Wow, the lineup for BOBTube is expanding, and rapidly!

Coming up next, Goodnight Kiss with Herschel Kiss!

GOODNIGHT KISS

"Ladies and gentlemen, live, from New York City, it's Goooooodniiiiiiight Kiiiiisss!"

Terrific, jazzy music plays as people cheer madly at an applause sign.

"Staaring, Herschel Kiss!"

"Big Puddin'" Herschel Kiss walks out through a curtain wearing a tuxedo, his hair looks perfect. Big Puddin' waves to the crowd, all very swanky themselves in fine evening attire, sitting at classy looking tiny tables, like this whole thing is being shot at some kind of night club. He sits at a desk, takes a sip from a large McDonald's cup through the straw, eats an entire pork chop in one bite, and grins.

Good evening, everyone, welcome to Goodnight Kiss live at 77th Street, how are all of you tonight?

Everybody in the room cheers loudly. Herschel eats another whole pork chop.

Well, our guests tonight are my fellow BOBbies, welcome and give it up for T...

N...

G...

B!

Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles walk out on stage. They wave and then sit at a couch. Bourbon has a Starbucks cup. TK has a bottle of water, one third empty. They're relaxed, and smiling, live...

Only on BOBTube.

Hey, guys, welcome.

Thanks, Puddin'.

Fuckin' eh, right!

TK stands up and kind of humps the air vigorously but very, very briefly before he realizes he needs to stop doing that. He looks like he's drank about four energy drinks in the last five minutes. There are spots on his shirt from spilled energy drink, he might have done that.

Bobby is wearing a single coffee stain on a dark blue hoodie. He sets his beverage down on a nearby table and looks pleased to be there, calm and contented. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and produces his...

pocket food.

A bag of peanuts in hand, Bobby has himself a snack live on TV during an interview.

Fellas, fellas, fellas! I gotta ask, how are you doing tonight?

I'm fucking awesome!

TK pumps his fist. The crowd cheers. Bobby laughs.

I'm good.

He tosses back a peanut. Herschel tosses back a pork chop, one of dozens conveniently kept in a large buffet pan beside him.

So, guys, you have been producing a lot of material for BOBTube, the greatest streaming service available. You both made an incredible musical duo in Altered Beast!

The crowd cheers.

Tales of Money was completely off the chain!

The crowd cheers again. TK stands up and gives a thumbs up. Bobby eats another peanut. Herschel literally drinks some gravy.

Tell me, what is it like making so many awesome shows for BOBTube?

It's fucking lit! Seriously, we get to sit down, flex our creative muscle, and present stories and quality fuckin' entertainment for the masses! Tales of Money is one of the best crime thrillers around right now! The critics love it, and it's the number one topic trending on MySpace!

No shit?

Shit! MySpace is coming back and coming back hard, Puddin'!

That's cool, I liked having a song blaring whenever someone wanted to send me a message!

We all did, Puddin'. I gotta say that producing, directing, and performing in a bevy of hit shows on BOBTube has been one of the highlights of my career. Grand Slam Champion? Sure, but bringing Altered Beast to the screens of our subscribers? It's what separates the great from the legendary.

You are legendary, actually both of you are!

Fuck yeah, I'm the Relentless Legend! I beat the current Universal Champion to get that monicker!

Hell yeah, he even has a monicker!

Heh, now Bobby, you have your fair share of monickers too.

The crowd cheers. Bobby shrugs and eats a peanut.

You're the Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads...

Yep.

The Last Outlaw.

Hyep.

They call you the Sultan of Smacktalk.

Can't deny it. But moreover, Puddin', I'm a No Good Bastard.

I'm a No Good Fucking Bastard too!

We're...

Bobby and TK stand up and put their hands on their hips.

Them No Good Bastards!

Herschel claps then sucks down another entire pork chop. The crowd cheers loudly.

So, fellas, tell us all about the show you've been working on, and we can't get enough of, Star Trek: The Bastard Generation!

The crowd cheers.

Well, it's just common sense.

Yeah, for a while I was a starship captain, so we thought we'd tell a few of the stories we had from back then, help the legacy of Gene Roddenberry by adding some sizzle to the lore.

Fuck yeah! We kick all sorts of alien ass.

I know! You guys even gave a Rainbow Laser Death Sequence to one! Who know you could do that to something with alien physiology?

It's the best fucking move in existence for that reason, Puddin'.

The crowd cheers. Bobby eats a peanut.

So, you guys actually brought a clip from the show?

Yeah, we did, Puddin'.

Great, what's happening in the clip?

Well, in this scene, Bobby and me are riding our space hover motorcycles in a race!

Oh? Roll the clip!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We see Commander Bourbon and Commander Knuckles in their minty fresh uniforms. They're atop a pair of motorcycles without any wheels, just kind of hovering there above some rocky terrain. A laser blast flies past them, right in between their heads.

That went south, quick!

Fuck yeah! The Smegmanians led us into a trap!

Yeah, but now it's time we got out of it!

Bobby and TK start to speed off at some ludicrous break-neck speed. As they do, a trio of lizard looking aliens on similar hoverbikes come speeding by, shooting at them! Bobby and TK do some fancy maneuvering on their bikes! They jump a huge boulder, and one of the aliens pursuing them doesn't, crashing and exploding instead! Bobby and TK round a corner and shoot down the basin of a canyon! The two aliens giving chase fire again, narrowly missing them! Bobby and TK slalom through rock formations, and the aliens chasing them crash into rocks and blow up! Bobby and TK pull into a cave, as they do, five more aliens ride past, missing them. Bobby looks out wearily, making sure the coast is clear.

Are there any more?

Bobby turns and looks at TK.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowd is raving at the sneak peak of more awesome footage from Star Trek: The Bastard Generation.

Oh man, that is action packed!

Fuck yeah it is, high octane shit right there, Puddin'!

It was a blast to shoot.

Well, like we mentioned earlier, you're often called the Sultan of Smacktalk, you have a match this Wednesday against two opponents who are historied in the XWF. Would you like to say anything to them?

Well, yeah. TK, you wanna go first?

Sure.

Thunder Knuckles clears his throat.

First things, fucking first Puddin'. I've given a picture to your production crew here and I want them to show the XWF fans around the world. That we may be some bastards but we're no fucking liars. Just in case the fucker ditched it, to save face, and no, Them No Good Bastards aren't lame enough to give out their T-shirt to anyone for free. The fuck do you take me for? Without further ado!



Here it is! MasterMind's very own TNGB stain-proof shirt! I figured he went and picked one up knowing how fucking bloody he's going to be after we smash his fucking head in like I did to fucking Robert Main. One crack of the bat.

Thunder Knuckles makes a swinging motion and his arms. Then makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

MasterMind will be back on the shelf faster than fuck. Speaking of Them No Good Bastards T-shirt you can buy it today! only at the X-Shop! Is there any way we can get the website on the screens at home Puddin'?



As for fucking Morbid Angel.

Thunder Knuckles looks over to Bobby Bourbon.

Think he's watching the fine programming on BOBtube?

Bobby, with his trademark smile, nods his head 'yes' to Thunder Knuckles.

Hey, Morbid. Know what won't be easy to deflect, mother fucker? Teaming up with that broken-down shitbird you got as a partner. Bro, he seriously thinks entertainment is boring. What the fuck does this guy know about shit? I bet this guy promised that this was gonna be easy, didn't he? Come on, I bet he said while you were gone he became some kinda big star.

Thunder Knuckles grins and gives the one-of-a-kind, often imitated, never duplicated jerking-off hand gesture.

Well, I hate to burst your bubble but this mother fucker. This mother fucker lied to you, boy. Now to top it off, this fucking guy's brain, isn't one hundred percent! The one goddamn thing that set him apart from those other fucking shit talents, in the Misfits, is now fucking broken. You might as well have Speechless Von Prick Hammer on your team.

Speaking of teams. Me and the fucking big man, here

Thunder Knuckles smacks Bobby Bourbons' beefy arm.

We fucking work together. You two.

Thunder Knuckles smirks.

Not so much. If you fucking idiots think you're going to beat us.

Thunder Knuckles points to Bobby Bourbon and himself.

Like that?

FAT CHANCE!

Niiiice! Got them throwback jokes, bro.

Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon high-five.

Seriously though, we should offer MasterMind a job here at BOBtube.

Really?

Fuck and Yeah. Think about it I'll write up a script. Yeah, we cast MasterMind to play himself, right?

Right.

It'll be like the movie "Momento", you might have seen it. Anyway, he'll retrace his steps to figure out the exact moment he fucked up. Not just feature-length, oh, fuck no, it's goddamn MasterMind we're talking about, bro! This fucker is going to be an epic! FUCK YES! Three hours of this fucking idiot bumbling around to figure out what he did wrong. Who knows? We could probably set up for fucking squeals!

Thunder Knuckles thinks about it for longer than three seconds and realizes this is a terrible idea.

Ah! Fuck it. Who am I kidding? Not a fucking soul, on this mother fucking planet, wants to sit through a goddamned MasterMind promo. Let alone a fucking three-hour movie of MasterMind speaking.

Thunder Knuckles cringes at the thought.

Wait, wait, wait.

Bobby bundles up his peanuts and returns them to his pocket for future snacking. Herschel gulps down another pork chop. Bobby shakes his head 'no'.

The time for snacking is over.

Barney Green walks out in nothing but a pair of tighty whities and picks up the dish of pork chops. The crowd goes nuts for the big guy. He wanders off with his treasure trove of greasy, gravy caked pork chops.

First off, that was good, TK.

But I can do better.

After all, I'm selling BOB merch, you're busy wringing your wrists at fans and making them boo for some weird reason. Tsk, tsk.

However, opposed to our opponents, and the main reason we're on the road to March Madness and a shot at the Tag Team Championships and our opponents aren't? Power. Raw power. Star power. To me, you're both ancient ragdolls who haven't been fucking relevant since the Obama administration. One's a loveable goofball and an old friend, and yes, Kyril, I mean you, and the other, Killian, is a brain damaged buffoon who would be baffled by mopping the floor.

First off, Kyril, that was naughty of you.

You killed that old lady. On accident.

I'm not a little old lady.

Now, as for proof?

Bobby reaches behind the couch he and TK are sitting on, and pulls out an old school Morbid Angel Halloween mask.

I found this in your locker room.

That's right, we went into your locker room. We were going to put stickers all over your stuff, but we forgot the stickers, and instead found your gimmick you wear over in the other spot.

Bobby holds up the mask and jiggles it towards the camera before throwing it to the floor.

And I do make fun of Chris Chaos. Daily. I call him on his phone and insult him. Today I told him he'd get ED before finding a mate.

As for your other accusations, Puddin', I want you to smell TK's fingers. Tell me if they smell like my ass!

Herschel shakes his head no, chins forming a sinewave of motion as it travels through a gelatinous mass of fat.

Fine.

TK, make him smell your fingers.

TK stands up and puts his hand underneath Herschel's nose. Herschel looks pleasantly surprised.

Is that...

Cocoa butter.

Delightful!

Definitely not my ass.

So, since you've established you're a liar, and a helluva one at that, and I've established you're a liar, we're in agreement.

Kyril, just come home.

You need the resources B.O.B. has to offer you.

You don't need that dullard of a mongoloid you have saddled to you as a partner.

Remember the days, Kyril?

Bobby reaches behind the couch again. He holds up a magazine.



I can get you all the press you need, brother. You can win this fight, you can have your megachurch, you can make Joel Osteen look like a hobo in comparison.

You just gotta join our side.

Shit, look at what happened to the Misfits on Savage.

Those are Mastermind's guys.

Mastermind let them get slaughtered. He didn't come out to stop us, he didn't ask you for assistance, he just let Von Bonn eat a Rainbow Laser Death Sequence.

When push comes to shove, that guy is going to let you down. As for Warfare, I consider it a battle of honor and dignity to face you, my old friend, in the ring. I'm glad you're back. Really, I am.

I'm going to toss you around. You'll try to break my face. Good times, hard hits, the blood, the gore. I've been to hell and back before, Kyril, it's not so bad once you get used to it.

It is absolutely sickening that there isn't a better retirement fund for guys who can't go anymore, like Mastermind. Not even sure he ever even went to be honest.

Really, this whole match, Puddin', this whole match that we're talking about? It breaks my heart. I'm fighting the mentally handicapped and a friend at the same time. It rips at me, it tears at me, what I have to do...

Bobby points to TK and himself.

What we have to do to get the belts that are rightfully ours. But nothing, neither kinship nor the IQ of an average glue huffing baboon rattling around in Mastermind's massive bony melon, is going to stop us from achieving our destiny.

The crowd cheers. Herschel claps, now sporting a gravy stain on his tux to match with TK and Bobby.

Well said! Damn, Bobby, you got a way with words!

Occasionally.

Well, we'll be right back with musical guest Post Malone!

The crowd cheers as the segment ends. Bobby and TK stand up. Bobby waves, TK gives his jerking off motion, and they exit the set. Cut to commercial.