Bobby, caught up in the fever of his nerdy ass obsession with Magic the Gathering, seems dead set on winning a game of it someday, while TK seems to be waiting out Bobby’s

FLIGHT OF FANCY

We see Club B.O.B. is completely packed, wall to wall, with people playing Magic the Gathering. Among them, we see Post Malone, Joseph Gordon Levitt, and Seth Rogan, but we also see a horde of antisocial wing nuts who would be out of place anywhere they went, reliant on the nature of gaming to force others to socialize with them. It's at one of these tables Bobby is sitting. TK is behind the bar.

Yo, TK, I think I got it!

TK gives a thumbs up to Bobby hoping he wins to get rid of the dweebs. He isn’t fond of the idea of these nerds hanging around, they aren’t buying booze, or tipping the strippers. As this happens, one of the very smelly nerds sitting around Bobby, who seems to be the only person nice enough to sit with them, speaks up.

I cast Centurion!

TK, who is sipping on a liquid marijuana behind the bar, spews a ton of it out at the sound.

What the goddamn mother fuck shit is this? How did that asshole get a card?

TK rounds the bar and marches towards the table where Bobby is seated. He leans over the geek who just played it.

Hey, that’s mine!

TK glares at the nerd, wild-eyed.

Shut it, ya fucking nerd!

TK picks up the card and the camera moves over TK’s shoulder.



You gotta be fucking kidding me!

TK rips the card in half.

This shit is awful, it’s banned here.

No it isn’t!

House rules, we don’t let Centurion in here. Period. I don’t care if he’s just the goddamn Magic card variety or not.

Judge!

A short round man in a polo shirt that looks like it’s struggling to hold a massive gut aloft waddles towards the table. TK eyes up the round man.

Who the fuck is this, Bobby?

That’s a Judge, we got one to be official.

He can officially, fuck off!

The judge rubs his triple chin.

Well, since your friend came and destroyed the card, I’m going to have to disqualify you, Bobby.

Dammit! I was this close! I almost finally won a game!

TK gives his signature, old-fashioned, one-of-a-kind, crowd pleasing jerking-off hand gesture.

Bobby, you don’t need to win at this goddamned game! I can’t take too much of these smelly shit socks.

Yes I do.

Bobby looks off into nowhere intensely, the thousand yard stare setting in.

Why?

Because I already sunk a boatload of cash into this shit and I’d feel really stupid if I couldn’t win.

How much money did you spend?

Mine? Or the club’s?

Either.

None, I used Oswald’s money to buy all the cards.

Right, I figured. Smart.

I know. I still had a bunch left over after we built that cool secret base in New York.

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

We see Bobby and TK walking down a darkened subway tunnel. The illumination from Bobby’s flashlight highlights the concrete and steel located in the corridor.

Bro, this is gonna be sweet.

Fuck yeah, our own property in downtown Manhattan!

Thad wishes he had something this cool.

What makes you say that?

Oh, I mentioned in passing one time I was going to make an underground sewer lair in New York after watching Ninja Turtles while on mushrooms.

Brilliant!

I know! So I took more mushrooms, called some contractors, got ahold of the city, found a location, took some more mushrooms, thought I was as many as five cats in a velour bag, felt the space in my mouth expand to the entire size of the universe, had a young man ask why I was scowling at him nonstop, I think I called you up and we shot the shit for a few hours, and then it was done.

The lair?

No, the mushrooms. The lair just got finished.

Bobby reaches a door and opens it. He leads TK down a set of stairs and into a massive chamber which is quite well lit. Inside, we see an old couch with a coffee table in front of it. Across the table is a television. Bobby and TK exchange a no-look fist bump.

Sweet.

I know.

Bobby and TK take a stroll down past the rumpus room, turning a corner. There we see a massive laboratory. A chalkboard is set up, pristine and unused, as is a work bench and several cabinets.

Here I can do super science!

That’s the best science.

Bobby and TK progress through the lab and into another room. Here we see a green felt topped card table, several leather chairs, and a walk-in humidor.

Fucking nice!

I know! Our own lounge here in the city!

Dude, what's in the humidor?

What isn't in the humidor? We have rolled joints, blunts, and quite a few Macanudos in there too.

Fuck, this is the chillest spot in the city!

I hope so. There's really bad phone reception since we're down below the surface of the city, but I got that covered.

Bobby takes TK to another hallway, where along the wall we see a line of pay-phones.

Is that a phone bank?

It is.

Actual pay phones?

Yep. If you don't have change, you can dial 1-800-Collect!

Does that still really work?

Bobby quickly shakes his head.

No clue. C'mon!

Bobby leads TK down to the end of the hall. He opens the final door, and within is a room which rivals any suite in a five star hotel. It's simply massive, with multiple chambers, several beds, and a hot tub.

Damn!

I know! Our home away from home, in the sewers of New York.

An R2-D2 rolls up to both of Them No Good Bastards.

Beep bwoop bip be-leep!

What the fuck did it say?

No clue! I think it told us today's weather or asked us if we wanted an apéritif.

The replica of the droid from Star Wars spins around making beeping sounds.

Now he's asking if we'll have the chicken or the beef.

As the R2-D2 stops spinning, a group of ninjas appears in the room!

Shit, are they supposed to be here?

Nope! They keep showing up for some reason! Besides the shitty reception, these guys are the only other drawback.

The ninjas brandish their traditional swords, the names of which you can go Google your damn self, we aren't that type of dorks.

Well, that's a drawback.

Bobby and TK ready themselves to fight the pack of ninjas.

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

Bobby and TK both look longingly for a simple evening of cigars and other distinguished means.

Why the fuck are you playing this goofy shit when we could have strippers?

Because, I haven't won yet, and I am going to!

As Bobby makes this proclamation, Seth Rogen, Joseph Gordon Levitt, and Post Malone approach Them No Good Bastards.

Hey, guys, we thought the idea of you guys having a strip club we could play Magic at sounded cool as fuck, but, well, you have too many of the gross type of nerds hanging around here right now.

Seriously, these guys smell like shit, they won’t shut up about some of their cards, and they’re annoying the fuck out of me about Fanboys. I’ve made plenty of other movies, and I’m glad people liked Fanboys, but really, there hasn’t been a minute that’s gone by that I haven’t been asked about it. Plus, there are no strippers.

Zero strippers.

Yeah, I know.

Look, maybe we’ll be back later once you guys clean this place out. Until then, peace.

Joseph Gordon Levitt steps forward and puts a finger in Bobby’s face.

I was in Looper!

His ire is in full display at the lack of skin walking around the strip club. The three men leave with their decks in hand, and as they do, many more players filter out of the club, all mostly annoyed with the antics of the more obnoxious folks hanging around. The strippers all stand up, looking around at the nigh empty Club B.O.B., and shrug. Not like Shawn Warstein. Bobby and TK look very disappointed.

I’m sorry, bro. I did this.

TK looks at Bobby and puts a hand on his shoulder in support.

Well, yeah, but you know what? End this. Go beat those nerds!

Yeah!

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

**PREACH**

Club BOB is again closing for the night. The girls are waiting for Barney to finish his closing DJ duties. It looks like the ladies are going to Barney’s after-party. Them No Good Bastards are staying over to put in work of their own.

Eobard is about the whiniest fucking bitch you've ever seen isn’t he? Talking about fucking management refused to follow the rules they put in place. Yep, it’s management. They really didn’t want the second place tag team to get slaughtered so fucking early but here we are. He was right though, well, kinda. Landfill’s little sneak attack worked! The second time, because when you’re driving a goddamn tank and a mosquito bites you, it doesn’t mean you start launching payloads. Speaking of beat down, this guy is trying to copyright after-match beat downs! Anyone else catch that shit as it was flying out of his mouth? Playing up how him and his loose skinned fucking Bag-o-bones hero attacked us. Then the Wednesday Night Wrecker Bobby Bourbon and myself, Smack-talking Jesus, showed up on Thursday Night Anarchy. Sometimes back then before we controlled the show, you had to remind Anarchy that it was the baby brand. They weren’t ready for the violence that ensued that night when we attacked Betsy.

TK holds out his index finger to tell wait a second.

Hold on, we’re getting there, that Bobby was awestruck by what Landfill did. Then gave Bobby the idea to do it to Besty. Alright, we’re there Betsy learned a very valuable lesson that day boys. Not to trust her co-hosts-

Cohorts

Thanks, Bobby! Her fake ass friends that do absolutely nothing to help her as she lies in a pool of her own goddamn blood. Whereas the two of you shit drips couldn’t wear her dress individually. Fancy yourselves a lot more to handle than Betsy, all alone, huh? Listen up, you little bitches, together you're nothing more than fucking chickens led to slaughter. The sad part is, these two weak minded, mother fuckers, think they’re safe because they survived the trip to the slaughterhouse! Un-fucking-aware of impending goddamn doom. So, please, for all that’s fucking holy, act like you stand a chance, shit cans. Victory’s like these always feel better when we know you’re trying your best! Trying your best to swim, but you’re out on the deep end, and starting to drown. We’re the lifeguards on duty, Them No Good Lifeguards, and we’re not lifting a fucking finger to save you from this embarrassment that's long overdue. Now your lungs are on fire until you finally fade into the sweet bliss of darkness. For what? So you can say we beat a woman, in the rassling business? She got what every woman in the rassling business asks for, until they get it. Equality. Well, we gave Betsy Granger that equality, when XWF fans around the world brutality and entertainment at its finest. That’s The No Good Bastard way. In this fucking industry, if she, or anyone for the fucking matter, can’t stand the heat! Stay the fuck away from BOB! We drop bombs like the Enola Gay.

TK, completely full of himself, gives his gloriously fabled jerking off hand gesture.

That was a good one.

Just read about that shit on the internet. ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles thought it said that we dropped Gay’s on Japan and won the war, or some shit, I don't know. Not the fucking point! Eobard’s shit lips keep letting runny turds fall from his mouth. Like this one! Talking about how everybody saw who retrieved the belts against the Disingenorators. Then points out the fact it wasn't Bobby to found the titles. Give me a fucking break, how the fuck is “the game guy” going to not know what the goddamn Hell a game plan is? Fuck it, I just can’t Bobby take the floor.

Well, to be fair, he might be the game guy, but he doesn't win the games.

Next on the XWF offering plate, we got Cooper. Who thinks we’re some kinda corporate whores, but for some reason he can’t say it right. I mean, if being in a stable that got it's own PPVs and somehow got it's own show on Thursday night, makes us "corporate whores".

TK shrugs ever so slightly.

Then, I guess, hostile takeovers have become corporate. Well, Cooper a.k.a. Vice Admiral of the Narrow Seas, If you don’t know what that means, tisk-tisk. Anyway, he is under the impression that we are in fact EX3-

PEE.

-Exactly! Vice Admiral of the Narrow Seas! I knew you’d get it, Bobby. That was for the fucking idiots in the back that won’t. Cooper is under the impression that we, Them No Good Bastards, are the worst pair of rasslers in the business and useless human beings! Well, jackoff, our good works in our communities say otherwise, sir. We’re also giving children in South Korea iPads! Speaking of Korea! July 13th, LIVE! From the thirty-eighth parallel! Them No Good Bastards and the OCWs representative tag team will square off! Titles versus Titles! That’s right, folks! After we cast these worthless cards aside.

I see what you did there.

TK nods at Bobby with a wide toothy smile.

We’re going to lay waste to another company's Tag Team Division, proving once again! Why we are the fucking top of the goddamn food chain! As for Cooper’s little number diss talking that nonsense, like we aren’t doing anything eight thousand different rasslers have done. Keep in mind he’s talking about BOB here. The most over faction, since the goddamn Kings. Before they get Ned’s washed-up ass to come out and say, Apex, Apex! Like the good cheerleader slut he is. Give it a fucking rest, Apex’s on-again-off-again success against BOB is as brutally fucking dull as watching a Centurion recorded promo on loop. Look! They did something cool! Then they couldn’t produce. If it looks like Robert Main, smells like Robert Main, then you know horse shit is close. Bobby, tables set, feast up.

Fuck it. Eobard opened his mouth again, and posed more questions proving he's oblivious. One thing that stood out to me, though, one glaring and damned idiotic thing among all the stupid that came gushing out of his mouth, is that he wasn't afraid of us. He's confronted us twice, TK! He took such a noble fucking approach about it, too, coming in and hitting us when we weren't looking. Look, Eobard, you haven't won any matches, and nobody thinks you're going to anytime soon, and I really don't get why you think bringing up how I lost the Hart Title there or TK lost the TV Title here changes the fact we're holding onto the Tag Team Championships that you are not, can not, and will not hold in your lifetime, even if you had King Kong as your partner, and you sure as fuck don't. Fuck, you sound as idiotic as that loser Big D who has the track record of a used diaper himself; shitty. It's days like these I could just take a vacation, when Eobard talks it’s like he’s practicing masturbation. He fucks himself, making a big mess of his situation, he's proving to the world he has mental . You think it was hard to ferret out your secret? How some boys pumped you full of cum and regret? Are you set? I owe you an explanation like it's debt. Your little trauma was broadcast all over the internet! Hold your breath, we're gonna beat on these nerds, they’re tripping so hard stumbling on their own words, not even challengers they’re down the tubes like some turds, ain’t nothing in the world like Them No Good Bastards! First the TV parodies, then you’re playing Magic? Imitation is flattery, but it’s far from camouflagic you’re trying to be us and I think it’s tragic because, fuck rhyming, nobody would ever try to be anything like either of you. Seriously, you jumped us twice, you tried to do a parody of a TV show, the both of you, but neither of you could even think to coordinate and do it together, instead giving us two shitty parodies instead of half a decent one. Then you went and started playing Magic, and you know why? Because it’s what we’ve been covering in our promos. Fucking stooges, the both of you, and you want to come at us? Dude, you’re like a kit car going up against a fucking Lamborghini in a drag race, you’re trying hard to be what you aren’t. You’re trying hard to be better. You’re trying hard to be a champion. In the end, though, you’re both just a couple of fucking try-hards who are going to get your asses absolutely and utterly whipped. Fuck, Cooper says he’s been doing this forever, he says he’s been wrestling for decades, I sure as fuck have never heard of him, have you, TK?

Never fucking have.

Eobard is such a fucking idiot he’s taking cues from some nobody who’s not even a has-been, he’s a never-fucking-was. And he’s old! Cooper’s so old his Social Security number is only five digits. Cooper’s so fucking old he farts dust. Cooper’s so old he remembers when bread was invented.

Cooper’s so fucking old he’s seen Haley’s Comet three times.

Cooper’s so old he was on Antiques Roadshow.

And he was fucking worthless there too.

Cooper’s so old that boy scouts help him cross the street.

Cooper’s so old that he was born in black and white.

Didn't someone on AEW make that joke?

MJF.

Gotcha.

Bobby and TK nod in agreement.

Cooper’s so old that he is baffled by how modern the Amish are.

Cooper’s so old that Betty White is jailbait to him.

Fuck, TK, that’s the most entertaining Steven Cooper has ever fucking been! Man, and Ned Kaye signed these guys? What the fuck was he smoking when he did? Seriously, Cooper is an absolute fraud. Been wrestling for years? Where? Against who? What the fuck has this guy ever done, like, ever, besides jump us? Oh, and completely and utterly try to rip off our gig. You want to know what makes Cooper and Stone relevant? Us No Good Bastards. If it weren’t for us, nobody would give a shit about them, because they haven’t put in the work, they haven’t put in the effort, and they haven’t shed the blood, sweat, and tears like we have to get where we are in the XWF today. Yeah, we’ve lost matches in the past, nobody has a perfect record, least of all EXP or any member of Avalanche. So fucking what? Everest has been climbed, it’s still not something everyone will do. The English Channel has been swam, not everybody will do that. People have walked on the moon, but go to the grocery store and ask around, I’ll bet you won’t meet someone who has. Have I or my partner lost? Yep. Lately? Nope. We’ve been mopping up the competition like it’s a spill in the kitchen. And you’re right, Eobard, you’re bound to win eventually, and that’s why you gotta keep trying. You aren’t winning at our expense, though. Cooper isn’t leading you to victory, he’s crowing about a career that’s all but nonexistent, and the both of you are trying your damnedest to try to be like us. You know what? Hey, TK, I have an idea, in our next promo, we should just spend an hour throwing stuff off of a tower onto a trampoline to see what happens so these two assholes can stand on a shed and try to bounce shit off of an air mattress, because these two simps couldn’t come up with an original thought. They seem to take our ideas and make them shitty. Well, you guys are the ultimate shitty idea. Lets take a pair of losers and give them a shot at the Tag Team Championships. Fuck, TK, we’ve hit the fodder stage of our Tag Team Championship run! We have beaten all the real competitors, and now we’re getting these bums. Shit, call the suits in the front office, have them randomly team up two actual talents and see if they can get something done.

Bobby and TK clack their Tag Title belts together. End scene.