Robbie Bourbon recently heard of a jewelry store robbery at a shopping mall he was signing autographs at. He's generally known for dealing with superpowered terror threats, but this seems a little out of his league.

Or is it?

DIAMOND DOGS

We open to see a bustling and busy crime scene within a shopping mall. Sitting on a floor with his back against a pillar is a mall cop, being attended to by medic units on scene as a half a dozen police officers keep the area clear. The rest of the mall is desolate, silent, and without activity as it's sometime well after closing. A pair of plain clothes detectives scour the scene wearing rubber gloves, surveying broken glass and empty display cases.

Robbie Bourbon, XWF Hart Champion, walks into view along with Ash, Robbie's personal stylist, Joe Biden, Vice-King of the Jobbers, and Jarod the Wizard, LARP enthusiast. One of the detectives walks out from the crime scene and greets Robbie.

Bourbon, thank God you came.

No problem.

Who are these two?

Oh, this is Ash, she's my jewelry expert, this is Jarod, he's a wizard, and this is Joe Biden. He used to be Vice-President.

That's right. Robbie, I thought we were storming the White House to take it back from that orange goblin.

Joe, let's not delve into the territory of not being politically correct just because you oppose those who aren't. President Trump is proudly the first Hot-Dogganese president in American History. That odd whispy hair, the skin of a hot dog, just like Hulk Hogan, or Dog the Bounty Hunter.

They're all racists.

Well, that is a really strange connection, I guess, but that doesn't mean there aren't good Hot-Dogganese people out there.

Name one.

Snooki, from Jersey Shore?

She's awful.

The worst.

Okay, so most Hot-Dogganese people are pretty bad. Anyway, officer, what's happened here and how can I help? I have to admit, I'm not much the detective, solving mysteries isn't really my forte.

Well, maybe you can help.

Well, yeah, much like the electric chair helps in a murder case, dude. I'll rough up a perp if I catch them in the act...

Well, take a look.

The detective leads Robbie, Ash, and Joe Biden past the police tape and into the jewelry store. Robbie looks around and shrugs.

Hyep, looks like this place got robbed. I mean, I know about smashed glass and all, going to create a lot more of it in California this Saturday when I bust up Peter Gilmour again for the billionth time and then I guess if someone wants to step up and get smashed through glass, then too, but what am I supposed to be noticing?

Well, it's the damnedest thing. The security guard said the shutters were down when he saw the robbery.

Wiggy, must've used some other entrance.

Yeah, we figured that. The oddest thing is he said all that he saw was a bunch of Jack Russell terriers going to town in the place.

What?

You mean the dog from Frasier?

And the Mask?

Wishbone?

Those references are all really old, so I don't know. They're smallish dogs, really adorable.

I know, it doesn't add up. Why would Jack Russell terriers be tearing up a jewelry store? It isn't in their nature.

I don't know, Robbie, maybe they were trained that way.

Good Joe.

Robbie pulls out a snack and hands it to Joe, to puts it in his mouth and chomps on it with his mouth open and shaped in a Grin.

Well, detective, I'd love to help, but really this is all about using our wits, and frankly, I don't need that kind of training. A sliced watermelon could outsmart Peter Gilmour, plus I've had like 77 concussions, so I'm not all that sure I could arrange all the puzzle pieces here and figure out who convinced a pack of Jack Russell terriers to go crazy in a jewelry store.

You don't believe Mr. Gilmour would have broken in to the mall to cause chaos because you were signing autographs here just to disturb you?

Not his modus operandi. He generally just talks about how sexy his husband is behind that sad, sad smile and empty, soulless eyes that miss his ex-wife Maria Brink way too much in between bouts of devouring whole salamis and vomiting them back up.

Are you sure?

Positive, the guy's waiting to get his ass kicked out in Cali at the moment.

Okay. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary here when you were doing your autograph session?

Nothing too strange. A couple of butt plugs, but every XWF signing has those. A woman who had a mastectomy wanted me to sign the spot where her boob was missing, saying my signature was just like having her tit back in a way, which was kind of depressing but it cheered her up, even though it was a visual I never wanted. Wait! There was a shady character who I couldn't really identify because they were in a trench coat and fedora.

A nondescript guy in a trench coat and fedora! Just as I suspected.

About what time was this?

Oh, some time after we had lunch, so probably around 2 or 3.

Okay, great!

The detective goes and talks with one of the officers, who leads the other detective away. They briefly speak with the fallen security guard, who points down the hallway of the mall.

We're going to check the video footage, and we'll see who is behind these diamond dogs.

Sweet Bowie reference.

Well, miss, they're what we're going with since they apparently ate a bunch of diamonds.

The other plain clothes detective and uniformed officer hustle back to the crime scene.

"Sir, the tapes, they've been wiped!"

Damn it. That was a lead we had.

Wait, you guys didn't check security footage already before you called me?

Well, we weren't sure if this was some weird XWF related thing, or if you had a license to do it and did it, so we checked with you first.

Our tax dollars at work.

Look, we're on the lookout for a person who has a bunch of Jack Russell terriers.

Wait, so a dog breeder, a kennel owner, or maybe even a rogue dog walker?

Exactly, too many leads to follow without a way to pinpoint. We're going to be looking into this for, oh, a half hour or so before even more violent crimes pile up.

Well, don't worry officer, if I get crazy violent it's all licensed and legal.

I know, Mr. Bourbon. Thank you for your time.

Robbie, Ash, Jarod the Wizard, and Joe Biden are led away from the crime scene and out of the mall. As they exit, they begin to walk towards the Donkey Kong rape van.

Well, that was weird.

Yeah, Joe, it was.

Can we go storm the White House now? A lot of people are banking on it, Trump has to go.

Oh, don't worry about that Joe, I'll be kicking the shit out of Donald here in the future, but right now, I need to focus more on Peter Gilmour and wrecking him and walking out of Savage with my XWF Championship.

Why do you call that the XWF Championship?

Because it is, Ash. What kind of champion would I be if I felt or believed it was a token or consolation prize to hold said championship? I'm going to defend this title to the end and with every fucking ounce of my soul, come hell or high water. Fuck the Universal Championship, fuck the Xtreme Championship, which is worthless because Ghost Tank is holding it. The Hart Championship is officially the XWF Championship because I'm fucking holding it and not letting go.

Seriously, the gems on that thing look as cheap as the ones that were eaten by those dogs.

What do you mean?

Everything that was in the case that was taken by the dogs was in the clearance case. Not the high value diamonds, mostly the flawed ones.

Wait, so the dogs were only after the flawed diamonds?

Yeah.

Hrmm. Isn't it weird they only ate the diamond jewelry in that case, and not the broken glass everywhere?

Kinda, it's pretty weird they ate them at all.

Yeah, dogs generally like meat or kibbles.

Tis true, such mongrels devour of the flesh, not of minerals.

Gotcha, Jarod.

Halt! Perchance I can initiate a scrying spell to discern where these diamonds are!

Oh, okay. I guess pull out your foam balls or whatever and hurl them at the crime scene, oh wait, we're already outside and not allowed near it again.

No, Sir Bourbon, I shall read the runes!

What runes?

Jarod the wizard pulls a piece of chalk out and starts writing on the pavement in front of the van.

Ah ha! A game of hop scotch!

That's what it looks like to me, Joe.

Shh, let Jarod be his weird and depressing self, shying away from reality as much as he can, it might help.

Jarod finishes scrawling on the ground and turns.

There!

Jarod points to the Sonic restaurant across the street from the mall, where an old station wagon is parked.

What, you want a snack?

Robbie, he can't have any of mine.

Robbie hands Joe Biden a snack.

My esteemed friends, the vile rogue we seek is yonder!

What? Like I said to the cop earlier, that disgusting little toad Peter Gilmour is sitting out in a parking lot outside of the arena waiting to get his ass absolutely wrecked by me, the High Holy Hypocrite, just so he can say he had his monthly title shot to his mom over the phone and hope she doesn't sound disappointed again.

The saddest thing is the denial that guys lives in. Every day, lying to himself, perpetuating a steaming pile of bullshit and living under the guise that he's worth a flying fuck to any of the people in the XWF universe after he's burned every possible connection to the people. He's in denial over his eating disorder; I mean how else would you explain that drastic weight loss in that shorts span of time? He's in denial over Mia not being a man who cut their penis off to accommodate a cock entering them from the front and back.

The thing is it's the stalest joke in the world, three little words, Peter Francis Gilmour, the anorexic try-hard, has-been, washed-up, never will be Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. Hell, for a time he even stole the Motherfucking part of my name to feel like more of a man, most likely until his got yelled at by his mother or something. Honestly, it's pathetic, and it's sad, and beating the shit out of Peter Gilmour has lost a lot of it's luster when I finally realized it's just going to happen again and again and again. Well, even if it's not as thrilling as it once was, I'm never going to get tired of it, because every time that little fucking toad opens his mouth, the people get sick of him, and the people want to see him get his ass kicked for insulting their intelligence, for offending their very eyesight. And that, that's what drives me to kick the shit out of Peter Gilmour again, to hold on to the Hart Championship and defend it like no other, and to make the Hart Championship the greatest fucking title in wrestling today, not just use it as a gateway into some trivia game somewhere, or disrespect it like it's anything less than worth fucking wrecking for.

No, Robbie, I see a man walking half a dozen Jack Russell terriers!

Oh, well, damn!

Robbie hops in the van and peels out, headed for Sonic, and a pair of police cruisers follow along, sure to capture the creep that robbed the jewelry store.