Post by Thunder Knuckles on Oct 3, 2021 23:28:16 GMT -5
Across the bottom one-third of the screen, we see the scroll says “April 30, 1945. Berlin.” As it does, the sky turns red and lightning pierces the sky as it has, using the finest special effects of 1989, in each production Them No Good Bastards have put out so far in these DVD deleted scenes special will be ran on BOBTube BastardNet. The phone booth roars into the scene and slams into the ground, surrounded by rubble. Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles step out of the phone booth.
This is not the studio where they made Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III.
Huh. It sure ain’t. Wonder where we are then.
What buttons did you press?
Yep.
Damnit, Bobby, this is serious. We need to unmake that one movie from 1993 that barely anybody but us remembers.
I know, bro, but after Jesus wanted us to do something right…
Like unmaking that fucking awful goddamn movie.
Well, I figured, what would Jesus do? I figured his hand would guide us through time, so I booped whatever buttons I figured Jesus would.
Jesus never had a fucking time machine!
You never saw Hamlet II.
You keep bringing that movie up.
Bobby steps past some of the rubble and looks around.
Well, the signs are in German, there’s rubble everywhere, and I’m pretty sure those planes are dropping bombs like crazy over there which explains all the big booms we’re hearing. I think we’re in World War II.
That’s not Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III.
Well, hold on, I see a building over there, looks pretty secluded, maybe it’s a bomb shelter, maybe what Jesus wants us to do is help those folks.
Well, maybe saving a few lives from being ended could be his fucking plan.
Bobby and TK head towards the bunker. As they approach, they see two armed boys looking at them in awe. They’re both armed with submachine guns, but are too terror stricken to raise them.
“Halt!”
“Hör auf oder wir schießen!”
“Nur wichtige Parteimitglieder drin!”
Bobby, I think that guy said fucking party! I wonder if they have good German beer, oh shit, or goddamn Jagermeister!
Bobby’s demeanor swiftly changes.
No, there’s no Jagermeister in there.
How do you know?
Party in Berlin in this time doesn’t mean anything good.
So, no fucking beer?
Nah. But have you ever wanted to be like the cover to a Captain America comic book?
PLEASE STOP SPEAKING FUCKING NERD!
If you keep saying I’m sounding like a nerd I will punch you square in the face. I mean, in all respect, I’m not saying I’m going to beat your ass, but I will punch you in the face.
Well, you’re sounding like a nerd.
Noted.
Well, what do we do about these guys?
Follow my lead.
TK nods, Bobby turns to the guards.
Weinerschnitzel! Kindergarten!
Strudel?
The guards look perplexed by TNGB’s odd choice of German.
“Ich glaube, sie sind Zeitreisende!”
The other guard looks at the first.
“Hör auf wie ein verdammter Nerd zu sprechen.”
I think he called you a fucking nerd, bro.
In their folly, the guardsmen are distracted long enough for TK and Bobby to rush them. TK clocks the first guardsman with a ferocious overhand left, sending him to the ground. Bobby grabs the second and bashes his head into the concrete wall behind him. TK bends over to pick up the submachine gun.
What, what are you doing?
Nazi relics, antique shops love this shit.
I guess.
Damn it!
What?
I didn’t get to ask those guys if they knew why Lycana is relevant.
You’ll get it next time, bro. No worries.
You’re right.
Bobby opens the door. From within, both he and TK hear the sounds of music playing down a lengthy corridor. Both Bobby and TK cautiously walk down the hall in silence. The sounds of Beethoven get louder and louder as each of them continues down the long, dimly lit hall. They finally make it to the dark oak door at the end. From behind, the music is at it’s loudest, the source obviously within.
Are you ready?
What for?
Bro, we’re going to kill Hitler!
Woah, dude. That’s kinda fucking baller.
I know! I always wanted to kill Hitler!
Bobby and TK exchange a no-look fist bump as only TNGB can. They then quietly air guitar with their OCW tag team championships, then their XWF tag team championships, because they have so many. Then do a no-look double boot knocking down the door to see a large chamber on the other side, the Ode to Joy blaring. They also see Mecha Hitler.
static.wikia.nocookie.net/wolfenstein/images/6/64/Jag_Mecha.png
Holy fuck! MECHA HITLER!
…
Bobby doesn’t say a word, knowing what to do. Before Mecha Hitler can get his quad-minigun cannons firing, he rushes the outrageous contraption and slugs it in the dome. It rocks the mech suit, causing it to flail about like it’s in panic mode. This is when the quad miniguns start firing. TK is running around avoiding bullets headed towards, what looks like, certain death. Bobby then grabs the entire mech suit and hoists it vertically. As he does, TK rushes over and leaps…
RAINBOW LASER DEATH SEQUENCE!
The mech suit is smoking and sparking after the complete destruction rendered unto it by the most devastating move in all of wrestling. The hatch opens, and Hitler stumbles out of it, dazed and coughing. Bobby and TK walk over to Hitler calmly as he screams in terror.
Bobby, how do you say “I’m going to shit myself before I die”, in German?
I think it’s what he’s saying right now.
TK takes the submachine gun he had from earlier and places the barrel in Hitler’s mouth as he is on his knees, begging. Bobby and TK then do a no-look fist bump then each place a pointer finger on the trigger of the weapon. They then pull it in stereo.
*Blam!*
A single shot empties from the weapon, and Hitler drops to the ground surrounded by the wrecked mech suit and his own brain matter.
Now that’s doing the lord’s work.
A-fucking-men, brother Bourbon.
The deleted scene ends abruptly. Thus, making you wish you had more.
Them No Good Bastards are Hanging out in their strip club.
Brother Knuckles, I have heard what both of these fools have had to say, and they certainly don’t seem to be on the same page whatsoever when they say it. You have Cashe tossing metaphors all willy nilly about how excited he is to face us because we’re the cream of the crop and his team, well, ain’t. You have Riddle going off about how he always gives his all in the ring and that’s the secret to his success. Well, we do too, only we’re better. Funny that, isn’t it. So you two fools want to talk about how what you did at Soldier Field was an accomplishment, how you came, pulled the trigger, and let the bullets fly. Well, fuck me, gentlemen, if that’s you shooting your shot, if it isn’t painfully clear, we are still standing! And furthermore, if it weren’t for us, there wouldn’t have been any coverage whatsoever of your petty antics at Relentless. You say that the XWF is this and that, but you certainly used an XWF crowd to get yourselves some notoriety you wouldn’t have had anywhere else. Now, I’m not going to decry OCW…
I will.
He will. But to Cashe, I am sorry. I know you’re a fan of ours, and I mean, that’s perfectly sensible as far as I’m concerned. If I were you, I would wish I were us too.
Them No Good Bastards aren’t coming to play in jolly good London, fuck no. You clowns say we have no substance.
TK gives his unmatched, mind-blowingly authentic jerking-off hand gesture.
You say us having Jimmy look into you only scratches the surface. Right, fuckers, good one. All while thinking we’re goddamn time travelers. Yo, Cashe, I bet watching that documentary of Forrest Gump’s life was a fucking trip, huh? Always believing what you see in the goddamn movies is real.
TK and Bobby give each other a no-look fist bump.
Unfortunately for you two shit weasels, we have dawned the age of the Bastard. Where in the tag team division you either work together and stand a chance, or more fucking likely, you do what Jason and Cyrus did. Be divided and goddamn fail. What we do is work as a fucking team twenty-four hours a day, seven days a goddamn week. That’s why once you peanut-brained, mother fuckers, figured it the fuck out, it was already too late. At any point, you could have figured it the fuck out.
TK looks over at Bobby, gives him a smirk, then looks back into the camera.
The end though? For fucking real. I guess you should have snubbed that blunt out, Cashe. Or you Riddle instead of saying you get the work done in the ring you might actually show us how. Talking about it doesn't do shit. Just like among the two of you flea market rasslers have 80 little trinkets. Those only mean something to you at this point. Plus, that means you’ve lost 80 fucking times. That’s gotta be some kinda fucking record, right? Pay attention, we hold these-
TK and Bobby both hold up their OCW Tag Team championships.
-and these mean more than anything you’ve held before. So run your cock holsters, boys. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles has to warn you. If you plan on taking OUR tag team championships you’re in for the absolute worst night of your goddamn lives. They are staying right here with us. Us No Good Bastards still plan to keep putting bodies on these. Masters of Macabre? Nah, we’re changing the fucking name. Bastards of Macabre. Has a better goddamn ring to it.
Bobby smiles at the thought of the Pay-Per-View’s name being changed. That smile fades though and Bobby goes in on Jason and Cyrus.
These two fools are just the next set of names to make the unfortunate tally of victims in the Year of the Bastard. From the XWF to OCW, we have left teams in our wake as we continue to truck along unabated. Cashe and Riddle came to the XWF to chase us. We noticed. We came to OCW to dominate, because the sitting champs were just that; on their asses doing a fuck ton of nothing and everyone was content with that. Where were Cashe and Riddle before we showed up? They'll tell you, oh my God how they've harped on their past, but nary an explanation of why they weren't the tag champs when we showed up. No rationale of how we just cut through the competition at the tail end of the Margarita Mixer, or none valid that I noticed, nor a damn shred of any form of explanation why half the team we beat was an XWF original. Gentlemen, you have a past, blah blah, thanks to us, you're finally relevant, and more importantly, while you know your own history like a walking Wikipedia page on underwhelming pseudo-talent, we know your future. Rainbow Laser Death Sequence, three seconds counted by a referee slapping canvas, and you're in our past, back to doing whatever it is you did before. Sharks don't care what the little fishies did last Tuesday. Now, while you might talk about that time you were that close to besting the Bastards if it weren't for this or it wasn't for that, we'll just note we beat a team of bargain bin hired guns brought in because OCW had nothing to offer us besides the leather and green draped over our shoulders.
Bobby and TK clack their OCW tag team championships.
These are the crowned jewels of OCW and it’s on account of us. You're welcome for the time in the limelight. Come Bastards of the Macabre, it's lights out.
As Bobby finishes his sentence the lights that were on, cut off. Just like that the promo is over.