Post by Frank Windsor on Sept 29, 2021 17:09:44 GMT -5
WE BELIEVE IN YOU
Blake Samuels just stood perfectly still in front of the NPW logo grinding his teeth together and looking surprised at the figure stood next to him.
“So I’ve been told by the boss to interview you for the website Frank,” Blake started. “After last week’s action what’s on the tag champion’s mind? What is the future for you when it comes to the Bastards and about your next match? And where are your partners?”
The man just stood, no expression in his eyes, as he neared the camera, until his upper body was the only thing seen. He was wearing a t-shirt with the logo of “THE BASTARD’S BELIEVE IN YOU” upon it. He sneered at the camera. He then turned to face the sky and spoke, as if speaking to the heavens above, or as if speaking to himself.
The Camera-Man tried to get him in focus as well as the two others stood next to him. It was Frank’s Alaskan girlfriend Natalia Santiago and his protégé Finn Corbyn. Frank looked into the camera’s lens and started.
“First off,” he started. “The Bastards ain’t joined at the fucking hip. Robbie and Billie are doing their own thing and we are on the same page. Stop trying to start drama, the Bastards don’t like drama.”
He looked angrily at Blake.
“So even after our little lesson on what the fuck a marsupial is has still confused the fuck out of me,” Frank said. “Don’t get me wrong, I know what the hell a Koala or a fucking Wombat is but these fuckers to me are a bunch of fucking morons who dress up to get their thrills like Furries that Fowler has somehow got saved as a favourite on his laptop.”
Blake looked confused but then it slowly dawned on him that this tirade didn’t have anything to do with him. He was just using the cameras to get his anger out to the world for what went down.
“Those were some strange fucking videos that came up on Pornhub but I haven’t had a fucking chance to talk to him about his fucked up sexual preferences as we’ve got a match to get ready for,” he smirked. “One of those Marsupial’s got a lucky shot at the last show and had a chance to come at the Bastards for what everyone knows was coming home with me and Robbie.”
He nodded and looked into the camera.
“We three Warriors of fucking renown bring something to not only to this freaking company that we’re in but to this new network that the NPW has moved to,” he said. “People more likely want to see three WRESTLERS on their show that a bunch of fucking morons that get their jollies by dressing up as bunch for fucking wombles and don’t know their forward roll from a fucking bread roll.”
He unclipped the Tag Championship belt that was around his waist and threw it over his shoulder.
“Come on really?” he asked. “Is this the best that they can do? What is the company going to try and do next? Are they going to get the Bastards to take on some sort of weird gimmick disguised to try and get us over with the fans but actually some sort of elaborate prank to at the expense of our dignity with the fucking boys in the locker room? Are they going to get Robbie to come out to the ring in Gold PVC hot pants to make him more appealing to the female fans?”
Blake shrugged his shoulders and held the microphone up higher.
“Anyway I digress from my original fucking reason for saying all this,” he continued. “This is the first time since the XHF show where we were screwed out of those trio fucking titles that the Bastards have teamed together in the squared circle and we will put on a show of what pro-wrestling is really about. If Robbie was here he’d probably tell you some long fucking winded story David Attenborough style about these Marsupials and how they’re an endangered species, and then on the other hand Billie would probably take the Steve Irwin path by jumping amongst them trying not to get fucking bitten but me? Which path should I take? Fuck it, I’ll more than likely just punch these fuckers between the eyes, kick ‘em in the short and curlies and then just roll them up for the win, but that’s just me.”
Frank caressed the gold strap on his shoulder.
“But we need to talk to you about the elephant in the fucking room,” he said. “Not sure you saw that the Bastards are working alone here in NPW. Robbie mentioned it with his fucking analogy about the space ship and it’s fucking rockets but I need to explain it so that morons can understand why the bunch of us are no longer running as a pack anymore.”
Blake looked surprised.
“It’s like this, when we started out and came back in the XHF pay per view it was like us having an nice curry, we needed to add in a naan bread and a nice cold beer,” Frank said. “The meal is great for a while but then later on in the evening you need to relieve yourself of it all. Whilst sitting in that fucking stall, first you read the fucking graffiti on the shitter’s wall but then after you’ve dropped the bomb and cleared the Klingon’s you have to break out the bog brush and stab those shits until they sink enough for you to flush them clean away. And that’s how the Bastards survive curries.”
Finn smirked as he listened to Frank.
“It’s like we Brit’s are so used to saying,” Frank continued. “We ain’t lost a war in a thousand fucking years so why start now? We ain’t going to lose to some fucking wombles, not on my fucking watch! Now remember the Bastards believe in you!!!”
He walked off camera.
“So I’ve been told by the boss to interview you for the website Frank,” Blake started. “After last week’s action what’s on the tag champion’s mind? What is the future for you when it comes to the Bastards and about your next match? And where are your partners?”
The man just stood, no expression in his eyes, as he neared the camera, until his upper body was the only thing seen. He was wearing a t-shirt with the logo of “THE BASTARD’S BELIEVE IN YOU” upon it. He sneered at the camera. He then turned to face the sky and spoke, as if speaking to the heavens above, or as if speaking to himself.
The Camera-Man tried to get him in focus as well as the two others stood next to him. It was Frank’s Alaskan girlfriend Natalia Santiago and his protégé Finn Corbyn. Frank looked into the camera’s lens and started.
“First off,” he started. “The Bastards ain’t joined at the fucking hip. Robbie and Billie are doing their own thing and we are on the same page. Stop trying to start drama, the Bastards don’t like drama.”
He looked angrily at Blake.
“So even after our little lesson on what the fuck a marsupial is has still confused the fuck out of me,” Frank said. “Don’t get me wrong, I know what the hell a Koala or a fucking Wombat is but these fuckers to me are a bunch of fucking morons who dress up to get their thrills like Furries that Fowler has somehow got saved as a favourite on his laptop.”
Blake looked confused but then it slowly dawned on him that this tirade didn’t have anything to do with him. He was just using the cameras to get his anger out to the world for what went down.
“Those were some strange fucking videos that came up on Pornhub but I haven’t had a fucking chance to talk to him about his fucked up sexual preferences as we’ve got a match to get ready for,” he smirked. “One of those Marsupial’s got a lucky shot at the last show and had a chance to come at the Bastards for what everyone knows was coming home with me and Robbie.”
He nodded and looked into the camera.
“We three Warriors of fucking renown bring something to not only to this freaking company that we’re in but to this new network that the NPW has moved to,” he said. “People more likely want to see three WRESTLERS on their show that a bunch of fucking morons that get their jollies by dressing up as bunch for fucking wombles and don’t know their forward roll from a fucking bread roll.”
He unclipped the Tag Championship belt that was around his waist and threw it over his shoulder.
“Come on really?” he asked. “Is this the best that they can do? What is the company going to try and do next? Are they going to get the Bastards to take on some sort of weird gimmick disguised to try and get us over with the fans but actually some sort of elaborate prank to at the expense of our dignity with the fucking boys in the locker room? Are they going to get Robbie to come out to the ring in Gold PVC hot pants to make him more appealing to the female fans?”
Blake shrugged his shoulders and held the microphone up higher.
“Anyway I digress from my original fucking reason for saying all this,” he continued. “This is the first time since the XHF show where we were screwed out of those trio fucking titles that the Bastards have teamed together in the squared circle and we will put on a show of what pro-wrestling is really about. If Robbie was here he’d probably tell you some long fucking winded story David Attenborough style about these Marsupials and how they’re an endangered species, and then on the other hand Billie would probably take the Steve Irwin path by jumping amongst them trying not to get fucking bitten but me? Which path should I take? Fuck it, I’ll more than likely just punch these fuckers between the eyes, kick ‘em in the short and curlies and then just roll them up for the win, but that’s just me.”
Frank caressed the gold strap on his shoulder.
“But we need to talk to you about the elephant in the fucking room,” he said. “Not sure you saw that the Bastards are working alone here in NPW. Robbie mentioned it with his fucking analogy about the space ship and it’s fucking rockets but I need to explain it so that morons can understand why the bunch of us are no longer running as a pack anymore.”
Blake looked surprised.
“It’s like this, when we started out and came back in the XHF pay per view it was like us having an nice curry, we needed to add in a naan bread and a nice cold beer,” Frank said. “The meal is great for a while but then later on in the evening you need to relieve yourself of it all. Whilst sitting in that fucking stall, first you read the fucking graffiti on the shitter’s wall but then after you’ve dropped the bomb and cleared the Klingon’s you have to break out the bog brush and stab those shits until they sink enough for you to flush them clean away. And that’s how the Bastards survive curries.”
Finn smirked as he listened to Frank.
“It’s like we Brit’s are so used to saying,” Frank continued. “We ain’t lost a war in a thousand fucking years so why start now? We ain’t going to lose to some fucking wombles, not on my fucking watch! Now remember the Bastards believe in you!!!”
He walked off camera.
