DISCLAIMER: Yes, we were sick enough to continue the story! Once again, we don't own these characters. Beware the semi-naughty language in this part -- bad authors! Bad, bad authors! (*grin*)

(May a half-Snark eat your younguns!)

"NO!" Bobby disputed. "I refuse to dance to anything but Abba's undeniable classic, 'Waterloo'!" Knowing his friends were present, but out of his sight at the moment, he groaned. "How many times must I tell you people? I am not gay!" He looked around. "And if I *was* gay, I'd do something about those curtains."

"Ahem." Beast hefted Bobby over his head, and turned to the other X-Men, power lifting the Iceman above himself. "To quote one of today's most renowned modern poets, The Rock, allow me to, as he so eloquently put it, 'layeth the smacketh down!'"

Beast tossed Bobby directly upward, not wincing, though his teammates did as they witnessed Bobby hitting the industrial ceiling fan.

"Oh my God!" Jean gasped. "He killed Bobby!"

"I'm not dead," the Iceman disputed from a limp position on the floor.

"Dag nabit!" Beast snapped his fingers in frustration. "Young Mister Drake, the next time I launch you into a motorized unit of unforgiving rotating blades, would you please convert to your mutant self? You are being quite selfish, and I for one would like a snow cone."

Charles whipped out mini tape recorder, and spoke. "Note to self: continue with Project 'Soylent Green' as scheduled."

"You're going t'eat us?" Gambit asked, spitting out teeth that had been loosened by Rogue's unmerciful beating. "I'm appalled."

"I'm not going to eat all of you!" Xavier corrected. "Just Bobby." He mumbled, "and you can't even *spell* appalled."

Bobby failed to move any body part except his eyebrow. "Oh, is Paul here? If you'd please show him to my cabana on the West Side, I will surely construct a pot of macaroni and sneeze."

"Cheese," Jean corrected.

"Cheese?" Scott was held back by his fellow X-Men as he entered a rage that still did not exceed that of a third-grade schoolgirl's. "Bobby, you bastard! I knew there was something wrong with that dinner!"

"Dear," Jean soothingly spoke, "you cannot be that stupid."

"I dunno, maybe he's got some brain damage. Hey, four-eyes," Logan laughed, "when you're using the automatic nose hair trimmer, do you stick it all the way up, or what?"

"Yes." Scott flatly answered. "It's great for the sinus cavities."

"Excuse me," Beast said, in a stuffy, polite British accent. "But I do believe our fine authors are indeed writing this fic about *me* and not our leader's unbelievable stupidity and lack of intestinal fortitude." He finished off the final beer. "So, without further ado, welcome to Crazyland. Population: ME!"

His words were followed with an unnatural belch. Men and women were thrown into walls with such force that they damaged the home's interior structure. Vases shattered and furniture was set ablaze. Once the windows gave way, after the big screen crumbled, several car alarms could be heard sounding off.

"He's getting away!" Rogue commented, peeling away from the wall.

"Quick!" Scott decided. "To his -- "

"If you say 'his room,'" Logan warned, "I will give you such a wedgie that will guarantee you never again spawn another Cable!"

The other X-Men, including Jean, smiled and nodded to Logan. "DO IT!"

(Thanks for opening the wrestling references, 'Thyst.)

(No, thank YOU! :) Cyke's had this coming for awhile now.)

Logan braced a foot on Scott's upper back and yanked the back of his briefs as if he were trying to start a lawnmower. Cyclops grabbed his butt and began hopping around the room.

"OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE!!" he yelled, inadvertently tugging the briefs up higher as he danced around. "OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE OWEE!!"

Meanwhile, Jean was doing a victory dance over near the doorway. Rogue grinned. "Yoah takin' this whole thing pretty well, shugah," she drawled.

Jean stopped dancing and flipped her red hair back over her shoulder. "Yeah, well, I kept telling him not to wear his underwear on the outside of his uniform, but would he listen? Noooo.

"Besides," she smirked, "it's worth it not to have any more 'surprise children' showing up."

"Ummm, pardon me, ma'am," Sam spoke up, "but Ah thought Cable an' Rachel were from an alternate universe. Isn't it possible that you have more kids where they came from?"

Jean thought for a minute. "Oh, ^%$&^*!" she yelled in frustration, right before she began banging her head against the wall. Pieces of plaster loosened by Hank's earth-shattering belch began to fall to the floor around her.

"Don't worry, Jeannie," Logan said. "I'd be more than happy to hunt down all the alternate-reality Cyke's for ya." Scott finally stopped jumping around and came to rest right beside Logan, who punched him in the gut. Cyclops grabbed his stomach and fell over sideways.

"Awww, I wanted you to take him to Claw City."

Heads turned as the X-Men confronted the speaker. "Professor," Gambit said hesitantly, "are you *sure* you only wanted t'kill Bobby?"

"I'm not dead yet!" Bobby gasped from the floor.

"The Cajun's right, Chuck," Wolverine said. "It's bad enough the furball's gone insane. We can't have you following Hank down that road."

"Did someone summon the Monkey King?" Beast asked from just outside the doorway. He entered the room and stood before his teammates, wearing a dirty white T-shirt with an upward-pointing arrow that read "I'm with Stupid." He dug his fist into the jar he was holding and stuffed a handful of goo into his mouth. "Huwwy up, I'm mithing 'Teletubbieth.'"

Jean looked at the gunk smeared on his face, then looked at the jar. "Hank, is that *my* Noxzema you're eating?"

Hank looked at the jar, swallowed, then looked back at Jean with a sad-eyed puppy face. "I'm sorry," he said, "did you want some?" He scooped up a handful and came toward Jean. "It's really good," Beast coaxed. Jean continued to back up.

"Come on, open up! Here comes the airplane!" Beast lunged toward Jean, who ducked out of the way in the last second. Hank's hand whacked Logan in the jaw, and the feral X-Man licked the goop off his face and Hank collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Y'know, this stuff's not that bad," Wolverine said with a grin. He crouched on the floor next to Hank and joined the cosmetics feeding frenzy.

At that moment, the X-Men's emergency alarm rang out throughout the mansion. "Everyone to the War Room, now!" Cyclops demanded, sounding somewhat less authoritative in his new high-pitched voice.

(I gave you a great setup, Sparty -- run with it!)

(Snake Plisken in "Escape from Plot City")

"No."

Cyclops turned to the professor, who seemed quite disobedient. "No?" He planted his hands on Charles' hover chair, leaning in close with sparks emitting from his grinding teeth. "Listen you withered old cue ball, we're going to the war room if we have to push your high-class ass down the hall!" He softened a bit. "If that's okay with you, sir."

Charles looked to no specific direction, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "It's just -- every time I step foot in the war room, I'm overwhelmed by the memories of my lost love, the one who died in the car crash that night -- "

Jean blinked. "You mean the one who laughed at you, spray painted 'King Dork' on the back of your head, and then found her brake lines mysteriously severed as she was driving on the bridge?"

"She never loved you, sir." Scott said, invoking Xavier's wrath.

Moving his chair over to a closet door, Charles frowned. "I will not have you tarnishing my subjective and delusional memories of Ingrid!" He threw the door open, and a handful of wild baboons, all in the classic blue and yellow X-Men uniforms, flew forth, jumping on Cyclops. "That's it, my children! Cleanse his evil heart!"

"Oh no!" Gambit cried, as Scott flailed about on the floor. "Dere biting him, and stealing his eyebrows!" Scott screamed. "An' now dere just biting him!"

Jean slumped, and trotted away. "Guess I'll have to go find where Scott keeps the spare ones." She stopped. "Oh, right, that whole battle-with-evil-forces-attacking-our-home thing . . ."

"Oh," the Professor recalled, "That's right, she didn't love me." He smiled and recalled his baboon servants to their closet. "To the war room! C'mon! I've got some lukewarm McNuggets stashed under the table!"

"Lukewarm McNuggets?!" Jean beamed. "Let's go!"

(Stick me with a story, will ya?)

(To paraphrase "Monty Python's Holy Grail," *ahem*, the ones responsible for the preceding scene have duly been sacked.)

The X-Men raced to the War Room, suddenly excited by the prospect of battered-fried bits of tepid chicken. A series of curious battle cries arose from the group as they arrived on the scene.

"How many boxes do we have?"

"Are they six-packs or twenties?"

"Did we get any Happy Meal toys with them?"

"Where's the %&*#$@ honey mustard sauce?"

"OW! 'Roro, your foot's in my eye!"

The X-Men stopped short at the doorway of the room, however, when they saw Sam sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by empty cartons with McNugget crumbs clinging to his lips.

"Hey, I was wonderin' when y'all were gonna get heah -- " He was cut short as a hand grabbed his throat and lifted him off the floor.

"JEAN!" Scott screamed to his wife. "Have you gone insane? Put Sam down this instant!"

The redhead looked around sheepishly. "Sorry. Phoenix flashback," she explained. A few of her teammates shot her strange glances as the others helped a wheezing Sam to his feet.

"Sorry, ma'am," the young man gasped as he staggered to the table.

"Focus, people!" Cyclops barked from his position by the holographic projector. "We need to figure out what's going on here." Hank sat at the table, scribbling furiously with a pencil on a grease-stained napkin. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as his claw-like fingernails made scratching noises against the paper.

"Beast, have you come up with a plan?" Cyclops asked him.

"Better," the X-Man beamed with pride as he held up his creation. "I drew Winky!"

(Stupid enough for ya?)

(Do ya cook what the Rock is smellin'?)

"Winky?" Cyclops raised an eyebrow, and looked about as unpleased as a gym coach who had just had the football rammed sideways where the sun don't shine. "You drew Winky?"

Beast nodded, wearing a ridiculous smile. "Uh-huh! I sure did! Ain't he a cutie?" Beast thrust the drawing forward. "Say hello to the people, Winky?" Beast raised his voice several octaves to supply his creation's words. "Hello to the people!"

Wolverine's claw sliced through the drawing with no effort. Beast was shattered. "You -- You killed Winky! You killed him real good! Err -- bad! Yeah, you killed him real bad, you stupid rat-emulating Canuck!"

"It was a drawing, Hank," Wolverine said flatly.

Beast collected the shreddings, and clutched them to his chest. "But," he said with tears rolling down his cheeks, "it was *my* drawing! You had no right!"

"Logan," Jean scolded, "How could you?"

(I miss my old job of mixing peas into the TV dinners.)

(The peas called. They say they miss you, too.)

"Easy," Logan said. "I just took Winky to Claw City."

"Oh. OK."

"Umm, sir," Sam interrupted as he tugged Cyclops's arm, "I think we've got a problem here." The youngest X-Man pointed up at the video screen that displayed footage from the external security cameras.

"Oh, %#^&%@*!"

Bobby, nearly recovered from his attack by Hank, dragged himself inside the room. "WHOA! Whatever it is, it must be really bad for Cyke to talk that way!"

"Uhhh, what I meant to say," Scott stammered in embarrassment, "was that we're in serious trouble here."

"C'mon, shugah, it can't be that bad," Rogue said. "We've fought just 'bout everyone before an' never had a problem."

"Dat's right," Gambit piped up. "Ain't no evil mutant dat can take down de X-Men."

"What about all of them together?" Cyclops asked, his tone sharp as he pointed to the monitor.

The X-Men were quiet for a moment. Then the shouting started.

"What if we -- "

"Nope."

"How about -- "

"Nyah-uh."

"Perhaps -- "

"Don't even think about it."

Cyclops turned to glare at Beast. "You've shot down all of our ideas before anyone could finish the thought!" he berated the furry blue man. "What do you think we should do?"

Beast appeared thoughtful for a second, or as thoughtful a one can look while leaning back in a chair wearing an "I'm with Stupid" T-shirt and sucking on an orange creamsicle. He shrugged. "I dunno."

"Mebbe we should go outside an' see what dey want?" Gambit suggested.

"YES!" Cyclops screamed too loudly, happily back in competent-leader mode. "To -- AARRRGGGHHHHH!" He screeched as Wolverine gave him another wedgie. "I was going to say 'to the surface,'" Cyclops squeaked, not unlike a man who has ingested helium from a dozen balloons.

The X-Men scurried to the lawn of the mansion, where they encountered what could only be described as an evil mutants' convention.

"Greetings, X-Men," Mr. Sinister sneered at the group. "How nice to see all of you again. I hope you don't mind, but I brought a few of my friends along with me." He indicated the group behind him, which included Juggernaut, Sabretooth, Apocalypse, the Sugar Man, Omega Red, Emplate, the Reavers and that weird half-Snark thing from Generation X #37 (what the Hell *was* that thing, anyway? Oops, heh heh. Sorry, sorry, must learn to conceal my hatred of Hama ...)

Rogue spotted a familiar face toward the back of the crowd. "Joseph? Is that you?"

The red-and-purple-clad man stepped forward. "I am called Magneto, foolish one," he answered.

"Nuh-uh, you're Joseph, hon," Rogue insisted. "You're on our side now, remember?"

Apocalypse's booming laugh echoed through the air. "Are you referring to that mysterious young man that showed up on your doorstep a few months back? That was merely a rouse, foolish one. The writer placed him within the confines of your home to learn your most valuable secrets. Don't you know by now that Mark Waid is on *our* side?" He pulled a portly man from behind him and thrust him into the light.

"Umm, hi guys," the former X-Men author said weakly as he waved.

"YOU!" Scott bellowed. "So *you're* the bastard who came up with that whole Onslaught storyline. X-Men -- ATTACK!"

"Wait," Apocalypse roared as he tossed Mark Waid over the treeline into the next county. "This isn't visit of goodwill on our part."

"That's correct," Sinister spoke up, taking control once again. "We've come for something a little more ... Sinister. We want the Beast."

(I apologize to all Mark Waid fans out there -- all two of you.)

(Yes, Mark Waid and Mark Waid's mamma!)

"Okay!" Beast agreed, leaving the X-Men and waving back. "Bye guys!"

Joseph, Magneto, Uncle Ralph, whoever the Hell he was, seemed confused. "That was a bit easier than I expected." Beast offered him a handful of crumpled paper strips. "What's this?"

"Want some Winky?"

"No!" Joseph backhanded Hank's offering away, and snarled. "I don't want any damn Winky!"

Beast scowled. "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me if I'm angry ..."

Sinister sighed. "I'll take the damn Winky!"

Beast smiled once again, collected the remnants of his precious drawing, and handed them to a regretful Mr. Sinister. "Say," Beast said, "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Sam Donaldson?"

(Does Sinister look like Sam Donaldson? Does Beast want to stay with the weird collection of villains? Does Winky really give a rat's ass? Find out in the next part of Beast Just Wanna Have Fun, starting in five -- four -- three -- two -- )