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X-treme Wrestling Federation »  RP Archive » Archives » XWF Snow Job 2016
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Robbie's Workout Regimen
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Online
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
01-22-2016, 01:29 AM



At Snow Job, Robbie Bourbon and Pest, the Black Hand, have a chance at the tag team championships in a three-way match versus The Killers, Dim and Peter Gilmour, and Luca Arzegotti and Xtreme Champion Austin Fernando. Since joining the Black Hand, many feel Robbie has gone to the dark side.

ROBBIE'S WORKOUT REGIMEN

11:00 AM

We open to see Robbie sitting in his office, which is graciously expanded. The room is enormous. Seated at an oval table around him clockwise are Esteban the Magnificent, A.K.A. The Pest, Crispin the Destroyer, A.K.A. Morbid Angel, Roborob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask, Clyde the orangutan, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, Robbie's personal stylist, and Blue. They have a flat screen TV on the wall tuned to the local news. The sound of the broadcast dominates the room.

"Here's the footage from last night's debates..."

Here we go, gimme a look at that ugly mug of his. I've beat his team before, I'll beat them again. Fuck Trump.

Pest: Robert, you will not put the carriage before the horse.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm all about delivering the universe's nastiest beat down to Dim and Peter. That will never get old. They're like...

"I'm sorry, we have a story breaking. Todd?"

The TV screen changes to a view of Todd. He's standing at the Pentagon with the Vice-President, Joe Biden. Joe Biden speaks.

My fellow Americans. It is my duty to inform you that the President and his family are taken hostage, along with the entire District of Columbia, by invaders from space.

We cut to a view from a helicopter of the city. It is covered with what looks like a giant pink Jell-O mold.

Not only are we not alone in this universe, but we are under attack. I will be speaking with the Joint Chiefs of Staff shortly.


Joe Biden turns and walks into the Pentagon, a slew of reporters asking for a follow-up. Todd, the news anchor, looks dumbfounded back at the camera. The room full of Bourbon Men is sitting in stunned silence. Robbie stands from his seat.

Alright, time to do what we do.

There's an alien invasion, the army can come and handle this shit!

Nope. That's MY city. Esteban, Crispin, you guys come with me.

Pest: Robert, you have a match coming up. You would do well to consider that first and foremost.

Oh, I am. C'mon, this'll just be a sparring session.


11:25 AM

We see Robbie putting the van in park and exiting the vehicle, along with Pest and Morbid Angel. A police officer immediately runs up to all three of them.

"Hey, you can't park that there, move along!"

Sir, we're here on a special assignment, what unit are you with?

The officer looks at the three men. Robbie, a grown man in a wrestling mask wearing a flame design button down and khakis, Pest, the older gentleman in a pinstripe suit, and Morbid, a giant with a bronze penis hanging around his neck.

"You know what, you guys go through."

The Black Hand walk past the officer and towards the Pentagon. They're approached by a soldier with his rifle drawn.

"Halt or I will fire."

Bourbon, code initiate green green 7 orange delta 3.

The soldier lowers his weapon.

"Come with me, sir."


11:39 AM

We see the Black Hand in a crowded war room. Men and women are arguing over each other, panicked by the events that are happening. Joe Biden sits at the table, rubbing his temples.

Ladies and gentlemen, let's just shut the fuck up for a minute.

The room goes silent.

Thank you. Okay, so what intel do we have on the situation?

A man in a lab coat with a petri dish approaches Robbie, Pest, and Morbid. In the petri dish is a small glob of pink slime. Joe Biden speaks.

Robbie, this is the intel. That goop has encased the whole city. We have no idea what it is or why it's doing this, but it has formed a barrier around the whole perimeter of the District.


Robbie takes the petri dish and looks at it. He hands it to Morbid.

"What do I do with this?"

I dunno, aren't you into chemistry or some such?

Robbie, that stuff clings to whatever it touches. You won't be able to get it off the petri dish, and you won't get it off of yourself, either.

Morbid Angel opens the petri dish and sniffs the alien slime. As soon as he gets close to it, it turns green and starts to hiss.

Woah!

The scientist takes the petri dish back and puts the lid on it. The slime turns pink again.

That's never happened before.

Robbie takes the petri dish and opens it. As he gets closer to the sample with his face, it again turns green. He sticks it out towards the scientist, and it goes pink again. He points it towards Pest and it turns green and shrieking.

Well, I guess we're pissing it off. C'mon guys.

Robbie, where are you going?


To get a closer look, Joe. Have a snack, we'll be back in a second.

Pest: Robert, we are in a room with what is left of the leaders of the free world. You will show some respect and courtesy.

Oh, come on dude. I'm trying to be all cool and Rat Pack like!

Pest: No, Robert, you are not being cool. Nobody considers your behavior cool.

Ugh, wet blanket much? Fine, look, we're obviously so impure that we scare the hell out of whatever that pink shit is. We're the Black Hand. We're that evil. We're the worst. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, let's get to the city.

Robbie, what are you going to do when you get there?

What am I going to do? What am I going TO DO?!?

I'm going to wreck not one, not two, not three, but four bonafide cumsnorting needle dicked assholes with my partner, Pest, and we're going to win the Tag Team Championship at Snow Job!

First things first, let's address Dim and Peter. These motherfuckers came and brought their A-game when I had a B-game partner. They lost. Now, they face the full brunt of a Black Hand without any weak fucking links. No, fuck that.

Austin. Austin Fernando. You riding high these days, stud? You going around living the high life, showcasing what it means to be an XWF main eventer who is a card carrying member of the Mile High club? I mean, since you tossed me into a vat of shit, you've done less with your god damned career than if you fell in poop. Seriously, the master follow-up to that was licking Vinnie Lane and Shane 's boot heels so hard that the boot heels actually grew pussies to appreciate the tongue techniques you were laying down?

Sorry, you don't eat pussy. Don't mean to insult Mr. Arzegotti, when you pair of merry men get into hijinks, seeing who can pull their bow back furthest in the woods, we all can guess it's all pleasure, no pussy. Hiya, Luca, I asked nicely to not kick my partner in the face, pardon me while I wreck yours.

Austin Fernando is nothing in the XWF. Absolutely nothing. You aren't on the list of top 50 superstars, you backdoored into an Xtreme title that you aren't even fucking worth toting around on your limp little boot cunnilingus mastering shoulders, and besides that you weren't even worth the time of day to the top contenders of the XWF.

Been fucking with Vinnie since day one. Got used by Trax, you weren't even an afterthought to the would-be Universal Champion. You're fucking Flintstones vitamins on the level of hardcore when compared to me, stud.

So you take heed of that when you kiss your wife goodbye when you leave for Snow Job. See, you need to think hard and good on that when you're kissing the lips that are attached to the body that fantasizes of a real man, like me, when you aren't around to tend to the plumbing. I'll keep her pipes clean, no worries. You can ask her otherwise, you can put her in a polygraph, but her instincts will always beat a lie detector.

Not that you'd fucking mind, it isn't like I'm in bed with Luca Arzegotti.

Thing is, Austin, you tossed me into shit before. Not with malice, not with hatred, you did it because that was how you won. Wanna know how the Black Hand wins the Tag Team Championships? Pest is going to pin you in that ring, 1, 2, 3.

You can't even grow facial hair. Didn't your daddy teach you to shave, stud? Luca, does this guy even grow pubic hair? America deserves to know.

On that note, how long until Dim and Peter try to find out?

Hey, Killers! God damn, ain't it providence? I get to wreck your asses en route to the Tag Team Championships. Shit, I did it before, I'll do it again. Sorry, TJ felt like staying home this time, guys, instead I'm bringing Pest. Ever heard of him? Shit, I pummeled y'all both before, gave the people what they deserved before, and hot damn if they don't deserve more, only with more brutality, more violence, more destruction, and more pain, courtesy of the man I have ringside with me, and the might we bring of the Black Hand.

Beating the fuck out of the two will only get as old as you find beating the fuck out of me will, assholes. The battlefield only changes, but the fight, well, the fight never gets old. I get to beat the shit out of Peter Gilmour, again, playing collection agency for the checks his mouth writes but ass can't cash. I get to beat the shit out of Dim, again, giving hope to the people that backwards assholes that try to demean their existence can go down. I get to take Trump's prized ponies to the glue factory, and watch as he wastes his money.


The war room is awe struck. Joe Biden speaks up.

No, uh, Robbie, what are you going to do when you get to the city limits?

Oh, we're scaring this pink slime so we're just going to march right up and bank on the fact that we're too impure for it to effect.

[Image: 58dVWGD.jpg]


1:00 PM

We see Robbie pulling the van up to the pink slime blockade on the Key Bridge. The Black Hand exits.

Gentlemen, this is how we save the world.

The Black Hand approaches and the wall turns green and screeches for a moment, then returns to being pink.

Let's get closer!

The Black Hand walks right up the the pink slime wall, but there is no reaction.

"It's not doing anything."

Pest: Robert, I feel uninspired by all of this. Perhaps it is best that we go prepare for our match and allow the military to handle this.

We're not evil enough...

Robbie's eyes go wide.

Wait, what did you just say?

"I said it's not doing anything."

No, not that.

Pest: Robert, do not make me repeat myself.

Ugh, fine. Morbid, do you still have that re-animator formula on hand?

"What're you going to do for me?"

Damnit. Okay, Morbid, I'll get you more corn than you could ever pop.

"Deal."

Awesome. Okay guys, I have a plan.

Robbie pulls out his phone and dials.

Hey. Get the chem lab ready, we have a formula to reproduce. Then I need you to make a delivery system for the substance that can burrow underground after being introduced from the air. Awesome. Two hours? I hope that's enough.


3:00 PM

We see the Black Hand assembled beside a helicopter.

Okay, Gentlemen, let's do this. Welcome to superhero-dom.

Pest: Robert, you will stop with the delusions of grandeur.

It's not grandeur! Watch, this is going to work!

The three men get into the chopper. It takes off, and we watch as it flies over Arlington National Cemetery. We close in on Pest, who hits a trigger switch, deploying a glowing green compound over the cemetery. As it touches ground, the earth shakes.

"Is it working?"

It's got to work.

With that, the corpses at Arlington begin to stir. Skeletal and zombified hands pull the remains of those buried at Arlington out of the grave. Four hundred thousand counts of grave robbing perpetrated at Arlington National Cemetery. After a few moments, one zombie steps ahead of the pack with a huge hole in the back of his head and a charming smile. It's the zombie of John F. Kennedy.

My undead Americans. Ask not how and where your country buried you, but what you can do for your country!


The horde of undead summoned from Arlington National Cemetery begin to march towards the pink slime mass covering DC. The Black Hand follows along in their helicopter. Four hundred thousand corpses, led by JFK, Thurgood Marshall, Joe Brown, Jimmy Doolittle, John Pershing, and Lee Majors, storm the slime barrier, which wilts! Soon, the zombies are running rampant through the city as the alien pink slime shrinks and dissipates into one final green shrieking globule, and then nothing.

We did it!

Pest
: Robert, what about the zombie infestation in the streets of the nation's capital?

Eh, leave it to the politicians. Just ask Trump, nobody can crush the souls of veterans like a politician.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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