A Badman Fucks Shit Up Once Again!

[Frank Windsor]

The picture was all fuzzy and heavy breathing could be heard. It suddenly clicked into focus and showed Frank Windsor still in his wrestling gear being patched up after his epic tag gauntlet match on the latest Wrestle: UK show. Frank was sat on the trainer’s table as he was being checked out for a slight injury he had picked up in the match with all the best tag teams that Wrestle: UK could muster plus a lot from outside of the promotion. He was sat in his wrestling tights and a retro Bastards t-shirt. The Wrestle: UK Tag Championship belt was over his left shoulder. It looked like Frank had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had just convinced the world something was real and then fucking pulled the carpet from under their feet and he should be really happy about it. Stood in front of his was Finn Corbyn with a phone held up as he recorded his message. “Now that is what I was talking about the other fucking week,” Frank said. “Did that fuck you in the goddamn head? The Bastards have cemented their fucking legacy and have proven to be the greatest fucking group in professional wrestling. These goddamn fucking tag championship belts ARE the property of the Bastards and they aren’t going anywhere until we decide we don’t want them anymore. We are the dominant force not only in this wrestling promotion but this Network would probably fucking crash if we went anywhere else. Oh should we be talking about that? Is it another of those Internet rumours floating about the web? Let the Wrestling Marks think on that for a moment or two in their mother’s fucking basements. What a bunch of fucking worthless wank stains.” He grimaced as the trainer stretched out his right arm and Frank shot him a look of daggers. “These belts are the biggest fucking tag belts in this industry even more than those held by some punk ass team on the XHF Network and they know it which is why they have ducked us all this time,” he continued. “We’ve fucking called them out many fucking times but alas these cowards don’t want anything to do with any real teams outside their little circle let alone the Bastards. Anyway why do I fucking digress from what really fucking matters? Why do the Bastards give these teams any more of our fucking time when there is a more pressing matter to the Bastards?” A thought crossed his face as he was in pain as the trainer worked on him but tried not to show it. “With this pay per view coming up from the rainy Emerald Isle and the two other Bastards have been put in the fucking main event to win back the gold strap that Billy lost once again. He recently lost it for the second time but at least it wasn’t to the cyclist wanker Havok but this time to Wesley fucking Crane. Both of them make up and interesting fucking dynamic when it comes to this Elimination Chamber match where Robbie has the chance of holding three fucking gold straps with the Wrestle: UK and Billy could become a three times Wrestle: UK World Champion. Oh Psycho Emo boy, watch a few of the wrestling matches Billy’s had in Wrestle: UK you’ll see he’s quite good mate. Watch them and then continue you’re growling gibberish whilst you move the fuck on.” A smirk crossed his lips as he mocked the Goth wrestler. “Wait, I’ve been fucking putting Billy and Robbie over so fucking much but I’ve missed out myself,” Frank said. “I should be pissed off with Mister Blood for forgetting me in this World Championship title match but he fucking said he couldn’t fucking reward me for my recent fucking actions in the ring these last few shows. You head butt a fucking referee or two and they fucking think it’s a bad thing? Anywhere, if I can’t be in that match I need to do something that’ll outshine those bitches.” He took the belt off of his shoulders and pushed the trainer away as he stood up. “Now, I was watching some of the stuff from the past few shows and realised there is a fucking travesty going on right under my fucking nose,” he said. “The Wrestle: UK British Television Championship belt is being held by a fucking Yank; if he was Welsh, Cornish or even a Scot I wouldn’t really fucking care as long as it was somewhere in Great fucking Britain then I could fucking settle BUT this really boils my fucking blood. Kalvin Watts, ever since you defeated Oxford Osland in Aberdeen you’ve soiled that fucking belt. It’s as if you come out to the fucking ring each show, pull down your fucking boxers and take a steaming fucking shit on the gold. And that is not fucking right.” Frank stood up straight and looked directly into the camera and came to his final thoughts. “Well I may have a Commonwealth Championship match with Robbie soon BUT for now I’m going to do what I can to bring that belt back home to BRITAIN,” Frank shouted at the camera. “Mister Blood may be doing everything in his fucking power to fuck over the Bastards at the moment but we’ll not be fucking controlled and that Television belt is coming back home to the faction that actually pays for all your fucking wages so now fuck off!!”