Them No Good Bastards move on to their fourth title defense against EXP, a tandem that has attacked them twice. It's not easy at the top, but our boys aren't finished, and can only go higher.

Them No Good Bastards start to walk into Club BOB expecting to see their…

PLATNUM ANGELS

Turns out it’s been a week since opening night. A-list movie stars attended the grand opening, B-listers too, like, Ryan Reynolds and Marshall Mathers. The parking lot looks dead but the music is pumping which means people are inside already. TK walks through the front door first and catches a glimpse of Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, with a group of guys. They’re sitting at a table while the girls are doing their best to try and make money. TK looks at the table and then back at Bobby.

What are they doing?

I dunno. Diamondback said he wanted to play cards or some such here.

They’re playing poker?

I don’t know, honestly, but it doesn’t look like it.

Bobby and TK look on at the table as the group looks to be excitedly gesturing about whatever is going on in the game. Diamondback looks all too excited with the happenings while Cyberjaw looks bored to death. The other three dudes are dressed in dirty jeans and t-shirts that are way too tight, their ass cracks visible. One of the dancers approaches the table, but is quickly spurned by the group. The dancer looks disgusted as she walks away and up to Bobby and TK.

What’s up?

Those guys are whack. That whole table stinks.

What, they tipping lousy?

No, not tipping at all, and I literally mean they fucking stink! I swear, one of them looks like he hasn’t taken a shower since last year, and none of them have ever heard of deodorant.

Gross.

We’ll look into it.

I’m just sayin’, I’ll stick to dancing for the regulars over those guys.

The dancer walks over to another table where we see a group of men who seem to be far better groomed, all of whom immediately engage with the stripper.

What are your guys doing?

We’re about to find out.

Bobby and TK approach the table. Cyberjaw looks up, somewhat excited that Them No Good Bastards are there.

Sup!

Diamondback and the rest of the dudes barely acknowledge Bobby and TK. The cards they're playing with are varied, ornately designed aesthetically, and littered with little colored symbols and text. Bobby seems intrigued as each of the guys has one of their own decks, all of which are in quaint little plastic sleeves, organized atop individual mats that resemble huge mousepads with other wild designs.

Oh, shit, they're playing Pokemans!

One of the guys snortles, as though TK, being in a strip club and displaying more interest in the fabulously beautiful women everywhere, is somehow the rube.

This isn't Pokémon.

The awkward nerdish fellow laughs. Bobby looks unhappily at TK then down at the guy.

Jesus, someone over here does stink.

It smells worse than a strip club over here!

Look, the Yu-Gi-Oh game is fine and all, but seriously someone over here needs to invest in some soap and wash their ass. Nobody likes a stinky.

Seriously, one of you smells like a goddamn Bible story. Like, Noah Jackson’s ark or some shit.

It smells like a designer blend of eight different shits over here, like a zoo on a hot day.

Another of the nerds at the table looks up.

Actually, it's not Yu-Gi-Oh either. This is Magic the Gathering.

Diamondback looks up.

It’s a lot of fun!

How do you play?

Well, first you blow a hundred bucks on cards, then lose a bunch trying to figure out how to play. That’s because it's super complicated and procedural to the point the actual fully written rules are more intricate than federal tax law, then if you're lucky someone teaches you how to play without taking advantage of you. After that, you plunk down hundreds of more dollars on the cards you actually need to win. Once you build your deck, you draw cards, turn stuff sideways, and try to create logic knots that benefit you by abusing said rules.

TK looks absolutely baffled as Bobby’s eyes go wide.

It looks neat! Look at all those cool looking little pictures!

It's a lot of fun! An endorphin rush with algebra, strategy, and gambling!

Bobby, I think you're better off doing cocaine again.

Bobby shakes his head.

Nah, I think I want to check this out a bit.

Diamondback tosses Bobby a small foily package.

Here, it's a booster pack! Crack it open!

Crack is right.

Bobby looks at the pack. It says "Xtreme Warfare".

Xtreme? Like the XWF?

Actually, the entire set is based on the XWF.

Wait, what?

Yeah, I'm playing an Alias deck where my creatures make Food tokens and he eats them then burns everything down.

No fucking way!

Eh, I don't think he eats as much as he says. I told Alias he could come to the club, we had a hot dog buffet, and that he could cram as many weiners in his mouth as he wanted but he passed.

I don’t think those are the wieners he wants in his mouth, Bobby. I mean, come on how much more sexual tension do people need between Alias and Corey Smith?

Actually, I am playing a Corey Smith deck. He transforms when your life total gets a little low!

Bobby nods, thinking this is the coolest thing he's heard of in the last fifteen minutes. He opens the pack, rifles through the cards, the squints.

I got an Eobard Stone.





Oh. He sucks!

Bobby and TK look at each other and say simultaneously.

Yeah, he does.

Bobby rips up the card. Cyberjaw laughs as Diamondback looks mortified.

Dude, you could have traded that?

What do you mean?

Actually, those cards are a limited run printing, you can get money for them.

Okay, now I'm interested.

How much was that Eobard card worth?

Bobby looks remorseful.

Twenty-five cents!

Bobby closes his eyes and shakes his head dismissively. TK gives his signature jerking-off motion, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a quarter. He holds it up towards Bobby.

This should cover your loss.

Thanks.

Bobby takes the quarter as TK chuckles. Bobby throws it over his shoulder while rolling his eyes and smirking.

Well, if you guys want to come back tomorrow I would like to learn how to play.

After we do our training session.

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We cut to Them No Good Bastards in a gym. A montage of their training regimen is displayed on screen for your viewing delight. Squats being done by Bobby. TK curling beers to his mouth. Bobby benching with massive plates on the bar. TK talking to a smoking hot woman in yoga pants and a sports bra on a stair climber. Bobby moving an enormous tire around. TK at a heavy bag hitting it with a baseball bat, worked for Main. Bobby transitioning through yoga poses. TK tries yoga, downward dog to be exact, taking inward breaths with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and exhaling smoke as he finishes. A pair of young girls singing twirl a pair of jump ropes as both men jump in and execute perfectly within a double dutch.

XXFXXIXXGXXUXXRXXEXXDXXWXXEXXCXXOXXUXXLXXDXXRXXIXXPXXYXXOXXUXXOXXFXXFXXTXXOXXOXX

Gotta stay fit.

Yup.

Bobby looks down at the greasy looking dude.

Just take a fucking shower before you come tomorrow.


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**PREACH**

XXFXXIXXGXXUXXRXXEXXDXXWXXEXXCXXOXXUXXLXXDXXRXXIXXPXXYXXOXXUXXOXXFXXFXXTXXOXXOXX




You are now fucking with the hottest fucking tag team in all of professional rasslin’. We got the fucking washed-up Cooper with bow-legged Stone. They’re riding again, folks! Bobby, remind the XWF fan around the world, and millions watching at home, what the fuck happened to that other teams that jumped us at Leap of Faith?

Well, let’s count the ways. The Disintegrators? We beat the ever-loving fuck out of them. The idiotic fools came down to the Capitol Building and were wiped the fuck out by an extinction-level event known as Them No Good Bastards. When a team comes into our arena, they will not fucking survive the onslaught of High Reverend Bastard Knuckles and Monsignor Bourbon as we dole out judgment, as we demand penance, and we wring fealty and obedience from their souls by creating places on the body where it can escape, one wound at a time.

How about those free agents that put their nose into our business, BOBs business?

Raven and Warstein? Well, they figured they could get a solid payday from showing their faces on PPV again but, fuck, they've disappeared off the grid! They're not even being promoted in any other company right now. They probably settled down in a quaint little cottage somewhere in British Columbia, James going out and checking the mail, Shawn dusting, vacuuming, and being quite the little homemaker for James. Guess they ran out of clout to chase when they realized claiming to be great is one thing, but proving greatness took effort.

That’s fucking right! Then you got this Landfill tag team EX3 or some shit.

EXP, like, experience in video games.

TK gives a one-of-a-kind, truly out-of-this-world jerking-off hand gesture.

AX3, BX3, Windows XP, Who gives a fuck!? Their only three goddamn letters that matter anymore and that’s, B. O. B. Anyway, These two ignorant fucks see all this shit happening, so what do you think they go and do? Yep, you fucking guessed it, they go and attack Them No Good Bastards, AGAIN! For real, I can’t make fucking sense of it. Now you’re marked for death, for what? Is Ned Kaye gonna give you boys a biscuit? Then and pat you on your stupid fucking heads? Fuck, no! The mother fucker is going to be straight pissed off that you two fucking ingrates, dicked up and down, his whole goddamn plan! He’s going to be looking at you, the great white dopes, like where the fuck did I pick you up? Fucking Thugs-R-Us? This brings me to something else entirely! If I was J.B. and Tommy Wish Id take fucking exception to that stand want some goddamn royalties! Anyway, doing all this shit just to get beat down, all while Thais Watts does all the heavy goddamn lifting. Give me a fucking break, Bobby. I gotta catch my fucking breath!

Bobby smiles and looks at TK.

You know, I was pissed. I was really pissed that these stupid shits decided to run down and get involved in our business by being sneaky little shits, hoping to get some attention. But then it was like a dream come true, we're going to get paid to go on live TV and fuck these guys up. Steven Cooper, I hope your mom is watching. I want her to squirm with every fucking moment, writhe as she watches you get the ass whooping of a lifetime, and shriek for her poor baby, begging and pleading to whatever God she wants that her little Stevie won't ever have to go through this again. Why did her little boy go and pick a fight against Them No Good Bastards with a massive pussy like Eobard Stone? Eobard, I hope your old football coach watches, so he can hang his head in shame and acknowledge that yes, he put your worthless ass in a fucking set of pads, and yes, he put you on his team, and he fucking hangs himself realizing his legacy is that he was an influence on you and you're still not a fucking man. The guys who shared that oh so sultry and forbidden shower time with you all those years ago will feel bad for you because the way they abused and humiliated you ain't got shit on the world of torment and hell you have coming your fucking way. You fools think this is your shot at the Tag Titles, is that it? Nah. This is our shot, our fucking time, to level you fucking hack-assed, second-rate, wannabe contenders and leave the image of what we do to you, bone-by-broken-bone, on television screens, BOBTube, Twitter, Facebook, and anywhere else etched as a moment in fucking history. The testament of the Bastards, that thou shalt not fuck with the Bastards, and that shitty bullshit tag-teams made up of weekend warriors need not come to see us, they shall not bring their woes and negativity towards us, and that the beatings will continue until morale improves.

You’re not fucking with the goddamn little leagues any more boys! You’re fucking with the team, that fucked up the team, that fucked you up.

TK pauses and begins counts to count to three with his fingers. All while lipping that back to himself.

Yeah, mother fucker! Take that! You two fucking used goddamn tampons of talent are three-time removed from these titles. Yet, you’re here because we’ve beaten everyone that’s better than you, ain’t that some shit?! My fucking god, next thing you know, they’re going to call that fucking Billy Blankenship team worth a shit. Fuck off!

TK waves away the camera while taking a drink of his beer. The camera fixates itself on Bobby seamlessly.

Fuck it. This, Mr. Knuckles, is where we see the bottom of a barrel getting scraped. This is where the suits go to the cupboard, knowing our breed, the big Rottweiler and the fierce Boxer, need to be given something to chew on before they decide to gnaw whatever they don't want us to. But when they got there, the cupboard was bare, and as such the biggest doggies in the pack are given scraps, shit meant for little doggies who think they're in the fight. When was the last time EXP beat anybody you've heard of? While we were going to war and knocking off the best this company had to offer, EXP was sitting around with one finger up their noses and one up their asses trying to scratch their brain, then switching fingers with each other when they couldn't even find a pulse. So, check it. We're going to the brightest spot in western civilization in front of the masses at Times Square, set to fuck up a couple dueces because they're a worthless pair, feel the tension, feel the heat, you can smell it in the air, EXP wishing they could turn back time like they were listening to Cher. The fans all turn up but they let out a groan, these aren't contenders just Cooper and Stone! Call an ambulance, the fire department, get the police on the phone, it's an emergency situation like a fractured bone. But the people they were waiting with energy on the rise, it ain't a surprise to their eyes I surmise, two No Good Bastards come and give them a rise, times up for EXP as they get swatted like flies. Bug off, buzz off, go away, they should split, they're the flop that's shutting down while we’re a Broadway hit! We leave the people standing, an ovation, no reason to sit, we're the champs for a reason because these belts just fit.

Bobby and TK clack their titles together. TK’s phones rings.

Jimmy?

Psst.

TK pulls out his phone from his pocket and answers.

The fuck do you want Jimmy?

TK pauses to hear what Jimmy has to say all while rolling his eyes and mocking him silently.

Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s just Landfill chill the fuck out.

TK looks annoyed as hell. You can just tell Jimmy wasn’t done talking as TK hangs up on him.

Fucking Hell, Bobby. The Disengenrators got a fucking shot at the tag titles before Cooper and Stone did. That’s goddamn embarrassing.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Embarrassing? Bro, there is a massive concept here that I can not wrap my head around, and whoever thinks EXP should have a shot at our championships should be embarrassed. These mother fuckers haven't competed as a team since they shat the bed in Tag Team Turmoil, and Eobard Stone is easily the worst wrestler in the XWF. Whoever signed his contract should be embarrassed, but I guess the world needs losers too. Eobard, what kind of crack were your parents smoking when they named you? Shit. This dipshit couldn't beat an egg, couldn't whip cream, can't fight his way through tissue paper, and such a shit competitor I won't even insult myself by calling him a wrestler. That's not to say I don't respect what he can do in the ring, no. That guy can get his back on the canvas better than anyone in the history of our sport. Steven Cooper is slightly better. He has one singular win. Combined, these fools couldn't beat Thaddeus Duke for fucks sake! Sure, they got disqualified, but both of these guys struggled against one man, and that one man was who we pinned to get the XWF Tag Team Championships in the first fucking place! Jesus Tapdancing Christ, we should look into joining the sanitation workers union, TK, because these pricks are garbage and we have to deal with them!

TK looks over at Bobby with a beaming smile.

Fucking right, Bobby! And where do you take the trash? The goddamn Landfill! Eobard Stone thought for sure Marf was the ceiling for the fucking Disinfectants. Did this guy watch anything to come up with that riveting analisis?

Analysis.

What Bobby said. Anyway, This ass-fucked dip-shit really thought highly of a guy who would later become drugged before a match. I mean, shit, sometimes I’m drugged before a match but shit is on purpose. To be so goddamn naive as to think other rasslers wouldn’t take advantage of someone leaving their water just laying around, all willy fucking nilly like. It’s just fucking foolish. When it’s been obvious from fucking jump street that Lycana is the serious threat. Fuck me! I mean, she’s currently the Xtreme Champion and did something Big D, Demo, and Robert “I like blue crayons” Main couldn’t do. Pin Page to the mat. Eobard. Fuck off.

TK once again gives his truly captivating jerking-off hand gesture.

Fucking, Stone, talks about how his high school football team lost the State Championship because he decided to step out of bounds. One man! Deciding the outcome for his entire team. What a shit bird! Then has the goddamn ball sack to say some dumb shit like-

TK clears his throat and begins to try and sound like a proper putts, just like Eobard Stone.

There are always multiple variables in a competition.

TK cocks his head sideways like a confused dog.

What the fuck? Like, so, what were the goddamn variables that went into that shit? Oh, man, I better go out of bounds. It’s the only way to win.

TK scratches his head.

You chose to be a loser, Eobard. Much like the stench of a 5 dollar prostitute, it’s stuck with you since. You’re never going to learn how to be better because you choose not to. So how about you calculate that as a fucking variable.

TK rolls his eyes because he can hear Jimmy in the back of his head saying, “Stone isn’t the only one in the match, blah, blah, blah.”

Then you got this fucking athlete of fucking yesteryear, his glory days far fucking removed. Shit, in the beginning of fucking tag turmoil this fucking old tried-up fucking turd said, “Who really said much about Stone and Cooper?” Well, the answer to that is obvious, Coop! You don’t really HAVE to mention Cooper and Stone at all, in order to pummel their goddamn weak asses into the ground. You guys just picked the right ones to do that for you. Don’t worry, we owe that to Ned, himself, but you’ll due for fucking now.

TK and Bobby give each other a no look fist bump.

Cooper fucking thought that Landfill was some unstoppable alliance. Turns out, they were a fucking piss-soaked sheet and used cum rag. The remnants of a goddamn night out with former Hart Champion Ned Kaye. These boys have barely competed let alone together. Bobby touched on this shit earlier, man. Cooper better be on Stone just like, Eobard’s High School football team, or is that out of bounds?

TK’s smile is as wide as Eobard’s asshole, knowing he got away with that one.

Woah big dog. I feel we're bringing up Eobard's butthole way too much. Everybody knows that when it comes to massive assholes, they don't come much bigger than the gapers in Legacy. Face it bro, Eobard and Cooper for that matter are a long drawn out piss, because they ain't shit. We worked our asses off, taking on and taking down any team in our way, put there in front of us, calling out whoever we wanted to come down to the ring so we can turn it into Circus Maximus and slaughter whatever competition like a pair of fucking gladiators. These chumps don't ever compete as a team, they don't even take themselves seriously as a team. Fuck, even their little groups name where they go around giving massages to Ned Kaye's taint, Avalanche, is fucking tell-tale because it's a disaster and it's all going downhill. This Wednesday, in New York, in the media hub of the fucking planet, we put these fools on display, show everyone the difference between the champs and the chumps, and knock these clowns the fuck out. Think about it, TK. All the lights, all the electricity, and we’re going to outshine every fucking bulb in all of Times Square with a Rainbow Laser Death Sequence. Go call Ryan Seacrest, because if he's there when the ball drops on New Years, he should be there when we drop EXP.

Them No Good Bastards seems to be pleased with their verbal assault on EXP. As such, they give the middle finger to the camera. This then cues Todd to fade this record promo to black.