Inside the Bastard's Den, everything is not okay. A group of fanatic vampire hunters had stormed the strip club due to the performance of one Vita Valenteen. You should know this. Go look at the first promo again you silly goose. Bobby, still dressed as Herman Munster, steps forward.

Woah. Did you guys pay the cover to get in?

The assembled vampire hunters all look around and shrug. Their leader, laden in garlic, looks back at him.

No.

Well then, Emeril, let's kick it down a notch with all the garlic. If you guys want to protest, you gotta pay the cover to get in, and the protestor room is upstairs, third floor.

Oh, sorry!

One of the vampire hunters turns around. Their leader stops them.

Nobody is leaving here until we kill all the vampires!

Fuck you! First, you have to pay the goddamn cover! Then you can fucking try, shit birds.

TK does a pelvic thrust.





A gun pops out from TK's codpiece, making him look like the Wolfman with a silver dick.

Woah, nice penis gun, bro!

TK with a sadistic grin looks at Bobby.

I call it my super dick.

Now that’s an homage.

The vampire hunters all look gobsmacked.

He’s standing his ground!

The entire strip club comes to a standstill in this Mexican Stand-off between TK's super dick and the vampire hunters!

Woah, woah, woah! Let's not jump the gun here. Look, as impressive as your penis gun is, maybe these fine folk just need to witness how artistic this actually is. Vampire hunters, just watch. Vita, show them how it's done. Barney?

Hey Bobby.

What’s up pal?

Not much.

Barney seems completely at ease through all the tension in the crowded strip club.

Could you play some music so Vita could showcase her signature foot-in-mouth dance?

You got it. One John Madison special, coming right up!

Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" starts to play throughout the club. Bobby casually walks through the club and pats a patron on the shoulder. They jump with a start, since most of the patrons have just frozen in place watching the goings on in stunned silence. It's not every day a dancing vampire is stopped by The Spanish Inquisition vampire hunters. One patron, in particular, seems highly nervous by everything happening, his eyes darting towards the door. Bobby takes the seat of the guy summoned to the stage by Vita. As he does, one of the cocktail waitresses brings Vita a milk jug. Vita slowly walks over to the table and seems to levitate directly onto it. She dances salaciously as she opens the jug. Bobby watches as she raises a barefoot and puts it into Bobby’s mouth. She pours from the jug onto her chest, and Pink Slime slowly oozes out of it. It creeps slowly, centimeters at a time, down her body. She sort of shimmies a bit to hurry the stuff along. Bobby looks around uncomfortably as he precariously helps Vita balance on his lower jaw, avoiding biting down and getting even more flavor of strip club floor in his mouth. One of the vampire hunters checks his watch. We see one of the strippers pull her phone out and check her e-mail or some such. The bartender pulls up the floor mats behind the bar and cleans. Barney plays the song a second time as it finishes. Finally, the pink slime oozes into Bobby's maw. Most of the room looks absolutely baffled by what they're seeing. TK shrugs as long as Shawn Warstein would if someone asked him what Pink Slime was composed of. Bobby starts to glug back some of the pink slime, and as he does, the lead vampire hunter wretches. Jimmy is seen dry heaving.

Jimmy, what the fuck are you doing out here?

I wanted to watch the…

Go wash the fucking dishes!

Jimmy sullenly turns and heads back towards the kitchen.

This is completely tasteless.

Bobby swats Vita’s foot out of his mouth and gulps back the remainder of slime in his mouth.

I wish.

This is fucking art.

Vita climbs down and is handed a towel as she grimaces, wiping pink slime from her body.

No, this can’t stand at all. This isn’t wholesome family entertainment.

And you still haven’t paid the goddamn cover!

What he said. Besides, this is a strip club, why are you looking for wholesome family entertainment here? I thought you just hated vampires.

Hell, I could answer that for them, Bobby. They’re fucking repressed Republicans. Boom!

Dang, I think you’re right! These no-good dogs want people to get abortions really early rather than mull it over!

What? NO! We don’t want them to get them at all, not rush into it!

Oooh, that’s not what the laws here in Texas say.

Enough!

The leader of the vampire hunters slams his fist on a table.

Why the actual fuck are you punching our table? It didn’t do anything to you!

Repressed and table bullies. Tsk tsk. For shame. Now go pay the cover.

Fine!

The scene fades seamlessly to commercial.





We see a wide expanse of verdant farmland. The camera pans and we see a massive slaughterhouse, with a doofy looking farmer standing in front. The camera zooms in on him.

Howdy, y’all, Homer Pigdickler here.

We see the humble yet dignified Mr. Pigdickler standing before our very eyes, his hands tucked firmly behind his suspenders. His beard is long, and his face is gaunt from years of hard work on the farm.

At Pigdickler farms, we know the value of family, especially since we’re entering the holiday season. We also know the importance of the finest sweetmeats. Most folk have come to rely on us for all their innards needs, and that’s why we’re here to talk to you today. Just in time for Halloween, why settle on giving away processed candies that will lead to diabetes and shame when you can give the children of your neighborhood nature’s candy, pickled chicken’s feet? We know it’s not the insides of an animal, but we don’t think any part of one of God’s beasts aught to go to waste. Look for our Pigdickler Farms special bread n’ butter pickled chicken’s feet in your local meat aisle.

Mr. Pigdickler puts on a sweater.

That’s not all, folks. Right around the corner is Thanksgiving, and we all know that’s a time of gathering and celebration, and we also know it’s time to stuff your face with all sorts of relatively unhealthy things. This year, instead of mashed potatoes and stuffing, why don’t you fill your turkey as God intended, with turkey innards? Add an extra set of lungs, three more hearts, and some turkey kidneys along with a blend of savory herbs and spices to create a lean, keto-friendly treat that even your grandmother would say is better than her famous stuffing. Mashup some Rocky Mountain Oysters and sheep bone marrow for a creamy, delicious alternative to those carb-loaded spuds that leave you bloated? This is the pinnacle of protein, y’all!

Sleighbells jingle as Homer places a Santa hat on his bald head. He looks like a lean, hard-lived, meat-eating Santa.

Then there’s Christmas time, folks, and Hannukah, and our all-beef Pink Slime is kosher for those eight crazy nights and perfect for your office holiday party! Remember, it’s quintessential, and legally allowed, for limited human consumption, and that’s why we’re only offering it for a limited time. It comes in both varieties, so really spice up your holiday season with Pink Slime prepared in ammonia gas or new lemon-flavored citric acid! We even have something that Hillshire Farms don’t, and that’s a make your own summer sausage special! That’s right, join in with the family and have a sausage party! Our Pigdickler Party Kit comes with eight pounds of assorted gizzard, chitterlings, brains, tongue, head cheese, and a lovely aspic mold. That’s not all, look for our Pigdickler Sausage Stocking Stuffers, now with even more sodium! And don’t take my word for it, ask my wife!

A rotund woman on a Rascal roves into the screen. She looks like she’s out of breath from just riding the scooter.

Homer, I have the gout.

Homer puts his arm around his wife and waves, very proud of his wife.

Pigdickler Farms. It’s what’s inside that counts!





We cut back from the commercial and see the last of the vampire hunters handing over twenty dollars to the doorman.

Alright, we’ve paid your cover, now we are going to kill that vampire!

The lead vampire hunter pulls out a vial. The camera zooms on it to show that it is marked ‘holy water’, and he rushes and splashes it onto Vita’s face! He then takes his garlic wreath from around his neck and tosses it at her. She catches it, and wipes the water off of her face. She looks at Bobby and shrugs. Bobby shrugs back. They look at TK. TK shrugs as long as Shawn Warstein would if Shawn Warstein was splashed with holy water. The man who was nervously looking at the door, is still looking nervously at the door, but trying to keep tabs on the action before his eyes. The lead vampire hunter looks shocked.

Why? Why isn’t it working?

Another of the vampire hunters approaches holding a cross. He taps it to Vita’s forehead, and nothing happens. He takes a look at the cross in bewilderment, huffs on it, rubs it against his black jeaned leg, then taps it to Vita’s forehead a second time to absolutely no avail. He shrugs.

Nothin'.

New to this?

I have just the thing!

The vampire hunter pulls a plastic tent stake out of his bedazzled fanny pack. He raises it above his head as if to plunge it into Vita’s chest. Bobby grabs his wrist.

No no no, what are you doing? That'd kill anyone, not just a vampire.

But this will definitely kill a vampire!

Look at the nice carpet we have in here, I don't want you getting blood all over it with camping supplies REI McColeman.

You're enabling the beast!

The goddamned carpet is five-hundred bucks a fucking yard you idiot.

Wow.

I know, we spared no expense.

We hear a commotion in the club. Money Oswald stands up after dropping his glass on the table in a tizzy.

MOTHERFUCKER! FIVE-HUNDRED DOLLARS A YARD!?

Ozzy storms out of the club, realizing just how much of his money went towards just the flooring of the establishment. Bobby, TK, Vita, and the vampire hunters watch as Ozzy walks out of the club, his palms flush against his shaking head.

I can't believe you assholes spent fifty grand on just the carpeting.

On this floor.

Yeah, floors two and three were extra.

WHATEVER!

Money Oswald brushes past the rest of the vampire hunters and slams the door on his way out in frustration. Once gone, the attention returns to the scene of a vampire hunter confronting the Pink Slimy Vita with Bobby holding his wrist.

You wanna replace this carpet.

The vampire hunter swiftly shakes his head. Bobby releases his grip as the vampire hunter places the camping stake back in his wonderfully gaudy fanny pack. The vampire hunter laughs as he does.

I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice! Everyone knows the natural enemy to vampires are werewolves!

Everyone turns to look at TK, still dressed as the classic Wolfman.

You mean that guy?

No! I mean, this!

The vampire hunter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and reveals a picture of Lycana. Vita furrows her brow. Bobby rolls his eyes.





TK's super dick is no longer standing at attention.

Way to kill the mood.

Yeah, man, goofy-looking dog women don't cut it in the Bastard’s Den, bro.

I thought this was Club BOB.

We changed the name.

Yeah, we're Bastards Extreme now!

TK walks over to Bobby. Both men turn their heads away from each other to make the ensuing fist bump a no-looker.

Well I don't care if you guys are Bastards Express!

We aren't.

Nope.

The vampire hunter, visibly frustrated, balls up the laser jet representation of Lycana and puts it back in his pocket.

You have never killed a vampire before have you.

Yeah.

Quiet you!

We’re really a bible study group at a local evangelical church, Gary wanted to go out and try some vampire hunting, he was bored with Ecclesiastes.

Told you they were repressed Republicans.

Yeah, seems like it. Shame on you, Gary. What would your preacher say if he heard you were bored with Ecclesiastes.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself!”

Through the door we see a massive silhouette beset by the lights behind him. As he steps forward, we see none other than Morbid Angel. The man who’d been watching the door swallows hard, but looks relieved.

My flock has come to your doors and paid the cover to visit a strip club. You know what that means. A spanking. Spankings for all of you.

The lead vampire hunter Gary hangs his head in shame while some of the bible study group looks quite ready, if not eager, for their punishment from Morbid Angel.

Hey Morbid.

Hey Robbie.

Please, it’s Bobby these days.

Whatever. C’mon, my sheeple, back to the steeple!

Morbid whistles and the evangelicals all start to walk out of the strip club, Morbid giving them a solid, firm, but far from punishing pat on the butt as they walk out, the same kind Bill Walsh or Bill Parcells would have given a lineman in the Eighties but is kinda weird and taboo these days. Thanks cancel culture, now athletes can’t touch each other’s butts. As they depart, the strip club looks more relaxed, save the man watching the door.

Well, that was interesting.

As Bobby says this, the lights in the strip club go out, and the emergency floodlights go up.

Just fucking great, those assholes killed the goddamn lights.

The entire strip club starts to boo. These folks came for the special Halloscream spectacular at the Bastard’s Den, which so far, while very Halloweeny, has been pretty start and stop.

I don’t think so.

Oh yeah?

The doors of the club open, and standing at the precipice is a man in a stetson hat and a duster.

“This building is condemned!”

Fuck.

Who the fuck is that?

A man in a stetson hat and a duster.

He’s a demon.

The man doffs his hat to reveal his bald head.

He looks like a guy hiding a lack of hairline.

Trust me, he's a demon.

Well who the fuck are you?

My name is Bleaker. You need to listen to me if you want to survive.

The bald guy outside the door reveals a knife.

Hey pal, no weapons.

Yeah, except my super dick!

Yeah except his super dick!

The baldie slits his palm open and a glowing green goo drips from it. In short order, creepy looking ghouls pop up from the parking lot.

Stop making a mess of the parking lot!

Don't even think of doing that on the carpet!

The hideous creatures all skulk around outside in the parking lot as Bleaker approaches Bobby and TK. The screen goes dark. Stay tuned to BastardNet as From Dusk Till Dawn concludes with Tales From the Crypt: Bastard Knight!








Bobby and TK are still in their respective Halloween costumes standing in the parking lot of the Bastard’s Den.

People of the assembled XWF Universe, along with all fans of better wrestling everywhere, listen and heed what I say! The day of the Bastard is come, for we are in the year of the Bastard! Three-hundred and sixty-five days of the Bastard! Sunday to Monday, morning, noon, and night, us No Good Bastards are bringing the fight, from Easter's egg hunts to Halloween's fright! We have the tools, the talent, and the Bastard given veracity of vocabulary and vicious vocalism verified to vindicate our victory and victimize your vulnerabilities. On this glorious night of the Bastard, I, your humble Sultan of Smacktalk, give way to the Smacktalker Jesus hisself, Brother Knuckles, as we demean, destroy, and discombobulate our opposition. Congregation, bow your heads and give pause…

Preach!

TK steps forward as Bobby solemnly bows his head.

We’ve been running goddamn wild, while the tag team division has just been fucking running. We’ve been banging with the battles since day one. Us No Good Bastards are true gladiators, as far as being beaten, they can knock us out but not for good and that's on them. We’ll pay the cost to do whatever the fuck we want.

Them No Good Bastards give each other a high-five without looking because they’re always that in sync.

North Korean Mark Flynn-iminal, take this moment and let the tension in the goddamn air build up, and take a deep breath. You’ll hear the battle cry of the Bastards on October 20th, while you’re down on your knees. There’s no charity on our stripes and you have to earn the right to wear these.

Bobby Bourbon and TK both raise their XWF Tag Team Championships towards the camera. They do this to remind their opponents that the XWF Tag Team Championships are what they are fighting for.

Do you want a dose of reality, dipshits? Beating the likes of Kia Morgan-

Who?

A guy on the fucking indies.

Oh, that’s right he came here to fight Us No Good Bastards and barely showed up.

Yep, kinda like his shit house partner, Celia whatever the fuck her name is. Well, you slapstick dipshits, wins over these ass clowns won’t get you anywhere. However, beating fucking Dolly Waters and LSM... Well, that will make you a big deal on goddamn Anarchy, but in our division, the tag team division, it’ll only lead to getting your asses beat by Us No Good Bastards.

TK and Bobby clink their XWF Tag Team Championships. TK rolls his eyes thinking about the next thing he’ll say.

But I guess that's more than the fucking Canadian-Japanese Connection can muster with all their goddamn “talent”. You see, Them No Good Bastards have a beautiful fucking vision and we’re doing the most for our goddamn division by keeping a death grip on our straps. Now is the time to fucking eliminate Mark Flynn and War Criminal to become the goddamn G.O.A.T.s of the tag team division.

Fucking right, Brother Knuckles. We are ready and raring to get back into an XWF ring for the first time since Relentless, where we not only nobly defended the most prized possessions in tag team wrestling…

Bobby and TK clack their XWF Tag Team Championship belts together.

But also wiped the scourge of BOB from this very planet! What dozens have attempted to do, what many have claimed was their goal, was actually accomplished by us with a beating so profound, Chris Page actually ran off to OCW like a broke dick dog for some kind of solace since he no longer had any place here. Check your phone, TK, because that fool didn't call us out, at least any way I could tell, he called out Theo Price, who hasn't won a match this decade! Calling him a pussy would be an insult to vaginas everywhere. But our chance to confront an anti-American cancer at Warfare should not be understated.

Fuck North Korea and their Dennis Rodman loving asses.

What? No, no, I mean Mark Flynn.

This oughta be fucking good.

Mark Flynn is clever, witty, has impeccable, if not precisely perfect tact and timing, doesn't suffer the minutiae of bias, and is ready to take a stand to earn what he wants.

You're supposed to be insulting him.

That is completely un-American.

Unfortunately.

Mark Flynn has taken a hapless fool who blindly set foot in our land, and instead of showing him the greatest virtues of our country, instead of taking him to see great landmarks to be awed and inspired, instead of even taking him to Costco for a cheap hot dog or a dollar store for even cheaper hot dogs, has let him continue to he baffled and misconstrued by his own twisted belief structure. What kind of spineless, soulless husk of a human allows someone to think unabated in 2021? Mark Flynn.

Bobby spits as he says the name.

That’s who. NKWC, I remember our little dalliance for the Federweight Championship, and if you think I’ll forget that entire fiasco of a shit show you are dourly mistaken. While you have been on hiatus or in whatever closet cell you lurk in, I have been out here undergoing trial after trial, by fire or grand jury! Well, now you no longer just have me to deal with, no, now you and your anti-American pal come to reckoning against the greatest tandem to tie up in the squared circle…

THEM NO GOOD BASTARDS!!!

So you two can come to our fucking door, there's a sign, can't miss it. It says ‘Them No Good Bastards’. I’ll tell you just like all the rest of XWFs goddamned piss-soaked tag teams, ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles can promise that we are not the ones you want to fucking provoke. We’re in the position of being Tag Team Champions because we take what’s ours. Winning is imminent because no team can match our goddamn swag.

TK looks dead into the camera.

Not even Apex, who tries oh-so fucking hard.

Bobby smirks and TK winks into the camera.

We’ll get to that fucking later, I’m sure. Hell, where was I? Oh, yeah, we haven’t even had to give Mark Flynn and War Criminal the fucking smoke. Don’t get it twisted though, boys. We don’t back down and stand our damn ground. Oh, yeah, before we shut this shit the fuck down I gotta let ya know guys. When it comes to the XWF Tag Team Titles. Corey Smith doesn't mean shit.

Them No Good Bastards both staring into the camera and no-look clink their XWF tag titles, as your screen fades to black.