Drunk As A Small Black and White Furry Creature...

By Shakespeare's Girl

In a brief flash of uninspired, drunken insanity, Lex Luthor, the stoic, cold hearted, multi billionaire playboy decided to hit on his former best friend. It was either the stupidest or the smartest thing he could have done.

Lex, who was completely trashed, was rattling around his mansion when this stroke of genius hit him. "Hey," he slurred to no one in particular, "I should call Clark. He'd love to come over. I bet I could get him to kiss me if he did. Come over, that is."

Lex paused. "I'll take that bet," he challenged the empty air, where his imaginary doppleganger stood.

He smiled to himself and reached around for his cell phone. After several mis-dials where he called pizza parlors and his father, whom he only got to hang up by pretending to be even more trashed than he already was, he finally managed to call the Kent household

"Hello," Lex said, concentrating on not slurring. "Martha?" he asked, not realizing he had gotten the answering machine, and not Mrs. Kent. "Yes, this is Lex. I must needs converse with your offspring, Clark."

"Hey, yeah, this is Clark," Clark said, coming on the line. He'd been screening his calls, and had been about to hang up on Lex when he realized something very interesting. Lex was quite conceivably drunk, something Clark had thought Lex was over, ever since that little incident the previous summer with the Mercedes and a rather large oak tree had convinced him of the evils of alcohol. At least, that's what Lex had said...

"What ho, fellow citizen," Lex declared. "Have you any spare time in which to come out to yonder haunted mansion?"

"Uh, are you asking me to come over, or to stay away?" Clark asked.

"Come, young man, and feast on cakes and ale with me and mine!" Lex shouted into the phone.

"Lex, are you drunk?"

"As a small, black and white furry animal, that doesn't smell very nice and has stripes. But is not a zebra or a badger."

"You know, Lex, you are the only person I know who actually gets more articulate and harder to follow when they get drunk, instead of just tap dancing on the tables and putting lamp shades on their heads while slurring their way into a dismal vocabulary."

"My fine gentleman, please do not keep me lingering in anticipation for a single instant of time longer than thou hast already."

"Did you swallow the Shakespeare anthology your father gave you for Christmas, or a thesaurus?" Clark demanded.

"Neither. I swallowed all the single malt whiskey I could, and then had a sour...something...I forget, as a chaser. And then a couple of martinis shaken, not stirred, and what I think was a Pina Colada but might have been a peach Margarita. I can't remember and couldn't tell. And then I tried to sober up a little with some brandy, but I forgot that brandy also has alcohol in it. So I just got drunker."

By the time Lex had finished his speech, Clark had hung up the phone, left a note explaining where he was going, and sped over to Lex's mansion.

"Lex, I think you should sit down," Clark coaxed. Lex looked in confusion at the telephone.

"I faxed myself a Clark," he said, then suddenly smiled broadly. Then his forehead creased in a perplexed frown. "I don't have a fax machine on this floor..."

"I ran, Lex, you didn't fax me to yourself. If that's even possible." Clark rolled his eyes. "Now, here I am. What did you want?"

"I made a bet with myself that if I got drunk, I would kiss you. And I intend to win."

"Does that mean you are going to kiss me, or you aren't going to kiss me?" Clark wondered.

"Yes," was Lex's only answer.

"Oh," Clark sighed. "It's one of those 'I'm so drunk I can barely remember that I'm not two people and don't have to talk like I'm a dictionary' nights."

"Clark, look, a very large, hot pink animal with feathers has snuck up behind you and is about to bite you!"

Clark didn't look, because unless he was drunk too (he wasn't), there was nothing behind him. "Lex, wouldn't it be easier to say 'Clark, look out, there's a hungry flamingo behind you'?"

Lex considered this for a moment. "I can't tell," he decided, "since I have never said that before."

Clark begged to differ. Lex had said that exact phrase to him the last time he'd gotten stinking drunk. It hadn't worked then either. But as Lex was not exactly coherent at the moment, Clark decided it was a moot point. "So, are you going to kiss me or not?" he demanded instead.

"Yes," Lex said again.


Lex woke up the next morning and winced. Not only was his window open, but the sun was out and he had the grandfather of all hangovers. With a moan, he eased himself into a sitting position, and winced again.

There was a fluffy, pink, bird looking creature tossed across the end of his bed.

"Is that a flamingo?" he murmured, trying to keep his voice low, so as not to wake the sleeping dragon that was his hangover. He squinted. Yes, that was a stuffed flamingo. It seemed to be smirking knowingly at him. With a groan he slid back under the covers, and was about to go back to bed, when he noticed that he was not alone with the fluffy flamingo.

"HOLY SHIT!" Lex shouted, before remembering his headache and clamping hands over his ears. "Ow!" Lex shut his eyes and then opened them again. Nope. This bedfellow was not a dream either. What was that quote from The Tempest about liquor making strange bedfellows? Then again, the flamingo was more of a surprise than this other thing was. "What did I do last night?" he asked the mute flamingo. It stared at him happily.

The mountain of body under his bed clothes turned over sleepily and smiled at him. "Well, Lex, if I remember right, you got 'drunk as a small, black and white furry animal, that doesn't smell very good and has stripes. And isn't a zebra or a badger'."

"I remember that," Lex moaned. "But I don't remember how you..."

"Got here?" Clark supplied. He smiled again, and some of Lex's tension drained away. "I suppose you might not remember that. It all started with you trying to convince me there was a hungry flamingo about to attack me. I didn't believe you, for obvious reasons, and...you know what, I think you need lots of black coffee before I tell you the rest. Come on, Lex. Grab a robe. I'll finish this story over breakfast."

Lex picked up a purple silk robe and staggered after Clark. He still wasn't quite sure about the mechanics of last night, but if the result was waking up with Clark in his bed...it couldn't have been that bad.

Could it?