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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Anarchy Boards » Anarchy RP Board
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Bourbon Obliterating Bitches! An evening with BOB just for you! (3 of 3)
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
10-06-2020, 04:21 PM



Miss Fury glances around. TK is riding Barney Green's shoulders like a kid on his dad at a parade. Barney's placid demeanor unshaken by TK's drunken insistence they go to get fried chicken. Jimmy is chasing after them, making sure TK doesn't fall and hurt himself. She turns back to Robbie.

Well, you've just been gorging yourself on cheap sushi. Our opponents might be…

Hi there Anarchy.

I got brought here to be the next thrilling edition of the XWF's own Sinister Six…


Robbie holds up both hands, with 5 fingers up on one and 1 on the other. Slowly, a second finger rises on his other. He mouths "seven".

...Soon to be Sinful Seven.

I've been in wars in almost every arena around the globe, except one.

Anarchy.

What we at Warfare, I the MVP of that show, all call "the kid's table".

Fucking Christ, so many fucking JV jamokes floating around here. I count my lucky stars I have access to the top of the line B.O.B. private locker room. It has it's own catering table. A hot tub for every member of the group. We all have our own full sized hot tub. We designed it in the Sims and we make every arena build it. Ozzy pays for it.

Dang. Being a supervillain is awesome, especially with a money guy!

But to be in the locker room with all of you...


Robbie sniffs the air.

You don't deserve to breathe the same air as me.

There's Ruby, the Banana Lime Blur. Let’s clarify, bring you into focus. You’re dressed like an ear of corn. I see it. Oh, you’re one of those one name people. Shit, is your last name Cobb? You look like the fucking mascot to a farmer’s market.

Little one, if you try any of your flippy shit with me, I will catch you in midair and plant you into the fucking ground so deep you’ll be in Bombay.

Okay, okay, I was kidding.

I don’t give a fuck what your last name is. I don’t crush bugs then call them Howard, Gerald, or Joe.

Then there’s Tula Keali’i, and I hope I’m getting that name right.


Robbie looks dead at the camera, but then bursts out with a giggle.

Bah, who am I kidding? I don’t give a fuck what your last name is either.

Look, I’m sure you and the Child of the Corn are real scrappy types, but the two of you don’t even equal one of me. A combined weight of two-hundred and sixty pounds, give or take, and I’m still past that.

Not to mention Ozzy. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath on y’all, Ozzy even said he would handle the light work around here.

If you try to put me in some goofy submission, I’ll just throw you into the mezzanine level of the arena itself.

Vita, weren’t we partners once upon a time? Well, lookit this, instant history, just add water. Try not to drown.

See, back then, I was carrying you through matches. Now, as Anarchy goes off the air, they’ll be carrying you off in a stretcher. I would complain about outsourcing, but shit, let the Roomba take care of the dirt, no reason for me to grab the broom to sweep you along anymore.

Oh, and Boris! I’ve heard of you! The charming, one named dude from Russia. Didn’t you diddly fuck around with the Federweight Championship?

Do you know how to make a kid cry on their birthday? Get them a Federweight Championship replica. They’ll wonder aloud why they didn’t get a Hart Championship replica, like the one Ozzy is going to take, the one I held, the one that doesn’t ever show up around Boris’s waist.

Shit, could you even support the Universal Championship above your head with one hand or is it too heavy, Boris.

Boris what exactly, by the way? Shit, your last name seems like it’s most likely to be Stereotype.

HAH!

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOUR LAST NAME IS EITHER!

I know Ozzy is taking it on himself to smash you all by himself Thursday. I know he’s focused on destroying you all, since none of you can hold a candle to him.

Hehehehehe.

Hahahahahahahaha.

Ozzy’s the money guy.

Like, you guys are light work for the money guy. I mean, respect where it’s due to Oz, but he’s just bankrolling the super dangerous ones.

Graves is the magician. A beguiler of spells, hexes, and curses. They befuddle me, and I generally don’t like it, but hey.

Fury is the tactician. Putting all the pieces in place to have the most impact.

TK is the relentless one. His desire and passion is second to none, and once his sights are set on you, it’s like being under the watch of a sniper’s scope; just a matter of time before you’re out and on the ground.

Myst is the speed. Lightning fast, all attitude, she doesn’t talk to us much, but I didn’t want to insult her even more than I have my entire career.

Me? I’m the fucking brute squad.

The meanest, nastiest, most awful thing brought in to destroy walls and make way for all of it to happen.

You have an army?

B.O.B. has a Hulk.

Me.

I could take any one of you and crumple you up for a pinfall on Warfare and fans would expect me to fight someone else after.

Thing is, the rest of the crew is in on the caper too. Any one of us is dangerous. But four of us? It’s classified as gang activity.

The fans deserve every minute of us, too, showing decimation in that ring unheard of nor seen in an Anarchy ring before, the sight you’re all going to be seeing week in, week out as long as we’re here.

Bourbon’s Only Buddies.

Bringing Out Beatings.

Busting Orbital Bones…

...And Breaking Other’s Bodies.

You’re welcome, Ruby. You’re welcome, Tula. You’re welcome, Boris, and you’re welcome too, Vita. B.O.B. is by far the greatest thing to ever happen to Anarchy, be grateful for what we do to you on TV for ratings and ad revenue.


Miss Fury looks pleased with Robbie as the scene cuts to black

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