Disclaimer: I don't own shit!

Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all back to what will be the final installment of this series. Tonight's sponsor is Dani. She suggested that I make this final biography all about everyone's favorite cuddle-muffin—EDGE! So, since this is the last chapter, I'm going to take a different approach. I've taken it upon MYSELF to…ask Randy Orton to interview Edge (especially since he did such a wonderful job of interviewing Brock Lesnar on the "Quarter After 6 News")—you know—about his history, his likes, his dislikes, all that jazz. I'm really just interested in knowing the…the PURE, tender, loving spirit inside of him. So, buckle up, put on your rubbers, here we go!

Hey fans, it's your favorite viper again! Al has hired me, once again, to do another interview. Tonight, I'm interviewing former 11-time WWE champ Edge! So, recently, I caught up with…ahem, Mr. Copeland in hopes of finally answering the one question that has been haunting us for months:

ME: Did you and Christian used to share ass cream, REALLY?

EDGE: Y'know, we're not really brothers, Randy. I actually haven't seen him since last Spring. Besides, I've always had my own personal can.

ME: Good to know. Could you lend me some? I, uh…know someone who is running low, and I'd hate to see him so deprived.

EDGE: Why not? I always like to help my fans.

With the truly burning questions out of the way, I was free to shoot the shit, as it was, with my new friend, Edge. I found him to be a gentle man, a simple man, and above all, ridiculously toothy. I mean, my God. Did he have his gums surgically removed? I had to know…

ME: Mr. Copeland, what of the teeth? Why are your bicuspids longer than my fingers?

EDGE: Long story actually…

ME: Then forget it. Can't we just watch some porn?

EDGE: Horse or kiddie?

ME: Yes.

EDGE: Good man.

Several hours and three boxes of Kleenex later, I decided to be a real interviewer for once, and get some background information on my subject. After all, Barbara Walters does that shit all the time, and she's making millions. Maybe if I follow her example, I can at least get 20% share in this site! That should be more than enough stroke to get NC-17 fics reinstated! I miss reading about serial killers and the pink power ranger's ass.

ME: Mr. Copeland, tell me a bit about your background. What was your childhood like? Any cool molestation stories?

EDGE: I was born in Canada. I'd tell you where exactly, but it hardly matters. All of Canada just kinda' blurs together in a vast sea of snow and Harts. But I grew up a relatively normal child. I love reminiscing about the old days of hanging with my buds around the neighborhood.

ME: What did you guys like to do?

EDGE: Oh, so many memories! I remember all those times that my friends and I would "borrow" my dad's guns, and take turns playing Russian roulette. My best friend Bobby would stick it in my mouth, and maybe the slot was empty, but maybe it was not, ya' know? Luckily, I was fortunate enough to win every game. Now Bobby, I can't say the same for him. RIP Bobby…

ME: Um…Edge?

EDGE: Yeah?

ME: "Normal" children don't do that.

EDGE: Really? Hmmm…guess I wasn't normal after all. I thought I knew me, but I will never know me. Teehee, I made a funny.

ME: No you didn't.

EDGE: Sorry.

After Edge received forty lashings from my Singapore cane for uttering such putrid humor, I received a private tour of his personal gym, complete with wrestling ring. It is here that Mr. Copeland is ridding himself of his ring rust, in anticipation of a major return to the WWE in the coming months?

ME: Now Edge, refresh my memory. Where were you, storyline-wise, when you injured your back?

EDGE: Y'know the funny thing? I really don't remember what happened. I think I was a mystery partner for someone, and two or three opponents sneak-attacked me and put me out of commission. But aside from that, I'm drawing a complete blank.

ME: That's OK. The writers likely don't remember either. Well…if by some MIRACLE you actually DO come back, expect to be repackaged as Daniel Bryan's ambiguously gay lover or something.

EDGE: Cool, a real-life gimmick!

ME: Wha?

EDGE: Shit, I've said too much, haven't I? Um…moving on…hey, wait! Aren't they already DOING the "Daniel Bryan has a male friend" gimmick with Kane? They wouldn't do the same thing twice. Right?

ME: And how many times were you someone's pointless mystery partner?

EDGE: Hmmm, good point. But hey, I enjoyed that gimmick. Thinking back, I especially liked being Rhyno's partner.

ME: Who?

EDGE: Rhyno.

ME: I'm drawing another blank.

EDGE: He was the big retarded-looking guy with long hair who gored people. C'mon, he was ECW champion! How could you forget him?

ME: I haven't seen anyone like that on my TV in a while.

EDGE: I think he's on NXT, or something.

ME: What's that?

EDGE: Do you know squat about wrestling? Christ, who pays you?

ME: No one.

EDGE: Oh. Well, anyway, NXT the WWE's 3rd-slot show.

ME: Ah. That explains it. MY Saturday nights are usually spent luring prostitutes into my iron maiden. Listening to their harsh squeals of agony is much more fun than watching goddamn Heath Slater getting squashed by 80-year old ex-wrestlers.

Our time in the gym was soon done, and Adam then took me to his favorite restaurant for some steak. He insisted I order it rare, as he would have it no other way. He ordered us a nice dark red wine, and threatened to flay me alive if I didn't try the blood pudding. Needless to say, I was quite confused, but every time I asked him about his behavior, he became evasive, telling me that I would soon find out first-hand.

Little did I know how right he was. After the meal, Edge took me back to his place and showed me his basement. There, I found my answer. Candles upon candles adorned the furniture, the only light in an otherwise darkened area. Goblets and chalices were everywhere, filled to the rim with what appeared to be blood. A gigantic poster of Gangrel was strategically placed in the center, in front of a WrestleMania ringside chair.

I watched Edge as he knelt down on the chair, lifted a goblet to his lips, and drank of the blood, before spraying it into the air. After listening to him utter a strange tongue, I asked the inevitable question:

ME: Dude, are you on crack?

EDGE: Not at all. My only drug is Gangrel. He is my Davy Boy.

ME: You do know the Brood gimmick died in '99 right?

EDGE: It may have been a gimmick to you and Russo, but to me, it was an epiphany. Gangrel opened my eyes to life, to love. Not a day goes by that I don't loathe the men who released him.

ME: Y'know, I liked Gangrel too, but you've just eclipsed me about four-hundred-fold as a fan.

EDGE: I'm not his fan. I'm his lover! He just doesn't realize it yet. All this time, I've tried to fill the void with mystery partner after mystery partner. I even turned to soda, and while soda rules, it's just not the same as sweet, succulent blood. Hell, I've even married Val Venis's sister, but to no avail. I look at her, and I always see David. I'm TRYING to get turned on by being with BEH Phoenix, but her constant foot odor just reminds me of…the buttery popcorn Gangrel used to buy me! (If you think about it, buttered popcorn DOES smell an awful lot like foot odor.) So when she's not here, I hide in this basement—no, THIS SHRINE! And I pay proper tribute to the man who, with one bite to my neck, made me as complete a person as I'll ever be.

ME: You DO know David Heath isn't really a vampire, right? And that he's married, right?

EDGE: NONSENSE! LIES! His fangs are as real as the love for him that I feel. And his marriage is just a sham. He's trying to deny to himself what he knows is true, but he can't lie forever. One day, he'll realize that he's been blinded by his wife's ovaries, and that I'm the only one who can truly complete him, just as he completes me. And how dare you suggest otherwise! Now worship with me or get out of my house!

ME: Sorry, Adam. Tanqueray is my only God.

EDGE: Then go! Leave me be with Davy Boy. Be off my premises in ten minutes, or I send my mystery partners after you! And if this shows up on some damn…fanfiction website, then I will have your head!

Aaaaaand with that, I scrambled to my feet and ran out of Edge's house. You know, for an 11-time champ, he suuuuure is an odd one, that Edge. Uh, BYE!

Thanks for reading along everyone. I'd like to thank everyone who has supported this series. I had a blast making you all at LEAST crack a smile. This is Al, signing off.