Robbie Bourbon recently turned into a centaur briefly to shit himself onto the floor. Steve Sayors is visiting the Bourbon Dojo and is currently dressed in a polyester suit with collars large enough to hold an Applebee's menu while wearing a feathery 70's disco style wig. A horse died. We all laughed and laughed.

Someone took umbrage to the dead horse.

THUNDERHORSE

We open to see the massive and busy interior of the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive arts. There are wet floor signs strewn about in front of Robbie's office, and a crew of students mull about with mops tidying up the mess that Robbie left during his last promo. The whole dojo is subdued, not many people willing to cook, cut hair, or hang out in a Dunkin Donuts when the whole place smells of dead horse, horse shit, and regurgitated mayonnaise. The ring, however, is full and busy.

We see Robbie Bourbon in the ring surrounded by several students, along with Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Xtreme Travel Agent, possible victim of Stockholm Syndrome, and Disco Steve Sayors, 2016 Holiday special edition Bourbon Man retailing for over $100 on eBay.

Well, Steve, since you're Disco Steve, honorary Bourbon Man, we figure we'd let you get in on our regular training session here in the dojo. First, we like to warm up with a little robot yoga.

What's Robot Yoga?

Oh, it's something Marcel does for us.

Marcel, Robbie's yoga instructor, walks onto the apron and enters the ring. He's almost a full foot taller than Robbie, is wearing aviator shades, has an afro with a two foot diameter, and is otherwise dressed in a vibrant orange track suit. As he enters by scaling one foot over the top at a time, text reading "NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT!" scrolls along the bottom of the screen.

Robbie, they took away my tennis channel.

Oh, I'm sorry. Hold on.

Robbie pulls his cell phone out as Marcel stands and waits for some kind of action to take place. Robbie dials. After a moment, he speaks into the phone.

Hi, I'm Robbie Bourbon, account number *BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*, cable. Thank you. Hi. Robbie. I'm missing the tennis channel. Yes, I'll hold.

Robbie looks at Marcel.

I'm talking to them now, Marcel.

I need my tennis channel.

Yes? Oh.

Robbie turns to Marcel while lowering the phone.

The moved the tennis channel, we need to subscribe to a higher plan if they want that.

Marcel's shoulders slump as his gaze is cast to the mat.

Damn.

I know. You want to go halvsies on the new bill? We need to upgrade to get it.

I already pay a lot for the cable.

I know, I know. Hold on.

Robbie puts the phone back to his head.

Go ahead and upgrade us. Put the billing in my name.

Robbie nods with the phone to his head, for no real reason since the person on the other end of the phone couldn't hear it. He puts his phone back in his pocket.

We'll have the tennis channel back in forty-five minutes.

Cool.

Okay, lead us, Marcel.

Marcel leads his yoga instruction of Robbie and his students by first moving into the first phase of the Robot, dance craze from the 1980's. Disco Steve steps into the first motion, but looks bewildered. Marcel then proceeds to lead Robbie and the whole class through performing the Robot, only holding position and taking deep breaths between each motion.

Feel that deep tissue waking up, Steve?

Honestly, yeah, a little.

Marcel finishes his routine after a few minutes and turns, bowing to the class.

Later, Rob. Namaste. Take it easy, everybody.

Marcel steps over the top rope and to the floor gingerly and with the grace of a swan as he smoothly walks down one of the halls of the Robbie Bourbon Dojo to presumably sit around and watch the tennis channel.

Wow, Robbie, he's pretty tall, does he want to join the XWF?

What? No, Marcel is a pacifist.

Oh, well, oh. What's next?

Next, we do something called Everybody Hit Everybody.

What?

Yeah, we're just going to go bonkers and beat the fuck out of each other with no rhyme or reason for a few minutes until we're all good and subdued and hurt, then we'll try doing technical shit.

Well, that sounds rough.

It's Xtreme.

Suddenly, we hear a loud crash as something bolts through the front doors of the dojo. Two orbs come from the figure and into the ring, which explode with a deafening bang, leaving all in the ring doubled over and helpless. It leaps from the floor into the ring. For a brief moment, it stands still, and we see what looks like an anthropomorphic horse costume. It scoops Cyberjaw up and over one shoulder, then Xtreme Travel Agent over the other, and bolts out of the dojo! A few seconds later, and Robbie Bourbon is surveying his dojo.

Is everyone okay?

Where's Cyberjaw?

I don't know!

Robbie, what is happening, did you...

No, I didn't. Look, sometimes shit like this happens, especially when you're an international super agent.

Oh, like when you...

Shhh, loose lips sink ships, Steve. Now, look, I know you only came on today to be an honorary Bourbon Man, but I just lost one of my best guys, and all the rest of my people are taking off for the holidays. Time for Disco Steve Sayors to do some real deal Bourbon Man shit, living that life, can you handle it?

Fuck no!

Steve starts to take his feathery 70's wig off and unbutton the buttons of his very itchy polyester shirt.

But, Steve, c'mon man. For the people.

Steve stops and stares at something beyond the camera. His demeanor grim, his fortitude bolstered, he puts his feathery hair back on and straightens up his ugly disco suit.

Disco Steve Sayors is doing it for the PEOPLE!

Steve hollers at the end, sounding like a four year old girl in doing so. Robbie claps him heartily on the back.

Attaboy. Let's go wreck this shithead.

We don't even know where he's at.

Yeah we do. Hold on.

Robbie pulls his phone out. He slides his fingers around for a moment.

Okay, I have Cyberjaw on my phone plan, so I'm tracking his location signal as we speak. He looks like he's headed into the city.

Don't forget about Xtreme Travel Agent!

Who?

You know, that girl from...

Oh, right, right, yeah. She's spunky and all. I don't pay for her phone, though.

Yeah, but you have to save her too.

Right. Anyway, Cyberjaw...

And Xtreme Travel Agent!

...and Xtreme Travel Agent most likely are going to be, well, damn.

What is it, Robbie?

They're on U Street. I don't know why, is that thing trying to get something to eat?

Suddenly, on a TV in the background, one mounted to a bare steel wall of Robbie's dojo, we see the image of the anthropomorphic horse from before.

Robbie Bourbon.

It's voice comes through deep, and gravelly. Robbie turns and looks at the screen.

Fuck, this guy has that weird ability to hijack news broadcasts or something.

If you're watching this, it means you haven't been killed by me yet. The way you defiled a horse in your quest to win the XWF Universal Championship is not only crude and demeaning, but a full on disgrace to mammal kind. We're all mammals, Robbie, not horrible, death wringing lizards like the dinosaurs. Mammals are warm blooded creatures that have to mate to reproduce. As such, if you don't come down to these crazed meatatarian streets at the corner of 14th and U, I will force these two Bourbon Men to mate.

The camera feed from the TV showing this anthropomorphic horse zooms out to show both Xtreme Travel Agent and Cyberjaw are bound in duct tape beside him. Robbie shrugs as Diamondback facepalms.

They've been fucking for about two weeks now. So what?

That's right, Robbie, I'm here to let you know your place in the mammal kingdom, for I am Thunderhorse. Meet me, or they will produce offspring!

Jesus, come on dude, Cyberjaw and Xtreme Travel Agent are already knocking boots! What kind of supervillain is this? Seriously, he had a flashbang, can manipulate media like, well, a top tier supervillain can, but had no planning whatsoever! He might as well have kidnapped Joe Biden and threatened to keep feeding him peanut butter with Reese's Pieces mixed in.

My favorite meal.

Joe Biden steps onscreen, and Disco Steve Sayors is left with his mouth wide open.

Oh, wow, the Vice-King of the Jobbers!

And you're the Disco Steve Sayors! Welcome aboard, son. Now, Robbie, I've noticed this Thunderhorse seems legitimately more threatening than any of your opponents for the Elimination Chamber Universal Championship Match at Wild Card.

Well, he is targeting me specifically, Joe, but maybe you're right. Maybe a man in a furry horse costume who wants my friends to fuck each other in front of him is legit scarier than Trax or Chris Chaos, but Peter Gilmour's creepy ass has done way weirder things than watch my friends bone. I think, or at least I hope Peter Gilmour doesn't watch either me or my friends have sex. One can never really tell, he reprograms the crack XWF production equipment to go be voyeuristic and spy on Benito Angelo while he showers. Now that I think of it, though, I could totally see Unknown Soldier dressing up as a furry horse and watching my friends fuck.

So you know where Thunderhorse is holding Xtreme Travel Agent and Cyberjaw?

Yes.

Do you think it's a trap?

Of course.

So, do you want me to go with my metal detector first?

No, Joe, I don't think sending the Vice-President in with a metal detector is really under the radar, bud. I'm just going to go in and have a look see.

But, Robbie, if you think it's a trap, and from the sounds of things this Thunderhorse guy wants you dead, why just go in blindly?

Because, Steve, you didn't know? I mean, there are some confused people out there, like Chris Chaos, who thinks a fish pinned him last Warfare, who thinks that anybody in that Elimination Chamber is Louis D'Ville, and whom I hope had the decency to pay the seven dollars to fish on that pier since he balked on paying the five the other day to some kid to just walk. There are some confounded people out there like Trax who think I'm supposed to be ashamed of having the people behind me, even in matches some times, even though the people are what I'm all about. There are some constipated people out there like Peter Gilmour, who constantly looks like he has to shit and has been holding it in since 1994. But Steven, you of all people aught to know by now, especially since you're now a dickhair away from being first string Bourbon Men.

My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. The people all remember that name, Steve, even you, because it's the name of the man too stupid to acknowledge fear. Too brazen to even consider he's ever beaten. Too cocksure to run, too arrogant to flee, and too ignorant to give in to cowardice. Frankly, Steve, for all my faults, for all the things my opponents could be exploiting right now, they keep bringing up the simple fact that I, Robbie M. Bourbon, have balls to spare and the heart that will keep beating even when you've ripped it out of my chest and I've strangled the life out of you to get it back and put it back in place. I'm the berzerker, the barbarian, and the raging monster that will bait you back to my killing grounds, slowly but surely.

Seriously, don't you think we should get going to save Cyberjaw and Xtreme Travel Agent?

Yup!

Robbie runs out of the ring and towards the front door as Joe Biden keeps pace right behind him. We see Diamonback give a backhanded tap to Disco Steve Sayors's shoulder as he leaves the ring for the front door, and Disco Steve hustles to keep up. All four men enter the A-Team van painted to look like the Ghostbusters car and Robbie punches the gas, peeling out of the parking lot of the Robbie Bourbon Dojo of the competitive arts.

We regain our bearings in the van as we see Robbie intently zooming in and out of traffic, driving like a man possessed towards the center of Washington, DC, from Alexandria. He's crossing the Potomac, and a Metro line train is seen going in the opposite direction back towards the Pentagon and Reagan National Airport.

Good thing there's no traffic!

I know, right?

I was being facetious!

Oh, look who's funny now.

Seriously, you've been driving on the shoulder now and running stop lights, narrowly getting into accidents everywhere!

I'm great at driving, Steve.

He is really solid behind the wheel.

Thank you, Joe.

Robbie hands Joe Biden a cookie, but not into his hands, straight into his mouth. Joe noshes on the cookie with a delighted expression on his face.

Robbie pulls the car up to the blocked intersection of 14th and U, and if you have any knowledge whatsoever about the grid of the District of Columbia, blocking off 14th and U is absolutely insane. It doesn't get blocked ever, not even during citywide celebrations, not even for the Presidential inauguration. A brigade of SWAT and other police line the blocked off section of street, with thousands of people all crowded around looking on in wonder. Robbie rushes the line and hops the barricade, and within is Thunderhorse, alongside Cyberjaw and Xtreme Travel Agent, who seem to be necking, or as best as Cyberjaw can neck with his cybernetic jaw.

Ah, you've come. Big mistake, Robbie. You shouldn't have come to this place at all. You should have allowed me to breed your friends and allow them to spawn, for all mammality!

That's fucking weird!

What?

All mammality? Seriously?

Shut it!

Thunderhorse lobs another flashbang at Robbie, and Robbie catches it, containing the blast between his hands. Robbie immediately jumps around, wringing his hands, which must be in excrutiating pain.

God damnit motherfuck son of a bitch! Jesus!

Impressive, Bourbon, but you are just here to die for what you did to a poor horse, and for what? To win the Universal Heavyweight Championship?

Joe Biden, Disco Steve Sayors, and Diamondback all get to the barricade. Diamondback tries to wave to his buddy Cyberjaw, but Cyberjaw is too busy getting some of that sweet, sweet Xtreme Travel Agent action.

I will do whatever it takes to walk out of that chamber with the Universal Championship in my hands!

Robbie rushes Thunderhorse and picks him up in an Argentine backbreaker! Robbie clinches in the pressure on the back, then with a whipping action over both his shoulders, he drives Thunderhorse into the pavement headfirst!

Shit!

The people are all gobsmacked at this.

What is it, Steve?

What was that?

Oh, that? Just some basic little move.

Basic little move? I've never fucking seen anybody in the XWF ever do it! Why don't you do that instead of the Neckwrecker?

Because I like the Neckwrecker. It's like a normal neckbreaker, only worse because I've perfected it.

No, that's...

You have a shitty finisher, Robbie.

Shut up.

No.

Diamondback lights a cigarette.

Robbie, your finisher has been scrutinized, even by you yourself. Can you do what you just did again?

Robbie shrugs. He walks over to Thunderhorse, scoops him up, and delivers the same move again.

That's it!

What's it?

That's your new finisher! That's the Robbiedriver!

The people, police, and SWAT all ooh and ah at the declaration of the name.

I like it!

See, Robbie, you should have let me interview you decades ago.

I did.

Robbie pinches the lapel of Disco Steve Sayors's seventies polyester disco suit and ruffles his feathery 70's wig and winks at Steve. A half smile crawls across the face of Steve Sayors. Robbie walks over to where Cyberjaw and Xtreme Travel Agent are and starts to untie them.

Five more minutes, dude.

This is so hot!

What?

Like, everybody watching, the bondage, this is the kinkiest sex I think I'll ever have!

Not on my watch!

Robbie unties Cyberjaw and Xtreme Travel Agent.

You guys go...

Thunderhorse staggers to his feet.

You think you've won here, today? You think I'm going to stop! You don't even know how far Thunderhorse is willing to go!

Robbie reaches in Cyberjaw's pocket and removes the Growing Beam. He aims for Thunderhorse's anthropomorphic horse costume mask, sitting atop his shoulders. Robbie pulls the trigger, and in a moment Thunderhorse is trapped beneath his own mask, which is now five times larger.

Hey, let me out of here, I'm your supervillain arch-nemesis!

No, fool, I'm the arch-nemesis around here, because I'm the next Universal Heavyweight Champion.