A/N: Okay. First and foremost, thank you for all the reviews. The CSI fanfic readership is truly one that likes their Greg fics… and I know that I keep saying that I've written my last chapter of this darn fic… but seriously. I'm running out of ideas. So… I know someone (alleycatabra) mentioned Harry Potter and a chicken suit… so in honor of that last suggestion… I present to you…
A DISCLAIMER! I do not own CSI. Or Oscar Mayer. Or McDonald's. Or Oreo.
Large cylindrical curve. Bread Wrap around. Hotdog suit.
Nick cleared his throat. "So… I know that I am the infamous YouTube CSI, but still. This is ridiculous."
"You know what we should have done?" Warrick asked. "Taken a picture of each of these costumes and put them together in a slide show."
"Like those 'Tom the MySpace nerd takes a picture of himself every day for four years' movies." Nick replied.
"Look, just because you guys wish you were an Oscar Mayer wiener, doesn't mean you need to hate." Greg huffed, crossing his arms as much as a giant hot dog could.
"Only if you sing the song." Warrick teasingly answered.
Greg took a deep breath. "Oh, I wish I were an Oscar-Mayer wiener; that is what I'd truly like to be. Cause if I were an Oscar-Mayer wiener, everyone would be in love with me." He sang, voice warbling on the last few notes.
Nick and Warrick were on the floor laughing as Greg huffed his way to the lab.
"Compensating for something?" Ecklie asked, smirking.
"Only if you're looking in a mirror." Greg quipped in reply.
"Haha" Ecklie sneered, pulling out a digital camera. "I'm willing to bet that, in a few years, you won't find this as amusing as you do now."
Greg shrugged, and pulled something out from one of the cabinets in the lab.
As Ecklie snapped the picture, Greg put on a Richard Nixon mask. Waving two peace signs, as was characteristic for Nixon, Greg broke out in song once more. "My baloney has a first name, it's C-O-N-A-R-D. My baloney has a second name, it's E-C-K-L-I-E. I love to torture him everyday, if you ask me while I'll saaaaaay… cause Conrad Ecklie has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A!"
Ecklie stormed out of the lab, throwing his camera into the trashcan.
next day –
Red curly hair. White face make up. Red and yellow suit. Giant red, uh, clown shoes.
"Mmmm Mmmm good." Catherine said, grinning.
Sarah gagged. "Veg-e-tar-i-an."
Greg just shrugged. "Would you like to make a donation to the Ronald McDonald House?" He asked.
"Aww, charity work! That's so cute!" Catherine said, pinching Greg's chin and walking out of the lab.
Sarah continued to gag.
Ecklie glared at Greg. "At least this time you're dressed like you're acting."
Greg shrugged, made a suggestive move, and replied with "Over a billion served."
Sarah walked by, making an overly dramatic gagging face.
"HAMBURGERS!" Ecklie yelled.
"Hamburgers, women…" Greg shrugged.
"You can't tell me that Ronald McDonald gets that much action!" Ecklie exclaimed.
"At least you got my name right this time…" Greg muttered, turning towards a microscope.
next day –
Black circle. White circular middle. Glass of milk in hand.
Grissom chocked on his coffee.
"What?" Greg asked.
"Um… ice cold milk and an Oreo cookie…" Grissom chocked out.
"They go together like a classic combination!" Greg exclaimed, dipping his finger into the milk and swirling it around.
Grissom groaned. "You realize these are getting more sexual, right?"
Greg paused. "Hmmm…"
"That's because he doesn't like it when women eat him!" Nick chipped in.
Grissom rolled his eyes.
"Huh. And here I thought that you were on 'Uh-oh Oreo.'" Ecklie remarked, chuckling at his own joke.
Greg stared at him. "Well, since I'm not, Warrick must be the 'Uh-oh Oreo.'"
Ecklie sighed. "You know, Sanders, this is getting old. You can't possibly be doing this for your own enjoyment. What bet did you lose?"
Greg snickered. "I'm not the one who lost a bet…"
next day –
Yellow feathers. Red beak. Three pronged feet. Bwgwak!
Sarah stared. Just. Stared. "I'm so glad that I gave up meat." She groaned.
"Why?" Grissom asked.
Sarah pointed, and Grissom's eyes followed her finger.
"Huh." He said. "Good thing that there's no major football games about to come on, because then we might have to make our own chicken wings."
"BWGWAK!" The chicken squawked.
Ecklie walked into the lab. "Why do I torture myself?!" He asked. "Why?!"
"Bwgwak?" The chicken asked.
"What, are you too chicken to show your face today?" Ecklie asked, grinning at his little joke (Even the big bad boss has a sense of humor).
"Bwgwak." The chicken shook its head.
"Well, that depends." Greg said.
"On?" Ecklie asked.
"On whom you're talking to." Greg replied.
Ecklie turned around. "If you're out here, and Grissom and Sarah are in the break room, and Warrick has the night off, and Catherine's in with Hodges, then who is in the chicken suit?" Ecklie asked.
Greg shrugged. "You'd have to ask the chicken."
Ecklie began banging his forehead against the doorway of the lab. "Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy?!" He stopped abruptly, and walked away.
Greg tsked. "He really should remember everyone on Graveyard."
The chicken cocked its head sideways at him.
"Come on, Nick. I know it's you." Greg stated.
"Know it's who, now?" Nick asked, walking past the lab.
Greg stared at Nick. "If you're here, then who…" He walked over to the chicken, and pulled off the head, then nearly fainted.
"Well, I am the 'Uh-oh Oreo.'" Warrick laughed, as Greg had to find a seat.
"And the chicken…" Greg whispered.