WWE Fan Fiction ❯ The Bad Guys Club ❯ Chapter 5
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Author's Note: The first few chapters are PG-13ish, but I rated it for Mature Audiences because there's slash and smut later on. I don't own anyone or anything, just Teresa and Angelo. I'm a huge fan of The Bad Girls Club, so why write a WWE fanfic based on it? Feedback's appreciated. Don't read and/or post nasty comments if you can't handle it. Don't take this without permission as well.
The next week, the Street Urchins spent the whole day grocery shopping, deciding on not going over the budget buying junk food (Excluding Twinkies, which was Chris Jericho's anti-drug) and meat. As they passed the dairy aisle, Chris asked Chavo for 50¢. “What for?” he asked him, seeing right through his cocky smirk and glowing sapphire orbs.
“I gotta make a phone call,” he replied, still smirking.
“Jericho, you have a cell phone, so there's no need asking me—
“The signal's dead in this area.” The shorthaired Canadian pouted. “Please, I need to ask Cena what he wanted us to get for him.”
Chavo sighed and gave him the quarters, causing Chris to rush out of the supermarket before he could get, “Okay, but I want my money back! Este loco ello.”
As the two remaining Urchins passed by the produce, Adam peered over his shoulder and asked Chavo, “Where's Chris?”
“Making a pay phone call outside,” replied the Mexican Warrior.
“But he has a ce—
“I know, but his signal's dead in this area.”
“Great, how very Jericho of him.” Adam scoffed. “I'm not stupid. I have the same carrier as he does, and it never dies. Chavo, go get him back into the store now before he runs off with the car like he always does.”
So Chavo went outside to find Y2J riding on one of those mechanical ponies the little kids would ride on. How Jericho could have so much fun laughing away like a little kid was beyond Chavo. “WHEE!” cried the Second Coming as he pretended to be in a racecourse. “WHEE! Wait, slow down, you're going too fast! WHEE! Giddy up!”
Chavo broke into laughter as he went back into the store and found Adam by the pantry stuff. “He's doing what?!” Adam's emerald orbs darkened as his face expression became priceless.
“You can yell at him later,” Chavo said. “Come on, let's pay for this.”
They finally paid for the groceries and headed out the door to find Chris still riding the pony. After the pony shut down, Adam gave him a stare down, and all Chris could do is smile. “You have another two quarters on you, Edge?” he asked him.
“You're not riding that fucking horse again, Jericho!” he chided him.
Chris got off the pony. “No, I'm done with it.”
“Good, now we can pack up and go home.”
All of a sudden, Chris headed to the mini carousel. “I wanna ride this one, please?” He pouted.
“You know,” Chavo agreed with him, “that looks like fun. Let's ride the carousel.”
Adam shook his head “NO! We're in public, you guys! Imagine someone seeing three grown men on a kiddy ride.”
Moments later, all three Urchins rode the mini carousel. They were laughing so hard that Chris bumped his head on the roof and responded with a smack. Chavo was complaining of slight dizziness while Adam smiled. Just then, the carousel shut down as Adam stared at his fellow Canadian Urchin. “Hey!” said the security guard that unplugged the mini carousel. “You three gentlemen get off that ride!”
“You can't fucking tell us what to do,” retorted the Ayatollah of Rock N' Rolla, and Adam wished he was dead right now. “Who the fuck you think you are, you jackass motherfucking—
“¡Chris, basta ya!” Chavo covered his mouth. “We're sorry, sir!”
The Street Urchins got out of the carousel to prevent getting sent to jail and grabbed their groceries, but for revenge, Chris kicked the machine for causing him to bump into it. “This is all your fault to begin with, Jericho!” The Rated R Superstar scolded him, smacking him upside his head. “Didn't I tell you we were going to get busted? You just had to ride the fucking kiddy rides and attempt to curse out the guard.”
“Geez, man!” he whined. “Why don't you live a little, seriously?”
Later that night, everyone wanted to go out to the club. “Have a great time by yourself,” said John as he followed the guys to the limo outside.
Well, everyone, except for Randy, of course, since he felt that a little peace and quiet was all that he needed after a few weeks of living in this house with a bunch of wrestlers who acted like teenage boys. “Hmm…I wonder why Randy didn't wanna go with us?” Adam sarcastically pondered.
“I know why.” Chris responded sarcastically.
The Street Urchins all laughed hysterically and sang all the way to the club. Back at the mansion, Randy relaxed in a nice bubble bath and read a poetry book or two. The phone rang after he dried up, and he wrapped his towel around his waist and ran down to the phone room next to the kitchen. “Angelo!” The Legend Killer was excited to hear from one of his friends back in St. Louis.
“How's it going over there?” his friend asked him.
“Well,” Randy explained, “I'm trying so hard to watch my mouth and not get into fights.”
“You guys will get along eventually.”
“Well, we can be civil, but it's just Triple H, Shawn Michaels, and myself against Chris Jericho, Chavo Guerrero, and Edge—
“Weird, didn't you email me one time about how you hated Shawn? Now he's siding with you?”
“That's how everything is played out. Funny, but true.”
Back at the club, the Bad Guys were having a blast partying, and after downing a few drinks, Y2J was drunk and he still felt displaced from his comfort zone. He was used to the heavy metal scene, but here it was like they stare at him—it was too superficial for him, and he was unsure if he was going to be able to adapt to it like everything else. Even John tried to get the shorthaired Canuck into the dance floor, but he would rather punk out. “This place is full of shit, man!” he yelled at his fellow Urchins as he bought another shot. “I wanna go home! This is fucking ridiculous!”
All of a sudden, a random guy came straight into the Urchins' space, and that finally got on Chris's last nerve as he cursed him out and told him to move. Chavo politely told the guy to leave before it could get ugly. As Chris cursed the guy out for the last time, he threw a drink at his face, causing the shorthaired Canuck to pounce on him, beating the hell out of him. Chavo and a bouncer pulled him off of the guy. Where was Adam, by the way? He was dancing away at the pole as if was his last hour to live. “Chris, what's with you tonight?” Chavo asked him. “Dude, you are wasted! Let's go, right now!”
“Where the fuck is Adam?!” he yelled until Adam showed up. “How dare you dance off somewhere while some asshole is in our space throwing drinks in my face? That doesn't rock in Canada. You're not with us, and I realized that tonight. The only person who had my back was your fucking step-nephew!”
Adam was upset and he and Chavo stepped back into the limo. Adam didn't want to fight for nothing, especially if it didn't involve him. Every time they would go out, Chris would fight someone or curse out a cop for no reason, and the Ultimate Opportunist was sick and tired of it. “He didn't had my back tonight,” Chris complained to DX and John in front of the limo.
“Let it go, Chris!” Hunter said. “You guys are friends!”
“I know, but that son of a bitch ain't my real fucking friend! Fuck him, man! I'm Canadian! I'm from Winnipeg! I'm not fucking around, damnit!”
“JERICHO, GET IN HERE!” Chavo yelled from inside the limo, banging on the window, trying so desperately to keep the clique they had between each other from breaking up.
Chris and the rest of the guys joined the two Urchins in the limo and Adam confronted him. “Look, Jericho,” he said, “if you want me to break shit up, I'll fucking break shit—
“Dude, it's not that,” he responded. “I got drunk, that was it.”
Drunk or sober, to Adam, Chris definitely needs some serious anger management. He gets angry for no reason, and neither do the Urchins know what exactly it has to do with. To Chris, it was a rush, and he had a bad night tonight. He wanted something to take out his rising anger on, and the only person who didn't go out tonight was none other than Randy Orton. “Let's perform an exorcism on Orton,” Adam suggested.
Everyone knew, especially the Street Urchins, that Randy was an atheist. He had his demons inside of him. So Chris and the Urchins stole Shawn's bottles of holy water and decided to perform an exorcism on him, and hopefully, the Legend Killer would feel better about himself. “Hey, Orton!” Chris yelled around the mansion. “Come out, come out wherever you are, you jackass!”
The Urchins went up to Randy's room, and they soon found the Legend Killer asleep in his bed. The Sexy Beast turned off his light and threw a red towel at his face, stirring him half awake while Adam waved a cross in front of him. “We cast thee out, demon!” Chris yelled as he splashed Shawn's holy water at Randy's head.
“The power of Christ compels you!” cried all the Urchins as they continued to splash holy water all over Randy, then danced around and sang as if they were in a Baptist Church.
Finally, the Legend Killer had enough and yelled, “Will you bastards knock it off?! That's disrespectful!”
At poolside, DX sat by hearing the Urchins waking Randy up for no reason. “What's with Jericho tonight?” Hunter asked. “Wait, what's with Jericho in general? It's like attention, attention, attention!”
“I know,” Shawn agreed. “When he's drunk or not, he gets angry and starts drama, and someone's the victim. He just thrives on drama.”
“You know what, Shawn? I'd be damned if he ever does that to me. I'll lay it down on him, I don't give a crap. And Chavo and Adam constantly laugh at him. They're on his nuts, and I don't find that funny at all.”
The next morning, the Urchins hung around the kitchen counter while Shawn played on the Internet. A muzzy Randy Orton walked by the stove for a scrupulous confrontation. “Why did you guys do that crap last night?” he asked them coldly. “What was the point of it? I was sleeping.”
“Aww, did we wake poor Randy from his beauty sleep?” Adam said in a childlike voice, then reverted to sarcasm. “Fuck you, Orton. We were doing you a favor!”
“Yeah, we were joking around!” said Chavo.
“Well, I didn't find that funny at all!” yelled the Legend Killer. “It wasn't joking around. You guys busted into my room with this exorcism crap screaming around like banshees. I mean it this time. I'm not fucking around with you three lunatics!”
“Oh, you're not fucking around?” Adam smiled, then rolled his eyes. “What are you going to do then, Mr. Legend Killer?”
“You know what, Adam? Fuck you!” Randy stormed out into the pantry where Chris was snacking on Trix cereal.
“Am I going to get a card out from this? You should thank me!”
Then Randy turned to Chris still snacking away. “Don't say anything to me, Jericho!”
“What?” he scoffed. “Dude, do you know how to be happy? It was a joke! Lighten up, Orton!”
“What if I did the same thing to you? What if I went and splashed holy water on you? You know how pissed you'd be?”
“Whoa!” exclaimed the Heartbreak Kid. “You guys went into my stuff? I don't know what made you decide to do that, but this is the last time the three of y'all sneak into my room and take my stuff without permission! It's very disrespectful!”
A thought came to mind as Chris placed the Trix back into the shelves and stepped into the kitchen. Randy Orton was the devil taking souls for Satan. He believed in it, even though it sounded crazy. I am so backing off from that devil child, he thought. Yeah, Randy, you even have on your colors, too: Red and black.
Then he turned to the Legend Killer. “You know something, Orton? You fucking scare me. I'm not messing with you. I'm sorry. I don't want to turn into nothing. I don't care if I have to douse myself in holy water before you can turn me into something. I know you have the power to do so. You have Satan's number. All you have to do is call him. Just don't turn me into something, I beg of you.”
Randy changed into new clothes and joined the Texan by the poolside. “Everyone's king where they're from,” he vented. “Here in this house, there are too many alpha males.”
“Yeah, we do,” Shawn agreed. “They may have gotten into my stuff, but it's hard being forgiving. If they talk crap to my face, I'm just going to walk away.”
“I think that's what I'm going to do if the Urchins get stark crazy, `cause they think that being loud is all that, but the reality of it that it's trashy.”
He was right about that, emitting a nod from HBK. The Street Urchins talked about respect, but they would never give it. They would walk by them and they were rude and arrogant. They would make faces, curse them out, and make raunchy and threatening remarks. Also, they even made snotty noises, except for one time Chris's allergies went out of control. It was real disrespect, and two-thirds of the Party Animals have had enough of it. They went back into the house, and Randy collected the cars keys from the end table when Chris asked him, “Where are you going?”
“To go get food with Shawn,” he replied.
“Oh. Okay.” Chris sat on the guest couch by the stairwell. “Just don't make him pay like last time.”
“No, he offered—
“Don't make him pay, man.”
The Legend Killer scoffed at how this conversation with the Ayatollah of Rock N' Rolla was going. “You know something, Jericho? You tell me not be rude, and you get rude sometimes, too.”
“How the hell is it rude if I'm telling Michaels not to pay for you, Randy?!”
“Because it's none of your business, Chris!”
“It is my business!”
“How is it your business?”
“I'm making it my business, that's how!”
“Because you're making it your business?” Randy sat in the living room couch. “That's very irrational of you!”
“What are you gonna do about it?” Chris's rage was rising again as Shawn headed outside with Hunter to avoid it. “Fuck you!”
“Here we go again,” Randy said sarcastically. “See, this is rude!”
“Fuck you!”
“You're rude!”
“Fuck you!”
“Seriously, Jericho!”
“It's my business because you're not supposed to do that. Buy your own shit, freeloader!”
“If that's how you wanna act, so be it! This is what you do: Getting into other people's business, and I'm sick of it!”
“What are you gonna do about it, you sanctimonious son of a bitch?!” Chris continued with his rage. “Fuck you!”
“Yeah—
“Fuck you!”
“Yeah, you win, Jericho, `cause you're so much louder than me!”
Suddenly, the shorthaired Canadian jumped off the couch and ran over to the Missourian in the living room, but was barred by Adam. “What I'd tell you, Orton?! You don't talk to me like that, do you hear me?!” he yelled. “You don't talk to me that way! Have some fucking respect!”
“I have some, Chris!” Randy responded as Adam stood on the couch trying to restrain his fellow Canadian Urchin from killing him. “You don't!”
“You don't even have respect!” yelled Adam as Chavo came into the living room clad in towel and holding a bottle of lotion.
“Where did you two come from?!”
Just then, Chris grabbed the lotion from Chavo and threatened to soil Randy's head. While all of that was going on, John walked into the kitchen to grab his hat by the computer when he heard the Urchins restrain Chris from pouring lotion on Randy. Damn, Chris, he thought. What's your problem? My four-year-old cousin acts more mature than you.
Randy ran into the kitchen to avoid more rage throwing from the Sexy Beast. Chris shoved Randy slightly, but if Adam didn't get between them, the Legend Killer's face would've met the fridge. “You don't talk to me like that!” he shrieked. “You don't talk to me like that, motherfucker!”
And Triple H had to sneak in and observe the Urchins attacking Randy. What is this, really? thought the King of Kings. Chris Jericho doesn't know how to be happy!
“I dare you, fuckface!” the Sexy Beast continued with his rant, throwing a can of LaCroix after the Legend Killer threw out an insult. “I fucking dare you! You don't fucking know me! You don't know me! Chavo, tell that stupid son of a bitch—Oh, where are you going now?!”
He followed Randy through the front door, but Adam shut the door and locked it. “Open the door, Adam!” he demanded. “Open the fucking door!”
“Chris, you really need to cool it!” warned the Rated R Superstar. “I have never seen you this angry!”
The shorthaired Canuck's face grew a bright pink. “He's being a fucking asshole! Let me through!”
“I know he is! Let him cool down! I can't stretch my arms too long holding the door from you!”
Outside, Randy vented to DX and John about the drama that was rising up between him and Chris. “So he goes into my business, for what?” he said. “And I told him, `Jericho, mind your damn business! You don't know what the hell went on'. Then he's like, `I'm making it my fucking business!' I'm like, `That's irrational!' No one shuts their mouth in this house, and they spit out the same crap over, and over again! No matter what I do, I get yelled at!”
Without warning, the Street Urchins stormed out of the house with Chris's pink face articulating, “You're a rude fucking asshole, Orton!”
“No, I said that you were rude!”
“No, you were being rude! I'm not going to yell out here! Fuck you! Fuck you, Orton!”
“That doesn't make any sense!”
“Fuck you!”
“You—
“Do I have to stretch it out? FUUUUCCCCKK YOOUU!! Fuck you!” Then Chris imitated Randy's St. Louis accent. “You're so stupid, Randy. Why do you talk like this?”
“God, what a retard!” Adam agreed as the Urchins laughed back into the house.
The Party Animals and John headed into the road, away from the madness. “Jericho is a drama king, all right, kids?” blurted Hunter. “I can't hang out with those guys later tonight like that.”
“Why'd you think I stayed home last night?” said Randy. “Imagine what they were going to do to me.”
“Well, if they go out with us tonight, you might as well stay home again. Chris doesn't know how to be at peace. That's the problem with him. He loves the drama. You have to learn how to put your foot down with these guys, Randy.”
They stopped by at a diner and ordered out. “See, Randy,” John suggested. “It goes down like this: You cannot run away from your problems. You do that a lot, and that's what these guys are thriving on. You need to stand up for yourself and be strong.”
“I know,” said the Legend Killer. “But it doesn't work where I'm from. Here's how it goes: Randy Orton talks crap. Randy Orton gets jumped. Randy Orton goes down. Why do you think I became the champion in my own way?”
Then finally, they got their food and started munching. They were all by themselves in a table, and the only thing that passed in front of the door was a rabbit. “Man, is it just us or is this place always so quiet?” John asked and they all burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Chavo finally changed into his house clothes in his room as Chris sat on the bed. “You know, you really need to cool it sometimes,” the Mexican Warrior warned him.
“I don't care, Chavo,” he responded. “Randy is like an energizer bunny. If you don't like the truth, fuck you! I don't give a damn anymore. Fuck you! Fuck you! That's it.”
“You're going to make yourself sick getting angry. Edge and I have never seen you like this. Maybe one time, but today, damn! I don't want you to go home if it escalates and you physically assault DX, Cena, or Orton.”
“I know that. But Orton was out of line with me, talking to me like he's got something up his ass, and he was rude to me. `Mind your business, Jericho!'”
“The man was nervous.”
“Either that, or he needs to shut the fuck up. It is my business because I chose to make it my business. What the hell are you going to do about it? Fuck you! Fuck you! Every time he tries to get the last word in, I'm like, `Fuck you!' `But.' Fuck you! `You're rude, Jericho!' Fuck you!”
“You're going to get yelled at by Mr. McMahon if he finds you cursing like a sailor, man.” Chavo laughed.
“I don't give a flying fuck! Randy was rude to me, man!” Chris pouted. “I never run from anybody. I was raised like that. If I started giving out fucking hugs and kisses, then I would've gave Mr. Legend Killer hugs and kisses right now. But you know me, what goes in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom.”
Chavo laughed again. “Hey, I'm surprised Randy didn't break down.”
“Well,” said the Ayatollah of Rock N' Rolla, “the devil's making him stronger.”
Later that night, the Party Animals and John went out to another club. They caught up with another one of Hunter's friends, who was biracial with sandy blond hair similar to Adam's. “Everyone, this is Teresa,” Hunter introduced her to the rest of the Bad Guys.
“Hey, there,” she greeted, then turned to the King of Kings. “Are we going to rock it here like we do it in Connecticut?”
“You betcha.”
So they all went inside, danced around for a bit, took pictures, even drank about four of five martinis (Shawn drank water). The Legend Killer danced all over Teresa, feeling a vibe from her that sent chills down his spine. When the Party Animals and John went outside for a smoke, Randy said to Hunter, “Hey, your girl Teresa is hot! I got a good vibe from her.”
“Oh, she does,” he smiled. “You should hit it!”
“Cool, that's why I'm asking for your okay! I really like her, man!”
“Sure, go for it!”
So Randy put out his cigarette and headed back inside. Despite the fact that Randy was actually engaged, he was young, good-looking (so he bragged), and he didn't care what anyone thought of him. He was still a bad guy, so if a hot girl or guy paid him attention, there was no doubt about him paying it back. Inside of the club, the Legend Killer danced with Teresa on the dance floor, giving her sweet kisses on her lips and cheeks. “So Hunter said that we could be friends,” he said.
“Oh, he did say that,” she responded. “Maybe I'll show you around Chicago someday.”
“I smell a date. Well, I hate to be forward, but that's just me.”
“I don't mind forwardness.” Teresa flipped her sandy blond hair, and gazed at him with her topaz eyes. “Especially if it's coming from a good-looking Cards fan.”
Randy blushed. “Shut up!”
The continued dancing around, and the Legend Killer took off his engagement ring, teasing the biracial Teresa for a kiss. “You're naughty,” she giggled. “You are so going to get in so much fucking hot water for that.”
“Hey, why don't you come home with me tonight?”
“You want me to? Okay, I'll go.”
They grabbed the limo and headed back home, unaware that the Street Urchins (in their t-shirts and boxers) were in the kitchen snacking on crackers and hummus. Adam heard giggling and lip smacking around, so he peeked into the entryway and saw Randy and Teresa. “Hey, you guys,” he let the other Urchins know. “There's a chick here.”
“You're kidding me!” exclaimed Chris.
“Yeah, there's a chick here.”
“With who?”
“Randy.”
What the hell is wrong with you, Orton? You're engaged! The thoughts floated in Chris's head. Are you fucking kidding me? You don't know this bitch! You're bringing a dumb blonde version of Jordin Sparks while I'm enjoying my crackers! You have a fiancée who lives at home four or five hours from here, and you're over here bringing some fucked-up bitch! You disgusting assclown pig! What a man-whore!
Then, the Street Urchins went into the corridor where the bedrooms were when Randy and Teresa walked by them. “Is this your guest?” Adam asked the Legend Killer.
“Yes,” he dryly replied.
“Oh.” Chris rolled his eyes then commented sarcastically, “Why am I not surprised?”
“I don't know, Jericho, why aren't you surprised?” Randy responded.
“'Cause you like to take it out when it's ready!” Adam said lewdly.
“Fuck off!”
All of a sudden, Chris marched out of the bedroom with a pack of wire hangers (followed by Adam and Chavo). “Chris, Chris, Chris!” Chavo cried. “Don't do it, man!”
Had the Missourian walked away from them, the Urchins would have left him alone with Teresa. Instead, Randy has to use the F-word with them, and that got them pissed. The Urchins went into the kitchen where a drunken Triple H stood eating crackers and dancing. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch, and you listen good!” Chris threatened the Legend Killer with the pack of wire hangers. “Don't fucking disrespect me!”
Adam got in between them in the nick of time to prevent any of those guys going home. “What the hell is your problem, Chris?!” yelled Randy.
“Don't disrespect me!” Chris continued on, waving the wire hanger perilously close to his face, still Adam stood between them. “Adam, get out my way! Adam, move! Move!”
“Damnit, Jericho!” Randy drew the line. “I've had it to here with you!”
“I'm warning you, Orton!” Chris shrieked so loud not enough to get the Rated R Superstar off him. “Don't fucking disrespect me! Don't! Don't fucking disrespect me! You fucking gigolo! I didn't say shit about you, so don't disrespect me!”
Randy gave him the dirtiest look while Adam continued to restrain a pink-faced Chris from whacking him across the neck with the wire hanger. Teresa observed the fight between the two and grew disgusted. “Who the fuck you think you are, Jericho?” The Legend Killer yelled over Y2J's shrieks. “I can't even bring people in this goddamn house?! This isn't my friend to begin with! This is Triple H's friend!”
Hunter drunkenly strolled outside with a cracker in his mouth as Teresa stormed out of the house disgusted at how Randy was treated. “I don't want anyone in my room! Do you hear me?! It's going to get ugly! Keep them on your side!” yelled Chris. “Nice to meet you, lady!”
Chavo was embarrassed at how the shorthaired Canadian kept using Teresa's being at the house as a reason to fight with Randy. Again, the Legend Killer was an easy target for Jericho. Randy followed Hunter outside on the driveway with worries on his mind. “I feel bad, man,” he said meekly.
“Don't worry about it,” said Hunter. “Why are you so worried about it?”
“Because I invited her over before you guys came home.”
The Cerebral Assassin sighed. “Oh, my, god, Randy. Okay, so you invited her over. It's all right. It's not a big deal. What I'd tell you about the Urchins? They wanna act like bad ass Johnny FBI's, then let them. They're fucking crazy, especially Jericho, since he's the leader of the whole gang. Shit, I should go to bed, `cause I had too much to drink at that club.”
Later on in the night, after downing four or five glasses of wine and munching the whole pack of crackers, Randy felt like beating the holy hell out of the Street Urchins, especially Chris Jericho. He had enough of their behavior toward him, and he was ready for them to bring it. “JERICHO!” he called out, voice traveling into their bedroom around the hallway. “YOU WANNA FIGHT NOW, ASSHOLE?! LET'S BRING IT, YOU SONS OF BITCHES! COME HERE AND BEAT MY ASS!! COME OUT, FUCKERS!! LET'S GO!!”
The Urchins staggered into the kitchen once again, with Adam sardonically demanding, “Would you please get your slimy balls off the fucking counter, you fucking man-whore?! People eat on here, you know!”
Randy climbed off the counter and pointed to his face. “You want your ticket home?” he articulated in a slur. “Come get it!”
The Urchins stared at him as he was mad as a hatter compared to Chris, but that wasn't the case. “I dare you hit me, Randy,” the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla egged him on. “I bet you $50 if you really have the balls to RKO me, fuckface!”
“Do it, now! Let's see who goes home suspended first!”
Once again, Adam stood between the two as Chris began his verbal rampage. The shorthaired Canadian got so close to standing on his toes yelling and cursing out at Randy! “Bring it on, now! Bring it on, now, Orton!” he ranted. “Fuck you, man! Fuck you! Fuck you!”
“Fuck you, Jericho! You should be locked up, you loony, slutty, trashy-ass snowback!”
Now, where was this coming from? Did Randy Orton know who the hell he was talking to? Chris Jericho was from Winnipeg. He was one Canadian badass, an 8-time Intercontinental Champion and first-ever Undisputed Champion. For Randy, he didn't think the majority of Winnipeggers acted as vicious and psychotic as him. The verbal fight was over, but Chris wanted to kick his ass as he was high on his psychotic rage. “Your bitch went home, thank god!” he said. “We saved her from getting AIDS and Gonorrhea from your greasy-ass, green cum-filled cock! You're a fucking slutty ass pig! Go back to bathing in your own shit at the farm, pig!”
The Street Urchins went back to bed laughing manically, believing that they won the match, and there wasn't a thing Randy could do about it. The next morning, Chris was sneezing and coughing so violently that the two remaining Urchins, Adam and Chavo, had to take him to the hospital. The Sexy Beast also had a massive sinus headache, along with a rash and slight fever. Apparently, the contractors sprayed pesticide on the floor before installing the carpet prior to the bad guys living in the house. It turned out that Chris was severely allergic to the pesticide under the carpet, so Vince had a new contractor clean the floor and install new carpeting all over the house before anyone else could get sick. Randy smiled as his star-wish came true: Chris Jericho's allergy to the pesticide-contaminated carpet all over the house has rendered him speechless.
TO BE CONTINUED…