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Okay this is Chablis, and this is a fan fiction that I'm working on. It's set post Unlimited and I'm taking liberties with the story line, so you can bitch about it all you please but I'm not going to do a goddamn thing about it. Oh and its written with my own "special" brand of humor. Note the quotes around special. Well read, review, and um have a nice day? And if you have any suggestions for a title, let 'em fly.

Wally West slinked along the streets of New York City, ignoring the bums and street vendors with their mysterious wares. Yes, this was New York, the Big Apple, the city that never slept, and a thousand of other names that he couldn't remember but were probably just as tacky.

Right now he was in his true form, his real form, not the Flash, not the fastest man alive, and not a Justice League member.

The job was really getting to him. How could he maintain a social life, a girl friend(s), and when the time comes kids, when he had evil archenemies that would most likely use them as hostages, and wouldn't care if they didn't approve of being live bait of the most homicidal manner?
And even though he could most likely break the sound barrier in red undies, what kind of dating points did that give him?
Right now his 'mission' was to get as drunk as humanly or inhumanly possible.

He found the bar where he was a frequent costumer at and walked down the stairs toward the entrance. He pushed open the double doors and was greeted by a musty atmosphere that smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and alcohol. He walked farther into the gloom and caught snippets of sad melodies that wafted from the neon jukebox.

"What will you be having today West?" the bartender, Cain, asked in the harsh voice of a chronic smoker.

"I want as many drinks as this will get me." Wally said as he slapped a hundred dollar bill on the beer-stained counter. Cain, who was never one to ask questions when money was involved, quickly pocketed the cash, and poured the depressed red head a drink.

Wally took the cool glass in his clammy hand, and stared at the amber liquid. He gave the world a sideways grin and chugged down the frothy beverage. Now the world was good.

"You know life is a lot like a Salmon. Not a box of chocolates like that crew cut hippie said." Wally hiced as he stared at the vast amount of empty glasses that surrounded him, using all of his concentration to pick the next glass up with out sloshing its contents on the counter, and gulped it down. To hell with brain cells.

"A Salmon?" Cain rasped as he humored his clearly drunk friend.

"Yeah, life may seem all good and slimy on the outside, but inside..." he stopped and took another swig. "Inside it's all pink, gushy, and full of guts. Unless you cook life all you get is a handful of innards and a funky odor!" he smiled, proud at his observation on life.

"How do you cook life?" Cain asked, and Wally flashed him a goofy smile, and raised his glass.

"By getting drunk!" he declared and then almost fell off the bar stool in a fit of giggles.

"So life may seem good on the outside, but inside its complicated, and the only way to make life okay is to get drunk?"

"Yep" Wally said gleefully.

"That's very philosophical of you."

"What can I say, I'm a regulate Sucrete!"

"You mean Socrates, a sucrete is a cough drop." Cain said as he wondered if he should get his clearly high humored friend some help.

"Yeah, life's funny like that. Just when you think you know what you're talking about you turn into a cough drop."

"I don't follow you."

"I hate my life!" Wally sobbed as he began to bang his head on the bar counter. Cain sighed it really was one of those nights. As much as he liked Wally as a customer, the cash was good, the things the guy did and talked about were just plain weird.

After Wally had finished sobbing about how bad his life was, he stumbled towards the jukebox, and after several attempts at trying to place the quarters in the slot, Ray Charles's "I Can't Stop Loving You" began to play. Wally then fumbled his way back to his bar stool, and began to wail along to the music.

Cain was sure that his other customers would start to use the young man as a punching bag, but luckily for Wally even though he was horribly drunk, and half way delirious he could carry a tune.

"I love some one you know." Wally said as he idly ran his finger around the rim of the glass.

"And?" Cain asked curiously.

"She doesn't love me back."

"Well does she know that you like her?"

"Of course she does, I think, maybe. Does hitting on someone count as telling them you adore them?" Wally asked hopefully his green eyes turning big with hope.

"Depends on how you hit on them." Cain said.

"Umm does sexual innuendo count?"

"Probably not." Cain shrugged.

"Well then no, but you would think that if you constantly gave her attention she would notice you, even if you are hitting on her friend!" Wally despaired.

"Well I think that you need to talk it over with your lady friend, because being annoying doesn't always register in the 'I love you date me' category." Cain explained.

"What do you know you're not even married." Wally murmured. Cain quickly refuted Wally's statement by pulling out his wallet showing a lovely woman and about five grown kids.

"We've been married for thirty years, come September." Cain beamed as Wally slunk his head into his hands and pouted. "Are you really okay?" Cain asked.

"Its just you never see GL pumping himself with alcohol to get over the loneliness, you never see Supes getting drunk in bars do you?" Wally demanded.

"Umm, no?" Cain asked confused at where the conversation was now.

"So then why me?"

"I think I need to call one of your friends over here to pick you up." Cain advised.

"Oh, like I need some alien giving me a lecture on addiction when the guy can't walk past the snack food isle without buying out the whole Oreo stock." Wally muttered.

"I really need to call your friends." Cain demanded softly.

"Fine, 555-1289."

"Okay." Cain picked up the phone, and dialed waiting for the pick up.

"Hello?" a harsh female voice asked.

"Hello, do you by chance know a Wally West? Red hair, green eyes, sort of goofy?" Cain rasped into the phone. The voice on the other line stiffened and replied.

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask." The mysterious women demanded, not questioned, just flat out threatened.

Cain gulped, woman who sounded like they could beat you into a bleeding mass without blinking scared him, but woman who knew they could use the fear that they struck in men scared him even more.

"He's down at my bar, The Blinking Eye. He is pretty intoxicated, and needs a ride home. At the moment he's on the bar counter ranting about how being drunk is deemed bad, but if your friend has a cookie addiction you just chuckle and let it slide. See what I mean the guy is losing it fast." Cain whispered out of hearing distance from his ranting psychotic friend.

"Where is he at." The voice sighed

"The Blinking Eye, 1508 Victory Street, New York."

"Fine I'll be over in twenty, please don't let him do anything stupid, or anything stupider." the woman said as she hung up the phone.

"Don't worry Wally someone's coming for you." Cain said as he patted Wally on the shoulder. Wally had now come off the counter, and was proceeding to mumble something incoherent while pausing at intervals to bang his head on the bar counter.

Shayera sighed as she went to go get the intoxicated Wally out of the bar. She was fuming, just because right now he was 'Wally' didn't give him the right to get drunk. Wasn't there a rule in the Justice League Code of Laws about being under the influence of spirits, illegal substances, and the newly issued decree, Nabisco products? What would have happened if the league needed him at the moment? Would he rush out to battle, groggily in spandex, stopping every once in a while to mumble slurrily, clutch his head in a pathetic gesture, and then throw up on his enemies? She could see it now.

'Oh no they were up against Ma'alefa'ak, where was the Flash? Oh, there he is running into the street pole. Oh look now he's going to free us from Ma'alefa'ak's evil clutches, no he's just vomiting on his shoes, and passing out near a puddle of sick.'

Shayera stopped in mid mind rant and looked around, she was at her destination. The street was dirty and the smog seemed to rise up out of the asphalt. She looked around, and there it was. The Blinking Eye, in big bright, gaudy neon letters, it shined as a beacon for the sober, the depressed, and those with cash burning a hole in their tattered pocket.
She made sure her wings were covered by her trench coat and preceded to walk inside.

She looked around, it seemed to be the perfect place for depresses, mail men, and fat guys. She stared into the gloom and located Wally. She walked over to him, and punched him squarely in the shoulder.

"We are going home now," she hissed.

He looked up at her blankly and his green eyes seemed to uncloud for a minute. "Oh, its the angel." he shouted, beamed, and the passed out.