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~~Brandon Moore~~ · **01-11-2017, 05:39 PM**

-Disembodied Voice-
“The stage has been set. The skin piercing freeze of the Antarctic air is coming. January 18, 2017, the XWF Hart Championship is up for grabs in a battle for the ages. Brandon Moore versus Robbie Bourbon, who will come out on top? Find out on Wednesday Warfare!”

In all reality, the disembodied voice is just Brandon Moore. He’s playing “Movie Voiceover Guy” right now. His handheld camera just still happens to have the lens covering it. After the deep introduction, Brandon finally removes the lens from his favorite way to communicate. His scruffy face comes into view and behind him appears to be a highway rest stop. Brandon took a leak, came back to his rental car, and decided to put together a little something for his opponent, Robbie Bourbon. He has decided to drive to Tampa, Florida for Savage Saturday Night, but after that, he’s got to catch the first plane to Antarctica. It’s going to be a crazy week for the guy. Regardless, he’s got to get some things off of his chest and this is the perfect time to do it.

-Brandon Moore-
“Robbie Bourbon, you tubby bastard, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Since I signed on with the XWF, I haven’t passed up a single opportunity to compete. From the Wild Card Weekend to Wednesday Warfare to every single Savage Saturday Night, I’ve been in the ring. It must be nice sitting on your plump rump for weeks at a time until a random Wednesday comes where you feel like fighting. This Saturday, Ronnie Cage and I are taking on Reeve and Snow for what seems like the millionth time. They’re easy pickings. My focus is on you, Robbo.

Come the end of the next Wednesday Warfare, we’re going to have a new XWF Hart Champion. Whatever expectations you have for this match…they’re going to end up dead wrong. Thomas Nixon was just a warm up, to see how far I could go without pushing myself to the limit. It helped me shake off the rust. He showed me what the true competition in XWF can do. Now I can use that knowledge and force myself to go all in. The word on the street is that you, Robbie Bourbon, are part of the ‘true competition.’ I sure fucking can’t wait to find out if that’s for real.

Now, I’ve got a little presentation for you…”

Brandon moves the view of the camera down to the center console of his rental car. A pile of index cards are rested face down over the top of the cup holder. After a few moments of viewing the index card pile, Brandon focuses the camera back on himself. He then places it on the dashboard of the car so his hand can be free for what he is about to do next.

-Brandon Moore-
“Who, or what, exactly is Robbie Bourbon? Why should anyone care? I’m going to spell it out for you…”

Brandon reaches down and lifts the first index card off of the pile. He flashes it at the camera, revealing a black “R” written in sharpie covering the entire card.

-Brandon Moore-
“R is for ‘Reversal of Fortune.’

I’ve heard astounding things about you, Robbie. You see, I’ve come up short in a couple of important contests so far in my short time with the XWF. Come Wednesday, my fortune is going to be reversed, as will yours. You’ll be on the mat, staring at the Antarctic sky, while I’ll be high up on the turnbuckle, raising the Hart Championship above my head.”

With a flick of his wrist, Brandon flings the index card into the back seat. He reaches down and grabs the next one, holding it to the camera.

-Brandon Moore-
“O is for ‘Overrated.’

That’s what you are, Robbie. You’re an overrated nutjob. You spit your weird rhymes and lay down your corny insults. ‘Just plain butter?’ Seriously? If you want to turn this match into a rap battle or a shit talking contest, you’ll be worse off than if we just duke it out like originally planned. Overrated, underrated, fuck dude, I don’t think you should be rated at all.”

Brandon moves on, discarding the “O” index card and retrieving the first of consecutive, and several, “B” cards.

-Brandon Moore-
“This B is for ‘Bogus.’

Your claims of making the Hart Championship the most prestigious title in the XWF are complete bogus. You are complete bogus. The dictionary definition of the word is, ‘not genuine or true; fake.’ You talk a lot of talk, but at Wednesday Warfare, I’m going to expose just how much of a liar you are. To make any of your points valid, you’d have to beat me. News flash, bub. That’s not going to fucking happen.”

Rinse and repeat to the next letter.

-Brandon Moore-
“This next B is for ‘Bad.’

This might be the most fitting out of them all. There are a lot of bad things about you…your breath, your wrestling, your ability to conjure coherent sentences…the list goes on and on. I’m just plain better. You’re just plain bad.”

It’s the same old same old as Brandon discards the second “B” into the backseat and grabs from the pile a card with the letter “I.”

-Brandon Moore-
“I is for ‘Ignorant.’

You’re an ignorant fool and it’s so obvious to see. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know what kind of havoc us boys in Havoc can actually wreak, my man. Every word out of your mouth makes me cringe. It’s not out of fear. It’s because everything you say is so stupid it hurts.”

Coming to the end of his opponent’s first name, Brandon grabs the final letter in “Robbie” from the pile, the “E.”

-Brandon Moore-
“E is for ‘Eat.’

That’s what you’re going to do to all the food on the entire damn cruise ship. Save some for the rest of us, will ya? It’s going to be cold up in that bitch. We have to sustain!”

Brandon discards the “E” into the backseat and moves on with the third of four “B” cards he has in the pile.

-Brandon Moore-
“Another B! This one is for ‘Bitch.’

No, I’m not calling you a bitch, but if the shoe fits. This is more geared towards how you bitch and moan and bitch and moan and bitch and moan. You bitch about being tied up with Chaos and Scully. You bitch about your lack of Universal Championship opportunities. You bitch about every opponent that gets placed in front of you. Quit your bitching and just step the fuck up, homie. Do something about it.”

Just as all the letters before it, the “B” takes its place in the back of the car as card with another “O” appears in Brandon’s hand.

-Brandon Moore-
“O! This O is for ‘Obese!’

I don’t know if the cruise ship will stay afloat with you on board! And if you plan on bringing your manatee of a girlfriend along…abandon ship! The only way you’ll be taking home the Hart Championship is if you trip and fall on top of me. I don’t think even Superman could lift your big ass off of me.”

Brandon frisbees the “O” behind him and lifts up the next card, the letter “U.”

-Brandon Moore-
“Speaking of physical discrepancies and personal attacks! U! For ‘Ugly!’

Wear the mask all the time, Robbie. I’m begging you. And get one for your lady, too, while you’re at it. Cover up your fiery head and that crooked mug of yours. Children cry when Robbie Bourbon walks in without his mask on. Sheesh.”

Removing the “U” from his hand, Brandon reaches down and snags up the second “R” from the index card pile.

-Brandon Moore-
“R2! No D2, though. Star Wars reference, nerds. This R is for ‘Run.’

That’s what you need to do, Robbie. You need to run. Whether it’s to get in shape or to save yourself from the homicide in Antarctica, take your pick. You’re either going to run away from me and live or you’re going to run at me and die.”

Just a few more letters left as Brandon tosses the last “R” backwards. He lifts up the fourth and final “B” of the group and begins to lay into his opponent verbally once again.

-Brandon Moore-
“The last B! For ‘Beaten.’

Robbie Bourbon will be beaten at Wednesday Warfare. Beaten how, though? Beaten at your own game? Beaten to a frozen bloody pulp? Beat one, two, three? Or maybe another type of ‘JPB?’ No, not ‘just plain better’ or ‘just plain butter.’ This time, it’s ‘just plain beaten.’”

Down to the final stretch as Brandon chucks the “B” towards the backseat, grabbing the next “O.”

-Brandon Moore-
“Another O! My, oh my…this one…hmm. This one stands for ‘Over His Head.’

Used in a sentence, ‘Robbie Bourbon is in way over his head going up against Brandon Moore.’ If you think our match is going to be a cake walk, no matter how much you like cake…to quote the almighty Judas Priest, ‘you’ve got another thing comin’.’ I’ll bring the fight and overwhelm you like a force you’ve never even thought of seeing in the XWF before. I’m a fucking psychopath.”

Brandon tosses the “O” behind and starts the pound on his lap in rapid succession to imitate a drumroll. He picks up the final letter, an “N,” finishing up the spelling of Robbie Bourbon.

-Brandon Moore-
“This is it! The last letter! N! This kind of ties it all together…N is for ‘No Chance!’

Used in a sentence, ‘Robbie Bourbon has abso-fucking-lutely no chance against Brandon Moore in their Hart Championship match!’ And there you have it! Before I go, though, a little birdie told me that Robbie did, in fact, drop a ‘sick nasty’ rhyme about me. Well, Robbie, I’ve got a jingle for you!”

Brandon flings the last index card away with more intensity than all the other times before combined.

-Brandon Moore-
“My opponent has a first name! It’s…

R

O

B

B

I

E!

My opponent has a second name! It’s…

B

O

U

R

B

O

N!

Well, Robbie Bourbon has a way with…

S

U

C

K

I

N

G!”

With one hand, Brandon unzips his pants. With the other, he grabs the videocamera from the dashboard of his rental car. He points the camera down towards his zipper. After unzipping his jeans, Brandon puts his free hand down the front. One would think Brandon is about to remove his genitalia and flash it at the camera, but that is not the case. Instead, Brandon’s fist emerges from the unzipped crotch of his jeans. He follows that with a long middle finger to the camera before he presses the record button, ending his rest stop tirade.

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