Them No Good Bastards - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum:   (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113) +--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13) +---- Forum: Snow Job 2021 RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=157) +---- Thread: Them No Good Bastards (/showthread.php?tid=39527)

Them No Good Bastards - Prof. Bobby Bourbon - 01-20-2021 Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles team up for the first time to challenge for the XWF Tag Team Championships at Snow Job. How do they operate as a team? THEM NO GOOD BASTARDS At a motel, somewhere off the beaten path, the sun hangs high, casting no shadows. A single leafless tree sways in the breeze, and we see a lone housekeeper, bundled in a parka, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies and fresh linens from room to room, tidying up whatever filth may be leftover from the previous night. Little to no traffic seems to be coming up and down the two lane highway the Kingsbridge Motor Lodge is situated on, somewhere in America. The view fixates itself on the highway, and focuses on a white Dodge Charger, headed towards the direction of the motel. A local convenience store is doing business on the other side of the road, some random homeless guy out front begging for your change in between sips from a half-empty tall boy of some cheap swill. The Charger pulls into the parking lot of the motel cautiously, music thumping from within, a pack of four young men taking a drive. The lad in the passenger seat pulls out his phone and raises a hand to his fellows, signaling that he is indeed ignoring them at the moment. Seconds later, we see Thunder Knuckles step into view from the convenience store. He's wearing a tacky straw cowboy hat that was passe just five years ago and trashy ten years ago. Beyond that, he's in a pair of jeans, and he tugs at the front of his coat, zipping it in a hurry. He looks both ways twice, and crosses the street, approaching the vehicle. The driver rolls down his window and turns the music down, and the guy in the passenger seat talks across him to TK. "Yo, you Mr. Knuckles?" Yep, I sure am. Do you got the money? "Of course!" The dude in the front seat reaches into his pocket and produces a wad of cash, fanning it all out, counting to be ten-thousand Xbux. TK's eyes open wide with delight as though the money was an oasis after a week lost in the desert. Cool! Follow me! The four young men all step out of the car as the driver kills the engine. They all look approximate in size to TK, if not a little larger, and are dressed in cuffed joggers, vibrantly printed t-shirts, large coats, the standard gear of the run of the mill frat boy in 2021. The quartet follows TK into room one-thirteen. Inside, the blinds shut, the dim light of a table lamp beside a queen sized bed only goes to showcase the dreariness of the motel. Undecorated cinder block walls bend at ninety degree angles. "How many pills?" A thousand. The guys all chuckle. "That's enough Rohypnol to last us a decade with the best slam pieces in the state!" Thunder Knuckles takes a deep breath, shaking his head. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We see Thunder Knuckles seated anxiously at a diner booth. He sips his coffee and glances around the restaurant. As he does, we see Bobby Bourbon enter view and gracelessly slide into the booth opposite TK. TK sips his coffee again as Bobby looks at the menu. I am psyched. Bobby's eyebrows slightly raise as he continues to look at the menu. Oh yeah? What, you aren't? This is a huge fucking opportunity for not just B.O.B., but us! Tag Team Champions! Don't you think that's exciting? Bobby smirks. Yeah. Well, what the fuck, let's get hype! We're going to go into Snow Job and fight for the Tag Team Titles! Us! We've been waiting forever to actually tag up, and our first opportunity, bam! Tag Team Championship shot! Bobby rolls his eyes as his smirk broadens. Be easy. Act like you've been there before. I haven't though! TK takes the menu from Bobby's hands. The smirk disappears from Bobby's face. Dude, this is a huge opportunity! Do you know how much money we stand to make as the Tag Team Champions? A bit. A bit? A bit! Motherfucker, we will be doing guest spots on basic cable and shit! Paydays from E!, paydays from The Learning Channel! Fuck... TK looks intently at Bourbon. ...paydays from Food Network. Bobby's expression acknowledges how amazing being on Food Network sounds. Yeah, Food Network sounds awesome. Kardea Brown... Bobby nods as his eyes glow and his smirks again. ...I would eat anything that woman served me. TK looks befuddled. Who the fuck is Kardea Brown? Bobby looks back at TK like EVERYBODY knows who Kardea Brown is. Delicious Miss Brown? Never heard of it. Well, she looks damn tasty. TK rolls his eyes. Bobby raises his menu again to figure out what he's going to eat. As he does, TK slaps it back down to the table. Look, I get it, you get bored sometimes, and you goof off. I heard what every other motherfucker has said, and well, I don't believe it! You're a badass, a fucking monster, and now is not the time to... Not the time to what? TK pauses. The time to fuck around! I'm not fucking around. Look, flat out, I find something admirable about you, bud. It's the second reason I joined B.O.B. To team up with you. For what it's worth, for all you do, for all your motivations, you want more for yourself, and you haven't shown much interest in hurting other people to get it. To me, personally? To me that says you've been deprived of something before in your life, that you had to do without, to go without, to subsist without some basic necessities and that got rubbed right in your face, and to halt that injustice from happening again, you've gone to amass as many resources as you can so you don't starve, or hurt, or lack in some way again. Bobby leans towards TK. I'll make damn sure of that myself. That said, I'm going to have to trust you to make damn sure I don't get fucked over, that the people don't get fucked over. What the fuck do you mean? What do I mean? Bobby cocks an eyebrow, incredulous. Look, flat out, shit sucks here right now. A guy I kicked the shit out of like it was clockwork is champ, he teamed up with evil manipulation incarnate, regardless of what the Left Hand thinks they are. They got another prick who has been nothing, absolutely nothing, but a malefactor and bitter, regardless of some black goop or not. Cataclysm? They're nowhere. James Raven and the Sick Cunts? They're waiting on some opportunity to ride back into the scene like heroes because it fits their egos and would be the most marketable move to make instead of winning the fight on day one. The best of the best isn't here, not the way it has been at least. This... Bobby takes a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaling sharply. TK listens intently. This is our fucking time. We're the best now. We weren't asked for, prayed for, not hyped, not hoped, but damn if we don't get fucking dirty and step up and show the Universe that B.O.B. can, that B.O.B. must, but that B.O.B. fucking will. We might not be the blinding light right now, but we're the brightest light around, and we will burn hotter and brighter because, for fuck's sake, we can, and someone fucking has to. We got this. TK solemnly sips his coffee. Bourbon looks intently at him. People are fucking goofy, yeah? TK puts his mug down, unsure of what's coming next. I guess. People are goofy, paranoid, undereducated, fearful, and sometimes awful, wouldn't you agree? TK shrugs, nodding in agreement. Yeah. Okay, well, I still ain't shit without them. You aren't shit without them. See, those goofy, paranoid, undereducated, fearful, and sometimes awful people pay to see us fight. They pay to see us on their television, first for the TV, then for the power bill, then for whatever satellite or cable bill. They sacrifice their time thinking what we do is worthwhile for them because, shit, who cares? They're addicted maybe, maybe they're lost without it, maybe they're silent without it. Thing is, those people, the people, our people, they tune in week after week to see the best, or at least hoping to. Now just envision the garbage that's out there waiting to take advantage of them. Victimize them. Those poor souls too weak mentally, underprepared and undereducated, holding on to biases we'll never hold getting up ended and causing more burden on us because they got played instead of they got educated? Is it on us they didn't get educated? Hell no! But is it on us to stop who we can when we can who try to take advantage of them? FUCKING HELL YEAH. That, my friend, comes upon our own volition, and of our own free fucking will. We will because we can. We can. Someone has to. So we look at the The Dissentients, Marf and Lycanna, a couple of fools who are so caught up in the Left Hand they're the lacing of a fucking glove. Flat out, without the Left Hand, Marf and Lycanna wouldn't even be in this match. They're a pair of fucking outclassed, inexperienced fools riding high on the say so of their own patriarch that they didn't get the memo of how dangerous this match is. Tables? Yep. Ladders? Yep. Chairs? Hyep. Against ourselves, you being the Relentless Legend that you are... TK nods vigorous and swift. And me being the lowly, humble, mutt of the people I hope I am... TK looks bewildered again. Bobby pauses. Oh? Bobby smirks. I let the wicked sing my praises while I get shit done for the people. TK lets a chuckle unfurl from his belly, breaking the tension and the ice between he and Bourbon. You didn't notice it's mostly the shitheels and pricks who talk about how awesome I am? I did, real early, but it always comes with a 'but' at the end, too. 'Bourbon is this BUT that, Bourbon is that, BUT not this', so many fools ready to talk about my buts, acting like I want my ass kissed, when I haven't even farted in their direction yet. So, first, the Left Hand. I could fuck Marf and Lycanna up by myself. Instead, I have my partner, and long after either of you are afterthoughts in the XWF, we'll be fucking up other teams, but you'll both probably last longer than Baphomet, who is too chickenshit to come into this match to challenge for a championship. See, take note, TK and me are fighting for the Tag Titles, Baph is backseat coaching his way. Feel the whip, feel his heel, drive where he wants, thing is we'll stop the progression without hesitation. Then there's Corey and Doc. Bobby snorts. For starters, if Doc could've stepped up and stopped me by now, he would have. There's a man who has made his presence known whenever there has been a threat to his being the spookiest doofus in the XWF, knowing I'm not spooky, and knowing that spooky ain't dominant. This ain't Halloween, we aren't Halloween. Halloween is only cool because it's once a year. Then there's Corey, who went from being a monster like I be with the assistance of Shane , now defunct in the XWF, to being a goof like I be only watered down, dull, and Abbot and Costello only with a fraction of the homoerotic edge they carried. Hi, Corey. Bring up my exes again. I never got dunked on by Warstein and disappeared. Bring up what an inconsistent creature I am. I didn't let James Raven just walk around making whatever claims he wanted out of cowardice. See, bud, I took a stand, at least for us, for the mutts like me who would fight when they could for a scrap from the table, instead of taking whatever kibbles were handed down hoping it was sustaining. But now you're back, Corey, because there's a new Halloween fan who's stepping on your toes and threatening some kind of legacy? Shit, son, you could be challenging for the Universal Title again. A Title I could take in the bat of an eye if it didn't mean breaking the heart of a kid. So I won't. There are XWF stars out there who could become the Universal Champion if they took it upon themselves to get it. I can get it whenever I want. What I want, however, is a little more complex. What I desire is not so simple. I have been to the top of the mountain. Same as Corey and Doc. Same as Baphomet and his bloody Left Hand strive for. The sheer peak of our industry. It's what Raven hangs his hat on, and it's what I took from him, call me out for how that ended, I toppled a legend, and now I stand beside one. The Relentless Legend. Thank you. Baphomet's words, not mine. Still, thanks. On one side, the would be monsters of the future sealing into place the machinations of one man ready to be a conqueror for his own benefit, one doomed to fail, because as much influence Baphomet thinks he has, he's not influencing the hopes and desires of the people. On the other, the proven monsters of the past putting into concrete their established selves because they're either bored or need some credence otherwise because they would rather uphold a throne to give their own reign as Tag Champs credence against wrestlers who have left the XWF in their wake because they couldn't defend the titles against us. Bourbon looks at TK. And in the middle, us? Pretty much. In the middle, the survivors, the winners, the best, and the champions. I'm not afraid to walk into hell with you, TK, matter of fact, we have hell coming our way and I'll smash any shred of it that does to be Tag Team Champions. Bourbon half shrugs. Just letting you know, there are some legit monsters coming our way, and I'm not sure I can be the only monster on our side. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So, my name is Mr. Knuckles. The college dudes all look in horror as TK counts their cash. In front of them, instead of a ton of roofies, we see Bobby. And this is my associate, Mr. Bourbon. "YOU NO GOOD BASTARDS!" Bobby chuckles. You're damn right. Bobby cocks a fist back as TK counts. With a dull thud, a body in the motel drops.