We see Genevieve Tote seated as comfortably as she can be on a hotel lobby couch. She sips from a steaming cup with a half eaten bagel in front of her, a basic breakfast, then swipes at her tablet screen. She sees the string of messages sent through the night.

01:32: “Some kind of popcorn gun.”

01:34: “Popcorn trebuchet”

01:45: “Popcorn won’t launch anything it’s not heavy enough to work for a terbuchet.”

01:46: “*trebuchet”

Genevieve swipes up, scrolling to the bottom of the messages, where she finds a video message sent at dawn. We see a silo out on a rural open farmstead, Bobby and a farmer standing next to each other, beaming from ear to ear. Bobby presses something on his phone, and we hear a cacophony of corn popping and exploding out of the entire corn silo.

06:12: “I POPPED ALL THE CORN AT ONCE!”

Genevieve sends a message in reply.

09:13: “Did you stay up all night thinking about popcorn?”

Genevieve looks at the message chain, giving pause. After a moment she puts her tablet down. In short order, however, she is startled by the arrival of Bobby Bourbon. He looks like he’s had either a massive breakdown or breakthrough, little sleep, and probably not a shower in a day or two.

Miss Tote! Bring your breakfast! You gotta see what we made!

Mr. Bourbon! You startled me! Okay!

Genevieve snags her tablet and follows Bobby outside to see a running pickup truck. Bobby climbs into the driver’s seat as Genevieve rounds the cab to the passenger seat.

Mr. Bourbon, where did you get this truck?

I borrowed it from Jack.

Who is Jack?

He’s back at the farm, this is going to be awesome! Perfect for Sar and Lexi and Noah!

Bobby hauls ass to the farm as we see exciting cuts of the truck zooming about, although his driving like an asshole may just be his regular style anyhow. Bobby pulls onto a dirt road and drives another few minutes as 1960’s and 70’s era soul blares from the truck speakers. Eventually, he comes to the creation he was so pleased about to show Genevieve. Genevieve looks up and sees what appears to be a massive spider web made out of popcorn.

Miss Tote, I made us the team web! Using the basic fundamentals of the popcorn ball, I first flash popped all the popcorn, then was able to put it into a popcorn thrower that actually binds the corn with a sweet, sticky mix of melted marshmallow, cinnamon, peanut butter, caramel, chocolate, and pretzel pieces, it’s rainbow colored, is over three miles worth of popcorn strand, and this is going to absolutely slay at the potluck!

Mr. Bourbon, what potluck?

Bobby half shrugs.

It’s War Games, time for us to have a potluck and bring what we can to the table!

Literally?

Yes, and absolutely! Imagine, these guys think they’re getting violent, angry, pissed off Bobby Bourbon who wishes he was on another team, but instead, they’re getting violent, angry, pissed off Bobby Bourbon who wishes we were facing another team to start with, along with a downright heartfelt treat for all of us to share!

A clap of thunder is heard from overhead. This is followed by the freak flash thunderstorm, a deluge of rain washing over the farmstead and the massive popcorn ball spider web topped with diabetes. The sugars all melt, the popcorn disintegrates, and the storm completely wipes out this bizarre, albeit sweet, gesture from Bobby, and as the rain passes, almost as fast as it arrived, all we’re left with are an actual rainbow in the sky and a rainbow colored patch of mud where the web once stood proudly.

Well shit.

Mr. Bourbon, maybe you should get some sleep.

Perhaps you’re right, Miss Tote.

The next day. Genevieve is freshly showered and dressed, settling down to her morning coffee and bagel on the hotel couch. She checks her tablet, and her expression doesn’t shift though the slow blink as she looks at her screen sells it. Twenty new unread messages from Mr. Bourbon. She unlocks the screen and opens the messages sent between her and Bobby.

04:54: “Finished my workout, should we use that for the promo?”

04:55: “Seriously, I feel good, my endorphins are firing off!”

05:15: “What the fuck makes Raion Kido so special anyhow that he acts like a pompous dick all the time? Like, can anybody explain that shit? Nobody can explain it, what the fuck, biggest embarrassment of my career was losing to that guy.”

05:15: “Fucking TK can’t even fucking call me about War Games, I thought I was cool with Doc but I haven’t heard a damn thing.”

05:15: “And was Flynn really the only guy you could fucking find to replace Charlie? I don’t know if he’ll mesh with the rest of BOB.”

Genevieve again spins to the bottom of the messages sent as Bobby vents his frustrations.

05:33: “Bouncy and I are going to hang out today, enjoy the day off.”

Genevieve smiles, knowing with Bobby busy being Bobby, she’d have the day to work.

~~~~~



We catch up with Bobby, sometime post workout after he told Genevieve what he was up to.

What the fuck is all this horseshit here, XWF?

Dolly, take a fucking lap, you should be embarrassed. A faulty ring at Coreytopia, all those shitty bands, who the fuck did you have helping you?

So, fucking War Games, and just saying those two words pisses me off, and you know why? Last year. Well, looky loo, first up on the docket, is that Ozzy I see over there? You went from having another man draft your team for you to getting drafted next to dead fucking last; heads up, bud, next time sign up as a mystery competitor, it’s how Jenny Myst avoided going in the last round for fuck’s sake. You, asshole, you cost me something fierce and dearly last year, my recognition as having the most eliminations in War Games history. Well, now, wouldn’t you know it, I still have the most fucking eliminations in War Games history, and big boy, you’re the first contestant this fucking year after I wreck your silly ass in that very ring, against steel, in front of millions. I have t-shirts being made right now, Oz, saying “I GOT ELIMINATED BY BOBBY AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT” and I would show them off but that shit is for losers.

Angie, darlin, I’ve got a shirt lined up for you, sized extra small, because you’re just the flyweight version of Sarah Lacklan, and wouldn’t you know it, I have the actual, factual Sarah Lacklan in my corner, because she recognizes talent when she fucking sees it, and you’re just the dollar store version of her anyhow with twice the calories and half the flavor. Shit, you got stuck with the pick that came immediately after I did, and for the love of all that’s holy, I have a shirt for that man too.

Kido, look, botch jobs and flukes are bound to happen, bud, I get it, but for the love of god, you really love congratulating yourself and taking pride in an effort blessed entirely by fucking luck. Take a look around, Raion, how’s tricks? Nobody’s tuning in to see Raion Kido, Universal Champion, week after week, nah, the beat goes on the same as it’s been beating since been beating, the band keeping on their tune, and I’m striking up a chord and rocking the fucking place nonstop while, well, what the fuck do you even bring to the table? Not even a promo showcasing your boring ass life, nothing. You give the people absolutely nothing for whatever talent you have. It absolutely fucking sickens me that you flaunt yourself the prodigy but at absolute zero sum to the point people might even buy your horseshit when you’re not selling anything to begin with. After I bounce you from War Games, you keep running that Universal Championship wherever you feel, I’ll keep running shit at Warfare and every fucking show I go to.

So, Raion, as much as you want to show in your promos you have no flaws, I want you to look long and hard at me, stud. I want you to tell yourself what an honor it was to have such a long drawn battle and be too terrified to utter my name at the end of it. Me, Raion, I am the thing you aren’t, nor ever fucking will be, because no matter how you want to package yourself as unbeatable, I have beaten you, one, two, three, in that ring, and all it took was one Bobbybomb, and you sure as shit are getting Bobbybombed at War Games, much to the splendor of the XWF Universe who are wondering what makes you so fucking awesome when you think the Universal Championship means taking time off.

And the only reason nobody else is giving you shit about taking it easy as champ when I wasn’t given that grace? I had the balls to stand up to Vinnie Lane in a disagreement once, and it’s why he didn’t hesitate to end my contract in the past, only to come back and win the fucker and defend it instantly.

It’s like when I was working when I was “laid off” from employment with the XWF as a stage tech, beautiful rooms and arenas, working, connecting with the people, stepping in and making sure we all had enough for groceries at the end of the day and the legs to walk to buy them. I was sometimes surrounded by crowds of lobbyists that could have bought and sold me a thousand times and never batted an eye, and if you can’t understand a single fucking colloquialism I just dropped there that ain't on me, and how could you? You’re not here to understand the people, just lord over them. Those people, they had this, they had that, they were obviously and readily better than I; just some guy in black clothes there to do work while they got paid through the nose to do anything but. Then I got to work and started moving boxes weighing hundreds of pounds, and while they could tout every accomplishment, they still watched in awe at mine.

So, paper champion, coming to bring what he can to some team like he didn’t before, coming to tell everybody how great he is while never stepping up to work and be great with anyone, you get no fucking shirt. You get nothing. You’ll walk away after I kick you out of War Games and tell everybody what a fucking honor it was anyhow to have my foot shoved so far up your ass you were tasting the laces.

That said, Raion, I’m quite finished with you, per se, on a personal level, because you’re pretty fucking boring, all said, and I guess if you’re that boring of a Universal Champion, some fools who worked ring crew at MayDay 2 can talk about it, because anyone can beat you, but you can’t beat everybody.

I have bigger, older fish to fry.

And fry they fucking finally shall. About time the motherfucker walked a mile as long as he’s put people through, and Raion, don’t come crying about how you ought to be facing the old bastard come Relentless because you wouldn’t know enough about humility to even define the word deserve.

See, Raion, the bigger fish to fry are well past you. Part time champions don’t interest me.

Dolly, not gonna lie, I kinda hope you lose, home-girl, even if we’re a damned impressive tag team. Like most tag teams I’m a part of. I was the Good Bastards, without me, people just say “them? No!”

Doll, have a sit down with Corey, he’ll understand, when I get to the finals, and I’ma get to the damn finals, I get to put my fucking mitts on some fools potentially would have had a better fucking chance if they actually drafted me, and that’s because the last time all of BOB went on to be a team, I was the only fucker that moved on.

Nobody else.

Not Ozzy. Fuck no, Christ, dude, welcome to being a statistic on my record to finally give your career some dignity.

Not Miss Fury, heh.

And absolutely not Thunder Knuckles. The guy I was there with, every fucking step of the way, to stand up beside, and you know what he fucking loved talking about? Robert Main.

One day you come to realize the reason you became the greatest tag team in not just the XWF, but all of wrestling history, was to get a guy a Robert Main match.

Bobby wryly smiles, shaking his head.

And everybody thought the guy only cared about the money! Shit, I did get a message from TK recently, it was about how the IIW is having some open tournaments. I guess Doc wasn’t available and he was holding his balls instead of Jimmy that day?

Money my ass. We rode for fucking glory. We went to places that never heard of an XBux and dominated the same as we did here, and we worked and toiled to get better after losing together, and we built up an empire, we made a whole fucking stable a thing! People haven’t heard of Saga, which fizzled. People don’t recall Legacy, they don’t give a fuck about CCPE, but to this day BOB is a recognized threat because we stepped the fuck up, whooped the dog piss out of anyone who said that we sucked, and proved that a proper fucking brotherhood could exist and not be shit.

Instead, well, we still ain’t teamed up together in an XWF ring in how many years?

I stood up for you, and for Charlie, and for what? For Charlie to bail out on me before a match and for you to leave me hanging high and dry against Kido when I got counted for a pin on my gut and then in a busted ring?

Well fuck that.

You better, and by all means, pray to our Bastard father, because last I checked, I’ve been doing the preying and you’ve just been rejoicing on Sundays, but you best pray you get eliminated in the first round, and hey, while I got the rep for eliminating fools, you got the rep for not moving on! Pardon me for that, but you better fucking pray you don’t move on, from one Bastard to another. You know what happens when one slights a Bastard. You know what happens when one ignores a Bastard. You better damn well feel what happens when one overlooks a Bastard. If you make it beyond whatever Dolly’s team is, which I really doubt, that bitch and Corey are scary for you without me, you’ve got a hard lesson headed your way, and that’s fucking LOYALTY.

I bet right now Jenny is telling you how lucky you are I didn't mention her.

On that note, have you checked out Mark Flynn lately? I’ll take his shit over your fake shit every day. I got left hanging by you twice and he stood up when you didn’t.

Then there’s Vita. My former partner.

Vita, there ain’t nothing wrong with you, darlin’, nor your way of living, you’re just caught up in some fucked up crossroads, same as Angie as far as I can discern.

I hope you like the tee shirt.

~~~~~

11:25: “How do I interfere and make TK advance in War Games?”

Genevieve looks down at her tablet, away from the handsome man she happened to meet and share dinner with.

Excuse me, it’s my boss.

The date nods, smiling, not offering much opinion to defer with Genevieve’s.

11:26: “At dinner.”

11:26: “Why are you replying then? You know the rules, no personal space of yours, it can wait.”

Genevieve looks up at her boring date who isn’t speaking or making note of her, instead looking at his own phone.

11:27: “How is Bouncy?”

11:27: “She said I should hit you up, see what you thought about some stuff we were talking about, you’re my expert. Sorry to interrupt.”

11:28: “He’s boring.”

11:28: “Is he into you but boring or just boring?”

Genevieve looks up at the date, still looking at his phone, and rolls her eyes.

11:29: “Just boring.”

11:29: “Either way, no, get what you want, Miss Tote.”

Genevieve looks at her tablet as her date dotes with his phone. After a moment, seeing Bobby isn’t sending anything else and has engaged himself with Bouncy Brickhouse, she folds the tablet up, recalling the words taught her by Bobby. She stands to leave. The date looks up.

"Uh, where are you going?"

Well, I guess I should say there’s something that’s come up, but, well, I’m bored, you’re boring, I’m having a lousy time, and I’m going to leave.

The date stands up aggressively, grabbing Genevieve’s shirt as he does.

"Well, I didn’t come out here for nothing!"

The sound of glass shattering is heard, and in the time of a heartbeat Bobby has the date by the throat. Bouncy Brickhouse is behind him, and she revs a chainsaw.

You sure about that?

Let’s turn him inside out!

Genevieve looks on, gobsmacked. She steps away as her shirt collar is free.

Miss Tote?

Yes, Mr. Bourbon?

Bouncy and Bobby look at each other in adoration and admiration, then look back at Genevieve’s horrid date.

We’re about to turn this rape into a murder, you might want to walk.

Genevieve shakes her head.

I don’t think I will walk, Mr. Bourbon.

Bobby's grip tightens as we hear a chainsaw rev and the screen fades to black.

In the blackness, we hear the muffled sounds of chainsaw blade against mushy organic pulp and screaming.