The opposition, EXP, has broken their silence and even made individual homages to children's television.

TNGB are meanwhile busy dealing with nerds.

BRIBERY

Club B.O.B., at one point not even a month ago, was the premier gentlemen’s club on the planet. However, wall to wall inside we see nothing but people playing cards. Magic the Gathering to be exact. While it was just a few hardcore nerds at one point, now a cavalcade of all different types of people are all seated and playing. Goths, a few gym rats, dads and kids, a few known YouTube personalities from the realm of Magic, and even, of all people, Post Malone. Seated among them is Bobby, and TK looks pissed standing behind him. All the strippers have joined in too, fully clothed but in stripper streetwear, sweat pants, and gaudy t-shirts.

Jesus, it's spread.

I know! Look at all the people here to play!

Nobody is spending any money!

True, but we're all spending quality time together as a gaming community.

Okay, but can't you guys go do this up around the hot dog buffet? At least that way it would cover up some of that ratchet-ass smell.

Bobby barely acknowledges the question. Barely.

I guess. Do you think we could get Taffer back to add a Magic playroom?

Absolutely… not.

Dang.

As Bobby and TK finish their exchange, the camera pans to show the front door. In walks XWF personality Steve Sayors. He looks around the room in dismay.

Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.

Steve! Hey, welcome to Club B.O.B.! Pull up a chair, Mike has a deck you can use!

Nah, thanks, I'm all gamed out. I just went and played board games with Eobard Stone.

That sounds horrible.

It was!

So, uh, sorry about that time we kidnapped you in GCWA.

Compared to a night with Eobard, that was pleasant. Look, I really came here to get a drink or two and watch some ladies dance, but this looks like you aren't doing that.

TK rolls his eyes.

We should be doing that.

Steve, look!

4 other heads around the room all turn and look. Bobby looks at the Magic players.

No, no, I mean Steve number one!

Steve Sayors looks honored beyond measure.

You mean I'm Steve number one?

Of course! What kind of idiot would place your Steveness behind anyone else?

Steve Sayors looks both flattered and humbled.

Fucking right. You're the Steviest Steve that ever Steved. Better than any other Steve or Steven in the company.

Look at this!





That's, uh, great.

You bet it is! Not only are you a thing in the XWF, but now you've won the hearts and minds of weirdly antisocial geeks everywhere in cardboard form!

That looks nothing like me, though.

That doesn't even matter!

Let me see!

Bobby shows TK the card. TK shrugs.

It’s still better than Eobard Stone’s card. I’m disappointed I fucking know that.

I'm not a bird!

Are you sure?

I am super sure! First deprived of my chance to be Miss Scarlett, now I've been robbed of my humanity by a bunch of game designers. Are you guys birds in this set?

Bobby and TK look at each other quizzically.

What do our cards even do?

Bobby blinks.

I don't even know.

Bobby stands up and addresses all the people playing.

Yo, does anyone have a me or a TK for trade?

Some of the dorks laugh. Post Malone looks over.

Nah, dude, you guys are like the rarest cards in the set. Y'all, Dock, Corey, and Dolly Waters.

So you guys are super rare cards and I'm a bird.

Not just any bird.

Bobby holds the card up again.

You're this bird. This magnificent creature that draws. Eobard doesn't draw. Cooper couldn't draw flies if he bathed in pig shit. You, however, put cards in hands, and once I get my hands on the card versions of me and TK, you'll go in our deck.

How soon do you think you'll get the cards?

Probably by like our sixth promo.

Steve looks puzzled by the response. TK walks over to the DJ booth, where Barney is chatting up one of the dancers. He grabs a microphone.

Okay, ladies and gentlemen, that's all the time we have for Magic today, shortly we'll have live dancers and the finest cocktails available.

The strippers playing magic all put their cards down and doff their sweatpants and t-shirts revealing stunning bodies clad in sheer lingerie. The nerds, all disturbed that their game time was over, leave dejectedly. A little boy who had been playing tugs on his father's shirt sleeve

Dad, c'mon!

The dad palms his son's face and pushes him away, taking in an eyeful of the dancers getting on stage and bringing up the sexy quotient of the establishment. Bobby looks around, somewhat unhappy himself. TK approaches him.

Well, Did you win?

Not a single game.

Well, that’s a goddamn shame. You know what would make you feel better?

What?

A lap dance and half a dozen fucking hot dogs.

Bobby looks down. He can't argue, but the remorse is there.

Yeah. I guess.

**Preach**

It’s Once again after business hours at Club BOB. The ladies finally have on all their clothes and head home for the night. TK and Bobby Bourbon stay over because they still have business to attend to. Which is shooting on EXP.

Let’s give it up for the boys from Landfill, eh?

TK makes the most half-hearted clap anyone has ever seen.

Jesus Christ on French Toast, these fucking simps, TK. These moronic ingrates are proving the one thing we've been hammering home for a while now. Call it a rule, call it a guideline, call it yet another tenet of the church of the High Bastard, but thou aren't on the level of Them No Good Bastards. For starters, Eobard went on a tangent asking what happened to us. Welp, you need only tune in to XWF programming, we've been here all along, and we've been stomping down challengers left and right, front and back, we will crush them in a box, we will beat them with a fox. This fool wonders what happened to the Warfare MVP. I merged that designation with the Hart Championship, that's what. As to why Ned Kaye decided that being both wasn't important, well, you gotta take that up with him. Maybe you should follow your own promo's guidance and get a fucking clue. Now, if we wanna play a solid whodunit, well, come Warfare, it's going to be Us No Good Bastards with the Rainbow Laser Death Sequence in Times Square. Fuck me flying, ever have to deal with someone so fucking dumb that it was frustrating? You just wanted to beat them, watch as they get baffled because they're so stupid they don't know why you're beating their stupid ass, and you pray that you knock some sense into them. Well, lucky us, TK! We get to do just that. Eobard is so stupid that leaving him brain-damaged might just raise his IQ. Eobard is so dumb when he's asked to leave a tip at a restaurant he cuts off the end of a pencil. Eobard is so dumb he sticks his phone up his ass to make a booty call.

He's so dumb he spent an hour trying to alphabetize a bag of M&Ms.

He's so dumb he thought he needed a prescription for Dr. Pepper.

Bobby holds up a bottle of Dr. Pepper Zero Sugar as TK holds up a bottle of regular Dr. Pepper. They clack the bottles together without looking and each take a swig.

He's so fucking dumb he licked his phone to see if it really tasted like Apple.

He's so stupid he got kicked out of an aquarium trying to save a fish from drowning.

He's so stupid when he heard his password needed eight characters the shit wheel typed in "The Brady Bunch". Then couldn’t figure out it needed a number. Fuck, man.

Eobard better dial 9-1-1 for the beating we’re going to give him and Cooper.

He did though. On his fucking microwave.

Eobard is so dumb he'll climb over a glass wall to see what's on the other side.

Eobard is such a stupid fuck he brings a ruler to bed to see how long he sleeps.

He brings a stopwatch to bed to see if he's fast asleep.

Eobard sits on the TV to watch the damn couch.

Seriously, this doofus brought up every pressing question either of us had to answer, had to account for, about our careers TK. Somebody loan this jackass a dollar so he can pay attention, because we already went over every little question he posed months ago when asked by smarter men and women. Plus, who the fuck are you to even question either my or TK's careers at all when you haven't done a damn thing around here? You prattling off about accomplishment is like a toddler telling his mommy about how cars work. It was kinda cute, look at the lil' fella go and use his words and do people talk, but ultimately the little shit doesn't know a single thing about what he’s saying, he's just using words to show he can. You might ask what happened to us, but the coldest, hardest truth here is not a single saved or damned soul is asking "Hey, I wonder about Eobard", because you are, as the scientific community would say, an insignificant figure. The answer, though, to all those little things leaving you baffled, Eobard, the solution is Them No Good Bastards ain't nothing to fuck with. The Gamemaster? Really, this isn't a game, you're just getting played, and you're not a master, you're a little bitch boy. According to your old high school football buddies, you're just the package their pieces came in. Then you have the brilliant idea to claim you deserve this title shot. How the fuck have you earned it? What the fuck have you accomplished in the XWF that puts EXP in place for a title match? Being a runner-up in Turmoil? You know what I think? You got on your knees and kissed someone's ass for it. Added some tongue work too, because judging by your promos I can tell your mouth isn't any good for talking.

Speaking of the mother fucker not being able to talk. When he fucking does shit falls out of it that an alarming goddamn rate. Like check this out, he says. Bobby has been on a downward spiral? Talking about, since Bobby lost to a pussy like Ned Kaye. Doesn’t this mother fucker work for Ned? We’ll get to the shit that follows that hot fucking garbage in a goddamn minute, because it leads to some other shit completely. First, this guy dusted off probably the old act that quit working ohhhh how long ago?

TK looks down at his phone to check the date.

Post War Games 2020. Holy shit, Eobard! have you been going that far back in ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles career to get some kind-

TK makes finger quotes.

“Edge?” Well, mother fucker I’ll give you a history lesson. Fuck it, Why not? You see after ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles carried team Robert Main on his shoulders, like a goddamn adonis, mind you. I ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles was kidnaped by the Ministry of FUN and I drank the Kool-Aid. Don’t worry, Eobard, you’re like Marf in that manner. You only hydrated yourself with enough to survive. Then bitch about it later. I figured you'd get something out of it, you know? Plus, if you’re going to do it, do it big, right? Anyway, ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles died cause being afraid of death is for pussies, and I ain't no fucking pussy. Next thing I fucking knew I was standing in front of fucking Saint Paul and shit.

A thunderous boom happens and then a flash of lighting.

Fucking cool, right? Well, I had to take a golden escalator and meet my dude, J.C., The Son of Man, Christ Al-fucking-mighty! Well, he brought me back to life under one condition, Eobard. That condition was to never sell out a teammate again. Geez, I feel like the last time I had to do all that it was longer.

TK shrugs.

This shit miser Stone thinks there's gold better than the tag team championships? Isn’t that what he’s going to Times Square to try and win? The fuck is this guy babbling about, for real? We have these-

TK and Bobby clink their respective tag team title together while not looking, as they do.

-just so bullshit tag teams like you can’t. Stone? Why do all you fucking idiots think holding the Universal Championship is some big deal? It pays the same as any other championship. As for your bullshit

Thunder Knuckles is now making that same puttsy ass voice he did to mock Eobards directly.

“You could have beat Page for the Uni. Blah, blah, blah, TK’s dense, blah, blah, blah.”

TK snaps out of what will now be known as the REobard voice.

If ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles ever chooses to go for the Uni, he will. To be honest, though I wouldn’t know of a reason big enough to take the same pay for twice the work. Seems pretty fucking stupid to me. I have the best tag team partner in the world Bobby Bourbon at my side. The only way he could be any better is if he was from Ohio.

I have family there.

SEE! Anyway, While you have a Trooper, that's as busted as your mom’s pussy. Fuck it, I’ll be that guy for you Eobard. Let ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles hit you with some fucking life spoilers. Are you ready? You’re never going to be a fucking champion. You’re only fooling your goddamn self. The simple but true facts haven't changed. Them No Good Bastards separated are champions, together we’re un-fucking- stoppable. We’re goddamn Hot cocoa and marshmallows.

S'mores And Campfires.

Macaroni and mother fucking cheese.

Ice Cream and sprinkles.

Two people brought together to be the most electrifying tag team in XWFs entire goddamn history. We’re fucking walking out of Times Square retaining and it’s going to be at the expense of your goddamn hero too.

That brings us to Cooper, who apparently has been around the world but not a single fucking person has ever heard of him. This rootin' and tootin' rough and tumble sumbitch has come to the XWF to be a man among men, and to prove it, he's become a mentor for Ned Kaye and joined his group which is entirely based on Final Fantasy 7. TK, isn't Centurion the big Final Fantasy dork?

We started off at ground zero and had an impact on the tag team division since we arrived. Fuck the goddamn haters. Hashtag Fuck BOB. They’re mad as fuck that they can't talk shit and are as bland as goddamn corn flakes. No sugar either, they'd rather use salt. We rip rasslers new assholes and never hesitate. We give the XWF fans hurricanes until their fucking levees break. Your whole ass stable is fucking featherweight. Meanwhile, BOB is the champions of the goddamn heavyweights. Now your fucking with BOBs weapon of mass destruction and we're about to detonate. We're selling the tickets but this isn't a time to celebrate. We're performing for millions, mother fuckers. Put a mic up to our mouths and watch us demonstrate and we won't stop till we conquer each and every goddamn state. Better recognize our reign, you can ridicule our message. It only gives me fuel for the fire and that's the end of life. At least for your team. Your brand of fucking entertainment is far inferior to ours. We bring the heat and the goddamn bars. Fuck your feeling, this is us. Them No Good Bastard with the cuss. You test us, you test God! You step up to run your mouths. Then you meet ours, we run our mouths like Tommy guns. Which means you won't have time to fucking run. Weak link, more like a weak stable. We’re fighting these punk-ass bitches on basic goddamn cable. I spit shit like the ghost of Jim Ceadus, because the guy who came back definitely ain't the fucking greatest. How dare you mother fuckers trying to pop fly. We caught that shit and threw it to first because of drills. Find out fucking with Them No Good Bastards is some straight kill. Our ticket sales are top five, all-time, while we’re ending fucking tag teams lives. We gave you Days of our lives, that shit was an instant classic. Gave you Gilligan’s Island and you all ripped it out of the packages. Came at the Disinfectants and the critics all approved. Y'all bitchs are average and need to move. What have you done while we've been wrecking crews? Now, this is what all you’ve mother fuckers have been waiting for, we’re the lost angel bastards knocking on Satan’s door. I don't know what all you two milksop mother fuckers take us for, we love you ALL for hating more. While we keep putting these bodies to the mother fucking floor. We put shots in your busted-up piece-of-shit car door. Maybe that's the reason that they pay us more. We've earned these lights which is more than I can say about you two whores. From Times Square or all the way to the thirty-eighth parallel all we do is win because our bare knuckles got talent. Face the fucking facts Landfill. You’re fucking with the absolute best tag team in goddamn professional rasslin, today, tomorrow, fuck it until we deem it’s time to fucking move on. Speaking of moving on. I think that pretty much wraps this one up.

Bobby places his hand on TK’s shoulder in solidarity. TK winks into knowing that Them No Good Bastards could keep going, but why? It’s just EXP.