Punk marched over, his voice booming. “Yo, Big Daddy Cool! You’re seriously gonna drop a shitload of cash on that raw fish? What a fucking scam!”
Nash looked up, his brow furrowing like he was trying to solve a math problem. “What the hell are you talking about? This is high-end sushi, man! It’s an experience!”
“An experience? For the price of that roll, I could buy a whole damn cow and throw a barbecue that would put your grandma’s pot roast to shame!” Punk shot back, arms crossed defiantly.
Just then, the atmosphere shifted as they both heard a familiar, off-key voice echoing from the corner of the restaurant. They turned to see Chris Jericho, shirtless and clearly having a moment, belting out a power ballad that sounded like a cat being stepped on.
Punk and Nash exchanged glances, and the tension melted away into uncontrollable laughter. “Is he trying to summon a tsunami with that voice?” Punk cackled, shaking his head.
Nash couldn’t hold it in. “I think he’s trying to scare the fish back into the ocean! Look at him! He’s like a walrus trying to sing karaoke!”
Jericho, completely oblivious, continued his serenade, arms flailing like he was trying to take off. “I’m the champion of rock and roll!” he screeched.
Punk leaned over to Nash, whispering, “I think he’s more like the champion of the buffet line, motherfucker!”
Nash roared with laughter, nearly spilling his sushi. “I can’t believe he thought taking his shirt off would help! It’s like a horror movie over there! Someone call the cops; we’ve got a fat shirtless man assaulting our ears!”
As Jericho hit another high note, Punk and Nash erupted into a fit of giggles, tears streaming down their faces. “I can’t believe we’re here arguing about sushi while that’s happening!” Punk wheezed.
“Forget the sushi! This is the best entertainment I’ve had all week!” Nash replied, wiping his eyes. “I’d pay double to see this shit!”
