Leap of Faith, where careers take off or come to a crashing halt.

Or, in Bobby’s case, keep being fucking awesome.

IT'S A BIRD, IT’S A PLANE

At the Bobby Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, we see Bobby along with the rest of the Bastards, Thunder Knuckles, Charlie Nickles, and…

Hey, were did Marf go?

Bobby, TK, and Charlie look around.

He was here just a minute ago.

TK does his Shawn Warstein shrugging thing.

We cut to see a tugboat in a harbor. At the helm, happy as a pig in shit, is Marf Swayson.

Yes! Dreams do come true!

Marf reaches up and pulls a cord, echoing the horn of the tugboat throughout the harbor. Marf grins like a kid on Christmas.


Well, I guess that alters plans a bit. So, with Marf down, we still got this. Charlie, you know your part, right?

Yeah! Join the Ku Klux Klan.

Uh, so you can infiltrate them and wipe them out from the inside, eventually beating the shit out of David Dukes?

Charlie looks confused.

Do what? I thought I was just joining the Klan, this seems a lot weirder.

Bobby takes a slow, deep breath as TK sips a Bud Light. Bobby looks at TK.

Look, bro, I don’t know that he’s really up to the task here, why don’t you chill and keep an eye on him or something while I go do what I gotta do.


You just described any given Savage or Madness.


Look, there comes a time where a guy has to go it alone, and right now, well, I gotta go it alone. I thought I would have Marf to help me out in the Leap match but, well, I’m going to be flying solo on this one, no co-pilot.


Bobby and TK exchange a no look fistbump.

You just keep Charlie from, I don’t know, burning down any churches or eating orphans or whatever he likes doing, and whoop the dog piss out of Ring Master. Oh, damn, did you call him Ring Master-bator?

TK shakes his head.


Bobby purses his lips.

They can’t all be gems.


Thanks bro.

TK smirks.


Bobby rolls his eyes.

Live, laugh, love.


Have fun storming the castle.

Bobby looks dead at the camera.

Not this one, the Wizard of Oz thing I did maybe.

TK nods.


True.

Bobby walks towards the door of the dojo and exits. As he does, TK turns to Charlie.


Yeah?


Really?


Charlie shakes his head no and walks towards the bevy of kitchens lined up in the dojo where students prepare to go on Chopped. He puts on an apron and sits down on an upturned bucket. He grabs a sack of potatoes and pulls his own potato peeler out of his pocket.

🎶Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…🎶


Thank you for watching BastardNET, we'll be back after this important message from our sponsors!


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The camera pans to show a man with his arm around his woman. She looks touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift. She raises a mug as does the man. They clink the cups and each take a sip.

That's Terry's Tea and Taxidermy, located on the highway just outside of town. Tell them Terry sent you and get a box of stuffed mice!


We now return to It's a Bird, It's a Plane, only on BastardNET, because fuck SPLAT!

RFK Stadium, the dead former home of the Washington Redskins Commanders, the signage rusted and foreboding. Along the perimeter of this ghost of an arena we see hundreds, if not thousands, of protesters gathered, all there looking none too pleased that known hate groups and domestic terrorists are being given the right to congregate. A line of police cars and officers stand between them and the stadium. Cruising into the parking lot in his 1976 Dodge Charger, its emerald green exterior gleaming in the sun, is Bobby Bourbon. He parks across three empty spots and exits the vehicle. Some protesters notice.

"Shit, is that Bourbon?"

"Maybe, but he's not going to help, he's bad now, remember?"

Bobby snortles.

Bad? Baddest motherfucker breathing, yeah.

"Does that mean…"

That means it's time some racist shitheads are about to eat their own dicks.

"Oh damn!"

The protesters part and make way for Bobby as he coolly and calmly approaches the police line. As he gets there an officer greets him.

About time you showed up.

Yeah.

The cops look just as relieved at Bobby’s arrival as the protesters. The crowd outside has gone silent, watching, as the echoes of the hate rally within the stadium are heard.

What are we looking at?

Well, at least two hundred, including their own armed security force. You'd have to fight your way in.

Well, that's cool, it isn't like I came here for a picnic.

The policeman smirks.

Look, my wife and kids kept asking me why I was protecting people that wanted to hurt us. I told them upholding the law was my job. I can't just let you in.

Bobby nods.

I understand. What do you suggest?

Well, we're about to do a flyover of the rally.

The cop points to a helicopter staged at the rally.

This won't be easy.

If it was easy anybody would be able to do it.

Bobby starts to walk toward the helicopter.

Give 'em hell.

Bobby gives a thumbs up.

They'll wish for it.

As Bobby makes his way to the helicopter, both Busta Rhymes and Dave Chappelle, both attendees at the rally with no commonality so far as I can tell besides being DC natives and obviously not Klansmen or Nazis, approach Bobby. Bobby stops.

Yo, Bobby Bourbon!

Holy shit, you're here! Look, you want to smoke a little bit with us?

Not now, guys, I got shit to deal with. Raincheck?

Sure.

Dave and Busta start up a chant, and in short order the entire crowd, both civilian and police, starts to chant as Bobby gets into the back of the chopper.

*FUCK 'EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK 'EM UP!*FUCK 'EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK 'EM UP!*

The rotor spins as people stand clear. The helicopter lifts, and the Grand High PooBOB, the Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads, the Sultan of Smacktalk, but first and foremost, Bobby Bourbon, the Man of the People, takes to the air. The helicopter positions itself above RFK as the rally below is in full effect. The pilot speaks over his headset.

Don't you need a parachute?

No.



Bobby leaps from the open door of the helicopter, plummeting towards the ground. He lands in the middle of the rally on both feet, crouched, absorbing the impact. He stands straight and looks around, the bloodlust in his eyes almost glowing.

I guess this will be a solid warm-up.

Bobby immediately grabs a hooded Klansman and throws him at a group of ten other Klansmen in the formation of an acute triangle, knocking them all over like it was Klansman bowling.

Y'all are fucked, you know that shit, right? I mean, yeah, this is a Leap of Faith match and all, and yeah, I am a superheavyweight. And yeah, I've heard all the shit you've had to say. Get butthurt about what I say, that's fine, it won't hurt as much as I actually do to you. Angie Vaughn thinks I pretend I don't feel pain, but I do, straight to the bone. Raion Kido thinks I don't have a conscience, I do, just because he doesn't recognize it because I whooped his ass means fuck-all. Mark Flynn thinks I'm sweating NK's flash-in-the-pan 2016 before he disappeared for half a decade while I went on to dominate the scene, I don't, because neither Flynn nor NK have stopped me from being the force of nature I am. Vita thinks I have time for fear, I do! I ride on that fight-or-flight mentality, that adrenaline rush, that need to get myself into some shit that anybody in their right mind would shy away from, and roll with it. Not a single one of you fuckers get how dangerous this is, and that's just y'alls folly. I do. I know it. I'm counting on it. Every one of y'all wanna talk about how the other won't, not a damn bit of you have told me how any of y'all will. Thing is, there ain't anything scarier to me than hiding because of being afraid, and each of your insecurities are showcased by how you won't acknowledge the odds of being destroyed versus the odds of victory. I confront those fears, I attack, and I fuck shit up.

A group of Neo-Nazis rush Bobby. He rushed headlong into them, knocking them around and to the ground. The panic sets in among the hate groups.

While the rest of you fools all scramble and think of the fastest way to the top of the Burj Khalifa, the biggest thing I have to consider is whether to go straight to the top or just use each and every one of you to knock the damn thing down and just snag a briefcase that way. I've been wrecking since been wrecking, and tallest building in the world or an adobe hut, I bring the house down.

Bobby boots a Klansman in the gut, doubling him over. He then hoists him and Bobbybombs him onto another group.

Watch and learn.

Bobby rushes the stage of the rally. He grabs a microphone from the hand of some racist in a suit and shoves it into his throat, the garbled choking sounds echoing.

What I’m about to say might cut deep like some surgical incision but I’m saying it because I’m saying it and that’s just my decision. I get you both get off on serving up some measure of derision, but while there’s two of you, you’ve single handedly killed off the entire Tag Team Divison! Now, I get it, Mark, you’re wondering how that’s vital that there’s more competition and fervor for the Supercontinental Title, you don’t even have competition for this show to hear you and NK’s little recital, I was in a team that advanced an entire division across multiple companies but you’re contented just to sidle. I think it’s high time for someone to set you straight because for a while we’ve all heard it’s time to Stop Asian Hate but you still trot out NK and serve him up on a plate but making fun of Asians is just starting to get a little out of date. And of course everybody already was aware because they already knew that I, Bobby Bourbon, Grand High PooBOB, are much, much bigger than you, people line up to take my head and my place, not just you and your crew, you’re just ole’ No Win Flynn, and if I say your name in public people just ask me “who?”

A team of armed goons rush the stage. Bobby holds the suited guy up as a human shield.

Call the police, call an ambulance, somebody help, there’s blood to be drawn! Time to lay another body out and leave it rotting on the lawn. High alert, there’s panic in the streets across the nation from North Carolina to Oregon, I’m going to whoop the dog piss out of that bitch Angie Vaughn! Saw your silly little nonsense while taking a dump and playing on my phone, you think I can’t go out and accomplish shit while I’m all alone? Won March Madness, became PooBOB, and ascended to a throne while you stayed in the back, afraid of Corey I guess, leaving his ass all no-shown! Former Universal Champ, held every belt matter of fact, before anybody ever even thought to hand you an XWF contract. Been a mainstay and a destroyer no matter how the roster has been stacked, you’re a chipper would-be influencer who hasn’t even made an impact. You’re not doing anything in Dubai, maybe you should go to Abu Dhabi and stay relevant to yourself, your followers, and your little video making hobby. I’ll be hopping off the roof while you’re recording some shit down in the lobby about how on your pointless resume of accomplishments you’ll be able to add “I lost to Bobby!”

Bobby yanks the microphone out of the guy's mouth and holds it up to a speaker, the feedback loop deafening the armed men.

I'm coming to the show to leave you bitches baying is the message that I'm here to make sure I'm conveying. I don't know what silly shit some of you are playing, I'm realer than real, Raion Kido is as real as a Super Saiyan. I'll bounce your body all around the whole entire place, leave craters in the earth that they can see from outer space. Kido ain't no contender he's just a disgrace but I guess he'll tell you I got lucky as a cheap way to save face. I got bodies to roast, all of y'all I'll be cookin', leave all of you bitter with the office's bookin'. I got the arsenal that leaves all the fans lookin', you're just goofing around pretending to do a Hadouken. You're talk is cheap, your record is real, you seem awful cocky when I'll leave you grilled and seared like a plate of teriyaki. Raion Kido, a threat in this? Now that's pure horse hockey, because I'm gonna bomb the Japanese like this shit was Nagasaki.

Bobby rushes the armed men.

I guess that brings us to that oh so manly lolita, suck your blood just like a couger sucks back her margarita. I'm onto you, too fast, like I was a cheetah, the next doomed soul? Well hello, Vita! Some say star of the year, I say they called it too soon. You got plenty left to lose, shit, it ain't even June! Knock you so far into the desert you'll land in a dune with head rocked so hard you'll see mirages like some Bugs Bunny cartoon. You're a self-confused second rate blood sucker, I'll swat you like a mosquito and make your asshole pucker. You want to suck something? Make a buck blowing a trucker. You're already dead, that's great, I'm just a Motherfucker. Lay you down on the floor like you were a bath mat, gonna break me off a piece like you were a Kit-Kat. Like your chest, you're coming into the match flat, I'm turning myself into a case holder, go turn into a bat.

In quick succession, Bobby takes one of the armed men down, breaking his face on the stage surface, moving to another which takes a massive SHORYUKEN! Uppercut. Bobby then grabs two others by the throat and chokeslams them off the stage.

So there's six in this match? You could make it thirty-seven. I'll eat you all alive like you were manna from heaven. In this match I'll be at home, all alone like I'm Kevin, gonna rock that whole tower like it's the next 9/11! Y'all know what I'm bringing and what I got in store, I'll bring that ass-whoopin' then I'll bring you some more. Y'all really think any of you could ever reach the top floor? I'll wreck the whole foundation right down to the core. It ain't your ship has sailed, the boat is on the bottom and sunk, I'm the Grand High PooBOB and all of y'all are junk. I'm so nasty I scare the stink off a skunk, Bobby Bourbon gonna leave all you fools feeling punch drunk. If you're in this shit then you're obviously in too deep, if I must, I must leave y'alls bodies piled in a heap. I said my piece, but that’s alright, because talk is cheap. If you don't believe me now just and watch as I leap.

The armed security force dispatched by Bobby, both police and protester alike rush the stadium as a massive melee ensues, Klansman, Nazi, and conspiracy theorist alike getting beaten.

~~~~~

Some time after the fracas, inside RFK, Busta Rhymes is on stage performing for the crowd as police continue to take domestic terrorists away into custody. Bobby is seen standing on the side of the stage along with Dave Chappelle.

So, you really just came here to fuck up some dudes and leave?

Pretty much, man, pretty much.

Damn. That's fucking cold.

Bobby smiles and looks at Dave.

It's what I do for a living, man.