We open in the office of Bobby Bourbon, located within the Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts. We see Genevieve Tote, Bobby’s image consultant, seated on a desk, looking confused. Beside her are Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd. They both look equally puzzled. At Bobby’s desk, seated in the chair, is not Bobby himself, but instead a puppet of Bobby Bourbon.



I hate that thing.

Me too, bro.

Miss Tote takes note, shaking her head in disbelief.

He did not tell me about any of this. I hope he has a plan.

Oh, he probably does.

Yeah, I mean, who would have a creepy puppet made of themselves with no good reason?

I really hate that thing. Puppets are fucked up man.

Genevieve looks at Diamondback.

Are you really afraid of puppets?

Yeah, he has pupaphobia, and he has it bad.

I do not, I just hate fucking puppets man.

Genevieve taps away at her tablet.

Yeah, I agree with Cyberjaw, you do have pupaphobia.

Whatever, damn.

Diamondback stands up and looks around Bobby’s office. Noticing a vintage “Dope Show” t-shirt hanging on the wall, he plucks it from its place and drapes it over the puppet.

Really? I don’t think Mr. Bourbon would appreciate you taking his memorabilia down just to hide a puppet you’re afraid of. For all we know, this could be the big idea that Mr. Bourbon had to escalate his stocks even higher.

Where is it now?

It’s stabilized, twelve cents a share.

That’s not bad!

Genevieve rolls her eyes.

It’s not great either, but any advances are good.

Hey, there’s a note on the desk!

Genevieve’s eyes perk up.

Really?

Yeah, it’s his handwriting and everything.

Bobby’s desk, bare except for a closed laptop and a Barney Green Funko Pop figure, also holds a piece of paper nobody checked for. Since when does Bobby leave memos?

What does it say, bro?

Well, it says he went on vacation. He’d been busy fretting on his stocks so much that he needed a chance to cool his jets and relax for a change. He said he left the puppet to do his promos for him.

Miss Tote takes note.

Damn, who’s supposed to use the puppet and cut the promos? Is TK coming over?

Genevieve shakes her head.

No, I got word from Mr. Janowski that Mr. Knuckles would be in Brazil.

Both Cyberjaw and Diamondback look perplexed.

Who?

Yeah, who the fuck in Mr. Janowski?

Jimmy Janowski. The guy who does my job for Mr. Knuckles.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback still look confused. Genevieve sighs.

The guy TK always slaps and Bobby makes take laps.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback look as though they have been enlightened beyond recognition.

Oh, Flapjack!

Flapjack?

Yeah, my real name is Mike, that’s Ron, but who the hell knows that?

Flapjack has a cool nickname like we do!

Um, okay, but Flapjack?

Dude makes incredible pancakes.

Yeah, he’s gifted.

Miss Tote takes note, speaking under her breath.

He didn’t make me breakfast.

Huh?

Nothing. Well, I don’t have any..

..wait, I just got an email from Bobby.

What does it say?

“Miss Tote, I wanted to take a vacation. I’m feeling pretty wiped out, going hard in the paint for B.O.B. in the XWF for a few months straight without a day off, and considering I disappeared then got a Universal Championship opportunity, and that TK disappeared and got a Universal Championship opportunity, and that D disappeared and got an Xtreme Championship opportunity, and that Charlie disappeared and expected to fight Alias and instead got a match with the biggest name in the XWF, it only made logical sense that I disappear for a little while, at least until Spooky Savage: RISE. Who knows, maybe they’ll induct me into the Hall of Legends while I’m away for two weeks. I appreciate you looking after the Dojo and making sure that nobody touches the memorabilia in my office..”

Genevieve glares at Diamondback. Diamondback shakes his head ‘no’.

No way, I know he hates us playing with his stuff but he knows I’m terrified of puppets.

Genevieve looks back at her tablet and continues to read aloud.

“In the meantime, I left a puppet to do my promos for me, I figure it shouldn’t be too hard, considering it’s just Charlie and all, and that guy just plain sucks at sucking to be honest. Don’t tell Diamondback, I know he has pupaphobia, but since it’s Halloween, I wanted to scare him anyways. If there’s an emergency, I trust you to manage the Dojo until I come back. I really don’t wish to be disturbed while I’m enjoying my time off in Barbados.”

Damn, he went to Barbados?

==

Barbados, often considered the jewel of the Caribbean, home to fabulous resorts and perhaps the finest dining in all the Atlantic. The view of the pristine coastline with crystal clear waters itself is relaxing, but being there is near fantasy. The camera spots Bobby Bourbon, walking arm-in-arm with Bouncy Brickhouse. Bobby, who looked carefree and joyful, spots the camera. He rolls his eyes.

Nope. Excuse me, my dear.

Bouncy chuckles. Bobby tromps towards the camera.

Nope, nope, nope. I’m on vacation. I left a puppet in the office, go talk with that.

The view rattles as the camera itself is lifted up with Bobby looking directly into the lens. Suddenly the feed completely dies as Bobby destroys an XWF ninja camera.

==

Back in Bobby’s office, Miss Tote, Diamondback, and Cyberjaw all stand to leave; no reason to hang around Bobby’s office while he’s not here. As they do, from the chair, we hear a muffled voice. The puppet reaches up and pulls the shirt from its head. Diamondback faints due to the sheer shock of it all. Both Miss Tote and Cyberjaw glance at each other as the puppet begins to speak.

This is a momentous occasion in the name of the Bastardly Father.

Today we explore the prophecy of the Prodigal Son of the Bastard.

Hiya, Charlie.

So, for starters, I suppose welcome back. It’s awfully sweet of you to show up in the XWF, call out a guy who doesn’t want to compete, and try to make yourself look like shit on the behalf of B.O.B. yet again by standing in a spotlight you aren’t fucking ready for.

You’re not ready for the spotlight with me. Never have been.

Well, I know some mythos describe a prodigal son as one welcomed with open arms. That shit doesn’t fly with the Bastardly Father.

God damn, I need a fucking vacation!

I have been busting my ass, fighting my balls off, week in, week fucking out, all fucking year long.

Charlie goes off and fucks around, doing god knows what a junkie like him gets into, only to pop back in and make us all look like shit, and you know why? Only because TK got his hands on the Universal Championship and the clout chasing little shit smelled it and thinks he’s going to get famous by association.

Charlie, I promise you, after the beating I fucking lay down on you at Spooky Savage, you will go down in XWF history as the guy who got his ass whooped for a fucking piece of candy.

Fuck, the Bastardly Father truly, absolutely truly tested me the day someone thought you’d be a good fit as a Bastard. That someone? Me. I made a big fucking mistake. Screwed the pooch.

TK was right.

I mean, are you hard headed? Sure, that’s fine.

Irrational? Golden.

Stupid as a bucket of monkey piss? Well, nah, we don’t do that. Stop being a bucket of fucking monkey piss you stupid motherfucker.

We Bastards at least have the grace to listen to one another, not just lean on one another pointlessly.

Look at the body of work we have done without you, Charlie.

Everything.

Everything B.O.B. has accomplished in the XWF was done without Charlie Nickles doing a damn thing to aid or abet us in any form of enterprise. Instead you’re sitting back collecting royalties on a brand that I bled for, that TK killed for, and that D represents harder than you ever fucking could.

How about you do us all a favor and go back out to the fucking parking lot and turn a few more tricks so you can actually earn something around here instead of insisting we turn into the Brotherhood of Bros so you can look like some kinda white knight only to come back and be a complete and utter douche, challenging a guy who’s retired and gone from the XWF to a match?

Do you get how much of a laughing stock we almost turned into on account of you, Charlie? And for what, so you could be an even bigger deadbeat dad? Look at Charlie, can’t do anything for his family, won’t do anything for the men who put their necks out to help him along and show him how to not just survive in this business, no, but how to fucking dominate one.

But hey, we already know how the story pans out, don’t we, Charlie?

You get your ass whooped at Spooky Savage: RISE, which honestly sounds like a ghost getting a fucking boner.

Then you go away for a while, floating around whatever other companies you think has the easiest path laid ahead for you, until you fizzle out there and you come crawling back into the XWF absolutely fucking puzzled that nobody forgot who you were and how little you’re actually fucking worth around here.

Two time Television Champion, one of the best ever, and you piss that away so you can get hung out to dry being strung out and fried.

Fuck Charlie, you’re not even good enough for the dryer, they have to hang you outside because you’d give the lint trap a case of Hepatitis C.

Charlie, you’re so toxic I had to get a new round of immunizations just to have a match with you. A match concept, that while absolutely fantastic, is destined for the toilet bowl because you’re fucking involved in it. Like, FUCK! I could have had a rematch with Doc, I could have faced Bulk for the TV title myself and gotten B.O.B. a triple crown, I could have done anything, but instead, I have to beat the shit out of you and make you the Prodigal Bitch of the Bastard in a sundress so out of style it comes with a CD wallet.

I don’t give a shit anymore if you’re capable to learn
You’ve flunked the class, out on your ass, washed out like the churn
I know I’ve been a harsh mentor, mean and awfully stern
Too bad you never lit a spark because now it’s time to burn.
You’re not a good thing or a bad thing or even a shade of gray
You’ve overstayed your welcome and it’s time to go away
I’ma carve you up, Chucky, like this was Child’s Play
And I faced a tougher challenge when I faced off with Ned Kaye.
You’re going to bring some bullshit in a heap like a rant
Talk about me until you’re blue in the face and your breath becomes a pant
I can’t hear you, little insect, I’m a monster, you’re an ant
You gave me shit for winning the Uni, I give you shit because you can’t.
Charlie, Charlie, you’re in a fucking pickle
You want us all to provide for you like we wave a hammer and a sickle
I’ll break your jaw with a slap, your hardest shot is a tickle
Make some sense, Charlie, because you ain’t even worth a nickel.

With that, the puppet again goes limp and lifeless. Cyberjaw looks under the desk, as does the camera, where we see nothing. No puppeteer, no animatronic mechanism, no sign of what controlled it at all.