A/N: This could quite possibly be the last of the Jericho one shots…and funny one shots in general. It sucks because I get about seven ideas for these a day…but it's just not cool anymore when six thousand other people are doing it, too.

"Duck and cover!" Jericho yelled, pulling his helmet down on his head as far as it would go. He dove under one of the tables in the cafeteria, much to the shock and dismay of many of his coworkers.

"Chris, what are you doing?" Lance asked, crouching down on the ground to talk to Jericho.

"Lance Cade! Don't you know that a war is coming? Get under here!" Jericho urged, attempting to pull Lance under the table with him.

"Chris, don't be crazy. There's no war coming. And for that reason, and many others, I can't believe you forced me to wear this," Lance said, looking down at his soldier's costume. He looked like a plastic toy soldier brought to life.

"Vince McMahon himself, the Prime Minister of the WWE, has told me that a draft is coming up! You know what that means! Where there is a draft, there is a war on the horizon!" Jericho said, slumping out from under the table and standing up in front of Lance, straightening his war general outfit.

"I still don't understand why you're wearing that," Lance noted. "And what's more, I don't know why you made me wear this."

"You cannot defy your war general!" Jericho screeched, causing some of the nearby Divas to cover their ears. "Don't you know that the Jerichoholic capitol punishment for the defyment of a war general is death?"

Lance sighed and rolled his eyes. "Chris, capitol punishment usually does mean death."

"So it's settled then. Off with your head!"

"War generals do not have the power to decapitate people," Lance said.

"Defyment," Jericho whispered.

Just then, the door of the cafeteria violently burst open and entered the one and only Randy Orton.

"Randy Orton! I've been looking for you!" Jericho squealed, rushing over to Randy's side, clutching his helmet to his head.

"Yes, sir?" Randy said as he saluted, mocking Chris's latest gimmick.

"I have a question."

"Ready to answer, sir!"

"What material are your thighs made up of? I must know because they seem to be indestructible. If I can find that substance, I can make the greatest of tanks for this war we may be drafted to."

That comment made Randy try to knock some sense into Chris. As funny as his idiocy always was, this was just over the top.

"Chris! You're not being drafted to Iraq, man! It just means that you might go to a different show."

Chris's eyes widened in horror. Pointing a distressed finger at Randy, he shrieked, "You are the enemy!" Jericho ran to the food line and grabbed a small carton of chocolate milk, not unlike the ones served at elementary school. "Bombs away!" he yelled, chucking the carton of milk at Randy like an open hand grenade.

Randy easily caught the calcium plugged drink. He opened it up and took a sip. "Thanks for shaking it up for me, Chris."