Kip, The Mail Boy

It's no secret the super headquarters of The Unbelievables is housed in Stiletto Flats, Nevada.

And in all that time, there has been exactly one - ONE - postal employee who has handled mail for The Unbelieva-base. And, on the rare occasion, delivered it, too.

Kip. Kip the Mail Boy.

I befriended Kip when the base was being built ... or more properly, "renovated." He was slight, pale and introverted. (Clark didn't like him at the start because, during the time or three he made a special delivery, he blocked the drive, inevitably when Clark needed to head somewhere. Kip had the uncanny knack of getting in Clark's way.)

Kip had a way about him that encouraged you to want to get to know him. He was a good kid. Helpful. In fact, we were so taken by him, we fed his natural curiosity about the Unbelieva-Base when he asked, gave him tours and even promoted the place through him. He was our "unofficial spokesman" ... which confused the bejeebers out of our enemies.

Think about it: If you were our nemesis, wouldn't you think it odd we had a spokesman? Why in the world would anyone want to bring attention to a secret lair? (Well, for one thing, it's not such a secret lair, truth be told.)

More so, when you're that transparent about something, there's a natural dichotomy of the mind that questions "Are they hiding something?" while at the same time revealing see-through honesty some can't fathom.

And that was the genius of our plan ... the method to some of our madness.

Jeff and Clark have more to tell you about Kip. Clark might even unleash some of his anger issues about the boy.

Me? I'm happy go lucky with 'ole Kip.

I mean ... he's just The Mail Boy ... 

The End Of Kip The Mail Boy, Part 1

"WHAT?! You don't mean ... !?!"

I was about to exclaim something but was distracted by Clark cocking a couple firearms to dispose of Kip once and for all. His "Who says I didn't?" comment, shot at us way too coolly and confidently, was obviously the last straw.

And if you know anything about Clark you know he has an extremely short tolerance toward Kip.

Apparently that tolerance just got cut in half courtesy of our little exchange with Kip. It was the perfect excuse for Clark to "take action" on our (previously loyal) Mail Boy once and for all.

"Clark, cool it. You can't do that. WE don't do that. Hold on a moment ..." I urged, then turned back to Kip. 

"Look ... this charade has gone on long enough. There's no possible way, without our help, you could ever pull off a convincing about face and gain the trust of our opponents so easily. Our female opposition wouldn't tolerate you - they'd pulverize you in a hot minute. As it is The Unbelieva-Babes barely put up with you ... or so I've heard. And posing as someone you're not? It doesn't add up. Spill it, Kip. The truth. Right now. Because Clark's trigger finger is itching ... and I'm not sure Jeff and I can contain him this time."

Look at that baby face: This ... THIS is the face of defiance?

Kip The Mail Boy is now The Unbelievables' enemy?!?

Ulf The Unbelieveadog yipped and growled ominously while Jeff held him at bay. Clark just fumed ...

... and that's when Kip crossed his arms and sneered.

I couldn't believe it. None of us could. He'd never done that before.

Sure, Kip was sharp, even witty sometimes ... but defiant? Never.

What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

The Last Final End Of Kip The Mail Boy (and this storyline)

(WARNING: The following material may elicit reactions like this...

...as it contains shocking developments of a revelatory nature. Those with low tolerance for suspense and surprises may choose to wait in our Unbelieva-lounge For Namby-Pambies.

Frozen cocktails and chilaquiles await!

No? Okay, daredevils. We now resume our two-fisted tale of intrigue!)


What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

My hands trembling with rage, I reached for Kip's neck...

...and ripped off the cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask to reveal...

Jeff and Michael gasped "It's the vile and disgusting Henri Petit!". "Of course it is", I said. Because It was. Henri Petit, our most sinister, chain-smoking, toddler of a foe, perched on some awkward mechanical stilts contraption, topping off his disguise with a cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask.

Michael asked, "But how did you know it was Henri Petit wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask and not actually Kip himself?" I replied,"Because not only is he wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask, he actually is cheap, ill-fitting Kip himself!" 
More gasps.
All these years, I knew my hatred of Kip was justified! Let's pick things up from the transcript recorded by our Unbelieva-voice recorders.

PETIT: That's right, Unbelieva-oafs! This whole time, I've had access to your mail and the inner workings of your top secret headquarters as I moved among you on a daily basis while you remained completely unaware! I've won. Do you hear me? I HAVE DEFEATED YOU!!JEFF: You fiend! You read our mail?!?
PETIT: What? Oh. No, I didn't actually read it. That would be rude. And illegal, I think.
MICHAEL: So you had access to our mail, a vital source of our communications...but you didn't read it?
PETIT: No, but I had access to it! And that means you were vulnerable to attack! Ha ha!
CLARK: But you never actually used that access to attack. And now you've been apprehended. What was your point?
PETIT: Well, ah... Hmm...
JEFF: Yeah, that makes no sense. Tell us what you were really up to!
PETIT: I was going to attack you. I was! But once I settled into the mail room and developed a routine, well, you get a lot of mail from ladies. and it smells really nice.
MICHAEL: Oh gross! You little pervert!
PETIT: Not just that! The pay was good for a pretty easy job and the benefits are top notch, so I thought 'what's the rush?' Plus that espresso machine in the break room is simply delightful! I was merely biding my time until...
CLARK: Bide this, you loathsome, grubby, espresso-swilling tot! (glass breaking)
PETIT: I keep telling you I am not a... (unintelligible, fading curses followed by a wet thud)
CLARK: Sorry guys. I guess we need a new window.
JEFF: And a new mail boy! (laughter, martini glasses clinking)
ULF: Arf, arf! (louder laughter)
MICHAEL: And more frozen cocktails and chilaquiles! (almost hysterical shrieking laughter)

The End

My case against Kip, the Mail Boy

"Anger issues" regarding Kip, the Mail Boy? Nah, not me. I bear no anger toward the lad. Severe distrust? Oh yes, absolutely. But that's because of his face, with all the features pushed together and occupying a disproportionately small area of his head and I make no apologies. Until modern science proves me wrong, I refuse to believe that "Kip" isn't related to "Kim":

Uncanny, in that the resemblance is too close to be canny.

And bitter resentment? Most certainly. There's the whole, "getting in my way all the damn time" thing, which is in itself, super annoying. More importantly, I feel he's just a bad fit for our organization. Specifically, why do we need a mail boy? I can think of at least three candidates of the female persuasion who would be infinitely more qualified to do the job than that sniveling, pinch-faced, kimchi-eating traffic impediment. Again, I say that with no anger. But come on!

"Oopsie, I dropped some! Maybe if I hike my skirt up even higher, I can carry more envelope thingies in it and that won't happen any more!" Angie sees a problem and immediately comes up with a solution. That is the kind of initiative you want to see out of any employee.

"Here, Clark. I wrote you another mail. I used even more perfume this time." Okay Delores, traditionally we'd be looking for someone to handle the distribution of incoming mail, not generate it. But I like the outside-the-box approach!

"Ugh! That darn Unbelieva-security gate! I got my dress caught in it again!" Yeah, sorry about that, Susannah. We'll have to adjust that. Or something.

I guess my devotion to providing career opportunities for women is something I believe in so strongly that it precludes me from appreciating Kip, the traitorous moron. That's just the kind of guy I am, and that Kip is not. Again, I say that with no anger. But he sucks.

He's Just The Mail Boy

Really, Michael? He's just the mail boy? Oh no, my friend. He's soooo much more than that. When you think of whom we might have ended up with as mail boy, he's a shining example of a model employee. 

I mean, look at some of the people whose resumes have ended up on our desk over the years, begging for a chance to work alongside their favourite international crime fighters...

Who do you think you are, bud? 

Sure, these fellas sure know their sticky notes. But seriously, would you trust them with anything more than that?

Um... no.

Sharp threads, but... no.

Kip is nothing short of a blimmin' miracle worker, the way he expertly handles our not inconsiderable incoming mail day in and day out...

Kip's average daily workload.

Some of the items of mail he's had to deal with would make your head spin. 

Some of the above happened to contain makeshift explosive devices. Oh yes, there are plenty of evil-doers out there who'd be glad to see the Unbelievables blasted into smithereens. But Kip heads them all off at the pass, frequently risking a permanent maiming in order to protect your protectors, world. You could say he's doing the planet a giant favour just by sorting our mail. He's a certified bomb expert, having trained with the incendiary division of the Eagle Scouts when only a lad. So he can spot a poorly disguised bomb a mile off. 

Clark (who is just angry at Kip for knowing more about something than him) suspects that Kip makes these bombs himself and mails them to the base so that he can then 'find' and 'defuse' them in order to make himself look good and appear invaluable. but, seriously, what kind of nutballs does he think Michael and myself are to employ someone so unhinged?! The very thought.

Kip also managed to uncover something that we had long suspected. You know when get a package delivered that has gotten somehow 'damaged' in transit, and there's a little apology note from the Postal Service with it that states at the top "WE CARE"? Turns out that this was not the first draft. Kip discovered one of the too-honest originals that must have been attached to a package by mistake. Here it is...

Kip, we tip our hats to you. You keep us safe from postal harm.

Hot Roddin'

The Unbelievabase, sometime yesterday morning. Breakfast is on the table.

MICHAEL: So, any word on Rod and The Conductor?

CLARK: Nada. Zip. Smoke. Nuttin'. Not a peep. Nary a flicker on the radar scope. Not heard a word. No--

JEFF: We get it! I have, however, done some research--

C: Wikipedia, Ask Jeeves, Bing...

J: THANK you, yes, Wikipedia etc., (ahem) and I can safely say that with the combined age of The Conductor, Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen being approximately 636, depending on whose birth certificates are accurate, Rodders should have comparatively little difficulty escaping their clutches.

M: So... we don't need to worry?

J: No.

C: And the ransom? 

J: Paid.

CLARK,MICHAEL: How?

J: I know it sounds almost impossible to believe, but we have Kip The Mail Boy to thank.

C: Oh come ON! That little snot-nose?! What the--

J: Believe it or not, but all this time working as our mail boy has had a positive effect on Kip. He has learned how to hack computers. 

M: You're putting me on.

C: On what planet exactly?!

J: On this one, mi amigos. I sorta... suggested to Kip that perhaps he could hack into the finances of a very rich, very stupid person and use their money to procure the ransom. After all, being very rich, a transaction like that would be a drop in the bucket. And being very stupid, they wouldn't think to look. 

M,C: Come on though! Rich and stupid, sure, but still a person...

J: Not a good person. Not a nice person. A rich, dumb asshole who deserves to be stolen from. 

M: Oh, an asshole. That makes it alright then.

DOOR KNOCKS.

J: I believe I'll get that.

Jeff opens door to reveal Rod Stewart, alive and well.

ROD: Alright lads?

M, C: Hi Rod! What the heck?!

ROD: Relax, guys. Although I could have easily overpowered Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen, not to mention The Conductor, the ransom got paid and I just walked out, but not before hiring Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen to be my staff. They're all great cooks (Pan-Asian Fusion is the best!) and Ryūzō himself is now my chief bodyguard. I had them clean out my attic for old spare bits of railway track, gave that to The Conductor, and then made my way here.

M, C: Wow.

M: That explains that, then. 

C; Yeah, except for one thing. The name of the rich, dumb asshole Kip hacked?

J: (slyly grinning) Oh, I'm sure if you think hard enough, you can come up Trumps.

ALL: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Schooled By Kip

"Kip!" I yelled at the schoolboyish face as he entered the room, "You got some 'SPLAININ' TO DO!!! Sic'im, Ulf!" and with that I unleashed Ulf towards Kip, who immediately fell under the force of Ulf's UnbelievaPaws.

Ulf in training. He can catch all those balls before they or he hit the ground.

The poor sap lay in a semi-fetal position while Ulf jumped all over him, shouting "Stop, stop, c'mon Ulf, stop, boy!" and crying... or was that laughing?

It was then Michael noticed something. "Hey, guys... Ulf's either gone soft or he's trying to slobber Kip to death!"

We pulled Kip to his feet and as he wiped the doggie drool from his face, we saw he was smiling broadly.

Clark was incensed. "Hang on just a cotton-pickin' moment, you snot-nosed little twit," he said. "What the heck just happened here?! C'mere, you little..."

Kip expertly dodged Clark's lunge towards him - a little too expertly, if you ask me - and began to explain.

"Guys, guys, calm down. What you're all probably wondering is how is the idiot mailboy behind all this threatening stuff?"

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, brother!" said Clark, who is rather fond of quoting Daffy Duck when irritated.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not. Or at least I wasn't to begin with. The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black is - was - a concoction dreamt up by none other than Little Debbie, Henri Petit, Sam Snow, et al - to spur you guys into thinking you were under serious threat. Which worked. Their aim being to catch you guys off guard at some point and kidnap one of you for a huge ransom."

Heh-heh!

Whatevs.

"Uh-huh" said Michael. "So how did you get involved?"

"Well, I'd seen how sloppy you guys were getting lately - I mean, making frozen cocktails and chilaquiles while under threat -

Mm mm mm.

Chilaquiles Verde Con Pollo, Unbelievables style.

 that's either ridiculous over-confidence or not giving a rat's patootie, either of which is dangerous. You need to be ever vigilant. So I solved the case for you and then decided to up the ante and pretend to be The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black to give you a much-needed workout. Which I hope I have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried. "Back the truck up uno momento, por favor! What do you mean you 'solved the case for us', Mail Boy?"

"Yeah!" said Clark. "How would you be able to do something like that without utilising our butt-kicking UnbelievaFu-type skills, etc.? Not to mention being extremely handsome and sexy? Huh? Huh, Mail Boy? Huh?"

"Who says I didn't?" replied Kip, coolly raising one eyebrow.

"WHAT?!" spluttered Michael, scarcely able to believe his ears (actually, nobody can believe Michael's ears. They are rather hairy, but let's not get into that right now). "You don't mean...!?!"

Not actually Michael's ear. Honest.

Kip By Name, Kip By Nature

So, before I start, I should just let everyone know that Kip has been found alive and well. The reason I say this at the beginning of the post is because we have had various communiques from worried female fans (who knew?) who were concerned that their favourite mail boy was in a desperate and dire situation. I'm not even kidding. Check this out:

Dear Unbelievables,

What's happened to Kip? I hope you have found that sweet boy with the angelic face. I've been so worried! He is my favourite! I've even decorated the inside of my school locker with some fabbo Kip pix so I can look at his sweet face all the time! He's dreamy (etc.etc., it goes on at some length regarding some sort of Kip-shrine, you get the idea...)
yours,
Sheena Ribeena, Kip's #1 fan

She even included a photo.

Be that as it may, we were tipped off to his location yesterday by the sound of loud snoring emanating from behind one of the filing cabinets in his mailroom. We investigated further and discovered, pulling out the filing cabinet, a secret doorway (who knew?) to his own private alcove, replete with comfy hammock, coffeemaker, alarm clock, toaster and mini-fridge, not to mention a small chest of drawers and a portable shower. In the hammock lay Kip, snoozing merrily away nineteen to the dozen. We gently woke him (well, Clark tried to shove him out of his hammock), and once he was conscious and coherent, we peppered him with questions.

Turns out that after going to Petit's gaff and rigging those retractable wheels on to the Hacktivator, he was exhausted. In that situation, he saw fit to use the secret napping house (his words, not ours) that he had made for himself behind the filing cabinet, and sleep. For days and days.

Now, you may be aware that I am the only one of the Unbelievables that is from the UK. And you may not know that in certain parts of Britain, such as the South-East where I grew up, there is a slang term for taking a nap, which is "to have a kip".

You could almost see the lightbulb go on inside my mind and shine out through my eye sockets!
"Kip," I said, incredulous, "are you of English extraction?"

"Yes," he replied. "How did you know?"

"Your parents were wise folks, naming you after your favourite pastime, eh?"

Kip said nothing, but he just fixed me with that steady gaze and I swear I saw a twinkle in his eye.

Boob Tube Inspiration

A typical powerhouse.

(And, not so coincidentally, the meat and potatoes of the Unbelieva-Base)

"What do The Unbelievables like to watch on TV?" Kip The Mail Boy quipped long, long ago.

And as Jeff mentioned, there's not a lot of downtime for leisurely television viewing in our fast-paced schedules.

But, for me, where there is a moment or three, it's Looney Tunes cartoons. With the most enjoyable being the ones utilizing Raymond Scott's iconic musical composition "Powerhouse" as punctuation.

Why? That's pretty obvious when you view the video below:



You see, quite often a lot of the scenarios in the montage above have been incorporated into The Unbelivables' methodologies. (We personally enjoy and have used the final scene in the video of Sylvester huffing the barrel of gunpowder over the hills on some of our unwitting foes.

Bottom Line: Looney Tunes are not only enjoyable and frolicky but offer useful information for our endeavors.

See? Fun and educational ... all at our leisure. Makes television viewing appear worthwhile instead of a waste of time, doesn't it?

Incidentally, that was pretty much the clincher for Kip The Mail Boy joining our merry little crime-fighting (and gentlemanly) ranks. He knew he wasn't going to get a better education in all things us than, well ... with us.

P.S. We've used "Happy Birthday" on a number of no-gooders, too. It's a classic ...

This Gang Is A Bunch Of Animals, Part 2

It became evident rather quickly

we weren't dealing with just a bunch of well-dressed monkeys ...

Ulf The Unbelievadog, canine operative, clued us in:

"Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllll ... !!!" That's all Jeff needed to hear.

"Guys! Ulf The Unbelievadog just told me the greatest threat to the world as we know it is at hand and it's in the form of a bunch of dressed-up chimps with plans to take over the world!" Jeff panted. "It's a real live version of Planet Of The Apes! Let's thwart this thing!"

Clark and I looked at each other and then back again at Jeff. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! That's intel straight from Ulf!" Jeff confirmed.

"Ulf! Ulf, boy! C'mere!" Clark called. Ulf trotted over and sat down in front of Clark. "Talk to me, boy ..."

Ulf's ears pricked up and he stood: "Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllllllllll ... !!!"

"Where'd you find this out?" Clark countered.

"Woof ... *gag* ... yelp, arf woof!" came the response.

"Huh," I puffed. "Real live chimps? That's a new one. It's a wonder no one's thought of this before. Are you sure they're not being led by anyone, Ulf? They're just chimps, all on their own, instigating and planning this overthrow?"

"Woof!" Ulf responded.

"We've got to get going!" Jeff blurted.

"Hold on ... we need a plan first," I offered. Jeff and Clark agreed.

"Clark: Run to the store and get a bushel or two of bananas. Jeff: Downstairs in the storeroom behind that old box of grenades is Charley Chimp. Grab him for me, will you? Meanwhile, I need to get out of these pants and give Ulf some water. He's parched!"

Charley Chimp: Best decoy ever

Clark headed out and we heard the 'Vette roar down the road seconds later. Jeff came back up from the storeroom with Charley.

"We'll use Charley as the usual diversionary tactic and put him in the middle of the floor at the Unbelieva-Base's laundry entrance. Surround Charley with the bananas Clark will bring back for us shortly and we have that animal horde right where we want them. Besides, I've been dying to bust out the Lobster Rage Fist!"

The Lobster Rage Fist:

Quite possibly The Unbelievables' most deadly weapon

15 minutes later after planting Charley as a diversion (and still waiting on Clark to return) we heard a commotion. We flipped on the Unbelieva-Monitors keeping an eye on the faux-laundry entrance to the Unbelieva-Base.

"Uh oh. We have a problem ..." Jeff half whispered through pursed lips.

There on the screen was Mr. B, Bames Jond, Mr. Shifter, Bobo and a couple dozen more chimp goons closing in on Charley in the middle of the entrance.

"No problem. I'll activate Charley. He'll keep those chimps busy wondering what he'll do next. But that will only last half a minute at best. Even with the best of our arsenal, it's us two against almost 30 of them. We're outnumbered 15 to 1! And with Kip The Mail Boy off today*, we need Clark desperately! What's holding him up ... ??!!?"(... to be continued Friday ...)

*In all honesty, Kip isn't much help in a tussle any time. No great loss there.

Gone ... With The Nudist?

In the first 24 hours of Jeff's post about Len Scapp's supposed "retirement" ("... if you think you've seen any sign of our man Len, drop us a line, won't you?") the floodgates of inquiry swung wide open.

Most of the concern went something like this:

"Hey, Unbelievables: It sure seems like you guys - or people you know or are associated with - go missing for some reason or another pretty damned often. It's either kidnappings, someone gets lost, retirement, extended vacations and the like. What gives?"

"You know ... they have a point," Jeff noted when the three of us sat down to discuss the situation.

"Somehow, I have a hunch this thing leads to Michael ..." Clark shot me a laser-eyed accusatory look and held up several of the photos. The ones of the redheads.

"Hey ... don't blame me!" I snatched the photos from Clark's hand. "Look ... I'll offer this: We can nix a third of the suspects right off the bat because they're redheads. I admit ... I *cough* know all of them on one *cough* level or another from past *hack,cough* dealings ..."


"I told you," Clark offered.

"Just as the sun rises in the east, we know he does dig the redheads," Jeff admitted looking Clark's way. Clark nodded in agreement.

"... and, diabolically, if they had anything to do with anything, nefarious though each of them may be, they'd come after me. I'd be the one missing, not Lenny." Reluctantly, my two compatriots were on board with that assessment.

I tossed the photos of the redheads on the ground, took the others and looked at them. "Any of these dames have dealings with him recently?"

Just then, Kip The Mail Boy strolled in the room eating an apple. "What's up, guys?"

Clark glared at Kip. (Everyone knows Clark regards Kip with distrust and bitter resentment.)

"Lenny's missing. We're following up on some leads ..." I responded.

"Lemme see," Kip said taking a chomp out of his snack noisily. I handed him the photos "Think I'd zero in on Doris if I were you ..."

"Why's that?" Jeff and I asked in unison. Clark just growled lowly and threateningly at Kip.

"Len has really been frequenting our magazines of late when he comes by ... especially the nudist magazines."

One of Lenny's preferred periodicals of late ...

He picked out one of the photos I was holding and turned it around for us to see.

"Isn't Doris Gumph a nudist?"

... hhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ...

Unexpected Gifts

With another Valentine's Day firmly behind us, not long ago we thought it would be a good idea to "spread the love" in the form of a little "gift" to our enemies.

No ... we're not crazy. We're quite certain all of you are familiar with the saying "Keep your  friends close and your enemies closer." Well, there's that ... and more. When you're a non-government affiliated, multi-jurisdictional, not-for-profit crime and injustice fighting organization, you learn to work a few angles to keep tabs on the bad guys who wish you nothing but ill will.

We put the word out: Anyone interested in a little one-on-one time with us was welcome to enter into a random drawing. Three "winners" would get to ask a dozen questions of each of The Unbelievables. No holds barred. 

But there was a wrinkle: The questions could only be formulated such that the answers came as either "yes" or "no" responses.

Now, while that might seem limiting, you can gain quite a bit of information if you craft your questions intelligently. Regardless, we figured our counterparts would jump at the chance to grill us, the rules of the game notwithstanding.

Of course once the campaign was initiated, Kip The Mail Boy wasn't pleased with all the incoming mail. Hundreds of entries were received in the hope of being one of the lucky ones. But he hunkered through it well enough.

Once all the entries were in, winners were chosen at random by each of us. Individually, we dipped our hand into a big bag and, one by one, we pulled out the name of a counterpart.

Me? I got The Klumpmasterflash Twins.

Yeah ... The Twins look good ...

... but they're about as sharp as a bag of hammers.
Jeff pulled his next. And Clark? Well ... is there any doubt who Clark pulled out of the hat? (You'll just have to hold tight until those two post to see who they came up with. Though, you can guess Clark's pick. Or ... maybe not.)

I rang up The Twins and a meeting date was arranged.

"Well ... hello ladies," I greeted them as they were escorted into our lavishly appointed parlor/sitting room at the Unbelieva-Base a week or so later.

They sat down opposite me and forewent any pleasantries. "Just yes or no questions, right?" Greta asked.

"Correct" I responded.

Alternatively between the two - as if they had rehearsed the scenario a million times previously - the questions came in rapid staccato fire:

"Where do you keep your arsenal stash?" Gerta.

"Who supplies you?" Greta again.

"How do you keep tabs on us?" Gerta followed up.

"Ladies, ladies, ladies ..." I interrupted "... yes or no questions only, please."

The twins traded glances with each other then looked back at me. I still saw stars when I looked their way, my previous giddy, head-over-heeledness with them long ago still fresh in my mind. They repositioned themselves in their seats and continued the grilling.

Greta: "How does one become an Unbelieva-Babe?"

Gerta: "Who is this 'Kip' person we're always hearing about?"

Greta: "Why aren't you wearing pants?!?"

This went on for another few questions before they finally figured it out ... and on the final question no less:

"We haven't asked all our dozen questions yet, have we?" Gerta queried.

"Actually, yes you have" I stated matter of factly and stood up. "Thank you for coming, ladies. You're time - and your questions - are up."

I escorted the two of them to the door and blew air kisses at both while thanking them for coming. They were flabbergasted.

Indicative of The Twins, some criminals just never learn. Jeff and Clark will clue you in to what I mean ...

Good Reads: The Girls And Kip

(... continuing the reading preferences of The Unbelievables and staff this week ...)

Lastly (and no real surprise here) the reading material preferences of The Unbelieva-Babes jibes with what you would think ...

Kip The Mail Boy's likes on the other hand ... well ...

... let's just say interesting and all together different.

Loyal to a fault ... but Kip The Mail Boy can be one strange puppy.

We're at a loss with this one ... some New Zealand rugby publication ...

There are no words.

*shiver*