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It's that magical time when at the end of the symposium, a judgment of the smack talk must commence, to determine who makes the grade and who needs a remedial course. No, we’re not talking about the pre-match promos for Leap of Faith, some other poor schmuck has that duty.

THE MASTER SESSION: part 4: final session

Okay, guys, it's time to discuss the final lesson, which requires the most finesse of all. Breaking the fourth wall.

Bobby sips from a Starbucks cup, foregoing the coffee offered in the room.

This is just asking for trouble.

TK begins to grin sadistically, just like a super-dicked legend he once knew.

I’m for it. Continue Bobby.

Bobby nods and sets his coffee down. As he does, Delores raises her voice.

Wait, a fourth wall?

Hushabee. As a Bourbon Bastard Man you don't get to interject all willy-nilly anymore, it's not one of your character traits, plus you're still in the class.

Yep. Let the big man talk.

Big men. This is more than just Bobby now, this is TNGB time!

Shit, you don't need to feed TK's ego anymore, he'll get ego obese!

TK hauls off and slaps Jimmy the hardest he’s ever slapped him before. Jimmy falls to the ground holding the right side of his face with a tear in his eye.

Damn, he slapped you so hard his mullet looks good!

TK looks at Cyberjaw, who has just slighted him, and gives him a high five. Jimmy looks utterly dejected.

Now, as I was saying, breaking the fourth wall requires finesse. You can't just force it down someone's throat like they're reading a transcript of your entire promo on the internet. It must be nuanced. Look at what some of the other fools in wrestling history. Gabe Reno Jim Caedus went and said nothing but kind things about Ozzy, one of the founding members of BOB, after Caedus came back to destroy BOB with ole' Knuckleball Head himself, Robert Main. And that's because he's a delusional twit who can't tell real from unreal and lives in his own land of make-believe. TK will now show how to break the fourth wall using the utmost finesse.

Bobby sips his coffee and glances towards TK. TK holds out his hand and Jimmy gives him a notebook. TK pulls out the blue pen from the notebook’s spiraled binding. TK begins two writes on a sheet of paper, he rips the page from the notebook and holds it up for the camera to see. The piece of paper reads “You all fucking suck at this! Stop trying!”.



The assembly in front of Them No Good Bastards all lean forward to try to catch a glimpse of what TK held up, but since that part was meant for the cameras and not them, their loss.

Excellent work, Mr. Knuckles. Now, before we move on to the final exams, we want to thank all of you for listening to our SHIT talk, and I hope you have found all of this to be a valuable use of your time.

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We cut to see Theo Price, seated at his fine cherry desk with the platinum inlay. A desk which probably costs more than most people's homes. He's intently watching the TNGB SHIT Talk Seminar, only on BOBTube, while taking notes. Specifically, written on one page, are the words "You all fucking suck at this! Stop trying!”

Aha! Finally, the ultimate line in all of smack talk! Now I can get jabs in at Vinnie when we play Pickleball!

As Theo says this, a Thai ladyboy pokes their head out from under the desk.

Huh?

Theo pushes the ladyboy's head back down under the desk.

No talky, Chaem Choi, that wood ain't spit-shining itself.

Theo bites his lower lips as his eyes widen, though probably not because he's unlocking the secrets to insulting his peers at Pickleball.

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We come back to the classroom where Jimmy is walking around, handing out pieces of paper to the attendees.

Okay, folks, these are going to be your final exams. Now, we will be grading on a curve, I think. How are we grading the exams again?

You guys fucking have 30 minutes to complete the scenarios on your worksheet. When the timer goes off put your goddamn pens down and Jimmy will collect your worksheets. Then we go to fucking lunch.

Uh, yeah, you guys are welcome to try out whatever is in the vending machines.

While we’re having porterhouse steaks, Jimmy is going to be looking over your work. The important ones will make it to us, and we’ll see who passes and fucking fails.

Delores looks confused.

This is a Denny's placemat!

You watch that mouth of yours, Delores.


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TK and Bobby are at the local Outback Steakhouse having a meal. Both men have large steaks in front of them. Bobby is noshing on coconut shrimp as well.

Jesus Christ, Bobby! I can't. Just fucking can't!

What can't you do?

Talk about these fucking guys anymore. They’re-

Bobby cuts TK as he holds out his hand and rolls his eyes.

Yes, you can, just start out slow.

TK sighs and throws up his hands.

Fine.

Disgruntled TK utters a one-liner.

The Disinfectants are the by-product of if cancer raped aids.

Bobby looks shocked that this is TK taking it slow.

Woah! I said slow, like this. Marf and Lycana are the by-products of if diarrhea had babies with a toothache. Halitosis, whatever comes out of their mouth stinks.

TK shakes his head as if he understands.

Oh, okay, so like, Lycaena is kinda like Rapunzel except instead of letting down her hair, she's letting down everyone in your life. Which is mostly just Marf.

Don’t forget that new guy Thrax.

TK gives a nonchalant jerking-off hand gesture while rolling his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. On the bright side, Bobby. Lycana, has one thing going for her though. I mean, anyone who would fuck Cuckleberry Finn, Marf Swanson, ain’t worth fucking. ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles has more dick in his personality than Marf does in his pants. These two fucking jackoffs are shittier than even I tell people.

I think it’s Swayson, TK.

TK shrugs.

You know, like I know, no one gives a fuck. Honestly, if we wanted any shit out of them. We’d pull our dicks out their mouth and let them talk. Plus they're going to say we don't know what we're talking about. Probably point out shit no one gives a fuck about anyway.

TK pulls out a milk bone from his suit's inner coat pocket, tosses it, and continues.

Go and fucking get it, while you're at it, tear each other in the process.

TK has a cocky smile, Bobby is scratching his head.

Why did you have a milk bone in your pocket?

TK looks over at Bobby.

Man, you know how many fucking times I've been somewhere I shouldn't have and ran into a big ass fucking dog?

Good point. Y'know, Marf may be a cuck, but I don't think he sees that as an insult. That seems to be his thing. Maybe he's happiest being a loser. Maybe he likes living vicariously just watching the success of others. Think about it, TK, when he's watching someone sex up Lycana, he's imagining having a dick that big and hard instead of a baby penis he has to convince to play the game when it's go time. When he watches us, he's imagining he's a fucking legend in this business, a part of the best team ever, all because it's a distraction from his reality; sitting on his bed and masturbating while his mom makes him a grilled cheese for lunch. Fucking himself because when he's alone he feels like his dick is big.

Bobby quafs from his glass of water. A slight trickle cascades down his chin. He raises his left arm up and wipes off his mug with the back of his forearm.

Then we got Lycana, and if we call her a bitch, does she really see that as an insult? Sure, she reminds me of an Evanescence ticket stub stuffed under a pile of Hot Topic receipts, but that's just on paper. Now, while you're fulfilling the role of token vibrant dye-job body mod chicken supremely here in the XWF, we're breaking the mold. Look around, search far and wide, you won't find anything that compares to Them No Good Bastards. You are taking the fight to Alias, and honestly, you're leaving him shredded like wheat and wasted like a Marf title run. Alias is a legit threat in this company, let alone the business. Us, though? We're fucking unreal compared to him. Alias is a man you'll, most likely, beat for a championship he's held for months. We, on the other hand, are your white whale, hailing from the second star to the right and straight-on-'til-morning, armed with the One Ring of Mordor, riding fucking Decepticons into the battle of Endor. Beating us isn't a fantasy for you, it's a fever dream of a fairy tale, and while you and your big bad wolf of a partner think you're headed to the promised land of granny's house, you've really made a wrong turn into Camp Crystal Lake on Friday the 13th. Mystical? Mysterious? Sure, you got that in spades, but darlin', we're TNGB, and hic sunt dracones.

Sick Cunt Phonies?

They sure are. Now, I know what we've been saying is disrespectful, kinda mean, and downright dirty.

Bobby and TK clack their championship belts, which they must have been holding under the table at Outback.

That's just how we do. Thing is, don't take it personally, we'd be wrecking any set of fools at Leap of Faith. As much as we'd like to say we'd face you again down the line, well, we're pretty sure the XWF Universe expects us to have actual competition. Not to say the two of you aren't talented…

I'll say it, you aren't talented.

Bobby points at TK like he hit a mark.

The whole world saw you think there's some kind of pecking order within BOB, and thems just the mental scars of being in the Left Hand, thinking someone must be high and low on the totem pole. It's why Marf gets left henpecked and follows the lead of Lycana, which isn't a team, it's a leader and their henchman. That isn't cohesion, that's one pulling another along. Me and TK? We're equals, through and through, and have no Gods and masters past ourselves. We each man the helm of our own destiny. I don't have to do any heavy lifting, TK doesn't pick up the slack, we each build off each other like none other. TNGB, as is plain to see, keeping the tag division on lock because it makes us feel free. A duo so automatic you'd think we're Burt and Ernie, so play along to our song, modern-day Cheech and Chong, being the best as the day is long. Now I'm certain our match will be chock full-o'-suspense, that lower gravity makes breaking glass tables harder, I sense. But the solution is so simple, unless you're that dense. No pane can stand the pain of a Rainbow Laser Death Sequence.

Bobby and TK exchange a no-look fistbump.

I guess this was a working lunch because I just rocked the mic right.

TK finishes his plate of food while Bobby finishes up with what he was saying. Before talking he takes a swig of his beer.

You know, Bobby, Marf's talking about how the Disinfectants crushed and smashed those b minus tag teams to the ground.

And Lycana is bringing up shit Dixon said when he beat Marf for fucks sakes. Jesus, these two are good, they have promise, and they're a hell of a squad, but the thing is, the ones winning and retaining the Tag Titles are a fucking team. Marf even thinks that's something to pass off as a weakness, that we work together! Lycana just went and spewed the same "spooky bitch" hogwash, about painting with blood. Well, master edgelord, maybe if you reigned in your partner a little better, enforced that pecking order, you'd have a chance. Instead, well, your routine that worked against others just fizzled, crashed, and burned on re-entry.

He also fucking said while we, Them No Good Bastards, were sitting front row watching. Are you sure Marf doesn't have fucking brain damage? What is it with the XWF handing us teams with the goddamned disabled? First MasterMind, now Marf. Must be a thing if your name starts with a goddamn M you have to be challenged? Anyway, we were sitting at the commentary desk. Doing... You know... Commentary. What a fucking idiot. Then you got Lycana who's whole fucking life is so goddamn convo-fucking-luted she doesn't even remember what she said at MayDay. Don't believe me, suffer through her fucking promo's yourself, you'll see it. Seriously, Cameraman shut that thing the fuck off. They're fucking repeating to repeat themselves. Bobby is doing that step we skipped in the class about sportsmanship. This squad fucking blows. End of fucking story.


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Back in the room where the class/seminar is being held, we see TK and Bobby standing at the head of the class.

Well, Eddie has finished grading your papers…

My name is Jimmy!

Whatever. Anyhow, we have some stand-outs we'd like to bring to the front of the room to give the appropriate recognition to.

When I call your fucking name, come up.

TK looks at a small list that's been handed to him by Jimmy.

Zip Nuggetporn!

A man in overalls and a raccoon skin hat beams as he stands and makes his way to the front of the room. Bobby shakes his hand.

Stand over there.

Bobby points off to the other side of TK.

Nedward Kayne!

A man who looks suspiciously like Ned Kaye, down to the ring gear, with the exception of what looks like a large false mustache, makes his way to the front of the room. Bobby shakes his hand.

Good work.

Nedward makes his way beside Zip Nuggetporn.

Georgia Souptits!

A woman dressed in a poodle skirt and sweater, like an extra from Grease, stands and makes her way to the front of the room. Bobby shakes her hand.

You did very well!

Delores Blumpkins!

I’m fucking coming.

Delores stands up and makes her way to the front. She brusquely passes by Bobby and stands with the others.

Finally, and this doesn't come as a goddamn surprise considering how much he has contributed to this room, the unforgettable Rusty Jerkins Cockwash!

A man in a bright pastel yellow tuxedo stands. He does the Macarena in celebration and then walks to the front of the class. Bobby shakes his hand.

Attaboy!

Rusty stands with the rest of the stand-outs from the class.

You fucking guys deserve this credit!

Alright. The five of you, repeat after me. I, state your name.

Everyone but Delores repeats after Bobby.

"I, state your name."

Do hereby pledge allegiance to smack talk.

"Do hereby pledge allegiance to smack talk."

With liberty and bastardry for all.

"Amen."

Bobby steps forward with a large brown bag. He walks up to Rusty. He pulls out a small plastic card.

Rusty, here is the used Outback Steakhouse gift card that paid for our lunch. There’s like six dollars and change left on it. We bequeath the title Head Honcho of Trash on you.

Rusty waves at the camera. Bobby moves on to Georgia.

Georgia, here is a pack of gum we found in the room when we were setting up. Your smack talker title is Fresh Diss-tracker.

Georgia blushes as she accepts her reward. Bobby approaches Zip.

Zip, you did the worst out of anyone in terms of smack talk. You have earned the title of Robert Main. Shame.

Zip looks sad as he walks back to his seat. TK flips him off behind his back. Bobby shakes his head in disappointment then moves over to Delores.

Delores, we're really proud of how you did. From now on, you are the Bellows. Here, take this.

Bobby pulls a can of Dr. Thunder out of the bag and hands it to Delores.

'Bout fucking time.

Bobby approaches Nedward.

Bud, I already handed you the Hart Championship on a silver platter it feels like, so we're not giving you anything else. However, we've given this a lot of thought. From now on, your name is Flounder.

Flounder?

Everybody in the room begins to shout and celebrate as Louie, Louie starts to play.

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Alright, fuckers, as you leave you'll be handed your diplomas or lack-there-fucking-of.

TK couldn't be heard over the music or the celebrating class. Bobby's dancing with the other Bastard Men, which now includes Jimmy.

Ah, fuck it! Who cares!

TK begins dancing with Bobby, the rest of the class, and the Bastard Men. The scene fades to commercial as the tag team champions doing what they do best. Having fun.


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Jimmy is shoved into the frame but he plays it off as cool, as he can.

Hi, I'm Jimmy Janowski, Thunder Knuckles' head trainer. Have you ever wondered how to talk trash as good as Them No Good Bastards?






Well, wait no longer with this three-disk DVD box set, or two-disk ultimate collectors edition Bluray, with exclusive behind the scene footage! Don't delay! Act now and get yours today!

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