The office of Bobby Bourbon is relatively full. Seated at his desk, Bobby sits with his arms folded across his massive chest, his lovely Adrianna Papell sequined dress sheening in the light. Across from him, seated on a couch, are Cyberjaw, the man with the jaw, holding a pitchfork. Beside him is Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, holding a lit torch. Also on the couch is Genevieve Tote, Bobby’s image consultant, armed with her regular tablet, although not holding it to be battle ready.

Mr. Bourbon, I think this might be a little overkill. Why is this guy holding a lit torch?

He’s dangerous.

And crazy.

Insane.

Genevieve looks towards both Cyberjaw and Diamondback, then back at Bobby, unkempt with a three day scruff, tugging at the designer dress that’s a size too small for him.

Right, I forgot, crazy people wrestle.

Miss Tote, you’ll have to pardon my Bourbon Men. Our guest has insulted them on a number of occasions, they think he’s horrible.

He is!

Bro, have you heard the guy talk about you?

Yeah, at all? Not recently, but I mean, ever?

He hates you.

Yeah, and he’s coming to invade the sanctity of your lair!

Bobby nods in understanding.

Oh, I’m well aware, I’ve heard everything he’s said. However…

However it is in the best interests of Mr. Bourbon to comply with his current situation.

Bobby sighs.

That. Yep.

What is his current situation, precisely?

I’m teaming up with not-TK to beat someone up.

Miss Tote clears her throat.

Mr. Bourbon has been selected to represent House Principle alongside his partner, representing House Big, to take on two members of House Sterling for the Tag Team Championships.

Bobby shakes his head as both Cyberjaw and Diamondback look perplexed.

What?

I don’t understand.

It means I’m teaming up with someone who’s not TK to beat someone up. Fortunately, instead of being stuck with Charlie, it’s Flynn.

At the mention of his name, Bobby’s office door swings wide open with a sharp kick. Mark Flynn, wearing a nice suit, walks in, chased after by Irwin.



Sir, sh-sh-shouldn’t we be more cautious?

…Flynn sneers.

Why would I be cautious, Irmano?

We’re entering the lair of Bobby Bourbon! Your great adversary! He could have an ambush prepared!

Psssh. Ambushes take effort. This is Bobb-o we’re talking about.

Blow it out your ass!

Bobby stands. He and Flynn glare at each other with palpable tension. Miss Tote takes note.

Okay, well, Mr. Bourbon, Mr. Flynn has arrived.

Bobby keeps his eyes glued on Flynn.

Thank you, Miss Tote.

Bobby tugs at the hem of his dress to prevent it from riding up. Cyberjaw holds his pitchfork up, pointing the prongs at Irwin.

He brought a posse!

Sir, they have medieval peasant weapons, I think it’s a trap!

It’s not a trap, it’s preparation.

A trap is just a kind of preparation!

…

…Huh. Never thought about it that way.

Tell your men to stand down, Bobby!

Tell your guy, to, um…

Bobby looks around awkwardly.

Tell him to shut up.

No.

Dammit.

Irwin tugs on Flynn’s sleeve.

You can tell me to shut up, sir, if it’d make Mister Bourbon feel more at ease.

I’d NEVER DO THAT, Ir-dawg.

Sir, you told me to shut up 38 times on the trip here.

Shut up, Irwin.

Genevieve saunters up to Irwin. She smiles.

Hello, you must be Irwin, I’m Genevieve.

Miss Tote, don’t get too friendly, he might have have a gun taped to his back like Bruce Willis in Die Hard.

Yeah, they could both be carrying like John McClane!

But, uh, I’m not!

…Heheh…

Flynn reaches over his own shoulder, and we hear the sound of tape peeling apart as he pulls a tire iron.

HA! YIPPI-KI-YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!

As he does, Bobby too reaches over his shoulder and peels a taped tire iron from his back. Neither man flinching or looking away from each other.

Oh shit, they both watched Die Hard!

Bobby takes a deep breath.

I’ll drop mine if you drop yours.

You drop yours and I’ll drop mine!

Sir, I don’t think you can have a stand-off with tire irons.

I knew I recognized you, you were at Autozone, we met in the tire iron aisle.

In unison, both Bobby and Mark look at their personal associates.

Hey!

Bobby and Mark both look at each other again.

Alright, alright, I’m the host here.

I wanted to meet somewhere public!

I didn’t want to risk you hiring snipers!

Pssssh, that’d be playing into your stupid, idiot hands. You probably have some dumb BourbCo knicknack that stops snipers!

I HAVE SEVERAL!

Mr. Bourbon…

Sir…

Bobby takes a deep breath.

Alright. All secondary characters get out of here.

Aw man.

Diamondback sucks his teeth in disappointment. He walks towards the door, as he does, he stops and looks at Irwin.

Watch your ass, new meat.

Cyberjaw follows, but stops, picking up a large tubular device almost shaped like an incomplete ‘g’.

Here, it’s an ass periscope as sold by BourbCo, literally watch your ass.

Cyberjaw hands the device to Irwin, who holds the weird device, then holds it up to his face, hooking it around his entire body.

Sir, he literally built a periscope that allows you to look at your own butt.

…Irwin doesn’t follow the departing Cyberjaw and Diamondback, instead continuing to stare at his own ass. Bourbon looks at Irwin expectantly, before turning on Flynn, like ‘what’s the deal?’.

…*sigh* I hadn’t told him yet.

Irwin’s eyes widen, peeking away from the periscope.

…Wait, am I a secondary character?

IRWIN. You’re the DEFINITION of background! Now stop pretending people tune-in to watch you watch me and GET OUTTA HERE.

…Hurtful.

Irwin, please, let’s not concern ourselves with the boys. Are you hungry?

I, uh, yeah.

Great, me too! Guess where I set us up for lunch?

Um, the Dunkin Donuts I saw when we were walking in?

No! C’mon, and I hope you like Korean Barbecue.

I love Korean Barbecue!

Irwin lowers the ass periscope, resting it on his shoulder before leaving the office with Irwin, leaving Bobby and Mark alone. Bobby sits in his chair, still holding his tire iron.

Please, have a seat.

Mark sits gently on the edge of the couch, still gripping his tire iron.

You’re still holding your tire iron.

You are too!

I LIKE THIS TIRE IRON! THIS WAS A FAMILY HEIRLOOM.

…

I mean, not *my* family… but SOMEONE’S FAMILY!

MINE IS MY FAVORITE AND BETTER THAN YOURS!

Both men continue to glare at one another with their identical tire irons purchased on the same day at the same store. They sit in silence for a moment before Bobby’s phone rings.

I have to take this.

Oh, well, don’t let me stop you.

Mark sits back as Bobby reaches for his phone on his desk.

Hello, my succubus.

You said no secondary characters!

Bobby glances at Mark, still speaking into his phone.

Hold on.

Bobby lowers his phone.

It’s Bouncy Brickhouse, she’s an exotic romantic interest, not a secondary character.

Oh Puh-LEEZ. Tertiary, romantic interests are the DEFINITION of secondary characters!

Mark chokes up on his tire iron with both hands, making it less dangerous in the process.

Yeah, like you’d know.

Bobby puts the phone back to his head.

Hey, can I call you back, it’s a work thing.

Bobby nods. He places his phone back on his desk.

So why did we need to meet here instead of a neutral site?

Well, I had an idea.

/s Oh, wow! The Great Bobby Bourbon has an idea! Lemme take a wild guess /s…

Flynn scratches his head with his tire iron, as if he’s really conveying how hard he’s thinking this conundrum over.

Is it ANOTHER FUCKING MOVIE PARODY?

What? No! I haven’t done a movie parody in over a year for Pete’s sake.

AHA! CORRECTION! You and your Bastard BUFFOONS did Rounders, just last Warfare!

We did?

Mark glances around the room, piecing something together.

…Yes.

I never saw it.

…I mean, okay, fine. It’s not MUST-watch.

Okay. Well…

Bobby goes to type on his laptop, but glances at the tire iron in his hand.

Could you hold this? I can’t use my computer with one hand.

Oh, yeah, sure.

Mark stands, and Bobby hands him his tire iron. Mark retakes his place on the couch, this time sprawling out on it, holding both tire irons.

…Flynn suspiciously eyes Bourbon’s tire iron, trying mentally to figure out if Bourbon bought a better quality iron than Flynn did.

So, I think we should do a movie reboot.

That’s definitely not a parody.

Not at all!

So what did you want to reboot?

Well, you remember how in the 90’s, everything was getting new gritty reboots? Mission Impossible, the MOD Squad, Romeo and Juliet, Dracula, and that kind of stuff?

Yes, actually, the last decade I vividly remember is the 90s. That was the last decade I had before the… y’know… FREQUENT wrestling concussions.

Well, we’re going to reboot the campy and silly Blue Tango and Atomic Bat into the serious and gritty Blue Tango and Atomic Bat!

…Flynn tries his best to hide the intrigued expression on his face.

….Hmmm. Like… Christopher Nolan?

Oh, no, grittier! Like Joel Schumacher did with Val Kilmer and Jim Carrey!

Oh shit. Jim Carrey is the grittiest. So, we’re taking this seriously…

So, we just gotta get the rights. Miss Tote said, though, that no lawyer in their right mind would work with me to seize two superhero’s rights to their own likenesses.

…Flynn sighs.

Hold that thought.

Mark stands up.

And while you’re holding that thought, hold these, would you?

Sure.

Mark hands Bobby both tire irons. He then turns and walks over to a Bobby’s personal lavatory and enters.

…Two seconds later, Christopher K. Clinton (who looks exactly like Mark Flynn but wearing a false mustache) walks out.

I’LL TAKE THE CASE!

Do you have references?

…

Clinton walks back into the washroom.

Flynn walks out.

Yeah, he’s good. You’re out of paper.

Oh, dang, there’s another roll under the sink. Can we get the reference notarized for my personal records?

…Flynn smacks himself in the face, irritated with this chicanery… Forgetting the mustache is in his hand… Flynn looks down as the line of fake fur dangles partially his lip.

…

Flynn’s lip curls! An idea!

Flynn presses the mustache back on the right half of his lip and pulls a stamp out of is backright pocket.

He writes the recommendation with his left hand, then stamps it with his right.

Perfect.

Flynn places the recommendation on Bobby’s desk.

…Bobby hands both tire irons back to Mark.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

…so what now?

Well, now that we have a lawyer getting us the rights to do JustUS Forever, we go to Scotland to start shooting.

Scotland? Isn’t… Blue Tango’s homebase… uh… Grand City? Which is… somewhere in America. Why would we film in Scotland?

Tax incentives.

…Flynn taps his nose, immediately needing no further explanation.

Perfect. I DEMAND the script.

Nah, scripts are for nerds. We can ad lib the entire thing, it’ll be seamless.

Okay.

…Oh, here.

Mark hands Bobby's tire iron back, and they both immediately glare menacingly at each other waiting for one to make the wrong move.

LATER, IN OLD BONNY SCOTLAND. EDINBURGH.

Bobby and Mark are seen departing an airplane in the same clothes they were wearing, and each is still holding a tire iron defensively.

You…

…ignorant…

…stupid…

Get to the point.

Mark fumes, getting cut off in such a way.

WHEN YOU SAID YOU HAD A WAY TO GET US TO SCOTLAND AND WE WOULDN’T HAVE TO PACK I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME WACKY GIZMO!

Why would you assume a wacky gizmo? Airplanes are perfectly fine gizmos. And it was Lane who wanted us to travel together.

AND WHY DID WE FLY COACH?

Knowing Vinnie?

…Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

THAT

…IS NOT AN ANSWER!

People are starting to look on as Mark continues to shout as both men walk through the concourse of Edinburgh Airport. As though with a sixth sense, Flynn senses the most average looking guy and turns to him.

MIND YOUR BUSINESS!

Oh, would you stop?

Bobby looks at the man Mark just yelled at.

BUY BOURBCO!

The man smiles and holds up his BourbCo dry erase foam finger. He pulls out his BourbCo foam finger with dry erase marker on the tip, and writes “FLYNN SU” before running out of space. Mark looks furious.

He, uh, was saying “Mark super likes puppies.”

Puppies are stupid.

No they aren’t you dunderhead, they’re superior, and he really meant “Mark sure is…”

Mark stops, as do Bobby. Both men raise their tire irons, prepared to strike.

Mark sure is a what?

Mark sure is a bitter pill and a negative nancy and a clod!

Mark looks taken aback.

CLOD?!?

…you’re a clod!

An older man in glasses with long white hair approaches.



You two are quite the pair, almost the perfect tag team!

Bobby and Mark lower their tire irons and their necks slowly pivot, each man looking absolutely enraged at the man who said such a thing.

You have no idea what you’re talking about!

Yeah, and go get some foam fingers if you want to talk to us!

Hah. I’m Olly Malcolm, I’m supposed to be your guide here in Edinburgh!

Mark glances at Bobby.

I thought you said no secondaries!

He’s not one of mine!

Mr. Lane hired me, said I was to drive you around and show you Scotland! First, let’s get you to your hotel.

Bobby and Mark follow Olly as he leads them to his car; a beat up looking 1986 Chrysler LeBaron.

Get in fellas!

Wait, is that…

A shitty car?!

…Yes, it’s a shitty car!

No, that’s the car from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Lane is doing all this because of Thanksgiving and how we’re spending it together.

NO MOVIE LAMPOONS!

…we

…are

…here

…to reboot

…the JustUS League.

THIS WASN’T MY PLAN!

Ahem.

Excuse me, Gentlemen.

Olly has opened the back door of the car.

Oh, shotgun!

No, hah, get in the back with your partner.

Bobby and Mark each roll their eyes at the notion, Bobby going clockwise, Mark counterclockwise. They begrudgingly enter the car together.

I can’t believe we have to share a hotel room.

You can’t believe it? We got two full size beds, I don’t fit on one of those! And I swear to the Bastardly Father if you try the “hands between two pillows” bit from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles I will break all your hands.

WE WILL NOT CUDDLE!

Whatever, you get a bed that works for you. I’ll just watch Kimmel and try to crash.

Kimmel?

…NO.

Colbert!

KIMMEL!

COLBERT!

Bobby and Mark raise their tire irons at each other, hitting the roof of the LeBaron.

How did you get those on the airplane?

Shut up!

We don’t have Kimmel or Colbert either!

Jesus. I’m in a third world country with one of my greatest enemies.

You’re not even one of mine!

Oh yeah? Well, fine, I hate James Raven and Corey Smith more, but besides them I hate you best!

Olly continues his drive and then turns and pulls the car into a warehouse. Bobby and Mark look around, perplexed.

Scottish hotels sure look weird!

I am leaving the WORST review on Expedia over this.

This isn’t your hotel lads. Get out, and leave the tire irons.

No way!

WHAT IF WE GET A FLAT?

Olly departs the vehicle, walks to a wall, and hits a switch. On the opposite wall, which lights up, we see a series of medieval weapons on the wall. A claymore. A battle axe. Shields of different sizes. A morning star. Longswords. If it appeared in a Dungeons and Dragons game, it’s on the wall here. Mark slyly slides his tire iron into his jacket. Bobby places his into his custom BourbCo tire iron ankle holster, holding the hem of his dress as he gets out.

Dibs on the battle hammer.

Hah! You idiot!

…I want the Claymore!

Olly pulls a sword down from the wall and looks at both men.

First, learn to use this…

Olly points to his head.

…then I’ll teach you to use this.

Mark rolls his eyes.

Now Braveheart!

Hold on.

Bobby walks up to Olly and headbutts him, knocking him out. He then grabs the sword and hurls it down a length of the warehouse.

Why did you just throw the perfectly fine sword?

I already know how to use my head, and it’s harder than any sword!

C’mon, let’s go!

…we don’t have time to mess around, we need to appropriate our opponent’s whole identity and make it better by putting nipples on my suit!

Whatever, I’m keeping this.

Bobby grabs a maul from the wall. Mark runs up and snags the claymore.

C’mon, this place is not our hotel and we need to get on set! SAG could go on strike again at ANY MOMENT!

Yes, let’s blow this popsicle stand!

STAND BLOWN!

Bobby furrows his brow, shaking his head ‘no’.

…low hanging fruit. C’mon.

Bobby walks over to Olly’s car and opens the driver’s side door.

I can’t steal a car, I’m a good guy!

You’re not. I'm stealing it, you're just aiding and abetting trying to work me through a dark time.

Oh. Okay!

Mark walks over and gets into the back seat.

Thank you!

Whatever, you’re a chauffeur now!

So we’re doing Driving Miss Daisy?

GOD DAMNIT!




We catch up with Bobby and Mark, on set for JustUS Forever. Mark is bedecked in a black cape and cowl and a black rubber muscled superhero suit with nipples and a gold belt. Bobby is in a similar suit, only with a cute little skirt and the ability to turn his neck. Think Alicia Silverstone.

When do we get to the ice puns? Those were the grittiest parts of the movies.

They were not…

…alright.

What’s your ice pun?

It’ll be a cold day in hell that these two beat us.

NOT A PUN. That’s idiomatic language.

Drats.

Goddammit, Bob. Do you know what a pun is?

Yeah, it’s when I say something to a woman and she immediately is turned off.

…I mean, you’re not wrong. But also

…you are.

Whatever, I’ma do my rhymes now.

Fantastic. Most of those lyrics are puns, here we go.

Step on up it’s time to get your wig split
Leave you convulsing on the floor having a fit
No mercy headed your way not even a little bit
The JustUS League are flat out just batshit

…Goddammit.

…

That was perfect.

Ice pun!

STILL NO.

Y’all the corny old hacks we’re the new revision
Watch us bond so hard it’s like nuclear fission
We’ll make your blood spill so much the whole mat will glisten
Bear witness as we stop, collaborate, and listen.

Vanilla Ice?

Yup. Pun!

ALLUSION.

…

But, go on.

One thing for both of your consideration
Two to Tango and cause tag team divisional stagnation
Three count, you’re out, the Atomic age has run out of radiation
For the benefit of the entire Xtreme Wrestling Federation!

How do you do that?

I open my mouth and it happens.

Ah… Y’know, Two to Tango might actually be a p-

You both have lost it before we even got to begin
Your act is as relevant to the 21st century as bathtub gin!
The fans can’t wait because they know who’s going to win
Me, Bobby Bourbon, and this guy, Mark Flynn.

Bars.

Yep. Now do that thing that always pisses me off.

What thing?

You know, where you start making words and stuff.

Talking?

...

I fucking hate when you do that.

WELL MAYBE I DON’T FEEL LIKE IT.

…

……

Haha, JK, I always feel like it.

Good!

Mark gives pause as Bobby looks sincerely hyped following his expected rhymes.

Because, Mark, you know why I keep my animosity to you?

Do you know why I take pride and pleasure in fighting you?

Because

…you’re an asshole?

Well, okay, that’s sincerely a part of it, but right now, aren’t you?

I AM NOT! I AM A GOOD GUY.

You’re an egomaniac whose social health is so frail it’s in one of the last remaining iron lungs.

BOB. FRIENDLY FIRE.

…YOU’RE sabotaging our match by giving them…

They’re getting nothing. Not a damn thing.

These fools are in store for the worst. The absolute worst! I’m Bobby Motherfucking Bourbon, I wreck for fun, and I seek the best and fight them on the regular same as I seek the mediocre and bounce them from this company on the regular like it was my job, because for the Fatherly Bastard’s sake…

I STILL don’t get that whole “Bastardly Father” thing you’re doing… But I am INTRIGUED.

Oh he’s right in your wheelhouse!

The Bastardly Father shall not shelter the false champions from the wrath of a challenge too strong.

I

…can’t refute that!

The Bastardly Father shall not release the renowned on the volition of their laurels!

That

…seems amicable!

The Bastardly Father laughs at those prepared to fall but deny it.

Oh fuck.

…Why can’t I disagree with that?

Because, Mark, I like fighting you because flat the fuck out, you’re one of the best. I don’t waste my time on bullshit, and you know what?

I don’t give effort all the time.

…I give it when it’s fucking earned. I try as hard as I feel, and when I see you in the ring, I feel I need to be better, I need to kick the shit out of somebody, and right now, I have a mighty need. I see championship gold in front of me being held by two sheep in bat clothing who are the tarnish on the belts themselves at this point. There’s The Atomic Bat, someone who was so shit on Anarchy they ran off to team up with someone. They found Blue Tango, who is the living figurative description of an entire blowjob. They made a team, they won against nobody, defended against no one. You’re a former tag team champion. I’m a former tag team champion, and since I’m not getting stuck with Charlie anymore, who I shed off like I was shaving my pubes.

…Addition by subtraction.

I think this is where they take the best tag team wrestler of all time and pair him up.

Are you saying you’re…

I’m one of. Not the. There’s debate. We settle that shit out there at Fire and Ice, fighting in a fucking castle, and then after we beat those guys?

…We can beat those guys, we should beat those guys!

But after we beat those guys, we prove to the world, once and for all.

…I am the greatest tag team wrestler in history.

BULLSHIT! YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF TAKING MY TITLE.

NOW THAT’S THE ENERGY!

…So what do you have to say, Mark?

Bobby chuckles like the Riddler, diabolic genius inventor, as Mark snarls angrily like Two-Face, twisted lawyer torn between identities by madness. Bobby’s cackle is enhanced as Mark’s rage builds up on his face, knowing that Bobby was not only content with his speech and its smooth unforced earnesty, but also for his perceived sheer audacity of insisting he have to accept a compliment.

THE SHEER AUDACITY OF COMPLIMENTING ME!

Mark stares down the lense of the camera in front of him.

TANGO.

Con-grat-u-FUCKING-lations.

Genuinely.

Truly.

What an accomplishment.

You and lil’ Atomic Bat.

Less than forty days from a record-setting tag-team title run.

…

Of course, at this point, that gold around your waist is a FUCKING PARTICIPATION TROPHY.

The entire tag-team division has dried up like public interest in the DC cinematic universe.

It’s a travesty.

These fools couldn’t make the Snyder Cut!

Bobb-o and I both made fun of each other for our respective tag title reigns being against basically nobody.

…But, we both defended those belts around your waist.

LITERALLY DOUBLE WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

…

You’ve held the belt for almost 200 days…

And defended the belt THREE TIMES.

Once against Jay Omega and Alex Richards.

Once against LSM and HGH.

And once against Neddy-bye-baby and Isaiah King.

That adds up to…

ONE.

REAL.

DEFENSE.

And let’s be honest, I love Flanders and Zay-zay. But they’re missing that secret ingredient when Mark Flynn isn’t in the driver’s seat.

You have pet names? Wow, I gotta start calling my friend 'Teeks' and figure out how to shorten D!

Don’t do that. Anyway…

Of course, you’d know all about that wouldntcha, Tango?

Your SINGLE MAJOR ACCOMPLISHMENT in your XWF career?

Winning WarGames 2022 with WGWRSR100%Any%?

I COACHED YOUR JOB SQUAD OF TALENTLESS LOSERS TO IT.

I fucking lifted you geeks on my back through the SHEER POWER OF MY SUPERIOR MENTAL ACUMEN.

Want proof of what happens when I’m not around to tell you fucks the difference between a headscissors and safety scissors?

Look at where your little underdog team is now.

I buried NK once and for all at Relentless.

GameGirl and Hanari Carnes both lost their last match and disappeared into the fucking wind.

GONE. And FORGOTTEN.

…

But Flynn! I hear you cry out.

I’m different! I’m special!

I’m the Blue Tango!

Everyone else has disappeared! But I’m still here!

…

Are you?

Are you, really?

Last time I checked…

YOU’RE A FUCKING PART-TIME CHAMPION.

THREE DEFENSES IN 194 DAYS.

…

And I understand why, Tango.

You know why?

I have an idea, but let’s hear yours!

I’m addressing Tango!

...

Because you’re afraid.

Little Tango is scared to be on the dance floor.

He’s been failing up the corporate ladder…

But he’s about to trip over his two left feet…

And break his neck on the way down.

…

Deep down, Tango.

You know.

You’re a fluke champ.

If you actually had the good stuff?

If you deserved that gold?

You’d have beaten Peter Vaughn.

You’d have actually walked up to the plate and swung the bat, Tango.

That’s what a hero does.

That’s what a GOOD GUY does.

We don’t always save every life, and we don’t always catch the bad guy.

But we fucking show up when the signal’s in the sky.

BECAUSE WE’RE NEEDED.

Hey, I take days off, even when needed, nobody needs the Blue Tango, nobody notices when he’s not here.

Stop. I AM ADDRESSING TANGO!

You’re monologuing like a BAD GUY, though.

Mark breathes sharply through his nose at Bobby. Bobby smiles. Mark looks back at the camera.

…

But, ol’ Tango would rather hide.

Sitting under his utility blanket with his utility flashlight.

Reading comic books of his old adventures.

Pretending he’s not a kid wearing TIGHTS AND HOCKEY PANTS.

Okay, that’s sticking. I’m just going to call him Hockey Pants from now on.

I bet you’re feeling Fantastic, huh, Tango?

Probably have your Thing ROCK-HARD in your pants.

Your hockey pants.

Holding it like a HUMAN TORCH TOWARD VICTORY.

Your hockey stick!

ICE HOCKEY PUNS!

They’re not. You really don’t get what a pun is, do you?

Yeah, disappointing jokes, and I DON’T DISAPPOINT!

Mark glances at Bobby and goes to say something, pauses, then attempts to say something, then halts. He redresses the camera.

After all, you’re facing two guys that FAMOUSLY don’t like each other.

Bobby Bourbon and Mark Flynn.

That’s right! And right now we don’t like you!

If you can imagine two guys that don’t fit together? In the XWF?

We’re the first two names you’d think of.

We’ve slammed our skulls against each other.

We’ve scrapped and fought almost a dozen times…

…

You know what, though?

And I promise, I will NEVER SAY THIS AGAIN.

…

But.

I respect Bob.

He’s taken some lumps. He’s missed the mark.

But he keeps showing up.

I respect people that go out and fight.

That lose. And keep swinging.

Tweaking their game.

Struggling.

Fighting to improve.

Have I improved?

No.

…

Tango.

You don’t even have the fucking decency…

To opt-in more frequently than CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED.

AGAINST WEAK-AS-SHIT, COBBLED TOGETHER LOSERS.

…

How often are you even on the show, Tango?

You work Pay-per-view appearances, but you and Bat don’t even show up backstage.

They’re at hockey practice!

Enough with the hockey stuff.

Well these guys can go puck themselves!

Wait…

Not a pun?

I’m not sure. Tango.

You’re a NON-FACTOR.

No true hero. Just a fucking ZERO.

And the XWF needs heroes to lead it out of this dark period.

To rebuild.

It needs GOOD GUYS.

And whatever I am, pretty sure I’m a bad guy right now.

It sure would have benefitted from you and Batsy doing anything…

Besides sitting in your secret lair…

Ignoring the hotline.

Which is a waste of resources, setting up a 900 number just to have one is for rubes.

Well, great news, Tango.

Call the Daily Planet and tell them to stop the presses.

Cue the Avengers triumphant medley.

Cuz a couple of fucking heroes are here to rescue the Tag-Team Division.

From stagnancy.

Like Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man!

No, like us.

From the whirlpool of decay it’s been trapped in by LACKLUSTER TALENT.

TWO OF THE GREATEST TAG-TEAM WRESTLERS OF ALL-TIME.

TWO OF THE GREATEST WRESTLERS.

PERIOD.

FULL-STOP.

Are here to save the day.

…

(#1 is me), BUT REGARDLESS.

I’m not doing the math.

Hope you two stooges enjoyed your time in the spotlight.

But, your cute lil’ franchise has gone stagnant.

And the Tag-Team Division.

Is about to get RE-BOOTED.

BY TEAM TIRE IRON!

No.

…no we’re not team Tire Iron.

Bobby stares at the camera, nodding, and pointing at it.

Tire Iron.

Stop.

…That’s not our name.

Airforce One touches down on the Scottish Village where Mark and Bobby are in mid-promo. Joe Biden, Bourbon Man and President, steps out, wearing Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. He walks down his stairs and gets into a 1971 Dodge Challenger and bolts down the runway, doing a 180(google then copypasta degrees symbol) turn into the opposite direction. He slows down and pulls over, getting out, and enters the driver seat of a 1991 Ford F150. He goes for the 180 but rolls the truck. He climbs out, waving people off, smiling, no helmet at all but still walking. He gets into a Chevy Volt. He rolls along, but he can absolutely not do a 180 in this thing. He crashes into a school bus. Joe Biden climbs into the bus and starts doing donuts. The Scottish Village became the best Top Gear episode ever because Joe Biden appeared in a promo with Mark Flynn and Bobby Bourbon. He Grand Theft Auto’d the SHIT out of that whole thing with all the vehicles set up on a very private track set in the Scottish countryside for way cheaper than doing CGI. Joe steps out of the bus mid donut doing a flip and lands in front of Mark and Bobby.

Bobby.

Hey, Joe, glad you’ve taken the training at the dojo so well. You’re one of my finest students.

You did a fine job teaching me the art of presidenting.

How can Joe Biden do that with a Dodge Challenger, but can’t maneuver a flight of stairs?

He's a car guy, plus driving stairs is pretty tough.

Haha, jokes. Sup, Bidey-boo.

Listen, Bobby, your friend here…

Bobby and Mark look at each other and raise their tire irons. Joe Biden acts like Yoda and raises one hand, pulling both to his palm, then gripping them.

Car guy powers.

Look, you’re doing this for America now. You’re in Scotland. Well, we need to show the world we spy on every country, not just the ones doing counterintelligence on us. We need you men, in the name of America, to stand in and be our agents in that castle at Double Cross.

But, I’m on two teams already.

Yeah, I’m also kinda-sorta on… like… two-ish teams…

Well, now you’re both on THREE.

…Your houses.

…Your tag-team.

…Your country.

You had to kill a North Korean War Criminal, huh.

I prefer the term, COMPROMISED TO A PERMANENT END.

…

But, yes, he is dead.