Robbie Bourbon faces a fresh new rival this Wednesday for a chance at the Hart Title.

Wait...

SHORT AND SWEET

We open to see Robbie Bourbon with a suitcase in hand.

Welp, I always thought I would die before I ever got a chance to say this.

Before that, to my opponent at Warfare, Dolly Waters, I say good luck. The world itself is an evolving, chaotic thing. To say you are incapable of beating anyone these days is brash, and downright foolhardy. That said, it will be an honor to face you, despite what you might say. I will not be humiliated, even if I should lose.

On that note, it is a privelege to face you in my final match here in the XWF.

Now, Universe, you know I love you. All of you. You have stood not behind but beside me every weird step of the way. But, you all seem pretty well off for now.

Look at Peter. He's not rambling on with racist garbage anymore. He's almost respectable.

Look at the Universal Champ, Robert Main. A fighter through and through, ready to defend his title.

Not a pedophile in sight. No more drug pushers. The racist shitheads all reduced to a common fucking joke.

Not even signs of Louis D'Ville creeping around, waiting to poison or destroy the minds and hearts of all of you with his saccharine, 'huh, what, me?' coy prattling, gaslighting whomever steps into the ring against him.

Flat out, I won.

My mission is complete. St. George slayed the dragons.

Which is why I need to move on to the parts of the map that read 'hic sunt dracones'.

Now, that's not to say the pasture will always be green and the flock safe from harm. There may yet be a day when the XWF will need its champion of the people.

Fortunately, today is not that day.

But should the day arrise where the evil, wicked, and corrupt wish to cast their shadow again, I won't be far.

Just look up. Second star to the right, straight on 'til morning.

Until then, peace.

Robbie turns his back to the camera and walks off into the sunset, whistling "Happy Trails".