DISCLAIMER: Attention Marvel lawyers -- we are making a $#!+load of money off of this fic and you can't do anything to stop us! BWAHAHAHAHA! Huh? What? Whoops! Wrong paper. (*grin*) Ah, here it is -- we don't own the X-Men and we're not making *any* money from this story. Don't sue us!

AUTHORS' NOTE: This is sort of a tag team fic 'cuz we took turns writing. The basic premise -- what if Beast suddenly became stupid? *Very* stupid. We wanted to find out. :) We planned to write a special warning for fans of various characters, but it seems pointless now since just about all of them got slammed in this fic. Feedback is welcome and encouraged. Flames will be returned to sender with a complimentary drum of lighter fluid (beware our two-sided egos -- fragile on the one side, lightly frosted on the other! *grin*) Comments between the authors are included throughout the fic in parentheses. And awaaaay we go!

(Heh heh heh ... lets see what you can do with this.)

It was a quiet night in the mansion at 1407 Graymalkin Lane in Westchester. At least, it was quiet until a certain overworked scientist alerted the rest of the X-Men with the screaming from his lab.

"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

Cyclops turned to look at the furry blue geneticist who stood before him. "Hank, what are you talking about?"

"I'M TALKING ABOUT SPENDING MY WHOLE LIFE IN THIS F***ING LAB!" Beast screeched as he grabbed Scott's collar and lifted him two feet above the floor. "I'm sick of being the smart one on the team! Do you people have *any* idea what I'm forced to go through every day? It's always 'Beast, analyze this compound and determine its structural analysis.' 'McCoy, reconfigure this machine so we can disrupt the enemy's computer signals.' 'Hank, grab your forceps and pull the cueball out of Bobby's ass.'

All eyes turned toward Bobby. "Gambit dared me to do it," he said sheepishly.

Remy sat back, grinning, fingers interlocked behind his head. "Best five bucks I ever lost."

"I'M SICK OF IT!" Beast screamed, gesturing wildly (and propelling Scott across the room as he did so). "And now with my work on the Legacy Virus I never get a minute to myself. I'M GOING ON STRIKE!"

(Deal with that, Sparty! :))

(*Cracks knuckles*)

Beast, in a fashion that was extremely out of his usual character, bunny-hopped out of the lab. The other X-Men stared on in confusion, with the exception of Gambit, who was held back by Cyclops as the Cajun man attempted to follow the furry scientist's motions.

"No!" Scott forcibly denied.

Gambit pouted. "Aw, but Beast gets t'be insane!"

Meanwhile, Beast relocated himself to the mansion's kitchen, where he had adorned his head with a large pot. Then, after wrapping a tablecloth around his neck so it might resemble a cape, he climbed atop the breakfast nook, striking a ladle through the air as he sang heroic pirate songs.

"In the Navy, du du dudu du dudu!"

Charles Xavier took this opportunity to enter the kitchen, and was taken aback by the unconventional actions of the one person who spoke with even more useless technobabble than himself. For a moment, he just sat and watched the blue furry man, but then he decided that making his presence known might end the mild psychotic episode.

"Beast," Charles asked, as the scientist ran to the refrigerator, "Are you feeling well?" There was no response other than Beast collecting two cans of pressurized whipped cream, biting the caps off with his teeth. "Hank?"

"I'm not Hank!" Beast declared, spraying congealed confection all over the walls of the kitchen. "I AM THE MONKEY KING!"

(Ha! Strap that to your cat and burn it, 'Thyst!)

(OK, you asked for it!)

Beast fell back, feet kicking wildly in the air as he shot the remainder of the whipped cream into his mouth. "Mmmmm, this is goot thtuff," he mused. "Wan' thome?" With that, he yanked the professor's hover chair toward him and aimed strategically. The professor sputtered as he was coated from head to toe with imitation dairy product.

"Mwwwhhhhhmmm!" the professor exclaimed. Beast ended his assault and his mentor wiped the white goop from his face. "Beast! What has gotten into you? Stop this madness immediately!"

At that moment Psylocke entered the mansion's kitchen. Her expression became hostile as she saw both men wearing the non-dairy confection. "What are you doing with that?" she screeched. "That whipped cream was for my date tomorrow night! Now what are Warren and I supposed to do?!"

The professor looked at Psylocke curiously. "I wasn't aware that you knew how to cook, Betsy," he said to her, proving once again to his X-Men that it was indeed possible for a world-renowned genius to be totally and utterly without a clue.

Psylocke responded with a look that would melt steel and a psychic knife to the back of the professor's skull.

Meanwhile, Beast lay purring on the floor, licking up the remainder of the whipped cream and pushing a loose piece of string with his nose. At that moment, Cyclops and the remainder of the X-Men entered the kitchen.

(Your turn :) )

(And the Lord said, let there be fic!)

"My whipped cream!" Bobby exclaimed. "Now what are Stephen and I supposed to do?" He frantically defended himself from questioning looks. "We were going to have a bake sale!" The Iceman insisted. "Really!"

"Hank," Jean began, "we need to get you some help. C'mon, we'll get you to that veterinarian that's open twenty-four hours. He's totally anonymous and takes payment in Cheese Doodles and Twinkies."

"Bad news." Gambit held a plastic bag and a box, each filled with delicious snack foods. "All we have are Cheese Puffies and Funkies. You know de doctor's rule: 'Only de name-brand stuff.'"

"Gosh Darnit!" Bobby cursed, snapping his fingers. He ignored the looks issued to him once again with a flip of his wrist. "Oh, be nice!"

(Tag, thine it)

(Ooooo ... that's just playing dirty. (*grin*))

Professor Xavier, having recovered quickly from Psylocke's attack, cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "I think it's important that we deal with the issue at hand," he said. "We can discuss Iceman's ... activities ... later."

"Huh? What?" Bobby blinked a few times before he caught on. "I AM NOT GAY!" he screamed at the other assembled mutants. "I just like to quote 'The Simpsons,' alright?!"

"Ah just think you should stop using that profanity," Cannonball piped up. "My momma never woulda let me talk like that."

"What profanity?" Bobby asked, returning to his everyday state of utter confusion. "All I said was 'Gosh darnit.'"

"OWWWWW!" Sam screamed as he grabbed his now-bleeding ears. "Ah can't listen to this cussin' anymore!" Sam flew out of the kitchen babbling something about Bobby and his potty mouth going straight to H-E-double hockey sticks.

"What do you think we should do, Professor?" asked Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, lapdog to Professor X and all-around heiny-smoocher.

"Well for starters we should get junior here a higher tolerance for swear words," Wolverine said as he entered the kitchen. "The kid ain't in Kentucky anymore."

"I meant about Beast," Cyclops clipped to his feral team member.

"I say let 'im alone," Logan said. "Plenty of crazy people in New York. It's not like anyone'll notice."

"Logan!" Storm admonished her teammate. "We cannot just leave our friend like this."

Meanwhile, Beast had jumped up to the ceiling fan, grabbed hold of the blades and started spinning, gesturing wildly with one hand as he sang. "Way up in the trees live the Monchichis ... everybody sing!"

The professor was still trying to clean whipped cream out of his ear, and had inserted his pinky up to the second knuckle. "Well, there's one thing that might work," he told his X-Men.

(Hee-hee! I left you the plot. Take it, Sparty.)

(Behold, the power of cheese!)

The professor thought yet again, scratching his bald head. "Wait, no, that won't work." Digging deeper into his ear, he freed an unusually large glarb of whipped cream. He flicked the goo onto the floor, turning to his students. "My mistake, plans are Hank's department."

"Well," Jean decided, "let's ask him what we should do!"

"Quickly," Scott overacted, as was custom with the butt-polishing, whipped-like-a-dog, married man. "To Beast's hive! His lair, his lab, or whatever the hell we refer to his little hiding place as!"

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Y'mean, his room?"

"Yes!" Scott raised a finger into the air, symbolizing a semester of lessons at the Larry Storch school of acting, "to his room!"

(Six points!)

(Ha! But you forgot that I get two free-throws *and* a bucket of chicken!)

The team raced up to the mens' wing of the mansion and into Hank's bedroom. Scott turned the doorknob, but despite his best efforts, the door would not open. He braced one foot against the wall and pulled with all his strength. Still nothing. Determined to beat this formidable foe, Scott lifted his glasses and prepared to blast the door off its hinges.

Jean tapped her husband on the shoulder. "Umm, honey?"

"Yes, Jean?"

She stepped forward and gently pushed the door, which flew open and sent Scott sprawling across the floor. "The door opens inward. All the bedroom doors do."

The X-Men were puzzled as they entered Hank's room, seeing that the furry blue scientist wasn't there.

"By the Goddess!" Storm exclaimed. "Where could he have gone?"

Rogue raised her hand. "Ummm, y'all, Ah could be wrong, but didn't we leave Hank back in the kitchen?"

Her teammates stared blankly at each other for a few seconds, needing the time for this revelation to sink in. "You know," Scott said, rubbing his hand across his chin, "I think I *do* remember leaving Hank downstairs."

"Do you realize what this means?" Jean asked. Sadly, no one did, so she was forced to explain. Using small words. And shadow puppets. "We need Hank to think for us! We're getting dumber by the minute!"

One by one, the X-Men began to comprehend their predicament. "WAAAAHHHHH! We can't think for ourselves! We're doomed!"

([*Puts down shovel*] Whew! That was tough. Well, filled in that plothole. Back to you, Spartmeister!)

(You get no chicken!!!)

The X-Men raced down into the kitchen, finding Beast absent. There was minimal damage to the room, mainly the appliances being turned completely upside down, while still plugged in.

"What the heck?" Rouge looked to the inverted oven. "I had a turkey in there!" The others stared her down, and she altered her words. "Okay, I had a cake." The team continued to break her down. "A cupcake. A Funkie. Okay, okay!" She threw her hands into the air in frustration. "I was burning Gambit in effigy! Sue me for being subtle about it!"

"Well," Bobby said, "That explains the stuffed version of the Professor we found in the oven last week."

"Actually," Jean shyly raised her hand, "that was mine. We were outside, and he wouldn't put on a hat." No one seemed to understand. "I was trying to READ!" She said, to which the X-Men nodded in understanding.

"We have to find Beast!" Scott reiterated.

"But where could he be?" Rouge asked.

Scott thought. "To his room!"

And so the X-Men, with their brains more and more resembling sieves, darted off yet again.

(Hehehehehehehe......HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!)

(I have the strangest feeling I've seen this all before . . .)

But their charge came to a screeching halt as Beast re-entered the kitchen, swinging the door in on them and sending the X-Men sprawling across the room like bowling pins. Beast appeared puzzled by this reaction. He sniffed at the pile of superheroes before him, turned around in circles a few times, peed on Gambit and bounded back out the door.

The professor, who *did* have a brain of his own and was mercifully unaffected by Hank's sudden drop in IQ, hovered before his students.

"My X-Men," he stated, "Though Beast is certainly not acting like himself, he does not appear to be in any great peril. I fear that our Hank is merely suffering from exhaustion due to the extreme stress he has put upon himself as of late. I believe that after a period of mental inactivity, he will feel renewed and his senses will return to him."

The X-Men picked themselves off the floor, looking quizzically at the professor, who slapped a hand to his shiny bald head in frustration. "Beast has been working too hard. He needs to take some time off."

Still no response from his students. The professor groaned and buried his head in his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought. "Beast," he pointed out the door after Hank, "go craaaaazy," he crossed his eyes and ran his finger up and down over his lips. "Needs sleep." The professor closed his eyes and rested his head sideways on his hands. "Sleeeeeep," he repeated, making loud snoring noises. Unfortunately, being the old fogy that he was, it took only a split second for the professor to forget what he was doing and lose consciousness.

Cyclops scratched his head and looked around at his teammates. "Ohhhh," he said. "Sleep!" Never one to disobey the professor's orders, Scott fell backward onto the kitchen tile, his drool forming a puddle beside his head almost before he hit the floor. The other X-Men nodded. "Sleeeeep," they echoed like zombies as they followed suit.

Meanwhile, Beast was performing a one-man conga line down the hall, with several cans of Play-Doh in one hand and a Salad Shooter in the other.

(OK, it's not great, but I was sick of them running from room to room.)

"Time for dinner!" Beast called.

Cannonball, who had just re-entered the mansion, asked, "Feeding Play-Doh to the cats?"

Beast shook his head, and smiled. "No, I'm feeding cats to the Play-Doh!" He eyed Cannonball up and down a few times. "Say, you look like a convincing member of the feline genus." He held out the Salad Shooter. "Hop in."

"I'm not a cat." Sam Guthrie corrected.

Beast frowned. "If'n ya ain't with me, you're against me!" He reached into a hall closet, retrieving a baseball bat that was conveniently wrapped in barbed wire. "Die, you Nazi, pinko bastard!"

Sam released a very meek and cartoonish "eep", and blasted himself down the hall.

Beast lifted the bat proudly into the air, and cried, "for the glory of the colony!" He then chased after the fleeing Cannonball, swinging the bat wildly. "That'll learn you to touch my daughter, city boy!"

Wolverine, after awaking, entered the hallway. "Hey, what's going on here?" He asked, adding the obligatory 'Bub' to his question.

Beast took his attention away from Sam momentarily, and answered, "There's a killin' a brewin', fetch yur gun, boy!"

Logan smiled. "Cool!" And joined Beast in the hunt for Sam.

"Uhhmm, Logan?" Rogue entered. "You can't kill Sam."

Wolverine, the toughest of all X-Men, pouted. "Why not?"

Rogue shrugged. "Your right, ah can't think of a reason. Kill the bastard!" As she attempted to fly off, Jean grabbed her ankle, and Rogue recalled her mission. "Oh, that's right, we're supposed to help Hank."

"Not me," Logan said proudly. "I'm supposed to buy the beer for the party over at Banshee's place tonight."

(I'm bored. Your turn, 'Thyst.)

(Oh, sure, leave me to think of a new plotline.)

"We need ya here, shugah," Rogue said as she grabbed Logan before he could wander off. "'Sides, if'n those St. Croix twins can combine to form a teen-age girl, can't they just grab hold of Leech or Artie and be old enough to buy booze?"

"It sure be fun ta see how de petite femme would look, nest pas?" Gambit asked, tugging on a clean T-shirt after shedding his pee-stained uniform.

Rogue glared at him. "Have ya been lookin' at other women, Cajun?"

Gambit looked like a red and black-eyed deer caught in headlights. "No, chere, I just meant, dat is ... oh, %#*&@&! He took off running down the hall as Rogue flew after him.

"Come back here ya two-timin' swamp rat!" she screamed. "Ah'll give ya somethin' to look at!"

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Logan fell over holding his stomach as he watched the two Southerners exit. Beast trotted over to the open window at the end of the hallway while Logan was distracted.

"Top of the world, ma!" he yelled as he backed up. Before Wolverine could comment (as if he'd *want* to stop his teammate from making a fool of himself), Beast charged at the window and leapt face-first out of the mansion. Unfortunately, he misjudged his girth and got stuck when he was halfway through.

Logan walked up behind Hank and watched two large, blue feet kick madly through the air. The remaining X-Men, minus Gambit, who was trying to avoid being pummeled in the basement, and Rogue, who was currently trying to break her fist on Gambit's jaw, entered the hallway.

Storm was shocked at the sight of her teammate dangling three stories above the ground. "Quickly, we must bring Beast back inside the mansion," she said.

The professor put his hand on her arm to stop her. "No," he said, "I think it is better if we leave our furry friend where he is for the time being."

Bobby stepped forward and peered through the fogging glass. "Aww, look at him. Looks like he finally tired himself out." Beast was, in fact, drooping over the window ledge with his eyes shut and a huge grin on his face.

The young X-Man grinned devilishly at his teammates. "Y'know, if I could just get hold of a paper shredder and some chocolate syrup right now, I could really ..."

"BOBBY!" his fellow X-Men screamed.

"I can't believe you would even *think* of taking advantage of your best friend while he's in this condition," Storm said.

"I'M NOT GAY!"

Storm furrowed her brow. "I was referring to you tendency to play practical jokes on your teammates, Robert."

"Oh ... I knew that."

Cyclops stepped forward, striking a pose that would have done his instructors at 'Supeheroing for Dummies' proud. "So what do we do with Hank now, professor?"

(Take it, Sparty!)

(Okey Dokeys)

"We use him as a human piņata!" Now, it was the professor's turn to fend off odd looks. "Hey, when is it *my* turn to be crazy, huh?"

Scott blinked from behind his glasses. "You had that whole Onslaught thing that really f***ed up all of our continuity, remember?" He heard the faint sounds of crickets chirping. "CONTINUITY!" He stressed. "Come on, even Liefeld can somewhat manage to write that stuff!"

The professor slammed his fist against the arm of his hover chair. "I want to use him as a piņata, damn it!" Somehow, he began bouncing up and down on his chair cushion, screaming "Piņata, piņata, piņata!!!"

"How are you jumping up and down like that?" Jean asked. "Aren't you crippled?"

"That?" Xavier sputtered and brushed the notion away. "No, the editors wrote that out a few days ago. I'm a track star now!"

"Which editor?"

"Mike."

"Mike was the janitor." Jean recalled. "When did he make editor?"

"Another fine result of the Marvel internship program." Bobby quipped.

(Quit your whinin', it's your turn.)

(Thank yeeewwwww! *grin*)

Storm cleared her throat. "May I remind all of you that we just paid a large amount of money to have that fourth wall repaired? Must you always insist on breaking it?"

"Uhhh, Scott did it!" Bobby yelled frantically, yanking the X-Men leader in front of him.

Scott turned around to look at him. "Did not!"

"Did too!" Bobby retorted.

"DID NOT!!"

"DID TOO!!"

"NOT NOT NOT NOT -- "

"TOO TOO TOO TOO -- "

[*WHACK* *BAM* *CRASH*]

Logan turned around, grinning. "WHOA! Nice shot, 'Roro. Didn't know ya had it in ya."

Storm rubbed her fist as she glanced at her two unconscious teammates on the floor. "Yes, well, it needed to be done." She turned to the rest of the group. "As for everyone else, I trust there will be no further attempts to reference an outside universe."

"Sorry, Storm," the X-Men said as they looked down and shuffled their feet, afraid to match the windrider's gaze.

"I think it would be best if we all retired for the evening," she continued. "Perhaps we will all have a different outlook on our friend's situation tomorrow morning."

The X-Men nodded in agreement, partly because they still could not think for themselves and partly because none of them wanted to get their heinys whooped by Storm (except maybe Gambit, but he was still fleeing for his life from a very irate Rogue.) The team slowly dispersed as each member tried to remember the way back to his or her room.

They did not see Beast shift position in his sleep and fall out the window headfirst.

(I'm all out of ideas, Sparty. Gimme somethin' to work with.)

(Death waits for no Monchichi!)

Beast plummeted to the ground, realizing during his descent that Xavier had arranged a charity gymnastics competition that was currently being executed on the back lawn.

With a dopey grin, Beast called out a warning. "Make way for the Monkey King!" He said, just before taking out an innocent bystander. He climbed to his feet after a nasty 'splut' and smiled, holding a dead carcass by its neck as he displayed it to the shocked event participants.

"It's okay, it was the Romanian judge."

Not responding to the endless applause, Beast skipped back to the mansion, entered through the back door, but did *not* close the sliding glass door behind him. The mansion's advanced Shi'ar technology had recently been adapted for the home's climate control systems, and thus Beast consequently caused Xavier's mansion to air condition the entire neighborhood.

He looked about the room, recalling a conversation he had heard while unconscious. "One, two, three," he counted, pivoting on his feet ninety degrees each time. "Four!" He growled. "Too many walls!"

Beast charged the wall, which held one of the mansion's thirty big screen televisions (not counting the forty that were under tarps in the garage because a small portion of the upper right corner got a little dim) and crashed through anything that came into his way.

(Te gusta jugar con queso?)

([*SIGH*] The sad part is that this is *still* better than anything Larry Hama ever wrote for Generation X.)

The TV came crashing down as a big, blue blur bounced happily around the living room. Beast surveyed the damage before him and grinned like a madman. He picked up the oak coffee table and tossed it aside like a box full of helium balloons.

"Get me!" He laughed at no one in particular. "I'm Stone Cold Steve Austin!" With that, Hank ran to the refrigerator and snatched a six-pack of Logan's beer. He raced back to the living room, stood on the arm of the couch, popped open all six beers and poured them into his mouth.

Meanwhile, Beast's teammates had woken up after hearing the furniture being reduced to splinters. Bobby was the first to reach the living room, and stood in the doorway, mouth agape, as he saw his best friend drenching himself -- and the sofa -- with Budweiser. When Beast saw Bobby in the doorway, he dropped the empty cans at his feet and gave him a double middle-finger salute.

"Hank, what the Hell are you doing?" Bobby advanced a few steps toward Beast. "C'mon, enough's enough. You need to get some rest."

"But I don't want to rest!" Hank shouted joyously. "Do you know what I feel like doing?"

Bobby gulped. "Wha-what?" he stuttered.

"I feel like dancing!" Beast grinned devilishly at his friend as he turned and put on the still-functioning CD player. In mere seconds Ricky Martin was blasting through the mansion.

Beast grabbed hold of Bobby's belt to prevent him from running away. "Let's get ready to rhumbaaaaaaaaaaa!"

(Boogie down, Spartmeister! :))