Bobby Bourbon stands in his fantastic lab coat, the fabulous Xtreme Championship belt around his waist beneath. A pointless set of blast goggles rest on his forehead. Beside him, is Adam, a young man who signed some insane waiver allowing Bobby to use him as a human test subject, of sorts, on his amazing new show, Don’t Stop Experimenting In College.

Hey, Adam, I’m glad to see you!

Uh, why? You knew I was here for a while man.

Yeah, but the cameras are rolling.

Oh, are we going to do more science?

Adam raises his right hand, which is a spatula.

Like, I can always cook pancakes now, that’s pretty cool!

Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, walk in, wheeling along yet another thing covered with a curtain.

Oh man, you got the official science curtain out!

Hey, Spatulahands, how about you help out and stop gawking?

Hey! His name is Adam, not Spatulahands, he’s not some dorky lackey here to do yuck work.

Right, he’s here to do the stuff that even we wouldn’t.

Exactly.

Stephanie Wilson, Bobby’s image consultant, walks in holding her tablet at the ready.

Mr. Bourbon, what are you studying today?

Well, Miss Wilson, we’ve covered and unlocked the scientific mysteries of the hot dog, but I don’t want to confuse my viewers, because meat isn’t science, it’s a way of life.

Miss Wilson and Adam seem completely lost by whatever the fuck what Bobby just said means. Cyberjaw and Diamondback remove the curtain, and we see a massive array of raw meats.

Woah, that’s a massive array of raw meats!

It sure is, Adam, it sure is! Some of the finest cuts, USDA Prime!

It’s just Select, it was on sale.

Hush. Don’t you have a walk to take someplace instead of telling people we went cheap on the meat?

What, last time you used hot dogs you got for free from your job.

Man, I want a job where I get free hot dogs!

Go work at a gas station.

Later Spatulahands.

Later guys!

Stop calling him that!

Cyberjaw and Diamondback wave to Adam. He raises his right hand and waves his spatula hand back as they leave.

Adam, let’s do some science!

Cool! So, what are we doing with all this meat?

Well, you’re going to cook it using heat!

Ah.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback roll a Korean grill plate out, which is currently and visibly lit.

Serious, kid, don’t burn yourself with this thing.

Yep, you don’t wanna become a real freak show. Stick with being Spatulahands.

Yeah, it’s a thing, it just fits.

Hey, look, are you guys really having a staff meeting in the middle of my production here?

Production?

Bro, you’re getting a guy to cook Korean BBQ.

You are?

That’s SCIENCE Adam, I was going to describe how the heat works and why the grill is shaped like that.

Really? I mean, I was curious…

First, Adam, comes the tools you need as a chef.

Bobby smiles at the camera, then turns and looks at both of his henchmen. They look back. Finally, Cyberjaw’s eyes go wide and he and Diamondback run off camera, wheeling back another cart that is draped with a curtain.

Ooh, that’s gotta be some awesome science with the curtain!

It is!

Mr. Bourbon, what did you…

Bobby removes the curtain, revealing some kind of strange harness one would wear on their arm, complete with a series of complicated tubes and other accouterments. Bobby smiles as he shows off his garish doohickey. Nobody in the room reacts.

Oh, don’t act like you guys don’t know what this is.

Mr. Bourbon I have no clue what that thing is, is it a glove?

This, Miss Wilson, is the BourbCo KitchenFist. Adam, come try it on!

Oh, okay!

Mr. Bourbon, is it safe? Last time Adam lost a hand.

Adam, did I bet you to do this?

Heh, no.

Right, I told you to do this.

I, uh, I guess so, yeah.

There’s no hypothesis, Miss Wilson, the young man will simply don the KitchenFist.

The entire thing first gets strapped onto Adam like a backpack, the series of tubes and wires all connected to the pack itself. The left arm is in a framework of assorted structures, braces, and culminates with a massive mechanical hand, twice the size of a normal human’s.

Ooh, this is heavy!

Don’t worry, buddy, it’s about to get a whole lot lighter!

Oh yeah?

That’s right! With the convenient spinal tap injection directly into the top of your spine, you’ll have full control of the KitchenFist!

What?

Mr. Bourbon, a spinal tap injection? This is going to root directly into his brain!

Yeah, like Doctor Octopus in Spider-Man 2.

Mr. Bourbon, are you sure this will work?

Well, okay, you got me. No, alright? I don’t. I have a hypothesis, though, that if I somehow stick a needle into this guy’s brain it’ll do something cool and he’ll have all the powers in the KitchenFist.

Do I have to?

Bobby takes a terse breath.

No, you don’t have to, but it’d be a lot cooler if you stopped listening to my Bourbon Men and just did some science.

Bobby powers on the KitchenFist, which hums to life, then turns and tromps to a disposal chute, throwing away the weird brain syringe attached to some cables.

So, uh, what does this do?

What DOESN’T it do, Adam?

The BourbCo KitchenFist allows you to season, spice, tenderize, cut, dice, slice, and julienne fries. In your palm is a built in salt grinder, pepper mill, food processor, and an array of sauces to splash into any meal.

Oh, wow, how does it work!

Through science, Adam!

Oh, cool.

Now watch this educational material on the BourbCo KitchenFist.

–

Hey, it's me, Irwin. You may recall me from Mark Flynn promos aired for XWF matches and programming, but I'm also the BourbCo Lead Quality Analyst.

Irwin looks pleased as punch to be giving this demonstration.

I'm proud to say I've personally tested and approved many fine products, the PickleCannon, the Breakfast Trebuchet, Rocket Butter, and of course UltraSand, now back on shelves after a huge holiday season.

Irwin straps on the KitchenFist.

Once you have the KitchenFist strapped on and belted, fastened, and you've put in your mouth guard, power on the KitchenFist. You should feel the array of sensors at your fingertips. Depress your pinky to add salt! Depress your ring finger to add a spice, selectable by verbal command.

Irwin continues to discuss each and every function of the KitchenFist in intricate detail. How to make smoothies, chop peanuts, shred cheese, pare apples, etc. That thing you want to do in a kitchen? KitchenFist does it.

…now if you press the pointer, middle, and pinky fingers, like the shocker, you'll enable your egg beating functionality. Twist your palm up and wiggle your fingers to instantly cut any pie or pizza with precision lasers.

You're taken aback with the eagerness Irwin exudes, demonstrating an incredibly complicated piece of kitchen equipment. Someone excited to be showcased in something boring. What corruption could impact the soul so deeply that explaining what hand jive you have to do to scoop ice cream is considered bliss?

…Next, if you start doing the Atlanta Braves chop you'll activate your bluetooth garbage disposal. Do the Vulcan “live long and prosper” hand sign and you'll activate the automatic potato masher. Who doesn't love a good fried onion blossom? Don't go out for one, make it at home by wagging your finger!

Irwin wags his finger with the KitchenFist, perfectly peeling and slicing an onion in doing so. It is then battered and fried. All from the wag of Irwin’s pointer digit. He is serene in doing so.

–



Aw, shit, here we go again.

Bobby’s here and he's a champ, who'd have thunk it?

I went out and became the Xtreme Champion after a wild cow, I think it was a bull but hey, I'm no cowboy.

Nossirree Bob.

I am here, despite the critics, humbly the most extreme personality disorder going.

It's a grind, sometimes.

But, hey, it's a dirty job and someone's gotta do it.

So let's get filthy with this shit.

Corey Black.

Bobby takes a deep breath before glaring at the camera.

Welcome to high noon.

We're set to draw irons, and hot diggity damn, it's high time we done so.

You call yourself the king of the deathmatch.

Brother, I tell you without any abandon, you ain't seen deathmatches like the XWF gots deathmatches!

I have fought, to infinity and beyond, with the greatest this company has ever seen.

Now that includes you. Can you handle that sort of spotlight?

Of course not. Spencer Adams is the most talented guy in Pantheon, not you.

Shit, Cyph3r is so chickenshit he's facing the greatest wrestler on Earth in Sloane Taylor instead of me, so I reckon your spine is ripe for the pickin’.

So.

King.

Bobby smirks.

Short king.

How about you do my laundry, and you get to call yourself a king.

You aren't the King of the Deathmatch, my ass.

I have farted more hardcore than your matches.

I have slammed men into piranha.

I have been in a cage with Michael Graves, and you're nowhere near as prepared as he was.

Thing is, short king, I don't dominate, I obliterate.

I operate to annihilate.

You, sir, have walked directly into the jungle, and have to come to grips with the utmost alpha. The Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads. The Sultan of Smacktalk. The Wednesday Night Wrecker, the Saturday Night Slam Master, the Bringer of the Promised End, Shere Mutherfucking Khan, man cub.

Been in this game long?

I want you to imagine me grabbing your skull, and forcibly dislocating your jaw with a flex of the fingers, that’s all it fucking takes.

I would destroy you on my way to breakfast, lunch, or dinner on a whim if it would deny me a meal.

You would go hungry to survive if need be, so now you know the difference between you and me.

But, hey, once I whoop your ass you can take it on the arches anywhere else to tout yourself to the nth degree.

And then there's Dion, who already fucking knows all that shit.

Sup, former champ! You may have a god complex but you sure as shit ain’t complicated.

Oops, how much do you wanna bet the cat won’t have his tongue now?

Now, I would say Dion is no slouch when it comes to Xtreme Rules style matches, but after last Warfare, I’d say he’s a fairly competent slouch.

You had another man run into the ring and attack me, almost idyllic for you, but instead of completing your end of the fable, you fumbled.

You couldn’t get the job done, Black sure as shit didn’t get it done, and then you both were lucky enough to have that madman of a referee involved to call it a no contest before I beat Dionysus WITH Corey Black.

At March Madness, you become a part of my initiative.

Bobby holds up the Xtreme Championship Belt. He sneers at the camera, the sheer disregard for his opponents pouring in and out of his nostrils as he sets himself to be a monster to gods and kings.

This is my initiative.

This is my championship, this is about defending first and reigning after, this is about how I’m going to go into Minneapolis and put on the biggest spectacle of the night, me beating the shit out of the two of you with whatever I can get my mitts on.

Eventually, it’ll be bombs away for either of you.

Dionysus has been waiting in line, patiently, to be Bobbybombed for well over a year, Corey, but hey, I get it, you come to the XWF, if you want to sound like any of the legends that have ever competed here, you’d get Bobbybombed.

It happens to the best of them, Dion and Corey, so I assure you, it will just as easily happen to you.

And once that Bobbybomb sets in, well, I reckon that’s a relief for both of you, because it means you’re done working and are free to take the rest of the night off for some well earned rest and relaxation while I keep an eye out for anyone else who comes looking to take my initiative.

Buy your tickets, get some popcorn, then get out of the lobby
I’ll be in the ring snapping necks like it was my hobby
I don’t mean to sound elitist or all too snobby
But lucky for Corey, he can call his mom and say “I got my ass beat by Bobby!”
And she’ll take him out for pizza and cake
With a cherry on top of his chocolate milk shake
Celebrating the night away because of what was at stake
Instead of the whole spine it’s only three vertebrae I break.
As for Dionysus, you, sir, I offer the finest red
Spilling like a waterfall in the center of your forehead
I’m vicious and nasty as I was born and bred
This ain’t deicide, Dionysus, but you’d be better off dead.
I will light you up like a fluorescent lamp
You won’t even leave a mark while I’m leaving my stamp
Until I’m walking back up from the ring along that entrance ramp
And both of you look at me, YOUR Xtreme Champ.

–

We return to see Bobby along with Adam, fully prepared and equipped with his KitchenFist. Adam is grilling meats on the Korean BBQ, using the ease and convenience of a huge robot arm that is every kitchen tool you could ever need.

That’s great work, Adam, now what you’re actually doing is using conduction heat, where the meat is directly on the heated surface!

The curvature of the grill allows the meat to get caramelized and for the excess juices to drain off!

It smells great!

It sure does, Adam.

Mr. Bourbon, Adam seems pretty adept at that.

I agree, Miss Wilson.

Spatulahands is going to be a good Bourbon Man!

Yeah, when’s the last time we had a Bourbon Man that could cook?

You mean Guy Fieri?

Like half of them now that I think about it, maybe?

Yeah, but do you still think Guy Fieri is relevant enough?

Guy Fieri is seen walking in, only to hear this utterance. He looks immediately heartbroken.

Really, you think I’m not rad enough, Bobby?

Bobby turns.

Oh, Guy!

Yeah, I smelled Korean BBQ and walked in hoping for a trip to flavortown, but, well…

Bobby takes a deep breath.

Look, Guy, we need to talk.

Guy nods swiftly, then glances wearily at Bobby.

I understand.

Guy walks out of the room, his shoulders slumped.

Did you just break up with Guy Fieri?

In a promo?

I, well, I guess I did, damn.

So much for being friends after, Mr. Bourbon.

Yeah, yeah.

Bobby extends his arm towards the departing Guy Fieri, who is still walking away, saddened. Bobby reaches back, slowly placing his hand on his heart.

I will never forget Flavortown!

Guy pauses and looks back, half smiling with a tear in his eye.

You can put that on a flip-flop.

Guy leaves. Miss Wilson, Adam, Cyberjaw, and Diamondback look on awkwardly.

Mr. Bourbon, are we going to have some Korean BBQ?

Oh, hell yeah.

Bobby immediately forgets whatever just happened, there’s food. Adam serves up a plate of brisket, freshly cooked, and octopus. Bobby samples some of each, and in short order everyone else does.

I don’t know what you guys are doing here mooching off of the Korean BBQ.

Look, you have a new Bourbon Man here, you just got rid of Guy.

Who?

Guy Fieri!

Oh, I haven’t seen him in months.

Bobby chomps down some more brisket, his eyes rolling with delight from each morsel.

What’s a Bourbon Man?

It’s a proud title for someone who has proven themselves loyal to the BourbCo brand.

Oh, and I’m just a contestant?

Yeah, and you win fifty dollars for making this awesome food.

Meanwhile we’re on salary.

With benefits.

And a 401k.

Look, Adam, you’ve been a lovely guest on the show, but Bourbon Man?

I don’t want you to shoulder such responsibility of carrying out tasks.

Okay, that’s cool, if I cook more meat will I make more science?

You sure will! However, let’s discuss convection heat, where the meat is slowly roasted over a spit!

Oh, cool!

Cyberjaw and Diamondback wheel out another cart with a curtain above it.

Now, Adam, you can go for the science underneath the curtain, or, you have your options of door number one or door number two.

Adam considers it for a moment.

You know what, Bobby? I want door number one!

Okay!

But first, let’s show him what he didn’t get!

Behind the curtain?

Cyberjaw and Diamondback whip the curtain off of the cart, revealing a pig on a spit.

Ooh, that’s roast whole pig, Adam, that would have been succulent and a treat for all!

Dang.

That’s right, Mr. Bourbon, a whole roast pig on a spit.

Okay, so door number two?

Door number two opens. Inside we see two geese and a handheld meat grinder.

Oh, dang, that was the bonus round, where you would chase after the geese on a racquetball court with the meat grinder until you made sausage, worth up to ten thousand dollars in prizes!

Adam facepalms, laying the flat end of his grease coated spatula ass hand against his forehead.

Oh, man!

It’s okay, Adam, because you get door number one!

Door number one opens. Inside is just a big sign that says “Zonk!”

Oh, no, Adam, it’s the Zonk!

Oh man!

Mr. Bourbon, what does that mean?

Bobby looks around. He shrugs.

I don’t really know, I didn’t think he’d pick it.

Adam, start carving the roast pig.

Got it, do I win prizes?

Yeah, roast pork.

Bobby approaches his trusted Bourbon Men as Adam is working.

See?

See what?

He got a Zonk, that’s the opposite of Bourbon Man material.

I mean…

Have either of you ever gotten a Zonk?

No.

Nope.

Exactly, stop filling his head with this “Spatulahands” malarkey, he’s a good kid but…

You haven’t hired anyone in years.

He’s correct, Mr. Bourbon, I’m paid by Theo Pryce.

Oh, fiddlestix!

Motherfucker got a Zonk!

Adam pleasantly dishes up roast pork, unawares of the conversation between Bobby and the rest.

Hey, Bobby, this pork is all carved!

Wow!

Yeah, with this KitchenFist, stripping the meat was a snap.

Did you literally snap?

I did!

Cool! That’s great promotion of the product!

Bobby munches on some pork.

So, Adam, are you ready for the lightning round?

Yeah!

Alright, Adam, this is for the big dollars, I’m talking twenty-five thousand dollars!

Oh, oh yeah!

Awesome, so, what you’re going to do now, with your grasp of the KitchenFist is prepare a full three course meal against this troupe of bonobo apes that can cook!

Three bonobo apes saunter in, looking adorable in their little chef coats and hats. They begin setting to work in a massive kitchen stadium that is within the lab.

Oh, man!

Adam hustles over and begins to cook. As he does, one of the bonobo apes stops cooking and just accosts him the entire time, interfering in everything he tries to accomplish.

Mr. Bourbon, did you know the ape would do that?

I had a hypothesis!

Bobby watches on as the other two bonobo apes continue to pare carrots into perfect shape while preparing a roux. Adam swats away at a bonobo ape with his spatula hand while the KitchenFist begins a red wine reduction.

C’mon Adam!

I’m trying to make a nice Chicken Marsala for you, but this monkey is being a dick!

Ah!

That, Adam, isn’t a monkey, it’s an ape!

Nah uh!

Yes it is, it’s science!

NO WAY!

Adam pushes the ape away while attending to slicing his mushrooms and getting his chicken cooked just perfectly. The bonobo apes on the opposite side of the stadium are busy, working away in concert like they’ve been cooking together for decades.

Mr. Bourbon, it appears the bonobo apes are preparing roast duck with fingerling vegetables!

That sounds absolutely fantastic!

My food will be better!

That’s the spirit Adam!

Mr. Bourbon, does Adam know if he doesn’t win, the bonobo apes get the twenty-five thousand dollars?

What?

That’s right, Adam, the apes need that money to pay for their mom’s surgery!

Damn, that’s fucked up!

The bonobo apes all stop what they’re doing, taking a moment to reflect on a photograph of their lovely mother. She looks just like the other apes. Then they resume their tasks of preparing duck, sides, and accosting a guy with a spatula for a hand and a giant gizmo on his other. Adam seems to have his Marsala going well underway and has begun work on mashed potatoes.

Bobby, I really hate this ape.

Good.

It hates you, Adam.

All because you’re in it’s way.

I bet you fifty thousand dollars you won’t cook the ape.

Without hesitation, Adam conks the ape with the KitchenFist. He then performs a series of motions and swipes that completely skinned the ape and prepared it in filets. The other apes look very nervous and put more effort into their dessert.

Woah, Adam, I didn’t know you had it in you!

Look, I’m going to cook these apes!

Really?

Really! Double or nothing on all three apes!

Sure!

Adam begins to menace towards the hurried and exhausted apes as Bobby looks on eagerly and Miss Wilson takes note. He bonks them both on the head, and somehow manages to turn one into a massive bowl of minced ape, readily seasoned for sausage stuffing, and actually stuffs the sausage while converting the other one into stewing meat. As he does, Miss Wilson looks up.

Time!

Miss Wilson retrieves the meal the apes would have served if they weren’t slaughtered and turned into meat. She also retrieves a sampling of Adam’s burnt Chicken Marsala. Bobby digs into the Marsala.

Oh, Adam, I’m sorry, but the Marsala, it’s burnt!

Adam looks disappointed.

I was busy killing those apes instead of making a masterpiece Marsala.

Bobby nods.

You’re right.

Bobby samples the roast duck and fingerling potatoes made by the dead apes.

Oh this is fabulous. Adam, you easily come in second, this is perfection, and I’m kind of sad you killed the cooks.

Adam shrugs. He’s already begun storing all the ape meat into portioned bags for later use, save a few cutlets he throws on the Korean BBQ.

I had to do what I had to do.

Fair enough.

Since the other competitors are dead, you win!

I guess that makes you the GRILLMEISTER!

Along the bottom of the screen, we see a scroll that reads “*NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT: GRILLMEISTER!*” Cyberjaw and Diamondback walk in.

Oh, come on!

Yeah, you mean you were planning this the whole time?

Well, kind of, but I can’t have you guys calling this guy Spatulahands. That name is dumb.

As a regarded member of the Coolest Names Society of Zurich, I can’t abide by hiring a Spatulahands.

But Grillmeister?

Yo!

That has a panache!

I guess.