Big Daddy Deuce

Name: Big Daddy Deuce
Age: 18
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 294 lbs (Ok, more like 312 but I don't want my Aunt P know that I'm over three bills, capiche?)
Country of Origin: The US of freakin' A
Alignment: Face with a smart mouth
Signature Moves: Rock Me Amadeus (Big Splash Pin), Johnny B Good (Gorilla Press Slam), & New Moon On Monday (Banzai Drop)
Finishing Moves: Whoomp There It Is! (Big boot + splash pin), Crazy Train (running curb stomp), & Purple Rain (High back body drop into a Backstabber)
Taunts: Big D's House

<Tough, street thug accent> Yeah, yeah...it's like this, yo...I'm a hard motha. Rock hard from life on the mean streets of...my rough gangsta upbringin'....

<Dropping the fake thug voice> Aw, who am I kidding? The name's Wayne Campbell Jr. Just a kid from mean, ole 'burbs of Memphis, Tennessee where I live with my Aunt Petunia, her 13 black cats, 6 crows, and some 'thing' with piercing yellow eyes that I've never actually seen up close, but it slithers under the floorboards and reminds me he's there every once in a blue.

Now, wait...no, there is absolutely nothing to the vicious rumors about my sweet Aunt P being t'etched. T'etched...you know...loony, off her rocker, crazy. Nor do I believe that she's some kind of hoodoo witchy woman like my high school classmates claimed, either. But I do recognize that she's got some peculiarities about her, no doubt. And, she tends to keep company with some interesting friends; the kind who visit only after sundown or only on the night of a full moon or only come in after a proper invite and who never, ever drink "vine"...other than that, nothing odd about her at all. Ahem...know what I mean?

Anyways, it wasn't too tough, financially, for Auntie P and me. We had each other...that and all that lovely insurance money from my folk's terrible accident. Don't get me wrong...I miss 'em, sure, but I don't really miss 'em because I have no memory of them living. They died before I was old enough to know 'em real proper like, having passed when I was around 4 years old. Neither do I recall how I got out of the burning house or where that candle came from, either.

Now, I was always small for my age, but I grew up watching Saturday morning wrestling from my aunt's lap. I knew I would never be big and strong like my heroes Plow Boy Frazier or Kamala. Hey, a little fella' can dream, can't he? Anywho, on the night of my 18th birthday, there was this crazy storm that woke me from a deep sleep and from a dream starring me and all 5 of Charlie's Angels (cast replacements, don't ya' know) (Um, maybe we could leave that part out). I saw Auntie P and her friends out in the backyard standing around a raging bonfire, all chanting and shaking and whooping it up. She sees me out the corner of her eye, and poof, I'm back in my dream but this time with the all five of the 3 Stooges. (Um...maybe we could leave that part out?) Don't ask.

I woke up the man you see before you...Big, tough, and strong as an ox (or three). Autn Petunia handed me this here ole dufflebag, with wrasslin' togs and makeup inside. Last thing she told me was, "Go get 'em kid and don't come back without gold around your waist and a carton of Lucky's. And cat food."


RADIO: >...Ladies and gentlemen, have you heard (Dream Team in the House - Dream Team)...this is the BIG (Chantilly Lace - Big Bopper)...Mack DADDY (Mack Daddy - Sir Mix-a-Lot)...Larger than life (Backstreet Boys)...Livin' in America....got to have a celebration! I feel good! (James Brown)...