Robbie and Pest, along with Morbid Angel, the Black Hand, recently went out into the snow covered DC streets to kill zombies. Luca Arzegotti and Peter Gilmour, two more of the Black Hand's opponents at Snow Job, have broken their silence and said their piece about the upcoming match.

Then Pest spoke.

KILLING THE DEAD

We open to see Robbie, Pest, and Morbid walking in the snow, shortly after Pest's tirade. Robbie just kind of looks stunned at Pest.

Jesus, you really don't like those guys, do you?

Pest: Do you like them, Robert? Do you like our opponents?

Pest lights a cigarette.

I, well, I can't say that I really hate them, no. I mean, for starters, I love the fact that Austin is going to step into the ring with me. I love the fact that even though I got tossed in poop, I get to wreck him at a pay-per-view and in front of thousands in attendance in Russia. I love the fact you and I had to fight our way into this match, and earn a shot to knock off two wastes of human pregnancy who were just handed a place in this match.

"Do you think they're gay?"

I don't know, and I don't care. They sound like it, a lot, especially Austin, but there's nothing at all wrong with that. Let your flag fly, gentlemen, but when you bring up the fact you're supposedly above someone just because you're handed something rather than earned it, well, then I fly my flag too. From the sounds of things, though, Luca has way bigger problems to deal with than any of us or the Killers. Luca, you need a hug. You don't need to get into the squared circle and keep your vicious cycle turning. You need a higher power.

"Are you going to offer him a mask?"

Pest: The mask does not mean I take you for a higher power, Robert.

Well, shit, if he wants one, sure. I'm not going out of my way, though. Luca can mull it over if he wants. He sure doesn't seem, well, happy.

"He seems whiny."

Woah, heh, I thought that was me. I mean, we've all suffered losses, all of us in this match. We've all suffered heart break, and pain, and to some degree some humiliation. Especially Peter. Damn, that guy has been humiliated so many times, and he keeps on going without the yippee-yayo powder going up his nose, without the need to drag himself down into some pit of despair and self-wallowing. Granted, it's because he's a partial , or just brain damaged from one too many matches, but still. C'mon, Luca, cheer up, fellow. Then there's Peter. Shit. This guy wants to call me a whiner too, saying I piss and moan about, well, what exactly? I beat you Peter, you and your best friend, and really no discredit to TJ Wallace whatsoever, but I put my body on the line to get the job done, and got the job done. Now, we hear Peter talk about how I have a tainted victory and I shouldn't count it. And you want to call me the whiner? You think that's what I am?

My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. You gentlemen already remember it, kudos. I'm the man who keeps his head down, his heart beating, his sweat beading, and his mouth running like a straight up Duracell; ain't no stopping the copper top. I've had my losses, but I don't call them bullshit, or unfair. Was it unfair that I lost to Game Girl? Nope. It happened. I went on and kept fighting and beating ass. Was it unfair that I lost to Austin? Nope. We had a hell of a match, I eagerly look forward to locking up with him again, my bounty notwithstanding, but that's just a savvy business move anyway. Was it unfair any time I've lost, ever? No. Not at all; it was an opportunity for me to stand up again, wipe the dirt off, get a few stitches, and most importantly learn and become better. Never quitting, never surrendering, taking the best anybody can dish out, and I promise you, I've taken just about every asswhooping imaginable. I never fucking thought I'd have to fight off piranha, but you know what? I fought off piranha. Hell, once I joined the Black Hand, we even beat cancer.

The three men stop, seeing a hoard of zombies of Vietnam Vets, all sitting around the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial. There's a cloud of smoke all around them. The Black Hand sniffs the air.

Pest: I smell cannibus, Robert.

I do too, I guess these guys must have knocked over a dispensary or something.

The Black Hand approaches the group, which is not hostile.

"Who are you guys?"

A bunch of the zombies turn to look at the Black Hand, each of the three armed to the teeth. The zombies look fairly defensive.

We're, um, the Black Hand.

Pest: We are here because you need to be removed.

The zombies of the Vietnam vets chuckle.

"What are you going to do, kill us again? Look, we were all drafted and sent off to southeast Asia to die. Some of us were even tortured by crazy Soviets."

Morbid rolls his eyes, starts to whistle, and turns away.

"My brothers and I, we want to be able to have some peace. See that wall there? Half of our names are on it. Now you want to take away what we have now?"

Robbie raises his machine gun to fire on the group, but Pest puts his hand on the muzzle of the weapon, lowering it.

Pest: Robert, that was not what I expected out of you.

Robbie looks back at Pest grimly.

I have the living and the future to think of.

Pest: Robert, you will not shoot these men.

"They'll look much more peaceful when they aren't moving around."

Pest walks down among the congregation, searching. He finds a group of men, and puts his hands on their shoulders. The zombies stand and embrace Pest.

Does he know those guys?

"He served in Vietnam."

Robbie slings his weapon over his shoulder and sighs, his breath forming a cloud in the frigid snow-covered night. Pest returns, clears his throat, and speaks.

Pest: We would do well to leave.

The three men continue to walk along the National Mall, northward.

I really don't get why Peter wants to know what I've done with my career since me and TJ beat him, though.

Pest: He is an imbecile, Robert.

Yeah, I guess, I still blame the brain damage, but everybody should know that since I won, in a cell, against Peter and Dim, I got kidnapped by you and then we got a shot at the tag team championships. Peter had his asshole reamed out so far you could put three bowling lanes in there and still have room for a pool table, then a few weeks later he sucked a cock on live TV. Again, there's nothing really wrong with that desire, but again, with Luca and Austin, this is more the fact that your public displays of affection are not warranted. Seriously, maybe the three of you should just get a room already.

The Black Hand approaches the snow-covered World War II memorial. A hoard of WWII vets are congregated around, all sipping from bottles of booze and trading stories. Takes readies the machine gun in his hands.

Pest: Robert, are you seriously going to go and mow down every last zombie?

They gotta rest, man. They had their time, they made the most of it, and there are more generations on the way to follow in their footsteps.

"Maybe we could find another solution."

Like what?

"I don't know."

Pest: There has to be some way to get all of these vets to leave, Robert.

That sounds great, but what hope do we have?

Robbie's eyes go wide.

That's it! Hope!

Pest: Robert, hope is never a good strategy.

Nah, c'mon!

Robbie starts to run through the snow to the north, further up the Mall. Pest and Morbid try to keep pace. The men reach the steps of the Smithsonian Natural History Museum.

"You want to reanimate the dinosaur bones to crush the zombies?"

What? No, cool idea, but no.

The three men walk up and ignore the sign saying the Museum is closed. Robbie pulls out a key and opens the door, then disables the security system.

Pest: How did you get that key, and why do you know the security codes?

My city. I'm a patron of the Smithsonian, Pest, I've donated millions to them.

The three men enter and Robbie leads them to the right and up a flight of stairs. They walk along the railed edge of the second floor, looking down at a huge display of a woolly mammoth. They stop at a hall with a sign saying "GEMSTONES, HOPE DIAMOND".

Touch nothing in here, guys.

The threesome enter the primary display, and in the center of the room in a glass encased column sits the Hope Diamond.

"Isn't it bad luck to own that thing?"

We're not taking it. We're going to use it.

Robbie approaches the column and gazes at the massive blue diamond.

You can always tell when a man's well-informed. His views are pretty much like yours.

He speaks at the diamond.

Pest: Robert, that is clever, but not always true.

It's a joke.

"It's witty, but not a joke."

Everyone's a critic. I've performed for 12 presidents and only entertained six!

The three men turn to the direction of the voice, belonging to the ghost of Bob Hope. He's glowing blue, floating, wearing a USO hat.

Say, is that a penis around your neck or are you just happy to see me?

Bob!

Please, my wife calls me Bob, and if she hears you saying my name around here she's going to find out I'm not in my study!

Robbie cracks up at the joke, as Pest and Morbid roll their eyes.

Bob, look, we need you big here, buddy. There are a bunch of bored troops out there all looking for a little entertainment, do you think you can help?

I sure can. Girls?

With that, a ton of ghostly USO showgirls appear. They look like a time capsule of attractive women from the 20th century, ranging from 40's style pin-up, 50's style glam, 60's style flower child, the 70's flat look, etc.

Girls, let's go entertain the troops.

We see Robbie, Pest, and Morbid run outside, and they watch as an army of USO showgirl ghosts all round up the zombie veterans outside. They rouse the Vietnam vets mowed down by the machine gun earlier. A whole posse is assigned to all five of the Kennedys. We see the USO showgirls escort the vets back to their graves in Arlington, and lay down with the vets. The sounds of zombie on ghost coitus can be heard as an undead orgy breaks out in Arlington. Four hundred thousand counts of public indecency at Arlington National Cemetery. Does it count as necrophilia, though?

Well, there we go. Two for two this week, gentlemen. Who knew the Black Hand were so good at saving the world?

With that, the ground begins to tremble.

Robbie, thanks for freeing me, but in the netherworld I learned a thing or two about sorcery, so now I'm going to live on as the greatest comedian of all time! I'm raising all of DC into the stratosphere, for all the world to see in my glory as the funniest man ever! Talk about bringing change to Washington!

Robbie has a belly laugh as Pest and Morbid go wide eyed.