Post by Bobby Bourbon on Oct 3, 2021 23:29:13 GMT -5
The phone book falls from the sky to a developed city in Japan. The lower one-third of your screen reads “August 6th, 1945, Hiroshima, Japan” the words fade away to the time “08:12”. That’s two minutes before the bomb drops. That’s for the lame-ass fucks that don’t know that. Yeah, the narrator is taking shots. What of it? Bobby opens the door and looks around. TK takes two steps out of the phone booth.
Do You hear that shit, Bobby? When the fuck are we now?
Yep, I know, and nope, nope, nope, nope.
Bobby grabs TK by the arm and pulls him back towards the phone booth. TK’s being stubborn and not budging.
What the fuck, Bobby?!
Get in. Let’s go. Explain later.
Fucking fine, Christ.
TK goes back to the phone booth. Bobby shuts the door behind them and starts frantically hitting buttons.
Alright, after messing up so much, I think, I got the hang of this. Let’s go!
When the Hell are we going now, Bobby?
If I’m right, feudal Japan.
Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III movie! Fucking nice!
The phone booth becomes surrounded by red lighting, drops into the portal below, as it has been for the better part of a month it seems like. As it does TK and Bobby, wide-eyed, witness the explosion of “Little boy”.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Them No Good Bastards are standing inside an enclosure.
Bobby, check it out! We’re already in London waiting on these two fucks. We saw some cool shit, like Buck And Ham Palace, Big Clock, and even Saint fucking Peter’s fucking church.
It’s Saint Paul’s Cathedral, TK.
Right! Okay, let’s get to fucking business. First off, because of Relentless, we’re out for cold-blooded vengeance. There will be no goddamn forgiveness. I promise on the tenth. What we do in that ring will be fucking vicious. What you two don't know is Them No Good Bastards are from the bottom, we’re overpowered and underprivileged. What you see before your very eyes ladies is the force that kicks open doors. Neither of you bitch boys have that kind of power. We fucking do. We prove it everytime we step between the ropes.
TK winks into the camera and takes a step back. Thus giving the big man some time to talk.
Jason Cashe sucks.
Bobby takes a step back allowing TK to get some.
We run this shit and ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles isn’t talking about no goddamn physical fitness. We defy fucking physics by how we turn all the heads of the goddamn critics. We broke the fucking bones of the tag team division and make the fools who step up look like bitches. You two are looking at lions, while we’re looking at goddamn shit kittens.
TK takes a step back and Bobby takes a step forward.
Cyrus Riddle sucks.
Bobby finishes up swiftly and just like before he takes a step back. After glancing at Bobby, this allows TK to get some more.
Is that it?
For now.
TK takes a deep breath through his nose.
With a name like Cashe, you’d have at least thought he’d pay attention. D.O.A.’s days are finished. Just open your rassling history books, the page is already written. All we have to do is walk to the ring and make it official. In London, England, we’ll blaze the bridges and do what we always do and that is raising the fucking limits. When we make our entrance, we’ll shake the building, and the OCW fans will feel it. Jason, Cyrus, pray to the gods of your fucking religion that they give you the strength to pull you from your graves, that we’ve been digging. Make no mistake your prayers are going to go unanswered, and we’ll lay you in it. At Bastards of Macabre October tenth, twenty twenty-one, LIVE on OCW Pay-Per-View. Them No Good Bastards are on a mission to prove our reign is never-ending! That’s when you’ll finally know what it's like to clash with fucking titans.
TK gives two short bursts of his signature jerking-off hand gesture. One for each member of Dead On Arrival.
These unoriginal pricks.
TK and Bobby give their signature no-look fist bump. TK still isn't done with the fun and goes in again.
I really fucking hope that you two bingo hall “legends” are as ready, as you say you are. We’re prepared for battle, B24, and I11. Bastards of Macabre we take the wrong that was Relentless and make that shit right. When you see us headed to that ring you should take flight. We’re all out of play nice and there's no turning back when the fight is on. You make the wrong move.
Rainbow Laser Death Sequence.
Them No Good bastards give their iconic no-look fist bump.
That’s game over. We have the composure of vultures.
And all I see is dead meat.
We’ve seen your every move and some of ours. It’s about goddamn time you worked as a team.
TK begins a slow round of applause that he intentionally cuts short.
Now it’s time we capitalize on all your fucking mistakes. Mistake number one. You should have made the right choice when Raven got you two fucking ass clowns into this mess. One of you two blown out pussies should have grown a fucking brain and punched that uppity cunt in the nose. Here's looking at you Cashe. You’d have at least stood a better chance. Un-fucking-fortunately that opportunity is long past gone now you two ass kissers are stuck stepping into our ring, no, not OCW ring. Nope. When we’re in it, we own it. Plan and goddamn simple. Mistake number two. Thinking you had a chance. Only to find out Them No Good Bastards are more than just hype. We’re the fucking Tag Team Champions sent from God to rule above all tag teams, in this land, or the goddamn next.
Them No Good Bastards stand tall knowing they put in more work than any other tag team on the planet. The shot fades to TK giving the finger while Bobby pats TK’s shoulder.
So, fellas, let’s talk for a second. You both tout your own histories so hard you’d think it was your sisters nipples after seeing us on TV. Have you heard of mine and TK’s? Nope. You were so busy telling everybody about how special your asses were you didn’t even slow down to realize you were showing them to the world. Welp, Mr. Cashe, you seem to think that TK and I are destined to break apart at the seams, because we’re a tag team. Mr. Riddle, I would keep an eye on Cashe, he seems to have that idea in his undersized, perfectly spherical noggin.
Preach!
So, in MY history, I have held every championship the XWF has to offer, top to fucking bottom. TK has held plenty of championships as well. We were accomplished singles competitors well before we even started conspiring together a little over a year ago. Then one day we realized we were a better band than a solo act. This isn’t about leapfrogging over the other, this is about who is the better team come Bastards of the Macabre. Spoiler alert, the team that’s been dominating all year long, the two men who have been to hell and back against all comers is that better team, definitely not some slapdash thrown together lowball attempt from James Raven. Oh, by the way, that’s the guy I pinned to become XWF Universal Champion, the one everybody lauds as the People’s GOAT was my chump. I mean, he isn’t much these days, he didn’t even show his face at Relentless to explain to his girlfriend why he bailed on her to orchestrate some kind of goofy invasion, but it was cute he sent his two goons to do his dirty work. And, at the end of the day, no matter how much you tout yourselves, no matter what you’ve accomplished in your life, right now you’re just James Raven’s hired goons, two random names he pulled from the last GM’s rolodex to try to combat the, and you can say it with me now, greatest tag team in history. Nobody from the XWF sent us. Theo Pryce didn’t even know we were going after the OCW Championships until he was notified by Vinnie Lane. We didn’t come to start a war.
Not that we’ll fucking run from one.
We just came to kick some ass and prove we were the best, and after we did, that was golden. It’s not our fault that the XWF talent that came over for the Margarita Mixer and Under The Lights wound up whooping the utter dog piss out of OCW originals. We didn’t get all butt-hurt about it and think we needed to do something drastic. We don’t. You’re coming right to us, we’ll get ahold of you in that ring, and we’re going to give you a beating like you stole something. Cashe, you call me boring but seem plenty entertained with whatever I do on Twitter, and actions speak louder than words. Our actions on October 11th will show that. Riddle, you’re a fucking relic reciting the same cookie-cutter drivel from a decade ago and you haven’t really grown with the times. Them promos of yours might have been cutting edge in 2011 but nowadays they’re just dusty dry schlock. Y’all together couldn’t get together for but two promos, and you just knocked off the Bastards, because we aren’t just setting the trend, we are the trend. The history, the past, it’s in photographs, lads. It’s archived and documented, and both of you are well documented and every little move you make is not only telegraphed but about as innovative as a telegraph in the digital age. It’s laid to rest in graveyards, burned to ashes and stored in urns, eulogized and remembered. That’s great, kudos, you lead the dead by becoming the dying. Us No Good Bastards aren’t reminisced about, there’s no nostalgia factor to us whatsoever boys, oh fuck no! While you two fools spout about your history, we just go around making it. Yesterday’s legends are going to find out in the squared circle that we are redefining what it means to be legendary. And yeah, we’re flying into London, which I guess Cyrus Riddle is putting on his shoulders. Londoners, I’m sorry we’re not doing Wembley, OCW might be too small to go there but we know we aren’t, and as such...
Now fellas.
The walls of the enclosure collapse outward. We see Them No Good Bastards are standing in the center of the pitch at Wembley Stadium. The place is packed, over 90,000 in attendance, all going mad for Them No Good Bastards. A proper chant starts up as Bobby and TK raise their XWF and OCW tag team championships.
*ARSEHOLE!*DIRTBAG!*NO GOOD BASTARD!*stomp, stomp*ARSEHOLE!*DIRTBAG!*NO GOOD BASTARD!*
Bobby raises his microphone to his lips.
LONDON!
The crowd roars. It’s a cheap pop, but fuck is it ever effective.
NOW THIS IS SOME FUCKING ANARCHY IN THE UK!
The crowd continues to be absolutely deafening. Bobby smiles his cheeky grin while TK looks around proudly.
I think they like us, bro.
They fucking love us.
*YEAR OF THE BASTARD!*YEAR OF THE BASTARD!*YEAR OF THE BASTARD!*YEAR OF THE BASTARD!*
Alright, we get it, you’re all here and you’re smitten, Them No Good Bastards from America have invaded Great Britain! Here to whip two fools like two junkyard dogs against a kitten, we made our own way and didn’t have to worry to fit in. Merry ole’ England, home to many lovely things, sorry to make you wait, hope we didn’t tug on your heartstrings! We’re amped and we’re ready to do violence in wrestling rings, and to all our doubters around the globe, lookit me, spitting in King’s! We’re a finely tuned and crafted tag-teaming machine, getting set for October tenth to do something really mean, beg your pardon just a moment, I can’t sing ‘God Save the Queen’, but God Save Riddle, God Save Cashe, the Bastards are here on the scene! One and one make two, y’all can do the math, but our two is greater than theirs because we’re on the warpath! Bastards of the Macabre with it’s foregone aftermath, Dead On Arrival down for the count after they get a feel for our wrath.
Thems bars.
Bobby and TK exchange a no-look fistbump as the frenzied crowd at Wembley here for the Bastard rally causes the cameras to shake.