Afterthanks: Clean-up time

Well, Michael and Jeff are off to the Stilleto Flats Galleria for some shopping, taking advantage of those "Black Friday" special discounts. I know Jeff is looking for a new, high-tech (3 speeds: Agitate, Mangle and Fluff) potato whipper and Michael is always on the hunt for more mesh garments. Years ago, we made a pledge to never use our superior fighting skills when it comes to dealing with shopping mobs, yet somehow, those two always make it home with the newest televisions, iPoods and phlippity-phones.
I don't know.
I don't really care for shopping so I happily stay home and take care of the post-festivities clean-up.

I mean, someone has to supervise the housekeeping staff.

Thanks For Giving

Yes!

With the bird having been in the oven since last night, the cranberry freshly prepared and all other foodstuffs ready to go, The Unbelievables are looking forward to tons of festivities this long weekend, festivities to rival ... well ... past Thanksgivings.

And that includes the first ever Unbelieva-Babes all-Thanksgiving calendar.

Jeff showcased some of the pictorials the gals are planning for the extravaganza and I - in between food preparation and getting Jeff to peel the potatoes (not such a difficult chore) - managed to kype a few myself. 

Care for an additional pre-ogle? That's what I thought ...

Some of the girls are ecstatical about doing the calendar ...

Some of the gals? They're being a bit to literal about the entire affair.

"Wishfully" cute ...

This one (entitled "dead bird walking") was a reject.

 

One of the Unbelieva-Babe's moms tried sneaking one in.

This one was nixed before it got too far ...

Yes, we wondered if there was anything underneath that apron.

Your guess is as good as ours.

Cheeky!

One caring Unbelieva-Babe thought it a good idea

to make the bird feel a bit more "loved" ...

... prior to its decapitation.

Both Clark and Jeff "stood in" for the fowl in this image.

To see if the pose worked, you understand.

(Uh huh.)

Clark will wrap up the week (tomorrow!) with ... well ... we're not certain. 

But whatever it is it's probably a good idea to be prepared. In the meantime:

Cripes and cripes! I need to get to gettin' ... !!! The guys have already started polishing everything off!

Clark and Jeff in au natural. Typical.

We've Got Plenty To Be Thankful For

Well, after the craziness of the last few weeks, it's nice to finally settle down and have a few days off for that most gluttonous of holidays, Thanksgiving. One thing we love is some good ole down-home non-fancy prelude-to-Christmas-type cookin', a fine cigar, expensive cognac, and the company of one's nearest and dearest, or failing that, a Swanson TV dinner, a cheap stogie, a bottle of Blatz beer and the effusive company of Michael and Clark.

Our Unbelievababe friends have been planning something exciting for Thanksgiving - they've been coming up with the first ever Unbelievababe calendar. It's apparently a Thanksgiving calendar - so all the pictures are themed around America's favourite holiday, despite the fact that it only takes place once a year. But oh well - they've never steered a foot wrong before, so who are we to judge? I've managed to swipe some of the pictorial proofs, so let's have a gander, shall we?

That's NOT what is meant by turkey and dressing.

She's just trying to sweet talk you, turkey. Seriously, run for it.

Seems to be a theme forming here.

Okay, now she needs to make a run for it. That thing is a monster!

One thing I can glean from all of this is that turkeys are exceptionally dim.

Any pics in the calendar that DON'T involve turkeys, I hear you cry? So glad you asked.

Okay, well, there is a turkey, but there's also a cornucopia, and it doesn't seem like the turkey is in mortal danger.

Pumpkins, pilgrim, stockings, angry savages, massive shoe buckles - all the ingredients of a Thanksgiving Jamboree.

There's that gun again - but not a turkey in sight. However, I do see something to be thankful for.

Honorary Unbelievababe Barbara Eden seems a little mixed up about her holidays. Never mind, Barbara.

It all seems very warlike, though, doesn't it? Arrows, blunderbusses, hatchets - have we got anything a little more, uh, peaceful?

"Happy Coachella! - uh, I mean, Thanksgiving. Dudes."

Innocence

After "tinkling" (who uses the word "tinkling" anymore unless you're potty training a toddler?) I had an idea. (Hey ... I do some of my best thinking in the loo, you know.)

I practically bowled over Jeff and Clark as I came out the WC. "What are you guys doing hovering around the bathroom door? I'm not going anywhere! *geez* Look ... I know how to get to the bottom of this entire mess. We'll get KB ... I mean ... Mama' on the horn and she'll set the matter correct. We'll put her on speaker ..."

That sounded like a plan to the guys. Clark asked if he could still hold the lamp for effect while we talked to The Kitsch Bitsch. He'd grown fond of the thing.

"I'm still gonna hold the lamp. For effect ..." he said in no uncertain terms.

We dialed up The Kitsch Bitsch. "You guys do the talking. It's up to you guys to determine if there was any funny business going on. I'm confident in my innocence - it's you two who need the convincing."

Jeff sneered. His mustache twitched. Clark raised an eyebrow. He switched the lamp from his right hand to his left. The phone began to ring.

KB answered "Hello?"

"Cheers, Mama," Jeff replied. "It's me, Jeff. I'm with the guys. We're trying to get to the bottom of the quandary about your one site sinking like a stone once Michael came on board to moderate. Michael says he's confused about what happened; we were hoping you could shed a little light on the subject ..."

For punctuation, Clark positioned the lamp at that moment to shine its light directly in my eyes.

"Oh ... that. Yeah ... it's too bad I had to shut down that site. It got way, way out of hand. Too man savories who thought they were entitled to do whatever they wanted. I mean ... you have to have rules - and I did. I pointed them out time and again. But some people just seem to love reveling in chaos. Michael was a sweetheart coming on to help out. Not only did he offer his services, but he took time out to help out dissolving the site when I threw in the towel."

"Really?" Jeff asked somewhat incredulously. "You weren't coerced into doing it?"

"No," KB responded.

"He didn't try any funny business?" Clark wondered out loud.

"No."

"There wasn't anything underhanded going on?" Jeff suggested.

"No."

"No elements you might consider blackmail-like in nature?" Clark postulated.

"No! Why?"

"Well ... Michael seems a bit confused as to why any of it happened at all. Sounds suspicious to us ..." Jeff replied.

"Michael had nothing to do with it. It's been going on for quite some time ... the jerks on the site, I mean. Some of them seemed to thrive on doing what they want regardless of anyone else. It's plain and simple selfishness and them wanting to mess things up. Luckily, that hasn't happened with my other sites. That one got too big for its britches, anyway; too many members, too many uncontrollable members, really. That's recipe for drama. Me and the other moderators did what we could - Michael included - but it was really too late in the end. The inmates had taken over the asylum so to speak. It was purely coincidental Michael that came on when he did with my decision to shut down that page just a few days later ..."

"So ... he's completely innocent of any wrong doing?" Jeff wondered.

"Yes. He was a sweetheart. He even helped me shut the page down."

"Because ... if there's any doubt, anything you're not telling us that needs to come to light ..." Clark punctuated the "come to light" part of his response by jerking the lamp toward me "... we have some things we can do to make him talk ..."

"What do you mean?" KB asked.

"Chinese water torture, for one," Jeff offered. "We haven't used that one in quite some time. It's pretty effective ..."

"What? No! Torture? Why would you want to do that?"

"I could force him to listen to modern country music while tied to a chair," Clark offered. "He isn't the least bit fond of the stuff. He hates Sade, too."

"No! Michael didn't do anything!"

"You know ... we could make him eat off metal plates. He has 'a thing' about eating off metal plates, remember ..." Jeff suggested.

"Ooooooooooooooo ... good one!" Clark agreed. "Hey ... I got it: We could force him to eat off metal plates while watching reruns of that Honey Boo Boo show ..."

You could see Clark's eyes light up. Mine just rolled up into their sockets. I sighed.

"DO NOT TORTURE MICHAEL!" KB yelled over the phone. "He didn't do anything!"

"Are you sure, Mama? Because we could break out our head squeezey thing, too. It's like a vice-grip. That always gets'em talking."

"No! Stop that! I have to go. You boys need to play nice and leave Michael alone. Otherwise, I'll be over there to put the hammer down ..."

Jeff and Clark sighed. I reached over and disconnected the phone. I also took the lamp away from Clark, turned it off and put it down.

"Are you guys satisfied?" I asked.

"Not really," Jeff said. "Now what are we going to do? We had all this pent-up energy ready to roll. Now you and Mama quashed it ..." Clark had his head down. He appeared dejected.

"I know: Jeff - Why don't you go whip up a batch of potatoes?"

Jeff looked at me. "But ... it's not Tuesday ..."

"So? And Clark? You could go kick Henri Petit's ass just for the fun of it. That will cheer you up ..."

Clark looked up with a gleam in his eye. A smile began forming.

Of a sudden, the air in the room vacated its smell of noir ... and all was right with the world.

The Grilling of Michael

The scene: A pokey little back room at the Unbelievabase. The loo, to be precise. Michael's loo. (Yes- we each have our own. I have a little sign on my bathroom door that says "The Wee House". Geddit?!)

Note: Not actually Michael's loo. (P.S. It totally is.)

Michael is seated on the throne, Jeff is questioning Michael while Clark stands behind Jeff, holding a desk lamp in the air.

JEFF: Now, Michael, my old friend, ol' buddy ol' pal, let's go through this one more time. Just so's we get it straight. WHAT THE @%&#*@ happened!!?!? Hm? Hmm?

CLARK: Yeah, hm?!? Hmmm?!?

MICHAEL: Look, fellas, I dunno. I'm as confused as you are.

J: Confused, eh? Eh?

C: Yeah, confused eh??

M: Yes, I mean, when KB -

J: That's Mama to you, butterball!

C: Yeah, what Jeff said.

M:(to Clark) Crawler! (to me) when she needed help I offered my services -

J: I bet you did, I bet you did...

M: ...and said I would moderate the page.

J: And??

M: And what? The trolling didn't stop or slow down, and even using every Unbelieva-skill in my arsenal I was powerless to stop it. Heck-fire, I even tried using common sense but it was no use! I was up against something bigger.

J: And...?

C: What he said.

M: And that's it. After two days the KB - I mean, Mama had had enough and pulled the plug.

J:And...?

M: Look, I've had enough.Can I tinkle in peace, please?

C: And...?

M: And read the paper.

J: Okay... but this is not over! We will get to the bottom of this one way or another.

M: Guys, you're just in denial.

J: Whatever.

C: Aaand...?

A mystery within

"Oh, is it hot in here? We haven't done
 anything wrong, so we didn't notice"

Something has happened that threatens to r-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-p-p-p-p The Unbelievables apart!

Here's the basic rundown:

As you all know, it's the top-secret files of The Kitsch Bitsch from which we initially sprung. She's like a mother to us. At least some of us feel that way.
Anyway, an enterprise created by KB (that's what we call her; you have a nickname or two for your own sweet Mama, yes?), a Facebook page to be specific, was struggling with a troll infestation recently. Michael offered his services in order to bring the situation under control. Two days later, the page was shut down. It's very similar to when a popular-yet-struggling family restaurant claims it's closing briefly for re-modeling and when it re-opens, it's a Burger King.

"And when we do, are you going to want pickles on that Whopper?"

Yes folks, something stinks. And for once, it's not Michael's gym bag. And why does a guy who only participates in "sans clothing" sports leagues need a gym bag anyway?
Michael has some explaining to do. And Jeff and I know how to get somebody to talk, don't we Jeff?

"What have you done to our beloved Mumsie, you lousy sonova..."

In A New Jersey State of Mind

Feast your eyes, folks. This is the ad we should be paying attention to. The one that Clark shared on Wednesday was just a cover, and after some surreptitious and judicious investigation, we found that all the rogues in Wednesday's gallery of hirsute horribles also ordered product from the address above, in East Orange, NJ.

So we trekked across the continent to said address, and what should we find?

A coin-op laundry, no less.

So we decided to go in and inquire as to the whereabouts of the owner, and why a laundry would be advertising fake facial hair.

The surly counterstaff at first ddn't want to tell us anything, but after a little persuasion from our friend George (Washington, that is) we got to meet the owner. Or so we thought...

This was getting good. Tony "Monobrow" McGee was well known to us as a petty crook and lightbulb salesman, but we never figured he'd get himself mixed up in the lip-rug game. But, looking back, I guess it makes sense.

"What's the game, lads?" he cried as he saw who he was dealing with. "I ain't done nuffin', I swears to ya." Did I mention he was a New Jersey cockney?

"A likely story," interjected Clark. "What's the deal with the fake face furs, eh? Eh? EH!!??"

"Oh, is that wot this is about, lads? Calm dahn, no need to lose yer rag. Lemme just explain, it's all completely innocent, above board. I got me boney-fridays and everyfink, innit?" At this he produced from a drawer beneath the counter his business documents. Sure enough - he was licensed, bonded AND insured.

"Hmmm. Looks like he's on the level," said Michael, trying to sound like a hardboiled cop (New Jersey tends to have that effect on people), "but still, I think we should have a look around."

As it turned out, we never got the chance, because at that moment, the front door opened and who should saunter in but these two...

Mr. Waverly, sans Pith helmet. Handy with a machete.

Papa Dolmio, pitch man for Dolmio sauces. Handy with a ripe tomato.

I had seen enough. 

"Cuff'em and stuff'em boys," I barked (see what I said about New Jersey rubbing off on a person?), "and book'em, Danno, whatever that means!"

Once we had all three mustachioed villains in custody, we turned them over to the Feds. 

Unfortunately, Waverly and McGee were let go, because they couldn't find anything they'd done wrong.

And Papa Dolmio? Sent down for a long stretch. His crime? Crimes against the Italian language, including casual racism and playing a stereotype. As were his entire family. Need proof?

And the connection between foul fiends and hirsute hairiness? Search me!

Facial profiling

It feels good to have been able to help Robert Silverberg/Loren Beauchamp turn his life around and make such a positive impact on the literary scene. But he was not the first to have been seemingly led astray by the arrangement of hairs across his visage. In fact, here's a partial rogue's gallery of facial follicle fiends...

(L to R) Val KillMore, "Lipless" Louie LaChance, Francis "Fuzzy Bollocks" Fingerman, Gordon Gozook

(L to R) Captain Sid Squidmore, Stan "Crazy Eyes" McGeedle, Ted "The Rogue" Rogers, Dr. Pavel Pachabel

(L to R) Lancelot Lurksalot, Claude "The Disappointer" Burnbottom, Ed "What? It's just a mustache! Don't get all bent out of shape, rabbi" Bleen (AKA "The Passive Aggressor") General Sergei Von Grut

(L to R) "Smarmy Joe" Woodcock, Dick "Dirt" Tidrow, Felix "The Iron Douche" Skidmarque, Henry "The Squisher" Gloomgard

What do all these dirtbags have in common? One thing. It appears each was influenced into a life of crime by this ad...

And who, pray tell, is responsible for this ad? I will let Jeff fill you in on Friday.

Pulp Fiction

Over the course of many, many posts (see some of our history in the entries prior to this one ... hello!) The Unbelievables have made some pretty wild claims and told some pretty (shall we say) "unbelievable" tales.

"Seriously, guys: Is all the stuff you boast about true and factual? I mean ... there are things that really stretch the boundaries of plausibility and seem to carom into the world of science fiction* ..."

And you know what? We understand that. We know you wonder about this stuff.

So here's a brief anecdote about Loren "Butch" Beauchamp.

"Butch" was a nemesis of ours. He was an average, meddling villain of somewhat disreputable report. He put his hands in some pies he shouldn't have and caused a few messes. No big deal really. But we stumbled on him at barber shops working shady deals trying to convince patrons goatees were "a thing of the past." Why? Because he was the only one who wanted to be known wearing one. (His goatee was his "trademark" we came to discover.)

Well ... the guy was nothing if not annoying. So Jeff and Clark steered him into a literary field they thought might suit his creative side.

The result? Pretty spectacular. See for yourself ...

Yep. "Butch" became a sleaze pulp fiction sensation. And quite the successful one, too.

Now the kicker: I was on my annual international nude volleyball tour for a couple weeks when all this went down. Jeff and Clark were handling the case by their lonesomes in my absence. On my return they told me about "Butch" and informed me he'd be coming over for dinner. I was intrigued as all get out. Little did I know (little did the guys know) we were all in for a surprise.

The doorbell at the Unbelieva-Base rang one evening and I go to answer it. Who's at the doorstep when I open up? None other than multiple award-winning science fiction author Robert Silverberg  complete with flowers and several bottles of wine in tow. As a sci-fi buff, I recognized him right away.

A dashing (and younger) Robert Silverberg

with trademark goatee

"You're Michael ... right? How ya doin' ... ??? Jeff and Clark invited me for dinner and I wasn't about to come over empty handed ..."

Over the course of the evening, Bob regaled us of his failed decline into (a rather tepid) villainy and public goatee suppression. It was the kindly efforts of Jeff and Clark, he noted, that led him out of his doldrums and into the paperback sleaze arena (under the pseudonym Loren Beauchamp) which - in turn - put him back on track as the successful sci-fi writer we all know and love.

And there you go. A true tale we're proud to say we had a hand in ... and not only to the overall betterment of one man's life from petty, aggravated chicanery but onward toward a solid, productive career.

World? You're welcome.

* irony personified

Nic O'Teen: A distasteful solution

This has truly been one of our most difficult cases. And difficult cases call for difficult choices. Ultimately, we decided to take up with this guy...

I know, I know. None of us were thrilled but what were we supposed to do? It's not like we were getting help from scientists...

Athletes...

Doctors...

Actors...

Or politicians.

Like I said, we were desperate. So we scheduled a meeting with Death and laid out some parameters.

MICHAEL: Okay Death, we don't like you and you don't like us...
DEATH: Like you? I love you. In fact, I want to hold you in my cold embrace forever.
JEFF: Ugh! Your breath, mate. It's worse than... well, you, if that's conceptually possible.
DEATH: Thank you!
CLARK: Listen, we don't want to do it but we need to work together here.
DEATH: So you, The Unbelievables, are here to make a deal with Death? Lovely! I'll get the chessboard!
MICHAEL: We don't want to play chess. We just want you to kind of associate yourself with cigarette smoking. We're battling the nefarious Nic O'Teen and frankly, not making a lot of headway.
JEFF: I can't quite put my finger on what it is. There's definitely an overwhelming stench of decay, yet sickly sweet at the same time.
DEATH: You want me to kill more smokers? That's already a huge chunk of my daily workload but I suppose I could dial things up a bit.
CLARK: No, don't kill more people, you idiot. We're trying to save lives here.
MICHAEL: Yeah, just do a better job of letting everyone know when smoking is the reason you kill someone. We're hoping to counteract these ridiculous positive testimonials with you.
DEATH: Oh! Sure, I can do that! That's easy. I'm totally going to kill all the people in those testimonials eventually anyway. The irony will be delicious! But beyond that, what's in it for me?
CLARK: We would be willing to kick 50% more criminals through plate glass windows from the top floors of skyscrapers.
JEFF: I'm sorry, but I can not get past the overwhelming horrific odor of his breath. I mean, woof!
DEATH: Make it 75%
MICHAEL: All right. That's fine.
DEATH: Can some of these "criminals" be little old ladies, sweet innocent children and adorable puppy dogs?
MICHAEL: Absolutely not!
CLARK: A couple of old ladies, sure.
DEATH: We have an agreement, my friends. Let's bring it in for a group hug. Come on. No? Okay then.
JEFF: There's something oddly familiar about it...
DEATH: I'm so sorry. I had lunch in the UK today.

Anyway, we're not exactly happy about this partnership or whatever you want to call it but the end justifies the means.

Nick O'Teen: Menace To Society

Foulness: Personified!

Despicable!

Grievous!

Horrid!

Unconscionable!

Dastardly!

Immoral!

Without scruple!

Lowdown!

Heinous!

Vilified!

Soulless! 

But enough about Henri Petit (alias "Fritz" ... though no one really knows why he digs that alias) ...

I told Yep. That's him, in yet another candid Kodak moment:

That little shit Petit.

We're talkin' Nick O'Teen here!

Nick O'Teen: What an ass ...

"NO'T" is just as loathsome as Petit ... and more so on a number of levels. Sometimes, he's even more the dirty player than the trollish Petit.

Want to see some of his handiwork? (Warning: It's not pretty.)

I told you: Not pretty.

 Yuck.

This? It's almost pornograhic ... wouldn't you agree?

But that's Nick O'Teen's ultimate goal ...

He doesn't just stop his machinations here in the states, either. 

O'Teen isn't afraid to go global ...

Black and white doesn't mitigate the vileness of O'Teen's foul plans ...

The only thing this screams is "Uh oh ..."

It's not just kids the stooge targets either. Get a load of this: He's not beyond targeting our heroes ...

He even got Arnold to wear a "Arnold Is Numero Uno" shirt.

Real motivational confidence builder ... isn't it?

Yep: None other than Nicky Fags is behind each and every one of those images above. (By the way ... he hates it when I call him "Nicky Fags" ...)

Lower still, he even tortured poor Porky Pig himself with tobacco products:

O'Teen's henchmen ("The Stogie Three") menace our hero Porky

Want to see an example of a child's innocence dashed beyond all comprehension? Here you go ...

 It's mind-boggling the depths to which O'Teen will descend ...

Under his tutelage, O'Teen seduces kids to go two-fisted before they know it.

What a bastard. He's beyond belief. And with the power (such that it is) of Petit behind him, how can this villain possibly be stopped?

You won't believe what Clark has to say Friday ...