The Grand Canyon. A marvel of nature itself. Arriving some few days before his match with Ned Kaye, Bobby Bourbon steps forward. He surveys the canyon itself. Beside him, Genevieve Tote, looks on in awe, taken away from her tablet for the moment.

I’ve never seen this, it’s absolutely incredible!

Same, Miss Tote. Who knew, embrace violence and see the world's marvels. I have to say, this is the grandest hole in the ground ever!

Mr. Bourbon, would you say that’s a bit of an oversimplification?

Perhaps, Miss Tote, perhaps. Technically, the Marianas Trench is the grandest hole in the ground ever. We KNOW what’s at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, even if whatever falls into it is lost forever.

Miss Tote takes note.

Lost forever?

Genevieve looks into her tablet.

Mr. Bourbon, there seem to be roads and an entire river at the bottom.

So even roads and rivers can be lost forever! Kind of like all those ghost towns we saw on the ride here!

Yes, Mr. Bourbon, taking historic Route 66 was nowhere near as exciting as you made it sound.

Not yet, Miss Tote. Not until I start putting casinos everywhere along it!

Miss Tote takes note.

So have you come to the Grand Canyon early to prepare to build a casino, Mr. Bourbon?

No, I…

Bobby pauses.

Put that one down in the planner, anything to spruce up this dump. It’s a snoozefest.

Miss Tote takes note, Bobby’s disregard for natural beauty and crass commercialism all in one planner entry.

The Grand Canyon Hotel and Casino?

Yes, Miss Tote. All of these national parks draw almost no tourist revenue whatsoever,

and,

well,

since I'm not Chocolate anymore, I'm pretty sure my stock has fallen. I gotta do something to correct the course, Miss Tote.

A massive tractor trailer pulls up beside Bobby and Genevieve.

Hence why we got here early, Miss Tote.

Bobby waves to the driver, then walks to the back of the massive trailer. He grabs the latch holding it shut and finagles it, opening it wide. Inside it is full to the brim with pallets of boxes.

What's in there, Mr. Bourbon?

Bobby sighs.

All the merchandise I had lined up hyping my choco-transition.



Shirts.



Coloring books.



Fondue pots.



Thermal mugs.



Adult coloring books.



Foam chocolate bars.



The works.

Miss Tote looks into the truck.

Any real chocolate bars?

Not real ones, no. Ketogenic friendly products only, Miss Tote.

I feel selling candy would've been a gimme.

Well I don't take the easy way, Miss Tote. Your run of the mill wrestlers can dip themselves in chocolate and sell it.

When I get dipped in chocolate I sell more than just chocolate!

Miss Tote takes note.

So, why is all your unusable merchandise here, Mr. Bourbon?

Well, Miss Tote, any fool could have just sent this stuff off to some third world country, like all the shirts they print that say "Buffalo Bills Super Bowl Champions" and chock it up as a loss for tax purposes.


But, Miss Tote, taxes are for nerds.


I’m not a nerd.


I’m a businessman.


I even carry a briefcase with me to work now.


So, to make sure my stocks don’t slip because I’m no longer encased in delicious Swiss chocolate, I’m going to jump the Grand Canyon.

Miss Tote looks shocked at the notion.

Mr. Bourbon, do you mean to tell me you intend to pull a stunt?

I pull stunts all the time.

This time, all this merchandise and this truck are going to jump the Grand Canyon.

So you mean you’re not going to jump it yourself, literally.

Correct!

Genevieve looks relieved at the mention that Bobby himself wasn’t going to do something that ridiculous.

I apologize, Miss Tote, by me, I mean my company, BourbCo, will jump the Grand Canyon, and all this merchandise can go to the schlubs, schmos, and poors at the bottom of the Grand Canyon as it cascades out of the trailer here!

Wait, what?

That’s right!

Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, drives towards the truck with a massive afterburner engine on a forklift, stopping just so and laying it on top of the trailer. The driver of the truck, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, steps out and climbs onto the trailer and pulls out a roll of duct tape. Guy Fieri, right mayor of Flavortown, walks up to Bobby and Genevieve.

Bobby, long time no see! Who’s the young lady?

Hello, I’m Genevieve Tote, Bobby’s image consultant.

Guy, she’s not a Bourbon Man like you are. Get up on that truck and help Cyberjaw and Diamondback get that military grade engine duct taped to the roof of the trailer before I have you taking laps all around Flavortown and those snappy shirts of yours become too loose while your hair product drips down your forehead!

Got it!

Guy Fieri scrambles and climbs up to the top of the trailer. He and Diamondback hold the massive rocket engine tight as Cyberjaw slides the forks out from under it. Once cleared, Cyberjaw backs the forklift out and away from the truck. Diamondback unrolls a length of duct tape.

Mr. Bourbon, don’t you feel this is a bit reckless?

Poppycock, Miss Tote! I do plenty that’s reckless all the time!

I would say it’s high time my brand of recklessness comes to the Grand Canyon!

Diamondback straps down the rocket with a single stretch of duct tape. Guy Fieri takes the duct tape from him and pulls out a length of tape himself, and both men continue this as they duct tape an afterburner to the roof of a tractor trailer.

The sheer spectacle, Miss Tote, of my merchandise soaring through the sky across something as vast and wide as the Grand Canyon is what will make the Grand Canyon so awesome!

Why else do you think the XWF is hosting a show here, because looking at the Colorado River is cool?

Bobby scoffs.

Mr. Bourbon, I have to say, it’s never a dull moment with you around. I hope your stocks go even higher considering what Ned Kaye had to say about you.

Guy and Diamondback continue to strap the rocket haphazardly to the roof of the trailer as Cyberjaw pulls out a laptop.

What?

Bobby glances at Genevieve.

What do you mean, Miss Tote?

Mr. Bourbon, Ned said you weren’t evil.

Big whoop, Ned says lots of things, nobody pays attention.

Well, ever since he did, well, the affidavit of a soundbite from someone seen as the top good guy, or at least the most relatable everyman in wrestling today seems to have had an impact on your stocks. Have you checked them lately?

Bobby swiftly shakes his head. As he does, Cyberjaw clacks away at the keyboard on the laptop.

Yo, I’m connecting the rocket controls now.

Copy. Me and Guy are almost finished duct taping this rocket to a truck.

Are you sure this will work?

Cyberjaw nods.

Absolutely!

Cyberjaw puffs on a joint.

Miss Tote, I haven’t even glanced at my company’s profile ever since the chocolate fiasco at the beach, I couldn’t bear the stress of seeing my fortune flushed down the toilet!

Mr. Bourbon, that’s not what’s happened at all. Look.

Miss Tote holds her tablet up for Bobby to see. The chart shows a steep increase on a graph.

Mr. Bourbon, your stocks are now at twenty dollars a share.

Bobby goes slack jawed, visibly trying to do the math in his head.

That means you’re two-hundred times richer than you were in chocolate.

Bobby’s eyes go wide.

So, what you’re telling me is the two-million dollars I had got multiplied by two-hundred?

Correct, Mr. Bourbon.

Bobby grins.

I’m a billionaire!

Miss Tote takes a deep breath, knowing math wasn’t Bobby’s strong suit.

No, Mr. Bourbon, but, well, you’re now far, far richer than you were before.

Fucking awesome! Hey, guys! Guess what! Applebee’s, my treat!

Diamondback does a fist pump, loving what’s good in the neighborhood at Applebee’s. Guy nods in approval. Applebee’s may be on the fringes of Flavortown, but it’s still there. Cyberjaw can’t hear.

Clear!

Guy and Diamondback climb down from the truck as Cyberjaw puffs his joint, nodding his head along to the tunes coming from his earbuds. Bobby looks at Cyberjaw.

Yo, we don’t have to do this anymore, we can donate the stuff, I’m not evil, it’s bad for my brand!

Diamondback and Guy Fieri back away from the tractor trailer. Cyberjaw looks up at Bobby, only recognizing that Bobby is calling out to him for some reason.

Contact!

Cyberjaw finishes a few keystrokes on the laptop. As he does, the afterburner ignites, and in moments, the entire tractor trailer soars, taking off. Genevieve, Bobby, Diamondback, and Guy Fieri look at it woefully as Cyberjaw gives a thumbs up, removing his earbuds.

The launch is go!

No!

Bobby rushes over to the forklift where Cyberjaw was seated.

I mean, awesome, we did it, but, where is it headed!

Cyberjaw looks at the laptop screen and his face goes graven.

Uh, Las Vegas.

What?

Yeah, it looks like it’ll crash somewhere into Las Vegas.

Fuck!

Mr. Bourbon, that crash will kill thousands, if not millions!

Bobby’s demeanor shifts.

Well, Ned was right.

What?

I’m a shitty bad guy. I wanted to blow up a truck full of tchotchkes and knick-knacks, but now I’m going to destroy Las Vegas!

Genevieve looks at Bobby in horror.

Mr. Bourbon…

Bobby puts a hand up.

Miss Tote, Ned was absolutely right. I’m a shitty bad guy.

This looks like a job for Robbie Bourbon.





Cyberjaw’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. Guy Fieri and Diamondback give each other a high five. Genevieve looks perplexed.

Mr. Bourbon, what are you going to do?

Cyberjaw, give me that laptop. What’s the ETA of the truck hitting Las Vegas?

Five minutes and counting!

Then I gotta do this in four minutes.

Bobby places the laptop on the seat of the forklift and begins clacking away at it.

Shit, the backdoor didn’t work.

What backdoor, Mr. Bourbon?

To Space Force satcom, Miss Tote.

You’re hacking military satellites?

Pssht. It’s Space Force, Miss Tote, they’re a bunch of nerds, hardly military.

Bobby clacks away at the keyboard.

Mr. Bourbon, you need to call a lawyer immediately, maybe if you tell them what’s happening, we can spin this as all some massive mistake!

It was a massive mistake, Miss Tote.

I know that, but there’s only one person I can hold accountable for my mistakes, and only one person who can right them.

Me.

Bobby clacks away at the keyboard some more, and a smirk crosses his lips.

I’m in.

So, what now?

We test Cold War era satellites.

~~~~~

Las Vegas, Nevada.

As thousands of tourists walk the streets of the strip at dusk, moving from casino to casino, taking in every neon eyefull available to them. One tourist, struck by her first trip to Sin City, looks up, beyond the neon lights, and sees something.

“Look!”

A few other passersby halt, and look up as well.

“It’s a bird!”

“No, it’s a plane!”

“It’s,"

"um,"

"a tractor trailer!”

The people in the streets, all thinking this part of the spectacle of Vegas, all stop and watch. At that precise moment, a brilliant flash of light comes down from beyond the heavens in space itself, originating from an Air Force satellite launched in 1987. It strikes the afterburner engine strapped to the tractor trailer, detonating it, blowing it all into a million pieces. The cheap materials Bobby used to manufacture his junk ignite from the sheer heat of exploding rocket fuel, and the sky illuminates as though it’s a massive firework. The people on the street all cheer for the awesome happening, holding onto it, knowing what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.