"The Case of the Eddies" - Act II

Yeah, Ralph was an original member of The Unbelievables. He was a great guy. Jeff and Michael certainly thought he was great. He was pretty good. I wasn't as infatuated with him as the other guys were. He was okay. He certainly wasn't perfect. Frankly, I didn't care for him.

For one thing, he was always trying to push me around. "Go get us some donuts." "Go pick up my dry cleaning." "Go drive my Corvette around so my girlfriend thinks I'm in town and not in Houston, chasing stewardess tail." Stuff like that gets old, you know? Although I did enjoy driving that Corvette.

Jeff and Michael thought he was just the best, though. "Ralph is so clever!" "Ralph is so smart!" "Ralph smells like a rain forest!" It was always, "Ralph this" and "Ralph that". It got to be tiresome after a while. Another thing was Ralph always liked to make me look stupid to amuse Jeff and Michael. If I ever said or did anything wrong or made any kind of mistake, he would jump all over me and wouldn't let up. Jeff and Michael thought that was hilarious. Yeah. Ha ha ha.

So anyway, Ralph and I were in this warehouse full of books, checking out a tip and closing in on Lester Von Hornrimm (whom I had suspected from the very start but nobody took interest until Ralph said "hey, we should check out Lester Von Hornrimm" and then suddenly everybody was all on board). Jeff and Michael were outside playing with the new tape deck Ralph had just installed in his Corvette (whoopy do!) and keeping us covered. Ralph was bossing me around (as usual) "Turn left." "Turn right." "Shine the flashlight over here." "Not in my eyes, you idiot!" I got frustrated and you know how sometimes you want to say one thing and then you think of something else to say instead and your brain gets all mixed up so you say both things at the same time? That's what happened to me.

"Go what myself?", he laughed. "I've never heard that word before! In fact, I don't think that word exists!" He was laughing harder and harder. "That's quite a vocabulary you have! Look that up in the dictionary for me so I know what it means." I snapped back, "that's quite a vocabulary you have. Why don't you look it up in a dictionary so I know what it means?" He said, "Sure thing. I'll do that. Here's a whole pallet full of dictionaries right here. Wait 'til Jeff and Michael hear this one!"

Then he must have leaned up against it wrong or did something else that was stupid that somehow caused the pallet to tip over and fall on him, crushing him to death. Jeff and Michael heard the noise and came running in. "What happened?!?", they screamed in unison. I said, "I have no idea! Undoubtedly, an accident of some sort, probably caused by Ralph not understanding gravity as much as he thought he did. At any rate, we have a case to solve. No time to mourn or investigate. Let's go get Von Hornrimm. That's what Ralph would have wanted, right? Oh well. Time to move on." The guys were in shock as I led them quickly out of the warehouse which somehow accidentally caught on fire just as we exited.

I figured that was as good a time as any to tell them that Ralph's last words were "I want Clark to have the Corvette."

Ralph was a great guy.

"The Case Of The Eddies" - Part The Third

Hi Folks,
Jeff from The Unbelievables here. I well remember the Case of The Eddies and the untimely end of my friend and mentor, Ralph. 

Actually Ralph had been Michael and I's guidance counselor and trainer at Camp Action!, a summer camp for those super-special individuals who show a keenness towards crime-fighting, a knack for detection, and who look good in slacks.

Michael and I were taken under Ralph's wing at camp, and it was when we left school that we both received a call from Ralph to help him form an elite group of butt-kicking non-government-affiliated super-agents, to be tentatively named The Inestimables. Both Michael and I deemed this too difficult to say. It didn't quite roll off the tongue in an easy way, so we settled on the altogether more memorable The Unbelievables. 

I had known Clark from before I went to camp. He was a tough-talking no-nonsense street kid from the wrong side of the tracks, but I took a shine to his wise-cracking personality straight away. Having had a somewhat deprived childhood, he ran away from the orphanage at age 8 with the treasurer's cash box tucked under his arm and lived solely on his wits, relying on his charm, good looks, and an ability to blag his way into anywhere, not to mention his innate sense of groovy style, to get by. Living this way, he knew every shortcut, knew how to pick a lock and create elaborate MacGyver-style booby traps from almost nothing (he'd captured wild animals to cook and eat this way. To this day, he makes the meanest fricassee of possum I have ever tasted), so when we got the call from Ralph, I invited Clark to come along. "Sure, what the hell," he said, "I got nuthin' to do today."

A couple of months later we were on the case of The Eddies, in which diabolical evil genius Lester Von Hornrimm was determined to erase the word Eddie from every book, poster, newspaper, and comic book on the planet. It turns out Von Hornrimm had had an older brother named Eddie who treated him very badly, teasing and bullying him and making him put on lipstick, high heels and gingham dresses, as well as his Uncle Eddie, who constantly referred to Lester as "specky git" and "four-eyed little twerp". Not to mention his father Eddie Sr. who was an alcoholic and gambler and chronic smoker and addicted to oatmeal. "LESTER!!!" he'd shout. "Where's my frickin' oatmeal, ya four-eyed specky little twerpy git!" every hour on the hour. 

All of this mistreatment affected little Lester in a severe way, until his problems were finally solved for him one day when his father, brother and uncle all died in a mysterious house fire. His mother, Edwina, was arrested and did time in the slammer, leaving Lester Von Hornrimm to inherit the family fortune and barbed-wire factory, which he immediately converted into a giant workshop where he could concoct and enact his evil Eddie-erasing plans. A tragic case, really. We got him in the end, down at Surf Beach, chiseling off the word "Eddies" from all the warning signs. But back to Ralph, and his untimely demise.

So it was that Michael and I found ourselves keeping watch from the comfort of Ralph's Corvette, all the while listening to the Kostelanetz 8-tracks and sipping from our Nehi sodas (peach for Michael, grape for myself). Clark and Ralph had gone into a dictionary warehouse that had been infiltrated by Von Hornrimm. Sure enough, every copy had the page ripped out where the word "Eddie" should have been.

Suddenly the air was rent with hubbub and brouhaha as a mighty crash emanated from the interior of the warehouse. Michael and I put down our sodas and legged it inside, where we found a stunned-looking but still effortlessly stylish Clark standing next to a massive pile of books that had clearly fallen from a pallet.

"What happened?" we cried.

"Oh, well, um, Ralph's under that pile, sorta deadish", said Clark. "Still, no time to worry about that, let's go get Von Hornrimm before we get squashed too!"

We bolted from the building and piled into the 'Vette, a panoply of mixed emotions coursing through our minds, and as we revved up that sweet motor and shot out of there, I could see the warehouse exploding in the rearview to the strains of The Best of Perry Como. "What the??" I cried, looking at Clark, who gave me a sly wink and said...

"We were never here..."

Welcome To The Wild, Wild World Of The Unbelievables

Hi, Folks. Welcome to The Official Page of The Unbelievables. This is Michael ... and I'm happy to get things off to a rousing start, filling you in on the super-secret adventures Clark, Jeff and I have shared over the years as one of the premiere crime-fighting outfits of the modern world.

You know ... fighting crime is tough work. It's not for the faint of heart, not for the weak of constitution ... and definitely not for those whose favorite passtime is grooving a pattern with the back of their front in the cushion of their favorite couch.

It takes character, quick-thinking and, most of all, innovative fashion to keep our identities on the sly.

Clark Brooks, Jeff Hickmott and Michael Noble (better known as "The Unbelievables") exemplify and epitomize crime fighting at its finest. Their daring-do is known far and wide across many shores. Their efforts - many of which cannot be retold or shared here lest freedom and democracy be put into jeopardy - are legend.

Part of The Unbelievables' strategy lies in their uncanny abilities to hide in plain sight, becoming one with the bad guys, infiltrating ne'er do wells despite any obstacle that may block their way. In so doing, third-world kingdoms have been saved from extinction, grandmothers have been reunited with their families, secret double agents have been foiled and dinners have continued to be served hot, delicious and on time.

Yes ... many of you may not know the truth behind The Unbelievables, but this official page is here now to share a few of their exploits for the world (or, at least the internet) to marvel at. (Those we're able to share, at any rate, without compromising any hush-hush trade secrets and the like.)

We'll start things off with a little-talked about adventure - "The Case Of The Eddies" - where it can be revealed for the first time anywhere there was once a fourth member of The Unbelievables, Ralph, whose courageous efforts not only saw to it Clark, Jeff and Michael would live to see more adventures, but who was instrumental in teaching us the art of disguise. (Unfortunately, we're not able to reveal which of the four blue-clad men above are which, but rest assured one of them is Clark, one is Jeff, one is Michael and one is *sniff* Ralph. Rest in peace, Ralph.)

You know? The mere thought of this case brings a tear to my eye. After all, it was Ralph who suggested we don the open-collared look and casual attitudes displayed above in order to infiltrate the devious international shenanigans of Lester Van Hornrimm and his evil plans to eradicate the word "Eddie" from the English language. It was on a rainy day, deep within a warehouse filled with dictionaries, that Ralph discovered the true nature of Hornrimm's intentions ... and where he lost his life beneath a pallet of newly printed dictionaries. I ... I ...

... I'm going to have to let Clark or Jeff fill you in on what details they can about those days gone by and the circumstances of what befell our buddy Ralph that one fateful day.

I need a tissue ...

Sockin' it to the Muffin Man

I do remember this case very well. If for no other reason than it was the last time I ever had the pleasure of sitting behind the wheel of my beloved Corvette (I don't know why my colleagues insist on referring to it as Ralph's; Ralph certainly didn't need it anymore, what with being all crushed and burnt-up, and had anyway bequeathed it to me with his last, crushed and burnt-up breath, so I don't know why anybody has to keep referring to it as "Ralph's car" ... It was my car! MINE!!), even though I was packed in there with a bunch of dudes. I still don't know how one puts an automobile in gear while changing a radio station although I suspect it has something to do with why "agent" Mitchell wasn't in a position of higher authority (at the time, of course; my understanding is he is the Personal Security Specialist for Hollywood starlet Halle Berry now). At any rate the Corvette was totalled that day, same as the Muffin Man's drug/baked goods/hosiery operation.

And of course I remember our sock aliases. As mentioned previously, Michael was indeed "Azure Jewels", but Mitchell was "Crimson Glory", Schlomo was "Royal Confetti", Jeff was "Mauve Splendor" and I was "Pumpkin Buggerer".

My recollection of the origins of this photograph differs, however. I would have sworn this was our initiation into the gang; I remember a cold room (very cold, hence my perceived, um, shyness) and leaving a foggy imprint of our buttocks, which very few people realize are actually more distinct than fingerprints or dental records, on the plexiglass cubes was their way of making sure we were legit and not undercover operatives. Fortunately for us, Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill had somehow anticipated this circumstance and arranged for us all to be outfitted with prosthetic buttocks beforehand. I still have no idea how he could have known something like that but he basically saved the whole operation and our lives. But it was a long time ago. I could be completely wrong.

Still, right or wrong, I'd have to say my fondest memories of this case come from getting to meet and work with the amazing Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill. What a remarkable man. Truly an inspiration to crimefighters and those with prosthetic buttocks alike. I'll never forget the last time I saw him. He said, "Ay, The Muffin Man may have gotten away this time, but I dinna plan to give up on finding this fercockt gonif! Mind ye this, boychick; he could be closer than ye think! A bi gezunt, laddies. Man oh man, do I love baseball!" With that, he finished eating the last bite of his hot dog haggis muffin with cream cheese and capers and rode away on his motorcycle. We haven't seen him or the Muffin Man since.

Socks And Drugs And Sausage Rolls

It was a wet September evening somewhere in the early 1970's. Michael, Clark and myself were staking out a store known as "Sock It 2 Me", a shop which we knew was a front for an illicit baked goods and drug ring. Yes, baked goods. Danish pastries, Chelsea buns, Eccles cakes, crullers, steak and onion pasties and sausage rolls, mainly. The leader of the whole operation was known only as "The Muffin Man" and had thus far proved difficult to capture. He'd been smuggling drugs into the country via a Guatemalan bakery, and then filtering the baked items out to his network via the sock shop. The reason for this was because an actual bakery would have been too obvious, and the authorities would have noticed straight away. Fiendishly clever.

As we sat in our old pal Ralph's (rest his soul) Corvette we were slightly cramped. Actually, we were very cramped. Alright, we were contorted into extremely uncomfortable positions and each of us had at least one limb that had gone numb. The reason for this is because this was our first joint operation with the FBI, and office junior Mitchell wanted to come along for the ride, as he'd never seen an actual takedown before. Also with us was the guy in charge of the FBI operation, Schlomo McCaskill, the world's only Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent. However, as we sat in a cramped automobile with steamed up windows (made worse by Mitchell's insistence on bringing two Thermos flasks - one filled with hot coffee and the other with scalding tomato soup) we began to wonder if perhaps two vehicles might have been a better option. That, and walkie-talkies. And matching jumpsuits.

Schlomo knew his stuff. He'd been researching the Muffin Man's operation for a long time and several times had come close to nabbing the fiend, but never quite made it. This is why he'd called us, to pool our resources, so to speak. 

We'd been on The Muffin Man's tail a good while too. We were beginning to wonder if we'd ever get a break in the case, when Schlomo called us. We were glad of the help, frankly. Especially when you consider the following chain of events.

It was eight o'clock, and despite the cold and the rain outside, Michael finally cracked and wound down the window of the 'Vette. Fortuitous that he did, for it was at that moment that we noticed some shadows flickering in the half-light from inside the store.

Just then a truck pulled up and went around the rear of the store. The truck bore the legend "Muffin Man Bakery" on the side. We somehow knew this was our guy.

We split up and made our way around to the back entrance. Schlomo went with Clark, Michael and I went the other side, and Mitchell was left to mind the car and keep feeding the parking meter. He seemed quite content with his soup anyway - and he liked to play that game where you try to spot license plates from every state, so we didn't feel bad about leaving him on his own. "Keep the engine running," we said. "We might need to leave in a hurry."

Well, it seemed like it was all over in a matter of moments. Clark and Schlomo busted into the store while Michael and I subdued and restrained the truck driver. Clark sat on one guy (he kept wriggling - a lot), Schlomo cuffed another while he was in the act of stuffing a pair of blue Esquire Socks with a drug-laced sausage roll and a New York Water Bagel, but where was the Muffin Man himself?

Just then we heard the crunching of gears and turned in time to see the maniac take off in the truck, grinning widely and leaving the parking lot. However, the truck came to a sudden halt when the Corvette - our car - Ralph's precious 'Vette - lurched from its parking space, up onto the curb, knocked over the parking meter and fishtailed into the front of the truck. The Muffin Man was too stunned to do anything but just sit in the cab, looking glazed, like a cake donut.

We were pretty amazed too. Mitchell - our office junior, the guy who usually made the coffee - had saved the day. We raced over, shouting words of congratulation to Mitchell, except for Clark, who was muttering stuff about the car and repair bills and how hard it is to find a decent mechanic these days. However, it seemed that what had transpired was that Mitchell had become bored, was tinkering with the radio, and had accidentally put the car in gear. But no matter. The day was saved. After we had repaired to the nearest bar for two or nine beers with Schlomo, he suggested we pose for the above photo as a way of celebrating a successful capture. Quite why we agreed to do it nude, I can't recall. It seemed a good idea at the time.
The picture still resides on our office wall, and brings back some great yet fuzzy memories. 

The Muffin Man made a daring escape from prison a few years later using a laundry cart, a gross of paper-clips and a hockey puck, and is currently at large, whereabouts unknown...

And Mitchell? Well, he left us soon after that, claiming the event had "traumatized" him, but we noticed a few weeks afterwards that he was advertising his services in the local want ads as a private detective. I wonder where he is now...

Roller rescuers

It's kind of amazing how available we are to help people outside of our standard crime fighting duties. Even when it comes to recreational activities. There was the time Maureen McCormick (TV's Marsh Brady) casually mentioned that she wished she knew how to roller skate. All four of us (this was when Ralph was still around. R.I.P.) were only too happy to help.

"The ability to remain upright is a very important first step."

Due to the fact that we're experts at all things boogie-related, especially roller, Maureen and her two friends were skating like champions in mere minutes...

We sent Ralph out to fetch the paper. Or something. The last thing you need when you're on four wheels is a third wheel.

As is often the case with things like this, suddenly we were the go-to experts on roller skating techniques. Everything from the proper way to tie your skates whilst wearing hot pants...

Sure, I guess you could sit down and do it. But what's the point of that?

... to how to utilize your toe stops when your 'do needs fluffing.

"Take Me With U"

Of course, some took to it better than others.

The biggest star in the whole world, Cher (of course), had the clothes, the skates and the attitude, but still felt awkward for some strange reason. So all three of us got involved in helping to boost her confidence...

It's been mentioned before but sometimes we're black. Again, don't let it throw you.

She got better but for some reason, like some timid drivers, she only felt really comfortable with her headlights on...

Girls Like Us, Cameras Love Us

Back when we were just starting out as crimefighters (under the tutelage of the late great Ralph) we never really gave a second thought to our appearance, beyond just wanting to look good for the ladies (Hello, ladies!). We just did what every suave, debonair, playboy man-about-town-who-is-secretly-fighting-crime would do. Expertly coiffed hair. Perfectly precision-cut facial hair. Natty threads. Sweet, sweet custom-made shoes. Awesome wheels. All the usual stuff.

But one Tuesday while we were hanging out on the set of The Misfits in Stagecoach, NV (where they filmed that wild roping scene), chatting to Clark Gable and the delightful Marilyn (yeah - name dropping, I know) a photographer named Len Scapp stopped me in my tracks and said "You know, you have amazing cheekbones."

Blushing, I mumbled shyly, "Yeah, I know! That's what all the ladies say anyway (Hello, ladies!!)"

Then he turned his attention to Michael and Clark and said, "You guys are all lookers. You could make a fortune modelling, you know." Then he gave me a fresh bowl of whipped potatoes, with lots of butter and cracked black pepper.

Well, that was it. Nothing we Unbelievables like better than flattery, or whipped potatoes, especially on a Tuesday. He gave us the number of a couple big modelling agencies and we were on our way, baby. Gig after gig came our way, and soon we found that some of our crime-scene photos also looked so good, what with us being so stylishly dressed and everything, that they could easily be mistaken for catalog pictures, so we slipped them in too. 

In order: drug smuggling ring, plagiarists, and international donut thieves. We busted them all.

But the pictures of us on billboards, bearing the legend "The Unbelievables"? How'd that come about? I'll let Clark explain...

How'd this come about?

P.S. What Michael said about the Unbelieva-base? Well, our first test shoot with the legend that is Len Scapp took place in the inner sanctum of the base, and it was from that shoot that this image came...

Dumbing Down

Let's be reasonable, folks:

We can't do everything you ask. That's the long and the short of it. 

And that goes double when it's stupid stuff.

What do we mean? Here ... let me show you:

Dear Unbelievables:

 
My husband comes home in a couple hours and I don't know what to fix for dinner. Can you come over and whip something up for him?

In Anticipation, Dolores

No, Dolores ... we can't.

Dear Unbelievables:

I'm just too tired to take out the trash this week. They come Tuesday and Saturday. A little help over here would be appreciated.

Thanks! Marjorie

Uhm, nope.

Hey Unbelievables:

Seriously, Mickey D's needs to stay open past midnight. I have huge Big Mac attacks several nights a week. Work your magic and talk to those corporate boys for me. Thanks. 

Ralph

I don't think so.

Unbelieva-Guys:

I have 12 kitty cats. I can't snuggle all of them at once but I bet, with a little help from a couple of you guys, you could satisfy their need for closeness. How about it?

Beverly (purr)

Not in this lifetime, Beverly

Dear Unbelievables:

The sun comes up way too early for me. Is there someone in your vast network of stooges and compatriots who might alter this daily grind?

Chuck

Yes ... but he's busy next week.

See what we mean? Come on, people. You're not schlubbs and we're not at your beck and call for every whim and desire. (And let's face it - some of your whims and desires are questionable at best.) Life is hard, reality isn't always shiny and bright and full of promise and we have lives, too. It's not that we don't care. But ... sometimes? We don't. You've come this far, you can go a little further.


Post Note: You may have noticed Jeff didn't conclude last week's Back To School Top Tips theme. That's because he was busy with Best Man duties at a wedding, a most esteemed position in the grand scheme of wedding chores. There is not better man for the job of Best Man than our pal Jeff. So, you see? We do have things "just as important" as some of your requests. Remember that.