Post by Frank Windsor on Oct 13, 2021 17:36:53 GMT -5
THREE BECOMES ONE
Frank Windsor and his Bastard compadre Billy Fowler were sat in the lounge area of the suite that NPW had booked them into. To be honest as they were staying at some hotel in this cold bloody city at least they could have paid for a suite for all of them that had good bloody heating.
Frank had his feet up on one of the couches caressing the tag championship belt that he’d won recently. He tried to straighten his “Windsor Effect” official Bastards merchandise which incidentally is available on NPW.Com but grimaced as the pain from all his injuries over the recent months came back to haunt him.
Billy was playing around with his lap top in the far corner. Mumbling could be heard coming from his direction.
“Fuck dude,” Frank said. “Do you want me to leave you the fuck alone Fowler? Do you want some time for you and your right hand? Don’t forget to not go dry back fucker as some lube will help with those friction burns you have on your palms bro. You didn’t think we’d not fucking notice dude when we tag with you? Oh and wash your fucking hands too……….”
Fowler slowly turned around. “Have I told you that I really, really hate you Frank? I still don’t know why I put up with you and Riot’s shit anymore. If you must know I was actually watching some of my opponents matches. You should be getting ready for your opponent as he’s not a slouch and you ain’t got Rob or I to bail you out this show.”
Frank looked at his phone after he heard it beeping. There was a new message on it from Rob. He put his pin in and slowly read the message before he nodded.
“Bail me the fuck out?” Frank chuckled. “Okay, is that where we’re fucking going bro? Okay, let’s get something fucking down on film so we can say we’ve done something fucking productive today.”
Fowler picked up his phone and started to film Frank.
“This better be good and not just your usual mumbling and swearing,” Fowler said. “I’ve got to get my own stuff done and I ain’t got time for your usual BS.”
“Things are supposed to happen in threes my little old gran used to tell me,” Frank said as he looked at the phone lens. “When she was sitting on her porch back in Yorkshire, when I was watching all the local kids breaking into cars on her estate and she was pulling bits of chicken out of her false teeth she used to tell me her words of fucking wisdom.”
He nodded.
“Two of the three things have happened at the last few shows so what was going to be the third thing I ask myself,” he said. “Fowler hadn’t been too much of a hindrance in the Bastards clash with the three furry guys before we got jumped by a couple of cock wombles.”
“Fuck off and get back on topic,” Fowler muttered. “I ain’t being paid to film you talking shit about me.”
“Secondly we thought we’d finally rid the fucking world of the talentless hacks that kept this goddamn promotion down in some would call spectacular fashion but to be honest the only thing I cared about was if I was having to have to go through with facing them again,” he said. “But whilst we left their fucking carcasses rotting and the bugs were eating the soft parts we need to really think about what the third thing is going to be.”
Frank looked upwards as he thought what next to say.
“It could be anything. Maybe that dream would come true, you know the one we’ve all had,” he said. “The one where we have that dream of going into work stark bollock naked. You know what I mean, walking down the fucking ramp way, the tackle flapping in the wind. Hopefully it’s not that. People couldn’t handle the truth of that situation. They make them big in Yorkshire.”
A smirk crossed his lips.
“Anyway, I digress. Well that spiralled downwardly fast into some kind of butt buggery didn’t it,” he said. “One moment the three of us were whooping those three furries and then we got jumped by those fucking freaks. It was a fucking weird day wasn’t it? That hairy guy we thought we’d put down for good returns and also those fuck-tards the KGB came out of the fucking wood work. Putting us on the fucking back foot with those gold straps we have one of the best fucking tag divisions in all of professional wrestling but they will also bow down to the Bastards.”
Frank continued his rant of sorts.
“Yes, I know I shouldn’t fucking really be putting my opponents over but we are that fucking good that all of these ass clowns could probably join forces and not stand a fucking chance against the collective known as the Bastards,” he said. “Oh am I that fucking arrogant?”
Fowler muttered something as he held the phone up.
“Most definitely,” he said. “But I should really talk about my opponent shouldn’t I? Ronnie Long; I’ve heard on the fucking grapevine that this fucking old timer has the gift of the gob, bit like someone else right Billy? Nah, don’t need an answer I was fucking talking about me. Let’s see if this fucking plonker can bring it with an opponent that can give as good as he gets. Ronnie better bring his A game otherwise I’ll leave that wrinklies ass out in the fucking cold. He’ll be making fucking snow angels whilst my foot is on his neck.”
He turned and looked into the phone’s camera. Frank looked serious for a slight second.
“As Frank fucking Windsor is the best wrestler in this company and there is nobody in this company that can beat me,” he nodded. “NOBODY!”
He looked at Fowler.
“That’ll do pig,” he muttered. “That’ll do.”
Frank had his feet up on one of the couches caressing the tag championship belt that he’d won recently. He tried to straighten his “Windsor Effect” official Bastards merchandise which incidentally is available on NPW.Com but grimaced as the pain from all his injuries over the recent months came back to haunt him.
Billy was playing around with his lap top in the far corner. Mumbling could be heard coming from his direction.
“Fuck dude,” Frank said. “Do you want me to leave you the fuck alone Fowler? Do you want some time for you and your right hand? Don’t forget to not go dry back fucker as some lube will help with those friction burns you have on your palms bro. You didn’t think we’d not fucking notice dude when we tag with you? Oh and wash your fucking hands too……….”
Fowler slowly turned around. “Have I told you that I really, really hate you Frank? I still don’t know why I put up with you and Riot’s shit anymore. If you must know I was actually watching some of my opponents matches. You should be getting ready for your opponent as he’s not a slouch and you ain’t got Rob or I to bail you out this show.”
Frank looked at his phone after he heard it beeping. There was a new message on it from Rob. He put his pin in and slowly read the message before he nodded.
“Bail me the fuck out?” Frank chuckled. “Okay, is that where we’re fucking going bro? Okay, let’s get something fucking down on film so we can say we’ve done something fucking productive today.”
Fowler picked up his phone and started to film Frank.
“This better be good and not just your usual mumbling and swearing,” Fowler said. “I’ve got to get my own stuff done and I ain’t got time for your usual BS.”
“Things are supposed to happen in threes my little old gran used to tell me,” Frank said as he looked at the phone lens. “When she was sitting on her porch back in Yorkshire, when I was watching all the local kids breaking into cars on her estate and she was pulling bits of chicken out of her false teeth she used to tell me her words of fucking wisdom.”
He nodded.
“Two of the three things have happened at the last few shows so what was going to be the third thing I ask myself,” he said. “Fowler hadn’t been too much of a hindrance in the Bastards clash with the three furry guys before we got jumped by a couple of cock wombles.”
“Fuck off and get back on topic,” Fowler muttered. “I ain’t being paid to film you talking shit about me.”
“Secondly we thought we’d finally rid the fucking world of the talentless hacks that kept this goddamn promotion down in some would call spectacular fashion but to be honest the only thing I cared about was if I was having to have to go through with facing them again,” he said. “But whilst we left their fucking carcasses rotting and the bugs were eating the soft parts we need to really think about what the third thing is going to be.”
Frank looked upwards as he thought what next to say.
“It could be anything. Maybe that dream would come true, you know the one we’ve all had,” he said. “The one where we have that dream of going into work stark bollock naked. You know what I mean, walking down the fucking ramp way, the tackle flapping in the wind. Hopefully it’s not that. People couldn’t handle the truth of that situation. They make them big in Yorkshire.”
A smirk crossed his lips.
“Anyway, I digress. Well that spiralled downwardly fast into some kind of butt buggery didn’t it,” he said. “One moment the three of us were whooping those three furries and then we got jumped by those fucking freaks. It was a fucking weird day wasn’t it? That hairy guy we thought we’d put down for good returns and also those fuck-tards the KGB came out of the fucking wood work. Putting us on the fucking back foot with those gold straps we have one of the best fucking tag divisions in all of professional wrestling but they will also bow down to the Bastards.”
Frank continued his rant of sorts.
“Yes, I know I shouldn’t fucking really be putting my opponents over but we are that fucking good that all of these ass clowns could probably join forces and not stand a fucking chance against the collective known as the Bastards,” he said. “Oh am I that fucking arrogant?”
Fowler muttered something as he held the phone up.
“Most definitely,” he said. “But I should really talk about my opponent shouldn’t I? Ronnie Long; I’ve heard on the fucking grapevine that this fucking old timer has the gift of the gob, bit like someone else right Billy? Nah, don’t need an answer I was fucking talking about me. Let’s see if this fucking plonker can bring it with an opponent that can give as good as he gets. Ronnie better bring his A game otherwise I’ll leave that wrinklies ass out in the fucking cold. He’ll be making fucking snow angels whilst my foot is on his neck.”
He turned and looked into the phone’s camera. Frank looked serious for a slight second.
“As Frank fucking Windsor is the best wrestler in this company and there is nobody in this company that can beat me,” he nodded. “NOBODY!”
He looked at Fowler.
“That’ll do pig,” he muttered. “That’ll do.”
