-- The camera fades in from black giving us a clear view of... Oh, it almost pains me to say it... a house show. But before all of you faithful Big Time fans shout your dissapointment at this seeming lack of originality, let me assure you that there is a very good reason we have started this way. On any other day Big Time wouldn't be caught dead doing an interview from a house show, but this is not just any other day. They have decided to make today an exception to the rule in order to pull off yet another one of their mind blowingly creative and superbly entertaining interview sessions. So sit back, relax, put your feet up, grab a snack, and do whatever else you have to do to get comfortable and enjoy the latest installment of the saga that is Big Time. --

-- Okay, as I already said, the camera fades in on a ** cringe ** house show. Just as is nearly all of the house shows that we've seen in other wrestler's interviews, two no name nimrods are putting on a show that looks like two pregnant hippopotamuses, or is it hippopatamie? Aw Hell, it looks like two pregnant hippos doing a very bad tango. Needless to say the crowd is bored. Half of the people have fallen asleep and the other half are throwing various objects into the ring... paper, cokes, hot dogs, small children... you get the picture. Anyway, this goes on for a little while, one of the nimrods falls on his face, the pins him and wins. Big damn deal. Here's where it gets good. As the announcer is about to name the competitors in the next match "Ready to Go" blares over the speakers. But wait a second, this isn't Thorne Richard's interview time. What gives? Our questions are answered as "Dynamite" Dave Drexxel, dressed up in a very bad Thorne Richards costume comes walking out onto the ramp. He has on blue tights, blue boots, and has a British flag draped over his shoulders like a cape. On his left hand is a hand puppet with "Michael Modest" written in purple magic marker. In his right hand he holds a mic. As he begins to speak he raises his chin, sticking his nose straight up in the air, indicating that he is better than all the people in the arena. --

Dave "Pseudo-Thorne" Drexxel: You bloody trailer trash, forty hour work week, beer swilling, American swine. If any of you Gen-X losers have a drop of intelligence flowing through your plebian minds, you will know and recognize that it is I, Europe's Greatest Export, Thorne Richards! You all should get on your bloody knees and worship me as your self-proclaimed moral and intellectual superior. Now, for those of you that I haven't blinded with my pale as ash complexion you can see that I am no longer the European Champion. No longer do I hold the one bloody title in this federation that I thought I alone should hold. Boy, was I wrong! I got my bum beat by someone I thought I was better than and above in stature. You fickle fans don't know true talent when you see it in all its godly form. All you care about is swilling beer, watching Springer, and sitting on your bloody arses, oi oi oi!!!

-- Dave stands there for a full minute looking as regal as possible. He snubs his nose at various people for another minute before saying something again in his terribly fake European accent. --

Dave: Now enough of you bloody people, I want to know if there is anybody here tonight that has the manhood of a true athlete to take me on right here, RIGHT NOW!!! Myself and "The Natural Puppet" Michael Modest will make quick work of any body willing to walk down this bloody aisle right now.

-- Dave brings the Modest-puppet up to the mike and lowers his voice about three octaves. --

"The Natural Puppet": That's right Thorne old buddy. Since I don't have much to say, I will continue to let you do all the talking and carry this team like I know you always have.

Dave: Come On... The longer you make me wait the longer I'm going to slap you around the ring. *Waits and looks up the ramp, nothing. Then he turns to the camera and stares with an unfounded snarl.* I'll even call off Michael you turkeys. *Gives Up after a few more moments of no music* Just as I thou...

-- Before Dave finishes his sentence, all of the lights in the arena go out. The Kindred's music starts as a dim red light comes up. We see fog rolling across the arena floor, and a circle of fire appears on the side of the ramp opposite to the "Pseudo-Thorne". From the fire emerges a smiling figure wearing a blonde wig, dark sunglasses, and a frilly white shirt. In his hands he holds a pitcher with the Kool-Aid man's face on it. He takes a long drink of the red liquid contained in the pitcher and begins to spew the contents from his mouth but he chokes and the liquid (wild cherry Kool-Aid most likely) spills out and stains his new shirt. He continues to smile stupidly as the arena lights come back on. It's now obvious to anyone with eyes that the Gangrel look-alike is none other than the other half of Big Time, Scott "The Sh*t" Tokage. He too carries a mic in his left hand. --

Scott: You stupid, puny, weakling wretch of human waste. You dare to declare an open challenge as I, the scourge of the underworld, the poster boy of all that is red and scary, stand among the ranks of the EWA superstars? Can you not fathom the complex nature of the peril you are placing your soul in? I salivate, or as you mortals call it, "spit" in your general direction.

-- Scott takes another drink of the red liquid and dribbles it on the ramp in front of Dave. --

Scott: All of you mortals are the same. You can't seem to comprehend the extraordinary lack of proficiency that I and my partner for life, or unlife as the case may be, Edge posses. Come, bask in my glory as I say the same thing repeatedly in a variety of different ways. The only reason I talk in this manner is in hopes of confusing my opponents with a dazzling array of inane and tiresome phrases that grate on the ears as well as the mind. Watch as I prepare for my interviews by memorizing half of a thesaurus, or as you mortals call it, a "thesaurus". Bask in my glo... uh... radiance as I, Gangrel, state the same items in varying ways. The only reason I talk this way is in a vain attempt to stupify my opposition with dull and boring words. Bathe in the words that spew forth from my mouth in different yet all too similar ways. The explanation of why I speak in this manner is in order to astound my opponents with banal wordage. Ha, ha, ha. I've done it again! Fear me, for the revolution that I am so fond of is upon you, isn't that right, brother Edge?

-- Scott reaches behind him and produces a sock with "Edge" written on it from his back pocket. He puts the sock on his right hand and in a high pitched voice, Scott speaks for the Edge-sock. --

Scott **speaking for the sock**: That is most assuredly correct, my brother. Now please, put me back. I cannot bear to part myself from your backside for too long. These mortals scare me so. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be able to find my own rump with both hands.

-- Scott laughs and puts the Edge-sock back in his pocket. --

Scott: There you go my brother. Now Mr. Richards, there is nothing that I can think of that would be more satisfying than to destroy you again, as I have destroyed you so many times in the past, and will destroy you again in the future, destroy, destroy, destroy. Hey, I like that word. But, be that as it may, there is a creation much larger in ability and intelligence that even I, the in-human dictionary can hope to contend with. So before I drain you of your life's blood, Thorne, I beseech a favor from you. Help me to eliminate that dashing duo, that strikingly handsome twosome, that team unparalleled in wrestling ability, the Big Time in our upcoming match. What says you, my pale European advisary?

Dave: I don't know, Gangrel. Although I fully agree that Big Time is too much masculinity for me to handle, but you seem to be so beneath me in status. I just can't envision myself teaming with a bloody git such as yourself. You are nothing to me. No, you're worse than nothing, you're a starving dog discarded on the side of the road. No, you're a flea on said dog. No, wait, you're a... uh... ameoba on the flea on said dog. What do you think of that my towheaded undead aquantence?

Scott: This is what I think you foolish disgrace to mortals!

-- Scott takes a gigantic swig from the Kool-Aid pitcher and spits at Dave. Along with the liquid comes a set of fake fangs that Scott has been wearing. The fangs fly over and smack Dave square in the chest. Stifling a laugh Dave speaks. --

Dave: How dare you insult me in this manner?! I will teach you a lesson that you will never forget! To listen to me is to suffer -- at everyone's expense!!

-- The two men walk down the ramp heading towards the ring. The bicker back and forth all of the way down. They enter the ring and proceed to "fight". The fight consists mainly of Dave running in circles waving his British flag as Scott spits on everything in sight. This goes on for about a minute. Then Dave comes in and looks as if he's going to apply the London Bridge **come on folks, it's just a German Suplex** but pretends to not be able to lift Scott. Scott laughs a Gangrelish laugh and begins to pull of a piledriving-DDT, but grabs his back as if it gave out. --

Scott: Oh, I'm too weak. I can't pull off my finisher. I really do suck, in more ways than one.

-- Scott and Dave roll around the ring, whining and crying like little Thorne and Gangrel babies. The eventually exit the ring and roll underneath. The crowd hears banging sounds and cries for help eminating from where Big Time have disappeared. --

Dave: Oh no, Mr. Drexxel! Please don't hurt me! I'll bugger off back to Europe! I swear on the Queen's life! Nooooooo!

Scott: Why Mr. Tokage. You look lovely tonight. Care for a drink? Hey, stop. No! Don't come near me! I'm scared! Mommy!!

-- After a few more seconds the banging stops. From opposite sides of the ring emerge Scott and Dave dressed in their normal wrestling attire. With the costumes gone, the two men jump into the ring, smiling from ear to ear. They look very smug and seemed to really enjoy their little parody. Scott holds a mic and speaks first. --

Scott: Well, boys and girls, there you have it. Straight from the mouths of our opponents this Wednesday. Their inadiquacies encompass more than just their shoddy attempts at an interview. As I'm sure you all knew before they couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. And they expect to go toe to toe with the hottest team in this great industry of our? Damn. What a bunch of idiots.

Dave: These guys Richards, Modest, and The Kindred must have their heads up their collective butts. Like those rejects from "The Lost Boys" Gangrel and Edge. They keep talking about how Wednesday will be our deaths. Ooooooo. Scary. They've only seen us for about a week now and they think they know everything about us. Wrong, fanged freaks! You know jack about us. You've seen us face this fed's version of the JOB Squad thus far. The only thing we had to do to win our previous matches was to show up. They were no-brainers. Wednesday is the third. We're gonna roll over you two bastards as if you never even existed.

Scott: Hey, I liked that part in The Kindred's interview when Gangrel said we'd never encountered anything like them. Heh, heh, heh. There's a reason for that... We don't socialize with freaks that couldn't pull a decent wrestling move out of their asses to save their lives! You two are the biggest jokes to ever deface the name "Vampire".

Dave: Speaking of jokes, what do you make of Richards and Modest?

Scott: Who the Hell knows? Those bastards are too chicken to even say anything to us. They'll get what's coming to them courtesy of one Damn Good Drop. I'm starving for my third installment of moron bashing action, and I've got four faces to satisfy my hunger. See you Wednesday, guys.

Dave: And until the next time we meet, remember this. When you step into the ring with us, you know you've finally made it to the "BIG TIME"!

-- Scott and Dave exit the ring and strut up the ramp. They wave one last time before disappearing into the back of the arena. The next boring match is announced and the house show festivities commence once more. --

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