Well, color me unsurprised and less than fucking enthusiastic about it. Flynn found himself an out, running away with the title. Flynn, you can run, you can hide, by all means connive, at the end of the day, you aren't fast enough, you aren't sneaky enough, and you aren't clever enough to survive extinction when your whole world Universe is destroyed. No word of that shithead stepping up and offering a rematch, but hey, he don’t need to, because come hell or high water, Mark, I’m coming for that Universal Championship and I will pound you into the fucking dirt to get it. That said, let’s take a look at what I’m up to on Warfare.

Oh, shit, Jackie O’Lantern and Barney Green, all at the same time! Well, lucky me! I guess someone ran a fucking algorithm, saw I lost two in a row, and now I’m getting shoved into the fucking opener like some new kid coming to class? What the fucking fuck is this shit! I beat the Universal Champion last week, plain as fucking day, and here I come to work, like a good fucking XWF Employee, and the same fucking problems as before are creeping back into effect where I get fed basic ass Macaroni and Cheese bullshit like this? No disrespect to the rest of the folks in that locker room, but how the fuck do I go from winning the God damned Warfare main event against your Universal Champion to jerking the curtain in El Paso? Jesus, I’m glad we’re in Texas, I have had the best fucking tacos ever lately, and the crowds in Texas, XWF crowds specifically, are the hottest I’ve seen in forever, but this kind of horse shit is why some people…

Bobby points to himself.

…Have to go to other companies to find competition. For fuck’s sake, I could go to IIW tomorrow and tell the brass I was on board and I’d be given murderer’s row to mangle. I could walk into the doors of OCW, without a contract, none fucking needed, and call out anyone I want and be greeted with the most vicious mongrels they’d pull from the woodwork. I could head to UGWC and piss in their Cheerios, morning, noon, and night, and they would call the cream of their crop to come and calm the cursed cur I be. No, nah, see, where I want to be?

Bobby points to the ground.

Is right here. I want to be in an XWF ring, and I won’t fucking stop until I get my hands on the Universal Championship again, until I get my hands on Mark Flynn again, and until I get the satisfaction I crave in front of the XWF Universe. That said, to the opposition laid out in front of me this Warfare, I’m going to whip the absolute dog piss out of both of you like you were fucking German Shepherds, setting the fucking stage and an absolute fucking example of what happens to people who fuck around and come to see me in an XWF ring. I am absolute in this, brutal, efficient, and destruction embodied, and y’all? Well, y’all are meat in the hands of Bobby the Butcher.

Bobby snorts.

Jackie O’Lantern. Everybody’s favorite Halloween themed wrestler right in time for Saint Patrick’s day and Easter a little after it. Jackie, I’m going to shove you up Barney’s ass. Not your head, not your hands, you. Look, I have never heard of you doing anything worthwhile around here other than reminding people it’s umpteen however many days until you try to go Trick or Treating with a baby doll in a stroller as your costume, telling other adults your kid is asleep so you can get your sugar fix. The fuck, Jackie, what do you even fucking do besides walk around eating candy, having the same entrance music you do for a ringtone, and remind people you hated yourself so much you decided to embrace the spirit of a fucking holiday like some loser. The people at the seasonal Halloween store fucking hate you for how you Karen around in there, acting like the expert just because you’re so fucking homely you paint your head up like a pumpkin.

Bobby smirks as though he just had an idea.

Heh, listen here, pumpkin, let’s you and I have a little chat, allow me to ask, in the style of Ghostface, do you like scary movies?
You seem more like the type who’s actually really more into Scooby, ask Shaggy, he thinks it’s groovy
he said he and the other boys would’ve talked about you in juvie
but buying into your fake ass creepshow bullshit does not behoove me!

I got terrors in store because when I go in that ring there’s the blood and the gore
the XWF Jason Voorhees ripping out your guts while you can suck these nuts is what the Universe will adore,
I wreck you and rip you to pieces and leave you strewn all over the floor
and you realize you were never my fucking opponent, just a simple weekend chore.

You’re swimming with sharks in the water, like Jaws
before you even think of coming to the ring, give yourself pause
you best stock up on bandages and plenty of gause
because this is Texas, it’s a Massacre, and I’m packing the Chainsaws.

Jackie, Jackie, so wacky, you’re in for a hell of a night because you’re bringing nothing to the party and at best a knife to a gunfight.
I’ll crush you under my heel and walk off until you’re out of sight,
Bobby came to the ring, saw O’Lantern, and put out her light.

Bobby shrugs.

Eh, it’s just how I do. Now, onto Barney. Barney, look, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m pretty disappointed in what you did, just teaming up willy nilly with anybody, not being the ride-or-die guy I rely on in the Brotherhood. Well, Barn, you’re a free spirit, I won’t tell you what to do, but you know what I will tell you? I’m going to shove Jackie O’Lantern up your ass. So far she’ll be able to see what you’re having for breakfast tomorrow.

Ahem.

Bobby is cut off. We see he’s sitting in a booth at a diner someplace along with Steve Sayors, still in a polyester getup and afro wig, very 1970’s disco chiq. The waitress seems to have been waiting for a while.

Look, that was awesome and all, and I get it, but what can I get you?

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Eggs Benedict.

Okay, and you sir?

The waitress looks at Steve Sayors.

I’ll have the chicken and waffles and your number.

Chicken and waffles, and nope. Got it!

The waitress walks off as Steve slumps. Bobby looks at him.

That was probably really smooth sounding in your head, Steve.

It was. Do you think she thought it was smooth?

I don’t know.

Shaking his head, Bobby drums his fingers on the table between he and Steve.

Are you going to riff on Barney?

Do you think I have to? Like, it’s Barney Green, he couldn’t be bothered to step up and help BOB in the past, well, ever, even though we watched over him like a brother should. Barney really kind of balked at all of us, Steve. I’d be damned if TK could tell you about the time Barney stepped up and gave us a hand. Fuck if I know the last time Charlie got an assist from Barn. Fuck, the last time I did he was there to get pinned so Mark Flynn’s hype train to keep roaring. Damn, Barney. You know, I can forgive that. I can let that go. What I can’t abide, by, however, is the bullshit of him teaming up with Graves, or Calypso, or these other people who sure as fuck aren’t in the Brotherhood of Bastards. Barney went and whored himself around, and I sure as fuck hope he was a cheap whore no less, since he delivered zero dividends in the end, just like BarnCoin.

Steve nods, digesting what Bobby said in neutral, voice of the XWF fashion. Bobby doesn’t look agitated so much as disappointed. From behind Bobby, we hear a kerfuffle. Some guy hollering about his pancakes. Steve looks on as he yells at the waitress he likes.

That guy seems…

Whatever. I’m hungry.

Bobby sips his water. The kerfuffle behind Bobby escalates. A man stands, and grabbing a plate from his table throws it to the ground. He grabs the waitress, who was helping Bobby and Steve, by her shirt collar and shouts at her.

Pick that up, and go get me a fresh fucking plate!

Steve, having had enough of seeing the waitress get shit, stands up.

Hey you! Get your damn hands off her!

In channeling his finest George McFly, Steve approaches the large, surly patron of the diner. The guy lets the waitress go. Bobby takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes.

You want a piece of this, Swingin’ in the Seventies?

I want a whole chunk!

Disco Steve, or rather Steve Sayors in a goofy 1970’s outfit, rushes the bully, who reaches out and grips Steve by the throat.

You can’t handle this! Do you know…

The large dickhead in the diner is abruptly cut short as a full, piping hot glass carafe of coffee is shattered against his head by an annoyed Bobby Bourbon. The man screams, bleeds, and gets doused with java all in one shot. Bobby then takes the jagged broken edges towards the top of the carafe, still holding the handle, and rakes them across the man’s forehead. The man yelps, and Bobby drags him out of the diner, a trail of blood and coffee following them both. Steve looks over at the waitress with concern in his eyes.

Are you okay?

The waitress, looking shocked, looks back at Steve. She rolls he eyes.

Yes, I’m fine, thanks, but seriously, not happening.

Bobby walks back in and lays the bloodied, broken carafe handle on the bar of the diner. He looks at Steve.

Look, uh, there’s going to be cops and stuff, so get our stuff to go.

You’re not paying?

You still have a company card!

Steve nods and reaches for his wallet.