Bobby Bourbon, Vicious Basterd, stands in his office within the Bobby Bourbon Dojo for the competitive arts. Within the office we see Thunder Knuckles, Basterd Exemplar, Charlie Nickles, Filthy Basterd, and Marf Swayson, Hungry Basterd. We also see Cyberjaw, the man with the Cybernetic Jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Ash, Bobby’s stylist. They look unnerved by the presence of the Basterds.



Why is he here?

TK? He’s like a god damned brother, how dare you…

Cyberjaw raises a finger, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Not him.

Charlie? Charlie and I have bled together, for fucks sake!

No.

Diamondback looks unhappy.

Him.

Diamondback points to Marf.

Marf is a fucking member of the Basterds, you silly goose!

Yeah, but he’s one of your opponents at Leap of Faith!

So? Look, we’re Basterds, all of us, and the thing is I associate myself with these men because they’re best suited for the kind of bullshit I need to deal with.

Paying bills?

Well, sorta, I mean, we all have bills to pay.

Grocery shopping?

Nope, not at all.

What do you mean?

Well, what have I always done? What have I always been ready to do no matter what?

The room looks around at each other, shrugging like they were a bevy of Shawn Warsteins except not complete bitches. Bobby rolls his eyes. As he does, Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax, enters the room.

Oh man! I just saw the news, and Bobby, it’s terrible! Can we go hide?

The room goes silent as Bobby’s eyes close as he takes a deep breath, as though he’s prepared for whatever comes next while everyone else was baffled.


Well, you see, a bunch of KKK members have decided to have a rally in DC, and they’re gripping the QAnon people, along with Neo-Nazis, and, well, it’s scary!

Cyberjaw checks his phone.

He’s right, bro. Those assholes are planning on camping in DC at the old RFK Stadium before marching towards the Capitol!

Bobby rolls his eyes. TK chuckles, Charlie cracks his neck, and Marf, well, looks struck by the news.

Well boyos, I know you’re accustomed to being the ole’ Dastardly Bastardly, but tonight, well, we earn our stripes.

What stripes?

I want a checkerboard pattern.

Bobby puts a hand up. The number one contender to the Universal Championship, the Xtreme Champion, and the fellow contender in the Leap of Faith match itself, a match featuring only the best and the brightest in the XWF, all stop and listen.

I wasn’t being literal.

I want stripes now.

We’ll parody Stripes later, dibs on Bill Murray. Tonight, well, there’s a contingent of racist psychopathic fucktards coming to town and we don’t have time for that shit.


There are a bunch of fucking marks and tools out there ready to say how evil we are. Well, let them. Let them tell us we don’t belong, that what we achieve we don’t deserve, that what we do is bad because it doesn’t benefit them. That’s alright. They have every fucking right to say that shit, because it’s on us to take it in stride or not. It’s on us, because nobody else is living our lives, nobody else is whooping the asses we need to, nobody else is around to accept that they’re a Basterd like we are. Flynn? He’s miserable to be where he’s at, woe is him. Throw him a pity party. He’s tired of the bloodlust, but we can’t get enough of it. Vita? She’s gone full vampire but is ready to suck a dick as hard as a neck. Raion? He’s insulated and cut off from the real world and won’t make change. Angie? Angie is too worried whether a scumbag will give her follows to consider the scumbag. Us? Well, we’re dirty. We’re awful. In that note, we are fucking awesome.

Bobby snorts.

The path of the righteous basterd is beset on all sides by the inequities and tyrannies of evil men. Blessed is he, in the name of the Bastard, guides and leads his fellow man through this valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper, and a shepherd among men. And I will strike down upon thee, with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to destroy my brothers, and they will know my name is the Bastard when I lay my vengeance upon thee!

Bobby postures heroically to the rest of the room to utter silence. He waits a moment before speaking again.

Wasn’t that, uh, wasn’t that cool?

That was Pulp Fiction.

It was.

I know, I know! Didn’t you think…

I thought we weren’t doing any parodies.

We aren’t, it was a reference!


Do I look like Shawn Warstein to you? Vinnie doesn’t trust me, he just trusts people that make him look dumb anyhow.

The room laughs. Bobby looks straight faced.

Seriously, Vinnie Lane had no career without Shane anyhow.

The room laughs harder. Bobby looks confused and looks dead at the camera.

Not like he’d admit it. He beat me anyhow, bring up the details and you’ll have to worry about him taking your spot at the Velvet Rabbit like it meant something.

The rest of the room looks graven.

What? Are you fools thinking that Vinnie is untouchable? We’re peers, he and me, nothing less, and don’t let him tell you otherwise. I won the big one without the aide of a briefcase, same as him, and now I’m shooting for the briefcase, the one accolade I never held in this company, because as far as I’m concerned fuck the accolades of this business, whatever I get done in the XWF is harder to accomplish than any other horseshit resume fodder that gets tossed into my face. Hiya, Angie. Nah, right now, I’m preparing to set a foot forward and representing the entire Xtreme Wrestling Federation as the man with the briefcase, and the funny shit is I don’t fucking need it to win the Universal Championship like most of you fools think is the path to the top, no. I already won it, without a case, and maybe that just means I get to get the Supercontinental Championship so I keep my Grand Slampionship in tact. Maybe it means us Basterds get to challenge and take a championship whenever needed, maybe it means Charlie holds the Uni while TK and I hold the cases and keep a fucking lock down on the Universal Championship better than the Kings ever wished, and no wonder I never wanted to be a King here, us Grand High PooBOBs are better, and the last king was a lame duck sadly little sucker that had too much faith put in him. Hiya, Doc, or Dock, or Dawk, or Louis. Called your number for years, got the voicemail too many fucking times, maybe you can come see me after. After I was meanest, after you weren’t, after this, after that, but after anyone thought you were fucking credible enough to face me.

Bobby smiles at the camera.

I’m ready for whatever the brass has to throw at me, every time they throw it. You’d best believe they’ll throw it at a briefcase holder. On that note, let’s get ready to learn how to fly, or some shit, because there ain’t a motherfucker on the roster that makes me scared.

~~~~~

🎶There’s always something cooking at the Yummy Burger!🎶

The lively jingle starts to play as we see a family of four at their local Yummy Burger. The very portrayed by actors looking family is pleased as punch to be there. A young woman takes their order at the register.

🎶We got the best burgers at the Yummy Burger!🎶

The family is pleased their food is on the way. We go back to the kitchen. We see a disgruntled employee flip off the camera, then begin to construct the food. They follow the guide and put down a bun. They roll their eyes, using tongs to remove a hamburger patty from a drawer and put it on. They then clear their throat and spit a huge wad of phlegm onto the patty.

🎶They spit on your food if they don’t like you at the Yummy Burger!🎶

The morose employee places a slice of cheese on top of their spit. We see another employee pouring a soda. Orange. He laughs, does a line of cocaine off the counter, then sets the soda on the counter beside where he did his drugs.

🎶We don’t drug test at the Yummy Burger!🎶

We see an employee standing beside a huge set of heat lamps overlooking a metal basin holding french fries. The employee sneezes all over the fries while shaking salt on them.

🎶We don’t offer benefits at the Yummy Burger!🎶

Behind the Yummy Burger, the local franchise owner is smiling while hiding a shipment of stolen electronics in the walk-in while handing cash to a couple of goons.

🎶The ownership is mobbed up at the Yummy Burger!🎶

The meal gets wrapped up and served to a man waiting at the counter. He takes his tray of food and sits. He sips his orange soda, and then puts a fry in his mouth with a smile.

🎶We don’t give a fuck at the Yummy Burger!🎶

Yummy Burger! Now with extra microplastic in every meal!


Raion Kido couldn’t sniff my fucking underwear if he was doing my laundry, and that’s the closest that dingleberry is to me in this or any fucking existence. Last time I ran into Raion, or should I say Raion ran into me like a bug hitting a windshield, it was en route to winning March Madness and ascending to Grand High PooBOBness. Now, I know, I get it, this is a different match, with very different circumstances. The wild thing is, with all the bells and whistles added, the results won’t be different. Bobby Bourbon moves on and wins the Leap of Faith by chucking himself off the world’s tallest building, Raion just not moving forward anywhere. And while Raion can huff, he can puff, he can telegraph all of his moves as much as he wants, it doesn’t change the fact I’ma whip his ass like it was doing the dishes, taking out the trash, or making the bed. I would be the biggest victory of your career, Kido, you’re just a chore for me. Raion can’t admit when he loses, 0-2 against Charlie but Raion has excuses there. Raion, that’s why you can’t win, because you can’t learn. I’ve lost plenty of times, never to you and every time I went back to the drawing board and got better, you just chalk up shit to a fluke and never actually develop into a stronger man. It’s a fool who has nothing to learn.

Then there’s Vita, well aren’t you welcome? I chose to beat the fuck out of Bearded War Pig Schuler and get the pin instead of you last Warfare, and now you’re here in the Leap of Faith match as a consolation prize for appearing on every other XWF broadcast because whenever you showed up against anyone who could be a real XWF Universal Champion, you sure as fuck didn’t wind up as XWF Universal Champion. Too chickenshit for Alias, too chickenshit for Caedus, too chickenshit to be a proper Universal Champion. Granted, you’re a vampire. I don’t give a fuck, neither does anybody else, you contracted a blood disease to make yourself interesting while I just whooped ass, ad nauseam, to keep myself in the spotlight, and good on you! You wound up being interesting for your own sickness while I wound up beating people into canvas over and over again so someone could be interested in your sickness. Nobody bought tickets to because they heard Vita would fight on account that I had a match, and the same shit could be said for your shit except as fantastic as your career has gone, you don’t have the doubters and haters I got as a Bastard. Folks hope for Vita because someone has to. Folks buy into our pay-per-view appearances because of what we will do, whether they hope for it or not.

Angie Vaughn is a literal turd, she’s just waiting to be shat. I know, I know, #cantshitwithus and all, but Angie, you are just built up, bringing pressure, ready to showcase yourself to the world, just like a case of the screaming squirts. Now, I get you like to flex on how you and your friends are hot shit, yadda yadda yadda, and that’s fine. I’m glad you keep company with someone. Thing is, them Cool Kids never, and I mean EVER, reached the heights of the Bastards, not even by a long shot. Now, if’n you and your little Sisterhood of the Soiled Pants wants to come around and see the Bastards, well, you feel free to avail yourself, but until then, well, what have you done? Spark, flash, and sizzle aren’t substance, never will be. You can hit me, hard as you can, for a minute straight, I hit you once and you’re down for an entire minute, do you glean that? Do you understand that you’re an influencer, I’m an actual fucking accomplisher, and I didn’t do it while getting advice from a talking head on the fucking internet. Whoopsie daisy, was that too vulgar for your fanbase? I don’t give a shit about your fanbase. They’re going to hate what I do to you at Leap of Faith anyhow.

Mark Flynn, I will drag you into the elevator, and push every button on the damn thing by smashing your face into the buttons or maybe even a fancy smart touch screen, get out on the second floor, and laugh as you have to ride all the way to the top in an elevator car that has to stop at every floor! I suppose I could go off about what a doody-head you are or some such, but let’s face facts, you have been one half of the most dominant tag team in the XWF for some time now. Hell, you’ve bested the Bastards three whole times, haven’t you? Well, that’s well and good and all, but in the Burj Khalifa, there won’t be a War Criminal to come and bail you out. I get it, nobody gives a fuck about Mark Flynn when War Criminal isn’t getting a majority of the speaking time in their promos, which is hunky dory in a tag match, but up front and in the face of competition, Mark, not just me, but the other four people ready to bite your head off, you’re going to be spotlighted and all them little flaws you try to hide in the shadow of North Korean Comic Relief will be exploited.

Marf, I am glad you’re in this here match. As much as Flynn relies on his backup, well, you’re that contingency plan waiting in the wings that will shut down any horse fuckery, and fuck. Even if I don’t win, even if I power bottom the entire damn thing and don’t come out on top, the Bastards keep the case while Charlie Knuckles goes out and reams fucking Alias like he was trash on Napster and a ton of tweens were ready to download him illegally. Sorry if that reference seems dated, if you think so you’re an old fuck and if you don’t get it you’re too young to watch my promos anyhow.