A/N: This story is a collaboration between myself and the ever-mysterious Onions. It is pure stupidity. Enjoy!
As always, WWE owns everything, I own nothing.
Mickie James left the gym that night feeling downtrodden. Her beer pooch simply wouldn't go away. She'd done thousands upon thousands of sit-ups and crunches, all to no avail. Her stomach remained doughy and round, no matter the effort she put in. It wasn't logical! Glaring down at her offending muffin-top, she poked the soft skin, watching as her finger disappeared in its depths.
Looking around to ensure that no one had seen, she pulled her finger out of her stomach fat and continued along to the locker room, glower firmly in place.
Little did she know that someone watched her every movement from the shadows.
* * * * * * *
"So then, I told CM Punk he could, like, take me out to a nice dinner, or something, if he wanted to get a piece of my ass! And he, like totally said okay!", squealed Kelly Kelly, clapping her hands together moronically.
Mickie sat on a bench clad in a white towel. She was brushing her hair as she listened to Kelly's lame excuse for a story.
Unable to take anymore, she put down the brush and rose.
"That's great, Kelly. Well, I've gotta shower now. I'll see you later."
"Uh, okay, cool!" Giggling, the moronic blonde skipped off to find someone else to torture.
Mickie entered the shower area and hung her towel on a hook. Turning on the spray, she stepped under the water. She closed her eyes, wetting her hair down, allowing the warm water to relax her sore muscles.
A noise off to the right drew her attention suddenly, and she gasped, startled. Wiping the water out of her eyes, she tried to see what could have caused the small scratching sound that had echoed across the shower area.
"Rats", she muttered disgustedly to herself.
Annoyed and grossed out in equal measure, she hurried her shower along, finishing quickly. Grabbing her towel, she began to walk out of the showering area, and back towards the locker rooms.
She heard another scratching noise behind the wall as she walked away. Stopping, she looked around once more.
"They should really get an exterminator into this place", she muttered.
The noise sounded again. Mickie's head shot to the right. This time, she let out a high-pitched scream of terror, bringing all of the divas running into the showering area.
Mickie stood, her face a sickly gray color, her eyes wide. She was pointing at the wall, staring at it like it was a terrible monster that had attacked her.
"There were two eyes", she whispered shakily, "Someone was there. Two eyes…"
That was all they could get from her.
The Peeper had claimed his first victim.
* * * * * * *
Vince McMahon was pacing back and forth outside of the women's locker room, wishing Shane's flight hadn't been delayed so the prodigal son could handle this less than ideal situation. Vinnie Mac was getting too old to deal with this crap.
A few minutes ago, thirteen divas practically broke down his office door screaming incoherently about "eyes, eyes, eyes!" Once Vince was able to settle them down, he learned that not only did he have an apparent peeping tom on his roster or crew, but that he would also have to pay the arena to fix two eye-holes that had been drilled into the wall of the women's locker room.
Vince McMahon did not like to part with his money unnecessarily.
Mickie was leaning up against Melina for support, spurting out "pig!" and "disgusting!" between sobs. Vince walked over to her and said in the most gentle tone he could muster, "Mickie, stop crying. We'll catch this guy, this…cretin who spoiled your innocence."
She looked up at her boss and attempted to smile, but Mickie's lazy eye and tear-soaked face reminded him of Sloth from The Goonies. "Baby Ruth," Vince thought to himself, choking back his laughter.
Right then, Jeff Hardy and Christian walked around the corner. "What's goin' on?" Jeff asked, his face half-painted with silver and black streaks. Christian just stood there looking like a lost puppy.
McMahon ushered them on. "Don't worry about it boys. Nothing to see here. Go get ready for the show."
Christian bowed and said, "Aye! Good day, sir!" in a horrible English accent and sauntered off with his painted friend.
McMahon turned away and muttered, "There's something wrong with that guy. Fucking Canadians." He turned his attention back to the divas and this mess, all the while thinking "Who would want to see Mickie's mud flaps anyway?"
* * * * * * *
"Give it away, give it away, give it away now!" streamed into the abandoned locker room as the flame from a small butane lighter flickered in and out.
"Fuck, I love me some Chili Peppers!" said a hushed voice in the darkness.
He farted then and laughed. He was almost sad that no one was here to share the whiff.
"Time to make the doughnuts," he thought to himself, and began hatching the details of his next encounter.
Who would it be this time? Melina? Eve? Hunter?
There he stood in a pair of Ugg boots, some purple tights, a superman t-shirt, a green cape, and a William Shatner mask. His disguise was complete. And his wiener was poised for battle.
* * * * * * *
Matt Hardy stood admiring himself in the full-length mirror in front of him. He twisted and turned, letting his eyes roam over every inch of his tanned, toned skin. He smirked as he looked over the new spandex pants. Yup, he mused, they looked damn good on him.
Matt turned so that he got a view of his ass. A grin split his face.
"Damn, boy, looks like all that cardio finally paid off", he murmured to himself.
He gave his ass a hard slap, grinning when he felt the rock-hard butt cheek beneath his palm.
Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Matt began to make muscles, and to pose, as if he were being shot for Musclehead Weekly Magazine.
"Damn I look good", he said, turning away from the mirror.
He looked up at the time, and realized that he'd been ogling himself for 40 minutes now. He had to get changed, or he was going to be late to meet Jeff and the other guys.
He began to pull his spandex pants down. A shuffling off towards the center of the empty locker room drew his attention suddenly.
"Hello?", he called. There was no answer.
"Hey, anyone there?" Matt tried again.
After a moment, another noise met his ears.
"Alright, this isn't funny, man-"
Suddenly, a great, dark figure burst out of the shadows, scurrying with great speed towards the locker room door. Matt let out a high-pitched, girly scream, and fell backwards.
When he'd managed to recover, he pulled himself up and looked around. Whatever it had been was gone now.
He looked into the mirror again.
"Damn", he said gravely, "I look so good that people are sneaking into the locker rooms just to get a peek!"
Taking one last look at his superior bum, he wondered if he should get himself a bodyguard.
* * * * * * *
Who is the Peeper?! Stay tuned to find out!
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