Post by Bobby Bourbon on Jan 25, 2023 23:26:50 GMT -5
Bobby Bourbon and the Nickleman are seen crossing the Tennessee border in what could be best described as a hoopty. The tag team championship belts are sitting on the dash alongside a pack of unopened Swisher Sweets. Bobby is driving with one hand on the wheel and one hand on a stick shift that may or may not actually function. Nickleman is smoking a pack of cigarettes a minute, or so it seems, as a bunch of smoke begins filling the cabin of the car.
Hey man, could you quit smoking dope right now?
I'm not smoking any, we only brought edibles.
No shit, I’m sitting in the car with you, I was being sarcastic.
Well, I’m not, and I quit smoking glass bro, I switched to chew!
The camera cuts to a close up of Nickleman's face as he smiles at Bobby. There's blood all over his scruffy chin and black tank top. When Nickleman opens his mouth, you can see that he has literally been chewing on glass shards. Bobby’s eyes widen in surprise as a smile crosses his lips, then looks around to all the smoke inside the car.
Zero fucks, I love it, and recycling old Christmas ornaments in late January, very forward thinking. I think there’s something wrong with the car, do you think that’s where the smoke is coming from?
Hold on, I am an EXPERT in smoke. My investigation won't take long…
Your enunciation while chewing glass is uncanny!
The Nickleman sniffs the fumey air furiously as he chomps down on his glass chew. He holds a finger up amidst the smoke, letting it linger, as Bobby passes by a slow moving semi-truck carrying livestock in the other lane. As Bobby presses on the gas more aggressively, the car's cabin becomes even smokier. Bobby looks around ponderously, as if he is starting to put two and two together.
Damn. One, I can’t even smell that livestock, just whatever is burning under the hood. Two…
Charlie licks his smokey finger before he looks back at the semi-truck and laughs. He then turns back to Bourbon.
Good guess Bobby, but not quite. Do you smell that? The melting rubber, the burning oil, the never-ending accumulation of hogshit?
We gotta pull over!
I'd know this smell from anywhere, Bobby, and this smelly smoke ain't from no car…….THE BITCH FORD must be near! He's probably in the back of that semi getting dirty with all the fucking hogs!
The Bitch Ford? Is that Ford's new model of truck, and is it a sassy bitch or a mean one?
No, he's my greatest nemesis in all of OCW!
I know you hate sassy bitches.
Nah, check it out! He's always spinning his wheels and running out of gas. The Bitchford has been stuck in the same spot for MONTHS and is going nowhere fast! He's still putting on a show trial, Buffy is still an unimaginative crutch, and the 'Biff-end' STILL doesn't work on The Nickleman!
Bobby pulls the car over.
Are you talking about the guy who’s leaving everybody voicemails? I mean, sure, broadcast to the world that everyone screens your calls! Shit, though, this car situation sucks, and we aren’t even in the same time zone as a Carvana.
Bobby and Charlie evacuate the car and survey their surroundings in the late evening, dusk casting shade almost as well as a Bastard does. Charlie pulls out his phone, a Jitterbug.
Jesus, are you going to text your grandkids on that?
The Nickelman looks pleasantly at Bobby.
Nah, but I have a few GILFs in my contacts list.
Same!
Bobby and Charlie share a laugh, when suddenly, the car explodes into flames. The sudden eruption of burning hoopty illuminates them.
That’s actually pretty cool.
Yeah, yeah…
Suddenly Bobby’s eyes go wide.
Damnit, the Beef Wellington!
No, Bitchford.
Nah, man, not that asshat, I mean the Beef Wellington I was preparing on the engine block just got ruined!
Oh, shit! I wonder if that caused the fire?
No fucking way, it was wrapped in parchment paper!
The Nickelman pats Bobby’s shoulder, consoling him about the lost opportunity Bobby had to impress Charlie with fine dining from under the hood of a beater.
I guess now we’ll never do what we wanted in Tennessee.
You know, you can’t fault us for trying. Being a Tennessee Sex Cop has always been a dream of mine since I heard about all those Tennessee cops having sex.
~~~~~24 Hours Earlier~~~~~~
We see Bobby Bourbon and The Nickleman hanging out at the Bastard’s Den, the premier strip club located in Texas owned by the Brotherhood of Bastards. They’re literally hanging out in front of the building, posted up and laughing, sharing what appears to be a blunt. An OCW tag team championship hangs from each man's shoulder. The Nickleman takes a drag and slowly releases the smoke.
This is pretty good, what did you call this stuff?
Weed.
I know, but didn’t it have some crazy designer name or some shit? Like green crack? That was always my favorite….even after it just turned out to be moldy coke!
Probably.
The Nickleman looks at the blunt, pivots it, and puts the lit end into his mouth. Bobby and Charles clasp hands, creating a small chamber, and Charles proceeds to give Bobby a shotgun. Bobby rears back, eyes tensely shut, and almost shudders exhaling a massive cloud of draconic stature. Bobby then relaxes and grins. The Nickleman slides the blunt out of his mouth and Bobby reaches out.
May I blow you?
Anytime, daddy-o!
Both Bobby and Charles laugh their asses off. As they do, both men get alerts on their phone. The Nickleman flips open his geriatric friendly phone and looks at the screen.
Damn, there’s an amber alert in Key West!
Hmm. Damn.
Bobby and Charles clasp hands again, this time Bobby giving the shotgun to the Nickleman, who rears back and leans against the building, exhaling through his nostrils with a tiny cough at the end. Bobby hits the blunt then checks his phone.
Huh, I didn’t get word of a missing child.
Look, I just try to keep myself out of trouble…
I guess, but I just got word there’s a new newsworthy meme!
You get alerts for that?
I don’t need the weather, I have windows and can look outside.
Bobby boops at his phone and his eyes go wide as a twisted smile cracks his jawline.
I bet that Bifford needs an app just to tell him what his own fucking Weiner looks like!
Jesus, if that guy takes a selfie it’s a dick pic. Fuck that though, look!
Bobby shows Charles his screen.
I see a picture of a rather plain looking blonde bitch in a cop uniform. And what are all those numbers?
Numbers?
Charles points to the headline of the news article.
Oh, right, I forgot when we went to Waffle House and you needed the picture menu. Uh, look, it says here she was on duty and boinked a ton of her fellow officers!
Bobby and the Nickleman look at each other and nod in mutual excitement.
~~~~~Back To Present Day~~~~
They did have the right to remain silent.
Exactly, I figured becoming deputies and banging it out with other female deputies would have been the perfect training regimen for our title defense!
With that, a Tennessee State Trooper cruiser pulls up to the flaming wreckage of their smoldering piece of shit car. From the front seat, we see a massive, obese man step out, and the suspension of the car seems to sigh as it raises two inches. From the driver’s side, a fairly attractive female officer steps out with a clear mustard stain on her uniform. Bobby and Charlie’s eyes lock onto her. Bobby breathes deep through his nose. Charlie spits out the loose glass in his mouth and smiles coyly, the blood trickling into his beard.
Score.
Bingo.
The fat deputy approaches.
Are you boys alright?
Thanks, officer, we’re fine, but, well, you see our car is kind of totalled.
The cute deputy looks on from a distance.
No shit! Well, I guess I’ll call the fire department, and we can give you boys a lift back to the station.
Awesome, then we can become deputies!
The cute officer giggles as the fat one looks perplexed.
Damn, well, is that what brought you boys all the way to Tennessee?
Yup!
Bobby locks eyes with the cute female officer, who is biting her lip.
Talk about the ten I see!
Even if that joke barely works in text, the Nickelman gets a solid chuckle out of it. The fat deputy shrugs.
Well, either way, you boys can ride in the back, the fire department and a wrecker can come get this thing. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt!
Would you give us CPR if we were hurt?
The Nickleman makes flirty eyes, clearly addressing cute deputy, but it's the fat deputy who answers first!
Alright boys, why don’t you come on down to the station, it’s getting dark, and we can get started on getting you fellers back on the road!
With that, the cute officer opens the cruiser’s rear doors and let Bobby and the Nickleman inside. The two officers reenter their vehicles as a fire engine arrives on scene to deal with the flaming wreckage of crappy car and well charred beef wellington. The cruiser leaves. In short order, we see it pull into a remote station off the highway, and Bobby and Charles are let out of the vehicle as the two cops go indoors.
Bobby, don’t those cops remind you of anybody?
Jake and the Fat Man?
Nah, I mean, more relevant, real people, not some dopey bullshit characters from a show.
Laurel and Hardy?
Our opponents at Decadence.
Oh shit, yeah! I hadn’t noticed before, but that is indeed a fat guy who probably counts his age by the number of skin tags dangling off of him and a smoking hot woman out of her element! What was their team name again?
Who cares?
True. So, Alice, how do you do? Before we go any further, are you really sure you want to be in this match? I reckon Bifford is going to have to carry you to victory someway somehow, but that guy couldn’t carry Hepatitis past us.
We’re the CDC or some shit for him! Sure they have a history, like measles, smallpox, or polio, but they aren’t sick like Bastards!
Look, we aren't living in the past.
We’re the best fucking team now! And we can beat any team from the past.
Handedly, and easily. There's a thing about all those greats from yesteryear who provoke nostalgia like it's glandular.
What’s that?
Easy, Nickleman, easy. Ceasar to Charlemagne, the songs of Hiawatha to Hendrix, they ruled the past, and now, they're just dead.
Charles nods, an intensity crawling through his eyes.
Time to smash these pussyfoots.
Wouldn't that make them pussyfeet?
I don’t know.
Is that even an insult?
It is now if I'm describing Knight and Bifford!
Charles, I want to let you know, after we, a pair from a whole pack o' Bastards whoop the absolute and utter piss out of that bloated walrus, poster child of testicular torsion TBB, Them Bastard's Bitch, and Alice Knight, I just wanted you to know, I don’t give a fuck which one you pin.
Oh, contraire, mon frere, it is you who can pin either.
Bobby and the Nickelman smile as Nickleman places his finger above his upper lip, revealing a drawn on french mustache.
Who gives a shit which of us gets it, same end result, us walking away with our belts, and still reigning...
Defending...
Standing...
And dominating, your World Tag Team Champions. Did you hear what they said about us Bobby?
Not much.
Yeah, it’s almost like they’re trying to appease standards and practices instead, you know, be good!
Oh, fuck on out of here with what the suits want from us, we give to the people what they want nothing superfluous, bringing buckets of blood without ado or a fuss, taking bodies in that ring and chucking them under the bus. The way of the Bastard is our way or the highway, got that Bifford, call your momma, leave her a voicemail let her know you’ll be okay, lie to her, to yourself, it doesn’t matter what you say, it don’t really matter much at the end of the day. Alice don’t get into a tizzy or get yourself flustered, you are your partner are oil and water, as you absolutely have must heard, don’t get your panties in a bind or twisted or all clustered, but come Sunday, the 29th, I don’t think you’ll cut the mustard. We’ll lay you both out like it’s a trial and you’re evidence, confess you don’t belong and accept this loss as penitence. We spit fire, eat worlds, shit lightning, and piss excellence, and y’alls two bodies left in a heap will be our Decadence!
The Nickleman, who has sparked a blunt by this point, seems enthralled. Bobby glances back.
I thought only edibles?
Eh, fuck it.
Fair.
The Nickleman passes the marijuana cigar to Bobby, who takes a massive drag as Charles gives a French exhale, followed by another flash of the mustache on his finger along his upper lip. Bobby slowly exhales then looks back at the camera.
I looked and saw our opponents, what the fuck, is this some joke? It's like we've been given the nod and these fools are getting the okey-doke. Yo, Charles, don't bogart that shit, let me get another toke!
Charles passes the blunt. Bobby puts it to his lips and the cherry flares up as he drags off of it deeply. He then passes it back to the Nickleman. He then continues, smoke cascading past his lips as he does.
These fools' championship aspirations are going up in smoke. They can't even keep pace with us even if our car's broke, we're too fast for them, bro, they're just one combined lump of slowpoke! They won't bring the violence or menace that only Bastards invoke, they're not coming to the ring to win a fight they're coming to choke. Did you hear the shit they said, did they even think before they spoke? They got a frog in their throat that's just dying to croak with so much egg on their face I can't tell the whites from the yolk. Stumbling, tumbling, crumbling over their own mouth like they're having a stroke! I reckon y'all tryna appeal to those simple folk, like some off brand soda thinking they can take on Coke. Your bones will break, your wills bend, and the mat your blood will soak. Must be dreaming if you think you have a chance in the world, do yourselves a favor, stop hitting snooze, time for you to be woke.
The Nickleman passes the blunt to Bobby.
How do you do that?
Bobby takes a hit, then gazes at the lit blunt for a moment.
Do what?
All that?
Bobby smirks.
Wizardry.