Robbie Bourbon recently lost his Tag Team Championships in a brutal match at Warfare, wherein it was revealed that the man claiming to be Arby Beef was actually Scully.

THE NEW MONARCHY

We open to see a packed Senate Subcommittee hearing. A team of legislatures is convened around a curved bar, their names all denoting whom they are and from which state. Chief among them is Senator Ted Cruz, and all the senators seem to be discussing what-have-you with aides, rifling through briefs, or just sipping coffee. The press is out in force, documenting every happening in the room, from the color of Cruz's tie to how many aides it takes to pour a cup of coffee.

Robbie Bourbon walks into the room and the cameras all spin to catch a glimpse of the President of the United States. Flashbulbs spark like fireworks on the Fourth of July as Robbie walks into the room, flanked on either side by Blue, Smashdyface McFace, Islamic terrorist who had their face wrecked with an axe and wearing an orangutan mask, and Robo-Rob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask. Robbie makes his way to a podium facing the bar of Senators before him, looking up at the subcommittee. He taps the microphone in front of him, which creates a loud thumping and then some brief feedback. Ted Cruz bangs a gavel.

Order. Mr. Bourbon...

Mister President Bourbon.

Please don't do that. Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to discuss Mr. Bourbon's eligibility to run this country and also to be a candidate in this year's election. Mr. Bourbon, in your brief time in office you have made some incredible promises and even participated in a raid in a foreign nation yourself, which is highly damaging to our image around the globe. Are you aware of this?

I stand by my decision, as I took out enemy agents of a terrorist cause.

You have no proof whatsoever of that.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

You sir, are not a citizen, and regardless of whatever asylum has been granted to you by Mr. Bourbon, the American public has no documentation declaring you an enemy combatant and your testimony has no weight here.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up. Ted Cruz bangs his gavel.

You are out of line, sir!

Drop it, Smash, this guy's on the war path.

You are correct, Mr. Bourbon, I am on the war path. I am looking out for the best interests and the integrity of our country. Are you versed in constitutional law, Mr. Bourbon?

Uh...

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity...

Cruz bangs the gavel.

Mr. Bourbon, that is the preamble to the United States Constitution. As wonderful as it is that you can repeat it, do you understand constitutional law very well?

Robbie scratches his head.

I know slavery is illegal, and guns are legal, and I can say whatever I want.

Mr. Bourbon, answer the question, do you understand constitutional law very well?

No. I'm a wrestler, first and foremost.

Ted Cruz smirks.

So it would seem. I think it's pretty evident that not only are you absolutely worthless when discussing constitutional law, but a very worthless wrestler as well. What is your win/loss record? Didn't you just lose again in Ireland after spending hundreds of thousands of the tax payers dollars to fly in Air Force One round trip for a wrestling match?

Hey, that's...

That's very relevant. You're a loser, Mr. Bourbon. A sham. You are not fit to represent the people of the United States.

You can go fuck yourself!

Cruz bangs the gavel.

Mr. Bourbon, you will conduct yourself accordingly in front of this subcommittee, or I will have your friend in the orangutan mask deported back to Syria.

Robbie looks pretty gumbly, knowing his balls are in the vice over this. His pride has not only been hurt, but Ted Cruz has also threatened to harm his friend if he didn't swallow it.

Yes, Mr. Cruz.

Good. Now, since you admit you're not an expert on constitutional law, do you understand the wording of article two, section one, clause five?

I am not familiar.

As it would seem, Mr. Bourbon. It describes the eligibility of any person to hold the office of President of the United States. Would you like me to repeat the wording of the article, Mr. Bourbon?

Shoot.

Ted Cruz holds up a brief which states the article verbatim, and reads it aloud.

No Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any Person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States. Do you understand what that means, Mr. Bourbon?

Yeah, pretty much, it's not that tricky to get.

Really? Mr. Bourbon, in what year were you born?

Nineteen eighty-five.

What is your age, Mr. Bourbon?

I'm thirty-one.

Mr. Bourbon, the article specifically states that you must be thirty-five in order to hold the office of President of the United States.

I get that, but...

There are no 'buts', Mr. Bourbon. Your time as President is completely contradictory to the Constitution, and you sir are defiling it willingly.

I am not!

Mr. Bourbon! How dare you defile the United States Constitution?

I don't!

Mr. Bourbon, this subcommittee has no other choice but to expel you from the office of President of the United States, and reinstate Barack Obama as Commander in Chief. Do you have any further questions on the issue?

Well, yeah, why can't we just figure...

Ted Cruz bangs his gavel again.

We will not just figure, Mr. Bourbon. You have not only embarrassed the country, but you're an embarrassment to yourself. A loser. Good day.

Ted Cruz gets up and leaves the hearing along with the other senators. Robbie looks completely gassed at all of this. Accepting defeat is one thing, preparing for another match is another, but to be called out for it publicly by a politician as awful as Ted Cruz after the bizarre happenings of the previous night's match seem to have taken a toll on Robbie. His shoulders slump. Blue reaches up and puts a hand on one of the slumped shoulders.

Honey, it's okay, that guy is an asshole.

I know, but he's not wrong.

So what if he's right. Fuck him, you're Robbie Bourbon, man of the people!

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

That's really beautiful, Smash, is that Walt Whitman?

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

Robert Frost. Ah.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

Drop it with all the poetry, I'm glad you like it here.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

No, I don't want you to call your 'boys' and go visit Ted Cruz's house with AK-47s.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

Charlie Hebdo was a disaster, not righteous.

Robo-Rob shoots a laser beam from it's forehead at Smashdyface McFace's ass, setting his pants on fire.

Thank you, Robo-Rob.

Happy Birthday, Paulie.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Well, now we have to go get ready for next Warfare. You're facing off against three other opponents.

I'm losing to three other opponents.

Don't say that.

What? It's true. I'm not a man of the people, I'm not a winner, I'm just fucking clown shoes.

Robbie perks up instantly.

Maybe I can dress up like John Wayne Gacey, you know? Like Unknown Soldier thought...

Blue and Smashdyface McFace nod their heads in disapproval as Robbie sputters and stops talking.

Well, shit. I might not be President of the United States anymore, but at least I'm King of the Jobbers.

Honey...

Babe, I love you. With all my heart. But, if my best attribute is being a loser, I might as well fucking embrace it, you know?

Robbie starts to smile.

King of the Jobbers.

If you say so...

I do!

I'm going to get my ass whooped at Warfare!

First, there's Kitt Kennedy! He's a super promising young up and comer, super into himself, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda, same old bullshit coming out of his mouth as just about anybody else. I sure as fuck don't see anything that sets the guy apart from anybody else in the company I've faced, and let's be honest, lost to. Hell, he's even a contender for the Savage Championship, and he earned that shot by, I dunno, having a pulse and willingly competing on Savage on a night they were deciding to crown a Savage Champion. That guy is so important that they have him fighting for some brand new championship that Vinnie probably thought up while having a fart in between sinking a few canoes on the can. Kitt Kennedy's parents also came up with his name in much the same way. Can you imagine what kind of hallucinogens those people had to be on? First off, they gave the poor prick an alliterative name. Secondly, they named him after the fucking car in Knight Rider, or after a candy bar.

Smashdyface says something unintelligible due to his face being all smashed up.

Well if that is his ring name, what kind of hallucinogens was he on when he came up with it? Sure, he has promise, but I had promise at one time. Wednesday is just the first night that he realizes how brutal the XWF is as he joins my legion and bows to me, showing fealty to the one true King of the Jobbers.

Huh?

That's right, the crowd will all start chanting along in my honor as Kitt Kennedy, who again, sounds more like a daring whippersnapper of a detective on Nickelodeon than a championship contender, a man who barely beat one of my already loyal subjects, Mikey McBride. Same night I went toe to toe with two living legends in the XWF, and proved my place as the one true Monarch of Match Losing.

The people in the subcommittee are all paying attention and watching the promo take place. They begin to chant.

*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*

Then there's good ole' Peter Gilmour. He's beaten everybody in the XWF, including myself. I mean, what more can I say about Peter that hasn't already been documented? He's ugly, he's a blowhard, he's overrated, he continually loses but keeps coming back. God damnit, there is no fucking way this is happening. Not after he beat me for the fucking Hart Title last spring. Nah. Peter Gilmour is not taking away my crown and my throne. I alone and King of the Jobbers, and Gilmour can be my duke, or earl, or baron. Peter Gilmour is a sloppy, weird little man who has a thing for hopping on his dick like it's a pogo stick and tells everybody about it. He's a sex addict, he even wears bike shorts and rubs himself in the back when he's not ready for a match, asking every woman he sees to suck his penis. He needs to ask everybody for fellatio, because nobody in their right fucking mind is waking up and thinking "Hmm, you know what I want to do? Pleasure Peter Gilmour." So he panders himself out to everybody he meets, whoring himself out nonstop to the nth degree to anybody who can hear, see, or otherwise perceive him. Hell, he even talked about getting his dick wet at a family function or some such, probably getting ready to stick his cock inside one of his own cousins after knocking back a few dozen Viagra that are needed to fuel his super cock. Superman reacts to the sun's rays, the Hulk gets angry, and Peter's super dick needs Viagra to work. Natural male enhancement, my big hairy ass, this motherfucker would perform voodoo rituals if it meant getting a lasting and worthwhile erection just so he can stick it up the ass of his cousin Nancy. He's totally going to beat my ass.

Wait, what are you saying?

What does it sound like I'm saying? I'm the motherfucking King of the Jobbers!

Robbie stands up on the bar where the senators were seated.

America! I'm about to get my ass kicked by a little girl!

*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*

That's right! She's a contender to the Savage Championship too, and I'm just a loser with a title shot for a title that won't even exist after next Warfare! Dolly Waters, and her daddy, the both of them tucked tail and ran a year ago when they saw big nasty Robbie Bourbon, full of promise, on the horizon. Now that things have tapered off, though, now that they see a weakness or two in the juggernaut that once was, they feel a little more comfortable coming back around and taking pointers from Vinnie or whoever about how to beat Robbie Bourbon. There's a blueprint; call him fat, make fun of the fact he's a shitty drunk, act surprised when he calls you out for being a fucktard in some way or another, and he'll be so flustercucked by the time he hits the ring you can just crumple him up like a piece of paper and toss him aside like everybody else has. It isn't like she'll do any different, she has the plan of plans, only now she's going to do it while referencing a shit ton of TV shows to compare me to. This silly little bitch is going to grow into a silly little cunt right in front of all our eyes on worldwide television, and you know what her greatest achievement is going to be? Beating Robbie Bourbon! However, she will also have to learn a few things, there's no way in hell that little talking turd can avoid genetics. Her daddy, good ole' Muddy, he's not even fit to shine my fucking ring boots, he's just among the serfdom in my kingdom, and she's just a byproduct of his sperm finding it's way up the fun hole of some passed-out chick at a Garth Brooks concert in a fucking port-o-john. Maybe that explains the fact she looks so goofy and makes those weird sounds when she eats, the fucking chemicals from the basin in the port-o-john got up in Momma Waters's twat and mutated her into the hideous little deformation we all see and hear. Ooh, at least she's the Federweight champion, and that's a title I could just swoop in and snag whenever I fucking want anyway, so what's the point?

*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*LET'S GO JOBBER!*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*

Blue looks a little relieved, seeing that although Robbie is claiming to be King of the Jobbers, it seems it's about as true as when he claimed to be a zombie, or when Ghost Tank claimed to retire. Furthermore, she's relieved that Robbie is in brighter spirits, all things considering.

I have no idea how I'm supposed to fix this, but damn you look cute right now.