Them No Good Bastards defend their hard-earned Tag Team Championships against the Dissentients on the Moon May 30th, 2021 Leap of Faith. LIVE ON PAY-PER-VIEW!


THE MASTER SESSION part 2


Some time passes as Jimmy yammers, on and on, about the Dissentients. Their move set, some things they’ve said about Them No Good Bastards, their favorite colors, How Marf likes to watch his tag partner get fucked by other men, and so on, and so forth. The students attending the seminar are almost all filled in now. Jimmy pauses his incessant history lesson and peeks in on the audience from backstage.

Wow, this place is packed!

Fucking right, it is, Jimmy. They've come from all over the world to learn how to talk shit with the best of’em. You don’t see Jim Caedus holding fucking event like these, do ya?

No, I guess not.

You see, Jimmy, not everyone can be Them No Good Bastards.

But Smacktalk is something anyone can achieve.

Good point! Just look at Lycanna for example. Before squaring off against the Bastard at Snow Job she was a weak, shy, little girl from North Carolina. As timid as they come. Now she’s seen some of Them No Good Bastards' work, a dash of Chris Page, and BAM! She can carry Marf way better. It really showed at tag turmoil because Marf, sure as Hell, shit the bed.

A 5′ 10″ brown hair man walks over to Them No Good Bastards and the Bastard men.

How are you guys? I’m Sean Avery. I’ll be making your introduction today. Big fan.

Sean Avery extends his hand to shake Bobby Bourbon’s hand, Bobby obliges and shakes hands. Avery extends his hand toward TK, TK reaches out and as Avery moves his hand in to grasp onto TK’s hand, TK pulls away and slowly runs his fingers through his beautiful mullet.

Classic!

It’s a little different when you “Mic’d up” for longer than a fucking sound bite.

I got your sound bite…

Sean Avery pauses not knowing where to go next.

Right here, eh?

Goddamn, Canadians, always fucking chirping, with nothing to ever fucking say. Now go out there-

TK points to the curtain because he knows that people not born in The United States are really stupid and need guidance.

-and give us a fucking opening, that we easily beat the fuck out of with your little sound bite, yeah, now fuck off!

Sean Avery walks off towards the curtain with a pleased look upon his face. The fact that he, Sean Avery, was cut down by Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, themselves.

Spared no expense? That meat puppet is introducing us? We'd be better off if a dead whale exploded on the attendees.

Well, Oz gave us $250,000 to work with.

How much did we pocket?

$246,000.

Nice. Shame what happened to the 50 billion we got.

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We see Bobby and TK dressed in diamond-studded tuxedos at a roulette table. As TK puts a mountain of chips on 00, Bobby munches on an entire beef brisket on a stick which has another brisket on the other end, the brisket of a Sith Lord. The croupier releases a tiny silver ball, which clacks around for a bit, the wheel slowing, until it lands on anything but 00.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Easy come, easy fucking go.

Sean Avery’s voice can be heard from behind the curtain.

Ladies and gentlemen, the men who ripped me before I even came out here, without further adieu, Them No Good Bastards! Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles!

From behind the curtain, a gentle applause is heard.

Guys, uh, it's time!

TK slaps Jimmy and walks through the curtain. Bobby shrugs, gives Jimmy a chop across his chest, and smiles. Jimmy doubles over.

Weird training regimen he has but you’ll be a destroyer when you're in the ring!

Bobby steps through the curtain and joins TK. A large banner reading "Smacktalk Heatedly Into Tension" is above them.

Hey, fuckers!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am Bobby Alva Bourbon, Esquire, and this is the Relentless Legend, Thunder Knuckles. We are Them No Good Bastards. We're here today to enlighten all of you on the finest methods of trash, smack, insults, verbal jabs, and the like in our seminar.

Fuck yeah. Every goddamned one of you today will leave here with the ability to demean and break down any fucking one.

Absolutely, Mr. Knuckles. Thank you all for coming. We're TNGB, and this is our SHIT Talk.

Mr. Bourbon, let's fucking begin. First off, when you're talking shit about someone, start with the obvious. Centurion has no fucking personality. Jim Caedus is a fucking moron. Lycana attracts TERFs.

Right! Then, elucidate on your point. Centurion is so emotionally bankrupt he can't pay himself respects. Caedus is so stupid he gets frustrated watching Peppa Pig. Lycana's fanbase is entirely TERFs.

Fuck yes. Part B, you illuminate.

Elucidate.

That’s what I said. Then. Step 4, you twist the knife with whatever stupid shit they say.

Exactly. Show no mercy, take no fucking prisoners. Don't forget to be clever about it. So, do we have any volunteers who would like to give it a try?

Nobody raises their hand. TK points to Diamondback, who is one of many faces in the crowd.

Sir! Give it a go!

Diamondback looks perplexed but stands up. Cyberjaw gives him a thumbs up.

Uh, okay.

Diamondback clears his throat.

You’re hogwash! Just a pile of little green doo-dads in a sea of knickknacks and bric-a-brac! I don't like your lunch choices! YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS MASSIVE!

TK gives a sideways glance to Bobby, who is grinning sheepishly.

What the fuck was that?

Diamondback shrugs and sits back down. He and Cyberjaw high five each other.

Well, I liked the energy, but everything you just said was pointless and made no sense. Would anyone else like to try?

Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax stands.

This oughta be good.

Axe's eyes go wide as they nearly bulge out of his face. He then starts screaming at the top of his lungs.

BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRDS! BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRDS! BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRDS!

Mannix seems to settle down.

Thank you.

Mannix sits back down.

Woah, woah, woah. For starters, I guess that was good if your target is, well, I dunno, terrified of birds. But, besides the implications of ornithophobia, you thanked them at the end. Only thank people sarcastically!

Exactly, big guy, exactly. That brings us to another point; sarcasm. If someone thinks you said something dumb, gaslight them and say you were being sarcastic.

Gaslighting is an advanced technique, also, fucking toxic. Use it at your own risk.

Another member of the audience stands.

Yes? What's your name?

The lady speaks.

Delores Blumpkins

Bobby snickers.

Yeah, yeah, I know, but it's my name. I'm not trying to talk smack, but we were promised free drinks.

You got bad information!

But the brochure said there'd be free drinks!

Delores points to the table in the back of the room. A bevy of beverages sits atop, the very table she points at, as RoboBob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Bobby Bourbon mask, stands beside it with a cash box.

Every time I try to get one that contraption stops me and jiggles the cash box. Two dollars for a can of Pepsi is outrageous!

TK looks at Bobby and winks, then gives his signature jerking-off motion.

NO! There are no free fucking drinks!

Delores purses her lips and sits back down, pulling a small bottle out of her purse.

Well, so much for a chaser.

Delores starts to guzzle whatever hooch she was carrying.





This isn't a goddamn airport, Bobby, but we're going to go ahead and tell the Disinfectants their departure date. May 30th, Leap of Faith, glass tables match, they're going to leave with a lose and we're going to end with a stain on our record. No not cause we're going to lose but because they have soiled the legitimacy of our record. We want the best of the best not the best of the less.

Well, TK, since we're going into space, let's bring these fools back down to earth. For starters, allow me to address the Dissentients en masse.

Who's Moss?

Dunno, we're a couple of rolling stones. Now the Dissentients fucked up huge on Warfare, and committed some cardinal sins. Thou shalt not fuck with Them No Good Bastards. Thou shalt not hurt or harm my brother in arms, the Relentless Legend, Thunder Knuckles. Thou shalt not act like what you did was an achievement. God damn, I am fucking infuriated, TK get on this shit.


Can you believe this shit, Bobby? Jimmy told me, that Lycana said, she’d chew ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles up. Like, bitch, are you for fucking real? Because from where I sit, Lycana with all that leather on and carrying Marf’s dead weight. We're going to do her a goddamn favor and help her slip into something a little more comfortable, just like 'Ol Thunder Knuckles did to Lame Brain Main, a fucking coma. Not just for me but for my partner too you see you lumped him in when you said you would take each member of BoB down, one at a time.

TK makes a “bitch please” face.

Talking about making each one bleed a little bit more. While you take your time getting to the Big Man. These fuckers think there's a Big Man, Bobby! The fuck do they know, for real? Like there's some kinda end boss or some shit. We’re BOB, not the Left Hand. No fucking central control system telling us what to do, or how to do it, or who to fucking buy shit from. Nah, each goddamn one of us controls our own fucking destinies. Mine and Bobby Bourbon's destinies are fucking entwined to be the most devastating, most fucking ruthless goddamn tag team of all time. Why? Because we’re bored of singles titles. Why work fucking harder when you can work fucking smarter. With us together.

Thunder Knuckles points to himself and Bobby without taking his eyes away from the camera.

We’re fucking unstoppable. A goddamn nuclear payload of mother fucking brutality. Some people might even call it extreme. Speaking of Xtreme, there's a chance, if not fucking slim, but still a fucking chance, that Lycana lucks out and get her hands on the Xtreme Championship. Know what that means Bobby?

Yeah, I sure do. She can win the Xtreme Championship, too bad we can't pin her, or make her submit. It means she'll be holding a belt while Marf watches, as Marf likes to do.

Who says ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles doesn’t try? I mean, fuck! Crazier goddamn things have happened, like I said, motherfuckers, we’re here to take every-fucking-thing from you. Marf knows it too. He not only lied to the XWF fans around the world once. Oh, no, because when he was facing Dixon he went and fucking did it again! That’s right, folks. Marf loves putting his foot in his fucking mouth in his mouth. I mean, he can't help himself, I get it, he's Canadian. Anyway, He said something along the lines of-

The tone of TK's voice changes after he clears his throat. TK is now imitating the Crypt Keeper from HBOs "Tales of the Crypt"

That’s where I won’t only defend my Television title,

Bobby coughs the words "bullshit" as TK in Crypt Keeper voice continues without hesitation.

But I will then walk into Hell, side by side with Lycana. We will then walk out of Hell with the tag team straps.

TK drops the impersonation to say,

The cuck-ass, mother fucker, also said.

Once again in the Crypt Keeper impersonation.

Two of BoB’s largest turds in that giant toilet bowl of a faction.

The impersonation of the Crypt Keeper ends with Thunder Knuckles making his inspirational and remarkably his jerking-off hand gesture.

Funny you should mention that, Marf. Them No Good Bastards could eat a bowl of alphabet soup, take our respective shits, film the words floating around the shitter, and still come out with a better fucking promo than you two. We’re the mother fucking Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of mother fucking verbal train robberies. Stealing words and profiting, bitches. The mother fucking Wednesday Night Wrecker, The Sultan of Smacktalk, Bobby god-to-the-mother-fucking-damn Bourbon.

TK and Bobby Bourbon do a no-look fist bump. Just like they used to do before their championships, never forgetting where they came from.

The Relentless Legend, Smacktalker Supreme, Thunder Knuckles.

Them No Good Bastards.

So, since we already know Lycana is going to be as strong as overcooked spaghetti, let's talk about the actual lame duck in the match, Marf. Now, at Snow Job, where you got chumped out and delayed our winning these XWF Tag Team Championships, and no worries chum, you just delayed the inevitable, but at Snow Job, I called you a queef. You know what? I redact the statement, but I'm keeping the sentiment. You're a bully!

Bobby looks deadpan at the camera as TK chortles. Finally, Bobby breaks as a smile curls across his mug.

Nah, nah, heh, that shit is for weak sauce smack talk wannabes sounding like toddlers. Shit, TK, I don't know why you wasted a bullet firing at Jimbo Caedus, that fool will disappear faster than a box of Girl Scout cookies in front of…

You?

Bobby shrugs, looks back at TK, then at the camera, nodding.

Yeah, that’s pretty fair. Really, though, Marf, I will devour you like a box of Samoas, or Caramel deLites depending on your local hook-up. Take into account I won't be alone, that Us No Good Bastards are coming to the ring, and you fools are fucking doomed. Now, again, Marf, you're not a queef. Queefs can entertain people. What does that make you, though? Maybe I rip off Corey here and call you the four of clubs or some shit, that card nobody should fucking bet on. Maybe I rip off Alias. Wait, he mentioned eating your partner, I said something about eating you, you know what, never mind. If that dingbat wants to harp about taking down an already dead stable that's his prerogative. Hrmm. Maybe I'll rip off Eobard Stone. Nah, fuck that noise, no reason to sound like a pathetic idiot. How about knocking off Centurion and writing some haiku? Marf is like pancakes, covered with maple syrup, Canadian sap. Nah, I'm better at that shit than Cent. Hey! I've got it! I'm going to do it like nobody fucking else but a No Good Bastard can!

Fucking do it, Bobby.

Marf is a Roomba, just moving around from place to place and sucking. While we were shoring up our legacy as the best tag team in the business, you and Lycana did your own little things here and there, and you, well, you shit the bed wherever you could. Television Championship? You coughed that one up like you were choking on it. Man, it is an honor and a privilege to be the team you lose another championship match to. Marf is an oscillating fan, he blows all over the place. Some people collect comic books, some folks collect stamps, and some even collect Zippo lighters, but Marf collects wasted opportunities. The doof hoards so many squandered attempts as anything he has to put them in condoms and swallow them just to transport them across the border. Some people say Canadians have no personality, but that's just an unfair stereotype that Marf lives up to. I would say watching a Marf promo is like watching paint dry, but that's an insult to the paint. People are better entertained by medical supplies catalogs than they are by Marf promos. Oh, look, a case of tongue depressors! Maybe this box of gauze! Oh, fuck, catheters! Damn, this shit is fucking gold compared to that Marf promo we watched!

I would rather get a catheter than watch a Marf promo.

The smell of a used catheter is more pleasant than a Marf promo. Marf likes catheters because it's the only time someone touches his dick. Lycana's very own pity pet, someone to string along because she needs a goon, and her taste in henchmen is severely lacking. Fuck, TK, you and Jimmy could take the Dissentients now that I think about it. Do you know why we’re facing these tools, TK?

Because RL and the Dream-A-Maniacs were too tired after fighting for a while?


Well, yeah, that, AND because Legacy is too chickenshit to come face us, Corey doesn't want to play with Thad anymore, and any other team with any name recognition on our level just doesn't fucking exist. The Dissentients, just some shit being thrown at the wall to see if it sticks. Well, ole' Teflon Bobby and Oiled Thunder aren't the type of Bastards one simply sticks a turd to. Keep your tacks, you aren't pinning poop on us. We are too fucking tenured. Too fucking experienced. Too fucking mean and too fucking brutal for y'all to handle. Y'all got lucky at Tag Team Turmoil, you didn't have to face us in it. We get what it's like to dream, now, we get what it's like to desire and hope. Thing is, we made our dreams come true. The Dissentients' dreams are going to go crashing through glass tables.

The tag team champions clink their titles together as the scene fades to black.