The camera pans across Kroger Field's parking lot. Lexington is gearing up for Leap of Faith. Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon stand beside a 2025 Chevrolet Camaro that Bobby gave TK for his birthday, with its trunk open. A heavy metal trunk labeled “Them No Good Bastards Time Capsule” sits beside them, currently empty. TK, grinning, smacks it against the trunk with a thud.

“Look at this here, Bobby. Every damn scrap of the fools we buried over the years. Salt and Pepper.”

TK throws a Warfare poster into the time capsule.

“Morbid Angel & MasterMind, man, remember the catering brawl?”

Bobby laughs as he tosses a busted up paper coffee cup in.

“This time capsule? It ain’t just some metal box. It’s our fuckin’ legacy.”

Bourbon rubs his hands together like a kid in a candy store, then snatches a copy of Porky II and under hand tosses that bad boy in.

“The first of many legendary super teams who weren't.”

What you thought was a live video feed, suddenly pauses as the Porky's II was unceremoniously tossed into the time capsule, zooming out to show TNGB's Recorded Promo editing room. Bobby and TK sitting in front of  a monitor in swivel chairs with their backs to the camera..

“Yo, pause that shit right here.”

Bobby quickly swivels his chair so he's facing the camera. TK slowly turns his head as his body follows, looking cool as hell.

"Completely off topic from what you're watching."

“Yeah, we do have a match and shit, I would know, Jimmy won't shut the fuck up about it.”

Your video feed cuts to Jimmy, who's offscreen.

“Why do you think this is a good idea, again?”

“Take a lap, Jimmy.”

“Yeah, take a lap before I smack the shit outta your dumb ass!”

Jimmy puts his head down, starts walking out, when the camera goes back to the stars of the show Them No Good Bastards.

"We can't fail to mention our next opponent, can we?

Bobby gives a smirk knowing one of the competitors is a dear friend.

“The balls on this fucking guy, calls himself 'X-X-X-V-I'? What is that? A fucking password? Sounds like the goddamn screen name of a 13-year-old playing Final Fantasy and crying because his stepdad canceled his Crunchyroll. That's some weak ass shit right there. Bobby."

TK nudges Bobby.

“While I decided what I'm call this fucking weirdo, cause Im not gonna keep saying letters all fucking day. How about you tell us what you think of this six foot, 215 pounds of mysterious man-flavored sadness.”

“Maybe I'ma call him Mike Fierce, who is 36th on the XWF top 50. Maybe I'ma call him LBJ, the 36th President of these United States. Maybe some people call him Maurice because he speaks to the pompatus of love.”

"I got it! His new name is John, basic as fuck just like him. Anyway, you know what this fucking guy's finisher is Bobby?”

"No clue."

"'The Teeth of God'? John, my man, settle the fuck down. You ain’t got the teeth of God, you got the molars of an open mic poet.

“If that's God's dentures I'm pretty sure the almighty eats through a straw.”

“John sets all that shit up with 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips'. I don't give a fuck that’s not a wrestling move. That’s how I sneak outta a chick’s house when I realize she owns more healing crystals than forks."

“This guy seriously named a move after a Tiny Tim song only Tiny Tim was ten times as hardcore as this move.”

"You walk out to this shitty ass sadboy metal ballad, hands in prayer. You're praying to a false God, my dude, because you’re about to get baptized by the Bastardly Father’s prophets. Oh, and  let me make this crystal goddamn clear as I can for your dumb ass."

“Testify, Brother Knuckles. You can hunker down, praise be, and hope people send thoughts and prayers but it won't stop our wrath.”

"So go ahead, John, and summon whatever creepy boy shit you gotta, light your depression scented candles, burn your sage, and paint your nails but when it's all said and done. While you’re lookin’ up at those arena lights wondering if the 'Third Eye Bind' can stop you from shittin’ your pants."

“Who you are doesn't matter, kid. What you are is doomed.”

TK swivels his chair back around to the monitor.

“Now back to the show.”

Your screen cuts back to the capsule scene. TK grabs the shrine of the silver monkey and sits it inside.

“Centurion and Ruby. Thought they had what it took? We snapped'em like toothpicks. Easy work.”

Bobby grins, seeing something he hasn't seen in a long time. He pulls a tattered Left Hand Bingo Card and tosses it in.

“The Dissentients, Marf and Lycana. Barked a lot. Bit none. They’re just echoes in this capsule now.”

TK snatches up Nancy Pelosi’s laptop from the trunk of the car then slams it inside.

“The Disintegrators, Mustang and Steel? More like busted chrome and shattered dreams.“

Bobby Bourbon puts on rubber gloves and picks up Eobard Stone’s cum stained High School football jersey.

“Wow, these guys. We honored the memory of Steven Cooper on live broadcast, and Eobard, who has one of the dumbest names in XWF history, didn't even have the courtesy to step forward and honor the man. Jesus, how did we even get our hands on this jersey?”

The video pauses on Eobard's jersey. Zooming out to the editing room. Bobby's trying not to laugh while TK has a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“This is the time of year when the XWF presents the most batshit bonanza in professional wrestling! LEAP. OF. FAITH."

"How about Universal Champion Charlie Nickles Goin’ toe-to-toe with Dolly Waters in a No Holds Barred brawl? If Dolly loses she's gone forever. That’s reality Pay Per View levels of juicy.”

“Speaking of juicy, you got me. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles, takin’ on ‘King’ Justin York for that Revolution Championship. Winner takes the throne. Spoiler alert, that boy’s face is about to get dented by my size thirteen boot. York, enjoy your reign while you still can.”

"Then there’s that 24/7 Briefcase Clusterfuck-a-palooza. Eight bodies. One briefcase. All of’em leaping like meth-fueled squirrels in traffic. You blink, you miss a man die."

"I've still never fought in a Leap of Faith match, isn't that shit crazy?"

"No shit?"

"No shit."

TK turns around in his swivel chair again pressing play. TK pulls out a program for Behind Enemy Lines, featuring Bryson Kaliban & Krayzie, then throws it in.

“OCW crossover, boys? Crossed out that's for fuck sure.”

Bobby Bourbon holding a torn Dolly Waters & Hector Malvodo poster, crumples it before dropping it.

“The Margarita Mixer's best? These two might as well have been a virgin daiquiri.”

TK lifts the rear view mirror of his old beat up muscle car, then slams it into the trunk with force.

“The THUGS, JB and Tommy Wish. Thought they owned the streets. Shit, the streets belong to us now.”

Bobby Bourbon snaps his fingers, tossing a piece of the electrified cell from the Betsy Granger & Lycana Relentless match in. He sighs as he does.

“Betsy, it's a shame you're not around anymore, I hope you're enjoying retirement.”

TK waves a crumpled America’s Most Hated IIW flyer with a cocky smirk.

“America’s Most Defeated.”

Bobby Bourbon laughs, forgetting all about that, he then grabs a worn t-shirt from Against The Grain before stuffing it in.

“Against the grain but in the wood chipper.”

TK grabs a furry Bear-o-Dactyl stuffed animal, squeezes it, and tosses it in like the ragdoll it is.

“Extinct because they had the misfortune to advance to the finals.”

The time capsule video stutters to a stop. The visual on your screen is zooming out to Bobby mid-rant in the editing room.

“…Ozzy is a goddamn bro, solid to the end. People have came and went in our lives, using B.O.B. as a vehicle to try to advance themselves, from Fury, to Page, to Myst, and all of them a goop compared to Oz who has been loyal mean all these years. TK and I see Ozzy as nothing less than an equal, someone who has gone out and made the most of themselves for themselves, knowing he had our back and we had his, thick or thin, come hell or high water. We trust Oz, and he damn well knows he can trust us, one thousand percent, and really, John, you can blame the office for what's going to go down at Leap of Faith, and we can thank our Jimmy Stars that they're unaware they were basically giving us a night off at one of the flagship shows in the XWF, the show that historically sets the road to Relentless.”

“I think you covered that well enough to where I don't gotta say a goddamn thing.”

The time capsule video resumes. Capsule nearly full. Bobby Bourbon, pulls out the Weakest Link Championship from the trunk, and drops it inside.

“PIC and TLS. Damn, these dudes were absolute legends in OCW, and they broke like they were antiques.”

TK grabs a golden egg representing Sebastian Everett Bryce and Corey Black and throws it in.

“The big to do, SEB and Corey Black. We never did get a chance at the tag champs after beating their asses. Fucking shame.”

Bobby Bourbon holding up a signed Madison Dyson & Dominick Strife photo, waves it with mock respect before throwing it in.

“New powerful tag team? Well, they were new, but they stopped being a thing faster than the Epstein List in the DOJ.”

TK grabs the trash can Bobby used as a metaphor and closes the lid, slamming it shut like a coffin.

“Jake Borden and Roger, their story ended the moment we realized they weren't a joke.”

Bobby Bourbon, a smile on his face, slaps the trunk with both big catcher's mitts he calls hands.

“There she is, TK. The greatest hits of destruction. When this capsule gets unearthed years from now, whoever finds it’ll know exactly who ran the show.”

All the sudden your screen freezes on Bobby making him look like Norm from Cheers. Zoom out to Them No Good Bastards drinking from 'World’s Greatest Tag Team' mugs.

“Most motherfuckers would say some dumb shit about us and I'm sure John won't be the exception. We’ve got more successful title defenses than we’ve got total losses. You understand what that means? That means every time we step in that ring, we don’t just win, we educate. We're teachin’ a master class in tag team rasslin', and guess what? Enrollment’s open, John."

“I am Professor Bobby Bourbon, this is Doctor Knuckles, welcome to Them No Good Bastards Fighting University, TNGB FU. Tuition is free but you'll still pay.”

"Me and Bobby? We ain’t built like these flash-in-the-pan thrown together tag teams XWF shills out week in and week out. Hell, to the, nah, son. We’re old-school in your face beat downs with personality for days."

The video resumes unpausing from Bobby's ‘Norm face’ freeze frame like nothing happened. Them No Good Bastards confidently stand behind their history.

“Them No Good Bastards don’t just make history-”

“-we bury it.”

They clink their Anarchy Tag Team Championships, load the time capsule into the back of the Camaro.

“I'm driving.”

TK tosses Bobby the keys. As they’re getting in, TK asks Bobby for a favor.

“Yo, drop me off at that abandoned outlet mall.”

“Which one?”

“You know, the one between Who Gives a Shit and No-fucking-cares. I got a Revolution Title to win.”

“I got you, bro.”

Them No Good Bastards drive off. The weight of every fallen rival lies in the trunk of the car like bodies, but their hunger for Tag Team wrestling still drives them more than ever.