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+--- Thread: For the Cure (/showthread.php?tid=50131)
For the Cure - Bobby Bourbon - 05-30-2026
We catch up with Bobby Bourbon, seated in the front row of Kitchen Arena, beside him are two gigachads and behind him a smattering of simps.
“Hey Remi.”
“With an “I”, nice touch. Your sister does it too, Kensi, I’m sure your parents Candi and Eli are very proud of you both.”
“I gotta say, I like you. You have spunk.”
“You combat the vampiric forces to prove you aren't one.”
“Me too, ish, except it’s pretty obvious I am not a vampire.”
“I have been accused of trying to sap the hopeless and alone.”
“I haven't yet. I adopted a child with someone very hopeless and alone, ironically.”
“I bleed people dry but that's something a lot more literal usually.”
“They're not hapless.”
“They're not alone.”
“They're just usually annoying enough I can break their fucking spine and feel like I did the world a service.”
“With seldom exception, of course.”
A few simps recoil at the mention of a broken spine. Bobby rolls his eyes.
“For fucks sakes, no, I’m not going to break any of your spines.”
A simp pipes up.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes, there’s literally no point to throwing you around. Attacking you would be punching down so far I’d have to dig a hole.”
The simps all share simple dumb smiles with each other. A gigachad speaks.
“Are you still talking about Remi Storm or the simps?”
Bobby closes his eyes, the same way a frustrated elementary school teacher does to maintain composure.
“Seriously, I beat Korvayne and all I got were the worst goons imaginable. Go drink some of my bathwater.”
The other gigachad’s brow furrows with confusion.
“Do you want me to drink it too?”
“Yes, now I do.”
Bobby nods.
“What brand should I take? I have Wednesday after Taco Tuesday and Bratwurst Cookout Aftermath with Lavendar.”
Bobby rolls his eyes.
“Both.”
“Obviously.”
The gigachads both stand. One punches the other in the crotch, laughs like a moron, and scampers off to sip bathwater.
“Oh, Remi. Don’t get famous, it’s not what it’s cut out to be.”
“Don’t let that be who you really are, don’t let that be the memories that will eventually come flooding back to you.”
“Don’t be the jet set.”
“Don’t become a media sensation with a cooking show.”
“It’s so, well, trying sometimes. The “others” you have to carry around like a sack of quarters because they’re the only way to get through the tollbooth.”
“Don’t most people pay by card at tollbooths?”
“Well, whatever, a sack of cards sounds like fraud though.”
“Don’t be a parent, Remi.”
“For one, it’s rough work, you’re still figuring yourself out.”
“I can easily envision you hearing a child ask “how do they make raisins” and you just standing there looking like you’re shitting your pants while having a strange flashback to a vineyard.”
“Secondly, you’re way too young to have a long lost child and it not be sad.”
“Unless you’ve just suddenly forgotten that you’re an 800-year-old iguana that sleeps in a pyramid hidden in Canada.”
“I doubt that, mind you, because that would mean your sister is another near octocentagenarian {coinage, +2 points} iguana with a completely separate Canadian pyramid.”
“See, Remi, I really want to like you. I do.”
“I don’t see our match as any sort of personal vendetta at all.”
“I can’t really come out and say anything nasty about the new girl with amnesia, if anything I don’t know why the company would sign someone who is literally brain damaged by the look of things.”
“I would absolutely have to say I am not losing my Television Championship any time soon, definitely in my first defense, at Leap of Faith, the first show ever on Mars.”
“I’m the Warfare Wrecker, Remi.”
“I’m the Big Bad, Big Bad, of Big Bads.”
“I am the Sultan of Smacktalk.”
“I know perfectly well who the hell I am, Remi.”
“I’m the Television Champion.”
“THE XWF Television Champion.”
“Those radio waves traveling out from Earth, Remi, echoes of Gilligan’s Island and Dallas and Lost and Sex In The City rippling out throughout the universe, being picked up who-knows-where and how-long-when, becoming one with the fabric of existence, I am the cosmic champion of that.”
“The entirety of the XWF Universe, Remi, and I get the honor of representing its voice and the way it presents to millions of fans worldwide weekly, and don’t nitpick.”
“Streaming services are TV for fucks sake, TV just evolved.”
“Somewhere on Alpha Centauri they're getting Leverage courtesy of Tubi.”
“At the end of existence, someone is watching Netflix.”
“The signal is faint but still very alive.”
“And across all that, I am champion.”
“...and I do that in the ring.”
“Y'see…”
The simps hoot and holler then sip from their bath water.
“What are you doing?!”
Bobby snaps with disgust at the simps. One, smiling after gargling the essence of Bobby’s sweat glands and butt, responds.
“You said ‘you see’ in a wrestling promo, everybody has to drink.”
“Wait, I'm a drinking game now?”
“It’s promos in general. You drink when they say certain phrases, whenever they say something crazy, and I don't know how you didn't notice while you were saying you were the champion of All in the Family or something, and whenever they make a promo that's supposed to make you want their next promo instead of their actual match you chug.”
“Oh, wow, really?”
“Yeah, some of us actually died of cirrhosis because of half the XWF roster over the past year.”
“Oh fuck me, that's plain stupid. Was it all the clichés and batshit stuff?”
“Oh, the only one doing batshit was Charlie but that was more sad when we learned he was brain damaged from dehydration as an infant. It was totally the amount of times we saw promos that really were promos for the next promo and not the next match with the implication they'd get favors from the office to keep them from feeling sad over taking a loss and vanishing.”
“What the fucking fuck do you mean?”
“Well if their feelings get hurt they give some long dumbass farewell speech demonizing the place.”
“Huh.”
“What you're telling me…”
The simps all drink.
“Cliché? Okay, so how would the office give these favors?”
“By getting referees distracted at key moments.”
“This sounds really like conspiracy theory bullshit now.”
“It doesn't make a ton of sense but, it is what it is, a bunch of XWF Wrestlers became more CW Tween drama when they thought the office would reward them for creating third rate soap operas instead of getting people excited for their match.”
“That’s…”
“...”
“...drink. That’s fucking stupid insane.”
The simps, needing little provocation to again imbibe that sweet, sweet, soapy murky bathwater, do so.
“There are people here for paltry pointless melodrama?”
“Some long meandering bullshit, all in their fucking promos, instead of broadcasting anything on XWF Television even fucking once?”
“Christ on a cracker, my career has been defined by every moment in front of the roaring crowd, by the battles I've been in, by the incredible moments everyone was there for.”
“Hey, remember that one promo I did?”
“I probably fucking don't.”
A simp chimes in.
“Well, personally, Bobby, your promo work with TK where you lampooned Porky's 2 was actually…”
“SHUT UP!”
Bobby points at the simp, snarling with an eyebrow cocked.
That means he's mad if reading faces isn't in your wheelhouse.
“Go take a lap!”
The gobsmacked and terrified simp trembles as he slowly raises his glass along with the rest of the simps.
“I said…”
“...a catchphrase.”
Bobby looks consternated and if you don't know what it means, you suck, look it up, because it's exactly how Bobby looks right now.
“THAT’S MY CATCHPHRASE TO YOU?”
The one simp begins to jog away from the group, taking his lap.
“You do say it a lot.”
“I always thought my catchphrase was…”
Bobby puts his hand on his chin, deep in thought.
“Fuck you're right.”
“Remi Storm, take a fucking lap!”
“Whoo-hoo, catchphrase!”
The simps sip sublimely supplying satiation succinctly. Have fun, read that aloud, because the same people who read up on everyone’s backstory constantly can absolutely confirm Bobby has uttered ‘take a lap’ more than just about anything else.
“Remi, why do you desire to even wrestle?”
“Do you feel you should wrestle so that way people will send you more impossible clues about your life beforehand?”
“I'm not a doctor, but the internet says memory returns as the brain heals.”
“It would have healed by now if you didn't wrestle.”
“Oh, shit.”
Bobby’s face goes graven as he comes to a conclusion.
“Remi Storm doesn't have amnesia.”
“Remi Storm has Alzheimer's.”
“At all of 24 years old.”
“Simps, there's only one decent thing I can do.”
LIVE FROM LAS VEGAS NEVADA!
The GCC and ESPN+ proudly present, streaming next day on Hulu, sponsored by the oldest, most morally ambiguous, and secret 4th trillionaire…
Disney…
SOUP AND SUPLEXES FOR ALZHEIMER'S!
We cut to Bobby Bourbon, using his time wisely instead of cutting to what equates to Nancy Drew, seated at the announce booth along with Chef Dakota.
“Chef, what a special night this is for me. My opponent, Remi Storm, suffers from premature Alzheimer's and it is absolutely heart wrenching.”
“Bobby, we all know someone who has or has had their lives impacted by Alzheimer's, but tonight, you are donating all proceeds to research of the disease, along with a cure.”
“Tonight, I am honored as Stanley B Prusiner, MD, a Nobel Laureate and honorary board member of the BrightFocus Foundation is going head to head with the XWF's own Literal Gorilla!”
You're honestly impressed they landed that doctor, all things considered, and while his name and title are very, let's say “pro-wrestly”{coinage +2}, you can totally fact check that guy!
“That is correct, Bobby, both competitors, since these are TV rules, have fifteen minutes to make sandwiches!”
“Indeed, and folks, but as always, we are not here to judge, just broadcast! Even into the furthest reaches of space!”
“I don't know what you're even talking about, Bobby, but our first guest judge is rap superstar Kendrick Lamar!”
King Kunta plays as the video for it plays across the Las Vegas Sphere. Kendrick Lamar walks out, pointing to the massive crowd.
“Our next guest is here as a personal favor, you know him…”
“...you love him. And Remi Storm totally has Alzheimer's and we're all together for her to get the cure, he will be competing in the Leap of Faith match itself on Mars…”
“...Isaiah King!”
King Kunta once again plays as Isaiah walks out. He and Kendrick embrace as they sit at a table.
“Gentlemen, thank you for being here and for the generous donations to Alzheimer's research.”
“I agree, Chef. We're all hoping for a cure so Remi Storm won't wander around, unsupervised, with telltale signs of early onset Alzheimer's, including shitty teenagers calling them vampires. Not sure that's a symptom but when there's smoke there's fire.”
“Indeed, Bobby.”
“Judges, I hope you enjoy the sandwiches our guest chefs are going to be preparing today!”
“Thank you, Bobby, and I appreciate your intel on Charlie and B.O.B.!”
“Oh, ‘tweren't anything special; I'm not there so it's counterfeit B.O.B. and Charlie is simple enough to manage you just gotta make sure you shower after the match.”
The crowd in Vegas laughs at the light banter between King and Bourbon.
“Chefs, are you ready?”
Dr. Prusiner shrugs, obviously not at all prepared for this thinking he'd be here in some speaking capacity. The gorilla is seated on the floor of his cooking space. The timer lowers.
| 15:00 |
A buzzer sounds as the clock starts ticking down!
Dr. Prusiner rushes to the pantry and starts grabbing ingredients like a bat out of hell while the gorilla knocks a bowl over and slaps it a few times, amusing itself. Dr. Prusiner returns to his cook station and lays down a loaf of sourdough before retrieving a knife. He hacks away at the loaf without surgeon-like precision.
“Chef, knife cuts take practice, Dr. Prusiner may know brain surgery but cutting bread is a whole ‘nother animal!”
“So is that gorilla!”
The gorilla meanders over to the pantry. It grabs a carrot and starts to eat it.
“Folks, while the chefs get underway, we have two very special guests with us, Candi and Eli Storm, Remi Storm’s parents.”
Two very average looking white people in their mid-fifties, and you just know they’re in their mid-fifties by the fact their t-shirts are tucked in, are shown in the crowd.
“Hi, Bobby.”
“Young man, did you know you could spell your name with an “I” too?”
“I know, but I don’t because that would be stupid.”
“Heh, I guess, and Candi and I would like to thank you for this whole event.”
Candi eagerly speaks up.
“Yeah, for the longest time we thought Remi couldn’t remember stuff because of basic stupidity. We just thought she was a bird brain.”
Eli nods in agreement.
“Yeah, we thought it was odd that whenever we’d work with her on her homework that she needed a calculator for questions like ‘what is one times eight’ or had to look up on the internet ‘what country do you live in’ even when she was in high school. We just assumed it was all due to basic idiocy, but due to your sponsoring this research, we know without a shadow of a doubt that our daughter, Remi, has Alzheimer’s, which is fitting because it too is spelled with an “I”.”
| 12:32 |
The gorilla is kind of just moseying about the kitchen, inspecting shiny things. Dr. Prusiner has spread some mayonnaise onto the bread. He cuts into a tomato, very thick and rustic slices, and rips pieces of romaine from a head of lettuce, also placing it on the bread.
“Unorthodox of Dr. Prusiner here, usually the protein goes on the sandwich first before any salad.”
“I agree Chef, but the gorilla seems to be biding his time, which is ticking away!”
“Believe me, Bobby, that gorilla is an animal in that kitchen.”
Dr. Prusiner lays some slices of gouda atop the lettuce, then gently lays slices of Virginia ham atop that.
A ham sandwich is prepared.
In short order, through a whole heap of whimsical fuckery, it leaves the kitchen and winds up on top of Samael Dyson in a super convoluted Xtreme Championship pin attempt, as several ham sandwiches have in the history of the XWF as any true fan would know, along with the people who are religiously following everybody’s backstories for full media consumption.
Dyson kicks out!
Dr. Prusiner is absolutely baffled how that all happened.
| 9:56 |
“Bobby, do you feel this cookoff tonight is a veiled attempt at hyping your next GCC show and not your match?”
“Fuck that, Chet, I’m not playing with that kind of irony today!”
| 2:22 |
Having lost three ham sandwiches due to their somehow, some way, making their way on top of Samael Dyson and causing him to actively do a thing to not be pinned and lose the title to food, Dr. Prusiner has opted to make a turkey sandwich.
The gorilla, having kicked it into another gear, has prepared a magnificent Chicago style Italian beef sandwich, complete with a side of cole slaw and home fresh made potato chips.
| 0:00 |
“Chef, the competitors are done, and now all that’s left is to let our special judges taste the sandwiches.”
Kendrick Lamar and Isaiah both bite into Dr. Prusinger’s turkey sandwich. At this point, it’s just some deli turkey slices on plain sliced white bread.
“I really hope he’s a better neurologist than a sandwich chef.”
“This was just plain, but it was better than anything Drake could make.”
The crowd laughs as Kendrick again slams Drake in public, like he was cutting a promo on him for a wrestling match that will never ever happen. Isaiah goes wide eyed as he’s seated next to a real rap beef in turkey sandwich form.
“Well the judges were less than thrilled than what Dr. Prusiner gave us tonight, it’s a real shame his ham sandwiches kept going on magical journeys, Bobby.”
“That’s just proof that this is an XWF thing, Chef, and absolutely not hype for the GCC, because I don’t have to hype the GCC on XWF programming.”
“You don’t?”
“No, but I do it anyway, because cooking shows are more marketed for adults whereas wrestling is primarily marketed towards children, like our sponsor, Disney, who wanted us to have a song and dance routine from a cartoon until we explained the GCC was more for the Miramax crowd.”
“Ah, yes, Bobby, Miramax, the adult leg of Disney studios, home to Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith films, allowing the House of Mouse to make money off of cinema along with nostalgia and grown-ass adults lacking any real identity.”
Kendrick and Isaiah both taste the gorilla’s sandwich. Both go wide eyed.
“This guy obviously wins.”
“Hell yeah, Isaiah.”
Both Isaiah and Kendrick continue to eat their sandwiches courtesy of the gorilla.
“Well, folks, we have a decisive winner here tonight, and it’s the gorilla!”
| WINNER: A LITERAL GORILLA |
“Once again, thank you, Isaiah and Kendrick, for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here.”
“We go to Dr. Prusiner now.”
Dr. Prusiner appears on screen, tired from spending fifteen minutes in a kitchen and making four entire sandwiches.
“Hi, Bobby, I wanted to thank you for doing all of this to advance our research into…”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, your sandwich sucked…”
“TAKE A LAP!”
The crowd in attendance all begin to chant what is, after all, Bobby’s catchphrase because you’ve been following Bobby’s promo’s religiously and steeped yourself in them. Oh, wait, you’re a reasonable human being who fucking watches Warfare or Anarchy to pick up on what’s going on with an XWF wrestler and aren’t bored enough to comb through promo after promo causing the same level of burnout that hits everybody who ever has (although some of you are expected to, but we get that you really don’t).
Dr. Prusiner, still baffled by everything going on but appreciative for the millions of dollars raised, starts to jog around the Las Vegas Sphere as an image of the famed XWF gorilla is showcased upon it.
“Well, that’s it from here in Las Vegas, Chef, I urge all the fans to tune in to Leap of Faith, broadcast from Mars, where…”
A simp approaches Bobby.
“Hey, you didn’t use all the allotted time you could!”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you can go longer, most people believe the office will give some advantage to competitors if they go the full distance with their promo time.”
“What the fuck do you mean, I cut my promo.”
“Yeah, but some people believe it just shows more desire and effort when they max out their time.”
Bobby looks consternated again.
“That’s fucking stupid! Who fucking believes that? Why is their opinion even fucking regarded by a rational human being?”
“Look, it is what it is.”
“No, that’s, ugh.”
“You could still do that Disney dance routine.”
“That’s copyrighted material, isn’t clogging up the airways with the lyrics of a song I didn’t write some kind of plagiarism?”
“I mean, you could pay for the rights.”
“Disney doesn’t do that shit, they protect their intellectual property with an army of lawyers!”
“Well, damn.”
“Ugh. Look, I’m not most wrestlers.”
“I’m Bobby Bourbon, Television Champion.”
“I have a lot of things that ultimately define me and I could bloviate about it for longer than I have time for.”
“Remi, I hope we helped find you a cure for your Alzheimer’s and exposed you’re simply not just a moron, but at the end of the day, your past doesn’t really fucking matter come May 31 on the red planet. You could have been a lab experiment, a clone, an anti-vampire that feeds on vampires in an ironic twist, 40 fucking squirrels duping a roomful of people that you were a real woman, the queen of France, or a robot, and none of that amounts do a goddamned thing.”
“...Because I’m your present.”
Bobby holds up the Television Championship belt.
“And this belt is NOT your future.”