Post by Frank Windsor on Jun 20, 2019 15:35:00 GMT -5
The screen filled up with images of Britannia. There were shots of famous places around the United Kingdoms and various celebrities. Those images quickly dissolved as the Union Jack flag upon the screen burned from the outside inside, it stopped upon the logo of the tag team of Last Direction.
The camera pulled back to reveal two wrestlers. Both were stood on a beach in RSW t-shirts and board shorts. The first one had ray bans on and approached the camera.
“Some have been comparing the members of Last Direction to the next generation version of those punks that they called the Bastards?” asked the first of the guys. ”Is it because we’re also from the United Kingdom and we don’t take shit for granted like some of these other bitches that run their mouths off just to get some relevance?”
He slapped the other guy on the back who doesn’t look too impressed with being in the sun.
“Do we look like two British gentlemen?” he turned and looked at his tag partner and smirked. “Well okay, don’t take Joseph’s moustache as a sign of a gentleman as he’s as rugged as they come. When Joseph and I make our official RSW in ring debuts in Ibiza you’re going to see what has been lighting up all of Social Media. We’re the first graduates of the Academy set up by Riot Star Wrestling as a way of finding the next generation of pro wrestler.”
He smirked at the camera whilst Joseph rolled his eyes and twirled his moustache.
“They’d tried for years to build superstars for this company by recruiting Indie darlings but most of them bombed,” he said. “So us home grown talent was brought into the training circuit in Manchester, England and the rest’s history. We’ve been exploding all over at RSW live event in dark matches building our reputation. And this is where it starts.”
He pointed at his tag partner and then himself.
“This is Joseph P McGee and I am Frankie Jones, and collectively we are known as Last Direction,” Frankie said. “Some said we’ve got a lot to prove when it comes to professional wrestling but we’re used to being amongst Debbie downers. We’ve been backstage long enough to hear all the things these guys have been saying about us. They think our debut is too soon especially on a pay per view but all we see is pure jealousy.”
Joseph nodded at what his tag partner was saying.
“We’ve got our debut in the opening match but that means that all the rest of the roster has to follow us,” he said. “We will burn the place down. No one will want to go out there after us. So we’ve turned up here in Ibiza ready for our first victims and will probably get some time down in the clubs but unlike you’re typical Brits we won’t be getting drunk whilst out partying all night long; not that we need to be totally with it to beat our opponents but we need to make a great impression for our first times actually being on not only an RSW show but one being broadcast on the XHF Network.”
Frankie pointed at Joseph’s t-shirt which had the RSW logo upon it.
“Our opponents we have discovered are a group that goes by the moniker of the Convicted; Two geriatric former prisoners of the United States of America’s penitentiary system,” Frankie said. “Eric Chronister and Aaron Ortiz, who are they exactly? We’ve tried to find them on the internet but these two old timers have been locked away for so long that they pre-date the freaking internet. The only wrestling that these two have been doing recently is in some prison shower when the Latino one dropped the soap. And it wasn’t even a soap on a rope!”
Frankie walked around as the cameraman followed him.
“These two walking corpses think that they can come into Riot Star Wrestling and disrupt the order of all things here,” he said. “There have been many great tag teams in this promotion as well as some that plainly sucked ass but it’s too early to judge what the Convicted are going to be but from what I’ve seen with their attitude backstage they need to show some class but at the moment all we’re seeing is this prison bravado.”
Joseph was trying not to show any emotion.
“These two think that we should be intimidated by their lingo and their ghetto-ness,” he said. “Oh come on do you think that this is our first rodeo, right? Oh, right? We can use good old American lingo too, this is not like when you guys went into the slammer back when they did Shawshank Redemption right? We’ve always been told to respect our elders but you OG’s make that so hard for us to do.”
Joseph smirked ever so slightly.
“Everybody has a place in the world and you’ll find yours Eric,” he said. “As for your life partner, your cellmate, your Convicted tag partner it may be too late for him as he’s gone full {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} it seems. Do we have to speak slowly for you Aaron? Do you understand what is coming out of my lips? Do you comprehend what I am saying? Oh I forget that you don’t understand this Essex boy? You don’t have to be able to speak much English do you Puta? Especially with Eric pimping out your ass for money to buy himself some Viagra right?”
Joseph shrugged his shoulders at this inappropriate comment as he was used to Frankie crossing the line of decency.
“Sun’s out, guns out!” Frankie said. “We’re here in Ibiza doing some PR stuff for the show and decided to get out for a bit of sun. We could be in our hotel room watching the stuff going on in the UK at the moment with the Conservative Party? We could see how Boris Johnson and that other moron are battling out to see who’s going to be the next British Prime Minister; and watch how that moronic window licker Jeremy Corbyn is rubbing his terrorist loving hands waiting to see who he will lose to next election BUT no, I am not Piers Morgan, no I am Frankie Jones, a professional wrestler and this is what we do!”
He grabbed the camera, “Hey! Yeah you! I’m here in sunny Ibiza where you can get a pint of beer for less than two euro and have it with a fry up at nine in the morning and nobody frowns at you. How is that fair?”
Then he nodded at Joseph and they walked off camera.
The camera pulled back to reveal two wrestlers. Both were stood on a beach in RSW t-shirts and board shorts. The first one had ray bans on and approached the camera.
“Some have been comparing the members of Last Direction to the next generation version of those punks that they called the Bastards?” asked the first of the guys. ”Is it because we’re also from the United Kingdom and we don’t take shit for granted like some of these other bitches that run their mouths off just to get some relevance?”
He slapped the other guy on the back who doesn’t look too impressed with being in the sun.
“Do we look like two British gentlemen?” he turned and looked at his tag partner and smirked. “Well okay, don’t take Joseph’s moustache as a sign of a gentleman as he’s as rugged as they come. When Joseph and I make our official RSW in ring debuts in Ibiza you’re going to see what has been lighting up all of Social Media. We’re the first graduates of the Academy set up by Riot Star Wrestling as a way of finding the next generation of pro wrestler.”
He smirked at the camera whilst Joseph rolled his eyes and twirled his moustache.
“They’d tried for years to build superstars for this company by recruiting Indie darlings but most of them bombed,” he said. “So us home grown talent was brought into the training circuit in Manchester, England and the rest’s history. We’ve been exploding all over at RSW live event in dark matches building our reputation. And this is where it starts.”
He pointed at his tag partner and then himself.
“This is Joseph P McGee and I am Frankie Jones, and collectively we are known as Last Direction,” Frankie said. “Some said we’ve got a lot to prove when it comes to professional wrestling but we’re used to being amongst Debbie downers. We’ve been backstage long enough to hear all the things these guys have been saying about us. They think our debut is too soon especially on a pay per view but all we see is pure jealousy.”
Joseph nodded at what his tag partner was saying.
“We’ve got our debut in the opening match but that means that all the rest of the roster has to follow us,” he said. “We will burn the place down. No one will want to go out there after us. So we’ve turned up here in Ibiza ready for our first victims and will probably get some time down in the clubs but unlike you’re typical Brits we won’t be getting drunk whilst out partying all night long; not that we need to be totally with it to beat our opponents but we need to make a great impression for our first times actually being on not only an RSW show but one being broadcast on the XHF Network.”
Frankie pointed at Joseph’s t-shirt which had the RSW logo upon it.
“Our opponents we have discovered are a group that goes by the moniker of the Convicted; Two geriatric former prisoners of the United States of America’s penitentiary system,” Frankie said. “Eric Chronister and Aaron Ortiz, who are they exactly? We’ve tried to find them on the internet but these two old timers have been locked away for so long that they pre-date the freaking internet. The only wrestling that these two have been doing recently is in some prison shower when the Latino one dropped the soap. And it wasn’t even a soap on a rope!”
Frankie walked around as the cameraman followed him.
“These two walking corpses think that they can come into Riot Star Wrestling and disrupt the order of all things here,” he said. “There have been many great tag teams in this promotion as well as some that plainly sucked ass but it’s too early to judge what the Convicted are going to be but from what I’ve seen with their attitude backstage they need to show some class but at the moment all we’re seeing is this prison bravado.”
Joseph was trying not to show any emotion.
“These two think that we should be intimidated by their lingo and their ghetto-ness,” he said. “Oh come on do you think that this is our first rodeo, right? Oh, right? We can use good old American lingo too, this is not like when you guys went into the slammer back when they did Shawshank Redemption right? We’ve always been told to respect our elders but you OG’s make that so hard for us to do.”
Joseph smirked ever so slightly.
“Everybody has a place in the world and you’ll find yours Eric,” he said. “As for your life partner, your cellmate, your Convicted tag partner it may be too late for him as he’s gone full {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} it seems. Do we have to speak slowly for you Aaron? Do you understand what is coming out of my lips? Do you comprehend what I am saying? Oh I forget that you don’t understand this Essex boy? You don’t have to be able to speak much English do you Puta? Especially with Eric pimping out your ass for money to buy himself some Viagra right?”
Joseph shrugged his shoulders at this inappropriate comment as he was used to Frankie crossing the line of decency.
“Sun’s out, guns out!” Frankie said. “We’re here in Ibiza doing some PR stuff for the show and decided to get out for a bit of sun. We could be in our hotel room watching the stuff going on in the UK at the moment with the Conservative Party? We could see how Boris Johnson and that other moron are battling out to see who’s going to be the next British Prime Minister; and watch how that moronic window licker Jeremy Corbyn is rubbing his terrorist loving hands waiting to see who he will lose to next election BUT no, I am not Piers Morgan, no I am Frankie Jones, a professional wrestler and this is what we do!”
He grabbed the camera, “Hey! Yeah you! I’m here in sunny Ibiza where you can get a pint of beer for less than two euro and have it with a fry up at nine in the morning and nobody frowns at you. How is that fair?”
Then he nodded at Joseph and they walked off camera.
