A Badman Tells Watts Whats What!

[Frank Windsor]

An official camera crew had been sent from Wrestle: UK to record something from one of the holders of the Wrestle: UK’s tag championship. They had set their equipment up and the Wrestle: UK tag champion was sat upon a steel chair with his head down contemplating what is to come; not what he is exactly going to say now but at the Pay per view when he competes against the Wrestle: UK British Television Champion. He lifted his head and for the first time in a while he has a serious look on his face. Frank knows that he has a battle on his hands and that he has never faced anyone with the skills of Kalmin Watts in the squared circle before. Even his World Championship matches opponents hadn’t had the wrestling skills of him so this was going to be fun. The logo on the t-shirt he was wearing was from the range his early run in Riot Star Wrestling when he ran as the Last Bastard. “Surprised I’m here?” Frank asked as he looked directly into the camera. “The Bastards did get asked surprisingly to present Match of the day this week after its presenters were off on their jollies but we’d got more important stuff to do at the moment. The presenters can say what they want as so does Frank fucking Windsor. And IF that stopped I’d fuck off back to Yorkshire. With Robbie also rumoured to have been approached by the people at Dancing with Ice it is time for the Bastards to do more.” A smirk was on his face. “Some would say that the Bastards are bad for fucking business,” Frank said. “With us being the Wrestle: UK World Heavyweight Tag Champions from the first show and not only carrying this fucking company on our shoulders BUT the entire wrestling industry. We do this with other wrestlers trying to make names for themselves by riding on our fucking coattails but they always fall just fucking short and move back to where they fucking came from. The next victim in this vicious fucking chain is none other than the current Wrestle: UK British Television Champion, Kalmin Watts.” Frank made to stand up as his rant was warming up. “Kalmin, I know you’re not even thinking of me in the same league as you otherwise by entering the Battle Royale,” he said. “Kalmin, oh that’s a ballsy thing to do my moronic Neanderthal friend, throwing yourself into another match and overlooking the Championship match you have with me; Very ballsy coming from a fucking eunuch like you. The arrogance in you matey to think that you’ll probably not even break a fucking sweat against someone of Frank fucking Windsor’s wrestling skill level. Fuck you!” He reached into the bag that was hidden behind the chair he sat upon and pulled out a wrestling belt. It was the Wrestle: UK Tag Championship belt, he looked at it intently for a few seconds before laying it back on top of his bag. “You mutter about me only wanting that gold strap that you wear as a trinket for my war chest to go with my current collection and then enter yourself into another match to win a shot at the World Championship belt that will soon be back in the Bastards corner,” he smirked. “Now that is a funny turn of events mate. Isn’t that just the same story mate?” Frank paused for a few seconds taking everything in as he was in for a battle in Ireland. “I saw you and that walking waste of fucking skin that hangs on your every fucking word verbally abuses the greatest county on the fucking planet,” Frank said. “You insult Yorkshire and you insult me. Going on about Yorkshire puddings? What about Yorkshire fucking Tea which is incidentally promoted by the fourth member of the Bastards Sean Bean. Can’t insult him as you fear the wrath of Sean? You’re smart enough not to piss of him right? He would probably take the Bastards car and run you the fuck down; and that’s probably with the duplicate belts that are nailed to it. Anyway where was I?” He stretched out his shoulders as he was still not one hundred per cent after the Tag Gauntlet match a few weeks earlier. “Frank sees your lazy way of getting cheap heat by trying to push for a Bastards breakup,” Frank laughed. “Oh, how original my friend; this has been rumoured for a while as people think that the Bastards are all fuelled by fucking ego. DOH! How fucking original. Everyone has been using that since we debuted in professional fucking wrestling as we were so fucking dominant at what we did and people were genuinely fucking scared of us. You all see us as some kind of bogeymen in professional fucking wrestling. Then you’d be fucking right.” Frank looked around himself and took a breath. “People keep writing off the Bastards for cheap heat, especially now since Billy lost the World Championship and left a chink in the armour,” he said. “He seems to be on step away from a mid-life crisis and going back to the dark side of his personality but that’s when he’s most dangerous, well unless he brings that scrawny fucking bird back out of retirement. And I’m talking about the one with fucking feathers.” He winked into the camera. “And then there is Robbie Riot,” Frank said and paused remembering something from their past. “Robbie and I may seem on a fucking trajectory towards a big punch up for that shiny belt that he carries AND it will be a fucking fight as I know Robbie will fucking best and I will bring my fucking best and when I take the belt off of him Robbie will shake my hand and raise my arm as we both love competition. We will be bloody after this modern day War of the fucking Roses BUT we will still be Bastards as that’s what we fucking do, so everyone else can fuck off!!!”