, woah, guys, now's not the time.
I agree.
Speaking of which, if someone says hell is down below and they're literally pointing at Australia through the earth's core, and someone in Australia says you come from above and they're literally pointing in the same direction, who's right?
As Diamondback addresses Jesus, Robbie and the rest of the Bourbon Men turn and look at him, faces scrunched. XTA rolls her eyes.
Not really pertinent, D-back.
What, it's something that was weighing on me. Sorry.
You smoke too much pot.
Diamondback is too busy lighting a blunt to respond.
Look, Robbie, I know you didn't ask me to be here.
I rarely do, man, but what's up?
Well, it's about Caedus.
Look, look, I know, I saw.
You need to tear him a new asshole.
What?
You heard me.
What about turning the other cheek?
Cheek schmeek. He's testing you like a puppy does. Would you let a puppy chew on your socks and piss on the floor?
I don't know about the peeing part, but the socks thing sounds adorable.
Robbie, these are your best socks.
Meh, my best socks are worth an adorable video of a pooch chewing on them then looking all sorry when I say 'bad'.
Robbie, he threatened your home, your friends, and even me.
I know, I just, well, I'm flabbergasted. I really thought Jim was someone I could rely on, someone who I could call a friend, I had no idea he planned on torching bridges so soon. I didn't use him, I tried to bolster him, amplify his spirit.
And how did that work out for you?
Well, I guess it didn't.
So, what are you going to do?
The same thing I do to anybody in the God damned ring.
My dad never condemned the ring, Robbie.
You know what I mean. But I'm going to keep that higher ground.
Higher ground?
Well, yeah. I'm not going to talk about Jim Caedus's love life.
Why?
Well, if I wanted to talk shit about his girlfriend, or wife, or whatever it is, I'd have to look at pictures of her, and frankly it's too early to have a shitty day like that.
Dayum. The Bourbon Men all look at Robbie as if to say 'dayum'.
Seriously, this guy doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, and judging from what I've seen of his, uh, significant other, he'd be better off with the hole in the ground. He gets a hard on from something that looks like an oatmeal raisin cookie, gotta give him credit for giving an ugnaw a little nookie. Time to go to school, son, don't cheat yourself by playing hookie, bet your bottom dollar, go ahead, call the bookie, time for the Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads to bring some true blood in here, call Sookie. You think I can't catch the amount of shit talk that you're throwing, let's leave the shit you don't know but you think that you are knowing, because bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, nuclear atomic hot poison boiling and overflowing, time to reap the rewards of the seeds you've been sowing, worthless produce and ragweed is all that you're growing, but first, son, pull up them britches, your daddy issues are showing. And that, sir, be just the tip, sir, of an iceberg, sir, reaching under the sea so many fathoms, sir, and that's where you're drowning. Sorry to burst your bubble, I could care less about your Pop, he's on the ground not making a sound, looking for the the rhymes I drop, you want to sound oppressive, impressive, and you're setting up shop, you're the piss in the fields which never yields? I'm the fucking cream of the crop. Ruthless, cutthroat, and a heart that can't stop, I'll beat you like your daddy should until you want to call a cop.
See, you're living, breathing, eating, and shitting, but right now, right now is where you should feel murdered.
You complain, say "woe is me, I'm Jim Caedus, I was murdered." Not yet. You know how I know? Because Warfare hasn't happened yet. You want to talk about what you'll do to the people who care about me, about what I am, who I am, and how I live, and none of that matters, because once inside the squared circle, that's when the real lessons set in. That's when reality takes a huge shit all over you, and you realized "huh, Jim, maybe I wasn't really murdered, but if I was dead right now I wouldn't feel all the damage being done to my body." See, I won't wait until you're finished breathing to make you an organ donor, Jim. No sir. I'ma reach inside your fucking rib cage and rip your lungs out, then ask you to whistle. I'ma reach inside your fucking guts and pull your colon out and show the world you're full of shit. I'ma rip your skull right open and pour whatever shit for brains you have all over the concrete floor in Croatia and show the Eastern Europeans a good ole' fashioned American scalping. I think you could guess why, but you actually think you're deceased, some kind of Zombie (and brother, been there, done that, sort of why you own a t-shirt with my name on it and not the other way around). I would hope you could guess why, but you think this is the beginning when the real show starts as soon as the bell rings, after billions of people sing along to my entrance music, after billions of people rise up and look on to watch the best thing going in the XWF today get set to wreck on Wednesday Night like only the Wednesday Night Wrecker can. I presume you can guess why when you take a minute to think I'm not the man who killed you, I'm the man who's killing you, the one and only XWF Champion, the Wednesday Night Wrecker, the High Holy Hypocrite, the nastiest, the gnarliest, the worst thing to ever happen to your fucking career, and you thank God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, or any other kind of higher power I'm not shattering your fucking spine for the sake of your Television Title.
My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. You're going to remember that name. It's the name of the man who came to Warfare ready for Warfare and waging Warfare while you fucked around in a land of make believe, thinking you have a snowballs chance in hell of beating me, of hurting me, wishing your daddy was there to protect you from some insignificant shit who you feel might have killed you while I'm more than willing to leave you alive. That's right, Jimmy boy, you're going to live after our match. Eating through a tube, in a wheel chair, yadda yadda yadda, I've said it all before, but the real deal of it is you're going to walk around after our match and think to yourself one simple thing.
'Welp, the closest thing I had to a friend in the fucking world just beat my ass and humiliated me on live TV in front of the whole fucking universe, and now I don't have that friend anymore to talk to about it.'
See, that's where the real pain is going to sink in, that's what's going to kill you, and that's when you start having the real problems, not the made-up kind you've fabricated to deal with the fact you're facing me and Scully at Warfare. Hell, you've even shown more respect to my partner, whom you've never even met, and you downplay the open doors I've shown you. So, fair enough, Jimbo, we won't be personal anymore. No need to worry about your feelings, your career, or how you try to sound like a vicious and dangerous beast like a chihuahua barking at the boogeyman. The people aren't impressed, the people aren't shaken, they're just waiting to see the inevitable of when I step into that ring and go to fucking work.
No fucking wonder you wish we didn't have to knuckle up, as you put it. If I were you, I wouldn't want to fight me either.
The assembed masses waiting for free coffee and donuts, all of whom were engaged by the promo Robbie just cut, start to chant.
*FUCK 'EM UP, ROBBIE, FUCK 'EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK 'EM UP, ROBBIE, FUCK 'EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK 'EM UP, ROBBIE, FUCK 'EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*
Listen, Jim, as hard as you can. It doesn't matter what you say, that is all I hear. And I'm not going away, like your family, like your father, or like anybody else in your life. I am fucking here to fucking stay, and the fact you want to do business dirty with me just means every morning I will fucking remind you of that fact by going out and wrecking again as the Universe only stops to ask you what it was like to get the shit kicked out of you by Robbie Bourbon after he welcomed you to the XWF graciously when you had nobody.
One of the girls working the counter at Dunkin Donuts walks over to Robbie.
Um, Mr. Bourbon?
Mister? Hahaha, she doesn't know you're a Motherfucker.
Robbie turns to Space Lord.
Hushabee.
Robbie turns back to the young girl in her Dunkin Donuts uniform.
Yes ma'am?
Um, we're running out of donuts, and with this crowd we can't keep up. We weren't ready for a rush like this.
Well, shit. Get more.
We're making more, but at this rate, we can't keep up.
Cyberjaw, Diamondback, XTA, Space Lord, and Jesus all look at Robbie inquisitively.
Well, fuck. I guess I'll go out and get more donuts for everybody. Keep the coffee on.