This Saturday, Robbie Bourbon, Man of the People and sworn do-gooder for the U.S.A., faces off against American war hero Bearded War Pig in a cage match.
THE NEW CIVIL WAR
We open to see a moderate contemporary bedroom. A full hamper sits in the corner next to a desk. The desk is home to a laptop and a disheveled menagerie of all manner of items; a stick of deodorant, a remote control of some kind, a paper plate covered with screws, and three empty bottles of Coca-Cola. On the wall is a mounted TV, flatscreen, as if you can actually find tube models anymore. Of course, proving this is a bedroom, is the bed in the center, flanked on either side by a dresser, and currently holding two figures. The first figure is difficult to determine in the dimly lit room, lying, the slow heave of sleeping breath showing whomever it is to be alive and well. Sitting next to the figure, just watching the sleeping happen, is Robbie Bourbon.
Robbie is in a pair of boxer briefs and occasionally caresses the sleeping figure next to him, a dulcet expression on his face. The figure turns in the bed, and she rubs her nose briskly before putting her hand down beside her again. Blue continues to sleep as Robbie just kind of watches her.
"Jesus. I can't believe it. One in a billion. Nah, one in around seven billion. Eight billion? I guess I'll Google it or something. Of all the people in the world, I found you." Robbie smiles, unawares that his thoughts are somehow audible again courtesy some whimsical fuckery at the hands of the crack XWF production staff. How'd they even get a camera crew in here? Robbie scratches his crotch. "I wanna just jizz all over that face, it's so angelic and perfect, but then she'd be pissed. I've pushed my luck too much lately."
Robbie stands up from the bed as Blue stirs from the motion of their queen sized mattress.
"Shit, sorry babe." Robbie bends and gently kisses his sleeping girlfriend, then turns and puts on a pair of gym shorts. "I would totally jizz all over your ass, make a big stain on your panties too. I think that'd probably be pushing my luck. It's a little rapey." Robbie scratches the trunk of his torso, and yawns briefly before rubbing his eyes. "I wish I could sleep, like you do. It's tricky, every time I lay down with you I feel like I'm sixteen all over again. Or something. I don't know, it's just, awe. How did I hit the jackpot? How did I get that one in whatever the fuck the earth's population is that's just perfect?" Robbie stares at Blue's ass.
We hear a muffled tone, and a light from the desk illuminates the room with a pale blue glow. Robbie confusedly walks over to the desk and looks at the alerted device.
"Who is hitting you up at this hour?" Robbie picks up the phone. "I love you honey, but I think I need to turn your phone off." Robbie puts his sausage sized fingers to the side of the phone, but stops. "Barry O? The President? Jesus, this must be important or something." Robbie turns to Blue, who is still sleeping, then turns back to the phone. "Get some rest, babe." Robbie turns and looks at another phone on the desk, this one wearing an Otter Box. It's silent. "Hrmm, no word from the Vice President, it can't be that important, unless it's so important that Joe hasn't gotten word yet." Robbie sets Blue's phone down and stares at his own, waiting for a message from the Vice President to echo whatever the President had to say to his girlfriend. "Yup, any minute now. I'm here to fight for America, a bona fide national treasure, Joe will hit me up any second. Ooh, maybe Obama himself! I still haven't been given direct orders from the President!" Robbie scratches his ass, then rubs his nose, and sets his phone down. "Well, I'm sure Joe is probably typing something up cool, since I'm getting the heads up anyway, no harm, no foul." Robbie picks up his girlfriend's phone again, checks the message, and reads it to himself.
"Indigo, civil strife is at a boiling point, you must prevent Ocher from creating another civil war, utilize discretion. Need to know basis only, do not tell Biden. Shit, I really shouldn't have read that. Damn, fuck, damn! She's gonna know, too! I can delete the text..." Robbie presses the face of the phone a few times. "There. Well, there's a new civil war approaching, huh? Ocher is behind it! Well, Ocher, I'm going to beat your ass. This looks like a job for Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon." Robbie sets the phone down, and turns back to the bed. He lies down, and as soon as he does, we hear the voice of Blue, loud and clear.
What was it?
Oh, uh, my phone was just giving me an alert that I have a match this Saturday.
Okay. Have fun, I love you.
Love you too.
Robbie leans and kisses his girlfriend again as she rolls over. Robbie stares at her ass again. He again sits up and gets off of the bed. rubbing his eyes through the holes in his mask, which he apparently goes to bed in.
"Ocher. Hrmm. Must be some kind of terror cell or something. I gotta do my homework." Robbie walks to the desk, gently pulls the rolling chair out so as not to make noise, and sits. He flips the screen of the laptop up. "Alright, Ocher. Google, go." A few swift keystrokes are heard as he looks at the screen. "All it's bringing up is some kind of orangish color. What the hell, these Ocher guys must be bad news if you can't even Google them like ISIS or the Unibomber or that kid who raped a chick and got like no jail time. Fuck that guy. Seriously, orange? What the fuck could it mean?" Robbie scratches his masked skull, then types again. "Aha, one in seven point four billion."
Robbie gently places the laptop screen back down, shutting the computer. He stands, and walks to a door, and opens it. He steps out into a plain and empty hallway, and walks a few paces to a staircase leading down.
"I gotta get the guys in on this. Cyberjaw and Diamondback are probably up playing video games or something, and Robo-Rob doesn't need sleep. They can help me pinpoint this Ocher thingy and deal with it, and Blue will never know I deleted a text from the president to her." Robbie descends the stairs and we see he's in his dojo floor, which still stirring to life in the wee hours of the morning. He walks over to his Dunkin Donuts and gets himself a cup of coffee, then walks over to his office. Inside, we see the Bourbon Men, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Ash, Robbie's personal stylist, and Robo-Rob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask, congregated and waiting.
Woah, what the hell are you guys doing here?
What, we're always hanging out in here when you do a promo.
Robbie turns and looks directly at the camera.
Oh, shit...
What?
Nothing, just, damn. Fuck. Hello, XWF, and hello, America.
So, about Bearded War Pig...
I'll handle Bee Dubbya Pee. He's got a lot of spirit, and he's seen shit before, so at least he's not a fucking pussy about shit.
You'll be locked in the cage with that guy, and he's a little wacko.
Nah.
What, he's a lot wacko?
Nope. He's getting locked in a cage with me. Sure, he's seen hell, but nobody survives damnation twice. He might have missed out on the Medal of Honor, but come Saturday, when he steps into the steel confines with the Saturday Night Smasher, he'll earn a Purple Heart for damn sure. Just another casualty in the cage.
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