Robbie Bourbon recently spent some time at the beach, away from the XWF, following his trial and release from prison.

LIFE'S A BEACH

We open to see a scenic beach on a hot summer day. The whole of the beach is full of people, laid out on blankets and towels, playing in the crashing waves, tossing footballs and frisbees around, and eating. Eating? Well, I guess that happens everywhere, but specifically the person the camera is focused on, Robbie Bourbon himself, is eating a slice of watermelon as he sits in a chair, soaking in the sun's rays. His mask is doffed, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses resting on the jagged crook of his broken nose, and juices from the melon drip from his beard into his bared chest hair, trickling down to his powerful, though bulging stomach. He glances at the camera, seemingly struck with a slight sense of surprise that he was being filmed. He gulps down his mouthful of watermelon, looks as if he's going to speak, then instead takes another few bites of his slice of watermelon before putting the rind into the cooler. After chomping down the last of the watermelon, he clears his throat.

*ahem*

He speaks.

Hello XWF, and Hello America.

I'm, well, you know who I am and all.

I've been enjoying my vacation, it's been pretty great actually. Lots of time here on the beach, plenty of good food, but hey, looks like it's time for me to get my boots laced back up and...

Screams are heard everywhere as Robbie's eyes go wide. The camera pivots and we see the ocean, and a huge claw, roughly the size of a speedboat, emerging from it.

What the fuck?

Steadily, the massive pincer continues to come from the surf, followed by the body of the colossal crab attached to it. The monster is headed for the beach.

Shit!

The camera pivots to show Robbie standing up, and turning to run to safety from this giant creature. He bolts, and is seen running alongside hundreds of others on this bright sunny day towards the boardwalk. The calamity causes a hold-up at a ramp to get to the boardwalk itself, and panic takes hold among the crowd of people who can't get to higher ground. Robbie looks at the camera.

Babe, get to safety, no more...

Honey, you have to do something.

What?

The voice of Blue, which is decidedly shaken, comes from behind the camera.

You're a superhero, remember, you have to do something now!

What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm bulletproof, I can't go fight a giant monster! You're holding my phone, call Lux Lyden or one of the other motherfuckers who can bend time and space and shit. I dunno, start playing the Game Girl app and see if that does something!

ROBERT O'LEARY! YOU BROUGHT ME TO THIS BEACH, AND NOW I'M STUCK HERE WHILE A SEA MONSTER SHOWS UP, SO FUCKING FIX IT!

Robbie is taken aback. His expression goes from shock to realization.

Yes, ma'am.

Robbie turns and starts to march in the direction of the giant crustacean approaching the shore.

Hey! You! Big ass crab!

RAAAWWRRR

Yeah, you!

RAAAWWRRR

Robbie makes his way into the surf and not too far from the beast.

I'm Robbie Motherfucking...

The colossal crab snatches Robbie in it's pincer and tosses him into it's maw, swallowing him whole.


Later...

We see a dimly lit, murky place. The walls and borders of this location can not be seen, but in the center we see a shabby looking wooden table with a lone candle sitting on it and three figures sitting around it.

SPLASH.

Water crests all around the men as a large figure lands in the watery floor of this chamber. The candle flickers as Robbie Bourbon gets to his feet and looks around.

"Sit."

One of the figures beckons to Robbie. Bourbon shrugs as he approaches the table, pulls out a chair, and sits.

"What's your name?"

Robbie looks at the three other people at the table, squinting as though he may recognize them somehow.

Robbie Bourbon.

The man who told Robbie to sit smiles at him.

My name is Henry Hudson. This man to my left is Harold Holt, and this woman is Amelia Earhart.

Oh, shit! Amelia Earhart!

Hi.

Wow, you're really famous. So, eaten by a giant crab?

Yep.

Damn.

Excuse me, Robbie...

What's up?

So, please, tell us a little about yourself. I was an explorer, Mr. Holt was the leader of a nation, Ms. Earhart was a pioneer of aviation, what do you do?

Oh, you know, stuff, just like you guys. I'm a man of the people. Except instead of discovering Canadas, leading Australias, or flying an airplane around the planet, I beat the shit out of people on camera for money, and people really like it.

Oh, is this important in the world?

You bet your ass it is! There isn't a day that goes by that we don't all entertain ourselves with some kind of terrible and hopeless happening somewhere. Hell, for the past sixty plus years on earth, we've all decided to just tell fucked up, horrible people with backwards ass notions they were wrong and left it at that, and after all that neglect, the fucked up, horrible people have had enough intolerance towards them. Now fucked up, horrible people seem to be in vogue, whether you're beating the shit out of a Polack for not speaking a language you can barely spell half the words in, calling for a chuckle due to "white on white" violence becoming a thing like it hasn't been a thing for centuries, shooting up a nightclub because you can't get a kiss there, to brazenly saying you could have stopped that nightmare by outlawing the weapon used (and I for one prefer the AR-15 to good ole' fashioned Walmart product homemade bombs that cost about $20 to make, being bulletproof and all), the world of today isn't necessarily full of more shitheads than it was when you guys were doing your thing topside, but the shitheads sure learned how to soapbox.

Then there's Drezdin.

That motherfucker is so fucking that you should really just punch yourself in the testicles, Henry. That country you discovered is the reason Drezdin even exists. Sure, he claims to be from Russia, but how many 7'2" black men have you ever heard of coming from Russia? None. I call bullshit, he only says he's Russian because he thinks Morbid Angel is cool. Drezdin's a Canadian with sloppy English speaking skills and an even sloppier wrestling style which can best be summed up as "sticking his own hands up his ass and hoping he turns into a self-controlled puppet like Pinocchio, because in the end even Pinocchio turned into a real boy and Drezdin's father prevented him from enjoying his childhood due to sticking his hands up Drezdin's ass".

And don't say anything. Just keep your fucking mouth shut, Pinocchio.

Pinocchio turns around within the belly of the sea monster, looks sad at Robbie, and turns away.