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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » March Madness V 2023 RP Board
Grand Theft Arlington
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Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
03-25-2023, 02:12 PM



Jerry Jones, owner of the Dallas Cowboys, is seen seated in a leather chair, snoozing in a custom Dallas Cowboys uniform, complete with pads. He slowly wakes, stirring, and looking around him at those also in the room. Bouncy Brickhouse, friend to Bobby, waves at him.

Good morning, sleepy!

Jerry continues scanning the room, confusion creeping across his face, as it would anyone who wakes up abruptly somewhere strange in front of strangers. His eyes land on Thunder Knuckles. TK gives Jerry Jones double middle fingers.

Fuck you.

Jerry keeps looking and sees Harmon Egan, and with shock sees Harmon is just kind of observing him peculiarly. He watches Harmon’s hand flourish in sign language, then looks at Bobby Bourbon when he replies.

Yeah, he’s coming out of it. Hi Jerry, welcome back.

Jerry tries to gain his bearings, looking to respond, until Fred “Michelin Man” Gorson chimes in.

I feel alright.

Attaboy, Fred. You’re a trooper, and I’m glad we got you into ship shape to shake up the Mini-Golf world. You’re going to kick ten kinds of ass now. Also, you helped with Jerry here.

Bobby, what are you talking about? Wait, are you trying to hoodwink me? Hah, you can’t shit a shitter, Bobby!

Bobby sighs. TK and Bouncy both chuckle. Harmon rolls his eyes, grinning.

You got me, Jerry, dead to rights. I can’t shit a shitter, and you can’t hustle a hustler. However, you’re no supervillain, chum, you’re just fringe and want to play in the club. It looks like you might well be on your way, since you’re so sure I can’t get the better of you.

You’re damn right!

Well, fuck. I guess I better tell you what my plan was.

Jerry sits up, smiling.

Far out, yeah, teach me more about being a supervillain!

Bobby perks right up, silly smile on his face.

Well, I’ll tell you what my plan was. First off, I needed a schmo. Not just any schmo, but a pro schmo, you know?

Yo.

Enter Freddy Gorson, our Michelin Man, smooth rider through and through, Jerry. After that it was using my press cred to come into the stadium and dick around for a bit, while Fred taught me some sick ass Mini-Golf techniques to employ, essentially turning my shots into the embodiment of the 1980’s, yeah, bow down to that shit! So, I set up that lunch with you, Jerry, along with Dweezil Zappa and Peter Dinklage to talk supervillain shop, and you bought into it, hook, line, and sinker when I insulted the fish! You were so upset, and Jerry, that sushi was mediocre, at best, we were in fucking Dallas, what do you expect? You got baited, Jerry, so much so that when I started working with Fred down here you had to come and cause a stir. At that lunch, I made damn sure to talk up Bouncy nonstop as a top notch baroness of crime and meyhem that you couldn’t help but be interested, and of course you called her up. That’s when she came and made sure you got laughing gas, because nerve gas was way too dangerous to give to you as she pointed out. It would have been kind of funny, but, nah, there’s no point in killing you, Jerry, that’s not good for the plan at all. See, once you and Fred were found in those compromising photos, namely you dressed in a football uniform spooning Fred’s adorable ham shaped frame on the floor of your own stadium, you’d comply completely with whatever I wanted, and what I want, Jerry, is at the heart of the matter.

You monologue too much.

Whatever, I’m awesome. Anyway, that brings us to the heart of the matter. I want two things, Jerry, two really simple things. One, I want my fucking Universal Title. I will get my Universal Title, Jerry. Two, I want all of AT&T stadium, one night only, for BOB-a-palooza, and you’re going to fund it.

Jerry slowly laughs.

Yeah, well, you should have kept your dumb mouth shut, Bobby, because that plan will never work! I’ll never do that!

Bobby cocks an eyebrow.

Oh?

From outside, we hear the muffled but distinct sounds of the stadium PA system saying something.

You did it a half hour ago, Jerry.

Bobby folds his arms across his chest. Thunder Knuckles, Bouncy Brickhouse, and Harmon fold their arms across their chest. TK clears his throat, giving Michelin Man his cue, who folds his arms across his chest. As they do, RoboBob, the robot from Rocky IV with a picture of Bobby haphazardly stapled to where a human face would be approximately, rolls in.

Happy birthday Paulie.

Bobby pulls out a picture of Jerry Jones and staples it to RoboBob over his own face.

You just authorized all of it.

Jerry, realizing that he’s been had, his identity stolen by the robot from Rocky IV in order to complete Bobby’s master stroke of having some kind of event in the stadium, faints. Everybody looks completely shocked.

Oh shit, we killed him!

Check his fuckin’ pulse!

Bobby scrambles over and checks Jerry’s pulse.

Okay, he’s breathing, he’s just probably in a bit of shock, let’s give him some air.

Bouncy stands up and pulls out her phone. She plays around on the screen for a bit, and Jerry Jones’s limp, unconscious body stands as the football uniform he’s wearing sort of floats him in air.

What? His ‘uniform’ is real tech, I mean, he did pay for it, and it’s easier than carrying him.

Jerry Jones’s head lays limp to one side as he slowly pivots, drifting off into the corner ever so slowly. Bobby looks at Bouncy smugly.

Too busy wrestling to do any awesome heists. Psht. I just stole an entire arena.

For the night.

Yeah, semantics.

Bobby and Bouncy smile at one another. TK clears his throat.

Uh, Bobby…

Yeah, I gotta go, I gotta steal the Alamo.

Remember the Alamo.

I only fucking rent from Hurtz.

Bouncy chuckles.

Later, handsome.

Bye…

Bobby placidly watches, his face like that of Alfred E. Newman on so many magazine covers, as Bouncy walks away. Harmon touches his shoulder, shaking him out of it. Harmon signs something to Bobby.

Yeah, what he fuckin’ said!

You understand him now?

No, but you do!

Harmon nods. Bobby swiftly nods as well.

Right, let’s show these guys the Brotherhood.

Bobby nods, committed to the idea. Harmon smiles. TK gives a thumbs up. Jerry Jones bumps into the wall and bounces off, like a DVD player screensaver.

Damn, he could get hurt that way.

I didn’t sell him that suit, if he wants to abuse super science he should have known the risks.

Yeah, and fuck the goddamn Cowboys.

Harmon nods in agreement. Bobby, TK, Harmon, and Fred Gorson all leave the room, and Jerry Jones continues to drift around lazily, suspended in midair by some antigravitational football uniform, look, it’s very detailed and technical. He’s essentially the living birthday balloon at this point. Once in the hallway, Fred speaks up.

Guys, wait.

Everybody stops.

Look, I really appreciate what you guys have done for me, but out there, it’s your time, but back here, it’s our time, do you know what I’m trying to say?

Harmon nods, understanding Fred’s subtle subtextual method of communication. Bobby and TK look absolutely baffled.

You want to get matching watches?

That’s a badass fucking idea, Bobby.

Yeah it is.

Harmon shakes his head ‘no’ briskly. As he does, Charlie Nickles and Crash Rodriguez walk into view, the full Brotherhood, each Bastard on set.

Who’s the fat kid?

I’m a fucking Michelin Man.

Yeah you are!

Bobby smirks.

Michelin Man, you show some goddamn respect to Charlie and Crash, they’re old school Brotherhood, but you?

That’s the thing I’m trying to say. I’m not a Bastard, that’s the thing. I grow my own potatoes and run a potato salad kitchen for the homeless for crying out loud.

Huh.

That’s, uh, beautiful but also very unusual, aren’t you sure you couldn’t get a better yield of food by making soup or something more plentiful?

I do what I want with my potatoes, Bobby, and with my winnings in Mini-Golf I have expanded operations.

Bobby looks around the room. Harmon’s brow is furrowed. Charlie seems to grasp everything Fred has said with some depth. Crash nods.

That’s real, man.

Yeah, respect.

TK looks at Charlie and Crash like they have third nipples on their foreheads.

What do you mean? He’s spending all his fucking Xbux on potatoes for other losers! That is no good!

Bro, I mean, he does what he wants, right?

I fucking guess.

He doesn’t care what we fucking think, right?

Yeah.

He’s been a badass, and seriously, the face paint is kick ass.

It is kind of badass.

Harmon signs something to TK. TK stares blankly back at Harmon.

I don’t know what the fuck that even means, but you’re probably right. Alright, fuck it. We’re Bastards, through and through, but our Brotherhood is something more now.

Right.

Bobby sticks his hand out.

Everybody in.

TK puts a hand in. Crash puts a hand in. Harmon puts a hand in. Charlie puts a hand in. Fred looks on.

Nah, Fred, you’re in this.

Fred stick his hand in.

We’re the fucking Brotherhood of Bros.

All six men look at each other in unison and agreement at this landmark statement. Jerry Jones slowly drifts past them in the background, fully awake.

Hello? Help me!

All six men turn and watch as Jerry Jones drifts down the hall away from them.

Seriously, I can’t move, and I’ve gone to the bathroom in my pants three times so far.

The Brotherhood of Bros all stand and watch, their eyes locked on Jerry Jones lazily floating down a hall and around a corner.

Heelp!

BOB all turn and look at each other.

Okay, so, now we do a cheer, or a thing.
Why?

That’s what teams do.

Right. Um, we didn’t expect this. On three, Bro Bro. One, two, three…

All the men who can echo it out loud.

BRO BRO!

They all continue down the hall, and stop at a curtain. Fred interrupts again.

No, seriously, guys, I’m not, um…

Okay, we get it Fred.

Thanks, I really just want to wash my face.

Bobby swipes a patch of paint off Fred’s face. He sticks it out, and Charlie licks it clean. Charlie smiles.

Vanilla!

Fred swipes the paint off his face, and is shocked to find it wasn’t spiked with pepper at all, but was really cake frosting the entire time. Harmon smirks.

Hey, he told me…

He didn’t tell you a damn thing, and if TK was interpreting his sign language I’m pretty sure they were both winging it. Anyways, why would we put harmful toxic paint on your face, that’s just crazy and irresponsible.

But you gave Jerry Jones a floating suit and knockout gas.

I didn’t, my friend sure did, and he bought those, they weren’t gifts.

Fred smiles and laughs.

I’m going to go become the Crazy Golf World Champion!

Do it!

BOB all wave goodbye to Fred “Michelin Man” Gorson. They then turn and walk through a curtain. The stage they step onto is blindly bright, and the roar of the completely packed stadium is massive as they have all come for this BOB rally before March Madness V. The BOB logo is on banners across the stadium and the fans all go absolutely wild. BOB-a-palooza is underway in Arlington, Texas, the boys all in front of their audience. They each produce their signature golf putters, Charlie’s glowing green with the power of poison, I guess, and Crash crackles with lightning. They all place golf balls down on the stage, and in unison, putt their balls towards the audience! The fans go absolutely wild, and start chanting!

*BOB!*BOB!*BOB!*BOB!*BOB!*BOB!*

Bobby produces his microphone. The crowd roars. The rest of the Bastards all take seats. They’re not competing at March Madness, after all, they’re just watching Bobby go ham, and be a ham, as he does. This may have been the day BOB, the Brotherhood of Bros, stole an entire stadium, but in a few days, Bobby’d be going solo in stealing the show.

Y’all are early, March Madness is this weekend!

Bobby is beaming, ear to ear, at the crowd in front of him. The crowd cheers.

WHAT’S UP ARLINGTON!

Bobby, who bellows out to the crowd, stirs them up, maybe even sparking a bit of hope in them.

So, I guess the cool fans who got free tickets today for subscribing to BastardNET, and thank you, for your valued time as our customers has been wonderful. We are, however, making a change to our service! That’s right, we are moving to a cycle, where every week, we rotate out certain programming, replacing it with others! Now, we feel this will confuse some of you, but that’s because, well, our streaming service is now completely free! That’s right, there is no cost to you, the consumer, to watch our streaming services at all, and if you get tired of the cycle, feel free to upgrade to our higher subscription tiers! Since we’re making this exciting change, we feel it’s important to announce that we will no longer be calling our streaming service BastardNET, but instead, The Brotherhood of Bros Weekly Telecasting Free!

The fans go wild about the announcement that their subscriptions to what used to be called BastardNET is now to be called BOBWTF. TK stands up, shaking his head.

Nope, no, no. It’s still BastardNET.

Okay, it’s still BastardNET, but okay.

Hell, now I know, Bobby, what about if my internet goes out, how do I watch more? Well, that’s the best part, we’re also accessible via regular TV antenna, globally!

Bobby is really pleased about whatever malarkey had to happen to make that even possible to transmit to everywhere at once using that kind of frequency.

That’s right, my friend, we have pioneered some real shit there. Expensive? Sure, but, that’s what all the grants are for! I called my congressperson, people, and I told them I had a way to reinvigorate mass communication, and they were like “Bobby, we’re going to ban Tiktok, it’s the only way” and I was like “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but check this out, we have a way to use the old frequencies the FCC allotted to certain services which simply don’t get used anymore; the air’s gone quiet save for shorthand WiFi! Well, we went ahead, and, well, it’s all very technical, plus there’s no reason for me to reveal our trade secrets, even to you, our most diehard of fans. Wouldn’t you know it, in seconds, congress unanimously ratified my bill into law, and bam, we broadcast to every TV connected to RF waves, because BOB is now in charge of the very air you breathe; specifically how much noise it gets. We’re not suffocating anybody, heh.

The crowd at AT&T Stadium is going wild. It’s not just BOB superfans, but also a tech expo because a lot of non-wrestling fans are here, this is actually a pretty big deal for the FCC to give rights for use of airwaves to a wrestling stable, moreover that someone came up with a centralized method of broadcasting those frequencies across international borders without restriction.

So, what does this mean for you? BastardNET is no longer just the finest in world class entertainment and infotainment, along with special insights to BOB promos, but it’s also the first worldwide free internet service that you just need two metal sticks to connect to.

Charlie walks forward, holding a phone.

Take my pal, Charlie, here, who happens to have this old phone!

I found it at a bus station!

Well, Charlie here is going to connect the rabbit ears to the charger port.

Bobby hands Charlie a special device that connects to the iPhone, which is locked. The screen fizzles for a second, and we see the BOB logo on the screen of the phone, all of this is also being shown on the LED displays in AT&T Stadium.

As you see, not only did our own proprietary device override all functions of the iPhone, but now it is fully connected to the internet as well as your local television stations.

The screen changes, and we see commercials for broadcasts of the Andy Griffith Show, followed by Gunsmoke. Shows from the past that are dirt cheap to get the rights to broadcast. Screen filler, at best.

How do I call my kids now, Bobby?

I, uh, it doesn’t anymore, that thing is bricked, bro, it’s just a portable TV now.

What?

I’m kidding.

Bobby boops the screen, and the normal iPhone menu is back.

Go ahead, give it a shot!

Charlie holds up the phone and fiddles around with it, his focus on the screen. He smiles.

I can download porn via antenna now!

The crowd goes absolutely wild by the announcement that masturbation has gotten easier than ever. Charlie grins.

It’ll be finished in three hours!

Yeah, that’s true, the connection is pretty slow, but, hey, free internet is better than none. Now, I get you might be asking, “But Bobby, what about those places in the world that already have free WiFi?” Well, to that, I simply say, our internet is cooler, gets you access to classic, if not historic television programming from where you live, and while much slower, is just as free, and since it’s slower, it just means the hackers have a harder time!

Jerry Jones floats out onto the stage by some happenstance.

Hey! Hey! Help me down!

The crowd cheers at the sight of Jerry Jones floating in a football uniform, completely unaware to the fact that Bobby conned him into letting him use the stadium. They just watch on, thinking it’s all a part of the show.

Jerry Jones, everybody! I’m happy to let you know that he has agreed to make BastardNET the official free WiFi of AT&T Stadium!

No I haven’t, it’s still AT&T!

Crash and Charlie push Jerry back where he came, gently, like one would play with a beach ball in a swimming pool. Jerry drifts back down the hall.

Ah, shit, get me down!

Jerry spins as he floats haplessly again down a hall and out of sight. Bobby turns and addresses the crowd amassed in front of him, when suddenly, in a dazzling poof of glittering smoke, Mark Summers, host of Double Dare appears in front of Bobby. The crowd goes crazy for the effect!

Woah, Mark Summers, host of Double Dare and What Would You Do!

That’s right Bobby, but you also forgot, I’m also the God of Miniature Golf. You see, I invented Double Dare while eating a heaping pile of ice cream at a mini-golf course after playing thirty-six holes on a highball of acid and cocaine, and as the years have passed and I no longer eat ice cream or do drugs, mini-golf has stuck with me, and I feel since you wanted something immature like a Hey Dude or some other Nickelodeon themed match since Mark was constantly doing that and you thought it was cool, but didn’t want to be obvious, it’s why you went with mini-golf! Anyway, I thought it was novel, until I found out that Fred Gorson was teaching you secret mini-golf techniques that nobody besides the true masters of mini-golf are supposed to know! As such, I have absorbed Fred’s soul and now will absorb yours if you can not defeat me in miniature golf!

Bobby looks determined. Fred was a guy he knew for the better part of an afternoon, but wasn’t that bad, and he did help Bobby swindle Jerry Jones in a very convoluted scheme. Besides, he was just discovering that yes, he indeed did have a soul, albeit a pretty twisted one, and keeping ahold of it and not letting into the hands of a game show host seemed like the ultimate game, after all.

You’re on, Summers!

The stage rolls back, and beneath it we see a massive miniature golf course already set up. Mark Summers sets up, and with an incredible shot is within two whole inches of the hole! Bobby looks down the putting surface, checks his angles, and makes his shot, also getting into similar position! Both men tie the hole! We flash cut to see the rest of the Brotherhood of Bros rooting on Bobby. We see the soulless zombie body of Fred “Michelin Man” Gorson stumble out and menace some people. Mark Summers doesn’t look like he’s messing around, and makes a shot somewhere on the course as time has passed! The second hole ends similarly, both men tied! The third, another tie! The action intensely paces along, with windmills, tunnels, bends, forks, hills, declines, and even loops that both men must navigate along the way, the treachery of the course belied by how incredibly lacking in danger miniature golf actually is in the grand scheme of things.

The tenth hole looked tight as Bobby missed a sure putt, but Mark also missed, and both men continued to be deadlocked going into the eleventh hole! Mark Summers wipes sweat from his brow. Bobby downs a Gatorade. The fifteenth hole, and Summers gets it right through the windmill. Bobby follows suit! The seventeenth hole, it’s a ramp! If you don’t make the jump, your ball rolls back to the start! Mark gets his mojo rolling, and channels his magic mini-golf secret technique! Everything goes late 1980’s, early 1990’s, and the Double Dare physical challenge music starts playing! People in red jumpsuits and blue jumpsuits show up doing radical air guitar! It’s really, really cool looking, and Summers strikes the ball, sending it smoothly over the ramp and onto the pad encircling the hole. Bobby nods, knowing what he has to do. He settles in to take his shot, but can’t summon his magic mini-golf secret technique! He just does a regular shot, and it still goes pretty good, leaping the ramp, and actually hitting the cup! It clacks at it, but bounces out! Bobby looks devastated! Both he and Summers go into the 18th hole, still completely tied!

Mark knows what’s at stake here, and it’s not just the ice cream, cocaine, hookers, and debauchery with fingerpaints after, no. This is gatekeeping at it’s finest! No less, against a guy when he’s down, tired, beaten, and underprepared, and calling yourself the best in the face of a guy trying to find himself echos within! Summers takes his shot, and it careens towards the final hole, along a narrow bridge with no rails, and if your ball falls off, it lands in water! The ball glides along the trajectory the master himself put on it, sending a message to everyone watching around the world that he was the best. Bobby watches, and looks at his neon orange ball in his hands before looking back up at Mark Summers’s custom leopard print ball. Bobby places his ball, and in short order, Thunder Knuckles walks up.

Yo, this is where you talk about Flynn being a shit competitor!

Charlie approaches.

Yeah, bro, get in there, bury that guy!

Bobby shakes his head.

Look, I got this shit, y’all were diddly farting around in OCW keeping me from this, let me go do my thing now.

Bobby summons his awesome magic mini-golf secret technique. Dark synth music fills the air as everything goes neon. His ball almost spins backwards moving forwards, defying time and space and logic as it does but it looks really, really cool. It hits Mark Summers’s ball hard, shattering it, and then sinks, a hole in one and a victory. Mark Summers screams the screams of an entire eon in a moment. He dissipates into another puff of shiny smoke. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic as Bobby raises his putter, giving a good old bloodlust roar. TK, Charlie, Raion, and Crash all back Bobby up and from behind them, Tom Morello steps out wearing a BOB shirt. Tom plays his rendition of Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix, and the rest of the Brotherhood of Bros leave the stage, probably to go get lunch or take care of their own shit. It was very sweet of them to show up and be in a Bourbon promo and all, since it's a singles match and they didn't even say much but made a cameo. What a class act bunch of stand-up guys. Morello wraps up his song, and exchanges a fistbump with Bobby. Bobby pulls his microphone out, then turns and cuts a nasty promo on Mark Flynn, which since Flynn hasn’t documented a nasty promo in several months, would be overkill if described with any detail whatsoever.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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