We Love A Parade ... but ...

So ... this isn't fishy. 

Nope. 

Not in the least ...

Hey, Unbelievables!

We want to throw you a parade next weekend in your honor! Just for the heck of it! Because we really like you guys!

Think all three of you can make it to West Palm Beach, Florida to my personal botanical garden which houses the only rainforest in the United States? All you need to do is get to an airport and everything else will be taken care of on us: Transportation, food, accommodations, the works! You won't have anything to worry about!

Be here Friday night and if you're here early enough we'll take you out to dinner. Otherwise, your hotel will be waiting ... and we'll have separate rooms for all three of you.

Saturday? That's the big parade. It starts at noon so dress in your colorful best. It will run about an hour with a big BBQ at the tail end of it for you guys! And ... that night? It's party time!

Sunday - after you sleep in - we'll have a late morning send off before you head back.

I'm sure you guys can make it. If you have any questions, get in contact with me. Your plane tickets are coming via FedEx. You should have them sometime Monday afternoon.

See you then!

Gene Joyner
Gene Joyner's Unbelievable Acres Botanic Gardens

I passed the info along to Clark and Jeff so they can look into this further.

You never know what kind of parade may be being held "in our honor" ... if you know what I mean ...

It's me! Right? Of course it is.

I know Jeff and Michael have written entries about the saucy comment we received from a "Teresa W" regarding her desire to sleep with an Unbelievable but I didn't read them. I don't need to. Because I know I'm the one that she wants and it doesn't matter what they say.
Listen, I love my crime-fighting colleagues. We're like brothers. But come on. Face facts.

Jeff = British.

Michael = Utterly obsessed with sweaters.

Me = Neither of those things. 

Plus, who has the car?

Boom, right? Exactly.

So listen, Teresa W. Let me talk to you. (Dim lights, cue Al Green record)

Hey girl.

Mmmm. You look good, baby. 

Please allow me to quote myself: "Mmmm".

Yeah baby. Lookin' very good!

Like a submarine sandwich. Not from a fast food restaurant or a grocery store but from a deli.

Ooh yeah. Cold cuts. Veggies. A nice Italian dressing on a soft roll. Everythang!

What's that? You call them hoagies? That's cool, baby. 

But listen, girl.

We got some things we gotta get straight between us before we can proceed to the smooshing of bodies together, you dig?

The Nazi thing? Yeah, I ain't feelin' that.

Nazis aren't sexy. 

Sure, they're funny. They're hilarious!

Sometimes

But not sexy.

There are other uniforms I can wear instead. Like a UPS man. Or a cop. Or the guy you call when a raccoon crawls under your house and dies.

Does that work for you, baby? Yeah, I thought so.

I know I said we had things to straighten out, like, as in, "more than one", but that's really it. Everything else is good to go.

Because perpetrators of hatred and genocide ain't my bag, baby.

Mmmm.

Call Me, Maybe ...

So ... we got a comment a week ago Wednesday. A rather interesting one at that:

At the risk of identifying myself as a bad person, I find the damsels in distress at the hands of the Nazis a highly erotic concept. Also, I would like to sleep with one of the Unbelievables. Which one of those two statements is worse? - Teresa W

I don't know what Clark's take on it is - we'll find out what he has to say soon enough - but I can tell you in no uncertain terms Jeff is dead wrong with his assessment.

The comment is not a set up, it's not fake and it certainly isn't any sort of ruse. But Jeff got one thing right: The commenter's sign-off - "Teresa W" - is a pseudonym of the word "sweater" ... and an obvious nod to the fact she's enamored with The Unbelievables and our unique fashion sense.

Which one, however? Which Unbelievable does she gravitate toward?

Me, of course.

The skeptical among you (yes, I'll admit there probably are one or two of you out there) will require proof Teresa W has her sights set on yours truly. I'm more than willing to offer up foundations for my claim:

Obvious Exhibit of Proof #1: Sweater Fantastickness

 Yep. That's me all right. Burden of proof lifted. One glance at that photo and there's no further need. It's worth a thousand words, you know.

Obvious Exhibit of Proof #2: A Mountain of Stud

Oh, okay. One more picture.

Here I am in all my undercover moustachioed glory in one of The Unbelievables' more notorious cases, "Dudes." Now ... enough with the photographic evidence. Teresa W is probably reading this right now mad with desire.

Obvious Exhibit of Proof #3: Treating The Ladies Right

The Unbelievables have the distinct power to elevate the ladies ("Hello, Ladies!") to heights they never thought possible. Teresa W is no doubt aware of this. Be it a Vegas showgirl, an Unbelieva-Babe or other, credentials such as those added to your resume will get you further than you can imagine! And while Jeff and Clark are just as capable, I show special concern and added attention in those areas ... if you know what I mean.

Obvious Exhibit of Proof #4: Education
 

Speaking of job opportunities, get in good with The Unbelievables and we provide further value added services. Long ago I put together a little computer primer for the fairer sex which only a lucky few are privy to. Because you can't walk out the door of your house without bumping into a computer during your day, you might as well become knowledgeable in their workings. This is an excellent instructional guide! (Note: Dorothy Heller and June Bower were my personal ghost writers for this tome.)

You know what? I think that's plenty of proof right there as basis for the rhyme and reason of Teresa W's wants. After all, I don't want to look like a braggart.

Teresa W? Call me maybe...

Confusing Comments

Well, well, well.

The keen-eyed amongst you will have noticed that last Wednesday, a person known as "Teresa W" but signing their comment as "Anonymous" left this here comment on the blog...

At the risk of identifying myself as a bad person, I find the damsels in distress at the hands of the Nazis a highly erotic concept. Also, I would like to sleep with one of the Unbelievables. Which one of those two statements is worse? - Teresa W

Hmm. At the risk of looking foolish, I am now going to state that I believe this comment to be a 'prank' or 'joke'. I also believe that one of my cohorts, either Clark or Michael, is the 'prankster' or 'joker' responsible. 

Allow me to explain my reasoning. Let's take the first sentence apart piece by piece. 

"At the risk of identifying myself" = "I wish to remain anonymous". So why sign the statement? Trying to confuse us, eh? Well, I'm not confused that easily.

"...as a bad person" = So you're saying you ARE a bad person? If you are unaware, we are The Unbelievables. We are a bad person's worst nightmare. Why would you then send us a direct message and why would you sign it, unless your name is Michael or Clark and you were trying to wind me up?

"I find the damsels in distress at the hands of the Nazis a highly erotic concept." - Don't we all? Believe me, I would LOVE to rescue some scantily-clad sexpot from the clutches of rogue Gestapo personnel, giving me the chance to kick ass and then wine and dine and moon and June and spoon with fair lady. But this is not 1945 and the Nazis never actually did those things (much) so I will never get the chance. Michael and Clark know this, so I believe this is one of them just winding me up again.

"Also, I would like to sleep with one of the Unbelievables." - Now I know you are just winding me up. If you DID want to sleep with me or one of the others, why would you just leave a name but no way of contacting you? C'mon, it's 2014. Phone, email, Facebook, Skype... there are myriad ways to make contact. Try a bit harder, guys. Ha bloody ha. Très amusant

"Which one of those two statements is worse?" -  Well, what if I change the word 'statements' to 'co-workers' ? In which case I'd be hard pushed to tell you.

And then there's the name - Teresa W.

As you may know, I'm a great believer in anagrams providing clues, and if we take the letters in 'Teresa W.' and mix them up, we get... SWEATER. Which one of the Unbelievables likes sweaters? A lot?

MICHAEL?

OR CLARK?

Or is it someone else entirely?

BJORN?

OR KENNY?

Rip Off

Both Clark's post this week and Jeff's exhaustive effort pretty much told the stories of the blatant ripoffs we Unbelievables shoulder.

I don't have much to add with the two of them having worked that history to a froth.

But ...

... there are a couple they left out I'll mention ...

Trust me: It wasn't bingo. It was an innocent game of Twister during last year's gala after New Year's shindig we threw for a few friends and associates. (Hokay ... it was a "clothing optional" game of Twister, truth be told.) But look what they did: Some yahoo took a consensual party game and turned it into some heinous fabrication involving addiction, prostitution and personal loss. *yeesh* 

Where they come up with this stuff I haven't a clue. Talk about imagination ...
 

Now, this one ... well ... there's a lot of truth to "Rat In The Skull." Rog Phillips' story was pretty much dead on. Eerie and hair-raising, too. Rog is an acquaintance of ours and caught wind of the idea from a brain-shaped Jello mold we had lying around as we were preparing to decorate the Unbelieva-Base for Halloween some years ago.

The after story of the entire ordeal is this: Someone at the ASPCA eyed an old copy of "If Science Fiction" at a thrift store and decided to use it as a company-wide agenda on the cruelty to animals. Huh, buoy.

But the thing is: 1) They're just rats and they're pretty disgusting creatures, and; 2) No rats were harmed in the least. Because it was all completely fabricated! When someone wants to take off and run with something, you better have your best sneakers at the ready.

Questions? I didn't think so.

Variations On An Unbelieva-Theme

It's amazing how many of our adventures were ripped off by the magazine "Man's Life" and others of its ilk. Not only did they rip us off, but they ripped each other off, too. Many stories were just recycled versions of stories that had appeared previously, with the names, places and other details changed, in other magazines. Variations on a theme, if you will. Here are a few examples that are particularly common.

The "WAIST DEEP IN WATER" Theme

It was in reality only next door's cat, but the girl's shirt did fall open.

This was when Michael got plastered one day at St. Tropez and did a faceplant into the sand while in the company of a bikini-clad giantess.

Once, we were given a tour of the Aussie Outback (not the restaurant, although that Toowoomba Pasta is delicious) by none other than Steve Irwin (bless him). Give me back my arm, indeed. Crikey!

Topless, exotic, and waist deep. Clark knows how to get a girl out of trouble.

One time we tested each other's knife skills by stabbing piranhas in mid-air. OK, it was only a backyard pool, and the piranhas were rubber, but other than that, the story is pretty much verbatim.

The "NAZI SEX SLAVES" Theme

As far as I recall none of our adventures have ever brought us into contact with Nazis, but the writers have taken extreme liberties with the truth just to sell these rags. We did once bust up an S&M club in the search for illicit Twinkies, but Nazis? No.

More water, and a medieval-looking torture device. Apparently Nazis were heavily into the idea that torturing sexy skimpily-clad maidens was the way to win WW2.

Either that or throwing them off of flagpoles, after torturing them. We did once have an escapade with a pretty girl and a flagpole, but that's another story and again, nothing whatsoever to do with Nazis.

Not Nazis, but Fidel Castro lookalikes, and some sort of voodoo torturing of pretty young women. We once judged a Fidel Castro lookalike contest but that is about as far as it goes.

1. She was running towards us. 2. We were waiting for her.
3. There were no Nazis.

The "Wild Animal/Damsel In Distress" Theme

Never met a Stone Age man who wanted to take my blonde girlfriend away, but if I had, it's a fair bet it'd look something like this.

Pumas don't generally attack people, but there was this one occasion when Marissa needed me to shoo the neighbour's cat off the porch.

The "Dominant Females" Theme

We've made our fair share of women mad before, but they never tried to cut our heads off. This must be based on an Unbelievababes adventure where they were in deep cover in the jungles of French Guiana. 

We should be so lucky.

Then there are the oddball items that, while not specifically based on any of our adventures, at least ring a bell. One loud enough to make us think that someone has been following us. Here are some examples...

One time, Clark asked for a set of muscles for Xmas.

Um... this was in my inbox. Don't ask me why.

Michael once changed his name to "Tim Valour".

We knew young Ellis Parsley before he was Elvis Presley.

Let's see what Michael has to say on Friday... Till then...

Ciao!

It's an Unbelievable life

They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. In that case, we have been flattered beyond measure over the years. We've had more than our share of Un-wanna-believables. That's understandable. Who can blame those of you who aren't us for envying our super-glamorous, exciting and dangerous lifestyles? What irks us is those who try to pass off our adventures as theirs. We've had more than our share of those over the years, too. One specific perpetrator is the popular magazine "Man's Life". Yeah, right. More like "Clark, Jeff, and/or Michael's Lives, Reprinted Here For Your Entertainment But We're Not Paying Them A Dime" magazine. Even more despicable than them stealing our adventures is the fact that they recycled a relatively small sampling of those adventures over and over again. Check it out...

Okay, this happened. Vampire bats did indeed rip our flesh. And yes, the fighting technique depicted here is how we managed to survive. You can learn how to do that in one of our Unbelievinars, "Using Animals As Weapons Against Other Animals". But this only happened one time.

Look! They re-cycled the whole story, down to the cover illustration and even the headline. This never happened! Weasels are generally not known as aquatic animals. Now, there was a time when some otters got a little aggressive. But that's now what's happening here though. Shoddy.

Oh come on. As if we wouldn't be able to escape from turtles. They're slow!!

Do you see a disturbing trend and a negative stereotype being promoted? If the publishers of "Man's Life" had their way, they'd have you believe that every single time we take our shirts off and wade in waist-deep water (which is admittedly a frequent past-time), that we're swarmed by hostile creatures and have to fight our way out. That only happens about a third of the time, and always when we're rescuing slutty damsels!

Oh well. At least one positive thing in terms of inspiration came out of this...

You're welcome, Frank.

Let's see what Jeff and Michael have to say about this scurrilous rag.

Petit The Party Pooper

You may be forgiven for thinking that people in the crime-fighting biz have this sort of, uh, bond with their arch-nemeses (nemesises? nemesii?). All the time in superhero movies and comics, not to mention thriller/spy flicks (think J.Bond Esq.) you'll see these types confront each other and gab, gab, gab about this and that instead of kicking butt. Or they'll start in with some fisticuffs and then some witty banter, followed by more fisticuffs. It's like they're pals really, underneath it all, and one's good and one's not so good but the good one isn't perfect and essentially they are like two sides of the same coin.

So like I said, you may be forgiven for believing that in real life, we're like that too.

Ahem. No.

Take this little creep Henri Petit, shown here with his mom (she's a wrong'un if ever I saw one).

"That's right son... breeeathe deeeep."

When he and his henchmen invaded our party (see previous instalment) it could have been construed as one of those comic-book fantasy moments where a villain shows up and merely wants to hang out with his do-gooder counterpart, like it's some sort of gentlemen's agreement.

Baloney. We knew from the get-go that if Petit shows up unannounced (or even announced, for that matter), he's only there to stir up trouble. No matter how good his mom's potato salad might be. Not that we'd know - Clark peed in it before anyone could get a taste. Purely as a preventive measure, of course. That delicious-looking dish was probably laced with some mind-bending substance or poisonous tincture, so it was best to render the stuff inedible. You can't be too careful.

There was no goodie/baddie camaraderie when he showed up, just a swift measure of whoopass and marching orders for this evil tot. He's been a thorn in our backsides ever since we first encountered the demonic infant. We know he's up to no good, even when asleep. He can't help it. It's his nature. 

Dreaming up more wicked plans, no doubt.

Anyway, once we had sent the nasty little pipe-smoker on his way with a few bruises and a soggy diaper, the party resumed and went off without a hitch. Michael wheeled out his Unbelieva-stereo-box

and put on a couple of his favourite LPs.

 We partied till dawn, chuckling occasionally about the feeble attempts of Petit to try and ingratiate himself. Potato salad indeed! Whatever next?

Party crasher (part II)

Henri Petit: "Well well well, The Unbelievables are having a party. Partying, are we? Are we here to par-tay? Heh heh heh."
Michael: "Get out of here, Petit."
HP: "Relax. I'm not here to cause trouble. On the contrary, in fact. I'm here to celebrate."
Jeff: "You're picking the wrong place to stir up trouble, chum."
HP: "No, I mean it. I even brought potato salad. Just like my mother used to..."
Clark: "We hate you, you hideous, vile infant!"
HP: "FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME, I AM NOT A... Look, we've had our differences over the years..."
M: "You reek of curdled baby formula, stale tobacco smoke and enmity."
HP: "As I was saying, while we may have had our differences over the years..."
J: "And failure. I definitely smell failure on you, Henri. Like you've been wallowing around in a big puddle of it for years and years and years and years."
HP: "...at the end of the day, you've won some, I've won some and there's a hard-earned mutual respect between us."
C: "You are a disgusting, misshapen lump of goo with eyes. Nobody loves you beyond the sense of satisfaction that comes from inflicting physical harm on you."
HP: "Are-are you... peeing in my potato salad? What is wrong with you?"

Party Crasher

We debated ... but only for a moment.

And it really wasn't that much of a debate. As a matter of fact it was more the posing of a quick question.

"You know ... Monday is our 300th post on the website.  Should we throw some sort of shindig to celebrate?"

Collectively and with gusto, we all blurted out "DUH!" and got down to business.

The result? The entire community of Stilleto Flats joined us over the weekend to celebrate.

We decided to rent the the Flats' local park for the event so as to accommodate everyone who wanted to come. There's nothing quite like tossing a fest at your home base, right?

And there was indeed the gathering. Tents and balloons and music and food and frolickry were the order of the day. Jeff made a big deal of it by whipping up his world famous Cocktail Weenie Casserole. Clark made certain his Corvette was washed and polished and behind velvet rope so everyone could gander at it and take pictures as they saw fit (No touching allowed though.) And me? Well ... I donned trousers for the occasion. You know ... as a change of pace.

There was laughter in the air, the Unbelieva-Babes made certain everyone had a refreshing beverage at hand, the dance floor was crowded, back slaps were given liberally, smiles shown everywhere and the good times were flowed in abundance.

And then?

In tow with several of his goons, that little rat bastard Henri Petit crashed the party with a big bowl of potato salad*.

And that's when all hell broke loose ... 

*In reality, the bowl wasn't that big. It was simply Petit's diminutive size that gave it that appearance.

Perks? Yeah, right.

On Monday, Jeff was downright excited about the freebies we receive from various benefactors.
On Wednesday, Michael was kind of confused about some of them.
Today, I'm downright annoyed by a few.

That's because some (much) of what is presented to us as gifts are actually attempts to freeload an endorsement from us.

The two underwear designers who gave us these swell boxers expected us to promote their line of swim fins. Nice try, bozos. It takes a better effort than that for The Unbelievables to present your product in a catalog ad.

We've had people pitch us some wacky invention ideas but why this police officer thought we'd be interested in a case of his "window-safe" bullets is beyond all of us.

I like the name, but when are we supposed to wear these? When we pursue hackers across the World Wide Net? The Unbelievables don't cyber-surf, Charlie.

Sometimes, I think people just want to make us look silly. I mean, who eats pasta without a nice sauce?

All right, that's just... No. No, thank you. And why did you send us 287 of them? That's almost TOO GROSS!