Last Wednesday, the CCWF, K Money, Shane , and Vinnie Lane brutally attacked Robbie Bourbon, along with Trax, his newly disclosed tag team partner and co-contender for the Tag Team Championships, and Glisten, the man Robbie had defeated moments before. What the CCWF's motivations are is clear, but their methods are just being revealed, and many speculate they are just revealing their hand.

Robbie Bourbon faces Steve Davids this Wednesday night.

TAKING IT TO THE X-TREME

We open to see Robbie sitting at his desk, his hands folded as he looks directly into the camera. A window frame, suspended without a wall, hangs behind him as we see him speak from his empty lot.

Hello, XWF, and hello, America.

You'll pardon me if I'm not quite very exuberant about beating Glisten in another wild Wednesday night main event, but there's some fucked up shit I just have to talk about.

First off, you stupid motherfuckers, you stupid stupid stupid motherfuckers. You pissed off the wrong couple of guys doing what you did. You fucking came and knocked on a door you didn't want answered. I'm not just talking about myself, you trio of low-down scum-sucking ass-sniffing shit-burpers. Dude, you pissed off Trax. That guy's so X-treme, he's the X-Treme Champion. He's also the reason Vinnie Lane's dick and balls shriveled back up inside him. If I were Universal Champ and saw Trax in the rearview, I guess I'd resort to some pretty desperate means. Let us know when they drop again, huh Vin?

You lose something in that little coma of yours while your, quite honestly, better half went out to remind us all you should be relevant? Shit, if that's the case, I'm pretty certain my partner has a secure way to help you. One Trap Silencer is all it'll take, I reckon, to put your wannabe rockstar goofy looking ass right back into that deep sleep, and maybe you'll have another crisis of conscience.

Oh, and K Money! Hey there fella! Wow, you have quite the resume. You know what you've been missing in your life? Me. I don't care one fucking iota what you've accomplished. Accomplishments are cute window dressing, stud, but I have yet to begin doing some of the wildest shit this industry has ever fucking seen! I'll show you how reckless, how dangerous, how harmful, and how potent the ways of X-treme are first fucking hand, motherfucker! I'ma bounce your God damned jaw off of my knuckles more than a basketball off the floor at a Harlem Globetrotters game. I'ma make a video of that shit to some Sweet Georgia Brown. I'ma sell it cheap to the whole wide XWF Universe.

I'm going to save the Universe.

Then, there's the man of the hour, Mister Shane . As I live and breathe, what's your secret old boy? Are you a fucking vampire, or have you discovered the healing benefits of a wonderful accupuncturist? Whatever your wonderful little path to the fountain of youth, I'm going to turn it into an overpriced God damned investment, stud, when I snap your fucking neck like I was tearing through a rack of ribs at Chili's. Grab, split, snap, and eat it, motherfucker. I see you brought another ghost to the fucking party. Oooh! I'm supposed to be fucking impressed that you are amassing a group of losers and shitheels that actually sucked so fucking bad they got their entire company absorbed? Well, a name change is just an executive decision, , why haven't you made it yet? A ghost obsessed with his ghosts, trying to promote his dried and buried shit like it's the freshest flavor around. You know, you're here, insulting the people of the XWF Universe. The people who busted their asses for you in rings across the fucking globe, people who've died to put money into your pockets because you broadcast it. People who had faith that the XWF was their Universe. Instead, instead you fucking want to promote your fucking name, and you used my ass to fucking do it.

I'm Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon, and you're going to fucking remember it till the day you die, Shane. You're going to steer your wheelchair with your mouth, and you'll spend every last cent you ever fucking made off of my blood spilled, my body broken, and my tears shed in an XWF ring paying someone else to clean the shit off of you. You know why all of this is going to happen to you? Was it your decision to have this done? No. Never. See, I'm the one deciding right now that your head is getting shoved up your own ass.

I can do it, just fucking watch. This is the XWF, motherfucker, and that's just how we do.

We have the most X-treme talent the world has ever put together. Look at Trax, singlehandedly crumpling dudes up like paper not just weekly, but hourly! Look at some of the other names we have in the XWF. Maverick, the Hart Champion. He's so fucking X-treme he brings shit into the game. Actual God damned feces, for Christ's sake! Peter Gilmour's been around so long he's eaten dinosaur. Ghost Tank is just plain sick! Hell, Doc D'Ville is still kicking around, not to mention my opponent Steve Davids. God fucking knows the world would have never gotten a Game Girl if it weren't for the fact the X-treme was here, ready and waiting to accept her. Fuck, even Pest! Pest fucking burned my dojo down! That's fucking X-treme! Well, actually, that's a good case for X-treme gone wrong, but still, I get the chance to fucking wreck that dude, only on Wednesday nights, using X-treme fucking rules. Shit, we have so many people ready to fight I can barely remember them all. Fuck! LeStrange, get your ass in gear! I'm in the Dope Show, we still exist, you still owe me the debt that CJ and Darren bailed on.

Hell, we even have that little shit Chris Fucking Isles. Heh, he could totally whoop K Money's ass by himself.

So you guys have a nice fine time remembering last Wednesday. Sit and chill a while, take it in. Nights are coming to you where you'll wish you could turn back time and undo just 15 minutes of your life. I promise.