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B.O.B. D · (08-29-2023)

God, I was bored.

It happened from time to time, especially with all the going-ons of B.O.B. Rivalries, briefcases, and Title shots, the Brotherhood's presence could be felt from the top of the card, all the way to the bottom. At first I'd found it insulting that I was opening the show against Mastermind and his wannabe B.O.B.bers, but it eventually dawned on me that it was actually a privelege. Sometimes, in war, you gotta do the dirty job nobody wants to do. That doesn't make you less important than the next guy, it just means you're willing to whatever it takes to make sure your side succeeds.

I found myself in possession of a Tag Team Title shot, a prize that wasn't as luxurious as it sounded. Championship matches were passed out like hot cakes, and I likely could've gotten one had I requested it. But B.O.B. don't ask, we take............... and even though I had to give some money to an orange orangutan in order to get my shot, at least I wasn't begging management for it.

It was hard waiting around for Warfare, knowing I had another opportunity at gold once it was over. I just wanted to go to the ring, put Mastermind down, and focus on the bigger things that lay ahead; but I still had an entire day of waiting to do.

My boredom brought me to the arena, a day in advance, with one particular thing on my mind: getting a t-shirt. I knew the vendors set up early for the sake of convenience, and my status as an active competitor meant backstage access anytime, anywhere.

Eventually, I came across a small stand selling various memorabilia, more specifically, the shirts I'd been searching for. A teenager, likely working for college tuition, greeted me as if I was an average fan.

"Sorry, sir," the boy, whose name nametag read 'Trent' apologized. "But we're not selling anything 'til tomorrow!"

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed, pointing at one of Trent's items. "I'm the mother fucker whose shirt you're profiting off of!"

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"Then again, probably not since it looks like something an idiot designed in Microsoft Paint!"

At that moment, an overtly gay man working on something in the back dropped what he was doing and ran away, crying.

"What the hell was that about?"

"That's Drew," Trent informed me. "He designed that shirt........."

Still annoyed with Trent's lack of recognition for me, I showed little sympathy. "Well, DID he do it in Paint?"

".................yes."

"And is he an idiot?"

"..............kinda."

My arms fling open, trying to get the kid to see my point. "Then fuck him!"

"I'm so sorry, sir..........."

"That's B.O.B. D to you!" I snapped, a finger in his face.

"Sorry, B.O.B. D" he expressed his regret. "M-may I offer you a free shirt as a token of my deepest apologies?"

That got me grinnin'. "Absolutely."

Seeing my smile, Trent matched it with one of his own as he turned around and grabbed one of my shirts. He held it out for me, but I refused to take it.

"I don't want one of those raggedy ass excuses for a cum rag!" I bellowed, tossing it back at him. "I'm looking for something a little more........... specific."

"Specific?" the kid questioned, putting my shirt back. "We just got a bunch of Ned Kayes in.............."

"No."

"Hmmmm," he pondered, looking through his stock for suggestions. "What about The Just-Us League? Those guys are quite a team!"

"Yeah, ooookay!" I scoffed, rejecting their admittedly colorful merchandise. "Those guys can give me one of their shirts when they beat me; that is, if they're still Champions by the time I get my shot at them! Which brings me to what I'm ACTUALLY looking for: Mastermind."

The kid looked confused. "Mastermind?" He searched around for my wrestler(if you could call him that) of choice, but to no avail.

"Damn," I said with surprise. "I didn't know he was so popular!"

"He's not," the young vendor responded. "As a matter of fact, I don't think I've EVER sold one!" Just then, a much older gentleman walked into view, whom Trent called to. "Hey, Jerry, do we have any Mastermind shirts?"

The man looked as though he'd seen a ghost, causing him to simply repeat the name in a whisper. "Mastermind..............." He stood there in awe for a good twenty seconds before finally snapping out of it. "I haven't heard that name in oh so long.............."

Jerry gestured for me to follow him behind the booth, which I did. He took me over to a dust covered door that looked like the janitor's closet and opened it. I waited outside as he went in and rummaged around to a moment, eventually coming back out with exactly what I'd been looking for................

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"I haven't sold one of these in ages," the old man reminisced, giving me the shirt, while letting out a chuckle. "Mastermind used to buy these things out all the time................ that was back when he was winning, of course."

"Have you ever seen a fan purchase one of these bad boys?" I asked, slinging it over my shoulder like a Championship.

"No, can't say I have."

"Makes sense," I uttered, unsurprised. "His only fans are that cult of Misfits that follow him around like he was Marilyn Manson."

"I think you mean Charles Manson," Jerry attempted to correct me.

"I know what I meant!" I snapped back. "Mastermind's a pale ass, rib-less mother fucker who sucks his own dick!"

"That turned out to be untru.........." Trent's manager tried to correct me, but decided to move on. "Hang on. you're Bi........... I mean, B.O.B. D! Why do you want your opponent's t-shirt? Is this your way of talking trash, as the kids say?"

He was on to me. "Absolutely not!" I lied, the sarcasm likely going over the man's head. "The truth is, I've always wanted a shirt of one of XWF's greatest Xtreme Champions of all-time, and seeing how the only other way to get one of these treasures is to actually LOSE to him, I figured I'd come here and see if y'all sold vintage garbage." I held the shirt up, which smelled like the intriguing combination of moth balls and moth shit. "And, lo & behold, you do!"

"Are you implying you're not going to lose?" Jerry questioned, eyeing me over the top of his horn rimmed glasses.

"Is Melanie crazy? Does Antony The Jerk spell his name wrong?" I began, clutching the shirt tighter as I went on. "Did Kris Von Bonn dub himself 'The Hammer' to make up for the tiny nail hidden in his tights?! Does Mastermind have to give shirts away to his unconscious victims because it's the only way anybody would ever accept one?!?!! The answer is yes, yes, yes, and HELL yes!!!!"

Jerry seemed taken aback by my intensity, but that didn't stop me from cutting a quick, impromptu promo on my opponent.

"I need this Mastermind shirt because there ain't no chance in hell he pins my shoulders to the mat for the 1, 2, 3. Sure, he's made me tap out under special circumstances, but I will NEVER be ashamed to admit I tapped to be fresh for my Title shot that I knew Vinnie and Lacklan could handle winning for me. How's THAT for mastering one's mind? Make them think they made you tap out from something they were doing when, in actuality, all you essentially did was fake an orgasm. Well, that's exactly what I did. It could've been ANYONE in that match, but it just so happened to be Mastermind. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Hop in a time machine, go back, and step on a butterfly; and you'll find out just how easily it could've been EDWARD, Luna, or hell, even Ned! Once I was set on letting my teammates do the rest of the work, I was done!"

"I........... I see............... a shaken up Jerry barely managed to spit out.

"If Mastermind wants to hold onto the past, by all means, let him. I've been there, taken comfort in one little tidbit you can't seem to let anybody forget. Mine's that I beat Thad Duke; but the only reason I bring it up anymore is to annoy the hell out of him! So, if Mastermind wants to annoy the hell out of me, he'll bring up his elimination of myself like he's a Flock of Seagulls bragging about that ONE song they had years ago. And just like that one hit, Mastermind'll be running SO far away after I'm through with him!"

"Bu............but what about the Misfits?" Jerry sputtered.

"Bring 'em on!" I declared. "I'm SO confident, I won't even bring B.O.B. with me. Which is good, because we've got bigger fish to fry than a group of escaped mental patients named after a shitty band my brother used to listen to during his punk rock phase!"

"I kind of like the Misfits.........."

"So did my brother," I shrugged. "Then he hit puberty!........... something Mastermind has yet to do, despite being born in............" I pulled out my phone and checked MM's XWF profile page. "1974." I looked up, only for my head to immediately dart back down upon seeing Mastermind's age. "1974?!?!! Mastermind's older than you are!!! Jesus Christ, they're gonna lock me away for committing seniorcide.............."

A paranoid Jerry gulped upon hearing this, but he had nothing to worry about. He cooperated, hell, even knew who I was! That goes a long way in D's eyes; it's just unfortunate the same couldn't be said about his employee.

"Just so you know," I remarked in a snooty tone. "That Trent kid? He offered to give me a free shirt for show tickets. I didn't think it was very ethical, but he didn't seem to mind..........."

"Say no more," Jerry told me, holding a hand up. "It'll be dealt with."

The manager walked past me and began scolding, and possibly hitting Trent as he cried like Ralphie's friend in a Christmas Story when his mother beats him for swearing. I didn't care, though, I'd finally gotten my shirt.

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