Steve Davids has opened up to Robbie following a kerfuffle with some ruffians. While relaxing with his compatriots, he warned Robbie Bourbon of the dangers of a man unleashed from constraints and tearing headlong into rage. Steve Davids, every bit the physical equal of Robbie Bourbon, if not more, has told the XWF and CCWF Universes that he is a menace when angry.

Has he even heard of Robbie?

THE WEDNESDAY NIGHT WRECKER

We open scene to see Robbie Bourbon sitting behind his Bourbon Men on a DC Metro train car. The Bourbon Men, consisting of Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, the competitive hair stylist and Robbie's barber, and Clyde the orangutan sit huddled watching Steve Davids's latest promo on a tablet. As it finishes, with Davids's proclamations on Louis D'Ville alongside Robbie Bourbon, the Bourbon men are left with their eyes wide as they all slowly turn to Robbie. He's visibly shaking and breathing heavily through flared, misshapen due to breakage nostrils. Ash quickly says something to break the tension.

Look, Robbie, don't pay him any mind.

Yeah, honey, it's not worth it. Just go home and get some rest, you have a busy day tomorrow.

The voice of Blue comes from behind the camera as Robbie looks dead at it, the color of his eyes barely visible behind a deeply furrowed brow.

Busy? BUSY! MOTHERFUCKER!

Robbie stands up, and several other patrons on the train car react with complete shock to the big man who's head touches the roof suddenly shouting in a very angry tone.

Now, Robbie, we're on a metro car, just chill out...

CHILL OUT?!

Pbbbbt.

Clyde the orangutan walks up to Robbie and pinches his nipple.

No, not now Clyde.

Clyde shuffles back to his seat and places his hands over his eyes.

This motherfucker.

Hey, watch your mouth man, I have kids!

Robbie glances over his shoulder and sees the father complaining about Robbie's antics in front of his children. Robbie turns back to the camera.

Steve Davids. You sir, have just gone from the quick painless route to the devil's highway in one simple sentence, stud, and you've gotten the most vicious ass-whooping your silly self has ever stepped out of the door in the morn and earned through good ole' fashioned saying the wrong thing to the wrong fucking guy.

See, when you fail to grasp what it means when someone is on the "up and up" and then turn it into some self-pitying traipse through the psyche, I can let that slide. I mean, it's depressing as fuck to most people that you'll just up and bring up your failures like that, especially out of left fucking field, you fucking moron. What that phrase means, you silly prick, is that you're honest. Let's face facts, stud, you're not smart enough to lie and get away with it. No way would I ever pick you for a member of the CCWF. It'd be a damned shame if all'a sudden you were leading the charge against those slimy dogs, but that damned shame just ain't on the people's itinerary, no sir!

When you tell me you're angry, and that I should be wary of what may come from an angry Steve Davids, well, I can let that slide too. Know why? DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY!? Because I don't give a fuck if you're pissed or not you simple fucking piece of livestock. You wanna moo on your way to the slaughter? You wanna bray? You wanna kick, and fuss, and make all manner of hassle for me and the damned people to put up with before the fucking inevitable happens and you're nothing but meat ready for market? It doesn't matter to me stud, we can take the high road, we can take the low road, but all roads lead to Steve Davids feeling pain he didn't know he could.

When you tell me I have something to fucking prove to your worthless, has-been-of-a-self, I can take that completely in stride. There's no fucking reason I should give a fuck what your opinion is of me, you're an idiot, this has been established. You can think blue is red and purple is bitter for all I give a fuck, stud, and if you honestly believe I have something to prove to you about how true my heart beats X... W... F, then you're not just an idiot son, you're clinical at this point. Go see the doctor, then go to the clerk of the court and have your goofy ass declared legally incompetent.

Fucking comedy act, over here. Really fucking funny, pal.

When you tell me you take pride in hurting Christopher Isles, well, I can let that go.

When you tell me you're the toughest opponent I've faced so far, I can definitely drop that like it's used diapers in the trash, just as full of shit only smelling twice as bad. You wouldn't last five seconds in the ring with Game Girl. Fuck, I'll lay a thousand Xbux on Christopher Isles beating your ass, and you think you're harder than that guy! You have a highly inflated sense of self there, guy, and it shows itself when you declare you're going to weaponize your anger against someone. Like your fucking anger is any different than that of anybody else, no matter how big a cry baby you fucking are.

You know what pisses me off? The blatant and utter disregard for the people.

How fucking dare you speak down of them? The people are the fucking be all, end all in this planet. No food, no sound, no art, no music, no dance, no us. You think you have any fucking stance to distance yourself from the people, hard working, earnest, real fucking people? Where in the hell do you find yourself in any position to decide who is to be treated with credence, and who is not? Who the fuck are you to say that my people's voice shouldn't be heard? You defile the nature of our business, of what I do, and why I do it with the way you can so readily and easily dispose of the honest opinions of common fucking people. You don't deserve a stage, you don't deserve a limelight, and you don't deserve to be on Warfare with yours truly.

If you feel like being clever again, just don't.