NOT The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #18 - November, Year 2	by Bertram Gibbs

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Martian Manhunter

Blue Beetle

Booster Gold

Plastic Man

Hope and Mercy had escorted their humming and occasionally giggling boss to his suite, undressed him and put him to bed with the optimistic belief that with the room’s speakers chopped out, he would sleep the sleep of angels undisturbed and hopefully late.

This optimistic belief would service them well should they ever choose to purchase a well-known bridge in Brooklyn, New York.

Snoring softly in his bed with the covers pulled over his folliclely challenged pate, he was unaware that for over an hour, a fine mist sprayed the room from the overhead sprinkler system. Snuggled deep under the warm blankets and heated bed, he was also unaware that the temperature of the room dropped from a comfortable sixty-five degrees to a glacier ten degrees below zero.

Since the speakers were forcibly removed from the walls, the jarring ring of the telephone woke him up.

Luthor sat up in bed and automatically pulled the covers around his naked form for warmth.

“What in the name of . . . “ he muttered, seeing the condensation of his breath before his eyes. He reached for the telephone.

“What?”

“FIRE!” screamed a voice on the line.

Without thinking, Luthor leaped out of the bed and skidded across the frozen carpet, slamming his head against the night table on the way down. He lay in the Luthor-shaped hole in the ice and would have probably passed out if it wasn’t for the room’s coldness and the gush of air coming from the vents.

He lightly touched the side of his head, wincing at the rapidly raising lump. He sat back in the bed and wrapped the chilling blanket around him. He was about to reach for the phone and call his bodyguards when the multiple slices of pineapple-anchovy-with extra cheese pizzas he had consumed fought for an escape route.

Still clutching the blanket to his body, Luthor ran into the bathroom, flipping on the light and unconsciously slammed the door behind him.

Years ago, Jean Shepherd wrote an amusing tale called ‘A Christmas Story’, which was made into a very funny film of the same name. There was a scene where a young boy mistakenly licks the side of a frozen metal pole and promptly gets stuck.

Let’s just say the high polished chrome toilet seat was equally frozen.

Hope and Mercy walked down the hall to Luthor’s private suite, and heard the sound of him screaming for help.

They increased the speed of their steps and pushed opened the door to the suite and came to a complete halt, stunned by the frost and ice that covered the entire room. After the ice age was secured in their retina, it was only then did they feel the frigid temperature. They looked at each other, both audibly groaning. A second call for help made them turn to the private bathroom and both women dashed in that direction. Versus repeat the kicking in of the door, Mercy turned the knob, while Hope pushed the door inward.

There sat Lex Luthor, a washcloth daintily covering his lap, his face a mask of anger.

“Mr. Luthor?” Hope asked, glancing around the empty room.

“Get me off of this,” he whispered.

The ladies looked once to each other, then back to their boss.

“I. Am. Stuck,” he said softly.

They both stared blank faced at Luthor for a second.

“On it, Mr. Luthor!” snapped Mercy.

Both women stepped back out of the bathroom and closed the door. Then they both slid down the wall, their hands over their mouths, stifling a burst of crippling laughter.

Due to the nature of the predicament, we take this small pause to fast forward slightly to avoid the repugnant descriptions of repeated warm water applications to Luthor’s hindquarter.

Mercy and Hope stood by watching their boss dress. A purple bruise on the side of his head was forming where it had struck the night table. The temperature in the room had returned to a normal sixty-five degrees and wherever you walked, you could hear squishing sounds from the saturated carpet.

Luthor was fuming. He had the new head of security check the telephone lines to determine where his wake up call had originated. He was less than pleased when told that it came from a pay phone in Ohio. He was finishing tying his tie when a black suited security guard burst into the suite.

“Mr. Luthor!” he exclaimed. “We have a situation!”

Luthor’s head snapped in the man’s direction. Hope and Mercy also turned to look at the guard.

“Where?” Luthor asked.

“Your office, Sir!”

Mercy and Hope walked past the man, followed by Luthor. The security guard followed behind.

“Report!” Luthor snapped angrily.

“File cabinets, Sir!”

All three stopped and looked at the guard.

“File . . . cabinets?” Luthor asked slowly.

The man nodded. “Yes, Mr. Luthor,” he said. “Someone barricaded the door to your office with file cabinets.”

“And this is your . . . situation?” Luthor asked dangerously.

“You should see this, Sir,” he said and pressed the elevator button.

When they reached the floor to his office, Luthor stepped out of the elevator and walked into a file cabinet. He turned in the direction of his office and saw rows and rows of file cabinets filling the open area.

“As far as we can determine, Mr. Luthor,” the guard explained. Someone,” he said aiming his hand in the direction of the rows of metal boxes, “took every file cabinet from every office on three floors of the building and deposited them here.”

Two draw cabinets. Four draw cabinets. Two and four drawer laterals lined the hallway.

The twitch under Luthor’s good eye became more pronounced.

“And how did they get here without anyone noticing?” asked Hope.

“We checked the security tapes and apparently the night security team brought them up here.”

“Under whose orders?” whispered Luthor, his eyes not moving from the cabinets.

“Uh, yours, Sir,” the man said in a small voice.

The twitch extended itself to the side of Luthor’s face.

“What do you mean?” asked Mercy.

“On the tapes,” the guard replied, “you are standing right here, in plain view of the camera, telling the guards where to put each cabinet.”

“And you’re positive it was Mr. Luthor?” asked Hope.

“One hundred percent,” he said. “But . . . “

With blinding speed, Luthor turned, grabbed the guard by the lapels and slammed him against the wall, holding him up on his toes.

“But what?” he snarled.

The man, now pale and shaken, stammered, “You, uh, he, uh, the man, uh, . . . “

“SPIT IT OUT!” bellowed Luthor.

“Exposed himself,” the guard said finally.

Luthor’s grip on the garment loosened. “What?” he asked in a small voice.

“The man,” said the guard, “after security left, turned around and mooned the camera.” The guard’s mouth opened then closed.

“Is there something else you’re not telling us?” asked Mercy slowly.

The guard nodded. “The picture is on the Internet.”

Luthor’s hands dropped to his sides and he leaned against a file cabinet for support.

“Get a team to clear this away,” Mercy said in a vacant voice.

“Right away!” the guard said and ran down the stairs, calling the order in on his walkie-talkie.

“Mr. Luthor?” asked Hope. “Can I get you anything?”

Luthor’s empty eyes regarded his employee. He opened his mouth to speak, then slowly turned in the direction of his office. He looked back at Hope, then at Mercy.

“Do . . . you hear . . . singing?” he asked.

The women listened. Someone was singing in the office.

“Can you make it out?” asked Mercy in a hushed voice.

Hope listened for a few seconds and her frowned deepened in that length of time.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s that ’99 Bottles’ song,” she replied.

They both turned to look at Luthor, who was angrily staring over the cabinets at the office door. If real life were a cartoon, plumes of steam would be shooting from his ears. His arm shot out and his fist slammed into a cabinet’s side.

“Get me in there,” he said in dangerously quiet hiss.

Both women snapped out their cell phones and called security, ordering them to rush that cabinet removal detail.

When only two file cabinets remained, Luthor pushed past the workmen, shoved them aside, knocking them into another pair pushing a four-drawer lateral, which toppled causing the drawers to slid open and empty rows of file folders on the floor. As angry and near apocalyptic as Luthor was, his rage increased incrementally with the removal of a cabinet. Hope and Mercy flanked him; both mentally preparing themselves for the explosion that was forthcoming.

He reached out and grabbed the cabinets that pressed against the door by its edges and shoved them asked with enough force to send them into the opposite walls, making a pair of dents.

He grabbed both door handles and pulled outward and stepped inside.

And screamed.

Quite loudly.

Inside were balloons and streamers. Hundreds of balloons and streamers, hanging from the ceiling and covering the floor, and covering all the furniture. There were tons of confetti making the floor look like a sea of paper chips.

There were five black boxes on the floor, one in each corner of the office and one in the center. From the boxes poured a brilliant light and in the middle of the light, a scantily clad holographic woman gyrated to music only they could hear.

Strobes and lights blinked off and on, making the office resemble a discothèque.

An eight-foot inflatable Godzilla stood near his desk.

On the other side of the desk was a flag with red, blue and gold borders.

And sitting on canvas folding chairs in front of the fireplace was the Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Guy Gardner and . . .

Lex Luthor.

Without the physical damage.

They were roasting marshmallows in the flames, singing.

“Three-hundred and twenty-seven bottles of beer on the wall! Three-hundred and twenty-seven bottles of beer!”

“We pick up a six at the closest mall!” cried Gold.

Four mouths dropped open and four sets of eyes turned inward for a second.

“Three-hundred and thirty-three bottles of beer on the wall!” they finished.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!” screamed Luthor, his fists shaking above his sweat-glistened head. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME???? AND WHO IN HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE??? DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE MESSING WITH???”

The four men calmly turned and regarded the fuming man in the doorway. The looked at each other, and gave each other a shrug.

“Three-hundred and thirty-three bottles of beer on the wall!” they continued. “Three-hundred and thirty-three bottles of beer!”

“I drink four more and I’m the first to fall!” cried Lex, turning his marshmallow over in the fire.

Four mouths dropped open and four sets of eyes turned inward for a second.

Gold looked at Beetle.

“Subtraction,” whispered Kord.

“Two-hundred and twenty-nine bottles of beer on the wall!”

Luthor stalked through the confetti, knocking the strings from the floating balloons and streamers from his face and stood ten feet from them. His doppelganger sang through a mouthful of melted marshmallow.

“YOU!” he said pointing at himself. “WHO ARE YOU???”

He looked at the men and using his hands as a conductor would, ended a chorus. He stood and walked over to Luthor, swallowed, and smiled.

“Lex Luthor,” he said in his voice.

“YOU ARE NOT ME!” screamed Luthor. “I’M ME!”

He turned his head one way, then another, looking Luthor up and down.

“You’re sure I’m not you?” he asked.

“That’s a damn fool question!” Luthor barked.

He frowned. “Really?” he said. “How can you be sure I’m not who I say I am?”

“BECAUSE I’M ME, THAT’S WHY!”

He nodded, his eyes far away. “Just because you believe you are you, how can you be sure you’re you and I’m not the real McCoy?”

“ . . . “

“Because,” he continued, “I would never let someone beat the crap out of me, like you were.” He did a pirouette, his arms outstretched. “See? I’m still pretty, while you look like something the cat dragged in.” He looked him over again. “After the cat and the dragged article was run over a few times by a ten ton semi.”

Before Luthor could respond, Gardner stepped forward.

“Ya know, ol’ Lex here has a point,” Guy said. “The real Lex Luthor wouldn’t have been taken down by one punch.” Guy thought for a second. “Or would he?”

“I would never dirty my hands with something as primitive as fisticuffs,” he said, shoving both hands in his pants pockets. “I’d have the ladies do the dirty work. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

Hope and Mercy, who was still standing in the doorway, and was staring at the knockout holograms, twitched slightly and turned in their direction.

He shook his head disappointedly. “How chauvinistic of me,” he said. He looked over his shoulder. “Mr. Gold, if you would.”

Booster tapped a button on his wrist gauntlet and the five barely clothed female holograms turned into five barely clothed male holograms. All had Grade A inspection stickers on their rear ends. The men were so attractive and so . . . attractive, both women could not force back the smile appearing on their faces.

“So, as I was saying,” he continued, “How can I; we for that matter, be sure you’re who you say you are?”

Luthor gnashed his teeth, a dark look coming into his working eye. “There’s one way to find out who you really are,” he said softly. “Hope! Mercy! Take him out!”

And nothing happened.

Luthor spun to see Hope and Mercy’s attention still focused on the dancing holograms.

“HOPE! MERCY!” he bellowed.

By instinct, both women withdrew their weapons, took aim at the second Luthor and fired.

Booster Gold, who was inspecting the centerfold from a magazine he had in his hand, pointed a stiff index finger over his shoulder, erecting a force field that surrounded the area by the fireplace. The bullets bounced and ricocheted around the office, sending Luthor and the women to the ground.

“Now,” he began, smiling from behind the glowing field, “that’s something you would do. But I, being the real Lex Luthor, would have calculated there being a force field of some kind in place.” He tapped his head. “You just reacted - I thought. Sort of proves my point. I am the real Lex Luthor.”

Luthor lifted his head from the floor, his one eye bulging in its socket.

“That being said,” he said, turning to his partners in spandex, “Who brought the wieners?” he cried. He looked over his shoulder at Luthor, who was just getting to a standing position. “Present company excluded.”

“Got ‘em right here, El,” said Beetle, opening a cooler and placed one on a stick.

“Very good,” he said, returning to his cot. “Where were we? Oh, yeah. Men?”

“Two-hundred and twenty-nine bottles of beer on the wall!” they sang. “Two-hundred and twenty-nine bottles of beer!”

Every muscle in his body vibrating, Luthor staggered over to his chair and flopped down in it. The rude sound of air escaping made him jump to his feet.

“Whoopee cushion,” Gardner said smiling wistfully. “Nothin’ can beat the classics.”

‘NAA-NAA-NAAH, NA NA NA-NA NANA’ blasted through the office speakers and around the building.

“Nine o’clock!” called Booster.

“Oh, good!” he exclaimed. He reached to the floor and lifted a remote control from between his legs. He calmly flipped it in his hand and aimed it at the big screen television across the room. The screen lit and displayed a well-known rabbit and hunter, who chased each other across the screen, followed by a grinning black duck.

Luthor swatted the offensive cushion from his chair and sat down. He looked at the screen, then to the four men, the smell of cooking hot dogs filling the room.

“Ten hour Bugs Bunny marathon,” Gardner explained.

“With no commercials!” added Beetle.

“Can’t miss that!” he said. He snapped his fingers. “Mustard!”

“Right here, El!” said Booster, passing him a jar.

“Well, I don’t have to watch it!” snarled Luthor. He snapped his fingers and Hope and Mercy fired another round, this time at the projection television.

In mid-finger snap, Skeets - who floated up from behind the TV - erected a force field around it. The bullets ricocheted off the field, causing Luthor and the women to dive to the floor. Luthor lifted his head and spit out a mouthful of confetti.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said, chewing on a hot dog. “What have you got against educational television?”

Luthor stood from his chair and walked around his desk.

“Well, I don’t have to stay here and be witness to this . . . this circus!”

“On the contrary, Bub,” he said. “You do. Skeets?”

“Yes, your Baldness!” it said and placed a field around the office’s double doors, just as Luthor’s hand reached for the knobs. An electric spark made him pull his hands away.

He walked back to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed the number for security.

“Paulie’s Pizza!” said a voice on the other end. Luthor slammed the telephone back into its cradle.

Luthor looked at Mercy and Hope. The women pulled out their cell phones and dialed. Even from across the room, and with the sound of ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ coming from the television, he could hear the braying ‘BWAH-HA-HA! BWAH-HA-HA!’

He turned to his computer and punched in a call to all law enforcement divisions on his payroll. First he saw the red, blue and gold test pattern, then footage of a woman in black leather running across a wall and taking out several police officers. Luthor’s head turned so fast on his neck, vertebrae popped.

“How long do you intend to keep me prisoner in my own office?” Luthor asked.

He looked inquisitively over to Booster, who looked over to Beetle, who looked to Gardner, who looked back at the double, who turned back to Luthor.

“It is a ten-hour marathon,” he said.

Luthor screamed and began beating his fists on his desk.

“And I would advise you not to open the third drawer on your right,” he said, calmly munching his remaining dog.

Luthor’s eye went to the drawer and he opened it. A gusher of strawberry preserves shot out of the drawer and hit him in the face.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Told you.”

Luthor was still frozen in a bent position, looking into the drawer. Globs of red slid from his face. “I will kill you all!” he whispered.

He stood up. “Well, then there’s only one thing to do!” he announced.

The force field stretched and enveloped Mercy and Hope, mini-fields covering their hands, hips and feet.

“CONGA!” he cried. “Skeets! Hit it!”

“Yes, your Hairlessness,” it said. Conga dance music filled the room. Skeets manipulated the fields around the woman and made them dance in place to the music. He danced his way over and led the group, Hope and Mercy at the mercy of the fields, Beetle, Booster and Gardner coming up from behind. Luthor stood and dove at his duplicate, but was caught in a field in mid-air and was gently placed on the floor, mini-fields covering his hands, feet and hips, so the conga line was led and ended by Lex Luthor.

“We’re having some fun now, ain’t we Baldy?” he called over the music, spinning in a circle on his toes.

Luthor let out a stream of curses as he fought for control of his dancing body.

“Some people,” he sniffed.

To be continued…