Post by Bobby Bourbon on Sept 26, 2021 23:23:59 GMT -5
The subtitle on the lower one-third of your screen reads “Dallas, Texas November 22nd, 1963” We see Bobby and TK walking around a large warehouse. Most of the place is inactive, and those who are there are seen in the background having excited but hushed conversations.
I can’t believe the President is in town!
TK stops and taps Bobby on the shoulder.
So, does he mean Eisenhower?
No, Kennedy. Today is the day he got shot.
Shit! So, what, are you going to go kill Kennedy to one up the fact I shot Lincoln?
What? No! Bro, think about it. Jesus told us to go back in time and make positive change.
So you’re going to shoot more people?
Not whatsoever.
Bobby and TK duck into a corner of the Dallas Book Depository.
Look, we’re going to wind up doing so much good for the world in one fell swoop. Imagine, bro, no escalation in Vietnam. No Nixon administration. No birth of modern conspiracy theory. No fake news. The course of history has a chance to be put on the right path starting right now!
TK rubs his chin.
Ah, so what you’re saying is…
We’re going to save John F. Kennedy.
Oh, right. How are we going to do that in this book warehouse? Do you need to find a book on how to go back in time and stop an assassination?
Nah, bro, Lee Harvey Oswald is holed up in this very building, it’s where he shot Kennedy from!
If he shot Kennedy. I heard it was the Cuban Russian Mafia and the CIA that did it.
Well, uh…
And that Lyndon Johnson had a hand in it since this is Texas and he has ties to local politics. It’s why he insisted on being sworn in on Air Force One the day of the assassination.
You seem oddly educated about this subject.
Well, I mean, it’s JFK, there are a lot of theories out there.
Right. Well, look, we’re at least going to nip one in the bud. Lee Harvey Oswald had the rifle, he had the shot, and he’s here now, so let’s just go get him.
Okay, but just fucking sayin’, we oughta cover our bases and shoot LBJ.
No, no more killing historic figures. I still feel bad about the Titanic.
There was no way we could have known we would have caused that.
No, the ham, it’s giving me a cramp. Hold on.
Bobby looks around and notices a restroom. He rushes into it. As he does, a figure approaches TK.
Hey, buddy, you got a light?
Sure.
TK pulls out a plastic Bic lighter and hands it to the man. The man puts his rifle down.
What’s this thing?
It’s a lighter.
How does it work?
Jesus, really?
The guy hands the lighter back to TK. TK Lights it and the man leans in and lights a cigarette.
Thanks. Name’s Lee. What's yours?
Thunder.
Thunder? What, uh, kinda name is that?
Dutch.
You ever been to Europe?
A few times.
I’ve been to the Soviet Union twice, my wife is from there.
Nice.
The man, Lee Harvey Oswald, looks around.
Are you a fed?
Oh fuck no.
TK pulls out a joint and lights it with the lighter. Lee Harvey Oswald looks surprised.
So you’re just a beatnik?
I think I beat him.
Lee Harvey looks confused by the response. As he does, Bobby comes out of the bathroom looking very relieved.
Seriously, bro, never time travel on a full stomach. Some funky shit there.
Lee Harvey Oswald turns around and sees Bobby. Bobby’s eyes go wide.
Holy shit!
Yeah.
TK grabs Lee Harvey Oswald and puts him in a hammerlock. Bobby picks up the Carcano rifle from the floor.
LHO: You said you weren’t feds!
We aren’t, we’re doing what Jesus told us to do.
Yup. Making positive change.
You can’t do this to me!
Look.
Bobby stops and looks directly at Lee Harvey Oswald.
We know what you had planned today. It’s in the history books. Call us your guardian angels right now. We’re not just here to prevent an assassination, we’re here to help you too. How do you think we knew where to go, when to go there, and who to look for? Today, Mr. Oswald, we’re saving your life too. Your wife and daughter deserve it.
Lee Harvey looks down at the ground, as though these were just the words he needed to hear on this very day.
Alright. So what are we doing then?
TK releases the hammerlock.
We’re just going to take a walk. It’s a beautiful day in November, the city is alive, let’s us just enjoy ourselves.
Yeah, and maybe get something to eat, I’m dying to try stuff before high fructose corn syrup became a thing.
Didn’t you just say you shouldn’t eat while we’re, uh, on the job?
That was only one instance, as a man of science the experiment is ongoing.
You guys are fucking weird.
Bobby and TK exchange a no-look fistbump at the notion.
Mr. Oswald, where do we find some good chow around here?
I dunno.
Wait… I got a question while we’re at it. Mr. Oswald do you know why Lycana is relevant?
I… Don’t know who that is?
HA! Knew it!
Bobby, TK, and Lee Harvey Oswald leave the Dallas Book Depository. They walk up the block towards the phone booth time machine, which is right beside the grassy knoll. All three men stop and watch as Kennedy’s procession begins to come through Dealey Plaza. Oswald’s chest heaves as he watches.
Wow.
Damn, hot-wife too. Crazy he was fucking all those other chicks.
You know, fellas, now that you’re here, you’re right. I have a whole life to think about, and I love and miss my wife. I need to make amends with her. My little girl too. I just wanted to thank the both of you, I really feel like you gave me a new chance today!
No problem, Mr. Oswald. You know…
With that, the rifle slips from Bobby’s hands and clacks against the hard ground. The hair-trigger of the rifle goes off, and with a loud bang, history is set as it’s always been. The crowd panics, Jackie Kennedy tries to flee the limousine as her husband is shot.
God damnit!
Oooh, you did it this time!
Fuck!
That wasn’t good, was it?
Bobby and TK look at each other and nod in silent agreement. They shove Lee Harvey Oswald away from them and scramble into the time machine. Bobby starts mashing buttons immediately.
Hey, where are you guys going?
Gotta go!
Good luck, fella!
Well, at least we know who shot Kennedy now.
TK looks directly at Bobby with a sneer. Bobby rolls his eyes.
Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.
But, hey! What about me?
The time machine shoots out of 1963. Lee Harvey picks himself up and dusts himself off.
YOU NO GOOD BASTARDS!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Them No Good Bastards are standing outside of Chicagoland Speedway post Relentless night two.
Did you see that shit? OCW sent Bam Miller to jump Jim Ceadus. Oh, wow, kid. OCW is trying to get you fucking killed in that fucking ring.
No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.
TK and Bobby give their signature no-look fist bump.
That’s not why we’re here though.
TK pauses and looks at Bobby and gives him a slap on the shoulder. TK looks back into the camera with a cocky smile plastered on his face.
This isn’t some fucking drill or practice round, Fuck-o’s. It’s time we take you down and kick this shit into overdrive. Cashe trying to live his life like ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles except without the style or cool ass hair. Cashe and Riddle aren’t above the laws of tag team rasslin’. When you’re talking tag team rasslin’ you’re talking about Us No Good Bastards we are the judge jury executioners, and luck fucking has it, goddamn funeral arrangers. We just so happen to have two very nice plots on your resumes just for you two goddamn numb tounge’d pussys. Booked as legends but talked like shit. We live for moments like October tenth! Just like we started at Quarantined. We’re taking over everything and our cups haven’t ranith the fuck over yet. We will not be overcome by fuck boys like you. ‘Ol Thunder KNuckles assures you that, mother fuckers.
TK waves in Bobby to talk that good shit.
Yo, Cashe I have to admit if this was some kinda pillow fight. You two poor shit bottles would stand a chance but un-fucking-fortunately for you. It's a goddamn rassling match and you haven't been very fucking good at those lately, have you? They can drum you two up as legends of OCW if they want, but come October tenth, when the fucking dust settles in that ring in London. The only thing macabre will be how we leave your goddamn used-up bodies. You’ll be completely mastered by some Bastards and sent back down to the minor leagues. Where you and Riddle can play big tough guy, hotshots, but ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles promises that in London you’re going to be made to look fucking foolish. Mostly because you fucks don’t even have the slightest clue on how to tackle Us No Good Bastards. I mean, if you did you wouldn't be playing the fucking “Me” and “I” games, that you are. No, you'd be trying your best, and let’s be fucking fair here, and failing to work as a team. Nope, you mother fuckers are bound and determined to make an already hard night, even goddamn harder. That's on you fucking shit eaters.
Did this idiot refer to himself as a cheap leather steak? Fuck me, TK, these kids aren’t even the main dish, and son, when we get to roasting you, once you’ve been dished out, you’re going to be the finest most succulent piece of meat fresh off the fucking grill. We can work miracles with whatever cut you come as, but rest assured, Jason, that butcher shop that’s opening up on October 10th in London will have a line around the block looking for the pieces of you we carved up and sell for ten cents a pound, or whatever they call it in London. Holy fuck, I will say, we have faced some dumb motherfuckers in our day, but you take the taco. You were the head of your special education class, weren’t you kiddo? The next time you cut a promo, see if you can do it without cue cards, or at least ones not written in emoji because those letters and words are too complicated for you. Cyrus, tell us, what color of finger paint does Cashe’s breath smell like? You claim you’re defying odds, son, you’re just the lowest common denominator garbage who couldn’t find a win in a dictionary, because you never learned to read.