Regrets? I've had a few.

Just kidding! I haven't had any regrets whatsoever!
HA HA HA HA HA!!
I'm happy with everything I've ever done as an Unbelievable. Everything!

Okay, there might be a small handful of situations I could have handled better, but those turned out to be terrific learning experiences!

EXAMPLE 1:

This was a hired goon guarding the high-rise office of a business tycoon that we needed to question regarding his involvement with a chain of fast food restaurants that we had determined was a front for a French Maid trafficking operation. I thought he was trying to keep us out of that office but it turns out he was just offering to validate our parking. Oops!

"Mon Dieu, Zank yew, Monsieur Clark!"

UPSIDE: Fifi was VERY grateful to be rescued. VERY grateful, if you catch my meaning. Meaning, that she showed her gratitude with kisses and snuggles and... Oh, you figured that out? All right then.

EXAMPLE 2:

This one time, the Unbelieva-base was undergoing some renovations and we had to temporarily rent space in an office building downtown. A guy came in and asked, "Excuse me, can you tell me how to find the Stilleto Flats Municipal Showgirls Hall of Fame?" and I kicked him out the window. A tad extreme, but...

UPSIDE:
... the Stilleto Flats Municipal Showgirls Hall of Fame was located on the ground floor.


EXAMPLE 3:

"I am so sick and tired of this $#@%#@ TV being on the fritz!"

UPSIDE:

Okay, so this wire thing actually is important. Now I know. Great. Thanks.



My point is, when it comes to my career as a member of The Unbelievables, I regret absolutely nothing. Nothing! I have zero regrets! Not a single one!!

I do kind of regret my "Tropical Traveler" phase.

Our Highs, Our Lows

I don't know why we have to continually revisit certain things the public seems to "forget." But here we go again.

It's been well documented I've been upstaged / had the wool pulled over my eyes (See what I did there?) / suffered the shenanigans of one of our old enemies Mac Ramey. I'm not perfect. It's just that I (and the other fellas) appear that way a majority of the time. (We DO have an image to uphold, you know. We do what we can to put our best foot forward, something expected of us.)

Regardless, I learned a few good things about those encounters with Ramey. Various soothing techniques (as an aside) I willingly incorporated into my personal Unbelieva-Fu® regimen for example. Not to mention a few instances where I could apply variations of crime fighting techniques to what we already know and have developed.

But, yes, there was an awkward low point to one of those encounters (much to the chagrin of Jeff and Clark) - the infamous crocheted shorts. It seems I used to flaunt around in them too much. Looking back, they were rather embarrassing.

So, yeah ... Low Point. I'll admit that. And of my own free will. Besides, it's on the internet for-EV-er. I couldn't deny it if I wanted to. There's nothing known to mankind which can eradicate something like that from the history books.

But ... there was a positive consequence borne from it. The fallout from those crocheted shorts led to my "world famous" pantslessness image and preferred mode of traipsing about, especially around the Unbelieva-Base. (And other locales when I can get away with it.)

 
So, there you go. Really High Point.

Need I provide examples of any others? (Don't answer that. If you really must know more information about me, you can find plenty in the annals of The Unbelievables. Don't be lazy. Go search stuff out for yourself. There are volumes of good and bad characteristics to glean.)

Meanwhile, maybe this week we'll discover why Clark often looks like this ...

... when his turn to contribute comes about later this week.

(Disclaimer: Many of you might be all a'flutter waiting for that tidbit. Don't hold your breath; I'm not promising he'll fess up that easily.)

The Last Final End Of Kip The Mail Boy (and this storyline)

(WARNING: The following material may elicit reactions like this...

...as it contains shocking developments of a revelatory nature. Those with low tolerance for suspense and surprises may choose to wait in our Unbelieva-lounge For Namby-Pambies.

Frozen cocktails and chilaquiles await!

No? Okay, daredevils. We now resume our two-fisted tale of intrigue!)


What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

My hands trembling with rage, I reached for Kip's neck...

...and ripped off the cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask to reveal...

Jeff and Michael gasped "It's the vile and disgusting Henri Petit!". "Of course it is", I said. Because It was. Henri Petit, our most sinister, chain-smoking, toddler of a foe, perched on some awkward mechanical stilts contraption, topping off his disguise with a cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask.

Michael asked, "But how did you know it was Henri Petit wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask and not actually Kip himself?" I replied,"Because not only is he wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask, he actually is cheap, ill-fitting Kip himself!" 
More gasps.
All these years, I knew my hatred of Kip was justified! Let's pick things up from the transcript recorded by our Unbelieva-voice recorders.

PETIT: That's right, Unbelieva-oafs! This whole time, I've had access to your mail and the inner workings of your top secret headquarters as I moved among you on a daily basis while you remained completely unaware! I've won. Do you hear me? I HAVE DEFEATED YOU!!JEFF: You fiend! You read our mail?!?
PETIT: What? Oh. No, I didn't actually read it. That would be rude. And illegal, I think.
MICHAEL: So you had access to our mail, a vital source of our communications...but you didn't read it?
PETIT: No, but I had access to it! And that means you were vulnerable to attack! Ha ha!
CLARK: But you never actually used that access to attack. And now you've been apprehended. What was your point?
PETIT: Well, ah... Hmm...
JEFF: Yeah, that makes no sense. Tell us what you were really up to!
PETIT: I was going to attack you. I was! But once I settled into the mail room and developed a routine, well, you get a lot of mail from ladies. and it smells really nice.
MICHAEL: Oh gross! You little pervert!
PETIT: Not just that! The pay was good for a pretty easy job and the benefits are top notch, so I thought 'what's the rush?' Plus that espresso machine in the break room is simply delightful! I was merely biding my time until...
CLARK: Bide this, you loathsome, grubby, espresso-swilling tot! (glass breaking)
PETIT: I keep telling you I am not a... (unintelligible, fading curses followed by a wet thud)
CLARK: Sorry guys. I guess we need a new window.
JEFF: And a new mail boy! (laughter, martini glasses clinking)
ULF: Arf, arf! (louder laughter)
MICHAEL: And more frozen cocktails and chilaquiles! (almost hysterical shrieking laughter)

The End

The End Of Kip The Mail Boy, Part 1

"WHAT?! You don't mean ... !?!"

I was about to exclaim something but was distracted by Clark cocking a couple firearms to dispose of Kip once and for all. His "Who says I didn't?" comment, shot at us way too coolly and confidently, was obviously the last straw.

And if you know anything about Clark you know he has an extremely short tolerance toward Kip.

Apparently that tolerance just got cut in half courtesy of our little exchange with Kip. It was the perfect excuse for Clark to "take action" on our (previously loyal) Mail Boy once and for all.

"Clark, cool it. You can't do that. WE don't do that. Hold on a moment ..." I urged, then turned back to Kip. 

"Look ... this charade has gone on long enough. There's no possible way, without our help, you could ever pull off a convincing about face and gain the trust of our opponents so easily. Our female opposition wouldn't tolerate you - they'd pulverize you in a hot minute. As it is The Unbelieva-Babes barely put up with you ... or so I've heard. And posing as someone you're not? It doesn't add up. Spill it, Kip. The truth. Right now. Because Clark's trigger finger is itching ... and I'm not sure Jeff and I can contain him this time."

Look at that baby face: This ... THIS is the face of defiance?

Kip The Mail Boy is now The Unbelievables' enemy?!?

Ulf The Unbelieveadog yipped and growled ominously while Jeff held him at bay. Clark just fumed ...

... and that's when Kip crossed his arms and sneered.

I couldn't believe it. None of us could. He'd never done that before.

Sure, Kip was sharp, even witty sometimes ... but defiant? Never.

What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

Schooled By Kip

"Kip!" I yelled at the schoolboyish face as he entered the room, "You got some 'SPLAININ' TO DO!!! Sic'im, Ulf!" and with that I unleashed Ulf towards Kip, who immediately fell under the force of Ulf's UnbelievaPaws.

Ulf in training. He can catch all those balls before they or he hit the ground.

The poor sap lay in a semi-fetal position while Ulf jumped all over him, shouting "Stop, stop, c'mon Ulf, stop, boy!" and crying... or was that laughing?

It was then Michael noticed something. "Hey, guys... Ulf's either gone soft or he's trying to slobber Kip to death!"

We pulled Kip to his feet and as he wiped the doggie drool from his face, we saw he was smiling broadly.

Clark was incensed. "Hang on just a cotton-pickin' moment, you snot-nosed little twit," he said. "What the heck just happened here?! C'mere, you little..."

Kip expertly dodged Clark's lunge towards him - a little too expertly, if you ask me - and began to explain.

"Guys, guys, calm down. What you're all probably wondering is how is the idiot mailboy behind all this threatening stuff?"

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, brother!" said Clark, who is rather fond of quoting Daffy Duck when irritated.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not. Or at least I wasn't to begin with. The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black is - was - a concoction dreamt up by none other than Little Debbie, Henri Petit, Sam Snow, et al - to spur you guys into thinking you were under serious threat. Which worked. Their aim being to catch you guys off guard at some point and kidnap one of you for a huge ransom."

Heh-heh!

Whatevs.

"Uh-huh" said Michael. "So how did you get involved?"

"Well, I'd seen how sloppy you guys were getting lately - I mean, making frozen cocktails and chilaquiles while under threat -

Mm mm mm.

Chilaquiles Verde Con Pollo, Unbelievables style.

 that's either ridiculous over-confidence or not giving a rat's patootie, either of which is dangerous. You need to be ever vigilant. So I solved the case for you and then decided to up the ante and pretend to be The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black to give you a much-needed workout. Which I hope I have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried. "Back the truck up uno momento, por favor! What do you mean you 'solved the case for us', Mail Boy?"

"Yeah!" said Clark. "How would you be able to do something like that without utilising our butt-kicking UnbelievaFu-type skills, etc.? Not to mention being extremely handsome and sexy? Huh? Huh, Mail Boy? Huh?"

"Who says I didn't?" replied Kip, coolly raising one eyebrow.

"WHAT?!" spluttered Michael, scarcely able to believe his ears (actually, nobody can believe Michael's ears. They are rather hairy, but let's not get into that right now). "You don't mean...!?!"

Not actually Michael's ear. Honest.

The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black ... Revealed?

  When last we left our heroes, Michael was considering answering the phone ...


The phone rang a second time.

"Hold on! We need to retrace what we know, or think we know. Something isn't adding up ..." I reasoned. I disengaged one of the lobsters from my Lobster Rage Fist I'd put on a few moments prior and began reasoning with the guys.

Then it rang thrice.

"Are you going to get that?" Clark asked me.

"In a second. Look: How can anyone be calling from inside the base? That's not possible ..."

The phone rang yet again.

"... especially when we've combed the place. Which didn't make much sense with all the failsafe technology and contraptions we have here at the Unbelieva-Base to prevent that kind of thing. We'd know if someone had tried to compromise us ..."

The phone continued to ring ...

"Still ... it was a good idea to go room by room just in case. You can never be too careful ..."

... and ring ...

"So where does that leave us? Someone outside tapping our line who somehow got around our state-of-the-art communications array?" Jeff wondered.

... and ring ...

"No. That just can't happen," I stated. "We spared no expense building this place not to mention thinking through our call system. We're putting too much thought into this. I have hunch it's a way simpler dilemma. Follow my lead, guys ..."

The phone rang one last time. I reached for it and picked it up.

"Hey ... Kip?" I said into the receiver frostily. "Come in here a minute, would you?" Jeff's and Clark's eyes widened.

"I'll be right there," I heard on the other end of the line.

The realization flooded over Jeff. And you could see Clark's face begin to turn red. I barely believed the unexpected ruse I threw out yielded fruit.

"Bugger! It's Kip ... ??? The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is Kip ... ??!?!??!" Jeff blurted.

"That's it. He's mine," Clark called out while cocking the pistol he still had in hand.

Jeff called Ulf The Unbelievadog to his side, ever at the ready.

I re-engaged the previously disengaged lobster to my wrist.

Just then, Kip came around the corner.

"What's up, guys?" he asked a bit too innocently.

We're Dying To Know What's Going On

One of our dedicated team of mechanically gifted Unbelievababes changing the tyres on the 'Vette. Honest.

So we piled into the 'Vette (quite a squeeze, since there are no rear seats, so I just rode on top a la Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf, surfer style) in search of the Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black, with scarcely a clue between us as to his possible identity or his whereabouts. All we knew was he couldn't be far away, since (a) he, and others under his influence, were seeking to exterminate us Unbelievables and (2)an unknown caller had recently called us to let us know this fact, supposedly from one of our in-house phones, and had allegedly gotten stabbed in the process, though a security check of the premises turned up nothing pertinent.

"Let's take it block by block, fellas" I called from the roof. "They can't be far away."

Just then, a bullet whizzed by my ear.

"Someone's taking pot shots at us! Step on it!" I cried.

We burned rubber back to the base, then decided to lie in wait for whoever it was that had shot at us. 

"B-but hang on," whispered Clark, armed to the teeth as he was with a revolver, a hand grenade, assorted cutlery and a cheese grater, "what if there is somebody inside the base and we just missed it?"

Not actually Clark.

"We didn't miss it," growled Michael, strapping on the Lobster Rage Fist and opening the gun locker, "we are The Unbelievables! We stand for truth, justice and hot babes! We protect the world from evil-doers and all that jazz! We don't miss things like that!"

Just then, the phone rang again, followed by a dramatic sting. I could be wrong about that, but I'm sure I heard one.

Michael stepped, towards the phone, then stopped. 

"Should I answer it, guys?" he whispered.

What happened next? You'll have to wait till Friday to find out!

"The Unbelievables Still Might Be Dying Still"

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Hey, if you guys are going to Starbucks, would you mind picking up a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato for me, please?

CLARK: Okay, A) How do you know we're going to Starbucks and B) How am I supposed to remember all that and C) How do you plan on paying me back and D) Aren't jokes about ridiculous Starbucks drink concoctions kinda 1996-ish?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: A) I'm calling from inside the house and frankly, it's disappointing that you guys didn't figure that out and B) That's a fairly common Starbucks order and C) I kind of think that tipping you off about someone coming to murder you is worth at least something nice from Starbucks and D) Shouldn't you be more curious about my identity than my sense of humor?
MICHAEL (puts call on speakerphone): Listen you, what kind of sick game are you playing?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Tsk tsk, wasting time asking questions when you should be preparing for the arrival of The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black. Tsk, tsk.
JEFF: Who says "tsk, tsk" more than once? This guy's whole routine is kind of corny, isn't it?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Listen, you guys are screwing around and should be taking this whole situation much, much more seri...erk!...Oh great. That's just great.
CLARK: What happened?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I've been stabbed! I'm dying!! This changes, well, everything. Specifically, my chances of becoming a recurring character with my own Label.

MICHAEL: Who did it?!?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Oh, come on! "Who did it?" It was obviously The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black!! Now, somebody please help...
JEFF: You guys, an Obviously Tall Black Man In A Dress is here and killing people who break in and use our phones!
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: That's not what I said! That isn't even clo... Oh god, this really hurts!
CLARK (hangs up phone) *click* That's enough from him. Looks like we'd better postpone that trip to Starbucks, fellas.
MICHAEL: Oh, damn it! I'm seriously craving a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato right now. All right, let's spread out and find this guy.
JEFF: The Blocked Number Caller or the other one?
CLARK: We should probably start with The Obscene Talented Man Dressed Like Robert Blake, since he seems to be more of a credible threat at this point. The other guy isn't even going to be a recurring character with his own label.
JEFF: Okay, that's what I figured. Just checking.
MICHAEL: Let's go!

And with that, we went!

How High

Well, the power was easy enough to fix. It seems while Clark was on the phone with the Unknown Caller, Michael and I were simultaneously blending frozen cocktails in the blender (as one does), whipping up a batch of frangipan crumble cakes in the KitchenAid (natch) mixer, and cooking up a humongous platter of chilaquiles for everyone. The assorted appliances being used all at the same time caused the circuit to overload and the main switch to trip. 

After cleaning up the mess caused by Michael nicking his finger with a santoku knife blade (he's a real prolific bleeder), which occurred while rummaging in the kitchen drawer for a box of matches, which he needed so that he could go to the shed and look for a flashlight in the dark, in order to look at the breaker box under the stairs and flip the switch back on, by which time the auxiliary generator had kicked in and the lights were back on anyway, we decided to put our heads together over this mysterious matter of The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black. 

As we sat there, munching delicious chilaquiles and sipping Bahama Mamas, as well as nursing bandaged fingers, Clark started the discussion.

"Gents, I have only two questions. Who is The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black? Why is he so interested in killing us? And can I have the recipe for these chilaquiles?"

"That's three questions," said Michael, "but I think we should start by eliminating from our inquiry those tall men dressed in black that we KNOW can't be him."

"How do we do that when it could be absolutely anybody?" I asked.

"Well, it's not anyone that is currently dead, for example." said Michael. "It's not Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Johnny Cash or David Frye, is it?"

"Obviously not" said Clark. "Need I say 'duh'? By the way, this frangipan is an utter delight."

"You really like it, huh?"

"Absolutely, my gosh, it just melts in the mouth. I seriously want to taste this for the rest of my life."

"Anytime you want a batch, I can whip them right up for ya, no worries."

"AHEM!!And it's not any of our friends in the business of show, is it? Not Nick Cave, Dave Gahan or Peter Murphy, creepy as they all are?"

"Or Pee-Wee," Clark snarkily added.

"He's not that tall." I shot back.

"Wait a second! Waaaaait a cotton-pickin' second!" said Michael. "That is it! Tall! What if 'tall' in this instance does not refer to the man's height?!"

"What, then? His coffee preference?" I jokingly enquired.

"Maybe, maybe... it's worth checking out. Clark - get the 'Vette ready! We're going to Starbucks!"

Just as we were heading out the door, the phone rang again...

TO BE CONTINUED.... (dun - dun - duuuunnnnnnn!!)

"The Unbelievables Might Actually Die This Time!"

Shortly after the meeting Michael told you about on Monday ended, our phone rang...

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: (Unintelligible)
*click*

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I'm sorry. I had a mouthful of food and I wasn't expecting anyone to pick up after just one ring. Is this better?
CLARK: Yes, much better, thanks.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: You're going to die!
CLARK: One second. Kip, it's for you.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: No, I don't want...
KIP: Hello?
*click*

"Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello? Who is this? Hello? Hello?"
Hang up already, you moron!

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Hi. Please stay on the line. I don't want to talk to Kip.
CLARK: Join the club, pal.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: No, when I said 'you're going to die', I meant you and Jeff and Michael. The actual Unbelievables.
CLARK: Oh, you're going to kill us, eh? Do you think we're afraid of someone who doesn't even have the guts to call in threats from an unblocked phone number?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: It's not me. I'm not coming to kill you. I have inside knowledge of a plot devised to eliminate you.
CLARK: Who is this and how do you have this information?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I can't answer either of those questions. All I can tell you is The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is coming for you!
CLARK: LeBron James is coming to kill us?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: What? No. I didn't say it was LeBron James. Why would you...?
CLARK: You said it was a tall black man who plays basketball, which is a little bit racist, frankly. All tall black men don't play basketball, you know.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I didn't say he was black or anything about basketball! You're the one who...
CLARK: I can't say I'm surprised. LeBron is kind of mad at us about something right now that I can't get into. Although I am surprised that he's so mad that he'd want to kill us...
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I really don't think it's LeBron James...
CLARK: I mean, of course I can see him wanting to kill Jeff. No brainer. But I didn't say anything and Michael wasn't even there at the time.

"Hey! Hey, you big crybaby! Waaaah! Waaaaaah!!"
"Ohmygod, knock it off! He's looking right at us! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!"

BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Listen! You need to take this threat seriously! I don't know when The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is coming for you but he is coming, and soon!
CLARK: I assume since you have this info, you were at that meeting we heard about where all of our foes gathered in once place to talk about us. In which case, you're a foe of ours. Why are you trying to save us.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Because I have plans of my own for The Unbelievables. Some day. In the future. A long time from now. Definitely not this week. Maybe during the NBA playoffs, when it might bring more traffic to the blog. At any rate, later. And my plan calls for much worse than merely killing you!
CLARK: Wait... is that you, LeBron?
*click*

 And then, the power suddenly went out!

"The Unbelievables Must Die"

The room was packed. And it was a big room. There wasn't an empty seat in the place.

It seemed everyone was there: Herman Van Veen. Greta and Gerta, The Klumpmasterflash Twins. Negative Charge. The Leapers. (Though why they were present no one really knew.) Henri Petit. The Double-D Dames, Mac Ramey. Little Debbie. Mona Pletheridge, Dixie Bose-Sennheiser, Iona Mansion and all the other evil photographic models. Coach Fenella Flipoff. The infamous Woman With No Name. The Hostess. Lumpy "Hair Eye Am" Gonzalez and Neal Anderthal. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Cripes ... even Chafe Del Husqvarna was in attendance. I mean ... wowzah.

The room oozed evil intent. You couldn't make your way down an aisle without catching a whiff of sinister, dire circumstance. The place smelled thick as thieves.

Everyone was whining something at an ominously tall man dressed all in black behind a podium on a stage at the front of the room.

"They're tough, let me tell you ..."

"Jeff talks funny!"

"More windows have been broken with my head than I can count ..."

"Butt-kickin' doesn't begin to describe them ..."

"Michael doesn't even look that good in shorts!"

"All of our plans, months of scheming, tossed to the curb every time!"

"We spend good money trying to foil them! And we've got nothing to show for it!"

"Clark's 'Vette ain't all that, let me tell you ..."

"And we're damned tired of their ultra do-goodery! Not to mention all those Unbelieva-Babes hanging off their arms!"

The ominous tall man dressed all in black held up both his arms, hands parted, and waited patiently until the room quieted. Then he spoke:

"All of you have the exact same problem. And that problem is named Clark, Jeff and Michael, better known as The Unbelievables. I'm here to take care of that problem once and for all ..."

"HOW???" came the cry from all over the room.

"Your mistake, the thing each and every one of you have failed to understand, is this: You have to rid yourselves of The Unbelievables permanently. They have to be disposed of once and for all. And there's only one way to do that. It's something none of you has ever had the balls to do, let alone propose. I will do it for you ..."

"AND WHAT'S THAT???" came the cry from all over the room once more.

"I will kill The Unbelievables. They must die ..."

Hook, line and sinker

By now, you're probably familiar with some of our sub-departments, like The Unbelievababes, our (poorly managed) mailroom and our interns. One department that doesn't get attention, due largely to the stealthy nature of the work they perform, is The Unbelievabaits. I'm going to go ahead and reveal some info about these brave crimefighters because I'm pretty sure most of our foes are still too stupid to resist falling for them every time, even with the knowledge that they exist.

"Stop right there, you sexist boob! We see where you're going with this sexist practice", some of you are saying. "Using attractive young women to entice evildoers is not just sexist, it's really sexist!" Yes, it would be...if that were the case. But The Unbelievabaits are actually males! Male actors, to be specific, committed so deeply to their craft that they're masters of emulating the female form like the earliest Shakespearean thespians.
Here they are, off duty...

They insist on dressing like this during their downtime. I don't know.

Pictured L to R: Ian, Nigel, Clive, Arthur, Philip, Mookie, Pete, William, George, Jonathan, Phillip, Austin, Craig, Roger, Paul, Darren, Gregor, Stanley, Otto and Glenn.

And here they are, ready for a mission...

Pictured L to R: Ian, Nigel, Clive, Arthur, Philip, Mookie, Pete, William, George, Jonathan, Phillip, Austin, Craig, Roger and Paul

Pictured L to R: Darren, Gregor, Stanley, Otto and Glenn.

Remarkable, isn't it? We just get a couple of the boys here to stroll through a bad guy's hideout or even when they're in the middle of committing an actual crime and they lose all focus (the bad guys, not the Unbelievabaits). It's no wonder that the likes of a Negative Charge or Henri Petit might be led astray and knocked off their game. Of course, all 20 members of this elite force are fully trained in Unbelieva-Foo in case things get out of hand, but so far that hasn't happened. Once you get a Negative Charge or a Henri Petit distracted, it's pretty easy to swoop in and take them down. It's simply a matter of getting them to... take the bait.

Intelligence Is Smart

"I'm sure the guys will have more stories of unusual methods of capture later in the week" Jeff mentioned.

And we do.

Of course, there are the elaborate methods and schemes and day's-long planning sessions we belabor to add just the right touch to capture and incarcerate some of the bad guys we tussle with.

But there are also times when some of the simplest procedures are employed. And they work just as effectively.

And that's when we turn to this:

Yes ... I'm talking about the encyclopedia of time-tested practices, The Acme Catalog.

Really, it's one of the true joys of being an Unbelievable. 

Clark, Jeff and I pride ourselves on coming up with innovative ways to capture villains. (Unbelieva-Fu® anyone?)

But, sometimes, I rather enjoy the tried and true systems one finds in the book (which have been in place for decades, mind you.) After all, it's kind of hard to improve on perfection.

If you've never seen The Acme Catalog, let me give you a little primer on some of the things to be found therein ...

Basic overall strategies anyone can use ...

Handy, easy-to-read (and printable!) schematics of all their inventory ...

Color illustrations and product photos ...

... and actual video screen grabs showing many of Acme's products to help aid you in choosing just the right item to foil any hardened ne'er-do-well.

Truly, it doesn't get much easier than that.

Still, there are doubters:

"But Michael ... doesn't it verge on the side of cheating to employ Acme's plans and products to capture your foes? Aren't you afraid of someone pointing out you're taking the easy way out using some of this stuff?"

Heck no! Just the contrary! Why waste your time reinventing the wheel when it's already at your disposal? That's why Acme puts out their catalog in the first place.

Quality products, easy accessibility, fast shipping ... and you're contributing to the economy, too! Plus, don't forget a money back guarantee if not delighted. Sound like a "win-win" to you? You bet! You know why? Because it is!

(Besides ... chicks dig it when guys use their natural smarts. "Cerebral" is sexy you know.)

Acme: Just part of what makes The Unbelievables ... well ... unbelievable.*

*No endorsements were negotiated or coerced from The Unbelievables on behalf of Acme or its products for profit or personal gain. Female notice and appreciation (and any subsequent benefits thereof) which may be derived from Acme product use is in no way implied or guaranteed. Your results may vary.