So, this is what’s become of the legendary XWF Tag Team division, huh? Everyone was so miffed at the idea of us using the Freebird rule to the X-Treme title, and yet, when Doctor and Patient clown somehow eke out a win against two other useless roster members, they get to simply switch out their cosplay for other professions? What a first defense for us.

Imagine me and Charles losing to the modern day reboot of Clowns R’ Us, a group who was never dangerous in its original iteration by the way, after beating two former Uni champs for these straps. Not going to happen. I’m not making an intergalactic trip to lose to Ass-to-Mouth Clown and Bobby Brown’s bitch Clown. Not Jandromyte. Not Tyke Mison. At least those clowns were creative. Hell, Killjoy was a god damn legend.

But sure, I’ll bite. All we know about these opponents is their names and that they are part of the cadre of never-ending Juggalo apologists. So let’s start here. John Glenn sucks. Neil Armstrong? Piece of shit. Buzz Aldrin? Go fuck yourself. Sally Ride is legit though. Respect.

Anyway, Ronald McDonald decides to go to space and now we have to tell him it’s all a fever dream and he should just take his meds and go back to bed. Don’t even get me started on Houston Clown. Seriously. Don’t. Like, what does this motherfucker do? Is he a rodeo clown? Because that’s a real thing and they have no fear. But if he’s just like a big Astros fan then I have to ask why?

Here’s the thing. We have like a hundred different clowns now. I think Dolly’s union, if it’s worth a damn, should put a limit on how many clowns can be on the roster at any one time. Personally, I think the limit should be zero. We did the whole Clowns R’ Us thing before and that reference doesn’t even make sense in 2026. Toys R’ Us died more than a decade ago. Let it go. And no, that small aisle inside Macy’s doesn’t count.

But, I suppose when you have clowns running the fucking company in the Trillionaires, this type of shit leaks in. Honestly, if we’re going to use dated references, think of me and the B.o.B. as Ghostbusters, only for clowns. As the fucking mastermind behind the Brotherhood, the only incarnation that matters, I’m happy to zap these motherfuckers into obscurity once and for all. Hell, Charlie and I are so unbeatable, why stop at two clowns? Bring in the rightful number one contenders, JD and Turk from Scrubs (Med School) clowns! Send in all the clowns! We’ll put every last one of them where they belong. In the dirt.

One of the founding principles of B.o.B. is that clowns have no place in this business. If your name isn’t Doink, or Dink, or like the second, more evil Doink, you need to GTFO. Ugly clown? Dunked on. Pretty clown? Made out with! Totally not a Pedophile Clown? Straight to jail. I am instituting a zero tolerance policy for clowns right now. If I see so much as a red nose on someone…instant ban! Because no one actually likes clowns. That’s why they are portrayed as murderers or villains. They aren’t cute or funny. Especially not these two. Anal clown and Dallas Buyers Club clown can honestly go fuck themselves.


We open on a wide shot of the Chicago skyline.

The rising sun peaks through the clouds as an XWF drone flies past colossal skyscrapers, each one larger and more imposing than the last.

Eventually the camera passes by the Sears Tower: the massive phallus of Chicago that has wowed tourists for generations with both its size and girth.

But these days, the Sears Tower is no longer the pinnacle of Chiraq’s skyline.

So the camera skips right by it…

Before finally settling on the one and only BOBHQ!

The drone slowly descends down the length of the tower, showing off the building’s gargantuan design. The black metal and one-way windows of BOBHQ strike an intimidating posture in the concrete jungle of downtown Chicago.

So intimidating, that when the camera finally reaches the base of the tower’s shaft, we see none other than STEVE FUCKING SAYORS looking up in awe.

“Oh….my….god.”

The camera rests briefly on Steve’s look of shock, the face of a man who isn’t used to such massive phallus structures.

“This is the gawdiest building I’ve ever seen in my life…”

Just then, the front doors to BOBHQ suddenly swing open: revealing the one and only Jordan Penn! AKA The Director of BOB, Jordan steps out of the building in the finest silk suit that Sebastian’s money could buy.

And of course, he’s wearing the tag-team championship belt that Sebastian bled for. The championship that Jordan made him bleed for. The very same belt that Jordan would make Charlie die to protect.

”As I live and breathe! If it isn’t XWF Legend, Steven Sayors!”

”You can just call me Steve.”

Jordan ignores his request as a very large imposing man steps out from behind him.

”Yes, so this is my business partner, Greg Brune.”

Steve goes in for a handshake. He immediately regrets it as his hand is thoroughly crushed in the process by Greg’s gorilla grip. Jordan waits an uncomfortably long amount of time to say anything and then finally breaks the silence.

”Where are my manners?! Come on in, Steven!”[/b]

Jordan, with Greg closely following behind, leads Sayors inside and the foyer is immaculate.

”So, BOBHQ, huh? I like what you’ve done with the place. That’s a very nice…uh, what is that thing over there?”

The drone camera pans over to a large metal object with a window on the front.

[red]”Oh, that? Yeah, Gator brought that one in. It’s like a medieval torture chamber, but designed specifically for court jesters that fail to make the kings laugh.

Steve’s jaw drops almost as quickly as women’s panties do when they see Jordan.

”I’m…so sorry I asked. That sounds horrible.”

Jordan shrugs.

”I know, right? We tried to tell him it threw off the aesthetic, but he insisted and who can really resist those chubby cheeks of his, you know? Besides, who knows when something like that might come in handy?

As if on cue, an interior door busts open. That’s when Jordan’s favorite mutt hits the scene.

“What the fuck is Steve Sayors doing in our BOB-seum!?!?”

The Nickleman scowls and crosses his arms, staring daggers right at Steve Sayors. But Jordan Penn quickly intervenes to calm his attack dog down.

”Charlie, my man! I was just giving Steven here the tour. You know, the one where we only tell the absolute 100 per cent history of the Brotherhood?”

“Pfft. You think the lamestream media is going to tell people the real story? Steve Sayor’s part of the fake news. He won’t tell the people the truth.”

“Ohh come now, Charlie. I know what I’m doing here.”

Charlie seems skeptical as he releases a gruff grunt, but ultimately he relents to The Blacque Sheep’s will. Steve Sayors appears uncomfortable, but Jordan Penn guides him deeper into the BOB estate anyways. Charlie follows closely behind, watching Steve’s every step like a hungry hound.

The group moves into the hallway now, where a Mount Rushmore-style oil painting of Mr. Oz, Jenny Myst, The Director, and Charlie Nickles hangs high upon the wall. And written at the top of the portrait in all white text? It says “BOB’s Founding Members”.

“You see Steve? BOB is more than just a wrestling organization. We are industry giants, pioneers of professional wrestling, we are-”

But Steve interrupts him whilst wearing a dumbfounded look on his face.

“But wait…why does it say founding members? What about Micheal Graves, Bobby Bourbon, Miss Fu-”

That’s when Charlie Nickles cuts the fake news journalist off, stepping towards him with righteous indignation.

“What about em’? They’re not BOB, they never have been: never will be. They’re just clowns with BOB-themed facepaint, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Wait…what do you mean by that? Of course they were members of BOB! They’re some of the most famous members ever!”

Charlie shook his head and sneered before turning towards Jordan.

“I told you, Jordan: this guy wouldn’t get it. He can’t see past his own lies and distortions.”

”Well, Charles, I suppose we’ll just have make him see the light.”

Steve shudders at the idea as Jordan continues the tour of BOBHQ.

”You see, Steven. When I was but a young genius, all I ever wanted in life was to become the greatest wrestler to ever live and I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Scratch that. I could have, but it gets lonely, you know?”

“So there I was in my father’s mansion, planning my vision board to lead the greatest faction known to man, or beast…the B.O.B! So I brainstormed what it could stand for. Bucket of Bombs? Band of Boobs? But really, nothing hit like the Brotherhood of Bastards, a name that I alone dreamed up and made a reality.”

Charlie nods along behind him, mean-mugging Steve Sayors before Jordan continues his story.

“You better be writing this down, newsboy, because Jordan’s giving you the god-damned SCOOP of a lifetime! And I ain’t talking about no MCGEE!”

Sayors, clearly intimated by Charlie’s stature and temperament, sheepishly pulls out a notepad as Penn writes the next XWF headline for him.

“Wait, so you’re saying….BOB was always your idea? But how does that make sense?! BOB was created years before The Director ever debuted on XWF TV!”

”Nonsense. Nothing but lies and slander from the anti-woke agenda! Next you’re going to tell me that Shane ran the XWF once. I refuse to believe the lies.”

Charlie nodded along in the back as the trio came upon a massive, all-gold statue positioned along the wall. The structure shows Jordan Penn, with the weight of the world on his shoulders- a world branded with the iconic BOB logo that Jordan obviously created.

“You know, if you’re so smart Steve…then explain how Jordan could have a golden statue like this if he wasn’t BOB’s founder!”

Steve just scratched his head before shyly replying.

“Well, he could just be…lying- and trying to take someone else’s name, image, and likeness to advance his own career.”

Charlie and Jordan just looked at each other, and Steve Sayors instantly gulped- realizing he may have royally fucked up.

Jordan and Charlie lock eyes for an eternity, before…

They both break out into hearty guffaws! The sound of laughter fills the room, bouncing off the golden statue of BOB’s original founder!

“As if Jordan would ever need to do that!”

Jordan wipes a joyous tear from his eye, clearly overcome with a gnarly case of the giggles from Steve’s ridiculous proposition.

“Oh Steve, you naive simpleton. I’m almost envious of your ignorance.”

After Charlie and Jordan finished laughing at Steve’s astute observation, The Blacque Sheep gestured to one last door positioned in the way back of the HQ. A ginormous, all-black door emblazoned with BOB’s signature logo: which of course, Jordan Penn designed all those years ago.

“But if you want to see BOB’s grandest achievement yet…”

Charlie grinned with nefarious intent, his mind clearly wandering to whatever lay behind the massive door.

“Then you’re going to have to let go of the past: and embrace the future. Embrace the new BOB…..that I have hand-crafted in my image. Think you can do that for me, champ?”

Jordan squinted his eyes at Steve, his hateful gaze betraying his prior insincerity. A cartoonishly sized bead of sweat rolled down Steve’s forehead as the XWF’s lead journalist tried to play it off.

“W-w-well of course! My apologies for any incorrect information I may have had! Journalism is fast-moving, dynamic industry- so I don’t always get everything right!”

Charlie could smell the bullshit spewing out of Steve’s oralhole: but to Jordan? That was the smell of an ass-kisser: and Jordan can always use an ass-kisser.

“Good. I’m glad you smartened up and came to your senses- because I really wanted to show you THIS! BOB’s greatest marvel yet!”

Without further ado, Jordan Penn stepped up to the all-black door with a wolfish grin. Penn placed his hand onto a panel next to the door, allowing his fingerprints to be scanned. Then and only then did the door finally creak open….

Revealing….

A MASSIVE, CLOWN-PAINTED PHALLUS!

Or at least, that’s kinda what it looks like to a sick fuck like YOU!

A ballistic missile, eggshell in hue, protruded out from the ground and stretched nearly the entire length of the tower. The tip of the missile was painted with a happy little clown face, with massive propulsion tanks surrounding the base of the bomb ala pubic hair.

“What the hell is this…”

Charlie Nickles chimes in first, stepping up right behind Steve as he clasps his hands around Sayors’ shoulders.

“It’s a motherfuckin’ missile, bitch! And it’s aimed right at Clown City!”

A look of horror flashes across Steve’s usually steadfast face.

“A missile?! Aimed at clown city?! You can’t do that! That’s a violation of interplanetary law!”

Jordan Penn just chuckled before waving off Steve’s pansy concerns.

“The law? Steve…you have to understand…I AM the law around here- and every member of BOB is my Sheriff’s Deputy. So that means: we can do whatever the fuck we want, to whoever we want, whenever we want! And if you didn’t get the memo? Just ask my brother for his copy.”

Steve tried to protest, but his words were slower than Jordan’s action. The Blacque Sheep pressed a hilariously oversized red button labeled ‘DO NOT TOUCH’.

Steve stepped back in horror, expecting a massive explosion-

But nothing happened.

Jordan glared down at the button with frustration.

“What the hell?!”

“Let me press it, boss!”

Charlie surged forward, his mouth frothing from the idea of committing an interplanetary genocide.

But Jordan heard a soft clicking sound, and slight metallic ringing coming from within the missile-

And he immediately knew they had been sabotaged.

“CHARLIE! Wait- NO!”

Jordan tried to stop Charlie- but The Nickleman was too resolved. He pushed past Jordan, slamming his entire fist into the button-

But for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction-

So when Charlie pressed the button a second time, the top of the missile flew off from the force of the explosion within it!

But there was no propulsion, and no fiery burst.

THERE WAS ONLY A MASSIVE CREAMPIE, THAT SHOT UP THROUGH THE BASE OF THE MISSILE BEFORE SPILLING ALL OVER THE ROOM!

CREAMING THE ENTIRE ROOM!

Blocking the camera, covering it in whipped topping and foam!

But when the camera cleared, we see Jordan Penn and Charlie Nickles standing next to their missile masterplan: with hate seeping through facial expressions.

And whipped cream seeping through their clothing.

Charlie and Jordan slowly turned their heads, locking eyes with each other before agreeing:

“Those clowns-”

“ARE DEAD!”

The scene fades to black as Steve Sayors is seen licking someone’s creampie off his fingers in the background.



Clowns?

…Really?

On BACK to BACK pay per views?!

Fighting for the most illustrious tag-team championships in wrestling?!?!

First, we straight up jacked the tag belts from Emperor Clown and his Gimp-Slave Clown at March Madness: and then suddenly Doctor and Patient Clown won themselves a shot at the straps–

So now, all of a sudden, I have to wrestle Whitney Houston Clown and Ass-to-Nut Clown? Like Jesus Christ…what are those two even doing together in a wrestling ring?! Shouldn’t they be filming onlyfans content and advertising on Bobby Bourbon’s favorite reddits?

Oh well. I suppose I can only scalp the skulls the bookers put in front of me…

But ya gotta ask…

Why the hell would they even THINK about putting these painted-up freaks in front of me?

They must want to see a funny man get hurt. They must want to see em’ bleed.

They must think it’s FUNNY!

It’s a sick sense of humor, you ask me-

But shit, who am I to judge?

I’m the same guy who used to laugh when I would push-, I mean, when my bitch wife would FALL down the stairs!

I’m the twisted son of a bitch who goes to abortion clinics, just to watch from outside the window- giggling whilst those whores get their pussies scooped out.

Or however the fuck that shit works!

I was going to ask Doctor Clown before our match, but-

He backed out like a bitch.

And as it turns out- all he even knows how to do is forge documents.

But there ain’t no frauds getting past The Nickleman- that’s a lesson Isaiah and Sebastian had to learn the hard way.

A lesson I’m just giddy to repeat!

Whitney Houston and Ass-to-Nut clown haven’t even had a fucking match in the XWF….EVER.

And people are supposed to believe they’re a god-damned threat to the greatest tag-team in wrestling history?

Give me a break…

Or else- get ready to be BROKEN.

Because, if you really think about…

I accomplished more in 1 night than this entire clownshow could accomplish in a lifetime.

Especially if they cut their lifetimes short by fucking with me!

Because we all know Houston Clowns can’t get it done against 40 year old superstars- and it doesn’t even matter who’s in the supporting cast.

And Ass Clowns? They’re just the butt of a bad joke.

They’re a fucking useless lot, the entire Clowns R’ Us gaggle of painted-up pussies.

They don’t bring value to this company. They don’t bring prestige to our tag division. All they bring to the table is a clown car, stuffed to the brim with dead horses.

Dead horses that they keep beating off, over and over and over again.

Clowns R’ Us isn’t even a 1-trick pony.

Because at least a pony has the 1-trick…

But the only thing Clowns R’ Us has?

Is a god-damned date with THE NICKLEMAN!

LIVE FROM MARS!

And they don’t call it the Red Planet for no reason, right?

So baby clown, I promise you this:

Your bloodletting will be out of this world.