A Badman Tells It As It Is

[Frank Windsor]

The camera panned up to the face of none other than one half of the Wrestle: UK Tag Champions, Frank Windsor. He was dressed in a leopard skin shell suit with his sunglasses hanging from one of his gold necklaces. His dark eyes give a look of disdain pouring from them. To say he was angry was an understatement. A smirk suddenly crossed his lips and he started to claps his hands together very slowly. “Round of fucking applause for trying to make yourself more relevant than you should really be fella,” Frank said as he continued to clap his hands together slowly. “Oxford, I saw your little thing; amnesia? How fucking quaint. You think that I’m suffering from amnesia because I cannot fucking remember the little fucking fracas we had back in the wrestling promotion that my boys and I made famous? Don’t fucking flatter yourself buddy as you’re not all that; I don’t remember it because why should I remember some sort of fight we had when you and your cronies don’t even register to me. It’s ass holes like you that give a bad name to professional wrestling with your pathetic fucking whining and constantly living in the past by re-watching all what you believe is your greatest fucking hits.” Frank stood up and walked towards the camera ever so slowly. He looked directly at it as he took the shell suit jacket off. “Do I have to clear somethings up with you?” he asked as he folded the jacket. “Is it the old thing about something that you have been rolling around in your head for years building it up to be the biggest thing to happen to you means jack shit to me? I’m sorry that you’ve been thinking about me for this long Oxford but if you want to be the top pull this company has ever seen then you can’t remember everyone. That’s my fucking prerogative isn’t it? This is not about you and those cunts you run with. Let me spell it out for you it’s all about the BASTARDS and you have to live with it!” Frank nodded to himself as if he was thinking what next to say. “It’s alright mate as you’ll now have something to stress over in your head for the next decade or so,” Frank said. “When I defeat you and move onto the next person in this tournament you can say with no regrets that you were beaten by a better man on the fucking day. Maybe get one of your boys to console you when you are put in your fucking place.” He shook his head as he continued his rant of sorts. “I can fucking understand that you and those other window licking twats that you fucking run with are trying to make an impact in MY promotion but you’re trying a little too fucking hard,” he said. “It’s a bit needy if I really think about it Oxford. Anyone tuning into the pay per view the other fucking week would have seen your fucking guys trying to make names for themselves in the tag gauntlet match but what did you manage to fucking achieve? A date with fucking destiny that’s what Oxford, myself and Robbie have their number and it’s going be fun.” Frank caressed the side of his perfectly combed hair trying not to ruin perfection. “Anyway enough of your fucking bull shit,” he continued. “What’s next for the Frank Windsor I hear my fans saying? Revenge would be so sweet but the powers that be have in their infinite wisdom booked me against you Oxford this show, probably thinking of keeping me and those assholes enemies of mine apart until they can get some build from it. They know who they are.” He pointed a finger at his head and nodded. His hand dropped to his arm and he caressed the tattoos. Frank cocked his head to the side, and then tilted it slightly backwards. “So you have they been put in my firing line this time?” Frank asked. “Why do I have to listen to the BS that comes out of those flapping gums of yours? The Bastards and I have been asked to go on the Jonathon Ross show and could be hanging out there chilling with some fucking A lister instead of listening to you mate reminiscing about your life that was so great…….In your head.” Frank removed his trademark designer sunglasses and looked at the lenses before he continued. “Okay, I shouldn’t go lightly on you should I, that’s usually when stuff goes wrong,” he said. “Some say you do have a bit of talent but now you have come to the major leagues what the fuck have you done? Jack Shit that’s what. Your boys seem to have done more than you but they’ve been quiet in the locker room lately; it’s as if they turn up for the money at the shows but don’t do anything to justify the money the owner of this fucking company has invested in your group.” He put the sunglasses on his head making sure he didn’t ruin his perfect hair. “Oxford you think you can step up and hang with the big boys in this promotion,” Frank continued. “Oh I’m so sorry but you’ve got no fucking chance. You’ve had your chance to shine in front of the fans in the squared circle in those little promotions that the Bastards destroyed but failed to impress them. Do you really think you’ll be able to stand up to someone that has held World Heavyweight Championships and count them, not one, not two BUT three fucking World Tag Championship straps at the moment? Come on you fucking wank-stain, step the fuck off and get with the fucking program. SWAT and NPW were killed by the Bastards for a fucking reason.” He winked at the camera. “Now there is only one thing to say to you,” he smirked. “What is it? Oh yeah; now fuck off!”