Jim Caedus, Robbie's partner at the next Wednesday Night Warfare, has been doing a superb job as a member of the Bourbon Men, staunchly stepping forward and getting the XWF Universe hyped for their match against Cadryn Tiberius and Killjoy.

Cadryn Tiberius and Killjoy have been doing a piss poor job, on the other hand.

CONSEQUENCES

We open to see the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts in it's full busy splendor. Dunkin Donuts is making America run, determined chefs sweat their brows away coming up with culinary concoctions set to thrill the taste buds, people getting their hair cut, and notably a group of fine young trainees in the ring, practicing holds. Hammerlocks, top wrist locks, the nuances of the arm wrench, drop toe holds, all stretching each other in ways all wrestlers are known to do.

We see Robbie walk out of his office and towards the ring. Following him are Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Blue, Robbie's girlfriend and handler, Frankendickhead, some dickhead Robbie killed and reanimated, Han Solo, scruffy nerf-herder, and Jim Caedus, Television Champion.

So, uh, what exactly do you want me to do, Rob?

Jim, I want you to do what all the Bourbon Men do, and do you. See, we're all a pack of strays, really. Cyberjaw used to clean chemical toilets for a living until he found one of my superhero contacts...

You're a superhero?

Kinda.

Used to be, more like.

Bullshit, I'm the most heroic god damned Hart Champion ever.

Really?

Ever hear of Ghost Tank?

Jesus, you are a super hero now that I think about it.

Thank you.

Diamondback used to just eat weird shit on YouTube, he never got enough hits to get paid for it, but the dream was there.

Fuck you, I can get millions of hits!

Diamondback pulls a can of Pillsbury biscuit dough out of seemingly nowhere and cracks it open. He starts to scarf the raw biscuit dough.

That's disgusting.

That's his jam, and your jam, Frankendickhead, is that you're our resident dickhead.

Fuck you.

Nope. Go eat shit and sleep under a fucking bridge.

Like a troll?

Sure! Blue here, well, she's really a CIA operative that makes sure I don't blow the world up, or something.

I love you too, hun.

She loves me, and I love her, she's the light of my life.

Robbie beams at Blue as she coyly looks back.

Well, I'm your partner for the first round of Lethal Lotto, I figure we should get to wrecking, the two of us bowling over the competition like pins, a one-two combo that will score big.

Bowling? So, are we the balls?

Damn skippy we're the balls, Jim. Don't stick your fingers in me.

Don't what?

Do you really think I want you sticking your fingers in me, Jim? No, just, no Jim. You can pick your friends, and you can pick your ass, but don't stick your fingers in me.

Jesus, I'm kind of confused.

Jim, go train some of my students up, keep yourself warm, you're a helluva fighter, and frankly, if you don't want to get into any crazy shit, well, crazy shit has a way of finding me.

Diamondback cracks open a box of Duncan Hines cake mix, the powder stuff that you mix with an egg or two and some oil and water, and starts to dump it into his maw.

Seriously?

Fuck the bake, I eat dehydrated cake!

As Diamondback proclaims this, he spews powdered cake mix through the air and onto the floor. He then opens a tube of toothpaste and squeezes blindly as the opening points into his filthy cake mixy maw, getting a healthy mix of powdered birthday cake and Colgate.

Wow, like, you're not going to get rich doing that, you got a job here so you wouldn't have to live that life.

I love the life.

Diamondback wanders off, forcing the notions of pika unto himself.

Well, while I train your dudes...

Your fellow Bourbon Men.

Okay, so while I train up some of the Bourbon Men, what the fuck are you going to do? And why is Harrison Ford here?

Don't get cocky, kid.

That's not Harrison Ford. Well, it is, but it's Han Solo.

Why?

Well, Jim, see, I fight on behalf of everybody. I'ma do what I always do when getting ready for big matches, Jim. See, I do my training by going out and being among the people, by being of the people and for the people, and that's everybody. Every last living person in the universe. I go out there and represent them. The contradictions, the hypocrisy, every color in the spectrum, every wavelength, every string of that silly super string theory, I'm out there representing and fighting for. That even includes fictional characters from long ago in a galaxy far, far away.

Would you let me be myself from Sabrina or Regarding Henry just once?

Those movies are bullshit to me, Han. The people don't tune in to watch Regarding Henry help Robbie Bourbon duke it out with anybody.

Fuck if you know, Regarding Henry is one hardcore son-of-a-bitch.

No, he's a brain damaged man on a path to redemption. Not cool.

So, what's the plan for our opponents?

Our opponents? Well, let's have a look see, you saw what Tiberius said, yeah?

Of course, I cut a vicious promo against his silly ass.

Robbie giggles.

Well, that you did. Now it's my crack.

Jim Caedus enters the ring and starts to toss the students around.

See, Cadryn Tiberius needs a little lesson in history, really. Cadryn doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, either. First he's pissing and moaning that I'm not funny enough, then he's pissing and moaning that I'm not talking enough, but this isn't a fucking improv troupe coming to see who can astound the crowd with our antics the best, kid, this here be a fucking battle on Wednesday Night Warfare, one you find yourself in with none other than not just the Television Champion, but also the one true Wednesday Night Wrecker. I'm a lot of things to a lot of people, Cadryn, you saying I haven't amused you has no fucking impact on the High Holy Hypocrite, the King of the Jobbers, the Mean Streak Master of Mayhem, your XWF Hart Champion, the one true XWF Champion, the Man of the People, but most importantly, Cadryn, and this is the one you really aught remember and think long and hard about, is I'm the Wednesday Night Wrecker.

See, while you're walking around lost with your dick in your hand trying to convince the god damned Universe that the horseshit you say ain't worth listening to, and let's face facts, the horseshit you say ain't worth listening to, you keep saying more and more of it, for no fucking reason. You think this is where the battle is won, or something, you think that coming up with some witty or clever or funny line is going to save you when I'm whipping your helpless body into the corner. You think that folly, and whimsy, and joviality are your best defenses when the best god damned big man in the XWF starts to charge in on you. You think a good ole belly laugh and a sense of humor are going to have a fucking iota of an impact against the feeling of my fists crashing into your god damned jaw, cracking it, breaking it, shattering it, leaving it limp and stupid looking.

See, now that's where it starts to get funny, Cadryn. That's when the jokes start to fly. Let me give you a little history lesson.

I had my first fifteen minutes of fame called on me when I lost to Game Girl after the Black Hand robbed me during my first title shot, back when the XWF had something called the Intercontinental Championship.

Robbie holds the Hart Championship up.

Now I'm the XWF Champion. Cum se, cum sa.

Robbie drapes the Hart Championship belt over his shoulder.

I had my next fifteen minutes of fame called on me when I was robbed of one half of the Tag Team Titles by my own fucking partner, that worthless hack named Trax, who opted to literally give the belt to some goofy space alien that had a habit of, well, giving me free cantaloupe. I can't make this shit up, I promise you Cadryn, the thing gave me a cantaloupe and thought it was hard shit. Well, whatever Lux Lyden was kind of disappeared and Trax fucked around getting his ass whooped by one guy after almost half a fucking year while I was the steady lifeblood of the XWF. One by one, men who were regularly fighting on Warfare started going to some Other Shitty Wrestling company, looking for bigger pay days, forgetting that the X motherfucking WF is where the greatest fucking talent in the world already flocks to. It was around this time I had another fifteen minutes of fame called on me when I lost, and yes, I fucking lost with my partner Pest when trying to capture the Tag Team Championships. I lost to Luca Arzegotti, who's as close to a legend as one can be while being a morose and lost sad sack, and, um, some guy.

Some guy?

Yeah, we all kinda forgot his name. Anyhow, even though I lost, and while you were probably somewhere off with your dick in your hand looking for a grin, I got to participate in the King of the XWF tournament, and I had another fifteen minutes of fame clocked to my life for getting cheated out of the fucking tournament by John Madison. I put him through a table for it, so there's some catharsis there. That's when I got really violent with it, Cadryn. That's when I started smashing open skulls to eat the brains of my opponents, just because I fucking could. That's when I started to challenge Vinnie Lane, just because I fucking could. That's when I faced Vinnie, and what do you know, it was another fifteen minutes of fame for Robbie Bourbon, on his way to prison for taking two Mormon missionaries and forcing them into a pair of glory holes.

By my count, every time I get fifteen minutes of fame, it just adds up as more time on the clock that I put in at the office, and my office is in between those fucking ropes, wrecking fools on Wednesday Night Warfare. I've pinned Chris Chaos on Warfare, I've Robbiebombed Dolly Waters out of the ring, I've gone head to head, blow for blow with Doc D'Ville, and each time, Cadryn, each time was another fifteen minutes of fame. It's all adding up, minute by minute, until you start to realize, and you will fucking realize, that Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon is timeless, that I will wreck fifteen minutes ago, fifteen minutes from now, a year from now, a millennium from now, when the lights go up in any given arena anywhere in the fucking Universe on Wednesday Night, I will still be the fucking Wednesday Night Wrecker, the sumbitch punting any and all comers out of contention.

You, on the other hand, you're going to have fun with your time, too. See, after I shatter that mouth of yours and wreck your worthless partner Killjoy, I'm going to slap both of you in the glory holes. I still have 'em, Cadryn, all ready and set to go, and I'm going to make, oh, fifteen dollars a pop from lonesome perverts who want something warm, wet, and living on their dick for a time.

Honey, you'll get arrested again...

Robbie nods his head no.

Nope, nope, I actually have a license to forcibly put people in glory holes now.

Oh, really?

Yes.

Oh, okay. So, you're going to make Cadryn suck a lot of cock?

That's one way of putting it. Another way of putting it is when Cadryn Tiberius wakes up in the morning, he'll rub his eyes, have a swig of water, probably a little mouthwash to get the taste of yesterday's smegma and herpes off his lips, and he'll see a glimmer of light coming through a hole. Not fifteen minutes of fame, nah, Cadryn hasn't even come close to sniffing the crotch of three god damned seconds of fame, I guess why he's so butthurt over not having the TV Title right now. That light is the rest of the world, getting ready to get their cocks sucked. That's when the light goes out, and a penis enters Cadryn's day for the first time, and the first thought on his mind is 'breakfast'. He'll eagerly slide whatever cock is given to him down his throat, massaging it tenderly with his eager and waiting tongue, until his true passion and love in this world, Gravy, starts to seep past his teeth and down his esophagus. Then the next dick gets put in, and this one is a little hairy, and the pubes tickle his nose just right so when the gravy shoots out, he sneezes and shoots semen back out onto the lap of the dingus who didn't shave, most likely some bored trucker who hasn't sniffed a woman in decades. Then a huge black cock shows up, and Cadryn's eyes go wide, hoping beyond hope that the payload this Mandingo is packing is big enough to fill his belly to the brim. This will continue, ad nauseum, until Cadryn is vomiting up It's a Small World After All; so many children from so many places around the world and so many happy people having gone for the ride. He'll be able to pick apart what DNA tastes better, who had citrus before they showed up, and he'll look down at the puddle of spooge on the ground and think to himself 'yes, this is better than that time Robbie Bourbon beat my ass on the universal broadcast we call Warfare in front of thousands in live attendance and billions watching around the globe'. He'll wipe his mouth, then pull his own dick out, and try to contribute something to the mass of sperm at his knees, and he'll whack and beat and flog and stroke, and right when he thinks he's going to climax, he'll remember he's not here for that. He's Robbie's fucking bitch now.

That's when the next dick comes through the hole, and the only thought on Cadryn's mind is 'lunch'. As he slides the cock down, waiting for it to ooze past his uvula and make it's way into his upper intestines, he'll think to himself, and become existential. 'Man, if only I was getting a hand job from some dude in a hotel again, those were the days. That was my fifteen minutes of fame, the time I wasted with my dick in my hand before Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon, the one true XWF Champion, gave me my proper place in life behind a hole that strangers stick their dicks through.' His eyes watering, the gonorrhea sores in his mouth aching, another load of cum for a cum dumpster, and the fulfillment of knowing that finally, Cadryn Tiberius was where he fucking belonged. Meanwhile, Robbie Bourbon will be off crushing some other dipshit who came looking for the Hart Championship and only found an ass beating.

You know, with the money you'll make me from sucking cock, I think I'll buy a nice hat. Maybe a fedora or something.

[b][color=#708090]Those are ]