Robbie, who has been dealing with his problems with alcohol, was recently visited by Jesus Christ at his dojo.

WHAT THE PEOPLE DESERVE

We see Robbie and Jesus walking down the street. Robbie is holding a bottle of Dekuypers Buttershots in one hand, and in the other he is holding another bottle of Dekuypers Buttershots.

I wish you wouldn't have brought that.

Yeah, well, hey.

Robbie takes a swig out of one of his bottles of butterscotch liqueur.

Seriously, Robbie.

What?

You know what. That.

Jesus points at the bottle in his hand. Robbie rolls his eyes, shrugs, and has another sip.

It ain't a sin.

I know it isn't, but you're so much better when you're sober.

So.

So? Robbie, you're an inspiration. You go out of your way to do for the people without even thinking about yourself sometimes, and you don't expect anything in return except happier people and a better world for them to live in.

Fat lot of good that ever did me.

It didn't?

Jesus stops, and Robbie slows and halts himself, taking another drink in the process.

Nope, it didn't. I did what I could for the people, and I got locked up. Then I got out of jail, and got fired. Then I got myself a new contract, and got ripped off in the process of trying to win the Intercontinental Championship. Seriously, it's all well and good that you had your time of pain and what you did for the people, but...

All well and good? Are you really going to try to pull that shit with me, Robbie? I was beaten, stabbed, and crucified for doing good shit for the people, and there isn't a single moment I look back and think it was worth nothing.

I guess I'm not the son of God.

You're right. You aren't.

You were you.

Not some asshole avoiding life for the sake of a bottle. Not someone who hates his friends for mistakes they made.

Are you saying Judas is in heaven?

He is, why?

Robbie furrows his brow, then takes another sip.

The guy who sold you for thirty pieces of silver...

Yes, he's in heaven. I forgave him, Robbie.

Well, that's beautiful. I still don't know what the fuck you want from me.

It's not what I want from you, Robbie, it's what the people need from you.

The people...

Robbie's eyes go blank as he looks past anything within his view.

...don't need me. The people can take care of themselves just fine.

No, no they can't. The people are crazy, stupid, foolish, easily frustrated, and paranoid. I mean, look at some of them. There's Chris Chambers, who honestly thinks my father has a vested interest in the outcome of a wrestling match when there are terror attacks perpetrated on a near weekly basis in his name and he can't figure out why. There are the folks at the Westboro Baptist Church who think my dad hates people. And I thought the Pharisees were annoying.

Robbie looks at Jesus.

That's coming from you, so that's not good.

I know, Robbie. The people have always needed shepherds, and frankly, that's because they're sheep. Not necessarily by design, dad did give them free will and all, but he didn't account for insecurity to prevail over said free will. He even went and dedicated two commandments to insecurity.

Really?

Yeah, nine and ten, all about coveting and wanting someone else's possessions and life just because you don't have it and feel like you're less because of it. Insecurity is covered in two commandments.

Huh, never thought of it that way.

Exactly.

So you think I'm being insecure?

Well, yeah, kind of. You're so worried about being wronged again, you're just going to wrong yourself over and over again to keep others from having a chance. It's still the same outcome in the end, so why even bother?

Damn.

Robbie, you need to...

I need to put it behind me. I need to forgive the Bourbon Men. I need to forgive Blue! Jesus, I need to talk to her! I hurt her, and now I can't get in touch with her.

Well, that may have to be a penance.

No. Anything but that.

Robbie, you have to live with your decisions. True, she and the others did get you drunk, but when you got you drunk, you went out of your way to harm the one woman who ever treated you with love, kindness, gentleness, sweetness, and compassion for no other reason than the fact that you were you.

I know. Please, any penance but that.

I guarantee nothing. Robbie, you have to forgive someone else too. Yourself.

Robbie looks confusedly at Jesus.

I didn't...

Look, maybe you did, maybe you didn't, just forgive yourself either way so you can move on.

Okay. But, how do I get sober, now?

You put in time, and work at it, and never let your guard down for an instant.

Oh...

Jesus giggles.

Oh, who am I kidding. Here you go, Robbie. You know how I turned water into wine?

Yeah.

Well, boop!

Jesus taps Robbie on the nose. Robbie's eyes go bug eyed as he starts to convulse.

Feel the divine power.

I FEEL LIKE I'M SNIFFING 70 MARKERS AT ONCE IN AN AIRPLANE BATHROOM!

Robbie suddenly stops, and shakes his head.

Oh, wow, hey. Wait, I'm sober.

Yes. Since you already had some, well, tweaks to your DNA from hell, we had a right from the light to instill some tweaks as well. I turned water into wine, and you, well, whenever you touch alcohol, it will turn into water.

Wait, I can't get drunk anymore?

No, but you can still suffer from water intoxication.

Robbie looks at the two bottles marked Dekuypers Buttershots, and starts to guzzle them. He swallows, looks back at the camera, and hands the cameraman a bottle.

Drink it.

We hear a gulp from behind the camera.

That's Perrier!

It is!

Robbie dumps the remaining Perrier in the Dekuypers bottles on top of his head.

This feels awesome! Sweet! Thank you, Jesus.

Don't thank me, Robbie. Just go do what you do for the people, be what the people deserve. Keep your rehab clinic open, and give the people hope and a chance to get better. Fight for your people on the streets, and give the people justice and a chance to feel free.

Fight for the XWF, and give the people the match of the night every night, performing grand larceny in stealing the show week in, week out, and putting my foot up the asses of every asshole who walks into the company!

Uh, sure, whatever.

I'ma beat the hell out of the false idol, Chris Chambers.

Okay, you're starting to sound like Dad when he was in college...

Oh, so tone it down with the divine power?

Yeah, yeah, I know you were raised Catholic and all, but no reason to go full tilt.

Oh, okay. Even though he's taking credit for your miracles?

Yes, yes, even though he's taking credit for my miracles. Look, win or lose, that kid is going to thank me either way, sniff his own farts and call it incense, and then sell out a couple shows telling people about me, and as goofy as he is, and as little like me he actually is...

Is that a racial thing? Because he's so white he's pearlescent, and you're a black guy...

No, Robbie, it's not a racial thing, he means well. Kind of like when a toddler brings you a crappy drawing.

Oh, okay. So can I still kick the shit out of him for the delight of the XWF Universe? It's not like me beating his ass will stop him from challenging for the X-Treme Championship, he even said so.

Well, you can kick his ass for whatever reason you want, even if you're annoyed that he think's he has more power than you, or I, and without any real reason. Just remember what makes you great, Robbie.

The people.

There you go.

Wait, Jesus, can I beat his ass for his thanking me for unlocking his lyrical side?

Why would you do that?

Because I sure as shit didn't hear anything lyrical out of his mouth, just someone trying to keep up like the fat kid in gym class running the mile behind the girl with the greatest ass. And the poor kid didn't know not to make himself sick, if he's out of breath chasing he sure as shit can't fuck with his own dick. Then he stood there looking winded and in shock, while I fucked the hot bitch and he pretended he had my cock. He was sitting flustered, feeling like he's in a jam. Shit, stud, just who the fuck do you think I am?

My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. You're going to remember that name. It's the name of the man who proved that failed MMA fighters don't automatically become great wrestlers. Yes, you are a failed MMA fighter, otherwise you'd still be fighting. It's the name of the man who took a preacher to task. I have never doubted my maker, Chambers, I doubt you. It's the name of a bonafide bad (and I mean "How Bad?" "Real Bad!") motherfucker coming to wreck at Savage Saturday Night and show you not just how to fall, but how rewarding the climb back will be.

It's the name of the man who handed Chris Chambers his first loss.

Ooh and ah to whatever the fuck anybody else is saying backstage, I've come forward and said everything straight to you, without hiding, in plain sight, because that is what I do. You proclaim I'll see some kind of violent side you've never unleashed, which might explain why you keep failing to pin Unknown Soldier. Oh, wait, that was you unleashing everything, you just think that it'll look different against someone else, only you're going from attacking a block of steel to attacking a block of titanium. I've had swords put through me, piranha using me for supper, and even got hit in the mouth by Game Girl, and you're going to bullshit the entire XWF universe by saying Robbie Bourbon is in danger from you in a match that's not even X-Treme rules?

He knows not what he does.

He's gonna learn. Welcome to the big leagues, kid.