A/N: Chris Jericho could destroy the world with his awesomeness. So he deserves to have a story.

He wasn't really a jerk. He was just really good at pissing people off. And that's what Chris Jericho did, on several different occasions. There wasn't stopping the solipsistic wrestler – there was only adding fuel to his fire, increasing the size of his ego when you loved him or hated him.

They were already booing him, even though his music had yet to go off. He was supposed to cut a quick promo before the match started, then get interrupted by Cena before his ass was handed to him. It wasn't different from any other Monday night.

"You people absolutely disgust me," he said as soon as he got his hands on a mic. He could see different signs in the crowd. Y2J is a Y2Joke. Jericho sucks. STFU Y2J. He heard a few people yell his name in excitement, so his eyes narrowed into the crowd. "How dare you say my name. None of you are worthy enough to utter my father's name, let alone mine."

That got a few cheers, but mostly boos.

He smirked. "That's right. You're all still angry over the fact that I ruined one of the greatest legends to ever come to the WWE." He paused. "Shawn Michaels."

The boos increased.

"But let's not stop there! How about the time I took out your beloved Batista to recover the World Title for the second time in less than two months? Do you people not understand my greatness?"

More jeers.

"You are below me. You are nothing to me. The only thing you're worthy of are the cotton blend John Cena shirts you're all sporting."

Right on time. Cena's music went off just as planned, so Chris turned to the ramp with a roll of his eyes, waiting stiffly as John saluted the crowd and headed up to the ring.

But instead of beating him up, like he was supposed to, Cena just grabbed the mic from his hand and made a stupid face at the crowd, causing several girls to swoon and several guys to take myspace pictures making the same face.

Chris glanced at Lillian Garcia, who was shaking her head at him. She wasn't aware of this, either. He set his mouth.

Just another impromptu Cena promo.

He should be used to them by now.

"Chris Jericho, we've had enough of your jabberin'!" Cena held up his hands to get the crowd riled up. "What are you talking about this week? How you retained the World Title? Biiiiiiiiig Surprise!"

That got a huge pop from the fans, sending most of them to start a Jericho sucks chant. Chris just stayed where he was, his fingers clenching into his palms. They were supposed to be fighting by now, but once again, Cena decided wasting time was more productive than actually wrestling.

"But, really. On a serious note." John held his hand up and licked his lips, looking at Chris's feet. Before he could come out with another witty repartee, Chris ripped the mic from his hands.

"That's right, John Cena, keep looking at the floor like the worthless person you are. You don't deserve to look me right in the eyes – someone of such inferiority has no right to do such a thing."

John took it right back. "Blah, blah, blah, Chris. Who are you trying to fool? With your spankin' new trunks and your spiky little hair cut. Who do – "

Chris snatched the mic. "How dare you insult me? Who is the one carrying this brand on his shoulders? Who is the one who has accomplished more than you ever will? Who, John Cena, is the one that is essential to this company?"

John shrugged.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Do you think you're funny, John Cena?"

John pouted and held up both his hands, gesturing them like a weight.

Chris took a step forward. "I don't think you're funny."

John tugged the mic toward his mouth, leaving it in Chris's hand. "You're the only one."

Chris kept his gaze strong, but broke it when he started laughing. He actually moved away from the mic slightly, then came back, his forehead almost touching Cena's. "Who are you funny to, John Cena? The fans? They're hardly consequential."

"You need to understand somethin', Chris. What we do, what I do, what you do – "

"Don't you dare compare what you do to what I do."

Cena held up his hands. "Fine. What I do, and what do you better" –he wagged his eyebrows at the crowd- "is based solely upon these fans. They're everything to the wrestling biz. And it's about time you learned that."

Finally. Chris flipped back when Cena knocked across his jaw with a punch so weak he almost enjoyed it. But he played it up, rolling out of the ring toward the announcer table, holding up his hand.

Cena smirked. "What's the matter, Chris? Am I... too inferior to beat you down?"

The crowd erupted into applause.

"You don't even know what inferior means!" Chris yelled, but it could barely be heard over the crowd.

Cena slid through the ropes easily, hopping down to be level with Chris. "You know what you need, Chris?"

Chris backed up against the barrier, feeling sweaty fans tapping his back.

"You need a lesson. A lesson in hustle" –he tore off his hat and threw it into the crowd– "loyalty" –his shirt went next– "and respect."

Chris didn't even realize he'd been knocked over the wall until he was on top of some kid and his mom. They screamed in terror like he was a monster before Cena came to the rescue and pulled him back into the ring.

It was going back and forth pretty smoothly – Chris got a punch, kick and counter in every chance he could, but it was mostly Cena controlling the show, calling the shots.

The show was almost over, so when Cena pulled Chris onto his shoulders for an FU, he just laid there limply, waiting for the impact of the ground.

So stake your claim,
your claim to fame
But baby call another name
When you feel the fire,
and taste the flame

Both wrestlers stopped what they were doing and looked toward the ramp, where a dark redhead was stalking down with a mic in her hand, a glittering smile on her porcelain face.

"Who's this?" Cena whispered.

Chris shrugged. "I don't know."

They watched her hustle up the stairs, then bound up the ropes quickly and flip over to plant her feet right in front of Cena. The crowd, impressed by her beautiful and grace, started cheering for her.

"Hi, John," she said cheerfully. She pouted and patted Chris's cheek. "And Chris. How are you guys?"

Cena frowned. "Who are you?"

She smiled even brighter, casting her gaze to Jericho quickly. "I'm Dolly." She twisted her arms over her head and grinned, listening to the crowd eat her up. But her smile snapped into a scowl. "And this is my claim to fame."

She dropped the mic and bounced into the ropes, kicking Cena's legs out from beneath him. The crowd started booing as she caught Chris before he fell, smiling when he gave her a dirty look.

Time for some impromptu Jericho.

He picked the mic up off the mat. "Don't you ever do that again!"

She grinned. "Do what?"

"I do not need your help. I'm perfectly capable of – " Just at that moment, Cena came back to life and flipped Chris onto his shoulders again, FU'ing him quickly. He stole a glance at Dolly before he headed back up the ramp, barely slapping fans' hands.

Dolly smiled at the groaning Jericho, cocking her hip. She put the mic to her lips. "You were saying?"

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. John must've done something wrong, because it hurt worse than usual. He was probably distracted by that goddess that had just decided to show up during their match to make her debut.

Speak of the devil.

The so-called Dolly was standing at the end of the hallway, gym bag slung over her shoulder, talking to Beth and Jillian. She was incredibly tiny compared to them, but she packed a mean kick. Chris had felt it rattle his knees when she'd taken Cena out.

"Hi, Chris," Beth said sweetly. "How'd your match go?"

"How do you think it went?" Chris rubbed his neck for emphasis. "I think Cena screwed up. My neck is killing me."

"Did you get it checked out?" Jillian asked, eyes full of worry.

Chris smiled. The two women were generally interested in his well being. The only one who wasn't, Dolly, was staring off into the distance. He nudged her with his elbow. "You made one helluva debut."

She smiled – it was more a sneer – and continued her oblivion.

He held out his hand. "I'm Chris, by the way."

"I know who you are."

"But I don't know who you are."

"How charming," she growled. "I'm Dolly."

"That's a pretty name."

"Yeah, whatever."

Chris frowned, glancing at the other girls. They looked like nothing was wrong. "Is something bothering you?"

Dolly started laughing loudly, tapping her delicate hands together as she turned to him. "Let's get something straightened out right now, Mr. Jericho."

Chris nodded.

"I'm Dolly." She mocked her move, putting a little more hip into it. "And this is my claim to fame. I'm a bitch. In and out of the ring. So don't try to get all buddy buddy with me."

Chris could barely keep his eyes off the hazel swirling with anger, but she turned away and started toward the exit.

He felt almost baffled, so he started wagging his finger at her. "You know, I won Jerk of the Year!"

"Jerk of the year?" Dolly scoffed and pushed through the exit. "What a claim to fame."

Chris bared his teeth, looking at the two girls with him. "What the hell is her problem? What's with this claim to fame stuff?"

Jillian shrugged. "That's her gimmick."

Beth nodded. "Yeah. Her finishing move, too. She's a heel."

"No shit." Chris pulled at his shirt slightly. "God, what'd I do?"

Beth frowned. "Nothing. She's just... a bit hostile. I don't know if she just takes her character too seriously or if she's really like that."

"Well, she needs a little reality check." Chris smiled at the women next to him. "And I think Chris Jericho should be the one to give it to her."

A/N: Um, so Chris Jericho rocks and is seriously a close second to Edge's greatness. And I almost barfed when I had to play it up like Cena. If you noticed, that entire sequence seemed a bit sarcastic. He makes the gods cry. Review.