Has Robbie Bourbon finally made it into Charlottesville? Why does he keep talking about being a pharaoh? Will he be able to stop the Nazi menace in Virginia? Did the potato farmers get help after getting injured? How is the Universal Championship in the mix?

Stay tuned, it's that Robbie Time, that Robbie Channel.

THE BATTLE OF CHARLOTTESVILLE

We open to see the city of Charlottesville. SS Officers are walking the streets holding Mausers and other weapons you get if you pick the Germans in the old Call of Duty games. A huge swastika banner is draped from a train bridge, blocking a street leading to the University of Virginia campus, where most of the nazis have held back and called an Alt-Left Violence headquarters, where mad and crazed liberals launch fire bombs and rocks at the nazis, just like you would if you pick the Americans in the old Call of Duty games.

A tow truck towing a parade float pulls into the middle of the nazi encampment, and we see Blue step out of the parade float. Immediately a round of gunfire echoes through the bloody streets of Charlottesville. Blue is inundiated with a hail of bullets, and falls to the ground, a red creep drizzling down the street. The nazis scream to halt, and approach the vehicle. As they do, the top of the parade float opens up and Robbie Bourbon is catapulted out of the top, out onto the nazi patrol. Robbie crashes into the first with a flying lariat, dislocating his jaw.

BAM!

Robbie hops to his feet and spins, seeing another henchnazi. He delivers a crushing double axe handle to the nazi, breaking both collar bones.

WHAM!

Robbie turns and is hit in the gut with the butt of a rifle from an enraged nazi soldier.

OOF!

Robbie retaliates with an uppercut, shattering the nazi's nose, sending him to the ground howling in pain and crying.

BIFF!

The nazis taken out of action, we see Blue, Robbie's Girlfriend and Handler, and we know it's the real once since we typed her title, step out of the parade float decked out in a massive kevlar suit.

Good job, babe.

No sweat. Smart thinking getting one of those real you sex dolls.

Well, I do get a discount and a free one. Plus the fake blood we put in the real Spermsoaker© technology reserviors made it look even realer!

Spermsoaker© technology reserviors are what really made the difference there. They're the real hero here.

Spermsoaker© technology reserviors are the hallmark of a good real doll. When you need a real doll for some fake sex, make sure it has the Spermsoaker© seal of approval.

Robbie and Blue smile at the camera and give a big thumbs up.

Heh, how much did Chris pay for his?

I think like ten grand, they're expensive since I'm on TV.

Right. Bold move for you to pose in that thing to make them.

Eh, it was like a really long bath. I smelled awful after they took it off.

Who cares? I'm dating the hottest woman in the XWF today, who's real doll is selling so well that my opponent had to buy one.

Because Chris Chaos couldn't get his dick wet if he jumped in the ocean.

Feeling lonesome, there, guy?

Wanna give us a good cry about how you were robbed of the Universal Championship? Why don't you just explain to everybody the reason you're not the champ right now isn't because you were robbed, it's because you couldn't win it back against Jim Caedus. How many opportunities do you need? Me, I have mine. It's one. Every day it's my opportunity to do something better for myself.

See, I've been robbed too, Chris. Fucking cheated and given one of the biggest shaftings in this industry's history two years ago. Heh. Survive? Here I fucking am, smashing and beating my way to the fucking top. You know what I'm not? A whiner. A complainer. I don't complain about the things I don't like in the world, Chris, I go out and take care of them. Nazis, terrorists in pink suits, yes, I'm the devil to these people, High Holy Hypocrite me, but really, I don't sit around and piss and moan about how awful the world is.

See, that dilapitated neighborhood you dragged your prey through before, thankfully, you got as close to my girlfriend's ass, or any ass for that matter, because Chris Chaos couldn't get a screw at Lowe's or Home Depot, but you got as close to that ass as you ever will, and it's all fake. It's your dream, a dick going into a piece of expensive silicone. Not very different than fucking Jenny, but hey, some of the best toys are made of plastic, and you aren't fucking her anymore anyway.

Don't worry, though, I got you covered. This Saturday, you're fucked.

I'm going to rob you of yet another chance at the Universal Championship. I know I am. It's pathos at this point. After I pin you for the seventh time after a seventh Robbiebomb of some crazy sort, because for sixty minutes I'm going to show the Universe just how many different Robbiebombs I know. It's going to be a Robbiebomb seminar starring your helpless body as my primary visual aide and example. Robbiebombs for justice, Robbiebombs for fun, Robbiebombs for all seasons, Robbiebombs, a ton! Then, Chris, not two seconds after the pain pills and cortizone shots they feed you after facing me, and you can ask Barney Green, I retired him first, by the way, they had to dope him up to the gills after one Robbiebomb into the hood of a car. But not two seconds after you can speak and find a microphone, we're all going to hear that famous song and dance that you call Chaos these days. How you were cheated. How you were robbed. How you don't deserve to have adversity to fucking overcome, your path should be the easy one, and how you fucking squander all the opportunities hand fed to you from on high in this company.

It's going to be a fucking symphony to me. Couple of reasons.

One, making Chris Chaos cry is just what the cool kids in the XWF do these days. I suspect you cry yourself to sleep, alone in a bed, because Chris Chaos couldn't get lay getting off an airplane in Hawaii.

Two, it means I'm getting MY Universal Championship shot. I'm going to headline the next Pay Per View. I'm going to get the title and raise it a mile high.

Three, it means you'll probably stop wasting everybody's time by pissing and moaning about Jim Caedus, and how you can't beat him, and how it isn't fair. It's getting stale, Chris, it's like you got a funnel cake and took it home and didn't touch it for like four days. It's week old donuts. Unpalatable, distasteful, garbage.

Oh, I'm sorry, you thought I wasn't prepared for the Chaos?

Chaos to me is when I leave the house. Butterfly effect kind of shit. I'm not scared of a fucking butterfly, they're cool by me. Chaos is if I leave now or leave a minute later, what different set of variables will I see when I do. It's timing, per se, and it's a basic fundamental of probability and statistics. So, yeah, we live in it. Sure, what stream of red lights, bumpers, headlights, and traffic is a part of it, but shit, these are some chaotic times!

I just beat up nazis in Virginia, where Washington himself was born. Fucking creepy. That's just the exciting type of chaos, though, not the dreary, boring, I'm hitting every negative variable I can right now kind of Chris Chaos. Chris Chaos can't find sex in a dictionary.

You've hit all your variables, Chris. All of them. You've risen, you've peaked, you've declined, and Sunday, you hit the bottom. You get to feel not just your body broken, but your very spirit. You're going to become Emo Chris, the sad clown that hopes people are laughing at his misery, but it's not funny, it's just Emo. The only panties Chris Chaos is getting into are the ones he tries on at Victoria's Secret. Black, lacy, Emo.

But the people, Chris, as little as you understand them, or even try to, because you really can't grasp a concept beyond chaos, which is so basic it's mundane at this point. The people have this hope. This fervor. The Universe is ready for something big, and bright, and hopeful, a new champion to walk the path with the shiniest bling in this industry or any other, the Universal Championship. They don't care about you. You couldn't get an ass in a seat, let alone your own lap, but the people will flock to the stadiums, the arenas, the gyms, the bingo halls, the castles, the monuments, the boats, the riverboats, or even whatever fucking space station the Dukes own to watch Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon smash whatever chump in spandex wants to stroll down the aisle into the ring.

It's going to happen, Chris. Your chaos has soured, turned like milk dated two weeks ago, take solace that the greatness and purpose you serve here, to be laid on the slab as a Pharaoh takes to the XWF, defying any King he sees.

Now, you may be wondering why I'm hollering all of this in the middle of a firefight...

We hear the sounds of dozens of guns cocking as a brigade of SS troopers step into the clearing, all aimed at Robbie, even one with a panzerschreck. That guy fires, and hits the tow truck just as the tow truck guy was walking away to go take a pee. A massive explosion rocks the street, and two other figures in Kevlar suits exit the parade float amid flames, the larger of the two carrying a large, shining golden box. They begin to walk forward, the the box becomes more clear, as it has a pair of humanoid looking figures holding what looks like an altar above it, pure gold. It's the Ark of the Covenant like seen in Raiders of the Lost Ark. The larger figure places it on the ground in front of Robbie, and all the nazis drop their guns and cover their eyes. They've had drills on this before. The two figures drop their kevlar hoods and reveal themselves to be James Raven and Jack Cain.

Alright, keep your eyes shut, or you know what happens you fucking nazis!

One of the nazis pisses his pants. The rest keep their eyes shut and ears covered. As they do, Robbie pulls open the top of the Ark, revealing a set of Thompson Submachine guns. The kind used to kill a ton of nazis. Each of the Motherfuckers reaches into the box and pulls a weapon, as does Blue. The foursome begin to mow down the brigade of nazis in broad daylight. After each SS troop has fallen, they stop firing.

Look, you guys branch out, see if you find more pockets. I have to track down this "Marco" guy and close out this case I'm on.

Both Cain and Raven nod and hustle off down the street, where we hear more of the telltale rat-tat-tat of the Thompson taking out SS Troops in Charlottesville. Robbie starts to walk down another. A bunch of Charlottesville Police arrive on the scene, and Robbie stops and turns. The police exit their vehicles, and one runs up to Robbie.

Thank god you got here, Robbie. You're a real...

Stow it. I'm not a hero. Maybe heroic, maybe hypocritical, but that ain't the label they're selling me for fifty cents a pound for down the block.

...I was going to say lifesaver.

Oh, well, um, I don't really have a retort to that, thanks.

Look, we got a word that there's going to be some event at the shopping mall. We thought it'd be a cool zone, but some group is in there.

Send a squad!

That's the thing. They were a squad. Now they're claiming to be you.

Robbie looks less than pleased.

Looks like Marco is at the mall.