A Simple Sunday Task

Thankfully, this Super Bowl (unlike Super Bowl XLVII) went off with relative ease. 

There was no pesky Illuminati to contend with. No left-of-center individual out to muck about with the natural order of things. No international crisis for us to look into. And no fashion faux pas to accuse. (Though ... some of Lady Gaga's costume changes, with their shoddy looks, did raise an eyebrow or two, I'm certain.)

Nope. The Unbelievables had a relatively calm, cool and collected Super Bowl weekend of leisure. And we welcomed it. 

That was ... until some guy threatened to remove "white" from the face of the earth.

He came calling at our front door unexpectedly. (Which, as you know, is the laundromat entrance to our headquarters.) We flipped on our "entry" monitor when he appeared. None of us were leaving our digs for the likes of some monkey boy with a comical agenda, let alone setting down our refreshments to physically answer the door.

"'White' you say?" Jeff asked.

"As in the color white? Which really isn't a color; it's the absence of color ..." I informed the guy.

"Yep," the twerp acknowledged. "All white, everywhere. I'm going to eradicate it from memory, everywhere on earth."

"I got this," Clark volunteered. He set down his cocktail and picked up the phone. 

"Who's he calling?" asked the twerp. (The silliness of his threat wasn't worth the asking of his name, so we never did. It was better swift, effective action be brought down right then and there.)

"You'll see" Jeff responded. 

We heard Clark hang up the phone and pick his cocktail back up. "Janus will be here in a jiffy" he stated matter of factly.

"Ooooooo ... I can hear his chopper even now" I smirked.

Sure enough, Janus Jablowski - one of our go-to extraction people we contract on occasion - came into view in his helicopter and dropped a cable with a hook at the business end out of the belly of his chopper.

"You're going to want to stand still for this" Clark suggested to the twerp. No sooner had he said this then the hook scooped him up at the back of his shirt and lifted him skyward. The twerp was screaming like schoolgirl.

"Flip on the skycam, Jeff, will you?" I asked so that we could watch the twerp dangle in midair and fly off into the Stiletto Flats horizon. "Where's Janus taking him, anyway?" I asked Clark.

"The whitest place I know ... Antarctica," Clark responded.

I smiled, stood up and walked over to Clark. "May I freshen your drink, good sir?" I offered.

"You may." His highball glass was proffered to me. I then turned to Jeff: "And what are you drinking, sir?"

"White Russian," Jeff quipped. 

We all chuckled at that.