We Want To Be Your Rubber Ball

Both my compatriots Jeff and Clark have done admirable jobs denoting our muscalities. (Though, Clark's mention "one of the questions I am most frequently asked by fans and foes alike" is a little questionable ... especially coming from our foes who are usually either on the run from us or dazed and confused in the hoosegow.) Regardless, there's one final item worth stating here in conclusion. 

A personal preference of mine (in addition to Esquivel!) is a little ditty that blisters the ladies' sensibilities ("Hello, Ladies!") when they hear it tear the air asunder, instantly dialing up the party mood  excitement level to "11" ... and making us Unbelievables the suave and stylish gentlemen you all know us to be:

I can see your resistance to getting up and getting down is wearing away even now. Because ... we are your Boogie Men.

Not so "unbelievable" after all ...

Disc delights and disasters

Not a complaint really, but being The Unbelievables means we often don't have time for many of life's simple joys. One of those pleasing pastimes is simply whiling away the hours by browsing the local record stores. Even when it's time to throw one of our Unbelieva-bashes, there's so much work that goes into the guest list, the menu and the post-affair accommodations (ahem) that we have to dispatch interns to pick up new music... and of course there has to be new music. Can you imagine someone attending one of our shindigs and complaining that they'd heard a tune or two before? The horror! No, in order to avoid that party foul, we often have to cram a wad of bills into some intern's cold sweaty palm and send them off. Their instructions are always simple: "1) Sexy 2) Girls", yet somehow they still manage to mess it up. Here are some choices the interns have made over the years, some of which that brought a few Unbelievable shindigs to a premature and immediate end.

Ah! Classic! Perfect! Well done, whomever it was that bought this one! I'm sure we wrote a stellar evaluation on your half, thanks to this!

Augh. No. Terrible. You got the gist of the assignment but you didn't apply any taste to it. This is too blatant. We like subtlety. Foreplay begins in the mind, you know. Much sexier that way. This is a  failure.

Much more like it! See? Very subtle. Plus, this album is slammin' . Good work!

Again, utter lack of subtlety. Plus, you know we are sticklers for fair play and follwoing the rules. In what sanctioned boxing match would anything pictured in this scenario EVER happen? Come on!

On the surface, at first sight, not bad. But ukeleles? No. No ukeleles.

There is such a thing as following our instructions too literally and this is it. We didn't have a  party for three years after this showed up on our turntable.

Spinnin' Discs

It is by now a well-documented fact that we Unbelievables are not only the slickest crime fighters around, but our position as bastions of impeccable style and tip-top taste is unparalleled. We are, as they say, pretty cool guys.

One of the questions I am most frequently asked by fans and foes alike is: what's your taste in music, and how can one discern whether a record album is any good if one hasn't heard it?

Well, I'll give you a little tip or two. 

A good general rule of thumb is, if the title contains the words 'A Go Go', it is a pretty safe bet.

Never far from my turntable.

Quite often I'll be found down at the local record shop (named Sound Business Practices), plugged in to one of the listening stations, checking out a new platter or two. I have found that the sleeve art can give you a clue as to the quality of the music found therein. Like f'rinstance...

Double trumpets - you know it makes sense.

Sometimes you see an act live in person and you rush out and buy their hot wax immediately. Examples...

I met Daniel backstage and asked about the jacket. "One of a kind," he said. I tried to buy it off him but he wouldn't hear of it. "This is mah lucky jacket, it's made mah cuh-reer." Oh well, can't blame a guy for trying.

Been following the Duke for many years now, ever since that show at the North Wigan Copacabana Rialto and Miners' Welfare Club back in '70. Great night - dodging flying pint pots and practising my dance moves.

I totally dig records by Robert Mitchum too. That guy knows how to fake a Jamaican accent. Calypso Is Like So is a classic.

And generally speaking, if an artist has cared about the needs of butt-kickin' crimefightin' playboys such as ourselves enough to make sure there's a scantily clad beauty on the cover, then we're bound to put it on the stereogram before you can say SKAT!*

Billy is somewhat of a hero of ours. See the 'Hot Platters' tab at the top of the page.

See you at the record store! 

* SKAT is a very useful thing indeed...especially when with the ladies (Hello, ladies!)

Michael Is Missing (But It's OK)

Fear not, Unbelieva-fans! He's not actually missing. He just hasn't told us where he is or what he's doing other than it's some sort of side project. He's still in contact with us, teasing us every couple days with a picture or two.

Now, those of you who have been fortunate enough to pop over to either of Michael's blogs F (STOP) and Rupe's Value Added Services will doubtless be aware that the man is nothing if not mysterious. He posts various pictures which are themselves enigmatic. Like this.

This is why Clark and I call him The Mystery Man.  Or Mr. Mystery. Or Mysterio. Or Mystery Boy. Or even Enigma Chap (my personal fave).

So when I say he sends us pictures every day or two, I mean he sends us strange, perplexing, puzzling and downright MYSTERIOUS  pics. Like for instance...

And this...

and then there's this...

and most confusing of all...

But like I said, Clark and I are not in the least bit worried. This is typical behaviour for Mystery Boy. We know he knows how to take care of himself - after all, he is an UNBELIEVABLE!

Charlie's Angels: That Fleeting Season

In order to pay the bills, you have to do what you have to do oft times.

Even if times find us employed as bodyguards.

But in the case of the original Charlie's Angels, it was a win-win-win for us.

Yes ... they looked good even in black & white

Ladies, times three. ("Hello, Ladies!") Crime fighting. (Albeit that of the television variety ... no matter.) Paycheck. Bingos all around.

Now ... on several different fronts, I'm not at liberty to disclose any of our body guarding duties where the lovely Farrah Fawcett-Majors (my favorite), Jaclyn Smith (Clark's favorite) and Kate Jackson (it was a terse relationship between she and Jeff ... too bad the details will forever remain secretive) are concerned. But I can tell you this: Jeff had the odd habit of "buddying up" to David Doyle on and off the set in David's spare time. 

Jeff's favorite on Charlie's Angels: David Doyle

And when I say "buddy up" I'm not talking any monkey business; in all actuality, Jeff picked up a few handy, dandy crime busting tips from Dave, not the least of which was an incarnation of the famous Lobster Rage Fist documented in these pages previously.

Yeah ... good times for old "Jiggle TV" as they called it when the Angels came on the scene during the mid-70s. But our stint would only last Charlie's Angels premiere season - coincidentally, so would Farrah Fawcett-Majors. Popular as the show was, Fawcett-Majors left, replaced by Cheryl Ladd. (More replacements on the show would take place in successive seasons.) The reason for our short run as protectors of The Angels? Money, of course. The producers felt our fees a bit exorbitant. Or so they said. I mean ... the show was making a boatload of money for ABC television. It wasn't as if they couldn't afford our services. And we were assured "casual Fridays" on the set weren't a problem. (We were so popular with the cast and crew, we were encouraged to participate.) No ... it was someone, somewhere in the upper echelons of the show who didn't sit well with our being there, so it was out the door we went.

But ... it was a "made-in-heaven" assignment for a season and - much as we might like to chortle about body guard duty being rather gutless - we did stand a little straighter when we were around The Angels ...

Just Another Rock-n-Roll Bodyguard Story

As Clark made you all aware on Monday, there have been many times when we have undertaken bodyguard-type work. Michael refers to these times as "a little extra sum-sum'pn" but I prefer to think of them as "slow crime weeks". See, when there's not enough bad guys out there to vanquish, things can get a little thin over at the Unbelieva-base.

At least there's beer.

Now, because we were so well-known around Vegas and Tinseltown, not to mention the Great White Way, Tin Pan Alley and La-La-Land (and Disney World), we had been asked many times if we offered personal protective services, by which we mean this...

Not this.

So, in order to keep the wolf from the door, we decided to take on a few clients and keep the fridge fully stocked.

Just can't get good help these days.

One of our first clients was the actor Karl Malden, who felt the need to hire bodyguards when he embarked upon a recording career and felt certain he would be mobbed wherever he went.

Sadly for Mr. Malden, this was not only his only recording, but the only copy ever sold. Well, that's not specifically true - he actually gave us this copy, then 'borrowed' five bucks from Michael one day and 'forgot' to return it.

We also met a musical group of young'uns who were big fans of ours. Such big fans, in fact, that they did a pastiche of one of the more famous pictures of us, from one of our early cases where we employed the services of Schlomo McCaskill, the world's only Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent. Here's the original...

And their version...

They called themselves Jiminy Christmas and The Fires of Molech, but we thought that was a bit wordy and just called them dorks. However, we offered them our services, and it worked out for a while. Because we needed to protect our identities, we went in disguise as another band, which helped us to blend in seamlessly.

Here we are as "The Spontaneous Cheese Polka Experience". Now that's a band name.

It all went belly-up with Jiminy after a while, when they failed to secure a record deal and went their separate ways. We only had one more musical client after that, and it was this character.

As you can see, his name is not worth remembering, but he thought he was something when Dick Dale, after one too many adult beverages, agreed to let him play at his club. Big mistake. This dude literally never wore clothes anywhere if he could avoid doing so. We got really fed up with escorting a nudist about. So when he took the stage, believe me, he needed protecting. However, by this point we'd had enough of his naked shenanigans and had left the building.

I'm sure he's OK and made it out alive.

Michael will let you know about some of our other bodyguard assignments on Friday. Till then... ciao!

Dupery!

Kitsch Bitsch Citizens!

It would be unconscionable - not to mention downright rude - not to include you in public service announcements when you're part of the general public ... right? (I mean ... you guys are part of the general public ... right ... ?!?) And The Unbelievables are all about sharing the love (Hello, Ladies!) to the best of our abilities.  

In that vein, something serious has come to our attention we thought you ought to be aware of! 

See the above photo? I purchased this just the other day in the name of research and to disperse my findings to you fine folks pending the results of such research. It appears White Rain has a product that "claims" it's a "3 in 1" shampoo / conditioner / body wash. The truth of the matter? They're duping the public with their own brand of dupery!

Come on! There's no such thing as a shampoo / conditioner / body wash! Frankly, there's no possible way the "conditioner" would work in such context! And men (of which we Unbelievables are) know this automatically.

We males are pretty "in tune" with this sort of thing, you know. When it comes to hygiene we may be a little Cro-Magnon in our ways, but we know there's no possible way a conditioner included within a shampoo and body wash product could possibly work. Think about it: How is it a conditioner could condition when the shampoo is shampooing and the body wash is body washing? 

Look: Men have known for decades there's no difference between shampoo and body wash. They're interchangeable to a fault. Ask a man if he's ever washed his hair with a bar of Dial and he'll look at you like you're goofy; of course we've washed our hair with soap! What difference does it make? 

By the same token, if a container says "body wash," men naturally know it can be used as a shampoo, too. In other words, you're being duped as to what you're getting ... but that's of little consequence. No real harm, no real foul. It's just marketing.

But ... throw the word "conditioner" in the mix and we automatically know there are shenanigans going on. A conditioner would wash out automatically in such a situation. No possibility of it working its conditioning magic, you understand.  

Bottom Line: The public is being duped! It can't work! It won't work! Don't buy this, or any, product claiming to be a "3 in 1" shampoo / conditioner / body wash thinking it's going to function in all those capacities!

Folks? You're welcome ... courtesy of your very own stylish gents ... The Unbelievables. (You can thank us in any way you see fit.)

Guest hosts with the guest most

This Tuesday (tomorrow if you're reading this when it first comes out and why wouldn't you?), June 18, The Unbelievables will be the guest moderators at the Facebook page of the one and only Kitsch Bitsch. Hand-selected for this honor by none other than the Kitsch Bitsch herself, we will be on-hand all day, sharing some of our past adventures, introducing new fun stuff and interacting with the Kitsch Bitch's retro groovy readers. I hope you'll put on some hot pants, a satin jacket and your roller skates, and join us for festooned fun!

We don't normally get too excited about stuff, an unfortunate side-effect of having been there, done that, often times more than once.

And often times while still wearing our socks

But this is a big deal for us. The Kitsch Bitsch gave us our start and has supported our operations through the years, after all. For us, this is like being called upon to guest host the Tonight Show in Johnny Carson's absence. Which reminds us of how much we enjoyed being Johnny's personal security detail.

Johnny was a huge star and there was no way NBC was going go leave his safety and well-being in the hands of some retiree with a flashlight and a windbreaker. We protected him from all kinds of threats, ranging from deadly wild animals...

 ...to creepy perverts...

...and sometimes both.

But it was always well worth it because the after-parties were a stone groove blast!

Of course, we've had a variety of high-profile bodyguard-type assignments over the years. I'll let Jeff and Michael clue you in on some of those.

And we'll see you on Tuesday at The Kitsch Bitsch! 

Let's Play Spot-the-Plot-Hole!

The trouble with movie bad guys, even the ones that appear to be master criminal genii, is that they usually spend their entire time on-screen making foolishly dumb mistakes (whether by accident or design). We Unbelievables make a game out of it: The second time we watch any flick involving a "criminal mastermind", we just imagine how his plan would have gone had the good guy not appeared to save the day.

More often than not, it becomes apparent that his "genius scheme" would have fallen apart all on its own. What's that ya say? Examples? Okay...

Take Die Hard. There's Hans Gruber and his entourage of "Dieter from Sprockets" lookalikes...

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. And also, pay attention in class, Potter."

...who are laying siege to Nakatomi Plaza and posing as terrorists. Why? To confuse people. In reality they are attempting to steal $640 million in bearer bonds (whatever those are) from the vault. Once the vault is blown open, Hans intends to send all the hostages to the roof and then blow them to smithereens. The resulting tangle of bodies and building parts will supposedly be sooo confusing for the emergency services, they'll fail to notice that he's not one of the dead bods.

The next part of the plan is sheer brilliance. They have an ambulance into which they will load the many duffel bags full of bonds. And themselves. All 13 of themselves. And drive off, blending in seamlessly with the other emergency vehicles.

Yes, this. This is the vehicle Hans chose. 

How in the name of Satan's left bollock are 13 grown men going to fit into this thing? Sit on each other's laps? And lest we forget, those duffel bags. Again.

Then there's the tiny matter of actually leaving the parking garage. Dieter Hans and his henchies have locked the gate. We saw them do it. The limo driver was trapped inside because of this. It took him two hours to figure out that he could crash through the gate, and this is what Hans and Co. will have to do in order to get out, since the Feds shut off the electricity and the gates can't be reopened manually. Like they wouldn't notice an ambulance barreling through an electric gate and speeding off into the distance. They wouldn't even make it to the first intersection.

And say Hans does make it out undetected... how long will it take for the Federales to figure out his plan? 
The reason he tries to convince the FBI that he's a terrorist is a mere ploy to disguise the fact that he's just a crook. In his plan, blowing the roof up will make them think that he and his extremist pals kaboomed themselves and their hostages, because that sort of crap is stuff that terrorists generally find to be a pretty good idea. But the bomb doesn't destroy the vault. Hans never wanted it to. Which means he deliberately left a huge empty safe with the door open for the cops to find. Just rubbing it in. Nyaa, nyaa, ny-nyaa-nyaa. In German. Or something.

Wouldn't take long to identify the charred bodies, would it? Especially when they already know exactly how many hostages were in the building. When the FBI realizes the count is a few terrorists and about half-a-billion dollars shy, they're going to know that Hans had away with that money. At most, he's got an extra week and then Interpol is going to bust into his Magaluf hotel room and drag him out through the lobby in his skivvies.

Another one?

OK, take Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Take that psychotic principal Mr. Rooney and his vendetta against Ferris. 
Ferris takes a day off school. He does a bunk. He skips school. Big whoop. he convinces his dopey parents that he's sick, and his Mum actually speaks to the school and tells them as much.

At this point, any normal school would just take the parent's word for it and say no more on the matter. But Rooney completely abandons any vestige of being an educator by trying to seek out Bueller and nail him, even going so far as to break into his house. Surely, if you're concerned about the boy taking too many days off school, you call his parents in for a meeting? Or something? How is Rooney supposed to explain his actions away to the school board when they get wind of it?

This is not a normal principal.

See how much fun you and your buddies can have playing this game. Ciao, babies.

Talk about "Unbelievable"!

I'm glad Michael brought this subject up because there's been something bothering me for about 30 years: the universe of Rocky Balboa.

The original "Rocky", released in 1976, is a great movie. Okay, maybe "Taxi Driver" should have won the Oscar but it didn't. "Rocky" still stands up as an exceptionally good film. The fact that Sylvester Stallone and Hollywood decided to turn it into a franchise that resulted in a series of formulaic cartoons, as evidenced by the character of Paulie, a pathos-infused shadowy vision of Rocky's potential future (for which Burt Young won the best supporting actor Oscar in 1976) devolving into an adorably racist curmudgeon with an icky robot fetish, doesn't diminish the original film's depth and emotional impact.

Ew.

Besides, Rocky isn't the only beloved fictional character that was taken off into weird and ultimately terrible directions by creative people who didn't seem to know (or care) when to stop.

"I survive a nuclear blast how?!?"

So they could have stopped with one "Rocky" but they didn't. Okay. We're supposed to believe that barely-five-foot-tall Sylvester Stallone could be a heavyweight boxer. Okay. We're supposed to be believe that every punch that lands sounds like a bomb going off. Okay. But would it kill them to maintain a slightly believable universe of continuity in terms of how boxing works? Specifically, that boxers don't cease to exist when they lose. They're not video game bosses. Yet, in every instance besides Apollo Creed, because, I don't know, Rocky had to have one age-appropriate, non-alcoholic friend, everybody he fights simply disappears into thin air.

"We beat each other to a pulp. Twice. Now we're besties."

In "Rocky 4" (I refuse to use Roman numerals; these aren't the Olympics), Apollo comes out of retirement (again) to fight Drago, who is basically a terminator. Where the hell is Clubber Lang, Rocky's nemesis in "Rocky 3"? He should have easily regained the undisputed heavyweight title with only one loss on his record, the fight where now-retired Rocky beat him. Why does Apollo feel obligated to get himself killed? After "Rocky 4" Drago is never mentioned again. Was he sent to Siberia for embarrassing the Soviet Union by losing to Rocky? Unlikely after Rocky's passionate speech ends the Cold War by convincing the Russians that they're a bunch of dicks (riiiiight). Same with Tommy Gunn, the young up-and-coming fighter Rocky trains before he betrays Rocky in "Rocky 5". Rocky beats him up - in a street fight, not even in the ring -and poof! Career, and existence on earth, apparently over. None of these characters are factors in "Rocky Balboa" aka "Rocky 6", the back-to-the-roots, seeming (hopefully) conclusion to the whole saga.
Wait! I almost forgot that Spider Rico, who head-butts Rocky in the opening scene of "Rocky", is in "Rocky Balboa", as an addled kitchen helper in the little neighborhood Italian restaurant that slightly-less-addled Rocky owns, the last vestige of the empire he reigned over in "Rocky 3".
Never mind.