Bobby and Charlie arrive at Moose Lodge #666 in their automated Geo Metro, which is dripping wet from the joyride in the river. The bloody carcass of an opossum is caught up inside the wheel well of the front left tire. Bobby and Charlie step out of their hoopty still dressed like nuns, both bastards prepared to take out their adversaries in the bowling league by any means necessary. Also they seem very prepared to take out their adversaries in the XWF, the current and future former tag team champions.

CLASH AT MOOSE LODGE #666


Bobby, we’re here. Somehow.

Charlie adjusts his junk after he steps out of the car and slams the door shut.

I know, the car drove here for us. Completely automated.


Charlie looks over at Bobby with a face that just says ‘bruh’.

Drove us? Bobby, we fell into a river! We’re lucky to be alive, let alone here at the Moose Lodge!

Bobby shrugs.

It was just taking the most efficient route possible.

Charlie rolls his eyes at Bobby’s defense of the Geo Metro’s forest murder and riversledding.

Did you put Apple maps or some shit on the GPS? Jesus you picked a crappy car for us. We should’ve taken the ferrari, or maybe the maserati!

Bobby Bourbon reaches down to touch the wet and shiny hood of the car with his fingers.

I like my cars like chameleons, Charlie.

What the hell does that mean?

Bobby Bourbon slides his fingers over the hood of the car before pulling his hand back up.

Sleek, lizard-like, inconspicuous.

Huh.

As Bobby and Charlie shoot the breeze on the merits of a crappy car that drives automatically, the camera changes perspectives and we see the dreaded Moose Lodge #666.



How dare they have a den of vice and sin so close to our den of vice and sin!

Exactly. Lets show these palookas thing or two.

So now we sneak…

Charlie Nickles immediately crouches down and begins to hopscotch over towards some nearby shrubbery.

We aren’t sneaking anywhere, Charlie. We’re here.

Charlie hops into the bush before turning around and poking his face back out through the green thorns.

Yeah, but we’re in these disguises. I even disguised my penis!

Charlie’s manhood pokes out from the bottom of the bush. We see it has a little hat and trench coat on it. He looks very proud of his creation, even as various thorns poke into both of his heads.

Did you get trained by Pest or something?

Charlie tucks his penis back into the bushes as we see his hands come up to clear away some of the shrubbery surrounding his face.


Who?

Bobby Bourbon dismisses the question with a wave of his hand.

Nevermind that shit. Look, we got dressed as nuns, but this isn’t just some basic infiltration scheme, no sir. We’re going to take these bums out. I called them a half hour before we left, letting them know we were coming.

Why? We got all disguised!

I know. You were really excited about dressing up as nuns so I ran with it. It doesn’t matter though, CK. What matters, ultimately, is what we’re going to do, as a team, in the ring on Wednesday.

Charlie Nickles begrudgingly steps out from the bushes with a big fat frown. His face has been torn up by the thorns in the shrubbery, and it now looks like he is crying bloody tears.

I guess so.

As a dejected Nickleman approaches his tag partner, Bobby Bourbon places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

I know so. We’re Damn Mighty Bastards, right? NK and Flynn are going into the match with a head full of confusion. Thinking you’re TK, thinking you’re Barney, not reconciling that our team, our place in BOB, is unique compared to any tandem they could be facing. And what tandems are they facing? Nobody. No one is coming out of the woodwork to take down NK and Flynn, no sir, not like how they lined up around the block to take down a Bastard. Hell, Al is calling you out, CK.

The doors to Moose Lodge #666 open up.





Holy cow!

I know, CK, it’s nigh incomprehensible. It’s not just any members of the Moose Lodge, no, not just members of Moose Lodge #666, but it’s none other than MJ and Quinn…

NK and Flynn’s parody dopplegangers!

That’s absolutely right, CK. Parody dopplegangers to the nth degree. War Flynnimal has been so focused on our own parody dopplegangers, well, mine at least. They never once brought up that silly Demos thing you were all about for some time.

That wasn’t a…

I know, that wasn’t a relevant thing to do, but it was a parody doppleganger that they could have exploited, because we all know, in the XWF, more common than alternate dystopian time warpery, more regular than bringing up your opponents promos from yesteryear, is the looming everpresent threat of a parody doppleganger. War Flynnimal tried not just once, but twice, to introduce crude concepts of human beings attempting to look like me. For starters, getting Jason Sudeikis to portray me in front of Congress? Well, I guess if you’re going to try to write Saturday Night Live dreck you might as well write for cast members that aren’t there anymore. That leads to you grabbing Bobby Moynihan to portray BOB-Anon, an obvious, cheap knock-off of Barney Green. Next time toss a cryptocurrency joke or two in there.

Nickles looks over at the Moose Lodge leaders, then back to Bobby Bourbon.


Why are you monologuing?

Look, I have to explain the presence of MJ and Quinn, here now to fight us on behalf of their beloved Moose Lodge #666, almost dead ringers to NK and Flynn save the silver glasses that are just what you get in a swag bag in any good parody doppleganger guild.

Charlie just shrugs.

That makes perfect sense. I’m also glad that MJ and Quinn have just been standing there, listening to you.

They’re starstruck, CK. It’s not every day you meet the Grand High PooBOB and the Television God. It’s not just any time you find yourself against Damn Mighty Bastards. We might have never tagged up together on television, CK, but we’ve been around, and have teamed up in Japan and Mexico. War Flynnimal has been minimal in their methods, behaving as though we don’t jive, CK. Jiving is what Tag Team Wrestling is all about. MJ and Quinn are going to undergo the same treatment as MK and Flynn, as dictated by the rules of wrestling promos, where each parody doppleganger reflects what will occur in our match. That parody doppleganger of Barney will not have any effect, just like how Barney won’t be coming ringside.

MJ and Quinn nod, knowing what they must do now. They confidently stride up to Bobby and Charlie, whom are still bedecked as nuns albeit for no real good damned reason. What happens next is just what you’d expect. Charlie removes Quinn’s glasses and pokes him in the eyes. Bobby takes MJ to dick kick city with a dirty dick kick to MJ’s dick. Charlie then grabs Quinn by the skull as Bobby does MJ. A massive meeting of the minds happens as Charlie and Bobby slam each man’s head into each other. They collapse to the ground, out cold.

Bobby and Charlie reach out and do a no-look fistbump: but the screen fades to black before their fists ever meet.


How many hours a year do you waste?

The voiceover booms out as we see a man kayaking. We quick cut to a lady gardening. We quick cut to see a man driving a jet ski.

We know there are things you’d rather be doing, why not make the time?

We see a man pat his belly and head towards a door. He opens it, entering a bathroom. He drops his pants and sits on the commode. He retrieves his phone.

Did you know there are hundreds of tasks you can accomplish while taking a number two?

The man smiles as he swipes at his phone. He then grimmaces and grunts, chucking a deuce.

Well, there’s an app for that!

We see the screen change to show ShitList, the planner for those on the go who gotta go.

With ShitList, your #pooptasks will be waiting for you in a queue. Run that payroll. Send your grandmother an eCard. Do a little shopping, heck, is the toilet paper running low? You can even buy that!

We see a mother sitting on the can.

“I used to fret until the last moment about getting dinner prepared, but now when I take a dump I can not only find a fine recipe, but have the ingredients delivered to my door! That leaves me more time to spend with my kids and drink wine!”

We see a wealthy sports star sitting on a toilet.

Hi. I run a business, and as a business owner there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Hold on.

The wealthy sports star grunts, sinking a few canoes.

Payroll, making sure my employees are in the right place to succeed, supplies, so many organizational tasks.

All of them getting done!

The glam rock sports star sitting beside the wealthy sports star in the bathroom with absolutely no partitions between the porcelain do a no-look fistbump.

#pooptasks.


Bobby and Charlie, dressed as nuns, stand over a pile of Moose Lodge #666 parody dopplegangers. MJ and Quinn. Nefarious Nash Jay. Cassius Puke. Farm, the parody doppleganger of Marf. Bam Cane, figure that one out. Corky Smith. Quita Quarantina, parody doppleganger of Vita Valenteen.

Bobby Bourbon looks incredibly satisfied with the work the bastards have put in so far, but Charlie Nickles does not. The Nickleman looks increasingly agitated as time goes on, and pretty soon he starts searching high and low for *something*. Meanwhile, Bobby Bourbon has started rifling through the pockets of the fallen dopplegangers.

Charlie Nickles turns around to look at the fallen doppelgangers so far.

So they’re all here….but where is he?

Who?

Him.

Bobby rolls his eyes and disengages from the conversation. He reaches into Corky Smith’s pocket and pulls out an old receipt. Bobby reads the receipt and chuckles as he is reminded of good times. Bourbon then throws the receipt over his shoulder before reaching into Farm’s pockets and pulling out a handful of corn kernels. Bourbon shovels the corn into his mouth before moving on.

I’ve accepted his challenge….so many times by now....but where is he?! The motherfucker always wants to play games with me, but as soon as I accept he always turns into a ghost! The bitch has done this like five times now! He didn’t show up to Savage, and now his fucking doppelganger isn’t even here!

Oh, you’re talking about Alias. Yeah that guy has been ducking you so much since March Madness, I don’t know if he’s ever going to say goose.

Bobby says as he pulls out a bag of pills from the pockets of the Vita Valenteen doppelganger.

These are pure fentanyl pills. These could get somebody killed! I better destroy these.

WAIT!

Charlie rushes over towards Bobby Bourbon, almost tackling the man as he reaches out for the baggie.

I need those! Those could be performance enhancing!

Sure, take them. Just don’t sell these to anyone.

Sell these? Are you insane?! Do you know how much coke I have to buy off the street in order to get this much fentanyl?

Nope.

Bobby Bourbon literally and figuratively brushes his hands clean of the pills as he rises to a standing position.


Well I think our work here is done, Charlie Knuckles.

Nickles tucks the bag of pills into the pocket of his habit before turning towards Bobby with an agitated scowl.


Stop fucking calling me CK!

Why? It's cooler than that weird 'Knuckleman' thing you keep trying to do.

Charlie shakes his head in frustration with Bourbon as the bastards start walking back towards the Geo Metro. A bleeding opossum can be seen crawling out of the wheel well and slowly scurrying away from the car: I guess it was only playing dead the whole time!

Just as the bastard’s open up the doors to the car, the car’s bluetooth system comes to life. Siri’s voice comes through the speakers

“Incoming text message from : Thunder Knuckles

Yo, has anyone seen the fucking universal champion? Since he won the fucking thing? Dude’s lazy, just saying. I’ll probably cash in on him before he shows up on regular XWF programming twice!

End of message.”

Speaking of Alias, he sure is getting his bung tongue tickled by Flynn. S'matter, Mark? Charlie's gunning for Al, I squared up to Al, you just wanna keep on his good side? And giving all that credence to Corey, yikes.

Charlie sniffs the air.

Bobby, what the fuck is that smell?

You. It's a hundred percent you.

Nah, it smells like tears and spite.

Oh! That's Corey’s career, must have gotten it stuck to my boots when I was tromping all over it, like that week I held...

Bobby looks at the ‘hidden’ championship belt protruding from Charlie’s waistline.

Well, your bottom bitch there.

Charlie gasps in horror before fishing around inside of his outfit for the ‘hidden’ championship belt. Charlie pulls out his Goldi and begins softly reassuring her as the bastards climb back into the Geo Metro.

Oh baby, he didn’t mean that. And I didn’t mean to call you a cum rag at the bowling alley: that is all just locker room talk! Of course I love to make love to you, but you’re so much more than that to me! You fulfill my soul, my fire, my ever-burning taste of desire. Besides, baby, you know I’m never going to stop wearing you just to wear a tag-teaming belt. Our one-on-one love sessions could never be replaced, especially not with a devil’s tag triangle! Oh no baby. You are always going to be the golden apple of my eye. You’re not a bottom bitch. You’re the #1 belt to me, baby.


We open with a shot of a self-contained room filled with thousands of dominoes. The dominoes are standing tall in an elaborate pattern on the floor, just waiting to be knocked down. Then, the only door to the room opens. We see Charlie Nickles and Bobby Bourbon walk into the room with a confident swagger, the blood of human traffickers fresh on their knuckles. The duo are still dressed like transgender nuns, but now Charlie is freely slinging his TV belt over his shoulder to show her off.

The bastardly odd couple approach the dominoes before standing side-by-side at the edge of the pattern. The door behind them slowly closes itself shut. The two men look down at the dominoes they set up a week ago, both clearly excited to finally have the chance to knock them down for good. GrandHighPoo BOB wipes his bloody knuckles off on his habit as The Prophet of BOB is blessed with a vision. Charlie holds one hand up to his forehead while extending his other hand out over the dominoes. The Nickleman closes his eyes as Bobby looks over at him.

I can see them, I can see them now. They are lost in Las Vegas. They are without hope, without guidance, without light. They rest comfortably in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of what lurks in the darkness around them. They waste their time in the court of mortals, even as the divine law of the T.V. God threatens to swallow them whole.

The Bastard’s prey is in sight.

That's awfully poetic.

Nickles lowers his hands as the prayer comes to its end. He turns to Bourbon with a mad grin. Not the bourbon Charlie usually turns to, mind you, but to the one and only Bobby Bourbon.

And with that, the runes of fate have been sealed. The die of the Prophet has been cast. All the cards are on the table and there are no dirty tricks left to be played.

Bobby Bourbon looks down at the dominoes with eager anticipation in his eyes.

Let’s knock these bitches down now. We set them up for this fall weeks ago, I really don't want to wait any longer. I bet Mark Flynn and his fifth Korean partner in a row could never lay out such a cool design. Mark Flynn is way too busy scouring Korea for tag-team replacements to ever dedicate this much time to dominos!

Charlie chuckles as he places a hand on Bourbon’s shoulder.

You can rest assured that those sissies could never be so innovative with their dominos. Mark Flynn likes to think that he’s “so smart”, yet somehow, he doesn’t know the first thing about his TV God. He doesn’t seem to know the second or the third things, either. Mark needs to start watching more Saturday Night Savage, it sounds like he’s missing out on the best programming television has to offer! If he truly believes that I am unwilling to put my TV championship on the line against anyone, anywhere, at any time then he is lost beyond all hope. Just this weekend I came out to the ring and accepted Alias’s challenge, which shocked nobody, because I had been telling everyone I would accept Alias’s challenge for weeks! Tsk tsk tsk. Mark Flynn needs to change up his scouting reports. Seems like the poor bloke is operating off of fake news.

So, for the record, the first thing about Charlie Knuckles is that he will defend his championship belts against anyone, at any place and at any time. What were the second and third things about you that Flynn was missing?

Well, for starters-

No, we don’t want starters, I want you to tell me the second and then the third thing. Don’t start over.

Flynn doesn’t even know that The Nickleman has more focus than a Ford factory. Flynn doesn’t realize I have a mind that’s even sharper than the razor-wire I’m going to choke him with. While he is right that I have a laser-focus on proving myself to be the greatest champion in the XWF, he’s wrong to think that my focus isn’t congruent with this tag match.

I’ve been calling out universal champion after universal champion after universal champion (literally), not because I want that piece of trash they wear around their waists. I call them out because I want to destroy that cheap impostor they all parade around with! I want to prove to the whole universe, once and for all, that Goldilocks is the greatest title in all of human history!

That’s my focus. That’s been my focus for months….so of course I’m all-in on winning the tag-team championships! When I add yet ANOTHER belt to my waist my argument for Goldi’s greatness will become credible beyond belief. In fact, I know just what I’m going to do when we win those tag team belts. I’m going to take one back to my lair and I will create a pyramid of nickels. On the bottom of that pyramid, I will place my Heavymetalweight Championship. In the middle of that pyramid, I will place my tag team title. And on the pinnacle of the pyramid, at the peak of the nickels, I shall place my Goldi like a shining star atop a Christmas tree.

So thing two about Charlie Knuckles is that he’s really focused on making a pyramid out of nickels, for whatever reason. That checks out. What’s the third thing Flynn’s missing about you?

Charlie smirks as Bobby asks the question.

He thinks my biggest claim to fame in this biz’ is main eventing night three of Relentless after just two months under an XWF contract.

Well, that is a pretty huge accomplishment. Neither Flynn nor War Criminal have ever main evented Relentless. Most people on the XWF roster will never get that chance!

It’s an alright line for the hall of fame speech, but it’s not what defines my career.

So spill the beans, what is your biggest accomplishment in this industry?

Charlie Nickles smiles menacingly as he stares into the blank space above the dominoes.

Deposing the XWF tag-team champions and the universal champion in back-to-back months.

I don’t think you’ve done that yet.

Charlie turns back towards Bobby and gives him a reassuring look.

I’m the Prophet of BOB, I can see the future. I know that the true apocalypse of the XWF is nigh, and it shall be brought to the universe around the waist of The Nickleman.

Bourbon places his hands on either side of his waist while inhaling and exhaling a deep breath.

Wow, that’s pretty deep Charlie. So do you want to knock these little fuckers down or what?

Oh most definitely.

Charlie nods in affirmation before the two men crouch down in front of their elaborate dominoes setup. Like two excited kids playing with their new Xmas toys, Bobby and Charlie giggle together as they each knock down one domino on either side of the pattern. The bastards stand back up as they watch thousands upon thousands of perfectly placed dominoes begin falling on each other.

While they wait for the dominoes to finish falling, the two bastards each pull a blunt and a lighter out of their habits. They both place their blunts on their lips and spark them. Charlie’s weed sparks first, and he’s off to the races after a quick inhale.

You know we’re a lot better than those bozos as a tag-team: but shit, that should be common sense. We’re waaaay fucking better than these idiots as singles wrestlers, so when you add us together you really start breaking the scales. NKWC and Flynn are both, at best, mediocre in singles competition. And while sure, the whole may be greater than the sum of its parts, that whole is still being made up of shitty singles wrestlers! I mean hell, what do those two dudes even have in common? What binds them together as a tag team: the fact that neither could hack it on their own in today’s XWF?! These fuckers have one good singles win between them all year, and even that was nothing but a fluke!

I mean shit, there’s a reason NKWC isn’t the Supreme Leader of the XWF, and it’s not just because he was too scared of you to enter the tournament. There’s a reason Flynn isn’t setting records with the TV championship, and it’s not just because he’s too scared of The Nickleman to show his face on Saturday nights. These guys just straight up suck at wrestling! They can’t actually fight for shit!

Bourbon finally gets his blunt lit, and he takes a deep puff as the dominoes continue to fall around them.

Brother Knuckles, I feel it’s high time you brought the smoke.

”Super-secret agent” Mark Flynn is about to learn why militaries don’t put their spies on the front lines of warfare. Flynn’s in way over his head if he thinks he can pull double duty as a spy and as a doughboy this Wednesday night. Flynn’s entire skill-set will be rendered obsolete in a one-on-one confrontation, in the middle of a Las Vegas Streetfight. Deceit, trickery, deception: ain’t none of that shit going to protect you from a steel chair and a manhole cover. There are no ‘tactical retreats’ when you’re trapped inside the trenches. That little bitch was running away from Agent Doofenshmirtz just a few days ago, clearly too scared to fight him without the help of a Korean. The fuck’s he gonna do when I start chasing him?

Flynn wasn’t built for a street fight against a bastard. Flynn wasn’t built to handle the kind of damage I can dish out. Flynn was built to run away, hide, and wait in his little piss pants for someone to distract his assailant. But that ain’t gonna work in a tornado tag street fight, now is it?

When we take them, CK, nothing is guaranteed for them but a beating.

Both bastards, blunt in hand, catch a grin as soon as the domines completely fall. The two brutish nuns stare down in satisfaction at the end result of their work. In front of the bastards we see a mock-up of the XWF tag-team belts, made entirely of dominoes.