WWE Fan Fiction ❯ The Bad Guys Club ❯ Chapter 6

Author's Note: The first few chapters are PG-13ish, but I rated it for Mature Audiences because there's slash and smut. I don't own anyone or anything, just Teresa. My friend Rosy owns herself. 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.

 

 

 

“EUGH!!” cried the Sexy Beast as his blue eyes were shocked at the dirty Kleenex stuck in the macaroni and cheese, leaving it to spoil overnight. “Who fucking does this shit?! Who does that, really?!”

 

The mansion the next couple of weeks…was in a complete pigsty! The dinner from the night before had been piled all over the kitchen counter and living room, and now the Bad Guys have been receiving frequent guests: Flies, ants, and cockroaches. Every day, the Street Urchins would stock up on environmentally friendly bug spray (so Chris wouldn't have a severe allergic reaction like last time) and cleaners, and still the Party Animals and John Cena wouldn't budge to lend them a helping hand in cleaning up after themselves. “How come you're fucking eating?!” Chris continued yelling, slowly waking up the Party Animals and the Doctor of Thuganomics. “Look at this fucking shit, man! Clean, shower, cook! Do something, damnit! All these motherfucking guys do is fuck in this damn house, man! As a man, you should be able to do something other than sticking your fucking dicks in someone's fucking cunt! I'm not Mr. Clean or anything, but at least I clean up myself as much as I can!”

 

DX staggered into the kitchen where the Urchins continued cleaning up the place. “Hey!” exclaimed the shorthaired Canadian. “Did one of you guys put Kleenex in this?”

 

Triple H stared at the spoiled macaroni and cheese as if he cared and responded in a half-asleep mutter, “Haven't eaten any of that.”

 

“Well, someone put dirty Kleenex in it and left it out overnight for it to spoil.”

 

“Kleenex on it or in it?” asked Shawn.

 

“In it.”

 

The Heartbreak Kid yawned. “Oh, no. Wasn't me.”

 

Chris let out a frustrated sigh and shoved the spoiled food to the side. “Yeah, while you're over there playing on the fucking Internet,” he said to them sardonically, “why don't you take a dump in the motherfucker? Piss in it! Eat it!”

 

Lord, thought the Texan, I thought I was drama, but this house has so much drama. It's a never-ending battle.

 

Just then, Randy staggered into the kitchen serving a bowl of cold cereal for himself. “Do we have to wake up to more bullcrap in the house?” Hunter asked as he chugged the carton of soymilk and placed it back into the fridge.

 

“If y'all want my opinion,” said Shawn as he played a game of Feeding Frenzy on the computer, “I think the Urchins do it to us on purpose just to start hollering because they have nothing to do. I think I heard Adam saying, `We have nothing to do around the house. We want to go out.' Well, if they stop acting so doggone loud and wild, and uncivilized, we would hang out with them. I'm getting fed up with their actions, and I'm a ticking bomb waiting to happen.”

 

Triple H wasn't going to yell and bully everyone in the house over bugs and pigsties. It didn't work that way with him. When he flips out, the whole situation turns from bad to worse. “If those guys are feeling froggy,” he said, “then leap.”

 

In the phone room, John was talking to a court clerk in Massachusetts. He looked over the papers for his upcoming court case for the cheese theft charge (a misdemeanor over there). He had to take care of it as quickly as possible. Worrying that he wouldn't be able to schedule a flight from Chicago to Boston, and with his pay being docked like the rest of the guys in the house, there was no way he could afford a plane ticket. “Those are only dates the judge has decided to look over,” the clerk explained to him.

 

“And there's no way I could reschedule it?” he said.

 

“If you don't show up, you will get a bench warrant.”

 

John hung up the phone and went to the computer in the kitchen to search for a cheaper plane ticket, then joined Hunter outside with a plate of Salisbury steak. Adam and Chavo, two-thirds of the Urchins, continued spraying and cleaning the counter. “Scrub time,” said Chavo mordantly as he wiped the surface with a paper town. “I love this smell, too, like someone cleaned around here. Would they know that?”

 

The Party Animals were professional bums, according to the Street Urchins. If someone wanted someone to invite pests, slack around, throw water bottles and food around, and not shower for weeks, they would hire those three. “They're disgusting,” said Adam. “Really.”

 

“I gotta go to court tomorrow,” John explained to the Cerebral Assassin, “and I'm broke. I need that off my record, man.”

 

“My advice?” he said. “Hire a good lawyer, go to court and appeal. After you appeal it, then you have to go to a class, and they'll dismiss it.”

 

“I don't mind going to a class, I just wanna a clean record, yo.” Prior to living in the house, John hung out with a few friends at an all-you can eat restaurant. They didn't have the money for the buffet, and the specialty on the menu was cheese. All kinds of cheese. John loved cheese, and the manager was a stuck-up obese woman who was greedy, so he and his friends walked out of the restaurant because he needed to stock his fridge rather than letting her gluttonous ass taking it all. “We all make mistakes, man. I'm glad I made it older rather than younger, you know?”

 

They went back into the house, and the Chain Gang commander dumped his empty paper plate into the sink, pissing Chavo off as he was just done with all of the dishes. “Right on schedule, man,” he sighed, then turned to Chris, who came out of the shower in a new pair of pajama pants and a tank. “Hey, Chris? This guy doesn't lift a finger!”

 

“Who?” he asked.

 

“Cena. He doesn't do anything.”

 

“No, none of those assholes do.”

 

Chavo grew angry. “I'm sick of this shit, man! When I see food that he leaves out, it's going into his fucking room! I don't care anymore! People that leave their stuff out, it's going into their room! That's it! Sabes que, if I don't know whose shit it is and I think it's yours—

 

“This is a beautiful house!” Chris gazed around the interior while Adam shook his head in agreement.

 

“I know, and I can't take it anymore with them! There are too many fucking pests and bums for me to be comfortable with. This ain't a damn slum!” The Mexican Warrior stormed out of the kitchen. “Ooh, I'm so mad! ¡Cochino!”

 

Chris rolled his eyes at the bums outside by the pool in the forms of Triple H, Randy Orton, Shawn Michaels, and John Cena, and headed into the phone room. “Call this assclown's cell,” Chris muttered as he dialed Tommy Dreamer's cell phone. “Hello? Tommy, this is Chris. I've been fucking trying to call you for weeks, man! Where's my fucking money, man?!”

 

“Chris,” Tommy explained himself, “Look, I know what you are going to say, but I'll give to the money as soon as I get my check.”

 

“Don't fucking lie to me, you son of a bitch! I am not in a fucking mood, okay?! When the fuck were you going to pay me back, you lazy motherfucker? Huh? I fucking help you pay for you fucking debts, I expect something in return! I told you before; I'm not someone for you to fuck with! I'm fucking crazy, and if I don't get what I want, heads will roll!”

 

Just then, John went on to the computer in the kitchen and he accidently overheard the Sexy Beast constantly cursing on the phone. If the Urchins complained about the way the house was presented, at least John or Shawn should complain about Chris using foul language. “Broke-ass fuck!” the shorthaired Canuck yelled to his bedroom, helping Chavo collect their laundry. “I've been calling that fucker Dreamer for weeks! I gave him about $500 to pay off his debt. That motherfucking son of a bitch decided not to call me after that. He knew I was living here in Chicago for four months with these dirty fucking douchebags! If he knew I was here, at least he should've put the thing by his fucking ear while he was asleep—I knew he spent that money on those motherfucking nasty-ass whores! Having a good time with them, too! Nasty ass motherfucker! I hope his fucking prick turns green and falls off!”

 

“Calm down, man!” Chavo said. “You sound like a jealous girlfriend.”

 

“Fuck you, man!” he playfully jabbed at him and headed back to the kitchen to clean up the fridge with the bottle of bleach he bought. Suddenly, the bleach bottle was almost empty, and Chris knew one of the Party Animals have been messing around with his cleaning products because he and the Street Urchins have been messing around with their stuff (I.e. Stealing Shawn's bottles of holy water and splashing it all over Randy during their mock exorcism). “What the fuck is wrong with you fucking assholes?! I am not fucking around! I don't want anyone touching my shit if they didn't fucking buy it! It says on here, 'DO NOT TOUCH ME!' What part of that do they not fucking understand?! Where the hell's that dirty, skanky, disgusting, bottomfeeding trashbag motherfucker Orton?! Let his Satanic fucking cunt-greased paws run all over it, so the next time anyone messes with it, let the devil deal with their asses! I don't want anyone touching my fucking shit! No one gives me a goddamn dollar in this motherfucking house! Fucking sloppy ass pigs! Don't fucking touch my shit, I mean it!”

 

Randy was in the phone room hearing Chris cursing up a storm as he called his fiancée, Rosy. “I need you to come over here, now,” he said.

 

“I just can't afford to pick up and leave, baby,” she responded.

 

“Oh, did I wake you up?” His voice grew sarcastic.

 

“Are you drunk? The last time you called me you didn't bother to ask me how I was doing, and you rudely hung up on me!”

 

“Oh, how's the house, Rosy? How the hell are you doing? Are there any dust bunnies? Look, I know you miss me as much as I miss you, but it's hard to realize that I'm gone for four months while you're often at work giving sponge baths to old men with cancer.”

 

Rosy felt insulted by his comment. “Wow, this is going very well. At least they're not too full of themselves like someone I got engaged to! Goodbye, Randy. The next time you actually show some respect, call me!”

 

There was a click and the Legend Killer took off his engagement ring and threw it on the table. He picked up the phone again to call Teresa. “Hey there,” he said when Triple H dropped in, flopped on the floor, and smiled. “I got so nervous calling you, Hunter had to light a fire—Hunter, do you mind? I can't have a decent conversation without you here?”

 

“Talk nasty to her,” he suggested. “Tell her you wanna eat her pussy!”

 

“Hunter, I'm not—

 

“Teresa, he wants to eat your pussy!” Hunter yelled into the receiver and skipped on his merry way.

 

“Why did you want to not let him get into the way?” Teresa asked the Legend Killer. “Hey, I know you're in so much drama, so is everything okay with you concerning it?”

 

Like any pimp, Randy knew how to juggle two women. He wanted his cake and eat it, too. In other words, he could use Teresa and have Rosy at the same time. “Yeah, I am,” he continued. “So I called her up and told her to drive up here because there was so much going up in the house, and she bitched about the gas prices.”

 

“Wow,” said Teresa.

 

“Dude, I was so nervous calling you,” he responded. “I'm not going to lie.”

 

“So was I, I mean I had a good time with you last night, and all the other nights. I know a place in the Loop that's an awesome hangout.”

 

“I smell a date.”

 

“Totally.”

 

Randy hung up the phone and smiled all the way to the bedroom. Meanwhile, the Street Urchins were getting ready to go to the supermarket again when they found the inside of the car full of trash. “What the hell?!” cried Chris. “I am not cleaning their fucking car!”

 

“If isn't the house, it's this,” Adam agreed.

 

“They're the dirtiest putos in the world,” said Chavo.

 

While they were gone, Shawn shuffled his way upstairs when he saw the bathroom there flooded to where the toilet water was dripping into the air ducts. “Hey!” he yelled. “The upstairs bathroom! Lookie!”

 

“What happened?!” Randy cried as he followed a giggling HBK into the bathroom. “Oh, my god! It's flooding everywhere! Where's the plunger, man?”

 

“Someone must've stuck a used power toothbrush head,” John projected from downstairs clad in a towel, “because I just used the bathroom.”

 

Randy and Shawn followed the Doctor of Thuganomics into their bedroom. “Dude, toothbrush heads go in the toilet!” exclaimed the Legend Killer.

 

“No, they don't!” said John.

 

“Yeah, they do!”

 

John smiled. “No, they don't, Randy.”

 

“Where do they go?”

 

“In the trash, man.”

 

John got into his boxers and followed the Texan and the Missourian to the kitchen where the toilet water from the upstairs bathroom flowed onto the linoleum floor. Their eyes widened at the waterfall they created, and laughed. “Whatever,” Randy said as he went outside by the pool. “I'm going to smoke a cigarette.”

 

And all Shawn could reply was, “OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!! They're going to yell at you! You're in big trouble by the Street Urchins! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

 

Later that night, Chris and Chavo hung around the kitchen. They were unaware that the toilet in the upstairs bathroom had flooded then fixed. It left a foul smell around the house, from the septic tank, or something else that could've triggered Chris's nostrils. “Fuck!” he whined to Chavo. “It smells in this house! Please tell me I'm not the only one who smells it!”

 

“You're right,” said the Mexican Warrior as he wrinkled his nose. “Ripe.”

 

“It always smells in this house, man! You know, when someone, like pisses all over, and let it dry up and clog your lungs? We need to—Plug it in! Plug it in! We need to buy something, god!”

 

As for Randy, he was going out for a meeting with Teresa. It was not a date. He was still engaged to Rosy, so he couldn't date anyone. He grabbed the flowers from the entryway and met the biracial beauty in a lavender dress in front of the door. They went to a bar in the Loop (downtown Chicago) and drank a couple of shots before they sat down in a table. “I want to ask you a question and I want 100% honesty,” said the Legend Killer. “How many?”

 

“No, no, no,” the biracial blonde replied. “I am not putting myself on blast like that. Uh-uh.”

 

“Come on, I'm sure you can take a guess. Are we talking lots?”

 

“You can say something like that.”

 

Randy's eyes widened, and back at the mansion, John and Hunter were in their bedroom for the night. John explained about how he manifested on positive energy. “You read the Albumen Feather?” he asked him.

 

“Uh-uh,” he replied, resting in his bed.

 

“Well, it's like Hinduism, sort of.” He pulled out a rubber chicken and laid it between the pages of the bible under his pillow. “It's always right there, with my chicken. Protection: My weapon.”

 

“I hear you.” The Cerebral Assassin slowly dozed off.

 

John was getting fed up with the drama in the house. He had to really focus on what was going to happen to him when he goes to court. In the kitchen, the Street Urchins were watching an episode of Cops on YouTube, laughing away at how the police were chasing the suspects and try to drag them in the car. Suddenly, Chris took Adam's baseball cap and placed it on his head like John would have his or like JTG would have his. He walked so awkwardly like a ghetto thug, acting a fool. “Don't fuck with me! I'm John Cena! I'm that Chain Gang Commander, and you can't see me,” he said, imitating John's New English accent and hand gesture, then grabbed the cheese from the fridge and stuffed it under his hoodie. “And you can't see this!”

 

Adam and Chavo burst in hysterical laughter as Chris stuffed the dairy under his sweater and tried to walk away like Cryme Tyme would. John's `religion' is full of crap, Chavo thought. How do you steal the whole cheese buffet, but worship and eat chickens? I'm confused.

 

Back in the Loop, Randy and Teresa were having a great time getting to know each other. He told her his story of how he grew up as someone who was shy with no style. Then he went into the Marine Corps and met models. He also told her that he did a sex toy-modeling thing, which was a lot of money, and he was promised the world. Not only did he do porn, but his drug addiction led him into it. “You're not freaked out by it, are you?” he asked her.

 

“No,” she replied. “I always say, `What was in the past, stays in the past.' Ain't nothing you can do to get it back and fix it.”

 

Randy smiled and kissed her. He loved the idea of getting to know someone on the first date or the first month. He didn't know or cared to think that there was one woman out there who would like him. The next afternoon, Rosy called the house and Hunter picked it up. “Hey, is Randy there?” she asked him. `This is Rosy.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, “but I'm going to have to get him to call you back.”

 

The King of Kings hung up the phone and went outside by the pool to where Randy and Shawn were hanging out. “Hey. Rosy just called and I hung her up,” he said to the Legend Killer.

 

“Tell her I'm busy,” he replied. “Rosy is my bitch, man. If I say, `Jump”, she'll reply, `Where, when, and how high?' Manipulating women is my favorite thing to do. I use them before they use me, got it? It may sound like a horrible thing to the both of you, since you're married, but—

 

“Yeah, I know. You wanna find happiness—

 

“No, I want a real woman. Not a little girl who's going to bitch and whine.”

 

In the living room, Chavo was fed up with the lack of deference and sanitation in the house, so he wrote down a list of problems, and told the other Urchins to get everyone in for a house meeting so they would talk about it. Hunter hated it because he felt like that he had to report everything to the Street Urchins. He didn't owe anyone anything, especially if it was coming from someone that wasn't his mother, his father, the whole world. “All right,” Chris articulated the start of the meeting. “The purpose of this meeting is to discuss our problems, and to fix it as a group. Anyone wanna start?”

 

Chavo pulled out his list, which caused the Party Animals and John to roll their eyes. Again, the Urchins were about to put them on blast. “I'm the only one that cleans up in this house all the time. People leave dirty plates and other shit around. You do that, and you don't pick it up, and I see it, I'll put it in your room. Believe me, I do it to my kids, too, when they don't clean up after themselves. I don't need to do the same thing to you. You guys are old enough to know better.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “You guys are men, and as men, you're supposed to be clean and presentable. My dad would mention that these guys, all they do is sell drugs, beat on their wives, and sleep around looking real—

 

God, can't these guys stop? Hunter thought as the shorthaired Canadian's voice disappeared out of his head. I am a grown man, and I don't need these guys making me feel irresponsible. Mind your own businesses!

 

“You see the dishes piled up, with bugs crawling around,” Chris continued, “oh, that's another thing I'm going to bring up. We have this beautiful house, and we have bugs. I visit my friends' apartments and condos, and do they—

 

Suddenly, John decided to curl up in the large reclining chair next to Hunter, which annoyed Adam. “John, am I boring you to death?” Chris asked him sardonically.

 

“Yes,” he replied.

 

“Are you really?”

 

“Yes, it's boring me to death.”

 

“Well, you know what,” Adam pointed it out. “This includes you, because out of everybody, you're the only one who—

 

“Honestly,” said John. “You—

 

“I'm not attacking you, just listen.”

 

The Doctor of Thuganomics sighed. “I'm listening, go ahead.”

 

“Out of everyone in this house, you're the only one who doesn't bother to clean up after yourself. I've had to pick up three or four of your items, and I feel bad because there were roaches in it—

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute. I got to go to court tomorrow. I ain't got time to deal with this little boy shit!”

 

The Street Urchins' eyes lit up the room, feeling cut up by the Massachusetts native's insults. “What little boy shit?” Chris asked him.

 

“This list of bullshit you're putting on the table, because everyone lives in this house, too. I got bigger fish to fry, yo. I'm thinking on what's gonna happen to me; I ain't got time to think about cleaning nobody's house! Ain't nobody going to court with me tomorrow, so don't nobody know where the fuck I'm going through!”

 

“It's not our fucking fault you had to go to court!” Chavo yelled.

 

Man, I wanna punch Cena in the face, thought the Rated R Superstar. No one cares what you think. I'm not a dumb bad guy, like you, you stupid asshole. I'm actually smarter than you, if you wanna try me! If you get caught stealing, you're stupid, and you did. There!

 

“All this ain't important to me,” John continued, “until I go to court! When I go to court tomorrow, then I'm good!”

 

“I can't wait to see you when you come out of court, Cena,” Chris articulated cynically. “I can't wait to see if there's a change in you.”

 

To Chris, John was a hypocrite. He was disgusted at how he feels like he was a king and everyone had to wait on him. I hope he sits in jail for life, he thought as he watched the Doctor of Thuganomics leave to change into a new set of clothes in his bedroom.

 

After John changed, he joined the Party Animals outside by the pool. “There's too much control in this house, and I'm sick of it!” he complained.

 

“I don't like it,” Hunter agreed. “They are too many chiefs and not enough Indians, that's the problem. And let me tell you men something: Hunter Hearst Helmsley ain't gonna be nice anymore. I run things my own way, and I'd be damned if I let Chris Jericho run me—

 

KASLAMM!

 

The doors to the living room opened abruptly and out with the vengeful looks on their faces were the Street Urchins as they stopped in front of the Party Animals and John. “You got something else to say to me, Triple H?” Chris asked him. “I thought you was neutral, but deep down—

 

“Oh, I am very neutral!” said Hunter. “I don't run my mouth, I don't talk—

 

“I run my mouth and I back it up! What?”

 

They began to argue, and Shawn just rolled his eyes and sipped from his can of Coke. Randy wanted to take that can of Coke from the Texan's hand before Chris could attack him. “You keep ranting about how you don't want to clean,” Chris continued on, “You don't wanna—

 

“I clean, I clean,” said Hunter.

 

“Well, if you clean, Hunter, then it doesn't fucking apply to you! Okay, I knew deep down that you were a phony!”

 

“You don't know me, Jericho! You don't talk to me like that!”

 

“That's right, I don't fucking know you, but I can't help it if my gut feeling's telling me something else!”

 

“Well, if that's your gut feeling, fine by me.”

 

The King of Kings didn't need to have the Urchins making him feel that he had to report to them and tell them what they were doing when he didn't own them a thing. “Yo, you know what?” said John. “This whole thing should a one-on-one confrontation. That means, Chris, if you got a problem with him, if you got a problem with me, if Edge got a problem with Randy—I'm a peaceful person, yo. I don't start arguments, I don't like confrontations!”

 

“Yeah?” said Chris. “But we're divided in this house, and even you should see that. I've never, ever, been able to walk away from a fight.”

 

He and the two Urchins sat by the poolside, and once again, Chris started to run his mouth to his allies, constantly cursing where to the part if they were all on a mock reality series, a series of bleeps would censor his mouth until he stopped. John had enough of Chris's foul mouth, and for the sake of Shawn's born-again Christianity, he decided to call him out. “You know something, Jericho?” he said to him. “You say you're a gentleman, and you brag about it, but you come after us because we don't clean up in this house. What you need to do is clean your damn mouth!”

 

“What do you mean, `clean my damn mouth'?” he retorted.

 

“You say you're a gentleman, Chris, act like a gentleman! You be in this house constantly cursing! Every day, too!”

 

“Like what?!” As if Chris really cared. It was his mouth, and he'll say whatever the hell he would want to say.

 

“Yesterday, while I was on the computer, you were on the phone cursing out Tommy Dreamer!”

 

“What the hell were you doing eavesdropping in my conversation?!” Chris's face turned bright pink. “Don't go in my fucking business—

 

“See, there you go again! Some of us here don't wanna hear that, it's disrespectful! Watch your mouth, man!”

 

Before Chris could attempt to kill the Doctor of Thuganomics, Adam and Chavo took him into the kitchen. Later on in the day, John packed up for his court date in Massachusetts, with the Party Animals offering him a ride to O'Hare Airport. He really hoped that the guys could cut it out with the madness while he was out. He had to worry what type of fines, what type of other stuff he was being accused off other than running off with the literal cheddar. They were the least of his problems and concerns. “I'm outtie!” he cried as he got into the car with the Party Animals.

 

They drove down the Edens Expressway to the airport, the sun's warmth caressing their faces. “Man, it's just too much going on with Jericho and them, you know?” Hunter said.

 

“Don't just try to fight with them,” said John. “Just stand up for yourselves if you can because nobody pays rent up in that house. No way.”

 

“I know, and I live there, too!” Despite their differences, Hunter and John were friends. The King of Kings cared about him and didn't want to get in trouble with the law. Without the Chain Gang Soldier to back him up, Hunter would lose his mind. They finally got to O'Hare, and John hugged a “See you later” to the Party Animals.

 

On the way back to the house, the Party Animals laughed and joked about the Street Urchins. “Speaking of the Urchins,” said Shawn, “have they given us a name yet?”

 

“They've been calling us the Party Animals,” said Hunter. “Anything that goes with animal, they could easily make fun of us with. It's so much fun when you can make a mess of yourselves!”

 

“Hey, I am mess-free!” said Randy, smiling. “Teresa asked me out again tonight, and there will not be any sex. I'm still engaged, hello!”

 

Shawn stared at his hand, and didn't see his ring anywhere on those fingers. “Where's your ring?” he asked him. “I don't see it. You're going to burn for it, Randy.”

 

“Hey, that piece of tin was giving me hell! If I'm burning, then consider me well-done and better off!”

 

And later that night, Randy and Teresa went to a sports bar in the Loop, and weren't aware that the Street Urchins came along, but not to piss them off or annoy them (maybe annoy them for a bit). They came to have fun, dancing the night away, with Chris and Adam spending money on drinks, while Chavo spend his money on shrimp. Back at the house, DX were busy baking cupcakes like crazy. Hunter had to teach the Heartbreak Kid how to properly frost a cupcake. “Looks good enough to eat!” he exclaimed.

 

“Yeah, and neither Jericho, Adam, or Guerrero better get their hands on them,” said Shawn.

 

Back at the club, Randy and Teresa sat outside in a table necking away. “People doubt that I'm a bad guy because I know I'm a St. Louis snob,” said Randy. “That's why they can't stand me—

 

“It's not that,” said Teresa. “They single you out because you've lived the life you've had, and they're jealous.”

 

Randy felt the nightlife creeping into his skin, and he knew he was leading the biracial blonde on, so it was kind of fun. He wasn't going to tell Rosy about Teresa. She'll find out eventually. “You know,” he continued flirtatiously, “I feel so improper because you and I kissed the night before and so on, and I never kiss on the first date. I make the girl wait until the second date.”

 

“Well,” she giggled as the Legend Killer caressed her soft arm. “I guess I'm very special.”

 

They kissed, tongues dancing away, but let go of each other for more oxygen. “What a good sport!” said Teresa. “You're lucky you're a nice Cards fan.”

 

“No,” Randy said before he and Teresa locked lips, “you're lucky I'm a Cards fan, who goes for the hot Cubs fan.”

 

And in an another table a distance away, Chris and Adam, wasted on lemon margaritas and beer, locked lips as the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla entangled his fingers into the Rated R Superstar's long blond locks. “I love you, baby!” said the Rated R Superstar as he continued to taste the faint citrus taste from Chris's mouth. “You're so beautiful!”

 

“So are you,” he responded by giving a hickey on the neck.

 

After the limo dropped Randy and Teresa to her apartment, DX dozed off in their beds back at the mansion, while the Street Urchins hung around in the kitchen in their boxer briefs. A drunken Chris Jericho danced provocatively behind the curtain and was chased by Chavo. A thought came to his mind as he grabbed Hunter's soymilk from the fridge and declared, “Hey, remember I pissed in William Regal's tea? We should put shit in their food.”

 

Adam and Chavo agreed to pissing off the Party Animals by humiliating them as Chris spat in the Game's soymilk, shook it up, and placed it back in the fridge, then rubbed some butter on his armpits and crotch and mixed it back in the bowl. They continued to wreak havoc as Chavo placed the ketchup bottle in his ass and snapped the cap back on. Adam did the same with the ranch dressing and sprinkles. Then, he scraped the white frosting off some of the cupcakes DX have made, and replaced it (moments later) with white frosting mixed with his semen. He sprinkled the cupcakes with the sprinkles that he wiped his ass with. According to Chris, the Party Animals deserved to get humiliated, they couldn't talk to them. The Street Urchins laughed frenziedly as they pissed in the huge sink by the kitchen counter, making sure the unused sponge gets absorbed with all that urine. Just so you know, Chris thought, you started this mess. This is war. The worst is yet to come, and you guys will leave with a bad taste in your mouths. And I'll always have the last laugh.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…