A Badman Goes Down Under

[Frank Windsor]

The camera panned up and there the man stood in all his fucking glory, Frank fucking Windsor aka the King of Yorkshire aka the Sultan of Schlong Time. He was dressed in his usual get up with the patented leopard fur coat over it. He looked forward as if deep in thought after what had gone down on the last show. There was a camera that was being held by his long-time associate Finn Corbyn. He held the camera up professionally as he had done this before on most of the times Frank had wanted to rant about. Stood behind him were the two cardboard cut outs of his fellow Bastards that people on Social Media had started to talk about especially since he had been seen carrying them through airport security. Frank was a multi-time World Heavyweight Champion and a big time Tag Champion with either of his cardboard compatriots. Being part of the group known collectively as the Bastards was something of an enigma. The trio has within it three World Champions. This trio is the real deal and their influence is known all around the world with factions trying to emulate what they have done in the business. Finn brought the camera up. “When I found out we’d been signed to wrestle against ANOTHER team with Donzig in I won’t lie I did get a bit of a semi,” Frank said. “Not the sort that Fowler has to take a little pill for these days but that’s what comes with getting old right Billy? Frankly this team that’s supposed to be representing some old Indie fucking wrestling promotion from down under is a fucking joke. I can’t believe people are still talking about this fucking promotion.” He reached around in his wrestling bag and pulled out a couple of things. First was the NPW World Heavyweight Tag Championship belt which he put down on the chair; then he pulled out a huge purple dildo. “OH what’s that fucking doing there?” he turned and looked at the camera and held it shaking up in front of him. “I’ve bet you’ve been fucking looking for this for a while Robbie? Not been seen since those days in Wrestle-Wars when you were on the pinnacle of the wrestling world. I know it’s been a while since it’s made an appearance in a Bastards promotional spot but I’ll put this down here for you to fucking claim as your own later when you’re alone and the cameras not on. It’s alright; we’re not judging…….MUCH!” Frank winked at the camera before he put the dildo on the chair. He reached back into the bag and pulled out what he’d been looking for. It was one of the SWAT World Heavyweight Championship Tag belts. “This is it,” Frank said. “This is all that remains of that promotion that you loved so much. This is the last remnants of the shit that you used to call home AND the Bastards fucking killed. Yeah baby the fucking Bastards put the final fucking bullet in the skull of that shit-ass fucking wrestling promotion you guys call SWAT. An elimination match with the Bastards versus the rejects from that promotion from Down Under.” He hung his head in shame at the thought of that wrestling promotion. “Eddie, and your Emo buddy aka Psychotic Goth or whatever the fuck that moody fucking Wednesday Addams suck up wants to believe that we killed that company of yours,” he said. “We were the fucking last nail in its coffin and you know it. But you guys are constantly fucking living in the past with you mentioning that company every fucking waking moment through those chapped lips of yours. We may be flying over to your neck of the woods for this showcase match with the Bastards taking on ANOTHER triple threat team that includes the bitch Donzig BUT nothing’s going to change as the Bastards are money. Sorry we’re the fucking draw for this Network; enough said.” Frank smirked at the thought of facing this team. “Even with my fucking broken arm this ain’t going to be much trouble for the Bastards,” Frank continued. “The King of Schlong Time won’t even get fucking time to tea bag any of you SWAT bitches as one of the other Bastards will finish this before Frank’s even got time to tag in. Have you seen how pissed off Billy is? At Night of Champions he was fucking robbed of the belt he fought so hard for and I’m sure he’ll have a few fucking words for that fucking weasel Havok. Even though the ass-clown broke my arm I think I’m in the queue to whoop that son of a bitch’s ass!” He held up the arm that had a cast upon it. It was covered in writing. “Now shall we mention my match at Night of Champions?” he asked. “I nearly scared myself how far I got through that fucking match. Did I really want to saddle myself with the stigma of being the X-Crown Champion of a company I didn’t respect? I was actually in the middle of the match and I fucking thought that I may win this thing as the rest of the guys in it sucked ass so what did I do? I slowed the fuck down and coasted my way through it until I could get myself eliminated; enough said.” A look of relief crossed his face as he thought about Night of Champions. “What if I’d actually won that fucking match?” he shrugged his shoulders. “How would that have affected my ego and the rest of the Bastards? You know what it probably would have been the fucking downfall of this piss-poor Network we’re on when they record me on a Wrestle: UK show throwing that piece of trash in a wheelie bin and burnt the fucker down. Now that would have caused some fucking controversy; but it would have been fucking fun stuff. Now fuck off!!”