Robbie Bourbon has recently decided to eat brains because he thought he had been killed by Peter Gilmour.

WHO AM I?

We open to see Robbie sitting in his office with his Bourbon Men. Blue, Ash, Cyberjaw, and Diamondback are all dressed in black, and we see a floral wreath around a picture of Clyde.

Honey, do you want to say anything?

Not really. He was a fucking orangutan, is brains were awful.

Robbie! Clyde was a loyal Bourbon Man.

Yeah, yeah, and in death he has a name in Project Mayhem, witness him, whatever.

Seriously?

Robbie rolls his eyes.

Fine. Clyde II, come in!

Another orangutan walks in.

Here, it's Clyde II. I cloned Clyde.

The Bourbon Men all yell "hooray" and toss the wreath and oversized photo into the trash. Clyde II goes around giving everybody high fives.

Okay, so we have a special guest coming over today.

Cool, who?

Well, he's a big time celebrity. Huge crossover deal for the XWF, great media presence. This'll be big.

Are you going to eat his brains.

I hope not. Shit, I am hungry though...

Robbie, just stop eating brains. Go have a turkey sandwich.

Nope. I'm undead. I eat fucking brains.

But Robbie, there's no way you can have a consistent source of brains. I mean, what are you going to do?

What am I going to do? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!?

At Shove-It I'ma eat LeStranges fucking latent down syndrome holding DNA laced brains on TV. I'ma bring the fight to Rebel Star, because while she might not be my equal physically, or emotionally, or mentally, we are not different because of how we go to the bathroom.

After all, we all sit down to poop.

Vanessa taught me that. Well, I mean, I knew it already, but still.

I want to like Rebel, don't get me wrong. She's one of the fiercest competitors I've seen come down the pike in a while, whole lot of fight packed into so small a package. It's astounding!

But to say I'm the one "stumbling around like a fucking imbecile", as you so quaintly put it, well, that's just bullshit.

For starters, kitten, you weren't the only one screwed out of the X-Treme Championship at the last Shove-It. Ooh-ah how Vinnie done you wrong, whatever. John Madison did me wrong.

John Madison went through the announce table. Vinnie walked backstage that night.

Last we saw of me, I was ripping open skulls and eating brains.

Last we saw of you, you were eating pizza, getting scared by your own fucking doorbell, then tripping over a box. Stumbling around like a fucking imbecile.

Look, I don't wanna eat your brains. Not like LeStrange. LeStrange doesn't even use the brains he has. As far as mother nature is concerned, that's just me picking apples off a tree. Your brains aren't on the menu for me today, no ma'am.

You're not even ripe yet.

You're even jealous of my life. Yes, my life is that fucking awesome. I'm actually a happy guy, not some angst ridden fucktard with a frozen turd up my ass. What is it, "sketch comedy on acid" or something like that?

Do you want some LSD, kitten? Open your mind, take a trip, see the multiverse and your own subpsyche all at once.

If not, what experience are you?

LeStrange even conceded, for some unholy, unadvised by Robbie Bourbon reason that he's worthless, and even brings the question of my own worth into play.

I never question what I am worth.

My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

Always has been, always will be.

You're going to remember my name.

I've had assholes the worldwide try to dissuade me from belieiving my own name.

No matter where they're from, no matter where they sleep at night, they always remember the same thing. Not the tip given to the delivery driver, not the time it took for them to get back to home base.

They remembered "Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon".

They remembered the will of the people.

They remembered who exactly was waiting to stand up for them regardless.

Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

The man of the people.

The monster.

The thrasher.

The gasser.

The Monday Night Massacre.

The Cracker.

The mad as hell linebacker.

The Wednesday Night Wracker.

Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

The man of the people.

Read it aloud. Check it twice.

Robbie Bourbon has already known who's naughty or nice.

I'm still here.

Still ready to smash, crush, and demolish.

I'm not popular anymore?

You're lying to my people. You're lying to the people who look forward to Robbie Bourbon crushing and destroying bullshit.

You are an enemy to the people.

You're been given fair warning.

Elsewise, this shit happens.

A patient is wheeled out to the front of the home. In an instant, Robbie smashes their craniums with a surgical steel tomahawk and is double fisting their brains.

If you wanna see these brains go down, gimme a hell yeah.

HELL YEAH!

If you think Robbie Bourbon is a motherfucker with more balls than brains, gimme a hell yeah.

HELL YEAH!

So lay your shit down, motherfuckers. Y'all keep expecting the motherfucker who's here to beat your ass to lay judgment on you.

Is that what you all deserve?

HELL NO!

That's what I thought.

As such, who does?

I'll crush the small dear that comes to the door to pay me.

I'll show her that her fealty was insignificant to the fealty to the dollar I pay.

Because I pay my own dollar.

I'm not some jizz stain having XWF stars pour their jizm onto a card.

And while Tyrone hasn't been entertained yet, I've seen the value in each and every one of you. Dollar after dollar.

Does this disturb you?

Robbie would keep up, stroke for stroke.

Robbie doesn't have to.

No, Robbie is of the people.

You're people.

I smash people. Take this utter tonight when I went out, not proclaiming victory over a fucking match that hadn't happened yet.

Like a total prick.

A tiny dicked little shitstain that got Robbiebombed through a table.

And Rebel Star aught to damn well know why.

Because I was the first one screwed out of the X-Treme Title.

A title I've never been pinned over but the champion flaunts my name like it's tap water over.

Rebel Star got robbed by Vinnie Lane. Vinnie Lane is still walking.

Robbie Bourbon got robbed by John Madison. John Madison was put through a fucking table because Robbie Bourbon had Austin Fernando's shoulders down on the mat for the 1, 2, 3.