Post by Frank Windsor on Aug 6, 2021 16:55:50 GMT -5
REAL TALK #1
Frank was stood outside the Bastard’s tour bus which seemed to be parked in some sort parking structure outside of the arena the last show had been held at. He was still sweaty from the match the Bastard had won earlier in the night. Behind him was the cardboard cut-out of Rob Riot that he used when he was talking to all the little Bastards. A camera was set up in front of him recording his little rant of sorts.
“It’s your boy, Frank Windsor; so it’s time to show the world what we’re about,” Frank said. “The Bastards are a unique crew of like-minded individuals and Billy Fowler who came together to pull the wrestling industry out of the deluge of buggery it had fallen into. Do you know how that feels like? I grew up loving the wrestling industry with all these colourful characters that did anything they could to entertain the fans either in the arenas or watching through the tele box. But then before we came together the industry went into a fucking nose dive into boredom. None of the wrestling stars did anything other than takes money from the promotions for sub-standard work in the wrestling ring. But the Bastards ain’t like that. We came in via Riot Star Wrestling along with a lot of the other Galactic Sex Pirates and our aim was to improve the wrestling promotions one millions per cent and I think we’ve fucking done it.”
He put his arm around the Riot cardboard cut-out and continued.
“You see we signed up to the XHF Inter-promotion event Call to Arms as some kind of vanity fucking project to see if we could still do it and well you remember how we did in that,” he said. “We had fun especially me as I’d not been out of the fucking house in Bradford because of Covid. If I’d not signed up for that you know with this amazingly fucking perfect physique I would have been competing in Tokyo right now right? Olympic athlete, Frank fucking Windsor I can see it now but the hockey uniform would have chaffed a bit. Anyway I digress, we came to XHF and then decided as a unit join one of the promotions on the Network, it may be a Canadian one but as a commonwealth member we can trust them more than their morbidly obese next door neighbours. Have you seen those Americans? Come on stop the fucking jiggling and get on a diet.”
A look of disgust crossed his face when he thought of that.
“We arrived not only as the GSP but the squad known simply as the Bastards arrived and look how we’re doing thus far,” Frank continued. “Me and Riot are simply the best fucking tag team in this company and that is a fucking fact and I’m sorry if that hurts you woke fuckers in the locker room as it is simple a fact. You look in the book of perfect wrestling tag teams and there is only one picture in that book; me and Riot! Oh don’t get me wrong there are some simply adequate teams on the roster but none of them have the skills that this team does. So instead of handing me and Robbie boy those gold straps the owners of Northern Pro Wrestling thought they’d throw a spanner into the works. Instead of giving me and Robbie our shot at the straps they gave it to weirdo Joey Mack and his tag partner the Man that Vowels forgot. What’s up with this shit? How can he get a shot at mine and Robbie’s belts after failing hard against us last week? And when I said hard I meant REALLY HARD!”
He mimicked the words “Really Hard” to the camera.
“He thinks he shocked the world by taking off a used pair of his grannies mouldy tights off his face and showing the world he wasn’t El Guppy or whatever the moniker he was hiding as was enough to get him to the front of the fucking line?” he asked. “Oh come on, this is a vanity fucking project for Prime Time when they destroy you two punks for stealing our shots. You see me and Robbie will be coming for those belts but we’ve first got to prove ourselves against a couple of other teams who’ve not done anything to justify their spot in this match.”
Frank played with the GCW World Heavyweight Championship belt around his waist.
“We got past all that they’ve thrown at us and these teams of ass clowns won’t be any freaking difference,” he said. “We have Dark freaking Star? What in the actual fuck are these two butt monkeys about? 50,000 years in the future? What have they been smoking, remember puff, puff, pass. No? A couple of fucking gladiators from the future? Are they Klingons that have come here from Uranus? Who gives an actual fuck as these two ass clowns should just get back in their space ship and just fuck off. Oh do they really think there from the future? I just think those two have just run away from some Canadian nut house in their silver space suit. Fucking losers.”
Frank made the universal sign for losers and aimed it at the camera.
“I-69? Who?” Frank asked as he looked around himself. “Isn’t that the robot from Star Wars? Are we actually two teams of freaking wannabie cosplayer? I wouldn’t put it past our Canadian owners as they’ve got nothing to do up here other that trying to catch their next Moose bit on the side. I did wonder why I kept seeing people carrying step ladders around here. Anyway I-69? Sherlock and Joseph? Who in the actual fuck are they? Their either robots or name themselves after some roadway. Who the fuck actually gives a flying fuck. And well you know the rest. I must remind you to press the like button, subscribe to my channel and of course press the bell to keep updated on stuff about the Bastards.“
“It’s your boy, Frank Windsor; so it’s time to show the world what we’re about,” Frank said. “The Bastards are a unique crew of like-minded individuals and Billy Fowler who came together to pull the wrestling industry out of the deluge of buggery it had fallen into. Do you know how that feels like? I grew up loving the wrestling industry with all these colourful characters that did anything they could to entertain the fans either in the arenas or watching through the tele box. But then before we came together the industry went into a fucking nose dive into boredom. None of the wrestling stars did anything other than takes money from the promotions for sub-standard work in the wrestling ring. But the Bastards ain’t like that. We came in via Riot Star Wrestling along with a lot of the other Galactic Sex Pirates and our aim was to improve the wrestling promotions one millions per cent and I think we’ve fucking done it.”
He put his arm around the Riot cardboard cut-out and continued.
“You see we signed up to the XHF Inter-promotion event Call to Arms as some kind of vanity fucking project to see if we could still do it and well you remember how we did in that,” he said. “We had fun especially me as I’d not been out of the fucking house in Bradford because of Covid. If I’d not signed up for that you know with this amazingly fucking perfect physique I would have been competing in Tokyo right now right? Olympic athlete, Frank fucking Windsor I can see it now but the hockey uniform would have chaffed a bit. Anyway I digress, we came to XHF and then decided as a unit join one of the promotions on the Network, it may be a Canadian one but as a commonwealth member we can trust them more than their morbidly obese next door neighbours. Have you seen those Americans? Come on stop the fucking jiggling and get on a diet.”
A look of disgust crossed his face when he thought of that.
“We arrived not only as the GSP but the squad known simply as the Bastards arrived and look how we’re doing thus far,” Frank continued. “Me and Riot are simply the best fucking tag team in this company and that is a fucking fact and I’m sorry if that hurts you woke fuckers in the locker room as it is simple a fact. You look in the book of perfect wrestling tag teams and there is only one picture in that book; me and Riot! Oh don’t get me wrong there are some simply adequate teams on the roster but none of them have the skills that this team does. So instead of handing me and Robbie boy those gold straps the owners of Northern Pro Wrestling thought they’d throw a spanner into the works. Instead of giving me and Robbie our shot at the straps they gave it to weirdo Joey Mack and his tag partner the Man that Vowels forgot. What’s up with this shit? How can he get a shot at mine and Robbie’s belts after failing hard against us last week? And when I said hard I meant REALLY HARD!”
He mimicked the words “Really Hard” to the camera.
“He thinks he shocked the world by taking off a used pair of his grannies mouldy tights off his face and showing the world he wasn’t El Guppy or whatever the moniker he was hiding as was enough to get him to the front of the fucking line?” he asked. “Oh come on, this is a vanity fucking project for Prime Time when they destroy you two punks for stealing our shots. You see me and Robbie will be coming for those belts but we’ve first got to prove ourselves against a couple of other teams who’ve not done anything to justify their spot in this match.”
Frank played with the GCW World Heavyweight Championship belt around his waist.
“We got past all that they’ve thrown at us and these teams of ass clowns won’t be any freaking difference,” he said. “We have Dark freaking Star? What in the actual fuck are these two butt monkeys about? 50,000 years in the future? What have they been smoking, remember puff, puff, pass. No? A couple of fucking gladiators from the future? Are they Klingons that have come here from Uranus? Who gives an actual fuck as these two ass clowns should just get back in their space ship and just fuck off. Oh do they really think there from the future? I just think those two have just run away from some Canadian nut house in their silver space suit. Fucking losers.”
Frank made the universal sign for losers and aimed it at the camera.
“I-69? Who?” Frank asked as he looked around himself. “Isn’t that the robot from Star Wars? Are we actually two teams of freaking wannabie cosplayer? I wouldn’t put it past our Canadian owners as they’ve got nothing to do up here other that trying to catch their next Moose bit on the side. I did wonder why I kept seeing people carrying step ladders around here. Anyway I-69? Sherlock and Joseph? Who in the actual fuck are they? Their either robots or name themselves after some roadway. Who the fuck actually gives a flying fuck. And well you know the rest. I must remind you to press the like button, subscribe to my channel and of course press the bell to keep updated on stuff about the Bastards.“