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~~Brandon Moore~~ · **01-17-2017, 08:55 PM**

The moment is almost upon us. Brandon Moore and Robbie Bourbon are set to wage war for the XWF Hart Championship. If there was a roof on the cruise ship, there is no doubt that it would be blown off on Wednesday Warfare. In his room on the cruise ship, Brandon Moore prepares. Outside the doors is a frozen battlefield where all eyes will be on him. He came up short against Thomas Nixon. Twice. He's beaten Z and Isabella Ravenwolf on his own. He's been successful as a part of a team. Havoc has won against the likes of Kid Kool, Snow, Drezdin, and Nami. Those names are nothing to celebrate about, but their dominance in those matches are noteworthy.

Brandon could not win the big one on his own, though. He's the Federweight Champion and has been able to defend that time after time. The Federweight is seen as lowly in XWF. The Television Championship would have been something that truly put him on the map. The hot shots at XWF must see something they like in him, though. He was just randomly given a Hart Championship match. He was matched up against Robbie Bourbon. One of them is going to leave this forsaken cruise ship with their first true piece of XWF gold.

Brandon is pacing back and forth, in his entrance gear already. The lights in his room are completely blackened. The only light that is coming through is from the cracks in the front door. His mind is racing back and forth. Before his matches, unless he's teaming up with his boys in Havoc, Brandon likes to be alone with his thoughts. He likes to spend time pumping himself up. He needs to make himself believe the hype. Brandon is a crazy son of a bitch and the thoughts he produces one hundred percent assure us all of that.

“Here we fucking go. Any minute now. I'm heading out there to take on Robbie fucking Bourbon. That masked cocksucker is going to get fucked tonight. I'm not going to let him get to me. I'm not going to let him get to me. I'm not going to let him get to me. I'm not going to let him fucking get to me! Everyone in this fucking federation talks about cumming in asses, raping motherfuckers, and whacking off. I don't fucking get it. If that's how these people want to be, then so be it.

I'm going to find an ice cream scoop, dig out Robbie Bourbon's eyes, and skull fuck him. I'm going to slice his Bourbon Men up one by one, throw them in a blender, and serve him a fucking Bourbon Men smoothie. I'm going to rip his arms off and beat him to death with them. I will cut him the fuck open and play the xylophone on his ribs. I'll cum in his mouth and smack him in the back of the head so it comes out of his nose. That's the fucking Angry Dragon. If they want to see some fucked up shit, I'll show them some fucked up shit.

I'll fist his fucking asshole with a boxing glove wrapped in barbed wire. I'll hook his fucking nipples up to a car battery. I'll get Wile E. Coyote on his ass and drop a fucking anvil on him. I'll get the Acme Corporation on fucking speed dial. I'll hammer a fucking railroad spike into his dickhole. I'll break his legs and throw him into a fucking alligator exhibit at a zoo. I'll rip off his head and shit down his neck. I'll send him home in a fucking box!”

Brandon stops, his thoughts visibly infuriating him now. He is breathing rapidly and heavily. The redness of his face is almost enough to light up the room. He sits down on the edge of his bed and takes some slower, deeper breaths, attempting to calm himself.

“I'll do whatever I have to. I won't beat that motherfucker within an inch of his life, I'll actually fucking kill him. The entire world, on live television, will see me murder a walking fleshy bag of dicks. I'll get off of this cruise and head onto the next show with even more gold over my shoulder. The Federweight Championship and the Hart Championship. I came to the XWF to put on a fucking show. Robbie Bourbon is going to be the Shane to my Rick. He'll be the Gaston to my Beast. He'll be the Scar to my Simba, the Hades to my Hercules, the Darth Maul to my Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi! This is my fucking story and he's just another character. He's expendable and he has no fucking clue what he's up against. I'm not just plain better because I say so. I'm just plain better because it's the fucking truth.”

Brandon jumps to his feet and heads to the door of his cruise ship room. It's time for him to head out and take on Robbie Bourbon for the XWF Hart Championship. Rather than in his head, he says one last thing to pump himself up, out loud.

-Brandon Moore-
“No ifs, ands, or buts. I'm going out there to beat Robbie Bourbon and win the XWF Championship. And I'm going to piss everyone the fuck off while I do it.”

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