The Saga Of Michael and Luanne

Hoo boy. Relationships, eh? A lot of the time they can be tricky things to keep in balance. It's like being a tightrope walker - one wrong step and the show's over. You might as well stay home and play a board game just to be on the safe side.

Maybe not this particular one, though.

And it's probably best not to try this, either...

Because after all, isn't the image we have of the perfect relationship something like this?

But all too often it ends up being more like this?

And we Unbelievables have, with relatively few exceptions, managed to keep our relationships with the ladies (Hello, ladies!!!) in control. But in a few cases, such as the one mentioned on Monday by Clark (thanks for that, by the way, Clark) things have gone south in double-quick time. 

Here's an excellent example of a relationship that went pear-shaped in short order.

Michael met this lovely, attractive girl Luanne from the typing pool. She seemed like the kind of girl any international butt-kicking crimefighting playboy would want on his arm - cute, smart, funny etc. - but just like every superhero has an inner demon or a major character flaw or a secret weakness, Luanne had one thing that let her down and let her down big time. 

She couldn't take her liquor. By which I mean she could drink it just fine, but once she did, it brought out some unpleasant traits which caused Michael to reconsider his eagerness to date this otherwise charming young lady. 

Fig. 1: After a couple Singapore Slings Luanne became overly touchy-feely, playing with his ears and making Michael look a complete sap.

Fig. 2: Dismayed by Michael's dislike of the public displays of ear-fondling, Luanne gets even more drunk. As you can see by his expression, Michael is regretting coming out on this date.

Fig. 3: Once home, Michael finds himself in the awkward position of trying to sober up a mean drunk. She can't even be bothered to sit like a lady.

So as you can imagine, Luanne was a dud. Michael did let her down easy, but that's life, isn't it? She'll get over it.

So what does it take to stop your love life from looking like this (see below)?

"I hate you, I hate your friends, I hate this drink, and I hate the way you just stand there grinning like an idiot."

I think I have found the answer from some of my fellow countrymen...

The Advice Column

One of the recurring themes that come with the territory when you are a stylish gent-about-town who is also a skilled martial arts devotee and secret crime fighter who is very good at everything else too is that women tend to find you irresistible. We Unbelievables find that the ladies are never far from crime scenes, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idols (i.e. us), or showing up when we do Community-oriented deeds such as reading to blind people and taking our llamas to hospitals to provide sick people with therapy. Yes, what I am talking about is groupies. 

Rojo the llama. Not even kidding about this.

That's right - just like rock stars, movie stars and mushroom farmers, we Unbelievables have hangers-on. Little limpets, Michael calls them. Aside from the almost constant presence of the Unbelievababes, and the occasional evil-doing female such as The Double-D Dames and the Klumpmasterflash Twins, we get a lot of ardent female fans flinging themselves at us, promising all sorts of treats of the boot-knockin' variety if we will just give them the time of day. For this reason, many guys ask us just what it is about us that women love. What, they cry in their dozens, is the secret to attracting a sexy female person? What, in short, do women want? Now, we've covered this sort of topic before, but it still gets asked of us, so it bears repeating.

Clearly it's a question of finding out what they like. You find out what she likes, you'll know what she wants. And for me at least, these are the things that I know that women like. No, not like. LOVE.

Women love...

...crossing the street in miniskirts. I like that too. 

Women love the colour red.

Women love guitars. Get yourself a guitar. We have hundreds. Only Clark knows how to play one, and all he can play is "Cow-Cow Boogie". Even so, an alarming amount of women want to get him down to his BVDs at the mere sight of his gleaming red instrument. See, RED... what'd I tell you?

Women also love robots, especially ones that give them parking tickets. Go figure... I mean, you know... women, eh?

Women love "JAZZ". And big horns. Answer this ad right away and the dames will be surrounding your domicile night and day, desperate for a glimpse of your shiny instrument. What, I can't use the same innuendo-laden joke twice? 

Women love scooters. Personally I think it's the thought of riding on the back of a machine that was road-tested in near-suicidal rush-hour Rome traffic, with the scent of pasta dishes and hair oil in the air, that gets them all a-quiver.

Women love Saabs. No explanation, but there's something about a Saab that makes a woman like putty in your hand. Little tip though - the same effect can be achieved with a late-model Skoda, but please avoid the Yugos and Reliant Robins.

Any road up, that's what I've found out about women, and those tips work like a charm every time. Use them wisely, for they are like gold dust. The guys will be along later in the week to add their opinions to the discussion. At the end of this week, I assure you you'll be beating women off with a rather large stick-like object.

A Simple Request

Imagine, if you will, a world without toilet paper.

For men, not that big a deal.

Unless you're one of those prissy, uptight, high-maintenance, high-strung, "anal," (See what I did there?), metro-sexual sort of men ... the kind who put the "foo" in "foo-foo." (For the record, I am not one of those kinds of men. I'm pretty down to earth.)

Men, in the above given situation, will switch into "necessity is the mother of invention" mode. A random washcloth* ... that magazine sitting on the back of the commode ... the emptied toilet paper roll itself ... for men, all those examples could be utilized to clean the back of your front in that time of need.

Now ... if you're a woman, that's entirely different story. Women need toilet paper. Women live for the stuff. And that's okay. (Hokay ... they don't "live" for the stuff, but you know what I mean.)

But don't go getting your chaps in a hide just yet. As far as I know, there's not going to be any sort of shortage in the toilet paper industry. (Again, as far as I know.)

But let me tell you something: There is a contingent of ne'er-do-wells out there who would love to "stir the shit" (if you will) and vanquish toilet paper from the face of the earth ... just to cause panic and general mayhem and monkey business. (Though, let's be honest: If toilet paper really was gone, daddy, gone I'm certain it would be an issue with far greater and long-reaching consequences than simple monkey business.)

It's not like the internet going down, which would require one to get off the couch, stop the spreading of one's ass and actually perform some routine duty that's been put off most of the week ... like wash those dishes that have turned into a kitchen sink science lab experiment complete with growing mold.

Or running out of milk. Or coffee creamer. Or Coca Cola. Or not being able to don that favorite shirt because it's in the bottom of the laundry basket and needs to be washed.

"Durr ... uhm ... yup ... I'm almost out of nuts.

Now whuddoo I do ... ???"

Why do I bring up some of these things?

Because - while there is that contingent of underhanded mischief makers out there - there is a small group of boneheads who contact The Unbelievables for the dopiest reasons ever, thinking we'll rush to the rescue at the drop of a hat. For events that are, in essence, non-events.

For example: I was the only one at The Unbelieva-Base one afternoon when the following call came in ...

*ring, ring*

"Unbelieva-Base ... this is Michael ..."

"Hey ... Michael? Hi. This is Jed. Something came up I hope you guys might be able to help out with. The other day? I found out left-handed people get injured more often than right-handed people. Matter of fact, I heard something like 2,500 lefties die each year - DIE, mind you - from using right-handed products! Twenty! Five! Hundred! People! A! Year! Help us, Unbelievables ... you're our only hope!"

Of course, I told the guy I had another call coming in.

What was I supposed to say? "Really? Well ... we'll jump on this right away. We'll get in contact with all the left-handed folks out there coast to coast and discourage them from using right-handed products post haste ..."

No. I don't think so. And this is just one example in a bevy of them I've decided to share.

We get this kind of stuff all the time. Jeff and Clark have stories in abundance and they'll be relaying some of the more ludicrous calls and notifications we've received asking for our assistance.

Stay tuned ...

* Of course, said washcloth would be disposed of before the wife/girlfriend/mom/hostess could find out.