You walk into a shop and demand a pair of trousers. What colour are the shop assistant's shoes?

I don't care, I want to kill the shop assistant.
Bright yellow, like the sunrise, the shoes allow me to look forward to the future.
Chrome, the ultimate colour, the colour that almost has no colour but merely shows the colours around it.
Blue, like the sky on this broken planet.
Grey, as shoes were intended to be.
Black! The shoes are darker than the very night that so plagues the shop.
I need to see the hat before determining what colour the shoes are.
The shoes are brown, like poo. I don't like poo.

What would winning the Tournament mean to you?

Sod all, doesn't really matter to me.
I would be pleased, but I would be equally pleased if any of the other badgers won.
I would use the Tournament victory as a gateway into the worlds beyond this one...
Honour, pride, pies and ale. REAL ale.
It would boost my reputation and I would be loved by all. I'll give it my best shot.
If I win the Tournament, I will inherit the EARTH!!!!!
It would mean another great military victory for me and my kindred.
It would be great, and I would make the most of it, you only live once!

Picture this: The Tournament's begun, and you're preparing to do battle. What is the time?

Midnight! Bwahahahahahahaaaaa!
8PM, as it always is.
What? Would you like the time here or in Moscow?
The time is half past seven.
It's the hour of breaking dawn, and peace and eternal light is entering the world...
It's time to crush my worthless enemy.
Time you got a watch You're a bit behind the times (do you get it?) without a watch, aren't you?
Who cares? Looks like my badger will die in a few minutes so I'm not bothered. Ten to death, then.

Where is the fish?

In the seventh pit of blackest Hell!
Here! No, there! No, now it's over there! And it went... wherever I... did go!
In my trousers!
It's in the freezer, as usual.
Under my warm furry hat.
It's in the bin, it reeks.
The fish's whereabouts can only be determined after proof has been established.
In the sea, where it belongs, with all the other nice happy fish.

Your trousers are:

Nearly worn through, but I can't be arsed to buy new ones.
Not sexy enough for me.
Made from 5 Imperial tons of chromium-plated steel.
On display, in the open wardrobe of justice.
Combats, perfect for combat.
Handcrafted from the finest silk, and are sodden with delight.
Leather. Now let us ride!
Italian corduroy: very suave.

It must be done, do you see?

Who really cares? Do it but I'm not bothered.
Yes, let's go! Come on! GO!
Yeah, it's all good.
What? Do what? Hmm?
Nyet, comrade.
No. Enter the realm of Satan!
As long as your actions are fair and just.
We follow the righteous path.

Can I probe you?

Probe the greasy fists of the Dark Lord, heathen scum!
If you can, but I think you may have trouble keeping up.
Do that and I will call in the entire adjustable badger division... they can respond to my every command. In seconds.
Probe away, as long as it's within the law!
Yes, go on then, but it might not be entirely pleasant...
Without question.
Probe me now! Ohh!
Let us probe together in our paths to eternal peace and love.

If the ultimate biography was to be written about your badger, what would it be called?

"In One Ear And Out The Other"
"Badgering People"
"The Route to The City Of Good Karma"
"Devestation and 0wnage From St. Petersburg to Vladivostok"
"KILL, DESTROY, MAIM, KILL, AAARGH!"
"The Best Badger In The Sett"
"What? Why Are You Running Away From Me?"
"Welcome To The Tournament, Please Select your Badger"

Your weapon of choice is:

My fists: my ambassadors of pain.
An MP5K submachine gun.
An AK-47 assault rifle.
A red card.
My pungent aroma.
A dagger.
A lance and steed.
A tactical nuclear missile.

And finally, select your favourite word from the list:

Scintillating.
Right.
Badger.
Awful.
Probe.
Adjustable.
Eggbound.
Kalashnikov.