We Like To Help

Tribute songs to us? Oh, so many. For example, you know the Nat King Cole song "Unforgettable"? 

Would it surprise you to learn that the original title was "Unbelievable"? The writer, Irving Gordon, penned it as a way of thanking us for retrieving some stolen sheet music. We suggested tweaking it and turning it into a love song. He did, and it came to the attention of one Nat King Cole. The rest, as they say, is history.

One time we were hanging out for a little R'n'R in the town of Epsom in Surrey, UK. While we were quaffing some ales in an Epsom pub a funky band was playing, and getting quite a good reception. We couldn't help but think, though, that the band's name, Evil Monster Fist,  was not really in keeping with their sound. That was more of a heavy metal name. 

After their set we bought the lads a pint and sat down and discussed the name.

"We think your name might be holding you back," we said. "People will get confused when they think they're coming to listen to some doom-laden rock anthems but end up with perfect slices of funky pop music."

"Well," they replied, "our previous name was Eat My Farts and before that we were Electromagnetic Fields. Those any good?"

"Boy, you really like that E-M-F combination, don't you? Why not try this - we're in Epsom, you guys are funky and a bit mad - how about Epsom Mad Funkers?"

They loved it. Brilliant choice, they said. They hit the road under that monicker for a while, and then got signed to a record label, who shortened it to EMF, which the A&R guy said was punchier.

As a way of thanking us for helping them on the road to stardom, their first single was the following tune...

They love us in Singapore

Sometimes when we help people out, they're so grateful that they want to pay us some kind of tribute. Often, that takes the form of some artistic expression. Sculptures, paintings, interpretative dance. Sometimes, it's a song. Like this one, the most beautiful song ever sung. Written and performed by the great Chen Tianwen, who puts the "Sing" in Singapore, I can honestly say that nothing has brought a tear to my eye the way this song has.


Thank you so much, Singapore. And yes, we will ALWAYS be the coffee table to your sofa! I mean, we're not girls, or one single girl, but we appreciate all the wonderful sentiments expressed in this song and video.

Um...yeah. Okay. Sure. That's nice too, we guess.

Hey, let's see if my colleagues can share any good tribute stories with you. I'm sure they have some doozies.

Are You Qualified?

Many aspiring Unbelievababes write, call or email us, asking us what it would take for them to qualify. What are the qualities we Unbelieva-gents look for in potential female companions/assistants? Well, firstly, if you think that all the Unbelievababes are is a bunch of female companions and assistants, be aware that they are much, much more than that. Both Clark and Michael have outlined what the Unbelievababes are capable of and the rigorous training they go through in order to maintain their Unbelievababe credentials.

Firstly, you have to be fearless, brave, fierce. If you are the sort of person who reacts to crises like this...

...then just stop right now. You will not cut the mustard.

Secondly (and quite importantly) you have to be female. 

Sorry, sir. Apply elsewhere.

Third, you need to be able to kick ass if necessary.

Four - you need to be able to look immaculate at all times.

Five, know your way around the kitchen.

Sophia's got the idea.

A little too peppy, methinks.

Better, but all you're doing is boiling water. Careful, you might get a scald.

A bit messy, and you've ruined the eggs.

Well done, Rachael.

I think what it boils down to is you need to keep three images in mind. One...

Brave, fierce..

Two...

courteous, accommodating...

Three...

no slouch with a recipe book.

Oh, and if it helps, just ponder on the images above and below, and it might put you in the right frame of mind. Maybe then you'll get to join the ranks of the Unbelievababes.

What part of "Butt-kicking" do you not understand?

Of course, dressing for success is always a good idea...

But ultimately, while we always strive for being stylish, it's the butt-kicking that puts gravy on the potatoes.

Here. certified Unbelieva-Babe Mary Parker shows me (under my training video name of Lou Leonard) a tiny sample of exactly how that works as Jeff and Michael sit on the sidelines, awaiting the opportunity to take their charges through the wringer.

I say a tiny sample because an Unbelieva-Babe has to be able to do more than defend herself against mashers in disturbingly short shorts and sleeveless t-shirts; she may find herself facing off against assassins, henchmen, ninjas, goons, lugs, brutes, robots, sea monsters, zombies or worse, and we may not be around to help. An Unbelieva-Babe has to be able to open her own jar of pickles, if you get my meaning.
So put some jaunty supper music on the HiFi, get yourself some beefcake to jostle you around and follow this video precisely.
Or be the next Monica Lewis.

Yeah, you'll have a better chance trying to follow the video.

So ... You Want To Be An Unbelieva-Babe ...

Time and again we've mentioned there is no admission into the lofty ranks of Unbelievability ... not as an Unbelievable at any rate.

However, if you have a hankering to become an Unbelieva-Babe, well ... that's an entirely different situation all together.

First, there's the necessary need to keep fit ...


There's plenty of basic crime-fighting skills to be learned, both book smart learning and street smart learning, regardless of the fact the gals aren't expected to tangle with any bad guys. (It never hurts to learn ...)

Those two areas alone can be daunting. And if they are, it's wise stop right there. Because that's only scratching the surface.

There's so, so much more. 

Of course as previously mentioned, there's no competing with the ultimate Unbelieva-Babe Monica Lewis. But ... there are ways to "get in good" with The Unbelievables to reach that seemingly impossible Unbelieva-Babe status. 

Clark and Jeff will provide further details.

But be warned: You best be careful what you wish for ... 

Making the mold for the sheer enjoyment of breaking it

Yes, Moon and Reed were incredible.
Yes, McKellen and Stewart are lots of fun.
But they all follow in the sizable footsteps of original Hellraisers, Richard Burton, Richard Harris and Peter O'Toole, whose antics (along with Reed) are chronicled in the book, "Hellraisers". When those three, or any combination of two or three, were present at some shindig, you can be sure that all eyes were on their antics, leaving us free to snoop around and do what we needed to do undetected.
Burton passed away in 1984, leaving Harris and O'Toole to their own devices. Fortunately, they were more than up for the task...

• In 1959, O'Toole was cast as a Cockney sergeant in the play The Long And The Short And The Tall at the Royal Court Theatre. His understudy was a young Michael Caine, and one Saturday night after the show O'Toole invited him to a restaurant he knew. Eating a plate of egg and chips was the last thing Caine remembered, until he woke up in broad daylight in a strange flat.  "What time is it?" he inquired. "Never mind what time it is," said O'Toole. "What f***ing day is it?" It turned out that it was five o'clock in the afternoon two days later. Curtain-up was at eight. (Daily Mail)
• In 1963, Harris won best actor at the Cannes Film Festival for the movie This Sporting Life. But when the actress Jeanne Moreau handed him his award, a plain box, Harris, who'd by then had a few, barked: "What's this?" Momentarily stunned, Moreau replied: "Cufflinks. That's what the best actor gets." Blow that, thought Harris, grabbing the biggest trophy he could see and darting off stage. (Daily Mail)
• (O'Toole) once showed up in a sports car yelling: "Get your passport, we're off!" Heading for Rome, they (he and actress Sian Phillips) took a wrong turning and ended up in Yugoslavia. By the end of the trip, Sian's nerves were in shreds as a result of O'Toole's manic driving. After he'd once taken a friend to Amsterdam, the unfortunate woman later confided to Sian: "He should never drive anything. He's lovely, but I thought we were going to die." Over the years, cars and O'Toole have never been the best of friends. One woman who accepted a lift from him swore afterwards that she would never do so again. During the journey, he had ignored a Keep Left sign on the grounds that it was "silly", and also narrowly avoided driving down a flight of steps. (Daily Mail)
• After one binge, (Harris) staggered back to a hotel where he was staying, undressed and climbed into bed, oblivious to the fact that it was occupied by a young couple. He was in the wrong room. "Hey, what's the big idea?" said a voice. "I don't have one," replied Harris, "but if one occurs to you, by all means wake me up." (Daily Mail)

Clearly, in terms of this kind of behavior, the bar was set very high, very early on. We remain deeply indebted to these bon vivants for their contributions to our success, as well as the obvious positive influence on our own conduct.

To Sir (And Sir), With Love

 

While Jeff honored the fallen in Monday's post, I'm here to tip my hat at a couple blokes still kicking. (And kicking major butt at that.)

Talk about letting your guard down, Keith Moon and Oliver Reed weren't the only two who could loosen a tie.

Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart (both appointed to the Order of the British Empire, McKellen as commander and Stewart as an officer) are just as qualified and able to get a room to let its guard down. I mean, look at'em:

And that is precisely their thing, their "super power" if you will: Comfortability.

Just because you put "sir" at the head of their names doesn't mean the likeability factor surrounding them And that is precisely their thing, their "super power" if you will: Comfortability.

Just because you put "sir" at the start of their names doesn't mean their likeability disappears into thin air.

Greeted with a smile and a warm handshake, the two - whether alone or together - are charmingly disarming, the perfect foils of unsuspecting bad guys harboring secrets and nefarious plans. These two will ask if they can buy you a pint in one breath and extract information from you in the next. Without you ever realizing they've done so.

They're that good.

Now to detail how, exactly, they accomplish this would be compromising not only their talents but shooting ourselves in the foot. It's just not going to happen. They're too valuable to us.

Suffice it to say they have been instrumental as allies of The Unbelievables for quite sometime. The fact fellow Union Jacker Jeff introduced us to them (by accident ... in a pub ... where he might have "accidentally" tripped one of them) has been a boon on the international crime fighting front and a handy trick up our sleeves countless times.
 
One day perhaps we can open the files on these two and amaze you with some of their tales. That day isn't today, however.

For the time being: Cheers, Sirs!

Undercover Drunks

By now, as seasoned readers of this blog, you will doubtless be aware of the important contributions to our cadre of investigations and butt-kicking that have been made by a secret international undercover network of Tinseltown moles, Hollywood informants and celebrity snakes-in-the-grass. Without them, we would be struggling with the endless workload. 

Of course, dragons live forever, but not so little boys. By which I mean that people are only human, and humans have a limited lifespan.

By which I mean, even famous people die eventually. 

I would like to take the time to honour two of the fallen, who have given of themselves tirelessly in our service, Mr. Keith Moon and Mr. Oliver Reed.

Now you may be saying to yourself, "Those two old drunken louts? What could they possibly have done that was so useful?". Boy, did they have everyone fooled.

While it is true that Moon The Loon's crazy antics and alcohol-fueled escapades are the stuff of legend (as well as his skill behind a drum kit),

 and that Mr. Reed's sultry good looks and acting chops were only outclassed by his propensity for boozing it up and acting the goat, 

they were in reality pretending to be drunk (well, most of the time anyway). This meant that unsavoury types and nefarious characters felt that they could let their guard down around them, and say things that were of a sensitive nature, simply because they felt confident that neither Keith nor Ollie would remember a word of it in the morning.

However, much like Karen Allen's character Marion Ravenwood in Raiders Of the Lost Ark,  Keith and Ollie could really hold their drink whilst pretending to be totally sloshed. They also wore wireless mics in certain cases so we could record pertinent conversations for later use as evidence. It was they who blew the Case of the Hopeless Diamond wide apart with their recording of Lady Creampuff's clandestine (or so she thought) confession to her butler Spuckleworth that she'd hidden the diamond in the trifle. (Actually, the doddery old dear had been wearing it while cooking and it slipped off her finger and into the whipping cream). It was Ben Vereen, another party attendee, who swallowed the thing whole and ended up accompanying us to the Emergency Room where we patiently waited for the doctors to pump his stomach for us, but that's a whole other story. Ben was a big fan of trifle up till that point, but after that day he couldn't even look at a trifle without feeling queasy. Long story short, the diamond was returned to its rightful owner, and now it had a celebrity history.

"I'm choking!"

Keith and Ollie were attending Lady Creampuff's garden party when it happened and had arrived, suitably outlandishly dressed and pissed up, to complete the illusion. Then they set to work.

Sneaky sneak here...

sneaky sneak there...

sneaky sneaky everywhere.

And of course, nobody suspected a thing.

Of course, we all know that both of these fine gentlemen have ceased to be, and the world is all the poorer for it. Hats off to you, fellas.

Oliver Reed and Keith Moon - the undercover drunks.

I'll let Michael and Clark tell you more about some of our fallen former comrades-in-arms and their immeasurable contributions to our cause.

Ciao!

The Saddest Troll Of All

You really have to feel for this guy ...

Folks? You've seen Monday's and Wednesday's posts. But what I'm about to impart to you today is probably one of the saddest tales of all ... as if the tales Clark and Jeff told weren't sad enough.

This one? Involves the popular Travelocity Gnome, better known as "The Roaming Gnome: Denouncer of Travel Myths."

You know him. You've seen him. And you probably don't like him all that much. I haven't personally come across anyone who does. As a matter of fact, I don't even like him all that much.

But this tale of The Roaming Gnome is somewhat tragic. Cruel. Heartless. Hateful.

The Gnome, by nature, is a vertically-challenged, diminutive figure. In short, he's short. Really short. That's the card he's been dealt. Imagine yourself that short - life would be rather difficult, no?

And that's just the attribute some might grab and make off with, just to be mean.

And there's no one meaner than Henri Petit, let me tell you.

What a little shit ...

Forget Michael Jackson and his childish antics toward Russell Crowe. You thought Don Knotts was rough on Steve McQueen? Not a chance. Compared to the daily doings Petit foists on The Roaming Gnome, those two are bush league wannabees.

Petit, as it turns out, concocts devious ways to sneak The Gnome's meals away, hiding them in difficult to reach or get to locales forcing The Gnome to go running for his comestibles. Plus, Petit replaces The Gnomes foodstuffs with little passive aggressive notes ... clues to where The Gnome can find his meals.

Sometimes it's on the roof top of an 80-story skyscraper. Balanced on a tree top. A difficult to get to fire escape. A treacherous mountain summit.

And the notes he leaves ... talk about cold-blooded:

"Hey, Clarky ... you're oatmeal is getting pretty cold up there on the roof of Trump Tower. On the plus side, it's decked out on The Donald's best linens. But not for long ... better hurry. I mean ... I know you like to 'travel' ... so get to it, Buddy."

Like I said ... cruel.

Where does Petit get this sadistic bent? Well, you might have noticed what he's knicknamed The Roaming Gnome - "Clarky." It's a not-so-subtle knock at the physical and mental anguish our own Clark projects on that buttface Petit. That second-hand-smoke-factory-in-a-child's-frame is shamelessly passing his woes onto that poor little gnome with bitter, callous disregard.

Petit is a sad, sad, spiteful little twerp, let me tell you ...

Celebs: That's How They Troll

Ah yes, dear reader. Many people like yourself are unaware of how badly celebrities can treat each other, especially when it comes to picking holes in each other's personal appearance. For example, poor George Clooney was unaware early on in his career of how famous he would eventually become, so when this photo of grade-school George leaked out, nobody batted an eye.

But then he did ER, became a megastar, and this overlooked picture became the subject of much ridicule and mirthsome joshing, mostly from other cast members and film directors. All it took was for someone to figure out that it looked almost exactly like this picture...

and Mr. Clooney has never lived it down.

Then there's the 'Thunderbirds' incident.

CNN's Fareed Zakaria has for years had to repeatedly deny that he is in fact Scott Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird 1.

"I don't know what you mean."

And Steven Seagal has been having a field day since the man-bun became popular. He calls up well-known man-bun sporting footballers such as Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Pablo Osvaldo (below)

at all hours of the day and night, berating them that they are doing it all wrong, and the Seagal ponytail (below) is the way to go.

However, the torch has been passed. Hearing of Ibrahimovic and Osvaldo's plight, and knowing how imperative it is for footballers to get a solid 8 hours rest per night, other celeb man-bun wearers such as Leo DiCaprio and Jared Leto have taken to calling up Seagal and chanting "Man-bun! Man-bun! Man-bun!" down the phone at him. 

They even sent Facebook messages with nothing but pages and pages of the words 'man bun' to him, as yet to no avail. Steven is adamant that the ponytail is still cooler than any man-bun. We are inclined to agree.

"Won't see me wearin' no man-bun."