Robbie Bourbon recently met some downright chummy aliens who will help him become a better spaceship captain.

That's fucking rad.

MISSED VEIN PROTOCOL

We see Robbie seated in the captain's chair of his new starship. Around him, we see Cyberjaw, the man with they cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, Robbie's stylist, Guy Fieri, right mayor of Flavortown, Fuchsia, rockin' space babe, and a new face. The words NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT scroll across the screen, along with details on where you can get his action figure online.

Well, crew, the Confederation has decided to leave an envoy on our ship to help us fly right.

The dolphin-man humanoid steps forward.

That is correct, Captain. It is a pleasure to join your crew.

This is so cool.

Yeah it is.

So, please introduce yourself.

Well, my name is Buck Ventura, and...

Woah.

Robbie looks gobsmacked.

Cool fucking name.

Thank you. As I was saying, my name is Buck Ventura, and I will be your liaison with the Confederation of Planetary Systems, and perhaps when we go back to your planet I could speak with the leaders of your planet about...

Ash loudly clears her throat. Cyberjaw and Diamondback look down and away from Buck. Guy Fieri is shaking his head 'no'.

What's wrong?

Uh, about that.

Buck, we're not sure Earth is ready for you.

Nonsense! You've all been most welcoming and diplomatic.

Well, maybe not all of Earth is. Look, sit down Buck, you teach us, but let us fill you in on how bad it is back home and why we're out here.

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Oh goodie.

The scum o' the Earth is competing to be Warfare MVP.

Look, Chuck, you're sick, and it's kinda sad. I see why you've been at this for almost two decades and have gone nowhere.

For starters, I would like to say you're welcome. You're welcome for the fact I cut a promo so awesome you had to base yours entirely on it.

I would say greatness rubs off, but you know what? I can also introduce mock-ups of people from your promos. Just watch.

Robbie farts.

Oh look, there's Chuck Nickles, and he ain't shit.

Now, don't mistake my brevity for a lack of concern, caring, or preparation. I know there are some out there who think that caring about a match means giving a semester's worth of lecture time in the build-up to any given match, but, that's never been my style really. I get to the point, quickly, and bluntly.

So, that said, there's no way a fucking junkie is making me tap for my Warfare MVP.

See, I own the Warfare MVP, Chuck.

You don't own anything.

You don't own the fact you're a such a mess that your ex-wife discarded you like you were a used tampon.

Connie's used tampon. You used to be inside her, but she flushed you out of her life.

You don't own the fact you fucked up in places in your life, and instead blame her for all your problems. You blame her for your failures, you blame her for your mistakes, you blame her for your being a fuck.

I don't sit back and blame anybody for when I fuck up, Chuck, I own it.

And I grow from it.

I don't go into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and get penetrated for pleasure.

Now, maybe some day you'll turn that corner, find that clarity, and become something that actually resembles a grown ass man.

But that day will not be Wednesday, September second.

That day will not come at my expense.

I admit, I am no submission specialist, never have been.

But I am the Warfare MVP and I will beat you.

And the next time you see your kids, they'll ask you about me.

You can tell them what a man looks like, how a man carries himself, and how a man made you tap out like a little bitch.