Phoney Calls

Okay, let's just get one thing straight before we launch into this: it was Clark that pooped in Michael's coffee, not me. And it was not real poop. It was a 'cat poop' cookie. Y'know, one of those delicious no-bake cookies that look like a cat turd. Don't believe me? Here you go, have a recipe: Cat Poop Cookies

Now, before this turns into a cookery show, let's get the show on the road.

I got a call on the Unbelievaphone the other day...

"Hello, Unbelievables! You tip us off, our hats we will doff!"

"Jeff, will you please stop doing those stupid ad-rhyme-greeting things?"

"Oh, hi Michael. What up, dawg, fo rizzle ma nizzle?"

"And quit with the ghetto speak. That is also not very cool. What I wanted to talk about was Clark and his stupid training calls. To speak in the lingua franca of your birth country, they are getting right on my wick."

"Yes, me too, matey. And top marks for getting the phrase right."

"So what do we do about it? He called me earlier, pretending to be you and claiming that you pooped in my coffee, and urging ME to go poop in your tea."

"Well, that is ridiculous. I don't even drink tea. I'm a coffee guy, like you. Maybe we should call him up on that carphone he's so ruddy proud of."

"Now, that's an idea..."

So, a little bit later...

"RINGGG!!!"

"Heyy, Clark here, comin' at ya live from Da Unbelievajalopy!"

"(sigh) not you as well... Clark, we need you back here at the base pronto! Code red, repeat, code red!"

"I'm on the case! Returning to base asap!" (Sound of car tires squealing)

Boy, did we laugh. See, we knew what was waiting for Clark when he got back.

Payback.