“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me”, Mark growled, eyeing the tiny doctor who was cowering in the corner.

“Y-your boss w-wanted me t-to inv-vestigate w-why you h-have all these m-mood swings”, Dr. Greene stammered pathetically. Why he’d agreed to take this patient, he’d never know. He held out a piece of paper with a heavily trembling hand.

Mark grabbed it, and read it, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “PROZAC?!?” he roared.

“It’s just a trial period…” Dr. Greene whimpered.

“I DON’T FUCKIN’ CARE!!!” Mark thundered, standing over the man. “I DON’T NEED FUCKIN PROZAC!!! GIVE THAT SHIT TO SOMEBODY WHO REALLY FUCKIN NEEDS IT!!!”

Dr. Green gulped. “I have directions from your boss…”

“TO HELL WITH WHAT MY BOSS SAYS!! I DON’T NEED NO FUCKIN’ PROZAC!!!!” The pissed off wrestler didn’t give the doctor a chance to respond. He had torn out of the trainer’s room, in search of said boss. With a snarl, he slammed into Vince’s office, and went right up to the man, grabbing him by the collar, and lifting him up. “WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT ABOUT PROZAC?!?!”

“N-now wait a minute, Deadman”, Vince stammered, “Your mood swings have gotten out of hand…”

The people walking about outside Vince’s room were treated by said Chairman flying through the wall. Upon peering into the hole, they saw an irate Deadman glaring at him. They quickly backed away as he stalked to the hole and stepped through it. He grabbed the man by the collar, and dragged him to the trainer. Once there, he dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

“Now”, Mark said calmly, as if he’d not just thrown a man through the wall. “Tell the doc to withdraw the prescription.”

“Prescription?” Vince asked, blinking at him.

“I prescribed Prozac”, Dr. Greene said lamely, making Mark glare at him.

Vince blinked at the man, then looked at Mark. “You know, I think Dr. Greene is right…”

At that moment, one John Cena waltzed into the room, whistling.

“Didja tell him, boss man?” he asked, chuckling at Vince.

“Uh…well…” Vince stammered.

Mark whirled on the younger man. “All this was YOUR idea?!?” he growled.

John shrugged off his glare. “It was a joint effort, really”, he said. “We got tired of you acting like you’re going through your fuckin’ period. Or menopause, or whatever girlie thing that is.”

Mark began to stalk toward him, cracking his knuckles. “Is THAT right?” he said, his voice softly dangerous.

“Yep”, John said, grinning. “See, this is exactly what we mean. One minute, you act as if nothing’s bugging you, then the next minute, we find somebody who got the shit beat out of ‘em.”

Mark snarled, and lunged, but John dodged him, wagging his finger at him. “Nuh uh uh”, he said, laughing as Mark growled. He then dashed out of the room, with the bigger man hot on his heels.

“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!!” Mark roared as he ran.

“LOOK OUT EVERYBODY!! DEADMAN EXPRESS ON THE LOOSE!!” John yelled, laughing.

“I’M GONNA FUCKIN STRING YOU UP BY YOUR BALLS, CENA!!!” Mark yelled, still running after him.

“Another mood swing, Deadman?” Ken Anderson asked, leaning against a wall, and watching this whole thing amusedly. “What next…hot flashes?”

“How about my foot up your ass??” Mark snarled as he ran by him.

Ken only laughed and went back into his dressing room.

When Mark finally caught John, he strung him up on the rafters by his feet.

Nobody knows when exactly it happened, but they knew it was after he’d gotten to John. When both Vince and Dr. Greene were found, they were both tied to each other, with empty prescription bottles shoved into their mouths.

Through the whole day, he’d been tortured…mainly by prescription bottles that were shoved into his bag.

“IT’S NOT FUCKIN FUNNY”, he roared. “I DO NOT NEED FUCKIN PROZAC!!!!”

“No, you don’t”, Shawn Michaels said sweetly, batting his eyelashes playfully at him. “You need Pamprin.”

When Shawn was seen next, he was found with his head shoved into a toilet.

The next to get on his nerves was Glen.

“Heya, sweetie”, Glen said, laughing, making Mark glare at him. “Still having those mood swings?”

When Glen was found afterward, he was tied, naked, in his dressing room with his own tights.

Even the Divas weren’t safe from Mark’s temper.

“Heya girlie”, Torrie said, threading her arm through his, batting her eyelashes up at him playfully. “Wanna join me in braiding hair? I’m doing Mickie’s….do you want to braid mine?”

John suddenly found that he wasn’t alone, for he now had Torrie for company.

“I didn’t think he’d get THAT mad…” Torrie whimpered.

If it wasn’t one person to piss him off, it was another. He was running out of punishments.

“What the fuck do I do to deserve this shit??” he muttered to himself. “I keep to myself, mostly, unless somebody bugs me. Is it TOO much to ask to be left alone???”

“Talking to yourself?” a voice asked amusedly. “Mood swings and dementia. An interesting combination.”

He looked up, growling, to see Benoit. “Fuck off, Toothless Wonder”, he grunted.

Benoit laughed and walked off, knowing better than to try his patience more than it already had been.

Mark kept on walking, and got to his own dressing room, sitting down, and rubbing his temples. He then felt a pair of small hands start to massage his shoulders.

“My poor baby”, Sara giggled. “Is everybody bugging you?”

Mark only grunted in response.

“Aww”, she said, moving to sit in his lap, and wrap her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“So…are you still PMS’ing or what?” she asked innocently.

Mark glared down at her, and causing her to start laughing.

“I guess you are”, she said, bounding out of his lap, and running to the door, and out of it.

He sighed. He didn’t need this shit…he really didn’t. “Maybe TNA is hiring…”, he muttered to himself.

Throughout the rest of the day, he showed anybody who messed with him EXACTLY what happened when they pissed him off. When they found David strapped to the flagpole of the building, upside down, then nobody said a single word about his mood swings again.