Post by dastardly on Aug 27, 2007 10:59:52 GMT -5
EWA Representative: Well, this is where the note said to come....
The EWA rep trails off as he bewilderedly looks at the cameraman at his side. In his hand is a scratch sheet of paper with nothing more than an address scribbled on it. The rep double checks the address and glances back up in irritation. The camera clicks on to reveal a run down looking, hole in the wall pub on the outskirts of a bad part of town. The half dirt, half asphalt streets are caked with filth and the sidewalks are riddled with the homeless.
EWA Rep: Ah, hell! Wait here while I check it out!
The rep holds up a finger and the cameraman holds his ground. The door squeaks open and the gut wrenching aroma of beer and vomit, intoxicate the rep. The sound of mid ‘80’s country music is screeching out of a horrible sound system. The suited rep is eyed by every man in the bar, some just gawking and some snarling. As he continues his journey over broken glass and crushed peanut shells he wanders into the rear of the bar where he sees in a dark corner, sitting at a table with only 3 legs and a 3 foot tall stack of phone books, a shadowy figure puffing away at a cigar. Thinking he has found what he's been searching for he darts back out side and grabs the camera man and heads back into the bar. As they reach the same corner and the camera clicks on to reveals a somewhat short but bulky man who could use a razor to say the least. His dirty blond hair, combed to perfection, glistens in the dim light. The camera looks over the man like he is on display. Covering a chest, is a black sleeveless shirt with arms the size of tree trucks pocking out of the sleeve. Just below are his black leather pants that cover a pair of legs that seem about to make the seams burst. The camera shots back on the face as the man downs a big sip of a unknown thingytail like the bar was about to close. Wasting no time the representative speaks.
EWA Rep: All right! So you must be...
The man hardly lifts his head to acknowledge the rep. He merely puffs his cigar as if no one was around.
The man: Pritchards! Dail Pritchards to be precise. “Dastardly” Dail Pritchards to be preciser.
EWA Rep: I’m Sorry? (With a slight snicker in his voice) I don’t believe preciser is a word?
Dail Pricthards: Didn’t I just use it in a sentence?
EWA Rep: Um… well… yeah but…
Dail Pritchards: Then it’s a word. (Screaming across the bar) Someone call that Webster guy! I have another one for him!
The rep mildly shacks his head in disbelief.
EWA Rep: Well.... Yes. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Michael Duff, the EWA Infield interviewer.
Dail Pritchards: And?
Michael Duff: Um, Mr. Pritchards why are we.....
Dail Pritchards: Just call me Dail!
The rep somewhat comforted by Dail’s friendliness, presses on.
Michael Duff: As I was saying Mr. Pritch.... um… Dail. I understand you are new and you wanted an interview with the EWA but why here, in this damp bar?
Dail Pritchards: Well according to the backstage team, I have to have some kind of a pre-match debut. Why here? Well where the hell else can a man get two for one Blond very "friendly" persons.
EWA Rep: Blond very "friendly" persons? Well I know that if you go down the road…
Dail Pritchards: The DRINK, you degenerate!... but give me that address anyway and I’ll map quest it later, Mitch!
EWA Rep: Oh you must have miss heard me. It’s Micheal.
Dail Pritchards: No I heard you, Melvin.
The rep scratches his head and carefully continues.
Michael Duff: Well most interviews are normally held in the confines of the IPW approved locations or cooperate offi...
Dail grabs the man by the collar of his coat and pulls him inches away from his face. His cold eyes stare deep into the rep as Michael gulps.
Dail Pritchards: I have neither the time nor the patients to put up with snot nosed, up tight @ssholes… well I’ll make time for the tight @sshole lady folk! One thing I can't stand is when people contradict my judgment! It is not above me to beat the hell out of you on my debut promo. Contradict me again and I will shove your head so far up your @ss you will have to wear yourself as a hat!
Dail pushes Michael back into his seat. He breaths deep as if he is thankful to be alive as Dail puffs at his cigar and downs a swig of his drink. Suddenly Dail struggles to inhale the cigar. Micheal looks up at him confused. Dail’s face begins to turn red as it appears he tried to hold back laughter. Finally it becomes to much and Dail bursts into hysteria.
Dail Pritchards: (still laughing) Sploosh Morty. I’m just screwing with you, man. Come on! Get a sense of humor and grow a sack.
Somewhat gathering himself back up, the rep takes a deep breath and carries on with his interview unamused.
Dail Pritchards: Just sit back and tomorrow you will be laughing about this with all your buddies in you kiss @ss country club! I didn’t WANT an interview. I don’t WANT to talk but all the little girls in the locker are to busy grooming themselves in the mirror and practicing for their next cover girl make up commercial are too scared to scout their competition face to face, so when push comes to shove, I’ll do an on screen introduction.
Michael Duff : I must apologize, Dail. But to get on with our interview...What brings you here, to the EWA?
Dail Pritchards: Ya know when I was a kid, wrestling didn’t really catch my eye. Why would I want to take a chance at damaging this million dollar face from some short bus riding, rectal wart like half the spazoids that infect the EWA locker room? All I ever cared about was the quickest and easiest way in and out of everything, normally due to some 'foul play'. In school I aced every class because I always sat behind the smart kids. In college I became a master of blackmail and…lets just say the Dean's little freshmen indiscretion prompted a graduation with honors for yours truly. Later on down the line I was busted pulling five digit scams in Japan and was sentenced to 6 months… the greatest six months of my life. I was lucky enough, in a manner of speaking, to go to the big house right around the same time the Japanese Death-match legend, Mr. Pogo was doing a year stretch for Assault. One afternoon, Mr. Pogo witnessed myself foiling a gang rape attempt using some talcum powder and a few well placed kicks to the egg rolls. Mr. Pogo instantly knew what he had to do. The whole six months Pogo hit me with his plethora of wrestling know how…well more like everything about how to cheat at wrestling. When release day came around, Pogo handed me some no name promoters card and was quickly given a tryout in NJW that ended in a pinfall with a handful of tights and his feet on the ropes. Within a matter on months, I was hailed as "The D@mn Dirty Bastard" and oddly enough, fans loved me: which works out great for me because I love me, too. Eventually I left Japan and, for the most part, spent most of my head knocking career bouncing for federation to federation and becoming a black hole for titles. I eventually landed here, where the only thing left to do, is add more wins to my record and more blood to my knuckles, my brass knuckles of course.
Michael Duff: So you consider yourself, with your vast Japanese background, an Extremist? We all know just how hand core it can be over seas.
Dail Pritchards: What? Did you listen to a word I just said? Jesus Tap-Dance Christ, Markus! Lets conduct this interview with a little pinache, don’t just grab a subject out of thin air and run with it, jack stain! I’ll answer the question this time, but from now on, stop checking out the guys @ss on the pinball machine behind me and start listening to what I am saying. Most people would start spouting off about how tough they are and how extreme they are, but that’s not what this sport is about. Do I consider myself an Extremist yes and no. I will do anything and everything to get my job done but I don’t thrive on carnage. Whether it’s a simply Clothesline or a chair shot to a broken leg, it doesn’t matter. Sure, I might be an extremist because I will go to the same level of anybody who steps up to the plate. I am the epitome of underhanded perfection but if my opponent is a cruiser, I will fly. I he’s a brawler, then I’ll shine up my knucks before I school him in a romping round of fist-a-cuffs. The basis of my style is, if you are in MY ring you are playing by my rules.
Michael Duff: Well, Dail. I believe you might have to prove a thing or two to the other competiti......
Interrupting with a snicker.
Dail Pritchards: Don't say competition!
Michael Duff: But you said a few moments ago…..
Dail Pritchards: I said “they won’t scout the competition!” They are not my competition…. By any means. I am THEIR competition. I have looked into the records and watched some of the so called "historic" matches that all these idiots have had before and competition is the least of my worries here! The fools of this federation are mere child’s play compared to the trees I've had to knock down. I'm not saying I am the best.......but I am Sploosh near it! I mean, look at these guys. Lets see we have Virus. This kid needs two things, a better gimmick and a sensible name! Are you going to infect my heart and soul with a deadly dose of fear? The only thing this cookie tosser can do is cause nausea is the pit of my stomach. Jesus, have you listened to this guy talk? It’s like listening to a two week Martha Steward marathon. Four words kid…SHUT THE HELL UP! You need a wake up call, boy, and it looks to me that that wake up call comes in the form of The d@mn dirty bastard himself, “Dastardly” Dail Pritchards.
Then there is The Animal . Ha. Here we go again. We got another 7’ sasquatch with a name a million douche bags before him have used. What is the deal with some of these guys? Is the EWA a garbage disposal for the clichés of the wrestling world? I mean, I could go one for hours about these crotch snugglers: guys named after Lord or the Ring characters, guys with Mortal Combat names, or how about the simply moronic guys who probably think that using an “X” in their name somehow magically makes them seem worth a Sploosh? I would almost be sad, if it weren’t so pathetic.
Michael Duff: What are your goals for the EWA?
Dail Pritchards: Goals? You mean belts, right?
Michael Duff: Yeah, basically.
Dail sips what’s left of his drink and shakes his head in disgust.
Dail Pritchards: Ya know, I really don't care about gold most of the time. Any lucky son of a b!tch can sneak away with a belt but it takes a real man to kick some ass. I've held belts before and sure, I'll take a belt if it's in my path but I am more interested in the blood that’s gunna spill in the match for that belt. I am and animal, plain and simple. I'm like a hawk. Stalk my prey with eyes of ice and when the timing is right, or I have the change to pull my brass, I attack! I'm not gunna say "watch you backs" because even if you do, it won't matter! If I want to, I'll get you! This is the beginning of the new EWA revelation. A revelation where, after all is said and down and the smoke clears over the ashes of this pathetic federations roster, I will be only one man that shall stand tall over the fallen rubble that was once the EWA: and that man sits before you today. I know all the slack jawed goobers in the locker room are just brushing me off. That’s just fine. Frankly I don't care what any of them think. Love me or hate me, I'm still going to knock those cavity rattled teeth down their throats if the bell rings and they’re at the opposite end of the ring. Now you have two chooses, stay in your little locker room and wait for your execution or get ready to experience some truly dastardly deeds!
Dail slams the now empty glass onto the table and puts out his cigar. He stands up, winks into the camera and walks towards the door. The camera follows him all the way. Dail pushes open the door and steps one foot out but before the other foot follows he reaches into his pocket, turns back to the camera, and pulls out a brass knuckle covered fist with a smug yet confident smile spread across his face.
The EWA rep trails off as he bewilderedly looks at the cameraman at his side. In his hand is a scratch sheet of paper with nothing more than an address scribbled on it. The rep double checks the address and glances back up in irritation. The camera clicks on to reveal a run down looking, hole in the wall pub on the outskirts of a bad part of town. The half dirt, half asphalt streets are caked with filth and the sidewalks are riddled with the homeless.
EWA Rep: Ah, hell! Wait here while I check it out!
The rep holds up a finger and the cameraman holds his ground. The door squeaks open and the gut wrenching aroma of beer and vomit, intoxicate the rep. The sound of mid ‘80’s country music is screeching out of a horrible sound system. The suited rep is eyed by every man in the bar, some just gawking and some snarling. As he continues his journey over broken glass and crushed peanut shells he wanders into the rear of the bar where he sees in a dark corner, sitting at a table with only 3 legs and a 3 foot tall stack of phone books, a shadowy figure puffing away at a cigar. Thinking he has found what he's been searching for he darts back out side and grabs the camera man and heads back into the bar. As they reach the same corner and the camera clicks on to reveals a somewhat short but bulky man who could use a razor to say the least. His dirty blond hair, combed to perfection, glistens in the dim light. The camera looks over the man like he is on display. Covering a chest, is a black sleeveless shirt with arms the size of tree trucks pocking out of the sleeve. Just below are his black leather pants that cover a pair of legs that seem about to make the seams burst. The camera shots back on the face as the man downs a big sip of a unknown thingytail like the bar was about to close. Wasting no time the representative speaks.
EWA Rep: All right! So you must be...
The man hardly lifts his head to acknowledge the rep. He merely puffs his cigar as if no one was around.
The man: Pritchards! Dail Pritchards to be precise. “Dastardly” Dail Pritchards to be preciser.
EWA Rep: I’m Sorry? (With a slight snicker in his voice) I don’t believe preciser is a word?
Dail Pricthards: Didn’t I just use it in a sentence?
EWA Rep: Um… well… yeah but…
Dail Pritchards: Then it’s a word. (Screaming across the bar) Someone call that Webster guy! I have another one for him!
The rep mildly shacks his head in disbelief.
EWA Rep: Well.... Yes. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Michael Duff, the EWA Infield interviewer.
Dail Pritchards: And?
Michael Duff: Um, Mr. Pritchards why are we.....
Dail Pritchards: Just call me Dail!
The rep somewhat comforted by Dail’s friendliness, presses on.
Michael Duff: As I was saying Mr. Pritch.... um… Dail. I understand you are new and you wanted an interview with the EWA but why here, in this damp bar?
Dail Pritchards: Well according to the backstage team, I have to have some kind of a pre-match debut. Why here? Well where the hell else can a man get two for one Blond very "friendly" persons.
EWA Rep: Blond very "friendly" persons? Well I know that if you go down the road…
Dail Pritchards: The DRINK, you degenerate!... but give me that address anyway and I’ll map quest it later, Mitch!
EWA Rep: Oh you must have miss heard me. It’s Micheal.
Dail Pritchards: No I heard you, Melvin.
The rep scratches his head and carefully continues.
Michael Duff: Well most interviews are normally held in the confines of the IPW approved locations or cooperate offi...
Dail grabs the man by the collar of his coat and pulls him inches away from his face. His cold eyes stare deep into the rep as Michael gulps.
Dail Pritchards: I have neither the time nor the patients to put up with snot nosed, up tight @ssholes… well I’ll make time for the tight @sshole lady folk! One thing I can't stand is when people contradict my judgment! It is not above me to beat the hell out of you on my debut promo. Contradict me again and I will shove your head so far up your @ss you will have to wear yourself as a hat!
Dail pushes Michael back into his seat. He breaths deep as if he is thankful to be alive as Dail puffs at his cigar and downs a swig of his drink. Suddenly Dail struggles to inhale the cigar. Micheal looks up at him confused. Dail’s face begins to turn red as it appears he tried to hold back laughter. Finally it becomes to much and Dail bursts into hysteria.
Dail Pritchards: (still laughing) Sploosh Morty. I’m just screwing with you, man. Come on! Get a sense of humor and grow a sack.
Somewhat gathering himself back up, the rep takes a deep breath and carries on with his interview unamused.
Dail Pritchards: Just sit back and tomorrow you will be laughing about this with all your buddies in you kiss @ss country club! I didn’t WANT an interview. I don’t WANT to talk but all the little girls in the locker are to busy grooming themselves in the mirror and practicing for their next cover girl make up commercial are too scared to scout their competition face to face, so when push comes to shove, I’ll do an on screen introduction.
Michael Duff : I must apologize, Dail. But to get on with our interview...What brings you here, to the EWA?
Dail Pritchards: Ya know when I was a kid, wrestling didn’t really catch my eye. Why would I want to take a chance at damaging this million dollar face from some short bus riding, rectal wart like half the spazoids that infect the EWA locker room? All I ever cared about was the quickest and easiest way in and out of everything, normally due to some 'foul play'. In school I aced every class because I always sat behind the smart kids. In college I became a master of blackmail and…lets just say the Dean's little freshmen indiscretion prompted a graduation with honors for yours truly. Later on down the line I was busted pulling five digit scams in Japan and was sentenced to 6 months… the greatest six months of my life. I was lucky enough, in a manner of speaking, to go to the big house right around the same time the Japanese Death-match legend, Mr. Pogo was doing a year stretch for Assault. One afternoon, Mr. Pogo witnessed myself foiling a gang rape attempt using some talcum powder and a few well placed kicks to the egg rolls. Mr. Pogo instantly knew what he had to do. The whole six months Pogo hit me with his plethora of wrestling know how…well more like everything about how to cheat at wrestling. When release day came around, Pogo handed me some no name promoters card and was quickly given a tryout in NJW that ended in a pinfall with a handful of tights and his feet on the ropes. Within a matter on months, I was hailed as "The D@mn Dirty Bastard" and oddly enough, fans loved me: which works out great for me because I love me, too. Eventually I left Japan and, for the most part, spent most of my head knocking career bouncing for federation to federation and becoming a black hole for titles. I eventually landed here, where the only thing left to do, is add more wins to my record and more blood to my knuckles, my brass knuckles of course.
Michael Duff: So you consider yourself, with your vast Japanese background, an Extremist? We all know just how hand core it can be over seas.
Dail Pritchards: What? Did you listen to a word I just said? Jesus Tap-Dance Christ, Markus! Lets conduct this interview with a little pinache, don’t just grab a subject out of thin air and run with it, jack stain! I’ll answer the question this time, but from now on, stop checking out the guys @ss on the pinball machine behind me and start listening to what I am saying. Most people would start spouting off about how tough they are and how extreme they are, but that’s not what this sport is about. Do I consider myself an Extremist yes and no. I will do anything and everything to get my job done but I don’t thrive on carnage. Whether it’s a simply Clothesline or a chair shot to a broken leg, it doesn’t matter. Sure, I might be an extremist because I will go to the same level of anybody who steps up to the plate. I am the epitome of underhanded perfection but if my opponent is a cruiser, I will fly. I he’s a brawler, then I’ll shine up my knucks before I school him in a romping round of fist-a-cuffs. The basis of my style is, if you are in MY ring you are playing by my rules.
Michael Duff: Well, Dail. I believe you might have to prove a thing or two to the other competiti......
Interrupting with a snicker.
Dail Pritchards: Don't say competition!
Michael Duff: But you said a few moments ago…..
Dail Pritchards: I said “they won’t scout the competition!” They are not my competition…. By any means. I am THEIR competition. I have looked into the records and watched some of the so called "historic" matches that all these idiots have had before and competition is the least of my worries here! The fools of this federation are mere child’s play compared to the trees I've had to knock down. I'm not saying I am the best.......but I am Sploosh near it! I mean, look at these guys. Lets see we have Virus. This kid needs two things, a better gimmick and a sensible name! Are you going to infect my heart and soul with a deadly dose of fear? The only thing this cookie tosser can do is cause nausea is the pit of my stomach. Jesus, have you listened to this guy talk? It’s like listening to a two week Martha Steward marathon. Four words kid…SHUT THE HELL UP! You need a wake up call, boy, and it looks to me that that wake up call comes in the form of The d@mn dirty bastard himself, “Dastardly” Dail Pritchards.
Then there is The Animal . Ha. Here we go again. We got another 7’ sasquatch with a name a million douche bags before him have used. What is the deal with some of these guys? Is the EWA a garbage disposal for the clichés of the wrestling world? I mean, I could go one for hours about these crotch snugglers: guys named after Lord or the Ring characters, guys with Mortal Combat names, or how about the simply moronic guys who probably think that using an “X” in their name somehow magically makes them seem worth a Sploosh? I would almost be sad, if it weren’t so pathetic.
Michael Duff: What are your goals for the EWA?
Dail Pritchards: Goals? You mean belts, right?
Michael Duff: Yeah, basically.
Dail sips what’s left of his drink and shakes his head in disgust.
Dail Pritchards: Ya know, I really don't care about gold most of the time. Any lucky son of a b!tch can sneak away with a belt but it takes a real man to kick some ass. I've held belts before and sure, I'll take a belt if it's in my path but I am more interested in the blood that’s gunna spill in the match for that belt. I am and animal, plain and simple. I'm like a hawk. Stalk my prey with eyes of ice and when the timing is right, or I have the change to pull my brass, I attack! I'm not gunna say "watch you backs" because even if you do, it won't matter! If I want to, I'll get you! This is the beginning of the new EWA revelation. A revelation where, after all is said and down and the smoke clears over the ashes of this pathetic federations roster, I will be only one man that shall stand tall over the fallen rubble that was once the EWA: and that man sits before you today. I know all the slack jawed goobers in the locker room are just brushing me off. That’s just fine. Frankly I don't care what any of them think. Love me or hate me, I'm still going to knock those cavity rattled teeth down their throats if the bell rings and they’re at the opposite end of the ring. Now you have two chooses, stay in your little locker room and wait for your execution or get ready to experience some truly dastardly deeds!
Dail slams the now empty glass onto the table and puts out his cigar. He stands up, winks into the camera and walks towards the door. The camera follows him all the way. Dail pushes open the door and steps one foot out but before the other foot follows he reaches into his pocket, turns back to the camera, and pulls out a brass knuckle covered fist with a smug yet confident smile spread across his face.
