A Badman Gets A Slap On The Wrist............Again

[Frank Windsor]

The camera panned up and framed a big chair of sorts, more of a throne of sorts. Sat upon this chair was the wrestler known as Frank Windsor. He was dressed in black jeans with the new “Bastards 4 Life” T-shirt on; over this is his usual Leopard fur coat. Over his left shoulder is the Wrestle: UK Tag Championship belt and over his right shoulder was the brand new Bastard World Heavyweight Championship belt. He lifted his patented sunglasses and put them on top of his head as Finn Corbyn brought up the camera to record this conversation. “So they said an official Wrestle: UK camera crew wasn’t available at this particular moment as there was no time for one of our stories,” Frank said. “We don’t do story time do we? This ain’t Jack a fucking nory. We are for real. They aren’t available for their greatest talent in their wrestling promotion at the moment? Really? REALLY?” He shrugged as Finn brought his profile into focus. “Now where should I begin with this little conversation not story?” Frank started as he winked at the camera. “Seems like we ruffled a few feathers in Ireland and now we’re on the bosses shit list. He thinks that we shit all over him from a great height and that we belittled his little World Heavyweight Champion?” Finn moved the camera around and now Frank’s eyes were fixed on the lens. “Belittle Crane?” he smirked. “How can we do that when Crane does that all by himself; he is so fucking protected by the front office that even the fan up in the fucking nose bleeds know it. The cunt thinks because he’s either got Blood in his pocket or has some dodgy photos of him from some Network party that he can just coast through his championship run at Wrestle: UK without any issues. Fuck, Fowler and even the biker guy Havok had to defend that belt more times than Crane will have done by Dominion.” He shrugged his shoulders and continued. “So belittling the World Champion is nothing these days when he owns Mister Blood,” he said. “Mister Blood thinks he’s running this promotion doesn’t he? He really does doesn’t he? How funny; sad but funny. I bet you it was Crane who got Mister Blood to record that little tirade from his little office as he is a cowardly fuck and wouldn’t want to dirty his own hands. And what did the Bastards think of Mister Blood’s little announcement? Well after we had our fit of initial laughing you saw what Robbie thought of it. So a few matches were announced; let me start for the one at Dominion.” Frank caressed the championship belt on his right shoulder. “Is this really happening?” Frank asked. “Can’t believe that Donzig’s decided to get involved after he’s demeaned himself at every turn by whoring himself out at every turn with the Network and then being shot down as he isn’t one of those faces that the Network would push to greatness over some of their stooges. After our match in Yorkshire where you proved to the world that you were a failure in Wrestle: UK you have tried to get yourself or those morons shoe horned into anything that could potentially get you some kind of redemption but Dominion in a bold one. What happened? You were a fucking monster when we were in Canada?” He took off his sunglasses and folded them up before he put them in his coat pocket. “Getting yourself thrown in a match that probably won’t even happen is an interesting one,” he continued. “This belt that you want to get your paws on is somewhere in Ireland in some fat kids basement after the Bastards threw it into the fucking crowd last show. Maybe you’ll get to fight this kid Donzig as Frank Windsor doesn’t want anything to do with that defunct belt if you’d paid attention to the show mate.” He turned away from the camera as he tried to get his thoughts in order as the anger was dripping off of him. “But before that happens you’ve managed to get a tag championship shot for the moronic Dumb and Dumber,” Frank chuckled. “Really? Isn’t this like the fiftieth time those morons you run with get a shot at the Bastards? What’s going to be different this time? Fowler’s banned from ringside? But why would you ban one of the tag champions from ringside as you’re scared he’s going to get up to some kind of Bastard’s shenanigans or is it because you’ve got some sort of plan to screw the Bastards over maybe with the help of the High Rollers or even the special referee?” He laughed out loud as he looked dead down the lens. “Talking about the special referee,“ said Frank as he held his hands up to highlight the word special. “So Lord Ding-Dong thinks he’s got a shot at the big time by refereeing a main event championship match for Wrestle: UK. Good on you mate, I saw your little rant the other week and even though only part of it was fucking coherent the Bastards saw your little dig at us; the Cowards? Now that’s fucking original mate. Let your fifteen seconds of fame work for you before fucking back to the Indies. And if you think for one second about fucking over the Bastards, go pray to that fucking deity of yours and don’t fucking do it.” Frank leaned forward on the throne. “How do I finish this little rant of sorts?” he asked. “Even though this has been a bit fucking tame for me as the powers that be or the ones that believe that they are the powers that be but are only a supporting role in their own promotion as Crane has his testicles in a fucking jar have informed my people that I have to be a bit more PC but anyway fuck off!”