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Prof. Bobby Bourbon · (08-30-2016)

Robbie has recently come to the conclusion that his opponent will be Sid Feder.

YOU AREN'T A BOURBONWEIGHT

We open to see a sunny beautiful beach in Cuba. Many are relaxing, playing, or swimming on this incredible summer day. We see Robbie Bourbon walking down the beach, easily noticed as he's quite simply the largest person there. He's carrying a pair of coconuts. He cracks them together, smashing them open, and then proceeds to Stone Cold the coconut water, dousing himself while getting as much in his belly as Cookie Monster has over decades of munching baked goods.

Well faith and begora, I'm facing down a Feder! That grumpy old fool got some nerve back and must feel like ten times better. No longer weak in the knees? I guess it's time to face the big cheese, call me Cheddar. Sumbitch wears Depends so his kids don't learn he's a bed wetter, all the bladder control of a seventeen year-old Irish setter, still embarrassed over a dozen or so failed children, and their mom, thank God they never met her. All that pointless rambling, you know you slobber when you talk it? Looking like you took a poofie with your eyes bulging right out of the sockets, you're monkey business, like Harambe, you see my life and you mock it, but you're just a jealous bitch full of used-tos, I'm taking off like a rocket. And that sir, is money in the bank, sir, is the gospel, sir, grab a handful and fill your pocket.

Robbie drops the coconuts on the ground, and sits on the sand.

I still ain't seen the smack talk come, not the type that's been boasted. Yeah, I heard the sounds you made when you moved your jaw, but I sure don't feel roasted. He don't got it anymore, on his laurels he's coasted, and his name may be toasted but his career sure has ghosted (how many promos has he posted?) but this superheavyweight who's the most did. Been crumpling fools like aluminum tools, all distinctly old school, and let's face it, I rule, while he sat there playing with the sperm that he drools when he sucks off ten mules while giving himself a lather to generate baby batter from his overused family jewels. So many worthless progeny, not a kid worth a fuck, blame genetics, not the upbringing or some horrible luck, have you ever seen the woman that this fucker gave a clitoral pluck? Where was his dick stuck, how did he shoot his pearly muck, all at the lower end of the gene pool, I reckon Mama Feder must've been a duck or the remains of a rusted out dump truck. Watered down and pointless, that's just your namesake, so many copies of copies of copies they're the same, fake, they come weaker and weaker and weaker what a shame, make a comeback to get wrecked by this superhot flame, bake, while your bowels and intestines give a little lame quake. You sir, are in over your head, sir, because the deepest you've ever had to be was about two inches, sir, with a two inch dick, sir, and that's after plastic surgery.

Robbie sprawls out in the sand, soaking up rays.

You want to be mad at me, but it's easy to see it's your family that disgraces you and won't let you be. You want to be pissed off, instead getting pissed on, don't hate on me for proving myself right, the ones you really aught to have a problem with are Smackins and Lane for putting you up against me Wednesday night. Like that lame ass, Halloween spooks and gags are going to give anyone over twelve any fright. You're old now, so you don't see it, but I'll make it out of sight. I know it's getting late and all, time for bed, I'll put out the light. The only thing stopping me, sir, from just slapping you into the Phrenology Claw, sir, is the fact I have to beat the shit out of your head, sir, because you have shit for brains, sir, and this being the XWF, I better not catch any C. Diff you have running around up there.

Seriously, it's horrible. Feder is so full of shit his breath smells like an asshole, the whites of his eyes are turning brown, and when he uses the bathroom he has to wipe his ears afterward.

Yours truly? I'm just the master of the flow and the metaphor. It's sad when people who legitimately can't understand your words just think you're the idiot. Hrmm, let me dumb this down a bit for Feder.

You, worthless.

Me, priceless.

You, showing up because you have history.

Me, writing fucking history daily as one half of the XWF Tag Team Champions en route to me getting another shot at Dillinger and getting MY Intercontinental Title.

You, old, tired, same ole' same ole', might have set the mark one time, now just blending in with the crowd.

Me, one of a fucking kind, broke the god damned mold, ain't never gonna see, ain't never gonna be another Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

Don't worry, though. Cuba's got excellent health care, I know you can't wait to get into the ring to have our match; when the EMTs get you to the hospital, you get to ask the doctor about the lump on your chest and get your mastectomy. Old Man Feder, the new face on the pink ribbon and Susan G. Komen poster boy, such a bitch he's got breast cancer.

We see Blue come and sit next to Robbie. She looks at the camera, then back at Robbie.

What the fuck are you doing?

Showing the fucking Universe that Feder sure as fuck ain't a Bourbonweight competitor.

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