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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » XWF Snow Job 2016
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From Bad to Worse
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
01-24-2016, 03:57 AM



Robbie and Pest, along with Morbid Angel, the Black Hand, recently repelled an alien slime that was encasing Washington, DC. They did so by unearthing the dead at Arlington National Cemetery, beckoning those laid to rest there to fight for their country one last time. The zombies, however, once unleashed, do not simply retreat back to their graves.

Then a blizzard hit.

FROM BAD TO WORSE

We open scene to see Robbie in his office with Esteban the Magnificent and Crispin the Destroyer, Pest and Morbid Angel respectively.

Well, I guess we'd better get started on game-planning.

Pest: Robert, there is no point in coming up with a "game plan". This is not a game.

Tell that to our opponents. Either the two white kids going round using American street gang slang from a decade ago, or Peter and Dim, who can't grasp anything more complicated than Chutes and Ladders.

"Street gang slang?"

Yeah, "fuccboi", "murk", that kind of shit. Used to hear it when I was working security at a club about ten years back from real gang members. Not the loud type, no, these were the guys who stayed real quiet, the guys you had to lean in towards to listen to. Most of them were actually pretty cool, just trying to make a living.

Pest: Your grasp of classlessness never fails to amaze, Robert.

Thank you. Anyway, it's a trend. White kids in the 70's tried to sound funky, in the 90's tried to sound like rappers, and in the 10's they're still trying to connect with hip hop culture.

"Why?"

Well, I guess they think it sounds cool to be super rich but talk like a poor person. I have no clue what the fuck that actually achieves...

The television on in the background is showing clips from the most recent round of Republican presidential primary debates. All three men look at it, then look back. Robbie facepalms, Pest lights a cigarette, and Morbid chuckles.

...Never mind.

With that, we hear Robbie's phone start to ring as it sets on the table.

Hello? Uh huh. You what? Hold on, let me put you on speaker.

Robbie takes his phone and presses a button on it. We hear the voice of Joe Biden.

Can you hear me?

Yeah, Joe, loud and clear.

Pest: Robert, what did I tell you about being frivolous with government officials. It is not to be considered 'cool'.

Shut up, Esteban. Sorry, Mr. Biden. What seems to be the issue?

Well, we here in Washington had an amazing plan to destroy the zombies you raised at Arlington, but there's a little snag. The snow hit.


Yeah, we know. We're snowed in too.

Well, our plan was contingent on it being sunny out. We were going to use a really big magnifying lens to make a solar laser to burn the zombies, one by one.

That sounds like the coolest plan my government has ever set up.

"We did it in Russia in '77"

God damn, you're old.

Robbie, please, if you could look into it, I mean you did summon all the zombies in DC, and the whole city is shut down.

My city.

There you go, Robbie. Gimme a call when you're done.

The phone clicks.

Pest: You let these people rely on you too much, Robert.

I don't let them rely on me enough, Pest. These people deserve zombie free streets. Imagine, all that snow, and no sledding, no skating, no snow men, no angels, all because an undead regiment of troops from the Battle of Belleau Wood want to eat their brains. When the Vice-President calls you and tells you that the government is too lazy to solve a problem, you don't just put it on hold. Layer up, gentlemen, we're going to train in the snow.

"You mean kill zombies in the snow?"

Fuck yeah.

A montage hits showing Robbie putting on a snow suit, Pest putting on a sleek skiing suit, and Morbid Angel just applying a coat of oil to his naked chest. The three men step outside and see that the van Robbie drives around in is buried.

Damnit.

Pest: Robert, perhaps it is for the best.

You're right! We didn't even arm up!

"That's true."

Pest: Correct, Robert. This is not just some saunter into the snow, we also have a zombie infestation to deal with.

Robbie shrugs and nods his head, assenting to the rest of the Black Hand. The three men re-enter the dojo, Pest and Morbid still wearing their Esteban and Crispin masks. The Bourbon Men inside, all nestled around on a couch in robes and slippers, sipping cocoa, watching something on a projection screen, turn back and look at the spectacle of the three men in their snow gear, or realistically two men in their snow gear and a half naked man ready for the snow. Ash speaks first.

Are you motherfuckers going out in this shit?

Well, yeah, there's a ton of zombies in the District, so we have to go take care of them.

The Bourbon Men all glance at each other.

We'd love to go, but the snow...


Don't sweat it. You guys hold down the fort, keep an ear to the police scanner and see if anybody gets stuck in a ditch and needs cocoa. We can handle this.

The Black Hand turns down into a hallway in the dojo, and comes to an elevator. Inside, Robbie pushes one of the buttons and they descend. They exit the elevator and proceed into another hall, and into a room. Robbie hits a light switch, and we see a full on armory with all manner of weapons; guns and swords and the like as far as the eye can see and in huge store.

"Where the hell did you get all of this?"

Stopping international criminal syndicates doesn't pay, Morbid, but it can get you some crazy supplies.

Pest: You stole them from the criminals you beat up and chose not to report them to the authorities, is that correct Robert?

Correctomundo. They're not trained to handle any of this stuff anyway.

Morbid laughs as he brandishes his pair of 1911's.

"I am always armed!"

Seriously? Christ, we've walked through like eight metal detectors yesterday when we met Joe Biden in that secret Pentagon war room, did you have them then?

"Yes."

Morbid puts the pistols away and walks to a wall, taking a Russian sabre.

"Just like my father's sword."

Really?

Morbid Angel looks at the hilt, and his eyes go wide.

"This IS my father's sword. Where did you get this?"


I think at Goodwill. You'd be shocked at what you can find there.

Pest surveys the room, a look of discernment and a furrowed brow leading narrowed eyes from pistols to rifles to swords to axes, and finally a crate sitting on the floor. He glances at the Chinese written on the box, and without hesitation approaches it. He opens the crate and pulls out a flame thrower, along with a spare tank of fuel.

Pest: Robert, I am taking this, and I am keeping it.

Morbid and Robbie look at Pest like he's nuts.

"Burning zombies are worse than regular zombies."

Really, c'mon dude, this isn't the time nor place for that. We should save that for fall, when there's a shit ton of dried leaves on the ground, it'll be more effective...

Pest straps the pack of the flamethrower on as both men speak and calmly leaves the armory. Robbie and Morbid shrug at each other.

"What do you plan on taking, Mister Bulletproof?"

Robbie walks up to the wall and pulls down a crowbar and a fire axe, stored in a double sheath that he buckles around his waist. He turns around.

These aren't infectious zombies, so we can pretty much melee them with less worry.

"Yeah, but Pest is bringing a flamethrower, melee is going to suck if he's around."

Yeah, okay, but I'm still bringing both a crowbar AND an axe in case, plus two-weapon melee is always cool.

"Is that your alignment?"

Robbie reaches on the floor and grabs a bag marked 'LIFE SAVING ROPE'.

"Rope? What the fuck do you need rope for?"


Three lengths of kernmantle life rope, and a pack of carabiners rated for our weight.

"But what the fuck do you need it for?"

You never know. Not some weird ass bondage shit like Luca and Austin talked about on some doofy podcast about Big Show. How hard do you think they like to body each other like two grown men who can't get enough of each other?

Robbie goes back into a corner and pulls out a dusty box, the initials MGO scrawled on it. He opens the box and pulls out a belt fed machine gun. He straps four additional ammo boxes onto his thighs and upper arms.

"Woah! You're going to go Rambo on the zombies?"

Jesus, first it's goofy and not enough with the crowbar, axe, and rope, and now I'm just being unfair to the zombies.

"No, it's cool!"

They both walk back to the elevator, where Pest waits, holding the elevator door open. Morbid and Robbie enter, and Pest hits a button.

Pest: Robert, does this flamethrower work?

I, well, I don't know. The guys were trying to sell it for a lot of cash.

Pest: I will have to test this flamethrower.

The elevator dings as the doors open and the three men walk out. The walk past the gawking Bourbon Men looking at the three armed men in snow gear, or specifically three armed men and two men in snow gear and one half naked man with a bronzed penis dangling around his neck. They open the front door. Pest ignites the flamethrower, and lets fly a geyser of flame, melting out the van and a path to the snow covered street. He takes the flamethrower off, looks at it in approval, and opens the back of the van to store it.

Pest: This will do.

Morbid climbs into the van's rear. Robbie loads his weapons and the rope into the back of the van and gets in the driver's seat as Pest sits shotgun. He starts the van and drives it out of his parking lot and up a block. He parks, and the Black Hand gets out of the van and both Robbie and Pest retrieve their weapons from the back. All three men walk down a snow-covered road with large walls of snow flanking it, the handiwork of regular plowing.

"So, Pest is the dragon, teenaged girls are Daenerys, and we're going to fight the White Walkers..."

Look, I told you in the van, and like a million times before, I don't watch that show.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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