XWF cameras caught up with Bobby and TK, post-match, Anarchy, February thirteenth, in BOB's locker room. It’s mostly vacant these days, Bobby has done a job of redecorating it since only he had been using it, and is laying out in a California king-sized bed he had put in.

"Alright, listen, bro, here’s the play. Thad's got my Xbux stashed somewhere. Probably in his office, maybe his car. Either way, we're getting it back tonight. No more waiting.”

Bobby wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I hear ya. But what if... Crazy idea here... We just do what we do best, jump Thad, and take it from him?"

"Too fucking risky. We need precision. We need a strategy. We need-"

Before he could finish, an XWF official stormed into the room.

"TK, Bobby, you two are needed right now,"

The official in a suit looked damned pleased with himself to interrupt.

"Who the fuck are you?”

"Doug-"

"It was repourical!"

Bobby held out his arm toward TK, as if to say, hear him out, knowing his Bastard in Arms meant 'rhetorical'.

"For what?"

"XWF's business development department has set up a public outreach event to show that we give back to the community. Just so happens, you two have been personally selected to participate."

Bobby squinted, side-eyeing Doug.

"Why?"

"You guys have to do what you're told. Things have to go the way management sees it or there will be repercussions."

TK's right eye twitched.

"Well, now you get to teach a lesson about sportsmanship, teamwork, and being positive role models."

"Pfft. More like learn our lessons.”

Bobby looks deviously excited. He sits up from the massive bed that the XWF flies to every arena for him.

"Oh man, easy payday, and we get to be role models?!”

"Plus, we have plans tonight. Big plans. Important fucking plans."

"Not anymore. This is going to be broadcast on XWF live streaming services."

Doug points at his clipboard.

"You two are already booked to appear at the local youth center."

TK's jaw clenched so hard it could crack his teeth.

"And when exactly is this happening?"

"In twenty minutes."

There was silence as Doug walked out of the locker room. Then, Bobby sighed, breaking the silence.

"Son of a bitch. Another corporate stooge, pretty sure that guy was Pretty Pinnacle, a Peter Principal knockoff"

TK wiped a hand down his face.

"This is Thad’s doing. I fucking know it."

"Yep."

"He knew we were coming, so he pulled this corporate bullshit to keep us busy while he moves my fucking Xbux."

"Sounds about right."

"Alright. Fine. We go. We smile. We shake hands. But the second it’s over, we are hunting that little shit down."

Bobby smirked.

"Bet. Let's ruin some kids' bad day with an awesome day!"

TK looks pissed as Bobby looks like he’s making lemonade out of the lemons handed to him knowing afterward they’d only piss excellence.

TNGB made their way to the large black SUV that would be taking them to the youth center. Exhausted following a grueling match at Anarchy, still in their ring gear, and more ready for a well-deserved rest, they arrived at the youth center, exiting the vehicle while cameras and a set were in place. The kids began to scream as they saw TNGB on stage.

“Hey, XWF children, and other Los Angelinos! We know you’re at this youth center because, well, childcare is expensive so your parents send you here to be away from the house when you’re not at school, mostly because they have better shit to do!”

One reporter cleared his throat as Bobby utters the word ‘shit’.

“But, well, you’re lucky, because me and my best friend, TK, two men known for the most violent move in wrestling history, are here to be role models, talking about stuff like sportsmanship.”

TK folded his arms across his chest, knowing he’s a world-class athlete.

“Sportsmanship means we beat them down but let them still have careers after the match instead of maiming them. You wanna talk about ‘fair play’? Let me ask you something, when we're out there dismantling thrown-together tag teams, did anyone stop to ask us if it's ‘fair’ that we're naturally fucking superior? Try payin’ your bills with ‘good sportsmanship.’ Let me know how that fucking works out.”

“That’s right, ole’ buddy! Then, there’s teamwork.”

“Right, as in when we use teamwork the opponents are doomed.”

“Correct, and we’re also now positive role models.”

“Goddamn right.”

“See, we fuck people up, leaving their faces bloody and their body’s in agony, just because that’s the kind of shit you gotta do to win a tag team wrestling tournament sometimes. Our opponents didn’t have to come to work and lose, shit, they could have fucked off and been safe!”

The reporter cleared his throat again.

“Do you have to swear so much?”

[bobby]“Fuck off if you don’t like it, this is a public youth center, not a Mormon church!”

“Yeah. Now, kids, we want to talk to you about the biggest fib of all; sharing.”

“Yeah.”

“I know a lot of you probably come from broke-ass families that buy ‘family-style’ dinners because they ain’t got enough food to go around! Like, for real, the only person I'm splittin' shit with is Bobby Bourbon, and he ain't no poverty-stricken socialist fuck. Y’all been raised on some ‘sharing is caring’ bullshit. Oh, and before these other ass mites can jump in all like: ‘Oh, Thunder Knuckles, be nice! Learn to share!’ Fuck that. Losers. Losers share. Winners fucking take.”

“Nice one!”

“Sharing is a fucking weakness.”

“Don’t share your cookies, you eat them.”

“Don’t share your crayons, if some other doofus kid can’t color, fuck ‘em.”

“Because when you share shit, you lose it. That’s just math, dipshits.”

“Right, TK, one time I shared my favorite TNGB shirt with a girl, and I never got it back.”

“Fuck her!”

The XWF official, Doug, rushed out onto the stage, waving his hands, breaking up the happenings.

“Okay, kids that was Them No Good Buddies…”

“The fuck did you just call us?”

“We’re Them No Good Bastards.”

“Uh, right! Them No Good Bastards! Let’s give them a-”

The mic cut out as the center’s director yanked the cord from the speaker. From the side of the stage, a reporter stepped forward.

"Uh, Bobby, TK, would you say this was a successful outreach? Maybe, we could tone down a little of the language?"

Bobby blinked. Tired of being told what to do and without hesitation, he pounced at the reporter, his hands going to the reporter's throat.

"Tone down? I'll show you toned down.”

The camera crew panicked, their feed instantly cut to commercial. People rushed toward the stage, trying to intervene. That’s when TK jumps into action.

"Oh, we're doing this shit now?"

BOOM! The first guy who reached Bobby got decked so hard he pissed his pants. One of the youth center volunteers got clotheslined out of his shoes for trying to reach TK's tag team partner. Bobby grabbed the reporter’s wired microphone and started swinging it like a makeshift whip at anyone dumb enough to get close. Security came rushing in. One guard lunged at TK keeping him busy. Bobby, ever aware, picked up a plastic donation box and spiked it into the crowd. Bills exploded everywhere.

"FREE MONEY, BITCHES!"

TK sees the money floating in the air in slow motion and looks horrified. More security guards swarmed in, trying to restrain TNGB. TK dodged, ducked, dipped, dived, and dodged, then mule-kicked another dude in the nuts. Like a bull in a china shop, Bobby knocked over an entire snack table, sending cookies and juice boxes flying into the air. Finally, eight security guards and a random dwarf managed to overpower the two of them, dragging them toward the exit. TK hit a final kick that caught some poor kid in the jaw. Bobby twisted free just long enough to flip off an entire row of children before getting tackled again.

"You little Bastards better be fans for life!"

The doors to the center swung open, and TNGB was ejected onto the pavement outside. TK sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"I'll show you toned down, he said."

Bobby shrugged.

"Looked like Thad."

Before TK could reply, the sound of footsteps came from behind them. It was Doug, smug as fuck, clipboard in hand, face locked in that corporate smirk that made Bobby's fists twitch.

“Impressive showing there, gentlemen. Truly a shining example of public outreach.”

"You come out here just to be a condescending prick, or?”

Doug flipped through his clipboard.

“Well, as entertaining as this was, management isn’t exactly impressed with your… performance.”

"Ain’t that a shocker."

Doug cleared his throat.

“Which brings me to business. After some deliberation, XWF management has decided to withhold your paychecks for several days.”

Needless to say, TK did not look thrilled.

“That includes your Anarchy appearance as well as your victory bonus.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

Doug smiled.

“I assure you, Thunder Knuckles, I’m not.”

"Listen, shithead-"

Bobby grabbed TK’s shoulder before fists started flying again.

“Easy, this is exactly what they want.”

Doug smirked.

“Oh, look at that, Bobby gets it.”

“Management just wants to get in your head. They want you too pissed off to think straight. They want you to slip up, so they can fuck with you more.”

Doug gave a condescending nod.

"That’s the spirit but I'm not just here about your attitudes. It’s also about your next match.”

He looked down at his clipboard and then back up.

“On the next Anarchy, you two will face Roger and Jake Borden.”

TK and Bobby tilted their heads. Doug snickered as he turned and walked off. Bobby and TK each flipped him off in stereo.

“Well, I don’t about you TK, but I’m pissed.”

“You know damn right I am too!”

“That said, we’re not facing Roger, we’re not facing Borden.”

“Fuck no, we’re destroying those fucks.”

“Right.”

“Do you really think for an instant, these fucking dorks, deserved a bye in the Bashmaster Classic?”

“Sounds like someone’s been mopping the floors and dusting at the Duke mansion.”

“Yeah, they’re maids while we’re made guys.”

“They’re a pair of lambs, and we’re the lions. Welcome to the slaughter, boys, you two are the next victims to fall in the name of the Bastardly Father.”

“Does anybody think these clowns can lace our boots?”

“Heaven’s no!”

"Hell yeah, Bobby.”

Them No Good Bastards finally headed off to do what they usually do after winning a match.