Post by FDJ on Dec 19, 2018 10:01:53 GMT -5
Frank couldn’t figure out what pissed him off more, that he had become a Two-Time World Tag Team Champion just as he had found himself in Japan and was about to go on that huge run that he’d been pining for when MAX-J winds up going tits up, not enough cash left to pay the boys but one more time? Or the fact that his new championship Tag Team Partner was Go Gensai himself?
The Pale General.
Go and Frank had burst on the scene almost simultaneously here in MJPW. Frank was hesitant to admit, even to himself, that Go had gotten the better of him at almost every turn since they’d started here together only a few short weeks ago. Frank didn’t like it so much when assholes and hippie bastards continually stood in his way when he had his mind set on something, and Go had seemed particularly adept at kicking mud in the face of the Appalachian Apocalypse at every given chance.
Now, here they stood…
Tag Team.
Champions of the World.
Frank couldn’t help but feel the winds of change as that mangled beard of his wafted in their wake. He had been content tagging with Balloon Yamazaki just a few days back and languishing, barely in contention with zero direction but a couple of slack-jawed smiles plastered across both of their faces.
Something stirred deep inside of Frank’s barrel of a chest. A fire that had been missing since long before he set foot in Japan to resurrect his failing career. Long before the Hagen’s came calling and HOSS became relevant.
The more he brooded over it the more Frank started to realize that no matter how frustrating that Go had been he had never cheated any more than Frank did by swinging the occasional chair or by tossing around a referee here and there. The only thing that Go had really been guilty of was being a surly old son of a bitch who demanded perfection in his violence and produced results the like that Frank wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.
Frank thought of the belt. His mouth watered. Was it his fault that he had a-hankerin' for chewing on leather? Could you blame the guy? I mean really?
The West Virginia Whack Job mulled it all over, more than you would give him credit for, and when he had weighed everything against itself and come to a conclusion is exactly the point when things went sideways. Frank would embrace a side that had been repressed by the money and effects that comes with just a tinge of success. He would follow the way of the Pale General and he would once again tear his enemies apart!
No one would be safe.
Not from this pure sort of ecstasy of Gold and Violence. He would take the fat young boy with him on one final ride and together they would put an end to Mushigihara just as MJPW itself comes to an end! If not there then later, back in HOSS Frank would get the beast to himself in a Street Fight for his own SSGP Heavyweight Title. It didn’t matter to Frank, he liked beating people up. It was his favorite pastime. And he liked having a modicum of respect. People had treated him a particular way for the majority of his life and for every last moment of his career.
And did anybody think about what would happen should Go and Frank decide to take on the Poker Scramble as a team? Is anybody ready for that? No? Is there even a way to be ready for that?
NOBODY. IS. SAFE.
It was high fucking time for Frank to finally get his shit all the way together. He was a World Tag Team Champion and he was the Strong Style Champion and he was ready to be unleashed on the fucking universe.
Ain’t nobody safe.
Not now.
Not never.
The Pale General.
Go and Frank had burst on the scene almost simultaneously here in MJPW. Frank was hesitant to admit, even to himself, that Go had gotten the better of him at almost every turn since they’d started here together only a few short weeks ago. Frank didn’t like it so much when assholes and hippie bastards continually stood in his way when he had his mind set on something, and Go had seemed particularly adept at kicking mud in the face of the Appalachian Apocalypse at every given chance.
Now, here they stood…
Tag Team.
Champions of the World.
Frank couldn’t help but feel the winds of change as that mangled beard of his wafted in their wake. He had been content tagging with Balloon Yamazaki just a few days back and languishing, barely in contention with zero direction but a couple of slack-jawed smiles plastered across both of their faces.
Something stirred deep inside of Frank’s barrel of a chest. A fire that had been missing since long before he set foot in Japan to resurrect his failing career. Long before the Hagen’s came calling and HOSS became relevant.
The more he brooded over it the more Frank started to realize that no matter how frustrating that Go had been he had never cheated any more than Frank did by swinging the occasional chair or by tossing around a referee here and there. The only thing that Go had really been guilty of was being a surly old son of a bitch who demanded perfection in his violence and produced results the like that Frank wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.
Frank thought of the belt. His mouth watered. Was it his fault that he had a-hankerin' for chewing on leather? Could you blame the guy? I mean really?
The West Virginia Whack Job mulled it all over, more than you would give him credit for, and when he had weighed everything against itself and come to a conclusion is exactly the point when things went sideways. Frank would embrace a side that had been repressed by the money and effects that comes with just a tinge of success. He would follow the way of the Pale General and he would once again tear his enemies apart!
No one would be safe.
Not from this pure sort of ecstasy of Gold and Violence. He would take the fat young boy with him on one final ride and together they would put an end to Mushigihara just as MJPW itself comes to an end! If not there then later, back in HOSS Frank would get the beast to himself in a Street Fight for his own SSGP Heavyweight Title. It didn’t matter to Frank, he liked beating people up. It was his favorite pastime. And he liked having a modicum of respect. People had treated him a particular way for the majority of his life and for every last moment of his career.
And did anybody think about what would happen should Go and Frank decide to take on the Poker Scramble as a team? Is anybody ready for that? No? Is there even a way to be ready for that?
NOBODY. IS. SAFE.
It was high fucking time for Frank to finally get his shit all the way together. He was a World Tag Team Champion and he was the Strong Style Champion and he was ready to be unleashed on the fucking universe.
Ain’t nobody safe.
Not now.
Not never.