When we last left the XWF, a maelstrom of activity whirled through the locker room. While each of it's superstars had many unanswered questions left on their plate, along with the overarching issue of the CCWF's invasion, one man seemed to take it all in stride. The Wednesday Night Wrecker, the man known for causing destruction to not only his opponents, but also arenas themselves, as evidenced by Wargames and how he left the cage and ring by the end of the match, Robbie Bourbon.

THE NEW DOJO

We open to see Robbie Bourbon, alongside his cohorts Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Clyde the Orangutan. They are all standing in front of Robbie's custom van. Robbie speaks.

Well guys, that was a fun vacation. We saw the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone..

And Vegas.

Cyberjaw interrupts Robbie as he, Diamondback, and Clyde all grin.

Yeah, Vegas was pretty sweet.

Ooogh, oogh oogh. Ppppbbbbt.

Robbie shrugs while nodding his head no.

Seriously guys? You let Clyde gamble? Who does that? Doesn't it seem highly irresponsible to let an orangutan go around the streets of Las Vegas?

He won at the craps table.

No fucking way.

He bought us all lap dances.

You're shitting me!

Yeah, then a round of banana daiquiris for the whole strip club.

Clyde pulls out a stack of ones from the front pocket of his vest and starts making it rain on Robbie.

Well, damn. I wish I was with you guys.

What were you doing?

Securing the last asset for this...

The camera turns to show the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, fully restored to it's former glory (if one can call an industrial warehouse that was remodeled glorious).

Oh, you needed some stuff. It's pretty sweet how they were able to rebuild your dojo and still make it look like a brick building from the 1920's.

I know!

Wait, where are Ash and Blue? Are they still honeymooning?

What? Oh, right, nah, they got the license to marry, but didn't. The road trip was for the bros.

You haven't seen them since you took them to Kentucky, have you.

Well, uh, not really.

What about that reporter chick?

Oh, that fizzled out. Too much ego between the two of us.

Ah. Well, what do we do then?

What we were born to do, guys...

Robbie raises his finger into the air.

We're going to beat the hell out of the assholes, the dickheads, the pricks, the shitheads, the fartknockers, the felchmongers, and the cocky little freaks of the XWF in front of a massive live audience...

You're going to...

I'm going to beat the hell out of the assholes, the dickheads, the pricks, yadda yadda, you know what I mean, and you guys are my faithful chums who help me get into some form of hijinx before a match.

So what's the first part of this very vague plan, Robbie?

I've got a hand to sever.