Peter Francis Gilmour recently reported to the arena a full two days early, letting everyone know that he can't even read a calendar, and upon arrival he decided to squeal his tired a little bit.

It was sincerely the best sounding part of the entire promo.

STAY HUNGRY

We open to see a shopping mall, the same shopping mall Robbie was signing autographs in earlier. The lights are all dim (not the Dimallisher, just not as bright, well, damn, you know what I mean, right?) and there's nary a soul in sight. A security guard makes his way through the empty mall, the banners regarding Robbie's visit all gone and the people all gone. Suddenly, we hear a ruckus within one of the stores, notably a jewelry store. The mall cop crooks his neck slightly, his face contorted with confusion, perplexed as to what could be causing the sound. He silently creeps towards the source of the sound, putting his hand on his hip, specifically the can of mace he keeps there.

As he approaches the shuttered portal to the jewelry store, secured in every way known with a steel slatted gate, his eyes go wide as a crash is heard from behind the shutter.

"What the hell?"


Meanwhile...

We see the Bourbon Dojo, far less than busy in this late evening hour. As usual, some diehard prospects dreaming of their name in bright lights are burning the midnight oil in the ring, continuing their training. The Dunkin Donuts is open, but mostly kids in their late teens to early twenties are giving it their patronage, too young to visit a bar or other establishment that serves alcohol, too old to rely on going over to each other's mom and dad's houses to spend time with each other without feeling infringed upon. The kitchen is mostly closed, save for one steadfast chef chopping away, doing the unsung prep work that keeps any kitchen running smoothly. The hair salon is entirely barren.

We see Robbie Bourbon walking into the dojo from the front door, flanked on either side by both Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd. As they do, we see Blue, Robbie's girlfriend and handler, step out of the office, located in the center of the Bourbon Dojo.

So, have fun with the cheerleaders?

The who?

Oh, you know, the thirteen girls who's asses you slapped?

Oh, them. Kinda, I guess, I mean signing autographs is all a part of the deal and all, I generally have my kind of fun in the ring, or out running around getting into some madcap caper dealing with some whack job or such. Remember that time in Cuba?

Blue grins.

Yes, when are you going to take me somewhere nice again?

Babe, you name the place and we're there. Wanna go to the moon? We'll go to the moon.

Right. If you can stop getting an eyeful of every set of tits that needs an autograph.

Doing it for the people, babe.

Robbie walks up to Blue and kisses her on the forehead.

You know I love you and all, but I can't let you be the only driving force in my life, and I can't let you be what defines me.

I guess that's true.

I'm the Hart Champion. That is what defines me, because I'm constantly defining it as the top title in the XWF.

Uh huh. Peter Gilmour thinks differently.

Really? What, did Francis say something when we were on our way back from the mall?

Sure he did.

Well, it was probably hot garbage.

Yeah.

Hrmm. So, did you do anything else other than watch my promo and then Peter's?

Well, all the clerical shit that runs this dojo, plus I went upstairs and helped your grandma make brownies.

Mmm, I love your grandma's brownies.

Me too.

Diamondback and Cyberjaw scurry to a corner of the dojo and take the spiral stairs upward.

Then I did some yoga with Ash and Xtreme Travel Agent, Marcel was kind enough to help us with that. Ash misses you, by the way, she wonders why you don't visit with her much anymore.

Ah, well, she's been so busy with the hair salon.

I know, just try to take her along next time, she feels left out.

Mkay. I got some hot dogs from Costco.

I know, I saw.

They were good, but I"m really confused why they sell Coca-Cola in their store but not at the cafe.

That is kinda strange, I guess.

Yeah.

Did you get another Costco card?

A what? Oh, no, I just got the hot dogs and left.

Blue grabs Robbie's hands in hers.

I think I'm in love with a ]

Robbie rolls his eyes and smirks. He takes Blue's hands and places them up and behind his massive neck, then slides his hands down the length of her arms and down around her waist.

[color=#FF6347]Is he bigger than me?

Blue chuckles, takes her right hand back and slugs Robbie on the shoulder.

Ha ha. Well, did you want to see what Peter had to say?

Well, sure.

Blue reaches into her pocket and pulls a remote control out. She points it at a flat screen mounted on the wall of the dojo and clicks a button, then navigates through a series of menus until Peter Gilmour's promo comes up.

Wait, honey, before you start.

Robbie turns to all the students in the ring, still shooting off the ropes and practicing their holds.

Yo, guys, check this out. If I ever see any of you doing any of this shit, it'll be fifty laps, twenty-five burpees, and then I'm going to call social services and have you tested to see if you qualify to be legally incompetent.

The guys and gals in the ring all chuckle.

I mean it, this is, ugh, watch and please do not learn.

Blue presses a button on the remote as Peter Gilmour's latest promo plays from start to finish for all to see. After it ends, we hear the students in the ring laughing.

Okay, so, did you all see that?

A round of assent comes from the ring, a smattering echo of 'yeah' and 'yes' from the individuals in the ring, working their hardest to get better.

Alright, let me fill you guys in on a few things then.

For starters, I want you all to know none of you are anywhere near ready enough for a glass tables match, and I say that as the man who brought glass tables into the XWF. First I brought them along in a Cutthroat Culinary Challenge with Chris Isles, and you know what? Chris Isles was the first man in XWF history to have their body flung at high velocity through a sheet of fucking glass into the waiting pavement below. Little bastard even stabbed me with some of the shit. Those glass tables are for advanced, experienced ring veterans, you understand? Also, never fight in one of those kinds of matches if you're getting underpaid, or there's no medical staff on hand. The XWF has top notch medics, and I would know, I go visit them pretty often, heh. The second time I brought them along, it was because I thought the XWF Universe was ready for another glass tables match, that the people wanted to see the kind of carnage and bloodshed that comes in the most Xtreme place in the whole universe, the most barbaric action in the fucking planet, the kind of violence that used to happen in the Colloseum or on ancient battlefields when men would run at each other with battle axes, mauls, and swords, the kind of brutality that sells fucking tickets and sets god damned television ratings shooting through the fucking roof because everybody and their mother wants to tune in to see a bloodbath. The front office at the time thought it was a novel concept, so they gave me my favorite little rag doll, Peter Francis Gilmour, and I threw his goofy ass through a table, then after his husband put hands on me, I put Mia through one too. See, Peter doesn't want me touching his hubby, but I guess he was knocked the fuck out last time we met in a glass tables match, because he didn't recall that I don't put my hands on men, I don't touch men, I knock them the fuck out, and I put his husband through a fucking glass table too.

Then, I want you all to notice that Peter had the gall to say that the Hart Championship isn't worth what the Universal Championship is. Well, that might have been the case, once upon a time, when guys like Peter Francis Gilmour were holding this belt.

Robbie holds up the Hart Championship belt.

When guys were shitting on it, using it as a fucking Yugioh table, trying to get lap dances with it, losing it in airports, or otherwise being lame duck champions waiting for some other failed abortion to show up and continue the fuckaroo ad nauseum. That means over, and over, and over again piss poor excuses for so called 'talent' came along and wound up with this piece of history and legacy in the XWF with their thumb up their ass and their eyes to the dirt, running scared hoping someone big and bad wouldn't show up one day to whip the everloving shit out of them and take the god damned Hart Championship from them and show the people what a real champion was like. Well, that's over now. Those days are fucking done. Nowadays, this here Hart Championship is the real and true XWF Championship, the title that actually means something. Chris Chaos got the Universal Title in a fluke win after I tore the house down and flew from the top of a chamber, and now he's defending it against Micheal Graves, a fucking doofus that had the evil beat out of him by yours truly in my first defense of this prestigious championship. Peter can't count, as you can see, he thinks he's the first person to get a crack at the real champ, I guess I run his bell a little too hard last time and he couldn't notice me wrecking Graves, whom I have to admit, I respect and will defend this championship against any time, even right after beating Peter. I guess Peter couldn't notice me wrecking Isabella Ravenwolf like it was Salem in the 1600's. I guess Peter couldn't notice I whooped the shit out of both of them within three fucking days of each other. Now, I was ready and willing to go defend this championship, to be the fighting champion, every Wednesday Night Warfare, until a little thing called Lethal Lottery happened, and I was put on the clock, so I jumped up and asked Mr. Kato if I could defend the championship at Savage, and I was welcomed with open arms. Never forget anybody who does a favor for you in the fight game, remember that. So after I crumple up Peter and pitch him through a sheet of glass again, I'll be waiting for any and all comers right after, and whoever has the stupid fucking idea to tell the guys in the production truck to cue up their music and step out into the entrance ramp is going to get their limp and unconscious body piled up right next to Peter's. Then, guys, and this is key, then the EMT's are going to need snow shovels, not stretchers, to get the bodies out of the fucking arena, because whatever I leave them as after sure as fuck won't look human anymore.

The students all chuckle.

Hey, you guys laugh, just wait until you're out there going full tilt. Be cutthroat, show no fucking mercy, take no fucking prisoners, and stay hungry.

Now, that's something I really need to address with you all. That's the most important thing you need to take away from what we just watched. Do you guys remember what Peter Gilmour looked like when I first fought him? He was bigger, and used to get really defensive about being called fat. So defensive that he even accused me of calling him a fatty. Really, body shape don't matter to me, fat, tall, skinny, small, I'll wreck 'em all, and if he wants to call me fat, well, so fucking what? The better to crush you with, Francis, the better to wreck you with, the better to put you down like the dickless dog you are. Now, look at him. Look at all that weight he lost, and now he's even calling me out for eating. Eating! Guys, I can't emphasize this enough, so I want you all to listen very carefully. Come here.

The students climb out of the ring and come towards Robbie.

Eating disorders are fucking serious. See, Peter knew as soon as I whooped his ass the first time, those fat paydays were a thing of the past. He knew that I called him out for being last year's model, for being a relic, for being worthless and pointless when a real ass kicker such as myself was walking around. He knew I was the fucking man. So, to stay relevant, to have people pay attention to him, Peter developed an eating disorder, hoping people would think he was sexy, or worth paying to have around to be cute, even though he's an ugly little toad man with a replacement mechanical cock. Peter started throwing up all his meals after eating them, hoping the people would notice him, hoping the people would pay attention to him, hoping that if he lost weight, maybe he'd get an edge or something. And you know what? He was half right. He won the Universal Championship. On that day, see, that's the day that the Universal Championship officially took a back seat to the Hart Championship. That's when being an anorexic crotch stain became relevant to that particular title, and that's when I knew deep down that the real prize, the real goal of any XWF Superstar, was to be the Hart Champion. Stay fucking hungry, eat, you need your nutrients. A balanced and healthy diet chock full o' proteins, vitamins, and yes, occasionally carbs is the cornerstone to success. Seriously, did you guys hear that guy in his promo?

The students all nod.

He sounded like a fucking idiot, right?

The students laugh and nod.

That's from lack of eating. It gets to the brain. Well, to be honest, after this Saturday, all his problems will be directly related to the brain damage I give him with a fucking Robbiedriver through plate glass. But, shit, I recall a time when Peter was stealing from Italian delis to maintain his robust frame, but I guess the combination of getting his ass crushed by a real fucking champion, the guy putting the super back in super heavyweight, Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon, and the messy divorce with Maria Brink drove him to binge and purge. Do you guys want to be built like a fucking Holocaust victim? No. Anorexia isn't cool.

One of the students steps forward. She looks rather bashful for what she has to say.

But, what if...

Robbie's eyes go wide.

Oh, sweetie! If you have a problem, I want you to know it's not your fault, and I will work with you to get you the help you need so you stop hurting yourself!

She nods and shyly smiles.

No, Mr. Bourbon, that's just my name. Anne O'Reksia.

Robbie looks less than pleased.

Your parents actually named you that?

No, it's my ring name.

Nope. Try again. No good. Go take a lap.

As the girl jogs off to take her lap and contemplate a better ring name, Blue's phone rings. She slides her thumb and puts it to her head.

What? Okay, I'll let him know.

Robbie turns to Blue.

What was that?

Honey, the mall you were at, it was just robbed!

What?

Yeah, that was the police, they said they found the security guard, and he was beat up pretty bad.

Shit. Okay, looks like it's time to get some training in...