How It All Shakes Down - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: How It All Shakes Down (/showthread.php?tid=37686)

How It All Shakes Down - Prof. Bobby Bourbon - 08-04-2020 Robbie recently was convinced by friends and loved ones to go to therapy. Because that's what this whole promo is about. Going to therapy. HOW IT ALL SHAKES DOWN We open to see the set of the world famous Dr. Phil show. Dr. Phil is seated on the stage as the show comes back from commercial break. Well, our next guest today is well known to all of you, I'm sure. He is a former XWF Universal Champion, one of the most well known stars in the XWF, and he's been wrestling for the people, so he says, for over five years now. We cut to a montage that shows Robbie Bourbon, except the shot is really blurry for no good reason like Dr. Phil montage shots sometimes get. I am a man of the people. The shot cuts to show Robbie standing in the ring, his arm raised in victory by a referee. I've been to the top of the mountain in my business, and someday, I'll get there again, and nobody is going to stand in my way. The shot goes to show Robbie seated in a dark room, looking smugly at the camera. I'll Robbiebomb the hell out of anybody who tries to stop me from reclaiming the spotlight in the XWF. I don't care if you're a man, a woman, or some kid, if you're in that ring, I'll squash you like a bug and move on to my next opponent like the wrecker I am. The camera shot shows Robbie standing with his arms folded across his chest, slightly blurry again for some reason. I will be the single greatest name in the XWF again! We go back to the stage, where Dr. Phil is looking at the camera. The crowd is booing slightly. Now, I know, I know. Well, let's go ahead and hear from him. Robbie? Robbie walks out onto the stage amid a mass of boos from the crowd. Robbie yells back at the crowd belligerently. He finally sits on the stage in a chair. Welcome Robbie. That's right, you better welcome me! Robbie is being excessively sassy. The crowd boos. Dr. Phil raises a hand to let the crowd know he has this under control. Well, Robbie, do you know why you're on the show today? Yeah, because my stupid friends think I need therapy, something about how I don't take shit seriously, and how I have a big ego about it, but they don't know anything. These people love you, Robbie, and care about you, how can you say they don't know anything? They don't. Robbie sucks his teeth then preens for the camera in an excessively sassy manner. Well, Robbie, let's bring them out. Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, Robbie's stylist, and Guy Fieri, right mayor of Flavortown, walk out on stage. They all look sad. They had this to say, Robbie, let's take a look. Another standard Dr. Phil montage ensues. I remember when you were a legit contender for the Universal Championship. Dude, have you seen my beard trimmer? Not the blue one, the white one? Robbie, you need to take things more seriously. These fish and chips are banging! The montage finishes, and Dr. Phil looks at Robbie. Now, Robbie, I don't like your attitude! Oh yeah? Robbie stands up, kicks Dr. Phil in the gut, hoists him, and Robbiebombs him on the set of his own show, not only avoiding all responsibilities for helping himself through therapy on nationally syndicated television, but committing assault! The sterile lighting of the facility didn't hurt the eyes so much as dull the senses. Everything tinged with a palor, but nothing reflecting or radiating the light itself. We see a panel of people seated along a table. A huge mirror is at the end of the table, an obvious two-way mirror. We go behind the mirror, where we see Vinnie Lane and James Raven, along with Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, Robbie's stylist, and Guy Fieri, right mayor of Flavortown. Are you sure about this? It's the only way. Beyond the two way mirror, in front of the panel, Robbie Bourbon is wheeled in, strapped to a gourney. He looks alarmed. Get me off of this thing! The panel all rub their chins and look on at Bourbon. The person wheeling the gourney pulls down their mask, revealing Blue, Robbie's estranged ex. This isn't fair, this isn't right! There are monsters and terrors out there and somebody needs to stand up to them! From the other side of the two-way mirror, Raven looks at Lane. You got his ex to do this? She volunteered, I figured it would save a buck or two. That's kind of messed up. Vinnie shrugs. He sinks his teeth into some of the poutine Guy Fieri has procured for the group as they watch the happenings in the other room. Blue has a series of tools wheeled in. Specifically, a slender long pick and a hammer. You can't! I object! I am a human being, for Christ's sake! I get I might need help, but how can I smacktalk or otherwise be me if you do this? Shhhh. It'll be over soon, you'll be happy again. Fuck off! I don't want you in my life, we didn't work, and I gotta reconcile being alone even when surrounded by people. Robbie, I know how screwed up you really are. Your ego is just an inflated sense of self, you think you need to step in to stop what might actually let people grow and mature on their own, you don't even go out and try to win matches anymore. You had the Universal Championship within your grasp just earlier this year, instead you backed off and let Ned Kaye help Shaun Warstein dupe the Engineer, because you thought it would be the right thing to do. Oh yeah? Kaye earned his shot, and Warstein had his briefcase. Yeah, but in the end, you had nothing. After this, the XWF will have their monster, the one you claim to be. Unthinking, no bizarre or quixotic agenda in the way, just put in front of bodies to wreck. Hell, I might even take you back after this, you'll be so much more... Blue sticks the pick into Robbie's nose as his eyes go wide. ...docile. She strikes the pick. With a sickening crack, she breaches into Robbie's brain, and begins to manuever the pick completing the lobotomy. Behind the two-way mirror, James Raven gags at the sight as Vinnie takes another hefty bite of poutine. Didn't Robbie do something with lobotomies before? Yeah, but now it's finished. Blue removes the pick and undoes the straps to Robbie's gourney. The panel in front of them take notes. Robbie sits up. How do you feel? Robbie face reads pure catatonia and ennui. I'm Robbie Bourbon. Right! And? I'm a wrestler. I Robbiebomb people. I was a champion and now I can be again. Good! And now you won't get any wild ideas or motivations to distract you! Isn't that fantastic! That's fantastic. Robbie looks completely out of it, all gusto gone from him, as though his soul has been removed. We see Robbie sitting at the desk in his office. His phone is out, and he taps the screen. In short order, a teleconference starts on the small screen. On the other side a lady is seen. She looks ordinary, suspiciously like the 'plain girl' from contrived movies where they try to make a beautiful starlet look plain with glasses and a pony tail, only she legitimately looks as if she'd be plain without the glasses and pony tail. Hello, can you hear me? Hi, I got you. Good! So, are you Robbie? Hi, yeah, I'm Robbie. Nice to meet you, Robbie. My name is Melissa. Thanks for meeting over the phone, with the pandemic happening it's really difficult to schedule in person meetings. Would you be more comfortable with meeting in person? Nah, this is fine. Okay. Well, I have a few questions first. Were you ordered by a court to visit with me? No, I, uh, I figured I should just talk with a therapist, it couldn't hurt. I'd been feeling pretty weird lately, and maybe seeking counseling could help. Okay, well, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An hour later... Robbie steps out of his office. He looks pleasant, a small smile on his face. Cyberjaw and Diamondback approach him. Hey bro. Hey. How did it go? It was nice. Just a kind of meet and greet, getting to know one another. She says I'm impulsive, but hell, anybody who's watched the XWF over the past five years already knew that. Well, what now? Now, well, that's the tricky part. First off, I need to go whip Thaddeus Duke's ass all across an arena until he can't get up. Then I gotta go out and whoop some more ass, enough until the people see me for what I am. Then, I'm going to get another shot at the Universal Championship, and I will reclaim the title I never actually lost. That's pretty lofty! The XWF isn't just some playground. Oh? Hehehehe, it's my stomping grounds, and it's high time I carried myself like the one who does the stomping. First things first. Thaddeus. I do care about facing you. I care about beating you. I care about going into France, and like the Hundred and First Airborne and Ceaser before me, being victorious at Warfare. Now, you seem to have your doubts, and you can keep them, son. When I get done with you your daddy is going to come out of retirement for revenge for what I did to his boy. Thaddeus Duke, the prince out to prove he can sit in a throne, make no fucking mistake about it, after I pulverize you, you won't be able to use any throne, just a colostomy bag. Look, we've seen you pull shit out of your mouth now twice, first with love and respect for ole' Robbie Bourbon, then with some malice saying I'm not motivated enough. I will make it so they will pull shit out of you with a bag. Now, daddy's boy, my old man, and I loved him, don't get me wrong, never spoiled me the way you got spoiled. Pissing and moaning that you can't have your bomber back to fly around in. Son, I am the bomber here. My daddy didn't need to provide me with an airplane to feel capable of going places or shape the earth with violence. He taught me to walk, to talk, and to stand on my own two legs, not lie in waiting for more handouts. Greetings from the nouveau riche, young master old money. The Illuminatus will go bankrupt from the damage I will do to you. Resources? Coffers? None of that matters. All the kings horses and all the king's men won't be able to put little Thad back together again after he gets crumpled up and annihilated. Now why the fuck would I care so much about beating the shit out of you? Well, for starters, it's my job, and I'm good at what I do. Second, the world needs an example. Lemme guess, when you were little and you stuck a fork in an outlet, your daddy must've blamed the fork and the outlet for being bad because he couldn't deal the fact his little boy was a mongoloid with all the sense of fish flavored candy. When you were little and ate your Play-Doh, your daddy sued the company who made it so tasty for you because he couldn't handle the fact his little boy was stuck with an I.Q. so low the only P.C. way to describe you is 'special'. Being a waffling shit-for-brains really isn't special, though, you're not talented in different ways, you're not handi-capable, you're a spoiled doofus who's accustomed to having his daddy blow him after he blows himself. See, Thad, the thing that really frustrates me these days is Big Dumb. Idiocy. There's no place for the stupid in my world anymore. None. All will be wiped out, none will be spared. No prisoners, no survivors, the end of stupid as we know it is about to happen, that is my mission, and I will be successful. Shit son, it hasn't dawned on you yet. You know why our match isn't for the Television Title? Because, frankly, as proud as you should be to hold that title, it's below me. I don't need the TV Title to be relevant. I don't need it to be famous. I don't need it to get fans. So, after I fucking steamroll the daddy's boy in Lyon, and I don't give a shit if you think you're a lion, young Simba, I'll wreck Mufasa Duke's ass all across the universe from Pride Rock all the way to the elephant graveyard, then I'll kick Scar in the taint for good measure, because who gives a fuck about lions when you're a god damned Tyrannosaurus, but after I fucking steamroll you, Thad, in Lyon, and you wander off trying to convince everyone that you're a champion, I want you to explain to everyone what makes me better than you, why I am destined to hold the Universal Championship again, and why I will sit at the top of our industry again. Well, I want you to try, at least, in between those sessions where you're sucking daddy's teat and both of you are wondering why he doesn't lactate and you look at books and get frustrated they don't have pictures. Thaddeus Duke, the inbred prince. Jesus H. Christ. We all know who your dad is, your mom was either a sheep or your aunt. Fuck, you're in town! I'm right down the road in Alexandria! While you're here, hop across the Key Bridge and go visit with one of the dozens of advocacy groups for people with mental disabilities. Get them to step in and stop the big bad Bourbon Man from wrecking a , get them to petition to the XWF to cancel our match, because it's just fucking inhumane to think that a feeble minded dingbat with a family tree that loops should be put down so hard by what you called a 'grizzly'. Nobody wants to watch the all new Netflix series "When Bears Attack: Mentally Disabled Edition". Fuck, I haven't faced someone this stupid since Dim, and that's an insult to the Dimallisher. I get it's a new era in the XWF, and it's a little less insensitive, but in your case, oh shit, I get it now. The reason the Championship is gone is because now it's the TV Championship, isn't it? Little Lord Fauntleroy flaunting his accessory like it's the dandiest little thing in the world when it's really just a sign he can't hold a candle to the Universal Champion. Fuck me, so much for becoming a true Grand Slam champ, me putting that belt around my waist is like Ron Jeremy using anything less than a magnum condom. Too small for the big dick. Shit, kid, you even think you have a shot at becoming Warfare MVP. What do you plan on fucking doing, rolling down to the ring in the solid gold wheelchair your daddy ordered for you as soon as he heard you were fighting me? If you want to piss and moan about anything, do it to your daddy, we all get how you want his approval so you followed in his footsteps. Don't do it because you had to cut promos or production wanted you to follow certain parameters. That shit, Thad, that shit I don't care about. I don't give a fuck what the hens say or what the cock crows before I have a plate of buffalo wings. I don't care what the piggies say before it's time for bacon. Whatever the cow said before I had my steak dinner I didn't hear. In the end, they're meat, and I'm on top of the food chain.