Many people wonder if we, The Unbelievables, do everything ourselves. The answer is, yes, yes we do. We are completely self-contained, masters of every skill we ever need to employ, and we always handle every single detail of every single situation by ourselves.
Except when we need help.
In which (very rare) cases we have a network of expert specialists upon whom we can call.
For instance, explosions.
We're very good at making all kinds of things blow up, when we need to.
Bad guys (they looked different prior to this picture being taken)
Bad guys in offices
Cars (belonging to bad guys)
Things to jump over while driving, because we look really cool when we do that.
The guy we learned all that from is somebody we still call on today if we're just too darn busy to do it ourselves is the legendary demolitions expert. Louie K. Bluéé.
He's French
He's very good at his job, and if there's anything that's a drawback, it's that he's a little too enthusiastic. He'll call us in the middle of a case and offer his services, whether we need them or not.
LOUIE: Unbelievables! Ze zituation you are currently dealing with calls for zome explosions. Beautiful displays of pyrotechnic destruction to show ze bad guys you mean, 'ow you zay, busy-ness? US: Thanks, Louie. But we're just trying to find a lady's lost dog. LOUIE: Call me back eef you want to blow up ze dog. Or ze old, 'ow you zay, lay-dee? US: Sounds good, Louie. We'll let you know. Thanks. LOUIE: I love you. US: ... LOUIE: ... US: What did you say? LOUIE: Zay? Nothing! I did not, 'ow you zay, zay? anything! (click)
There are other people we call on from time to time who are experts in their respective fields. Michael and Jeff will shine spotlights on them later this week.
~~~moving on swiftly (we hope)~~~ The Renault stopped abruptly and Petit turned in his seat to face us, saying "So, Unbelie--", promptly falling out of his booster seat, dropping his ciggy, saying "shit" a few times, retrieving the still-burning smoke, realising the carpet was on fire, stamping it out and clambering back up into his seat, huffing and puffing to catch his breath, then finally spluttering, "So... Un... believables *cough*" "Spit it out, you insufferable toe-rag," growled Clark, "before I defenestrate you again!" That clearly rattled Petit and his eyes glowed with anger. Or did they? No, they didn't. It was merely the reflection of the roaring fire that was now raging on the floorboards where he had previously dropped his lit fag-end. We scrambled for the doors and each of us grabbed one of the TVD girls and bailed from the vehicle, gallantly rescuing them from the rapidly escalating conflagration. "WAIT! WHAT ABOUT ME!!!" screamed the nasty toddler-like git. "Shall we rescue him?" I asked the others. "I suppose we have to if we want to find out what is going on," Michael replied, "although there's no immediate hurry." "I CAN HEAR YOU!!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!" wailed Petit, so we resignedly went over and opened the door. "Wait, the door was unlocked the whole time, you tiny freak! Was that some kind of trick?" I gasped incredulously. "Well, normally I'd say yes, Unbelieva-goons, but sadly it pains me to say that I just couldn't reach the handle. You guys just don't know what it's like to be me, you know, it's hard, it really gets me down someti--" His pitiful speech was abruptly stopped by the van exploding (as these things are apt to do, especially in movies, which was somewhat ironic considering we were standing in what appeared to be an abandoned movie set). "Well, that's our ride gone" said Clark. Thus far the TVD's hadn't uttered a peep, but just at that moment one of them said, "Sorry guys..." We heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked and turned slowly to see the girls pointing weaponry at us. From behind them we saw the doors of all the fake buildings opening and the familiar figures of many of our nemeses spilling from them - Sam Snow, Little Debbie, Negative Charge, The Double "D" Dames, to name a few - all led by Tie-Po and Mac Ramey. All of them armed, and looking more than a little menacing. What was the meaning of all this? Why were we at an old movie studio surrounded by villains? What did they want? How are we going to get home mow? How did we get out of this alive? (Because we did, you know. That's how come I'm able to write this. So there!). Well you may ask. Fear not though, for more will be revealed on Friday! ~~~continuing on with all the continuation and stuff~~~
Ah yes, our individual musical themes. if we were baseball players, this would be known as our "walk-up music", the song played when we stepped up to the plate in our home ballpark, intent on doing malice to the opposing team's hope and aspirations with our Louisville Sluggers. In our case, we do more than walk-up, so we need multiple themes.
My choice for walk-in music, as in when I walk in to a place like a darkened tavern or some other villainous hive, is the classic Peter Gunn Theme.
Mancini. A nasty surf-guitar riff. A really dirty saxophone. Combine all three of those and it's unbeatable. There are other versions...
From Blues Brotherly...
To Artfully Noisy...
But any version will do the trick.
As a stylish gent (because we are those), sometimes I just walk around being stylish. In which case, this is the accompaniment I prefer (sorry, it's un-embedable)
Now I prefer a different theme altogether when it comes to walking away from explosions. Yes, I know that walking away slowly with your back to an explosion has become something of a tired, overused and cartoonish trope...
...but in this line of work, things explode all the time. If you sit around and pay attention to everything that blows up, you're never going to get things done. It's in cases like these, I go to this song:
As an orphan, I don't have as many old family photos to share as Michael does. Both my parents were killed in the line of duty as agents of some shadowy organization (I know very little about it other than the fact that every year on my birthday, I would receive a cake from a delivery-person who would later explode) and my formative years were spent at St. Edmund the Martyr's School For Boys Who Will Grow Up To Be Crime Fighting Vigalantes. It was a relatively stark existence, with not a lot of priority placed on the warm and fuzzy. Still, I managed to retain a few things...
There's dear ol' dad as I remember him. "Buy American!", he'd say.
Oh, how mother enjoyed walking in the woods behind our house!
Nothing like taking the boat out to the lake for a weekend of relaxing family fun!
It was Thomas Wolfe who said, "You can't go home again".
I don't know if he was talking about my
house specifically, but either way, he was correct.
Other than that, I only have one childhood photo of Yours Truly...
"Honk, honk!"
This was my very first case, that time I went deep under cover and in disguise as Cincinnati Reds all-star Pete Rose to rescue the kidnapped infant child of Harpo Marx.
Sorry I don't have more to share. I'm sure Jeff will more than make up for that though.
