Robbie Bourbon here. Glad to see so many of you remember the god damned name. Hahaha. It's fucking music to my ears.
Everybody has something to say about me these days it seems.
Well, keep it rolling, kiddos. Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon is something that none of you fucking are.
For starters, to my teammates. Peter Gilmour, Neville Sinclair (pardon my American accent if I'm not pronouncing that correctly), Jenny Myst, I want you all to know, that my being on your team is nothing personal. I admit, forthright, that I hate each and every one of you. Peter, you are a terrible human being, on the brink of being an evolutionary downstep, and I believe there is a purpose to all of existence every day knowing you have not procreated. Jenny, I think you're a filthy, loathesome beast that frightens dogs and children around your neighborhood when you go to get milk from the grocery store, that the roadmap of herpes sores you have from a constant cycle of separate outbreaks somehow is a miracle of science regardless of how disgusting. Neville, you're a pompous ass with a fresh mouth but no real substance, about as weighty and weildy as a stick of chalk. Is that what you mean when you say you'll educate someone?
Okay, that being said, let's have a look see at the opposition. Yeah, there's Phantom Panzer, Michael Graves, and Finn Kuhn, and it's some past Michael Graves from a time travel bullshit scenario that was old for me in two thousand and sixteen. I am pretty sure I sold the parts to Panzer myself from my old time machine. Well, yeah, there's those guys, who also disgust me in every way concievable.
Panzer is an ugly twink who puts condoms on his friends before giving them handies lest they soil his acrylics. Graves is, well, the second best lead singer in Misfits history. Second. Not best, we all know that's Glen Danzig, and for fucks sake, if you were going to rip off a name for wrestling and you actually aren't the second best singer to Glen Danzig, why not just go with Glen Danzig. Shit. Second rate even on break from back in 2002? Oh, you mean when I was wrestling up in Minnesota as Robbie Lexus? I don't remember hearing shit about you then. Finn Kuhn is just a dorkily German dude who sounds like he's holding in a piss whenever he speaks and looks like he's holding in a fart wherever he walks.
And then there's you.
Louis Fucking D'Ville.
Fuck the pleasantries, the cutesy petty insults, the horseshit, the games, and making it sound like a billion dollars when we both know we'd fight for the last bag of peanuts on the same airplane.
But I feel like I gotta say something else.
What do you think, Universe?
Do I owe an explaination or something for the past two months?
Did I flake out?
Hrmm, if someone was a flake, I don't think it's me, definitely not the guy speaking right now.
But I was gone for a while.
With the Universal Championship.
And you mean in that time nobody has had the gumption to reach out and say "hey, big guy, I want a shot at your title"?
I was supposed to sit around and babysit a bunch of grown men and women, show up and dangle the belt like a fucking carrot for you to jump at, ultimately to fail at grasping?
That seems kinda fucked up. What kind of masochistic, depraved leanings do you have to have to wish I was around to taunt you?
To belittle you?
To humble others?
Well, that's downright shitty. I honestly wish I was around to do it! I wish I was available to stick my neck out and defy anybody to take my head, I wish I was available to tease stupid shithead after stupid shithead into thinking they had an inkling of a chance of being the Universal Champion, time and time again, but, well, fate dealt a different hand.
You see, I had to take the time off, Universe. I'm sorry, but I needed the down time.
I had to have a testicle removed.
I had testicular cancer.
Now, before anybody starts tying, um, I don't know what color ribbons are for my nuts, but frankly, you don't need them. I have beaten testicular cancer. However, that leaves the obvious news, ladies and gentleman, a fact I'm sure any of the common XWF "stars" will jump on thinking it's a sign of weakness (and hey, stopping the big casino isn't easy), that I am down a testicle.
That's right. I now only have two balls.
I always had balls to spare, you see. I always had more testosterone, more gumption, and that's because I literally had more testicular fortitude due to having a third ball. In removing the cancerous teste, which used to be my left, my middle shifted and became my left, and my right now enjoys a little more room in that secure, snug, skinhammock between my legs cradling what used to be Moe, Larry, and Curly and now holding the Wonder Twins.
So, that's why I was gone. Sorry, XWF Universe, especially the fans who expected to see some real fireworks when Robbie Bourbon became the Universal Champion.
Thus leaving me one thing to do.
For starters, I had to replace Drezdin because, well, he sucks. Nobody is paying for a ticket hoping to see Drezdin saunter out, his pants halfway down his ass with a pube 'fro poking out the front as he constantly sniffs his own armpits hoping to catch a whiff of something strong from an otherwise weak and ultimately pointless fucking body. Now Drez is awful pissed that I took his place at War Games, but hey, that wasn't my call, that was Peter's. Take it up with your team captain, jizz goblin, don't get all kinds of, mmm...
Robbie sniffs the air.
Do you smell that?
Robbie sniffs again.
I smell butthurt. Just like mom used to make. Sad and disappointed Drezdin, War Games coming and going just like Christmas came and went without it's choo-choo and Drezdin still had to clean up everybody else's wrapping paper. I would say that it sucks to be you, but that'd be the most redundant and pointless statement of the century since everybody already knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Drezdin fucking sucks.
So for starters, for the people, I stepped in and gave them what they deserve in terms of star power, talent, and looks. Shoutout to all my chubby chasers out there.
Then, I found out I get my own Christmas present. Not only has James Raven come back from Hell Knows Where...
Robbie winks.
But I get to step into the ring up against Louis D'Ville in the process. Time to get to fucking wrecking the creepy old fuck, the whisper in the ear of Apex, the greatest agent of malice in the history of the XWF. However, he is not the name that is on the lips of everybody in wrestling, every XWF faithful, and every XWF superstar.
I am.
Because I am something none of you are.
Not Universal Champion. That's an understatement for some, but some of you have held the belt, and fuck, I reckon maybe one or two of you will consider trying to take it from me now since I now have just as much balls as all of you.
Not a cancer survivor.
Not a ginger.
Not a superheavyweight.
I am not just any of those things, but if we had to sum up who the fuck I am, why you all remember my name now, why you all have to acknowledge that Robbie Bourbon is the greatest fucking name in the XWF today, the one putting asses in seats, backs on the mat, and bodies in traction, the man with the name you will always remember.
Because I am fucking notorious.
And none of you fucks are.
The lion is done purring, kittens. Get ready for a roar.
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