The newly renovated castle Bobby Bourbon appropriated from inbreds is alive and thriving on opening night. Massive, glitzy, and gaudy neon lights adorn the exterior of this once noble looking building, all hyping one word. Bourbon. Outside we see a team working around a massive offset smoker, preparing American style barbecue. The red carpet has been rolled out for this endeavor, as celebrities and stars alike all have come en masse. Outside of the building, in regal, pastiche military garb, we see the Duke of Bourbon, Bobby Bourbon.



Bobby welcomes all comers to the Château of the Dukes of Bourbon. The first person he meets is Ed Sheeran, singer-songwriter.

Mr. Sheeran, it is an honor and a pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode!

Ed Sheeran seems like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

You took the quaintness of the French countryside and whored it out, and the meat here smells really strange.

That would be real imported Hickory, Ed. Not native to the continent, but nothing makes the pork sing quite like it! Say, perhaps we could perform a duet tonight!

No.

Ed Sheeran coldly walks by Bobby, who shrugs.

Everyone’s a critic.

Bobby walks into the Château, and the place looks drastically different from how we last saw it. Long gone is the morose, dingy interiors, instead replaced with something that resembles a Dave and Busters. Arcade machines from wall to wall, including a prize area where visitors can redeem tickets for all manner of absolute junk that nobody ever needed but you can give to a shallow date guilt free. A massive American Flag adorns the wall set side by side with the French flag. Bobby is swiftly approached by Johnny Depp. Bobby looks quizzically at Depp.

Hey, you were canceled, who let you in?

You were canceled!

And I was sleeping in the dungeon.

Oh, well, um…

I hate what you’ve done with the place. Crass commercialism in a French commune, it’s almost sickening.

Nobody asked you.

You seem like you can’t handle criticism well.

Sure I can, just not from you, now get out of here before Disney refuses to hire me.

Awful jackass.

Johnny Depp skulks out of the modern temple to immature gaiety. As he does, Bobby spots Mark Flynn feasting on ribs.

Hey Mark!

Bobby approaches Mark Flynn, who has already cut through half a rack of ribs, bare bones left on a platter in front of him.

"Bobby, what are you doing?"

Oh, nothing. Hey, I was thinking, after Leap of Faith, we’re going to be Briefcase Buddies!

"Stop saying that."

"You literally texted me seven times since yesterday saying that."

Well, I mean, it sounds cool! We’re going to have our own little cold war! You won’t use your case because then I’ll just use mine and vice versa! I love me some good old fashioned mutually assured destruction!

Mark shakes his head in disbelief.

"You’re pretty confident that five people can’t stop you like they haven’t in the past."

I lived it, Mark, I learned. Now I know that utterly decimating the competition is the only option to my own sense of self worth, not competing with them!

Mark blinks.

"I hate how you’re so deranged and corrupt but carry it like it’s zen."

Bobby half shrugs.

Heart of a desecrator, soul of an abomination, but I carry it well. Brushing my teeth regularly also helps my charm. Speaking of which, I am ready to audition for your Shove-It!

"What?"

Mark looks genuinely ambushed, which is saying something considering the nature of defending the Xtreme Championship. Bobby starts to sing. Before he can really even begin, Bobby is cut short by Mark.

"Stop."

"Just stop."

"No."

What, is it that bad?

"Saying your singing is that bad is still giving it too much credence."

"I would say it’s dog piss."

"But that is an insult to piss."

Oh, well, tell me how you really feel.

Mark chomps into another smoked St. Louis style rib. He smacks his lips, licks off a finger, and stares at the bone as he chews and swallows.

"The ribs suck too."

Mark picks up two entire racks of ribs.

"I’m taking these so nobody else has to eat them. Like a good person."

Bobby nods, smiling.

Sure, man.

Mark has already bitten into another rib, rolling his eyes in ecstasy from the perfection held within.

"Whatever.."

"..mmmm.."

"..these are.."

"..mmmm.."

"..delicious. I mean atrocious."

Mark leaves the All New Château Bourbon, indeed using the Xtreme Championship as a platter to carry ribs. Bobby turns and sees Dolly Waters.

Bobby, I am pleased to see your coup was a success.

Heh, well, you know, I stole an entire European lineage, nothing too crazy.

Brilliant.

Well, come our night in Paris, if all goes according to plan we'll have a briefcase. I wanted to apologize for what Isaiah said.

Why?

Because he's just so dumb. He wants to say you're old. He's legit 6 years older than you.

Yeah.

Isaiah King is so stupid I could hit him with a cup and he'll tell everyone he was mugged.

Isaiah King is so dumb he thinks you can’t make an omelet without walking on eggshells.

Isaiah King is ignorant; he doesn't think he has anything to learn.

Isaiah, it's one thing to say it's time for something fresh, maybe you could do that sometime though.

I am not old,

nah,

not stale,

I am established, and I earned my fucking place through sheer force of will.

Any ounce of potential you say you have will never be worth the gallons of blood I have shed in that ring, and if you’re too dumb to realize it,

I’ll be in Paris to beat it into you,

or beat you unconscious.

I welcome you to stand in my way and show me something, because I’ve taken every beating you can imagine, you have brought nothing new to the table, and I’m still around.

And what's more depressing is you’re the latest wagon Ned hitched himself to while abandoning his best friend.

I guess that would be “former best friend”, huh? I made this personal for you, Ned?

What have you done for Dan lately? I mean, you bailed on the man,

your quote,

unquote “best friend” so you could go play with Trilogy.

Yep, Jason Cashe is more talented than you.

Then you tried to do it with SAGA. How did it feel being on the coattails of Raion Kido? Most recently?

You’ve made it your personal mission to surround yourself with Mark Flynn,

and no matter whose dick you wind up riding,

you’re still wearing virgin white to the ball because what have you gotten done?

I,

on the other hand,

had the presence of mind to know that Big D has bills to pay,

has value in this industry,

has a fucking purpose,

and unlike you,

association with my name takes people places;

ask Charlie, for Christ’s sake, he’s a multicompany star. I called D up and I got him back in the action, and you have the audacity to take that personally?

Shame.

Then there’s Dionysus,

who’s guessing his way into the match. This here isn’t just some game,

this is us fighting on the Eiffel Tower. Damn near a hundred stories high, one misstep and you become a stain on concrete,

and you’re not sure if this is the biggest opportunity you’ve had in the XWF? Dio, let me clarify something for you;

you earned a Tag Title match, and kudos. I could go out tomorrow,

pick up a microphone,

and declare that I was going after the Tag Titles with a literal sack of rotten fruit,

and I’d get the damn match,

just like how way back in early June, I told everybody I would be in this match,

and lo,

here I am! I don’t shuffle up my faces seeing what sticks to the wall and what falls off. I go out and tear the fucking wall down and ask motherfuckers how they liked it.

And Jenny, I guess after you get tossed aside in this soiree and take another couple months off,

you’ll come back expecting the world and getting disappointed when it doesn’t come hand wrapped to you and you have to go out and earn it. Make absolutely no mistakes about it,

Jenny.

Everything,

good or bad,

that I have gone through this year alone,

and throughout my career? I can admit I earned it. Not a damn thing has ever been handed to me on a silver platter, I have gone out and taken what I want to do what I must.

And I’ve done what I must to become what I want.

There’s a cycle to it, and every fucking time some ass hat says that I just get this and that for being me, all I fucking hear is someone who can't get on my fucking level of greatness.

Shit, think about it, look at all those people who were able to shine because for one night they got the better of me. Every name that became relevant because of me; Raion Kido, Sidney Grey, and Jay Omega this year alone, where are they?

Bobby cocks an eyebrow, sneering.

I guess they couldn’t get a flight to Paris.

Hell, if it wasn’t for me, Ned would be somewhere off fucking around with the likes of Peter Vaughn, because who the fuck is anybody I haven’t faced in this business?

Isaiah King is perplexed why I’m still relevant, and hey, that guy is so dumb he thinks that Jenny Myst is.

Dolly looks gobsmacked, having stood beside Bobby as he went on a tirade for the second time this year.

Damn, the Divines must have something to say about that, Bobby.

Dolly reaches into her sleeve and pulls something out for Bobby.



The Tower tarot card has been pulled.

Oh, shit, Dolly, are you sure you didn’t want to use that in one of your promos?

Nah, don’t sweat it. I’m not going to cut any. I figure that’s what’s been holding me back, is cutting promos, so I’m not, instead I’m focusing on the match.

Also, don’t sing Les Miserables, you’re great in the ring but really, you’re a terrible singer.

Huh. Bold! Also, I appreciate your candor. You suck at knitting or something.

Bobby smiles and nods as Dolly meanders off, mingling with the crowd at the Château. As she does, we see Bouncy Brickhouse, Bobby’s lady friend, approach Bobby.

Hiya, sweetie!

Hello, my dear. How are you?

Oh, I’m good, I brought a friend with me, a certain someone you wanted to meet.

You don’t mean..

I do mean..

With a flair for the debonair, Carmen Sandiego walks into the Château. Bobby’s jaw goes slack as his elation hits a pinnacle.

Oh

My

God!

Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? She’s in my own Château! Hah! Hahahaha!

Eat a big plate of shit, Elon Musk!

That’s right, gumshoe, here I am!

She called me gumshoe! I don’t know what that means or if it applies but it’s so cool!

Bouncy chuckles at Bobby’s reaction mirroring a child on Christmas morning, nor being too sure what exactly a gumshoe is. It’s a detective, and no, I didn’t have to google that.

Bobby, I have to hand it to you, I’ve stolen the Pyramids of Gisa, the Hubble Telescope, Plymouth Rock, Ayers Rock, the Rock of Gibraltar, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and even pirated a few seasons of Fraggle Rock.

Bobby slowly nods. Feel free to google Fraggle Rock.

You probably stole an awful lot of things that weren’t stone too!

Of course! However, Bobby, I have never seen anyone steal an entire lineage before! As the locals say, très magnifique!

Carmen gives a chef’s kiss. As she does, Genevieve Tote approaches Bobby, her tablet in hand.

Mr. Bourbon, excuse me, while I do feel your dedication and thoughts of your opponents earlier were fine, tread lightly with some of your guests.

I kicked Johnny Depp out. No time for that guy. He's so "a few months ago".

She means me, of course!

Miss Tote takes note, biting her lower lip.

Aw, heck, Miss Tote, I can enjoy the company of the greatest con artist in history for an evening.

I appreciate your courtesy, Bobby, but given your status as a con-man, well, I stand in your shadow now! As such, those of us in V.I.L.E. have a gift to present to you, and we wish you would reconsider your stance on joining us!

What? Join an international criminal syndicate on camera? I’m no amateur, even though I’m pretty sure INTERPOL is not in the building.

I hate that band.

Total hipster bullshit.

Agreed! Well, I did want to bring you something I feel you’d value very much, especially a proud American dissident such as yourself!

Oh? Do tell!

With that, Jason Aldean, singer of controversial song Try That in a Small Town, is escorted into the Château before Bobby, Bouncy, Miss Tote, and the rest of the patrons of Bobby's leisure palace.

Mr. Bourbon, that’s the guy who sang the song..

Bobby slowly blinks, then looks back at Carmen.

Carmen, I do appreciate the offer you have brought, such a gesture is not to be ignored, and by no means do I wish to seem ungrateful..

You do not like?

Oh, no, I love! This guy is provocative.

The talk of everybody on socials right now.

But in two weeks nobody is going to remember who the hell he is, he just cropped up during a slow news cycle, and as Duke of Bourbon, I insist on evergreen material!

Thrashing simps who will recoil back to insignificance in less than a month is what I intend to do at the Eiffel Tower.

Bobby looks at Aldean up and down.

Fuck, we’ve come a long way from Johnny Cash.

Mr. Bourbon, perhaps he just wanted to do something new.

Some new shit sucks.

Bobby looks up and over at the busiest attraction in his arcade, the air hockey table. Dominating yet another who has lined up to face them, Doctor Louis D’Ville puffs his cigarillo in victory. Doc glances over at Bobby. Bobby points at Aldean.

Doc, get this bozo out of here.

Of course, Bobby!

Doc approaches Jason Aldean. Aldean shivers, the gag in his mouth tightening at the sight of D’Ville.

Hello, my friend! Perhaps I will show you what I will try in this small town!

Bobby looks blankly at Bouncy.

Is that a reference to something I’m missing? Seriously, I haven’t heard this guy’s song or anything.

Mr. Bourbon, I think your associate Mr. D’Ville..

Ahem. Doctor D’Ville. I didn’t get my PhD for no reason.

Right. Doctor D’Ville made a pun using the song.

Doc grins, knowing he didn’t use evergreen material.

Hey, Louis!

Oh, hey Carm.

Pickleball this weekend?

Of course!

Doc escorts the country singer away, most likely to do the kind of stuff he likes to do to people, which while awful is often pretty well crafted. Maybe he’ll make him only eat via Doordash; try THAT in a small town!

That cunning bastard.

I thought that was you.

No, Miss Tote, you see, I’m simply the master of the house!

Bouncy shakes her head.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. No singing, Jesus, you’re terrible at it, sweetie, leave it to the professionals.

Okay, my dear, I won’t sing.

Thank God!

I won’t sing in front of you!

Bobby, I get you’re disappointed by the appearance of that doofy country singer who won’t be in the scope of the zeitgeist in a couple of days, there’s no reason to become demonstrative. As wily as you are a criminal, and as ferocious as you are a gladiator in the ring, you are absolutely at your worst when you sing.

Okay, geeze, I get it! I just, I dunno, I wanted to also open a Karaoke room in this place.

I thought we discussed that, Mr. Bourbon, anybody can hear anyone sing horribly in a million different places.

I know, Miss Tote, but how often do I get to sing badly?

It’s almost as though I have to sound perfect every time I get in front of the camera, I thought if I sang a song that was from the heart, true to my every fiber of being, well, it would give the people watching at home a glimpse into who I really am.

I promise, you do not sound like David Bowie no matter how drunk whoever is listening gets.

They could drink shoe polish with a bug spray chaser and still understand that you don’t sound like the Grand White Duke.

Yeah? Well, what about the Duke of Bourbon?

Mr. Bourbon, you already sound like that.

Fair enough, Miss Tote, fair enough. Well, if you’ll pardon me, and I can’t stress this enough, don’t eat the Bourbon Meat Pies, if you know you know, they’re strictly for tramps, poors, and dogs.

Bouncy and Carmen laugh.

Well, Bobby, it’s been a pleasure, by all means, Bouncy knows how to get in touch, do you mind if I get your number from her?

Sure, we’ll do lunch or something and make fun of someone who people will recognize in a decade.

As opposed to Ned Kaye, Dionysus, Jenny Myst, or Isaiah King. Y’all about to experience some shit in Paris when I go through you to show why I’m above you.

Bouncy and Carmen chuckle and make their way to a skee ball ramp. As they do, Bobby walks up a flight of stairs and out onto the veranda of the keep. Enjoying the solace of the night air, and without anybody to tell him not to, he looks into the camera and begins to sing Master of the House.