Simply B.O.B. - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum:  RP Archive (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113) +--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13) +---- Forum: Leap Of Faith 2023 RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=205) +---- Thread: Simply B.O.B. (/showthread.php?tid=46634)

Simply B.O.B. - B.O.B. D - 07-29-2023 Being bad was hard work; but being B.O.B. was even HARDER. Despite finding myself in possession of what was likely half a million dollars, I also found myself without a vehicular device. Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to stumble upon a local car dealership, where I was immediately met by a sketchy-looking salesman. "Hi there!" he greeted me like we were old pals, his fangs bared like a shark that's about to strike. His name tag read 'Chet,' which surprised me about as much as finding out some douchebag drinking a Monster energy's name is Kyle; it's sort of a given. "You look like a guy who could use an expensiv............ err, I mean, new car!" His eyes caught my haul, lighting up at the exposed stacks of hundreds visible through the damage and cracks of the briefcase. "You also look like a guy who just robbed a bank!" He let out a fake laugh before slapping me on the back. "Heh, just kiddin'." Tired from the looooooong trek of a quarter mile, and annoyed by his physical contact, I quickly leveled with Chet. "Look here, mother fucker!" I began, removing his hand from my back(and likely arm from its socket). "First off, I robbed the robbers for this cash, so no crime committed!" My words didn't phase Chet, who stood there taking the abuse knowing full well he still had a shot at making the sale. And he wasn't wrong, I was an admittedly out of shape athlete who had no intention of hoofin' it anymore than I did growing wings and flying. "Second..............." I stopped myself upon the realization this sleezeball was the only thing between me and a comfortable, air conditioner car. "Ugh," I sighed. "Just show me what you got." His grin grew even wider. "Right this way, sir!" With money signs in his eyes, Chet skipped towards a collection of various vehicles as I dragged ass behind him. "We just got this lot in today! There's a little bit of everything." I paced the line of automobiles as the salesman followed close by, stopping every so often to make a suggestion. "Why don't you try this one on for size?" It was clearly his most expensive vehicle. His mouth salivated at the chance to pawn it off on some sucker stupidly rich enough to afford to buy a car for the sole purpose of getting laid. As a married man, that sucker would not be me. "It's a little flashy." Chet immediately changed his tone, flipping the script and acting as though it was a bad idea from the start. "Don't wanna stand out during bank robberies, I hear ya!" He directed my attention to something on the opposite end of the spectrum. "Here's something a little less conspicuous..........." "Nobody questions a guy in a Subaru," Chet stated with a smack of the hood, causing the front bumper to fall off. "Except who his favorite Street Fighter is, am I right?!" He cleared his throat and kicked the broken part under the car. "It's a little too cunty for my taste," I cringed, thinking back to the pay-per-view Fuzz & Noah hosted. "Not to mention, I prefer Mortal Kombat." Suddenly, once again, his attitude conveniently aligned with my own. "Ha, ha, ha, Ryu who?! Hey, how 'bout that Sub-Zero?" We approached a monster of a truck, which Chet used to segue topics. "Speaking of subzero, this bad boy will make driving in winter a breeze................" "Rain, sleet, snow; you could deliver mail with this thing! You wouldn't happen to work for the post office, would ya?" "No," I responded, coldly, my patience wearing thin. Chet, a bit more desperate now, continued to push the mammoth of a vehicle on me. "No worries, postmen got their trucks..................." He waved his hand like Vanna White revealing a new puzzle. ".........and YOU have yours!" I wasn't impressed. It reminded me of all the assholes who would go to the bar I used to work at. They'd come flying into the parking lot like they owned the place, throw it in reverse, and back into a spot with such furiousity, you'd swear they hadn't eaten in weeks.............. even though they were there all day yesterday, and the day before that. "I don't know," I pretended to ponder, despite having already made up my mind. "I mean, my dick's small, but it's not THAT small!" "That explains why my grandmother drives one of these," Chet chuckled. "No dick!" Unamused by his terrible joke, I kept right on track. "What else you got?" "What else do I got?!" the dealer bellowed, seemingly offended by my lack of faith in his ability to sell. "Why don't I show you where we keep the good stuff?................" Annoyed that he wasn't already showing me the 'good stuff,' I rolled my eyes and followed Chet towards the back of the lot. He led me to an old warehouse hidden behind his dealership and pulled out a key, which he used to unlock the padded protection safeguarding his alleged prized possessions. With the padlock removed, Chet slid the warehouse door open, revealing a treasure trove of automotives. "Take a look around," the confident salesman gloated. "Nobody's EVER stepped foot in here and left without buying something." His words almost felt like a challenge, but even I had to admit he had quite the collection. I perused the building a bit before stopping on something my younger would kill me if I didn't buy. "No............. way............." "You thinkin' about the Batmobile?" Chet began to pitch. "Batman himself sat in that vehicle." "Micheal Keaton?" The look on Chet's face read a hard 'no.' "Christian Bale?" "..................." "PLEASE tell me it wasn't..............." "Clooney." "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" I shouted. "I was hoping it'd at least be Kilmer!" "Unfortunately, not." I put my hands on my hips and sighed. "I got enough of Clooney's ass in that movie, I don't need it in the seat of my car, too!" I shook my head and flung my arms to the side. "I'm sorry, but this is a deal breaker!" Trying to make a quick recovery, Chet suggested something else along the same line. "If you like superheroes, I also have a Corvette The Flash ran past on-screen!" "Which Flash?" Silence. "Which Flash, Chet?" "VrrVrr Brrlrr," he incoherently mumbled. "What was that?!" "Ezra Miller!" Chet blurted out. "Okay? It was Ezra Miller!" "We're done here," I said while stomping towards the exit in disappointment. "If I wanted to see shit, I would've watched a Ned Kaye promo!" Chet chased after me, but my mind was made up............ or so I thought. Before I could leave, one final thing caught my eye, stopping me dead in my tracks. "The Popemobile," I whispered, only to realize it could become so much more. "No............. the BOBmobile..............." Chet caught up to me, seemingly pleased to see me distracted by one of his shiny toys. "Would you like me to fire it up and see how she feels?" He pulled out a janitor-sized ring of keys, took one off, and used it to unlock my future car. "Try her out!" He opened the door for me and I plopped the suitcase and moneybag into the passenger's seat as Chet leaned across me, starting it up. "Oh yeah!" I screeched with joy at the sound of a nice, clean engine. "I'll take it! "Excellent!" the triumphant salesman cried with jubilation. "I told you! NOBODY leaves here without buying a car! Now, will that be............." He eyed the money occupying my other front seat. "Cash" His tone dropped to an almost Ben Stein-like monotonous. "Or card?" "Neither," I replied, shifting into drive. A confused Chet stepped in front of the BOBmobile, an uneasy smile on his nervous face. "Soooooooooooo, you're going to get a loan?" "Nope." I lightly tapped the gas, causing the car to slightly move forward. Despite barely going a mile an hour, a terrified Chet dove out of the way as if he were about to be run down by a freaking tank. As his body landed on the hard concrete floor, I pulled up next to him and rolled the window down. His face lit up, eagerly, as if hopeful I was only playing a prank and actually about to pay him. Instead, I poked my head out and taunted him with a fact that would likely haunt him for the rest of his worthless life. "Guess this makes me the first person to leave here without buying anything................" For the first time since meeting him, Chet's demeanor dwindled. No longer the confident salesman he'd been when I stepped foot on his lot, he was now a shell of his former self. It was almost like watching the exact opposite of my own transformation. Chet had become Big D, a loser who nobody took seriously or gave two shits about, whereas I was now the guy slinging cars left and right as if it were crack. Neither of us said any more, with me driving off for Leap of Faith as the sound of crying filled the air behind me. I leaned forward to drown it out with the radio, only for it to die, in an instant, with the sound of a gunshot. As awful as it was, I couldn't help but smile. Chet's death served as a poetic reminder that the old D was gone. I was no longer big, I had become something so gargantuan, it made the term 'big' seem miniscule. I was simply B.O.B. "You made a mistake, Angie.............. a MONSTEROUS error in judgment and it could prove to be a fatal one. You see, when I returned at War Games, I was well aware, and even ADMITTED, that I didn't do my research on you, or your team, and I paid dearly for it. And while I can also admit to paying for being out of shape, and unmotivated, as well; the real kicker was my lack of knowledge. Like the Vaughnemous, for example. I definitely didn't expect a Soccer Kick to the face to finish me off but, with legs like that, I can't say I'm surprised! But, again, had I done my homework, I would've seen it comin', dodged it, and Dan Slammed you into oblivion, just like I'm gonna do Sunday night." "But YOU, Angie, you didn't do your homework, now did you? If you had, you'd know that challenging me to a game instead of a wrestling match is only gonna work in MY favor. Afterall, I'm the inventor of MULTIPLE board games, specifically, XWF related ones. I know you weren't around when I created them, but has everybody else forgotten about Super Dick and Master Mind?! Super Dick: the game where you stack pieces onto your Gilly and whoever has the biggest dick at the end wins! And Master Mind, the perfect representation of everyone's favorite Kiwi and his homeland of Australia. Kangaroos, boomerangs, brain damage, the works!" "My point is, Ange, I know games; I've been playing them all my life! Every Saturday night, 7 o'clock sharp, me and my buddies would get together and challenge ourselves to a test of wits. And I'm not talking about mindlessly dropping pieces into a cheap, plastic contraption, oh no; these were REAL games. Ones that kept us up 'til 4 in the morning. Ones that made us think about our next move a bit more in depth than "duuhhhhhhh, do I block or do I not?' These were the types of games that, unlike your choice of tic-tac-toe on 'roids, COULDN'T be manipulated by something as simple as whoever goes first." "But that's why you had to put your little twist on it, right? You KNEW if I went first, I could take advantage of the situation, so you had to make it JUST complicated enough that the average Connect 4er couldn't cheat the system. And then you did everything in your power to make it so that YOU could! No weapons. No B.O.B. Angelica Vaughn doesn't use weapons, nor does she have the backing of B.O.B. All I hear is the TV Champion's scared and has to make shit up in order to keep her Title! I'm surprised you didn't ban wrestling moves, at this rate. Hell, you even made it so we have to run back and forth like it's some kind of marathon! Gee, I wonder............ out of the two of us, who's in better shape to do sprints in the middle of a match? Talk about a Champion's advantage! You wanna make having a dick illegal, too, while we're at it? Joke's on you! I'd just chop it off and get it reattached after the match is over; THAT'S how much winning this belt means to me!" "You wanna talk about numbers; brag about how this is gonna be 4 in a row? Well, I've got a number for ya: 3. That's right, Dale Earnhardt, the Intimidator! You see, a win against you elevates me from a sea of 2s, to a throne of 3s. And even though I'd have to share that throne, at least I'd be sharing it with an alleged queen. Regardless, the fact still remains that I would go down as having the most TV Title reigns in modern XWF history!" "And you wanna know what else the number 3 applies to? The number of successful defenses YOUR reign is gonna have! The only 4 in a row you're going to see, is the four I connected to win your Championship!" "I don't think you, or anyone else, seems to understand what B.O.B. has done for me. The confidence boost this brotherhood has instilled in me is more than ANY physical assistance they could provide. And I intend to repay them by proving my worth and bringing a Championship to the group............... as well as a little surprise to be revealed at a later date. Perhaps a TV Title celebration? Only time will tell!" "Before I go, I'll leave you with something in the language of cowards: va te faire foutre Yeah, I can use Google translate, too! I don't give a fuck if it's a fantastic match, or whether the fans like it; as far as I'm concerned, we DESERVE to be booed for the shitshow of a match you picked. Also, I ain't your friend and you most certainly will NOT remain TV Champion by the time the night is over. See you in Paris..................  where I expect you to surrender, just like the French!"