Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [53]
“But I know what songs I’ve written, Chris,” Adrian said in his polite English accent.
“Chris? Who is this Chris?” Drunkicho thought to himself.
“No, you don’t understand, Adrian. I know every song … ‘Prisoner,’ ‘Gangland,’ ‘Sun and Steel.’ ”
“Yes. I remember. I …”
“ ‘Two Minutes to Midnight,’ ‘Can I Play with Madness,’ ‘22 Acacia Avenue’ …”
Adrian was mercifully released from captivity when Sebastian lurched over, blubbering and crying drunkenly about how nice I’d been to his kids when meeting them earlier.
“You were so great to my son. You signed his autograph … snivel … and took the time to talk to him … sob … and I’ll never forget that … sniffle … I love you, man.”
Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips.
I’d never been kissed on the lips by a man before. Never mind one who was six foot five with long blond hair.
It wasn’t bad.
Before I could kiss him back, Gargano tackled me from behind and we started wrestling on the floor of the pub. After my draw with Sneap in the restaurant in Charlotte, I wasn’t about to lose another floor-wrestling match, especially to a lowly writer (wait a minute … ). We barreled into a table knocking a big pitcher of beer to the floor, and a million pieces of barley-tinted glass exploded all over the place. That was our cue to leave. Well, that and the manager kicking us out.
He was so angry with our idiocy that he sent a letter to Sebastian (which Gargano printed in Metal Edge ) that said, “Dear Sebastian, Chris Jericho and his friends are never allowed in this bar again. I don’t know what kind of conduct the WWE allows, but I assure you that we do not allow that sort of stupidity here.”
Stupidity? I took great offense to that accusation. Inanity was more like it.
Either way, I was banned on Broadway.
After we left the pub, Paul, Jessica, her best friend Lisa, and her boyfriend Scott Erickson grabbed a taxi to take us back to the hotel. Erickson was a pitcher for the Baltimore Orioles, whom I met for the first time at our wedding and hadn’t liked since. He rubbed me the wrong way with his arrogance and sarcasm right off the bat (see what I did there?). He also had the same horrible hair as Ted Danson in Cheers, which led me to dub him Sammy Badweeds.
When we got into the cab, Badweeds got on my nerves again by being his arrogant and obnoxious self.
“Hey man, you’re pretty small for a wrestler. You must really get your ass kicked!”
Adrian, me, and Bas were all set for an awesome male bonding photo op in a Broadway pub, when Erickson stuck out his arm and ruined the picture. It’s no wonder I ended up smacking him in the face a few hours later.
I tried to ignore him, but he could tell from the look on my face that I was getting pissed.
“What are you getting so upset about? It’s just fake wrestling! It’s not really a sport like baseball!” he said with a smarmy grin. I closed my eyes and tuned him out.
Gargano was in the front seat of the taxicab and the rest of us were sitting in the back. The girls were engaged in conversation, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Badweeds lean in and slap Gargano in the back of his head.
I was the only one who saw him do it, and when Paul turned and said, “Oww! What was that for?!?” Scott turned to me and asked, “Why did you do that, Chris?”
I sneered back, “I didn’t hit him! You did!” I couldn’t believe that the son of a bitch was trying to frame me! I was Dr. Richard Kimble and Badweeds was the one-armed man.
No matter what I claimed, due to my drunken behavior earlier,