[bwo][/bwo]


Some rural backwoods shithole or another, you've driven through one. Rustic, but far from quaint, a husk of a small town that the residents gave up on decades ago. It's a small stretch of road, beset by a gas station, once owned locally but some time ago franchised into being an Exxon with an auto body repair shop attached, and a lonesome diner. It's at this eatery we see the red stretch Humvee careen into the parking lot and slam into a lamp post. From the looks of the vehicle, this is far from the first time this has happened. The passenger side door opens and Bobby Bourbon steps out, laughing.

Whoo, I think you need another beer, bud!

The driver side door opens and a few Bud Light cans clatter out. TK stumbles out.

I'm all fucking out! Think this fucking place has any fucking beer?

I dunno, I don’t drink, but Guy Fieri recommended the poutine here.

Fuck your French! Is that French? Fuck, who cares.

Jimmy climbs out of the back of the gaudy limousine. He looks utterly shaken.

Hey, you almost got us killed back there, Thunder Knuckles! Bobby, you really should be driving!

It was TK's turn at the wheel.

Jimmy looks at TK, who is leaning against the lamp post that's barely making contact with the stretch limo, TK stopped just in time, TK's pants are around his knees, ass is facing towards Bobby and Jimmy, pissing in the middle of the parking lot. Bobby stretches and yawns.

Uh, do you want me to drive?

Fuck you, Jimmy! Only Bastards get to drive the goddamn Bastardmobile.

Yeah, what he said, besides, Guy Fieri approved poutine awaits!

TK pulls his pants back up, Bobby, TK, and Jimmy walk towards the door of the diner.





[bwo][/bwo]


What the shit is this, TK? For fucks sake, Continuum didn't have to work the schedule we do, Cataclysm didn't do anything but show up after the main event to steal some poor schlub's thunder, and the Sick Cunts were allowed to coast by on Fuzz's part-time schedule. The fucking Brick Squad never even wrestled when they held the belts! Now, lookit us, not only do we get fucking shoehorned into some horseshit match at Warfare that was a piss-poor backdrop to the biggest disappointment of a rivalry in Page versus the Invisible Main, who again, has had as many matches this year as we've had in the past two months, but people are supposed to give a flying fuck about what he does besides, you know, not promote a damn thing himself. Not only do we get that nonsense, but now we have to defend our belts against the Dissentients, who we've given the Old Yeller treatment to already, don't know who took them to the Pet Cemetery but I guess we gotta put the doggies to sleep again, and the Thugs? Who the fuck is coming up with this shit, and who is supplying them with crack? Don't you see how exhausted we are from carrying an entire division, propping up Chris Page, and showing up in everyone's promos, from Jim Caedus to Alias? Have you seen any overtime pay for this? I sure as fuck haven't.

I got to be Boba fucking Fett. That was pretty badass but no goddamn Xbux landed in my hand. So, I guess that tells you something.

And I had to interpret the drivel that Jim scrawled down into actual English while in a fat suit then pretend like Betsy could hurt me. Look, to the boys in the office, this shit needs to stop. At this point, the XWF needs Us No Good Bastards more than we need y'all. We can take these belts anywhere, win three more sets of them with whatever acronym or initials are etched on there, and then what fucking promotion do you have then? A fairy of a Universal Champion, half a dozen fools kissing his sweaty, bony ass for his postmodern promo style which won't be anything without our names in it, an Xtreme Champion with an ego so fragile you won't let him defend his belt like we have to because he'll take his ball and go home again, fuck! Imagine if we pulled a Robert Main or a Jim Caedus, TK.

Fucking legendary, Bobby, but we aren’t bitches.

We'd be dismissed immediately, so fuck it. We're going to take y'all for every fucking red cent, pay us to show up in everyone's promos, show up on every show, have our gorgeous mugs appear on posters, sell out arena after arena, paint us as the scumbags when we're the ones the people actually fucking care about. I haven’t heard a damn thing about who's facing Alias at the biggest show of the year, but they’re lining up around the fucking block for a chance to eat a Rainbow Laser Death Sequence. We will break whatever fucking toys you bring to us, and while we don't sign the checks we damn sure get the bills paid. That arena, any arena, you put up an XWF banner in is our fucking house. The address changes, but the deliveries don't come to Mr. Pryce, or Mr. Lane, they get signed for by Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles. And the thanks? The credit for keeping ratings up across the board? The due fucking respect to the two men keeping said Mr. Pryce and Mr. Lane from having to get real jobs? Dead beat dads, cold fusion, and snow in the Sahara are more present than any credence for the greatest show in this world or the next, a bonafide beating at the hands of Them No Good Bastards.

The major difference between us and The Disenfranchised-

Disenfranchised? Do you even know what that means?

TK shrugs just long enough for Warstein to see it and get all pissy.

Of fucking course I do! They'll never have the privilege of holding these, so long as we do.

I guess you're right, they are The Disenfranchised.

See! Where was I... Oh yeah, and The Thugs. The difference is we're one thousand perfect okay with being public enemy number one. We go through tag team like Alias goes through Uni contenders. Except we didn't need to cash in, we cash the fuck out. Either of these teams can say what they want but everyone knows that dog just don't hunt.

So, well, hiya Lycana and Marf! Nice to see you again, another pair of pricks who haven't had to put in the man hours we have. Fuck it, you have done nothing, not a single damn thing, since we last faced off to polish the turd that is the Dissentients as a tag team. Fuck, Lycana seems like she wisened up and dumped the chump so she can to onto a losing record as a singles competitor, choking and gagging with guys in the ring like Marf was watching and cranking one out. Marf, how many orgasms did you give yourself watching Lycana get fucked in our ring. Did them wolf powers fully kick in yet, or are you waiting on an open air arena with a full moon to, you know, actually be a menace of some kind in the ring? Fuck, Lycana, did you sign up for this match? Do you have a thing for losing to us or something? Bounced at War Games, bounced before that, shit, you don't have werewolves blood in them veins, you're part basketball! Marfolomew, we got it all wrong! Lycana is what's holding you back! Without her tetherball-ass attached to you, you'd be the finest pole in the land, with the wooden personality to match.

If we got paid in ounces of blood that will be spilled by our, and I use these fucking words loosely, competitors. We'd be so fucking rich in XBUX 'Ol Thunder Knuckles would never have to work another goddamn day in my goddamn life. We're not coming out to just win this time. Fuck no. This time we make sure Lycanna’s fucking pathetic ass remembers her rightful place in the goddamn tag team division. That's right, mother fuckers. Tied to the greatest tag team to ever fucking tag. THEM NO GOOD BASTARDS! She'll always come for us but the sad fucking truth for her is she'll always lose. Why? Well if her Xtreme farce of a goddamn of singles gold didn't tell you first hand. Then please let me be the fucking guy to tell you. Lycanna fucking sucks. Flat out. Not even Jim Caedus could help this cunt win. I put a two whole ass XBUX she's related to the goddamn Blackwaters somehow. Does anyone notice how the fucking water shimmers in her promos? No one, bitch, absolutely no one pays attention to that. Know what they do pay attention to?

TK stops himself from telling Lycanna exactly what the fuck she does wrong.

You know what? Seeing as this down syndromed waste of roster space will never figure it out and these "matches'' just pad our goddamn records. I won't be the one that fucking tells you. Phone a friend, we all know you do.

TK winks into the camera.

There's a good reason we're the best, but if we could describe why, we wouldn't be.

It's a goddamn shame to think, that management thinks, either of these, done fuck all in the tag team division, or for that fucking matter, in singles competition. Stand a snowball's chance in Hell. Let's just name off some shit. Marf won the TV title and lost it faster than you can say "Lycanna’s been overrated since day one" and poor Lycanna walking around with the biggest head of anyone you've ever seen, who hasn't done shit. Do you know who has done shit? Us No Good Bastards, that's right. Not only are we YOUR tag team champions we're also OCW's tag team champions. These two useless fucks aren't even ranked in worldwide competition. Do you know where we land in worldwide competition, jack-offs? Number goddamn one. So please tell 'Ol Thunder Knuckles, like you have so many goddamn times before, that Bobby Bourbon is carrying the tag team. It not only shows how little you fucking know but it also shows you got fuck all. These ass clowns are such a fucking afterthought of the tag team division that a spot on the worldwide competition list they got overlooked by that fat dude from Japan and the guy with the big noses Canadian. What's their name again?

Jimmy starts to say Can-Jap's name but TK cuts him off before he could even utter out the first syllable.

Doesn't fucking matter, Jimmy! My point is the only thing these, wack-ass mother fuckers, deserve is eating the most devastating move in not only tag team history but rassling as a goddamn whole. The Rainbow Laser Death Sequence. So let's move past these shit racks and move on to someone worth a fuck.

The Thugs? They sold their shares in BOB too fucking early. Imagine, they were on the ground floor and had the opportunity of a fucking lifetime to, for the first time in their XWF careers, be a part of something relevant. It's no loss, kids who go to school with Thugs shirts and lunch boxes get shunned. Not even beat up, even the shitty bully kids pity them, because they probably eat glue, pull out clumps of their own hair, walk funny, and only talk with the other special education kids on occasion, because you have to be fucking to keep Thugs merchandise. Nobody looks cool with dollar store shit, after all, and discount, bargain-bin fucking teams like the Thugs can't hold a candle to us. One, because they aren't allowed to be around open flames anymore because they might hurt themselves, which explains why they're so good at never getting any heat, and two because heavy are the heads that wear the crowns, and they don't have the neck strength to even keep their heads up long enough to see the freight train headed their way courtesy the Clown Princes of Tag Team Wrestling, Us No Good Bastards. We're off the fucking rails, bringing disasters, Smacktalker Jesus and the Sultan of Smacktalk we're the tag team masters! We’re coming for y'all, moving faster and faster, I see four targets TK, let’s be the blasters! Red alert, atomic batteries to power, bend the knee, and bow down, we’re the men of the hour. We'll clean up our act when we take a shower, until then take a whiff, smell the roses, plant you all like some flower. We’re filthy and nasty putting our hands in the dirt, the sweat on our backs soaking through our shirts, we're bringing tidal waves up against y'alls little squirt, and come Savage is when y'all are gonna hurt. They won’t see the Thugs, not because they're behind a blinder, the lost poor old Marf even though they had a reminder, Lycana will be gone, no way that they'll find her, Bastards opened up a butcher shop, put them all through the grinder.

I did say worth a fuck and here we are at least. The Thugs are relatively relevant. They did after fucking all, deserve this shot, beating us on Anarchy before War Games.

TK and Bobby give a no look fist bump.

Nothing says fucking owned like the Bastards destroying a tag team by letting the Thugs pin them, know what I'm saying? We just sat back and watched it happen. Why? because it was a non-title match and we're here to exterminate the fucking division.

TK looks over at Bobby perplexed.

By the way, has anyone seen the Syndicate or did they make like the left hand and get the fuck out while they could?

N-

It was fucking , Jimmy.

Rhetorical.

Thanks, Bobby.

No problem.

TK flips off the camera to signal Todd. Todd inserts a perfectly timed military siren.

Mayday, Mayday, trouble is on the fucking way! You better clear the exits and prepare to evacuate. We're ruthless, savage, and the fucking badest. You see we got a method to our goddamn madness. It’ll be fun watching you try to fit into our fucking mold. You're looking at Lawless and Relentless, a dynamic duo of devastation. But my goddamn point is this. We could literally sit in fucking lounge chairs, drink beer, and beat everyone in this fucking match. It's not even hard. I sure as shit hope that Betsy's shit for brains-ass picks a partner worth a fuck. Because NO ONE on either of these two "teams" has what it takes to take these belts-

TK and Bobby both hold up BOTH of their tag team championships.

-from the bastards that stand in fucking front of you. So, excuse the fuck out of me, while I go paint a stripper's face with my goddamn cum, then think about all the dead children that never have to suffer through a Marf slash Lycana promo. Lucky fucking bastards. Kinda makes you wanna die just thinking about it.

You know we're studying tape later tonight.

The fuck we are, Jimmy! We have a fucking vision and even when asleep our goddamn vision is clear. Karen’s bitch ass summoned the Gods of the tag team division and we’re planning to flip out on sight! Victory is the fucking vision and the vision will be seen LIVE on SATURDAY NIGHT SAVAGE September 11th, 2021! Cheap plug be damned, we’ve already pushed through enemy lines. We get the glory no matter if we live or die. Our names will be etched in the history books no matter what we do but we never compromise. We come to deliver the demise of any tag team WILLING to stand in front of us. We all know, there are tag teams out there that still won't face us when it matters. So, my advice to The Disenfranchised and The Thugs is simple. Call up everyone you fucking love, your Mom, your Pops, your goddamn Aunt Hellen who bought you that dope ass Thunder Knuckles trading card that you hold as your prized possession, I don’t give a fuck who you call! Tell’em you love’em and give’em your goodbyes because neither of you non scuffed boot mother fucking team are walking away with the tag team division's ultimate prize.

TK and Bobby hold up the most valuable piece of gold in the world.

The XWF’s Tag Team Championships!

TK looks over at Bobby.

They aren’t ready for war but they sure as fuck are going to bleed. The powers to fucking be fuck up pretty good, Bobby.

They sure did, TK.

TK looks back at the camera.

The guys in the main office thought it would be a good idea for you half-ass bunch of rasslin’ spare parts to be in a match with no rules against us.

Bobby and TK both begin to chuckle at the thought of breaking these teams' bodies in new and exciting ways. TK composes himself to finish his thought.

This spells trouble for The Disenfranchised and The Thugs in Charlotte. I’ll be sure to call the local homes for you. Your funerals await.