The screen was enveloped in darkness, adorned only by dark blue text that proclaimed, "A long time ago in a galaxy not, far away." In a fleeting moment, the words vanished, giving way to the iconic main theme of "Star Wars," resonating through the speakers for the viewer's pleasure.

Unexpectedly, the customary crawl transformed. "Star Warfare" adorned the screen in the renowned font, signaling a departure from convention. Subsequently, the words "Episode II A STANDARD BASTARD PROMO" graced the display, offering a glimpse into the unfolding narrative.

The XWF Republic is in peril. In the aftermath of the Crucible Battle, disorder and corruption run rampant throughout the galaxy.

Seizing upon this chaos are two merciless bounty hunters known as THEM NO GOOD BASTARDS, whose vicious attacks are crippling the galaxy’s most powerful tag teams.

The XWF Republic, recognizing this development as a threat to their plans, has summoned their new apprentices to look over the matter…

The camera tilted down to show Earth. A strange spacecraft, resembling no earthly creation for space exploration whatsoever, descended, breaking the atmosphere. It's a peculiar canoe-shaped thing, floating sideways, and ever so gently into the desert world of Tattooine, Texas. It’s here that the Bastard’s Den was within near view of the landing site, as though this is where it was headed. In the desert moonlight, a hatch on the vessel opened, and a ramp descended to the sand.

A group of small figures emerged from the craft, and like some silhouettes strode the sands in the pale of the moon. The group of creatures entered through the rear of the Bastard’s Den, and within short order, escaped the same way they had entered. One seemed to be carrying something. They reentered their craft, the ramp withdrew into the fuselage, and the ship took off into the cosmos once again.

It was at this moment, that Bobby Fett and TK-88, the two best bounty hunters in the galaxy, pulled into the Bastard’s Den in their modified Firespray-31-class patrol and attack craft. They climbed out of the cabin of their ship and into their own personal docking bay.





Both men are alarmed by the sights of carnage and destruction in their home base. Someone, or something, had been here. Hurriedly, TK-88 ran into the bar, but not before he spat into the state-issued spittoon beside the front door, and checked to see if everything was alright. Half a dozen Twi'lek women were dancing in the bright neon room, and TK-88 sat at the bar, seeming to have completely forgotten that his landing pad was a wreck. The bartender walked up and handed him a bottle of Bud Light Platinum, finally making Budweiser product placement in the Star Wars franchise. Bobby Fett ran into the bar and saw TK-88 seated with a brew, and knew instantly that TK-88 needed to de-stress. Bobby Fett continued through the crowded bar and into the back hallways, where yet more signs of violence met his eye. He immediately turned and went back to TK-88. Bobby leaned on the bar beside TK-88, and he knew exactly what to say.

Dude, I found a surprise in the back!

TK-88 stood, sipping his beer.

I fucking love surprises, but not the bullshit ones, and this better not be one of those bullshit ones again, I remember when you put those damn space monkeys into that birthday cake so they’d do a dance while that band who looks like a bunch of cocks playing oboes played…

The Cantina Band is huge, bro, we packed this place when they played here. They, along with all Bith, look like human penises, but they can’t help it. Maybe we look like their dicks, bro, have you ever even been on DeviantArt.com?

We humble narrators sincerely hope you did, in fact, just Google “Bith Dick Pics” and if you hadn't, we offered you a chance as we headed into a commercial break.





The commercial opens with TK and Bobby Bourbon sitting in a dimly lit bar. TK is meticulously polishing his worn-out wrestling boots while Bobby sips on a stemless wine glass of butterscotch schnapps like a 50’s divorcee.

You know, Bobby, there's something about a rassler's boots that tells a story.

Ain't that the truth, TK. Every scuff, every scratch, it's like a badge of honor.

Holding up the boots so that the camera can pick them up gleaming in the dim light.

But you know what really brings out the character in these old boots?

Bobby shrugs, showing that TK isn't the only person who knows how to Warstein, as TK holds up a can of polish.

Bastard Polish.

Bastard Polish? Why? I've never heard of it.

A smirk forms on TK's face.

That's because it ain't your ordinary fucking polish, Bobby. This stuff is for the real Bastard out there. Men who ain't afraid to get their goddamn hands dirty.

Sounds like my kind of polish!

TK passes the can of Bastard Polish to Bobby in the cheesiest manner possible.

Give it a try, partner. You won't be fucking disappointed.

Bobby sets his posh glass of schnapps down. He takes the can and inspects it before applying the polish to his own boots. The rich, dark formula instantly brings out the luster of his beat-down, worn leather. With one look at his wrestling boots' new shine, Bobby is impressed.

Damn, TK. This stuff works wonders. My boots ain't looked this good since... Well, ever.

That's the power of Bastard Polish, my Bastardly Brother. It ain't just about making your boots shine. It's about honoring the journey they've been on as well.

TK winks into the camera, then shares a nod to Bobby, the camera zooms in on the can of Bastard Polish, highlighting its rugged can design and bold lettering.

Raising his glass of whiskey, TK makes a toast.

Here's to all the Bastards out there. The ones who walk their own goddamn path and wear it fucking proudly.

Bobby on the other hand raises his boot-clad foot, crane kick style to show off the sheen of a Bastard’s polished efforts.

And here's to Bastard Polish. Keeping our boots as tough as we are. Wait, where did you get this stuff anyway, and why are we advertising boot polish?

Don’t act oblivious.

The commercial fades to black as the sound of glasses clinking echoes in the background, leaving viewers with the image of two men who embody the spirit of individualism.





As Bobby Fett led TK-88 round the corner to the back hallways of their lair, where TK saw that doors were broken.

Damnit, Bobby, I told you I hate those bullshit kinds of surprises.

Well, still, we better investigate!

I hate investigating, I just want to shoot shit.

We all know you do, buddy.

Bobby Fett walked through the destroyed door and saw a broken vase with a space fern lying on the floor beside it. A chill ran down his spine.

My Boy!

Bobby ran up some stairs, an invention so great it existed long ago in a galaxy far away. He rushed down another hallway, then turned down another corridor, then made his way to another set of stairs. To be fair, they never believed in stairwells in Star Wars, they just had stairs then a corridor then other stairs, the real design flaw of the Death Star. Proper emergency exit route design and basic stairwells would have saved a lot of lives outside of Endor.

Bobby made his way around another corner and then had to lap another entire floor to get to the next set of stairs. Upon his ascent, he was met by TK-88.

Why didn’t you take the turbolift?

Cardio!

Bobby Fett and TK-88 approached a room where the door had been blasted open. Within, the decor of an infant's nursery was strewn into a disorganized mess, and no baby was seen. Bobby looked around and noticed prints and claw markings on the walls.

Some goofy aliens took my North Korean War Son!

Good!

No, not good!

TK-88 recognized that Bobby was pretty bent out of shape about losing his son for the umpteenth time over the past four months.

Y’know, that kid is lucky to have a dad like you.

You think so?

Yep. Imagine, he could be a Duke.

Bobby shuddered.

No!

Yet another drab and affluent aristocrat, perpetuating the same cycle of owning a personal army yet never really conquering any-goddamn-thing, shit, Bobby, fuck the brat that touched the TV Title, your son is the single most important child in the XWF!

MY BOY WILL BE CLEVERLY WRITTE-

TK-88 quickly covered Bobby Fett’s mouth.

Developed.

TK-88 removed his hand as Bobby Fett continued.

CLEVERY DEVELOPED!

Bobby Fett and TK-88 departed the room, and then in unison entered the turbolift to the ground floor. Both men exited just as swiftly when it opened and walked back through the busy bar towards their hangar. The music was intense on the club floor, deeper and funkier than anything you’ve heard from a Star Wars movie. TK-88 paused to ensure he paid a Twi’lek stripper by putting some credits right between her tendrils, while simultaneously slapping her ass. Bobby Fett flat-out decked a dude who was walking by for no good goddamned reason besides sheer frustration over losing his son.

As Bobby Fett's fist connected with the unsuspecting man, chaos erupted in the Bastards Den. The altercation drew the attention of nearby patrons, some of whom reacted with shock while others seemed eager for a fight. Amidst the commotion, TK-88 quickly sprang into action, stepping between Bobby and the incensed onlookers, his blaster pistols at the ready to deter any further escalation.

Recognizing the need to de-escalate the situation, Bobby Fett took a deep breath, realizing the dancer was unhappy that TK touched her butt. As Bobby Fett thought TK-88 caused a scene, TK-88 was ready to defend the scene Bobby had caused as well.

As they reached the exit, the pulsating music faded into the background, replaced by the hum of machinery and the distant sounds of the hangar. Stepping into the cool night air, TK-88 tried to show his version of concern for Bobby's son.

Where do you think they took Frankie?

Oh, shit, Thad’s kid too!?

No, fuck that kid, your kid.

Bobby took a quick breath.

Frankie is Thad’s kid, that little boy has signed memorabilia from me. I still send him birthday presents, he calls me Uncle Robbie. He’s, um, an apple not falling far from the tree, but until then he’s just a bud. I don’t know how he was seven two years ago and now he looks thirteen, poor kid must’ve been injected with hormones. My kid’s name is Chevy. I’m not going to age him prematurely, that’s ghoulish.

Chevy, Frankie, they’re both eating up too much goddamn air time.

Bobby smiles.

Wait until the four-month-old pins the Universal Champion on a fucking Pay-Per-View, Thaddeus.

Bobby smirked, feeling superior to the obviously scarred father of Frankie Duke, a boy sired by Thaddeus when he was all of twelve. TK-88 opened the hatch to their ship. Them No Good Bastards entered the cockpit and took off. TK-88 sat at the control stick as Bobby Fett tapped into the navigational systems.

Damn, I’m tracking down the things that took my son! I’m looking at this map of space which is conveniently two-dimensional, like in all sci-fi for some reason.

Bobby nods while looking at the map.

They went that'away!

You’re holding it upside down.

Oh, shit, I am? Look at you, able to read the weird language from Star Wars!

TK-88 converted the map from metric to imperial.

Yeah, bro, this is the way.

TK-88, unbeknownst to him, proved to be quite the uncle as he shot into warp speed after the devilish things that took the child. Bobby fiddled around with the radio for a bit before the onboard computer began beeping. Bobby Fett tapped the computer, and a hologram of the Bastard bounty hunter's lawyer, C3KC, was seen.

Hello, Bobby Fett! How are you doing?

Rescuing a kidnapped kid!

C3KC twitched, having registered exactly who Bobby Fett and TK-88 were rescuing. Somewhere within, he wanted to rip his golden mustache off of his golden metallic droid face.

Well, I do hope you are successful, for both our sakes! On that note, gentlemen, I have received word there is a bounty available in the Galaxy! Don’t open this holo-message until it's ready it will glow green, meaning the contract is live.

Green means go, got it.

Received, C3KC, we’ll be on the lookout.








Still dressed as Mandalorian bounty hunters on the set of Star Warfare, episode two, A STANDARD BASTARD PROMO, Them No Good Bastards take the time to address their doomed opponents.

Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of Them No Good Bastards, our mission; boldly go where no tag team has gone before.

Which episode of Star Wars was that line from? I only liked Episode 2. That little green fucker threw down.

Right? Acting legend Christopher Lee as well? Fuck yeah, Episode 2 was the best. On that note, let’s talk about another couple of lame clones. For starters, let’s take a long hard look at Razor Blade, who is a watered down, albeit slightly smarter, version of Scully. Scully, former XWF Universal Champion, but if you’re going to rip off history, why the fuck would you think to yourself ‘gosh-by-golly, let’s be just like Scully’?

Who the fuck is Scully?

Bobby blinks slowly while looking at the camera.

Exactly. TK doesn’t get who Scully is, why do you feel like paying homage to the man so hard? Then there’s Latoya Hixx, and damn, girl, you’re like a clone of half of the line players in the LFL except with a fraction of the personality and twice the stink. Latoya Hixx smells like a festival port-o-john and has the hepatitis to prove it. That’s not the worst of it, though, TK, because I’m pretty sure Latoya has severe brain damage and shouldn’t be competing. Latoya, when I heard you say ‘ever since I came to XWF I always ended up losing to Warfare and Anarchy and then this past Friday at Anarchy when I was in the battle royal I was tempted to win the battle royal and look what happened I ended up getting thrown out of the battle royal with a bunch of men but that's cool though cause when I Main event with Jason Cashe’ I wondered if you were shitting your pants while having a stroke. When Latoya Hixx opens her mouth, we all gotta wonder which crayon is her favorite smell.


Looking confused, TK chimes in.

Crayons don’t have smells, Bobby.

Bobby immediately jumps back to respond.

I’m well fucking aware, but she thinks the purple smells like her dad’s dirty underwear. Then there’s Razor, and holy fucking hell, this guy isn’t any better. When I heard Razor say ‘next challenger for next Saturday's Galaxy Wars of Star Wars’ I realized he, too, was brain damaged. Galaxy Wars of Star Wars? What in the blue fuck is that shit? You don’t need us, Raze, you’re challenged enough as is!

TK places his hand on Bobby’s shoulder, thinking he can be a cooler head in this situation.

The dude was definitely born in the middle of the damn Interstate, that’s for sure, Bobby. Let's cut to the chase. I wouldn't even be mentioning them both, by name, if I didn't have to stick to our contracts. Seriously, they’ve had more than their fair share of screen time to actually... do something! But no, they just chat with Steve and blabber on and on about being booked in matches.

TK begins to speak directly to Razor and Hixx to try and encourage them to get better.

Hey, I'm not hating on you for it, I've been in similar spots. Well, maybe not that deep. Check out the XWF Video Archives, there are stacks upon stacks of old matches. Learn a thing or two, anything! You're content just being here, while we're content with laying down beatings, and hurting people.

Bobby's next words come out with a snarl and a growl.

We’re built differently.

With a deep breath, TK steadies himself, keeping his cool head, and continues.

You're out here calling yourself Razor, but you're acting more like a fucking blunt Butter Knife. Get out of here with that shit. Oh, and your tag team partner, Latoya Hixx with two "x's", looking like a horse, I might as well call that woman Seabiscuit. Add another "x" to her name and send her ass to a beastiality website and she'll be a bigger draw. Bobby's pretty much summed up everything anyone needs to know about Seabiscuit from her promotional material. So, moving right along! May fourth, LIVE! From the revamped Death Star version 2.0’s docking bay, we're going to thrash you from one end to the other. Bouncing your skulls off every goddamn Tie Fighter, Assault Shuttle, Drop Ship, AT-AT, AT-ST, and every other fucking thing we can find. I think I covered all the ships...

TK counts on his fingers, thinking about all the Star Wars vehicles he’s named off, before getting frustrated. Bobby’s shaking his head thinking TK got all the ones that matter.

Screw it! I don’t give a fuck! Whatever’s in that bitch, that isn’t tied the fuck down, is going to be used on you! Why? Because I’m pissed now! Yeah, I’m pissed that we’re wasting time with you two half-witted fuck bags and not beating our way back up the ladder!

Giving his classic, almost Warstein-shrugging level of popularity, jerking-off hand gesture.

Sure, you had a match with those other two shit weasels two weeks ago! Let’s face it, only half of them had to show up to get the job done. Nah, not how we roll, when we work we work together. When XWF throws us a trash can tag team, we’re going to eat them alive and say you should have fucking known better. You two have as much chance of sniffing the XWF Tag Team Championships as French Canadian Bed Shitter and his tag-a-long, fuckboy, completely heterosexual, life mate Dave Blandman. Do you think we don’t know every goddamn “team” that steps foot in this company? You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think that at Star Warfare Butterknife and Seabiscuit aren’t just a fucking pothole in the road to success for Them No Good Bastards. Then you’re more of a fucking idiot than the ref of our last match! For the love of the Bastardly Father! MasterMind, brain beeld and all, with Morbid Angel, stood more of a chance than you two fucking mouth breathing, sticking licking, shit stains. What we say, we fucking mean, the beating will continue until morale improves!

Bobby interjects getting TNGB’s promotional material back on track.

Now watch us continue to entertain the fans the way they deserve. After all, we put the ‘us’ in Famous.





TK-88 took the ship out of warp speed and flew to a nearby, very familiar forest moon. Wreckage dotted the trees here and there as both men landed, finding the upturned canoe-shaped ship that had flown off with Chevy. Both men disembarked and marched into a bunker. Once inside, Bobby Fett freezes.

Shit, my weakness!

Bobby Fett looked over at the table laid out in front of him. Cabbage Rolls. Kielbasa. Pierogi. TK-88 realized the peril that was going on.

Goddamn, someone left you a ton of Polish food!

I LOVE IT!

IT’S A TRAP! …I know a fucking trap when I see one, is all I'm sayin’.

Bobby approached the table and held back, having solemnly realized what was going on.

I’ll be back for you…

Bobby Fett held his hand out, beckoning towards the platter of potato pancakes. TK-88 shot his blaster at the creatures responsible; Ewoks. Bobby Fett turned and looked at them.

Holy fucking Christ, teddy bears took my kid!

They’re small targets but stupid!

TK-88 fired a salvo at the Ewoks as Bobby raised a fist and shot a jet of flame from it. Having thoroughly barbecued the Ewok, Bobby Fett pulled a plastic baggie from one of the several pouches on his person, and a tiny chainsaw-edged blade came out of his wristlet. Bobby sliced some meat from the ewok.

What the Bastardly Father's name are you fucking doing?

I want to try one, I’ve never had this meat.

Shoot more, get meat later!

Right, you’re right!

Bobby Fett unleashed a burst from his gauntlet-mounted flamethrower once more, the flames licking out like hungry serpents burning anything it touches, while his chainsaw meat slicer tore into another Ewok with a ferocity akin to a deranged madman. TK-88, brandishing a duo of blaster pistols, each unlawfully modified and possessing lethal enhancements, swiftly eliminated two additional Ewoks with pinpoint accuracy, delivering fatal no-look headshots with the precision of a stone-cold killer. But TK-88's lethal proficiency didn't stop there; with calculated precision, he hurled a gravity grenade through an open doorway, unleashing devastation upon a dozen more enemy combatants, eradicating them in a single, decisive strike.

With the Ewoks lying lifeless around them, some already showing signs of preparation for consumption, Bobby Fett and TK-88 retrieved the space-aged metal bassinet containing Chevy. Remarkably, the infant remained undisturbed by the chaos, peacefully sleeping through the entire kerfuffle.

Bobby Fett and TK-88 quickly made their way back through the dense Endorian forest toward their waiting ship. With their mission to recover Chevy a success, they navigated the rugged terrain.

As they reached the clearing where their ship was, TK-88 activated the vessel's ramp, allowing Bobby Fett to push the floating bassinet containing Chevy aboard. The little tyke remained undisturbed.

With Chevy secured safely on board, Bobby Fett and TK-88 wasted no time in preparing the ship for departure. As the ship's engines roared to life, Bobby Fett piloted the vessel into the star-filled expanse above Endor, leaving behind the forest moon and the memories of dead Ewoks. With the vastness of space stretching out before them, they set a course for their next destination, determined to continue their journey through the galaxy. That's when suddenly, the holo-message, which was conveniently sitting between Bobby Fett and TK-88, began to vibrate and a green light started to flash. Both men looked directly at it, until TK-88 heard another space pilot’s space horn, flipped off the other spacecraft, and got his eyes back on the stars. Distracted driving was dangerous driving, as it always would be. Yep, we snuck a PSA about safety on the highways here, what have you done for your community?

The holo-message showed two faces that were revealed to be the Natural Born Killers, and that a bounty had been placed on their heads.

Finally.

It's about goddamn time.