Bobby Bourbon has held almost every championship in the XWF. At Savage, that will be rectified.

TYING IT ALL TOGETHER

We see Bobby Bourbon standing at the head of a lecture hall. He's at the base of the room with a whiteboard behind him, most of which is covered with all manner of scribblings that look like some form of equation, all culminating with the result "equals infinity divided by two, squared."



Hey gang! Welcome back to another promo for the Television Championship. It's a good thing I got such an impromptu booking, because it looks like some folks didn't get the memo about bringing the hype train into the station. I mean, this isn't just any ordinary Savage, nope. This is Sea World Savage. People sweltering in the muggy Florida heat at an amusement park style aquarium with no rides, hoping that some creature will douse them with the very water it sleeps and poops in. When Shamu or whatever generational clone does his thing and you need a towel after, that's like me taking yesterday's boxer briefs and just slinging them into the crowd at a packed arena.

Bobby smiles as a few in attendance laugh. The camera turns and we see the lecture hall is full of Bobby Bourbons.

"I wear tighty whities!"

"I'm not wearing any underwear!"

Two of the Bourbons from some other variant of time and space declare their underwear situation to the room.

Well, that’s to be expected! You see, while we are all Bobby Bourbon, there is going to be some degree of variance between all of us, considering we're all extradimensional beings. Allow me to explain.

Bobby points to the whiteboard.

As you can see, each and every one of us are the result of some action, or rather, perhaps some inaction, that occured, could have occured, or wouldn't have occured. The multiple branes of existence are constantly ever branching and multiplying. A small demonstration.

Bobby picks up a bottle of Dr. Pepper Zero from a nearby table. He takes a swig and belches.

Excuse me.

Immediately following this, another Bobby Bourbon pops into existence right beside him.

This, gentlemen, is the Bobby Bourbon that did not excuse himself after burping.

Another Bobby pops out of nowhere.

...and this is the Bobby Bourbon who drank something other than Dr. Pepper Zero.

Another Bobby seems to appear from out of nowhere.

...and this fellow, uh, which me are you?

"I smashed another Bobby through the table at the beginning of the lecture, I was never able to perform the demonstration as such."

Quite.

"Indeed."

Gentlemen, please find some empty seats.

The camera turns and we see the populace of the lecture hall has nearly quadrupled since the demonstration.

Now, if you'll look around you, you'll notice that many of you have doubled! And on top of that, doubled again! However, you haven't really doubled so much as branched apart due to some seemingly insignificant circumstance. Some of you may have blinked, some of you may have scratched your nose, and those who didn't do anything had a variation in a brand new dimension splitting off where the opposite happened! Isn't that neat?

We turn back to see Bobby standing at his table.

Gentlemen, and ladies, to those of us who were born female…

The camera turns. The lecture hall is packed with double the amount of people as before, only now there are a ton of female Bobbies. They're, well, not really pretty, considering each is 6'5" and 290 lbs. The chief difference is they’re somewhat less hairy, although just as many of the She-Bobbies are wearing lipstick and foundation as the He-Bobbies. The camera turns around to show Bobby again.

You all may be wondering what all of this means, and why I have begun breaking all known rules and laws of existence by holding this congregation of us. Well, besides to just tell some kind of story before having a wrestling match. The proof that we can breach barriers that no other could ever even dream of, while astounding, is a massive leap in science for not just me, but all of me kind. Allow us to study some of the variations throughout all of the multiverse!

The lights dim. As they do, a screen cascades downward behind Bobby, which is illuminated. Bobby pulls out a tablet. He pokes at it, and on the screen a slide show begins.

Firstly, the Cowboy Bourbon.

The screen displays Bobby Bourbon with a stetson hat.

"Yee-haw!"

Bobby points out into the lecture hall.

I see we are represented by the rootin'est and tootin'est of us today!

Bobby clicks the tablet. We see the six armed, eight eyed Bobby.

Of course, the Spider-Bobby, from timelines where we evolved from spiders.

A Spider-Bobby descends from the cieling of the lecture hall from a web line. It gives six thumbs up. Bobby, the one we're accustomed to, clicks the tablet. We see a bunch of Bobby Bourbons dressed in combat fatigues, armed with assault rifles, engaged in a battle with a bunch of Bobby Bourbons dressed in different colored fatigues.

Of course we all know about the brave souls who gave everything in Bobby War, Bobby War 2: The New Batch, and Bobby War With a Vengeance.

Bobby clicks the tablet. We see Bobby holding a wooden stake being driven through the chest of a pasty white Bobby with fangs.

There are the undead, vampiric Bobbies and the slayers…

"Blah, I also love to count!"

You're a special case, Muppet-the-Count-from-Sesame-Street Bobby.

Bobby clicks the tablet.

Here's Diet Bobby.

We see a very skinny looking Bobby Bourbon. Svelte Bobby looks like he hasn’t touched a carb in decades.

Not really all that exciting or special, kind of a bean pole that, but I guess some people can dig it.

“Yeah, I’m pretty popular.”

One of the skinny Bobbies in the crowd speaks up.

Cool!

Bobby boops the tablet. We cycle through images of Dwarf Bobby, Candy Coated Shell Bobby, Prehensile-Tail Bobby, and 40 Squirrels stuffed into a singlet and a mask. We see Herbie Bobby the Love Bug, the living car Bobby. We see a black Bobby. A Bobby in a parka near an igloo. Bobby clicks again.



Ah, yes, Hand-Drawn-Doodle-of-a-Kindergartner Bobby, who could ever forget him?

Bobby hits the tablet. We see none other than Danny Sex.

Well, shit, now that we see this, I guess it stands to someone’s reasoning I’m doomed to lose a wrestling match. That person, however, is the biggest fucking simp in the XWF today. Hiya Corey. Corey is such a fucking idiot he breads eggs before frying them and butters the bread before putting it in the toaster. To be honest, if cutting promos is what it takes to win matches, I think you’re in a bit of a pickle. Most of that shit was as stale as a year-old loaf of bread, because it’s the same shit I heard over a year ago when I faced the Engineer. Weird, huh, that you’re falling back on the same ole’ same ole’, occasionally threatening to tap into that Engineer or Lux energy when it’s convenient, but then turn and say it wasn’t some hackneyed ploy to garner popularity. Face facts, shit-for-brains, you’re now more focused on being clickbait than a champion. So much so that, well, you’re either willingly using a Drew Carey impersonator, or, more likely, you got duped by a Drew Carey impersonator. Drew Carey was a reservist. Slightly different than your run of the mill Marine. Well, not like Bearded War Pig was. Now that guy, shit, we got into some wild shit together. Are you on the outs with Thad right now since he pinned you? I figured you’d be doing all this silly survivalist outdoorsy bullshit with his private military. Oh, and not to detract from Mr. Carey’s service to our country, mind you, but in terms of badassery, well, his track record in the wrestling world is less than stellar too.

Bobby boops the tablet, and we see footage of Drew Carey eliminating himself from a battle royale.



I guess I’ll give you a little credit on that one, Corey. Career achievements I have never hit; getting duped by a Drew Carey impersonator. Damn. As far as I’m concerned, that’s right up there with getting pinned by Duke. I wouldn’t know what that’s like whatsoever, I always beat the brakes off the boy when he got in the ring with me, what fascinating excuse do you have for that one? None. Nothing you’re saying is all that fascinating, or fresh, or even all that articulate anymore. I gotta admit, you got under my collar before with the fat stuff this, which is just body shaming no matter how you want to paint it, and my Universal Championship run that.

The projector shows a picture of Bobby with the Universal Championship belt.

Why is it nobody ever brings up my super short time with the Xtreme Championship? I was an Xtreme Champion too.

The image on the screen changes to show Bobby with the Xtreme Championship belt.

Oh, I do hear about this one an awful lot.

The picture now shows Bobby with the Hart Championship belt.

To this day I get brought up as one of the best Hart Champs of all time, and for what? I held the damn belt a measly few months. Hell, I held it less time than I held the Universal Title for Christ’s sake, but I guess I did beat a guy for it in under thirty seconds after another company took the damn thing. Oh, speaking of which.

The picture now shows Bobby with half of the OCW Tag Team Championship belts.

I went out and took another company’s titles with TK. Ain’t it fucking cool? We’ll be defending them too. Oh, I guess that makes us double champions!

We see Bobby and TK standing side by side, clacking the XWF Tag Team Championship belts together as they have oft times before.

Remember those, Corey? One of them used to have your name on it, up until I Bobbybombed Duke and pinned him. Geeze, you wanna fill me in on what it’s like to lose to that guy? I really have no clue.

We see Bobby holding the 24/7 Championship.

That was fun.

The image cuts to show the B.O.B. logo.

Ah, Corey, you’re really pissing and moaning about B.O.B. A lot. About Page. About Fury. About War Games. You’re losing focus, but I guess that’s to be expected. Did you have to cut back on the Adderol to keep your erection for Alias or what? Seriously, your ADHD has been going off the fucking charts of late, your last promo you were really all over the place. You even went so far as to think B.O.B. is getting bullied. By who? Nobody is pushing us around. Least of all you. People challenge us, we kick their asses, then they say we’re evil, it’s whatever. The thing is, if B.O.B. is so awful, if we’re so terrible, and no, I’m not pulling the victim card, then why the fuck haven’t you done anything about it? You’re standing on your soapbox but the soapbox is sinking into sewage swiftly, sir. You’re a little wet behind the ears, maybe your head is damp, keep saying that we’re awful in that old B.O.B. camp. Allow me to illuminate, you can call me the lamp, you didn’t dare to stop me from becoming a Tag Team Champ! You didn’t care about us until we were at your front door, kicking the damn thing in tracking mud on the floor, now you act like you gotta step up and settle some score? I’ll put you out with a shout on the corner like a twenty-dollar whore! Boo-hoo, Fuck BOB, y’all sound all sore like you’ve all got bent over and had your asshole tore, it ain’t a mystery, no need to explore, I’m bringing the beatings and you’re just coming back for more. Self-righteous, self-important, indignant, little ho, you’re a fan, a stan, and not a man with Alias, you know. You didn’t like what I did to Betsy and my beef with her beau? Why didn’t you do something about it on the Retro Anarchy Show? YOU WERE THERE, IN ATTENDANCE, but you stayed in the back, when this here ultimate weapon launched an all out attack on Legacy, against Granger, and that chair-shot went CRACK, you dropped your drawers for Alias and you conceded your back! Bring up names, play your games, you’re living in an illusion if you think I can’t hold a championship by myself, in seclusion. I will take this intrusion in the match as an infusion to settle your confusion with decisive conclusion, I walk away champion, you get a brand new blood infusion. See, I’ve held every singles championship this company has to offer, except for one. So you bring up this wild thoughts, scratching and clawing for some glimmer that I’ll lose focus, take my eyes off the prize, and ultimately that will spell my demise. Surprise! You’ve sunk, hit the bottom, completely capsized.

The lights raise, and we see the entire lecture hall is empty except for Bobby Bourbon.

It’s just me, Corey. You’re caught up in some goofy fun house, smoke and mirrors everywhere, the lights playing tricks on you, your old ticks and guilty conscience are fighting against you, and the paranoia you exude is thicker than I am.

Bobby winks.

Now that’s a funny fat joke.

Bobby shrugs, not like Shawn Warstein whatsoever, but you get the gist by now.

You brought up Doc, you brought up Centurion, you bring up Drew Carey for some goofy fucking reason, you brought up Morbid, and you can bring up Teddy Roosevelt, George Takei, Fu Manchu, The San Diego Chicken, or Ghandi for all I fucking care. This match, Corey, is about one fucking thing. It’s about how I go into Sea World, in front of the XWF Universe, in front of wrestling fans everywhere, and in front of star fish, seals, and dolphins, I demonstrate that I am a fucking legend in this industry by completing the cycle and capturing the Television Championship, a piece of the mosaic that is my career. You can go watch the orca after and share popcorn with whoever you want. You can marvel at some penguins. You can take in all the creatures of the sea, then go over to a zoo and hang out with some lions, tigers, and bears afterward for all I care, because like all of them, you’re below me on the fucking food chain.

Bobby scowls at the camera before hoofing it up the stairs of the lecture hall.

One.

He returns to the base, then trots back to the top.

Two…

Bobby continues to perform his impromptu, basic, but highly effective cardio as we fade to black.