A/N: revision: I actually wrote this bit of crack soon after the last post for this story. (Must have been on a fruit juice sugar high or something.) Anyway, not particularly proud of it (you'll see why if you continue) yet at the same time couldn't bring myself to erase the thing...never really meant to be posted...but what the hey...modem is acting up...want to get it off my Document folder...and my other story has John using poor Wally...this has the flip side!

Warning...I only revised through it really quick. About the only real change was changing the name Deadshot to Deadpool (on account that at the time I didn't know about Marvel's Deadpool and how incredibly funny that character is...in a morbid sort of way.) If you're not familiar with the Green Lantern Corp some of the jokes will fall flat. Heck, this is sugar-high crack so they'll likely do a face plant anyway. You are warned.

(btw...At the beginning what Alfred is referring to is a garden gnome statue Bruce gave him as a gift and that Alfred absolutely detested...but didn't want to tell Bruce that. He commissioned Wally to get rid of the thing. Wally then started using it to prank Superman and get free food.)

A/N: Nothing spectacular here. Just watched some some DCAU episodes where John slapped Wally and felt like giving GL some grief.

Disclaimer. I don't own DC characters or locations.

"Alfred, I know you've not been feeding me any extra desserts, my Earl Grey tea tastes the same, nor have we been hosting any extra parties of late..."

Honestly, Alfred Pennysworth was beginning to regret having sent those fudge brownies to Flash in payment for getting rid of that ridiculously misshaped monstrosity with the odd little hat. Now the man was constantly badgering him for more of his family recipe 'Sweet Suicide' in exchange for the odd service job around the manor.

"...so, tell me, why the sudden need to corner the market on cane sugar and cacao?" Bruce's facial expression flowed from 'business like' to 'concerned' within an eye blink. "You've not become hypoglycemic, have you?"

Alfred raised one eyebrow at the very idea a British gentleman could come down with something that sounded so...common.

"Hardly. It is merely a matter of...pest control, Master Bruce."

"Pest control?" The man who was The Great Detective blinked in befuddlement. What had bakery ingredients to do with vermin? Weren't there sprays and traps for such things?

"That is correct, sir. I got the recipe from the internet. You see, you add a percentage of sugar to a mixture of flour and something addictive to the pest...in this case premium-grade chocolate...it eats the bait and...goes away."

Or at least it is supposed to.

Bruce's eyes glanced down to the number of 25lb powdered sugar and cacao butter bags purchased in the last fourteen days and his eyes widened ever so slightly as he did the math. "You mean that we have a pest infestation of that size?"

What, did some of those giant cockroach things Clark fought in the future follow him home and come here?

Alfred considered the overall stature of The Flash and his stomach. "Potentially, Master Bruce."

"Good Lord, Alfred, I had no idea!" Bruce set the bill aside and picked up another document in dismissal. "Obviously, letting them eat cake is not doing the job. Just call a professional exterminator to get rid of the problem once and for all."

Alfred almost pursed his lips. "As you wish, Master Bruce." As he walked away, Bruce Wayne could almost have sworn he heard the man mutter, " I do hope we have Deadpool's email listed on the Bat computer's address book..."

Bruce decided to pretend he hadn't heard anything and went back to studying the Watchtower's food bill. For once this one was not astronomical. In fact, the difference in cost was roughly the size of the increase in the Wayne manor grocery account.

Hm...curious thing that.

Wally was having a blast. So far he had conned the gullible Clark into footing the bill for two week's worth of Flash Feeding Frenzies (FFF being similar to -but surpassing that of- Shark Feeding Frenzies. If the Discovery and Animal Planet cable TV shows really wanted to host a shocker marathon guaranteed to turn viewers hair white, they'd have stationed camera crews outside of Trixie's restaurant in Central City instead of investing in aquatic equipment.)

However, the last calorie-laden 'thank you' for ridding Clark of the presence of 'Mr. Mixy" had been spent at the local McDonagall's. Obviously, either Clark's well of gratitude was running dry or his credit card limit was.

Time to diversify before either Supe's bank account or his naivety went bust.

Of late the Green Lantern of sector 2814 had the eeriest feeling every time that he stepped into his Watchtower rooms that he was being...well...watched. However, he'd scanned the immediate vicinity with his ring several times during the past hour and had not uncovered anything amiss. Yet the feeling of not being alone persisted.


Still, for the next week his Detroit apartment was being renovated. He was stuck using his domicile at the Watchtower until they were finished.

John sat down at his personal computer terminal and brought up his email. There was the usual various 'spam' advertisements that someone in the Watchtower kept clicking on and thus letting like messages for male...cosmetology treatments...get through the League mail filters. Batman had investigating the matter, but what with all the high levels of male angst going haywire whenever the likes of Zee, Power Girl, or Diana were on duty the only guy member The Dark Knight was sure was not guilty was Plastic Man.

Uh oh...there in the middle of these questionable services was one message purportedly hailing from The Chronically Constipated Blue Gnomes otherwise known as The Guardians and his employers. Previously it would have been considered beneath the cobalt cretins to utilize anything as mundane as email, but with the budget cuts...

With a little trepidation (he was no Hal Jordon) Stewart clicked on it.

To: The Guy We Went And Gave A Ring To. No, Not That Guy, The One With The Bad Haircut. Make That The Other One With The Odd Haircut.

From: The Blue Dudes over at Oa

Lantern Stewart, this is to inform you that one of our number will be arriving for a classified mission regarding the possible recruitment of the human band The Blue Man Group. They are being considered for sector 2814 being as we find them by far the most aesthetically pleasing of the human species. This mission will require the utmost concentration on his part as he assesses their strengths. During this time of meditation he will be uncommunicative even during what you pitifully malodorous un-blue primates might consider an emergency. On no account is he to be disturbed!

P.S. He has decided to spend this period on your bed.

P.P.S. Leave plenty of fatty and sugary food in the fridge.

As if on cue, loud music started playing from his bedroom. John got up and peeked inside. The room was dark, but he could just make out a blue skinned, white haired dwarf lying stiffly on his bed, presumably already in a trance. For some reason this particular Guardian was wearing a sleeping cap and an uncharacteristically Earth-style coat.

And listening to punk rock...a style of music that John positively hated.

Well, the Guardians were inscrutable.

John quietly closed the door so as not to distract his V.I.P guest and wondered where he was going to sleep tonight and for the next week because there was no way he was going to get any shut eye with that racket going on.

Sighing, John turned off his cellular.

All the affordable motels around the world had been booked in advance? How was that even possible?

"Well, John...I dunno," Feet resting on the Monitor Womb panels, Wally made sure his drawling voice was laden with hesitancy as he talked with John over their communicators. "I was kind of expecting company for the next few nights. New TV reporter. A big Flash fan and a real babe. She was going to take me out for dinner in exchange for being with yours truly for an exclusive week long interview. ...Why me? FFftt...obviously, GL.." he took a big bite out of a brownie "b'wuz I'mf a stud. Plus, I'm willing to do it for peanuts. No, literally peanuts. Pepperoni pizza smothered in peanut butter." Wally listened to John explain his situation in more detail. "That's all fine and dandy, dude, but I was kind of looking forward to those dinner interviews with a deep dish -if you know what I mean- so I don't see how anything you have to offer... Yeah, well, of course, if it wasn't for the free food, I might call it off. Pizza takeouts? I don't know, John. She is a looker. Seriously? Cashew? Well, I guess we are best buds. For a dozen deep-dish pizzas a night and a case of cashew butter...I suppose I can bend a little and let you share the Fabulous Flash Flat for a week."

Wally hung up with a grin and decided to go out for a run around the continent.

Between the pizzas and the nut butters, he'd have to start watch his waistline.

a/n: If I have to explain the subtle Plastic Man joke you are obviously too young to have it explained so don't ask.

Btw, January 9 is the official birthday for Wallace Rudolph West. He prefers food baskets and really bad movie dvds dealing with Martians (the worse the better as thinking about the plots is a sure fire way to keep J'onn out of his head.)