Hey, Chubs here. Ever wondered on just why Moriarty hates Jericho so damn much? Me too. So I decided to make this story to explain. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fallout 3. I wish I did though.
A man in a suit of rough armor came into the bar. He sat down, ordered a drink, and decided to mouth off Gob. They all heard the news about the ex-raider living here. He didn't have a home yet, so had to stay in the commons.
"Hey, Smoothskin, what can I get 'ya?"
"Scotch, whiskey, and whatever the hell else ya got."
"Damn, really? That's alot of caps." Gob said, handing him the drinks. Jericho downed all of them in a matter of minutes.
"Damn! You must have a problem if you drink that damn fast!"
"Well, yeah, I do. You'd drink fast too if you had what I have."
"Only 20 caps." Gob froze. He called to his boss, and he damn near vaulted over the railing. He looked damn-near ready to bust a nut.
"Take it easy, Gramps, I'll make a bet with you. If I cn bite my right eye, then I don't have to pay."
"Your on." Moriarty said, thinking the booze had aready hit. Jericho took out his glass eye, bit it, and put it back in. "Damn it!" Jericho laughed. "How the hell did you do that?"
"Fake eye. I only bet on things I know I'll win. Look, I'll give you another chance. I bet a hundred caps that I can bite my left eye!"
"Well, I know you're not blind, so yeah." Jericho then took out his false teeth and bit his left eye. Moriarty let out a string of curses that could burn the hide off a Deathclaw. "Aww! You screwed me again!"
Jericho was playing cards and drinking heavily with some of the locals. After a few hours, her got up, and clumsily walked to the bar. "Bartender," He slurred, "I'll give you one last chance. I bet you two hundred and fifty caps that I can piss into that bottle and not miss a single drop!" After a few moments of pondering, taking in the fact that Jericho was clearly drunk now, and spoke.
"No fuckin' way! Your on!" Moriarty exclaimed, knowing for sure that he was going to win. Drunk as a skunk, Jericho climbed onto the bar, almost slipping in the process. After a few hysterical moments of mishaps, he finally made it up. He unzipped his leather greaves, stood on one leg, and began to piss. He could barely stand on one leg, much less two. He hit the bar, Moriarty, and just about everything except the bottle.
Moriarty was ecstatic. Laughing tremendously, her yelled, "Hey, Pal, you owe me 250 caps!"
"Eh, it's fine. I just bet those guys over there five hundred each that I could piss all over you and your bar, and still make you laugh!"