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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Snow Job 2021 RP Board
The Seventh Circle
Author Message
Prof. Bobby Bourbon Online
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

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


#1
01-26-2021, 06:28 AM



Bobby and TK recently found themselves in hell.

Just wait until the rest of their opponents get there at Snow Job.

THE SEVENTH CIRCLE

Some time before Bourbon and TK met in the diner...

Hell. It's pretty much as you'd imagine, lots of red everywhere. Stone, brimstone, stalagmites, rivers of lava, devils and demons, all different hues of red. At least on this level of hell. According to Dante, there are nine layers of hell to be seen, and as beautiful a work as the Divine Comedy is, it's just not evergreen material, and much of the humor is lost in tracking down who the fuck is being referenced every five minutes.

You literally see a bunch of the people referenced Dante's Inferno but don't recognize a damn face among them because you're far from versed in 14th Century Italian culture, and even if you are, you're spotty at best. You do however, see some very familiar faces. John Wayne Gacy, in full clown attire. Lee Harvey Oswald. Richard Nixon. Adolph Hitler. Surprisingly, Elvis Presley. Among them, wandering around like tourists at a theme park, however, are Them No Good Bastards, Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles. Bobby is looking around, seething.

Woah, woah, big man, no fucking reason to go off, we're here on a mission.

...

Bobby tears off and grabs Hitler.

"Ach, not again!"

Bobby lifts Hitler up, hoisted for a Bobbybomb, and drives it home, impaling him on a stalagmite.

FUCKING STAY DEAD ASSHOLE!

The stalagmite slowly melts away into thousands of spiders, and the wound Hitler receives swiftly recovers as he writhes in pain. Bobby rolls his eyes as he tromps back to Thunder Knuckles, frustrated. TK stands waiting, arms folded across his chest.

He regenerated, didn't he.

Again!

Bobby looks beyond flustered.

Fucking hell! Every time I wreck one of these dudes down here...

Bobby reaches out, grabbing infamous family annihilator John List by the neck. John List notoriously murdered his entire family in nineteen seventy-one for the sole purpose of avoiding going on welfare or declaring bankruptcy, emptying his mother's bank account in the process (his mom was also among those slaughtered). Changing his name to Bob Clark, he relocated to Colorado, and eventually remarried. He got away with it for nineteen years until he was discovered by neighbors following an episode of America's Most Wanted. He died in two-thousand and eight while in prison. Now that you are familiar with Mr. List, Bobby lifts him up high, and delivers a chokeslam into a river of lava. List screams in agony as he burns within. A demon approaches.

Look, man, stop taxing our gig. Punishing these guys is our job.

The river of lava spasms, and List is regurgitated onto the stone, his flesh and clothing regenerating rapidly. Bobby throws his hands up in defeat.

Fucking seriously!

Look, Bobby, you're in hell, I'm starting to think your torture is that no matter what you do to these shitty people, they're never done.

Fucking hell!

Bobby picks up a rock about the size of a grapefruit. He looks around, and sees none other than Madison Dyson! At least it looks like Madison Dyson, ish. Bobby chucks the rock at her, hitting her square in the skull. It makes the sound of a bike horn, doing nothing whatsoever to the soul of Dyson, or the Dyson-alike, and drops to the ground harmlessly. The demon walks up again.

Look, man, no matter what you do, it doesn't work, you're just not a demon! What did you do to wind up in hell anyhow?

I was cooking chicken in my pool and got electrocuted, or drowned, I dunno. I didn't get any chicken out of it.

No, no, that's how you died. You're like a complete and utter archangel, there's no way you should be down here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We see Bobby sitting in a lawn chair in his back yard. The sun is beaming as he sips on some iced tea out of a mason jar. He pets his dog, laying in the grass beside him. We hear a voice call out from afar. The camera pans to show a fence, and standing on the other side is a man roughly Bobby's age, a tidy goatee the only hair on his perfectly rounded head, a t-shirt paying homage to the Mandalorian and cargo shorts hugging his cherubic frame, calling out.

Hey, Bobby!

Bobby looks up.

Oh, Hi Larry!

Larry reaches down beneath the fence and picks up the G.I. Joe USS Flagg Aircraft Carrier.

Look what I got!

Bobby's eyes go wide.

Woah, really?

Yeah, I found it at a flea market!

Dang, Larry, that's pretty cool!

Bobby ogles the vintage toy, biting his lower lip, coveting his neighbor's goods. Having broken a Commandment without repenting, Bobby hops into his pool and wades towards his air fryer setting on top of a floaty.

Mmm, chicken.

Bobby starts up the air fryer as he snags a spare rib from another floating platform and bites into it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in hell, the demon pats Bobby's tummy.

Maybe you were a glutton?

TK nods in concession.

He eats a lot.

Bobby gives a sharp look to TK, before looking at the demon and shrugging.

Yeah, I eat a lot. But I have a strong appetite and need the calories.

Do you?

The demon jiggles Bobby's tummy.

You seem like a regular fatty to me.

Bobby purses his lips. TK intervenes.

Look, thank you Mr. Demon, but Jesus sent us down here.

Sent you, tubby here is open game.

Bobby, having had enough of not being able to smash Hitler and the other shitheels, probably a little hangry since he never got to have the tasty air-fried chicken, snorts.

Ooh, I love it when the fatties get grumpy!

TK takes a step back. As he does, Bourbon grabs the demon by the horns.

Look, demon, I get you're just doing your job and all, and I don't claim to be any sort of saint by a long shot, but like you said, I am an archangel, and if you want to go on making life hell for those who deserve it, you best take a fucking walk right now.

The demon, gobsmacked, recoils as Bobby releases its horns. TK laughs.

Damn, demon, you're just a little bitch!

The demon turns to TK.

Whatever, you're the one who needed to get a monster to compete for the tag titles!

Bobby cocks an eyebrow.

Yo, TK, you were sent here by Jesus, I think that means...

Without any further hesitation, TK hauls off and clocks the demon, sending it to the ground, where one of it's horns fractures. TK grabs the cloven foot of the demon, and delivers a Thunder Strike, completely destroying it's left leg. TK stands up and dusts himself off.

Fuck, that was nasty!

Yeah, I fucked up a demon.

Just like we're going to fuck people up at Snow Job.

Yep.

Two more demons charge at Bobby and TK. Bobby nails one with a Shoryuken uppercut, shattering it's jaw, as TK back body drops the other onto a waiting stalagmite, impaling it. Both howl in agony.

Shit! At least I can hurt these things!

Maybe there's something to you being an archangel after all!

Maybe!

Suddenly, a brigade of demons encircle Bourbon and TK, snarling and enraged. Instinctively, Bobby and TK stand back to back, ready to fight off the horde in front of them.

Wait, which circle of hell is this?

The seventh.

Bobby grins.

Violence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime later...

Bobby is seen standing beside TK inside of a seedy motel room, somewhere in America. On the ground we see the college kids from before, all knocked out and definitely worse for the wear.

Damn, TK, you know what I feel like doing?

What do you feel like doing?

I feel like fucking cutting a promo.

Cut away!

Are you sure? I mean, your smacktalk game, whoo-ee, that's some spicy shit, I don't want to outclass you by scorching the scene myself!

I'd like to see you try.

You'd like to see me do it you mean?

Go for it.

Bobby looks at the camera.

Hello, XWF. Bourbon here, and boy-oh-boy have I missed this!

See, it's been a while since I got to do this.

It's been a while since the Sultan of Smacktalk has graced your screens and layed down the pure fire, fire so hot that if this were Final Fantasy it'd be Firaga.

Unfortunately, I'm not doing that today.


Bobby and TK glance at each other, then TK bursts out laughing as Bobby smirks at the camera.

Who the fuck am I kidding, of course I am, I can't help but! Dolphins swim. Eagles fly. Bobby Bourbon roasts, carves, and serves.

So, to begin, let's address the mess that is the Dissentients. I don't have to point out the obvious, how you're both dark horses in this here match for the Tag Team Championships, how you're both fresh faces to the XWF ring as far as I'm concerned, and most importantly, how neither myself nor TK are going to be overlooking either of you.

Even if neither of you can tie your own fucking shoelaces unless daddy Baphomet tells you to.

So, there's Marf. What the fuck kind of name is Marf? What, was that the sound the hospital staff made when you crept out from between your mom's thighs? Shit, did the old bag have to show pictures of your daddy to prove you didn't have a birth defect and that's how you're supposed to look? Marf. What in the fuck is this shit? A Marf sounds like a queef only the woman is having her period.

So you're just a blood queef.

Then there's Lycanna. Did you queef Marf out into existence? I mean, it would be the first original thing you've ever fucking done that I've seen. You hit the cliché nails on the cliché head, my dear. 'The bigger they are, the harder they fall' and 'speed kills compared to strength' are just two of the most common things I've ever fucking heard in my entire career. Ooh, maybe for your next act, you can 'win one for the Gipper' and then holler 'I am woman, hear me roar' for everybody while saying 'don't underestimate us!'.

Believe you me, darlin', I'm not sleeping on the Left Hand, I called y'all out, I'm not sleeping on the Dissentients, but I might just think a good many of the XWF fans out there are falling asleep watching your promos.

Now, as for both of y'all's last outing, getting chumped out on Warfare, well, I've been there before. I really have. I know what it feels like. I just haven't felt it in a really, really long time. Now, I know you both wanna act like I'm not around much and that might be why. If you wanna be real clever little monkeys, tell me the last time I lost on Warfare.

Do I sound gone to you? Come Snow Job, when I am bouncing either of you off the canvas with the might of the masses, and the people roar with approval, shouting my name, when I put either of you through a table, and the crowd goes wild for it, and I get goosebumps, literal fucking goosebumps that I'm getting paid to do this shit to both of you along with the Relentless Legend en route to the crowning glory that is the Tag Team Championships, will I feel gone? Shit, one foot out the door? Blood Queef, check yourself, that foot is about to be up your ass.

Marf, you talk about size and muscle, you're not big to me.

Lycanna, you talk about speed and stamina, you're not quick to me.

I've seen nastier, meaner, and better. I see it every morning when I brush my teeth, when I look in the rearview, or if I ever use a fitting room because it's staring back at me in any mirror.


TK starts fanning himself, the pure nuclear fire burning up the room. The would-be date rapists littering the floor of the motel room are drenched in sweat.

Welp, that's all the established tag teams we have in the match. Let's look at the de facto champs, placeholders extraordinaire, The Footnotes!

Footnotes?

Yeah, like the movie Big, an old man and an overgrown kid dancing on a keyboard, but also just an aside in the history of the Tag Team Championships.

So, there's good ole' Doc.

Hello, old friend.

Yeah, yeah, save your saccharine sarcasm layered on so thick it'll cause a diabetic coma for the new kids in the Dissentials. You talk about all those times, I guess it's a blur for you, but one time you wound up pinning Scully and the other time, well, didn't exist besides brushes in battle royales. Sure, you bruised your knees on my skull and I bruised my hands on yours, but that big old wazoo that the XWF wanted? That never happened.

I was ready, I was waiting, I was geared up to take you on, to face the D'ville himself and show that while you operated on fear, I thrived on courage. Where were you when I was the Universal Champion, D'Ville?

Not here.

Where were you when I was thumping bodies left and right, piling up a count on Warfare as the Hart Champion?

Absent.

Where were you at any time you could have come and honored that promise you make to anyone, that the doctor was in, and that you'd visit?

You were scared.

For all your tricks, all your mind games, all your aggrandizement, deep down, when it comes to me, you're a terrified old man running from what I bring to the table; boldness, will, and desire. The backbone, the balls, and the heart.

Now smile for all of us and lie to your partner by saying you weren't.

As for Corey, shit.

Save the self-righteousness. Put it back in the wrapper if you can and return it for some store credit at the Wal-Mart you picked it up at, because it's not even high dollar or strong quality self-righteousness.

You got handed a title.

Thanks for keeping it warm for me and TK.

As for faces of Bourbon, dual personas, blah blah blah, you take the taco. Lux, Engineer, Corey, it doesn't matter, the bitch session sounds exactly the same. Are you sure you were different personalities or do you just share the same menstrual cycle? The projection is strong with this one, hearing all the guilt in your voice as you accuse me of, well, being Corey.

Turning heel? Like helping D'Ville defend the tag titles?

As for the Brotherhood of Baddies, it was a natural fucking fit. Not because I'm evil, or hated, or even a heel, as you put it. It's because I'm a bad ass. It's because I actually trust TK, and while they have some wrinkles to iron out, I'm not afraid to be me and lead by example. Moreover, I'm not afraid to own up and be me when I have to, acknowledge when I've fucked up, and correct my own course.

You? Shit, for most of your time around here you haven't even been you. Or have you?

As for atoning for past transgressions, like the time you fucked me out of the Hart Championship against Centurion?

Oh, Blood Queef, Lycanna, and for the love of God, we get it, a raspberry pie isn't just a computer but also when Marf blows a load into Lycanna when Aunt Flo is in town, that was the last time I lost at Warfare, was getting fucked over by Cor-Engi-Lux or whatever lapse in fucking meds he was at the time.

Well, Corey, you are in luck.

You will definitely and absolutely atone for that shit in Green Bay.

Off ladders, through tables, and into chairs.

You'll feel your penance the rest of your career.

Maybe if you could stop getting the heebie jeebies from your partner, I dunno, for like a second, you could see the real terror that's waiting for you. Try being a power bottom, who knows, maybe pushing back when you're getting mindfucked will get Doc off faster.


TK puts the back of his hand to his forehead and falls back onto the bed, convulsing exaggeratedly.

Oh my God! That was too hot! I have a fever!

Oh yeah?

I'm just getting fucking started.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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[-] The following 7 users Like Prof. Bobby Bourbon's post:
(Gravy_Xtreme_5000) (01-26-2021), Chris Page (01-26-2021), Corey Smith (01-26-2021), Doctor Louis D'Ville (01-27-2021), Lycana (01-31-2021), Mr. Oz (01-26-2021), Thunder Knuckles™ (01-26-2021)




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