Fun Is Our "In Tent", Geddit?

Rise and shine, campers! Time for another fun-packed day at Camp Unbelievable!

So Clarkito and The Mikester gave you a bit of info regarding what happens at Camp Unbelievable during the summer. But they didn't give you the full story. Oh, sure, they told you what you might find if you were to read the, ahem, prospectus...

The front cover.

But...


It is my job to provide the entertainment. After all, at the end of each day, our campers are tired yet happy after a day of merry adventures.

See? Tired yet happy.

 Clark mentioned some of our core programs, but we do also have some slightly more 'unusual' classes...

"How To Bring Down Giants"

"Hi-Fi Maintenance"

"The Coolness Of Scooters"

"Leaping From The Roof Of One Building To Another Just Like they Do In The Movies"

"More Scooter Coolness"

"Naked Christmas Decorations" (Michael's Idea)

"Nude Rowing" (Michael's idea again)

"Honey Hotrod Teaching Classic Car Maintenance" (Michael again... you sense a pattern here?)

 Anyway, they're going to want to wind down in the clubhouse (or outside, if it's fine) and be served up some top-notch entertainment and/or fun and relaxing activities. Such as...

Camp Unbelievable's very own heartthrob, Mr. Ellis Parsley. The resemblance is purely coincidental.

Partially-Clothed Bedtime Stories. (Michael's idea).

Re-enacting the Battle of New Orleans using Unbelievababes and Volleyballs (Michael sure has a lot of these ideas, doesn't he?)

Michael also ensures the safety and well-being of our campers by being fully proficient in First Aid and CPR. He also runs the on-site Pharmacy.

Pantsless, of course.

Sometimes we just get out the ol' stereogram and whack on a couple of party-type platters...

in order to shimmy the evening away. Except of course, on Tuesdays. As you know, Tuesday is always 'whipped potato day', and that means...

Walkmans for EVERYBODY!

The Party To Save Michael

Yesterday Clark and I decided that we needed to sit the boy down (Michael, that is) and try to knock some sense into him. Not literally, you understand. We haven't had to get physical with him, at least not yet.


First, we reminded him (again) of all the great stuff he was going to be missing out on (see Clark's post from Wednesday).


"It's no use, fellas" he said, shaking his head. "My mind is made up. I'm retiring from the butt-kicking game."


We played along. "So what are planning to do with your time?"
"Well, I'm not sure just yet. What I think I might do is to go on a spiritual journey of self-discovery. I shall journey to the Himalayas, find a lonely peak - a blunt one - and sit on it for a few years."

Yeah, right.

At this, I'm sorry to say, we had to stifle a giggle.
Clark said, "Well, OK, if your mind is made up. But at least we should throw you a leaving bash. Invite all our friends. Blow the roof off the place. Whaddya say?"


Might have been a trick of the light but I swear I saw a flicker of suspicion in Michael's eyes.
"Well, alright," said Michael with some reticence. "But don't go to too much trouble, guys."
"Come on, how long have we known each other?" I replied. "We will make it tasteful and chic. It'll be a night to remember."


The party is set for tonight. We have invited EVERYONE, including that caveman we once discovered frozen in a ravine in Sausalito (long story).

Now just calm down, Ug.

The Unbelievababes have been working on decorating the rooms.

Nice job, Gloria!

Marissa has set the tables.

I hit the kitchen with Ulf the Unbelievadog to whip up mass quantities of whipped potatoes.

We even convinced one of Michael's old girlfriends Greta Scacchi to put in an appearance.

We even hired a boat.

So, hopefully, we can change the man's mind. We'll let you know how we get on. Wish us luck.

Interview With A Stalker

So, it was my turn. I gingerly reached into the hat, not knowing whose name I would pull out. Under my breath, I chanted a mantra: "Not Petit. Not Petit. Not Petit." I unfolded the paper ever so slowly and breathed a large sigh of relief followed by a gasp. The sigh was because it wasn't our most hated villain Henri Petit, that malformed infantile tobacco-stained wretch. The gasp was because it was someone who had proven themselves in the past to be quite formidable. Little Debbie.

So, I duly rolled up to the private space in the Unbelievabase to await Little D's arrival. I noticed she looked a little different to how I remembered. She was also clutching an 8x10 glossy of our own Mr. Michael Noble (she seems to be a bit of a fan of his. There you go - it takes all sorts).

Here's how it went, after she was allowed to bring in a handcart full of boxed baked goods with her.

ME: What's all that stuff?
LD: Oh, that, it's a gift for you guys. (Grabs box of Honey Buns, proffers them) Snack cake?
ME: No, I'm good thanks. And by the way, that was question number one.
LD: Dangit! OK. Um, Do you think I stand a chance with Michael?
ME: No. Well, maybe if you, uh...
LD: If I what?
ME: Sorry, yes or no questions only. Nine to go. 
LD: But what were you going to say? If I lost some weight, is that it?
ME: Yes, and stop wasting your questions. You have eight left.
LD: That's really hurtful. It isn't easy being a super-villain-baker, you know (tears into box of Honey Buns and starts to devour them), I mean I try and I try but there's just so much stress in this job and I end up snacking on whatever's closest to hand, and... (sniff, sob)...
ME: My heart bleeds. Now then, hurry up. Next question.
LD: Have you always been this rude?
ME: Only with people like you. Seven.
LD: (composing herself) You sure you don't want a Zebra Cake? I can't tempt you with a Honey Bun?
ME: No, twice. Five left, Little Debbie - or, should I say, not-so-Little-anymore-Debbie.
LD: Will you please lay off the fat jokes!
ME: Yes. Four questions.
LD: Four?!?
ME: Yes. Three. Make'm good ones.
LD: Alright. Is there any way I can talk to Michael instead?
ME: No. You haven't asked a single worthwhile question yet. Two left.
LD: I don't suppose there's any chance of a do-over?
ME: No. Last one. And before you say anything - think. Just think what you are saying.
LD: (pause) Alright (sighs heavily). I'm seriously hoping you'll say yes to this. If I'm very good and promise to get out of the villainy game and because I want to get fighting fit and back in shape, is there a chance I can learn UnbelievaFu and UnbelievaZen?
ME: Listen, Debs. I wouldn't want you to go away thinking that this was a pointless waste of time for both of us, but you have to understand. You caused us a great deal of trouble and a lot of extra work. You're an unstable, emotional secret-eater who wants to drive every mom-and-pop local bakery out of business, not to mention some not-so-small ones too. You wanted to make sure your additive-filled crap was on every shelf in every store, so you could be super-rich and buy up the world piece by piece. 
LD: So...? Yes or no?
ME: I'm gonna have to say no.
LD: Waaaahhh!! (collapses in a teary, cakey heap and begins to weep freely)
ME: (to Kip the Mail Boy) Get her out of here. I have a date with a hot tub and a Rob Roy.
LD: But where's Michael?! Lemme ask Michael!!! MICHAELLLLL!!!!
ME: Don't let her ANYWHERE NEAR Michael, got it?

Oh, and yes - we kept all the baked goods. We tested them rigorously in our labs before consumption. I'm not saying Little Debbie's products are bad for you, but this is what my chair looked like after eating them.

A Brief History Of The Concept Of Time, and T-Shirts

A few years ago while vacationing in sunny Mansfield, OH...

They do the best scrambled eggs here, by the way.

I was at breakfast when a guy walked in wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the mantra "Time is an invention."

Well, you know, that set me to thinking. If this was true, then who was responsible for inventing it? And why? I immediately accosted said stranger and inquired of him where he purchased his shirt. I knew he didn't find it in Mansfield, that's for damn sure. I know, I looked all over Mansfield for an interesting T-shirt and I came away with this one.

Pretty pedestrian, I trust you'll agree.

He told me he'd bought it via mail order. A small ad in the back of a CB magazine, apparently. His handle was StringVest. I didn't really need to know that, but he told me anyway. I told him that it really wasn't relevant, but he told me I'd just eyeballed StringVest and was to remember that. Why, I can't fathom, but there ya go. It takes all sorts, doesn't it?

The magazine in question was this issue of CB Action.

Nice cover.

The ad in the back was for a T-Shirt and sweater company. There was an address to send for a catalog. Just out of curiosity, I sent for one. When it arrived three days later, I was impressed by the quality and selection of T-shirt designs. 

Show me the way.

Class.

They even had cool CB sweaters. 

I know what Michael "The Sweater King" is getting for Christmas.

Still, I couldn't see the "Time Is An Invention" shirt. So I headed straight to the library to see what I could dig up about it. I ploughed through book after book - science, philosophy, nature, encyclopaedias, National Geographics, tomes and pamphlets....

I came away with a massive headache from reading about the Planck scale, wormholes and the very existence of time. Does it exist or is it a human concept? We don't see time pass, just the hands of clocks moving, all that stuff. Didn't get me any closer to finding out about that t-shirt, or where I might purchase one. No help. And what, you may be asking, does any of this have to do with Temporal Al OR Henri Petit?

All I know is, Temporal Al is a shady, shifty figure, and his mucking about with time shenanigans are not going to stop anytime soon. Did you know it was he that decided on NINE minutes being the ideal amount of time for a snooze? When you hit the snooze button on your alarm clock, you get nine minutes. Not ten. Not fifteen, which might be considered a good amount of time for a proper snooze. But nine. See, he's messing with us.

So I'm sorry, folks, if you were expecting some sort of neat conclusion to all of this, but we are having tremendous difficulty even pinpointing Temporal Al's whereabouts, not to mention how we go about stopping him once we find him. I apologise. 

However, I'm off to the kitchen. It's Michael's birthday and I'm going to whip him up a batch of my extra-special whipped potatoes, with Spam fritters, but ssshhh! Big secret. Michael no know, savvy?

Oh, and speaking of T-shirts, I have one for his birthday present. Wanna see?

The Grilling of Michael

The scene: A pokey little back room at the Unbelievabase. The loo, to be precise. Michael's loo. (Yes- we each have our own. I have a little sign on my bathroom door that says "The Wee House". Geddit?!)

Note: Not actually Michael's loo. (P.S. It totally is.)

Michael is seated on the throne, Jeff is questioning Michael while Clark stands behind Jeff, holding a desk lamp in the air.

JEFF: Now, Michael, my old friend, ol' buddy ol' pal, let's go through this one more time. Just so's we get it straight. WHAT THE @%&#*@ happened!!?!? Hm? Hmm?

CLARK: Yeah, hm?!? Hmmm?!?

MICHAEL: Look, fellas, I dunno. I'm as confused as you are.

J: Confused, eh? Eh?

C: Yeah, confused eh??

M: Yes, I mean, when KB -

J: That's Mama to you, butterball!

C: Yeah, what Jeff said.

M:(to Clark) Crawler! (to me) when she needed help I offered my services -

J: I bet you did, I bet you did...

M: ...and said I would moderate the page.

J: And??

M: And what? The trolling didn't stop or slow down, and even using every Unbelieva-skill in my arsenal I was powerless to stop it. Heck-fire, I even tried using common sense but it was no use! I was up against something bigger.

J: And...?

C: What he said.

M: And that's it. After two days the KB - I mean, Mama had had enough and pulled the plug.

J:And...?

M: Look, I've had enough.Can I tinkle in peace, please?

C: And...?

M: And read the paper.

J: Okay... but this is not over! We will get to the bottom of this one way or another.

M: Guys, you're just in denial.

J: Whatever.

C: Aaand...?

Michael Is Missing Again - Or Is He?

Well, what a to-do! Michael kidnapped. That pug-ugly baby Henri Petit seemingly responsible. Hmmm.

Is that the only possible explanation for Michael's absence?

Hmmm.

I seem to recall an incident not too far removed from memory where Michael was conspicuous by his not being around. Don't you?

Let me refresh your memory.

http://the-unbelievables.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/michael-is-missing-in-action-miamia.html

And then there was this little excursion...

http://the-unbelievables.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/michael-is-missing-but-its-ok.html

Something tells me that all is not what it seems.

Whatever is occurring is not unusual for Michael, aka Enigma Chap, aka Mystery Boy. He thrives on being unpredictable. He likes to keep us guessing. Which makes me wonder if all of this isn't just a cunning ruse to keep EVERYONE, including Henri Petit, guessing. 

So here's a little message for Henri Petit.

We are on to you, bucko. We know you'd like for us to think that you have Michael. We know you just left those stupid photos in our back room by accident. (we tossed them in the shredder, by the way, right after we fished them out of the recycling bin. Yes, I did it eventually. We drew straws for it.

Clark's pic.

Mine was more action-packed.

Anyway, you can't have them back, because now they are lining our hamster cage.)

It is clear that Michael is working on some way to shut you up once and for all, and if I know Michael like I think I know Michael, when he finally nabs you, you will NOT see it coming, infant-man-person. So push off.

Yours, The Unbelievables (minus Michael, but we know he thinks the same way about you, so push off.)

At a loss

Well, now we don't know what to do.

JEFF: So Michael is a hostage?
CLARK: I guess. Looks like that little mugwump Petit lied to me. And after I only kicked him out of a second story window instead of the fifth floor. That's what I get for showing mercy, I guess.
JEFF: What do you think we should do? Wait, like Petit says, or go get him?
CLARK: Go get him, I guess. The picture shows him tied up.
JEFF: Which he likes.
CLARK: That's true.
JEFF: Do we give Petit his stupid pictures back? It's not like we want them. That could be the easiest answer.
CLARK: I threw them away for that reason.
JEFF: Hmm. That could be problematic.
CLARK: I mean, I just threw them away. We could just take them out of the recycling bin.
JEFF: Nah, I don't want to do all that.
CLARK: That's true. The recycling bin being all the way over there and all.
JEFF: Isn't this a puzzle. I honestly don't know how we should proceed.
CLARK: Let's sit back and think about it and see if a sign presents itself. JEFF: That's as good an idea as any at this point.

While we do that, if anybody has suggestions as to what our next plan of action should be, please share them with us via the comments below. Go save Michael, or what?