Couple(s): oh, anything is fair game.

Rating: PG-13, just because anything else looks cheesy

Long, Necessary Disclaimer: 'Sports Night' belongs to Aaron Sorkin, etc; 'Smallville' belongs to Gough/Millar Inks, the WB, DC comics (by extension), and some other people who aren't me. Freddy and 'Nightmare on Elm Street' belong to the underrated Wes Craven and New Line Cinema. Any other movies referenced or blatantly mentioned ('Legends of the Fall', 'Magnolia', 'State & Main', 'Panic', 'Hannibal', etc) belong to really brilliant people with whom I am no way associated. TV shows ('Sliders', 'Zoe...', 'Enterprise', 'Six Feet Under', etc) mentioned aren't mine, either. I borrowed a line from the Smallville Rolling Stone interview, and it belongs to the author. I only used it because I loved it, not because I wanted to rip him off. Anthony Hopkins and Brad Pitt belong to themselves.

Spoilers for: Expect references to episodes of both shows, including dialogue.

Author's Note: 'Sports Night' was one of those shows that I secretly loved, and I had to cross it with Smallville. I mean no disrespect to the characters or creators of either show; I just enjoy messing with all the fictional people that I love so much. (I also mean no disrespect toward Paul Thomas Anderson by using the frog thing from ‘Magnolia’ in a humorous context.)

Author's Second Note: As any parody writer, I like putting my own opinions of people and things in my works. That said, please don't flame me just because you don't agree with me. Thanks muchly. This is dedicated to certain friends of mine; they'll be able to figure out who they are. Enjoy, if that's possible!

'You're Watching Smallville on CSC'

******

Freddy was on his own; Q had left him to his own devices, trumpeting, "I hate to admit it, but you're magnificent, Krueger! Go wreck some havoc; I have some planetoids to blow into smithereens, anyway."

At first the oft-murdered, crispy villain toiled with the idea of ruining the lives of the folks in 'Enterprise', but then realized he couldn't do that to his favorite Kansas residents! (It was a given that the Smallvillians would be involved in his dastardly plans, and he couldn't subject them to the horrors of that television travesty.)

And so he perused the galaxy for a while --floating in mid-air, of course-- thinking. He considered just dropping himself in the quaint Kansas town; only to see what kind of damage he could cause on his own. After checking up on Clark and the gang, he decided that, after all the crazy crap they'd seen, a burnt, oft-murdered villain wouldn't phase anyone.

Out of the blue, inspiration struck! He was hanging out near an as-of-yet undiscovered galaxy, when a *space squid* floated by! This didn't impress him --it took a lot more than a floating sea dweller to pique the curiosity of Horror's second biggest diva (Hannibal Lecter being the first)-- but the connection he made *did* cause him to squeal with delight:

Space squids --along with organic gardening-- had been mentioned by one Isaac Jaffey, executive producer of 'Sports Night'.

Freddy knew where he and his Kansas pals were headed.

******

Boobs "Victoria Hardwick" McChesty nestled underneath her red satin sheets, then slid the implants out of her breasts; if she slept in them, one could burst and then she'd be, 'Boob McChesty' --that just wouldn't do.

Smiling to herself, she conjured up images of all the aged, yet surprisingly handsome, multbillionaires she'd seduce the next day. (Rather, multibillionaires in front of whom she'd flaunt her faux cleavage and her father's money.) She drifted off to sleep, Lionel Luthor's leer on her mind.

******

The man formerly known as 'Whitless' was pissed. "I'm not part of the show anymore!" he screamed to the empty broadcasting booth. "I shouldn't be forced on these lame-ass adventures! Can't a guy get a break?"

"Join the club!" an overly perky female voice chirped from behind him. Whirling around, he gasped; it was Wade from 'Sliders'! Her hair was longer, her wardrobe girlier, but she *still* couldn't act.

"Wade!" he shrieked. He was a closeted fan of science fiction, and he'd always related with her --as both were in love with their respective shows' studly lead characters. (Or at least they are in certain people's dreams.) "I never thought I'd see you again!"

Blushing, she grinned. "It's 'Natalie' now; nice to see I still have fans, though. Everybody was all, 'Damn, I love Keri Wuhrer, man!' once I was kicked off; nobody paid any attention to poor ol' me..." When she sniffled, he was touched.

Hugging her, Whitney sighed. "I still do, Wade-slash-Natalie. I still do." Pause. "Soon they'll get a hunky dude to replace me, and I'll just be 'the guy who played young Brad Pitt in that movie starring Anthony Hopkins'! Or I might get, 'the guy who hung that hot former model from a pole in his boxers!' Either way, I'm doomed."

Wade-slash-Natalie stared up at him firmly. "It's all downhill from here, Whitney-slash-Young Tristan. We Rejects have to stick together."

Clasping hands, the pair grinned.

A beat, then, "I'm glad I'm not part of the show any more; no one really appreciated me. Hear that, WB? HEAR THAT? I'm more than just a rude jock! I'm a *human being*"

"You go, Whitney-slash-Young Tristan! Stand up for yourself!" Wade-slash-Natalie encouraged.

Both feeling a strange sense of empowerment, they wandered off.

******

Boobs was pissed. Rather, that was the emotion she was *trying* to convey; her nine hundred layers of gaudy makeup, and lack of any noticeable talent made it impossible for her to accomplish her task. At any rate, she was trying to show us all that the presence of another abnormally boobish woman wasn't making her any happier.

"Who are you to infringe on my territory?" Boobs sneered --or, perhaps, she simply stifled a sneeze.

The woman, who we won't soon discover was named 'Sally Sasser', frowned. "What the hell does 'arglefluffle' mean?"

Boobs tried to think of a retort (emphasis on, 'tried'), but her lips were suddenly unable to move. She cursed the three tubes of lipstick she'd used to make herself extra 'attractive' that morning, planning to force one of her myriad leather-clad male slaves to write a letter to the manufacturer on her behalf.

"Besides," SS --which can stand for 'Super Slut', if the reader so chooses-- added smugly, "I bedded Nate from 'Six Feet Under'."

"So? I bedded Jack from that short-lived WB comedy!" Boobs shouted, having finally pried her lips open a crack. It took so much exertion, however, that she sweated six pounds of makeup all over the floor! Luckily she still had on another three pounds to make up for the loss.

*This* interested Super Slut! She dropped a stuffed file folder on the floor, spilling papers. (Not that it mattered; they all read either, 'Casey McCall + Sally Sasser = true love', or 'Misses Sally McCall'.) "Jack is sexy!" SS squealed, forgetting that she was supposed to be 'a professional'. (But whether she's a 'professional bad actress', 'professional Super Slut', or 'professional example of the kind of woman that you don't take home to Mom', is never determined.)

Noticing that her boobish comrade was staggering, Boobs reached out and grabbed her waist. "I think you need to adjust your breasts," she suggested, dropping her occasionally-used, fake British accent in order to be better understood. "The weight isn't evenly distributed."

SS stared at her chest and gasped; one of her breasts had shifted several inches above the other. After thanking her new friend considerably --no men would sleep with her if her breasts were crooked; especially since that's the only reason why anyone would sleep with her in the first place-- she adjusted herself.

"Let's go find us some men."

The Sisterhood of Silicone wandered off.

******

The Lexy One was also pissed; he was getting sick of being forced into random scenarios over which he had no control. "I'm the reason this show is so successful," he insisted, crossing his arms. "If it weren't for me, all you'd have is a hot, former model drooling over the girl-next-door! Can't I voice an opinion over where we're dragged, seeing as I carry the damn show?"

Freddy spoke out from somewhere above, startling the Lexy One: "That may be true; you may be what's bringing the WB the best ratings they've ever had, but I control where you go! If you want to develop your own powers, be my guest. Until then, you *will* go where I send you, and you *will* do what I tell you to. Got it?"

The Lexy One pouted and sighed resignedly. (Everybody, now: 'Awww, poor Lex needs a hug!') "Fine, as long as you don't make me endure Boobs, we have a deal."

Freddy pondered this, then nodded. "Sure; wanna make out with Clark instead?"

"I'm NOT GAY!" The Lexy One screamed, stomping his foot.

The villain's eyes rolled. "Oh, right; you aren't gay. I *forgot*."

"What does *that* mean?" The Lexy One snapped.

Freddy floated away, whistling under his breath.

******

It must be mentioned that Lana never awoke from the faint into which she'd slipped during the Voyager adventure; the sight of the meteor was too much for her. It brought back memories of her apparently-dead parents, and she couldn't take it.

That begs the question, did anyone know her parents were dead? If yes, did anyone know they were killed my a meteor, possibly the same one that's contained in her necklace? Really, no one else knew this? The poor girl should have brought it up before she fainted; no one likes finding these things out at the last second.

Hear that, WB? You had twenty-some episodes to bring up the Langs' death; sure took you long enough. Let's just hope it takes you less time to remind us that Mister Fordman has passed on as well. (Aww, everybody's 'favorite' couple finally has something over which they can bond!)

Now, on with the 'lame-ass adventure', as Whitney so appropriately deemed it.

******

Clark "Bar" Kent wasn't sure what to make of his surroundings. In front of him, two fully grown men --whom we will eventually know as Dan "Daniel" Rydell and Casey "Nate Fisher" McCall-- were standing in their shared office, wearing nothing but silk boxers and socks!

"This has been happening way too frequently," the sandy haired one --Casey-slash-Nate--remarked. (There is snickering from the Dan/Casey people who swear he looked at his friend's...naughty area.)

"Your calves are shapely, Casey," the dark-haired one --Dan-slash-Dan-- shot back, glancing at his friend's nice feet.

"What should we do about this, Danny?" Casey wondered, beaming at the comment about his calves. "I've been working out."

"It shows, my man." Pause, the men shared a grin that could be interpreted as homoerotic, if one is interested in that sort of thing. "You know what we could do, since we're standing here in nothing but boxers and socks?" (Collective intake of breath from the D/C slash folks.)

"What's that, Dan?" Casey wondered, flexing his arms.

"We could talk about how my most recent girlfriend went crawling back to her ex-husband, even though she obviously wants to be with me!" Dan suggested, warming up to the idea. (The breath is let out.)

Grinning, Casey nodded. "Yeah, since we never talk about that; I wish I knew how you felt when Rebecca told you about Steve."

"When she told me what about Steve? About how he's not quite her ex-husband?"

"Yeah, when she mentioned that her ex-husband is still, kinda, her husband."

"That sounds good; I think it's time I got my feelings about the Rebecca-and-Steve-still-being-married business out in the open," Dan decided defiantly. (The slash brigade --of which the author may or may not be a part-- sighs and plods away to write more Dan/Casey smut.)

Clark, who was utterly fascinated by the sight of two men in boxers --having just hit puberty and being curious about the human body-- chose to make his presence known. "Um, hello," he squeaked. *Damn voice change!*

Dan was the first to turn around. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in our office?"

"My name's Clark. I don't know what I'm doing here, to be honest." Clark Bar shifted on his feet and meandered inside the room. "I started wandering around, and I ended up here."

The older men blinked and shrugged. "Come in, Clark. I'm Casey McCall."

A grin lit up Clark's face and Dan instinctively shied away; the smile was so bright it reflected the sunlight that filtered through the window. "Nice to meet you, Casey. Who's your friend?"

"I'm his partner, Dan," Dan spoke up. Then, realizing that the slash folks were muttering about the subtext in his statement, he hastened to add, "we do the show together every night. We're business partners. Two peas in a heterosexual pod, Casey and I are." To further prove his point --as confused as it was-- Dan threw an arm around his 'business partner's shoulder.

Clark Bar took this in, then nodded to himself. "So you guys are friends?"

Both nodded as well; Casey patted his friend on his shoulder and smiled affectionately. "Yes, we're the best of buddies. We sit around and talk about women, we do. That's us, alright. There's nothing that can be construed as homoerotic involved in our friendship." (You have to wonder about someone who's so insistent on a single point.)

"Lex and I are sorta friends like that," Clark said, bouncing on the heels of his boots. "Just 'cause I gave him mouth-to-mouth on our first meeting, that doesn't mean we're, you know, gay. He's a great friend, and he's always doing things for me. He even gave me a truck to *thank me* for giving him mouth-to-mouth; Dad made me return it, though. He thinks we're gay!" The boy laughed.

Dan and Casey's own laughs were interrupted when a tall, forceful blonde woman strided into the office. "Casey," she announced, darting her eyes to the man's boxers then to his lips, "is it true you approved Sally's run-down?"

Casey's own eyes rolled, and he stepped away from Dan. "Hi, Dana; I know nothing about a run-down."

Nudging him in the side, Dan spoke up. "Dude, she stuck a clipboard in your face this afternoon; I'm sure you looked at it."

A blush crept up Casey's cheeks. "She was holding a clipboard? I, um, didn't, um, notice."

This enraged Dana Whitaker! She stomped her foot --succesfully keeping it in the impossibly high heel-- and crossed her arms. Ah, a strong-willed woman. "Casey McCall! First, Gordon --my good-for-nothing, ex-fiancee whom I was only dating because you dated Pixie Stick, or whatever the hell her name was-- slept with Super Slut, then *you* slept with Super Slut, now you're hugging Danny in your office! What does it take to get a decent man around here?"

"I know the feeling," a similarly jaded female voice interjected. The foursome turned, and the adults frowned. Clark Bar, on the other hand, grinned.

"Chloe!" he squealed, giving her a hug that lifted her off the ground. "I love seeing my bestest friend ever!"

Patting his head, she sneered. "You know, Clark, I'm not too hapy with you! When we were in eighth grade and you showed me the farm for the first time, I practically seduced you in your loft; all you did was stand there with that stupid grin on your face. Then, a year later, your tongue unravels whenever Lana's within a state-wide radius of yourself-- making me retract my assumption that you're gay. But *then* Sexy Lexy drove off the bridge in a feeble attempt to get your attention. You practically make-out with him the second you meet, when you don't even have the decency to kiss me back a day or two after I met you!" (Snickering from the Clex slash folk.)

Dana listened to this spiel, then clucked her tongue sympathetically. "These men are...are *pigs*! The least they can do is admit that they're gay; that's perfectly all right. But to constantly deny it when it's so totally obvious is just mean!"

Dan, Nate --or Casey, whatever the hell his name is-- Clark Bar, and Lex --who magically caught the entire conversation-- all screamed, "WE DENY IT BECAUSE WE AREN'T GAY, DAMNIT!" (Even though Bo Kent isn't in this story, he's still sighing with relief, wherever he may be.)

"Well, if you bloody aren't gay, Clark," Chloe continued, crossing her arms over her brightly-colored shirt that the author wants to own --damn her awesome wardrobe-- "then why do you ignore me when I throw myself at you? I can't get any more obvious than I already am!"

The boy in question was overwhelmed by all the anger being directed at him; he flushed a deep shade of red and stammered, "Girls...I like...girls; pretty..."

"Grr, you're so immature!" the blonde girl continued, balling her hands into tight fists. "I need somebody strong and confident. I need Lex." This decided once and for all, she marched out of the office with a newfound sense of purpose. (And the Truth Seekers cross their fingers...)

Dana was left alone with the man after whom she obviously lusted, and the man after whom her man might, sort of lust. "Casey, where are your pants?"

He shrugged, glanced at his 'partner'. "Danny, do you know where our pants are?"

"Maybe you left them at Sally's place, like that time you left the shirt that Gordon accidentally wore, and thus ruined Dana's already sucky relationship with that pig?" the dark-haired heterosexual man suggested.

Casey --being a man, and, as such, able to completely understand other men-- fully followed the oddly structured sentence. "Why would I have your pants at Sally's house, Dan?"

Dana didn't want to hear the answer; she walked off in a huff, declaring, "I need to find Sam Donovan! He's a *real* man."

******

Jeremy Goodwin wasn't happy with what he was seeing; his girlfriend --Wade-slash-Natalie-- was giggling with a younger man!

"Hey!" he squeaked, marching into the office where Natalie and The Man Formerly Known as Whitless were cuddling on a couch. "Get away from my girlfriend!" the Jewish man whined, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

TMFKaW reluctantly moved his gaze to meet Jeremy's. "She claims you two broke up, and you just can't accept that fact."

"She has it backwards! I broke up with her, and *she* couldn't stand it!" he insisted, stomping his foot. A container of eggnog was suddenly in his hand, and he gulped some of it down.

"Jeremy," Natalie sighed in exasperation, "you dated that porn star who you said was a steno typist or whatever the hell. After that, you suddenly wanted me, but I couldn't stand the sight of you." Pause. "Swallow the eggnog." Her eyes rolled as if to say, 'he's such a dweeby geek if he believes that one makes eggnog for Easter.'

"I...can't," Jeremy sobbed, spitting the revolting beverage all over the red carpet. He bolted from the room, shaking with sobs.

"That's just great," Natalie muttered (showing a tiny, itsy bitsy bit of actual emotion), sagging against TMFKaW. "Hold me."

Whitless --I mean 'Whitney', I mean 'Eric'-- was more than willing to obey.

Out in the corridor, Jeremy was bumping into Kim, Elliot, Dave, and Those Other Semi-Familiar Characters That Were Never Given Names Except in the Guest Credits & Only Had Lines If The Plot Called for Dan or Casey, the Non-Gay Friends, to Address One of Them.

******

Chloe and Dana were busy purposefully seeking out Lex and Sam Donovan, respectively; the two blonde women (both of whom were the only actresses on their respective shows with any discernable talent) ended up outside the nearly empty conference room at the same moment.

"After you," the older one (Dana, for those who don't know) said politely, gesturing to the closed door.

Chloe --unlike other women, who would have said, 'no, after you'-- barged inside. Lex and Sam were seated next to each other at the large table, talking animatedly about how they were what brought their shows the most success, even though the latter (Sam) wasn't on his show (Sports Night, for those who aren't following) for longer than a few episodes.

"Miss Sullivan," Lex greeted the short, spunky blonde with a smirk. "Did you stop by to resume our verbal judo?"

"Not exactly. It's time for me to do what I should have done before I was rudely shoved through your window by a bunch of horny idiots!" While he frowned, she grabbed his by the front of his purple shirt, and kissed him firmly.

Dana had led Sam (who bore a startling resemblance to the husband of a certain actress on a certain show that's about a show about sports that isn't really about sports at all) to the other side of the room, for privacy purposes. "I thought you'd left, Sam," she said snidely, since she had to keep up the pretense that she hated him. ABC wouldn't have allowed her to fall for yet another character, since they saw how well Gordon went over with fans --*snicker*. (Then she would have turned into Super Slut junior, and there's barely even room for *one* Super Slut in that show.)

"I did, but then I came back," Sam (or Alex, or Walt, or William, or Donnie, depending) retorted, smirking.

"Why'd you come back?" Dana breathed, losing her Take No BS, 'I Don't Need a Man Because I'm an Independent Woman of the Twenty-First Century' attitude that once made the author really, really like her.

"Not because of you, Dana," Sam gloated. He then yanked the pen that was glued behind his ear, winced, and conjured up a clipboard that, not surprisngly, had sheets of paper on it. "I came back because this parody's ratings are failing since the author can't stop rambling and referring to herself in the third person." Pause; he glanced at the bottom piece of paper before heaving the clipboard across the room (narrowly missing Chloe and Lex, who were in the midst of a heated, passionate embrace; as they should have been when the former was in the hospital, but, nooooo....).

"Then let's make the ratings better," Dana whispered, pouncing on him. "Since Casey's still hung up on Super Slut and his ex-wife, and Gordon is a pervert, I might as well settle for my husband."

Sam, who was lying on his back on the table, frowned. "What?"

"Oops," Dana muttered to herself, "I guess I wasn't supposed to say that." To The Ratings Expert Who Might or Might Not Be Her Husband, she said coyly, "don't worry about it." They kissed with a fervor, but their kiss wasn't anywhere near as hot as that of their young counterparts.

"Do you have any chocolate cake, Chloe?" Lex gasped when they broke apart to breathe.

******

Freddy leaned back against a stray meteor and smirked proudly. Everything was at it should have been; Dan and Casey were Not Gay, Clark and Jeremy were mopey, Whitney and Natalie had finally found people to care about, Boobs and Super Slut were off cruising for poor, pathetic men, and two couples who should have been together were finally realizing that.

Before he left, he paused. He'd only accomplished *good* things! "I'm reformed!" he yelped. To prove this point, he did a cute, little dance and clapped his hands together. (That proved to not be a good idea, since his skin was fried, and all.)

His giddiness faded, and he sighed. "You can take the monster out of evil, but you can't take the evil out of the monster." That said, he waved his hand dismissively. He grinned as half-frozen turkeys and live frogs fell from the rafters.

"Reformed," he chuckled, "right." Before he went on his merry, thrill-seeking way, he put a huge chocolate cake on the table in the conference room.