Beware the Bewhiskered

This guy...

is known as Reg "Hairy" McLairy or The Tashmeister. He is seriously into his moustache. He preens and primps it three hours a day. He's a little odd. He's responsible for the spread of moustachism worldwide, which led to the fad that became a thing of women wearing fake 'staches.

As you can probably tell from the pic, he's also into barbershop quartet singing. Those close-harmony renditions of old crap songs like "Sweet Adeline" or "Goodnight Sweetheart" that are only tolerated because they are technically skilful despite being not at all entertaining. Wearing a striped blazer, silly hat and white pants a la Dick Van Dyke during the penguin sequence in Mary Poppins with a bunch of other similarly attired men and boring people to tears with songs like "Coney Island Washboard" or "Nobody Knows What A Redheaded Mama Can Do" McLairy and his fellow criminals, The Bewhiskered Gentlefellows, travel the length and breadth of the country, showing off their facial hair felonies and spreading their message. Not quite sure what the message actually is, but we'll get to that later.

The other three members of The Bewhiskered Gentlefellows are pictured below.

Terrance McTavish, baritone and cravat.

Paddy O'Dawes, tenor and bowtie.

Snoots McGee-Cheeseworth, alto and stetson. 

If you see these guys and survive, please let us know. We need to put a stop to their nefarious noodlings and ne'er-do-well deeds. Rest assured we'll give your call top priority.

More info on Friday! 

Hirsute hysteria!

fadnoun
An intense and widely shared enthusiasm for something, especially one that is short-lived and without basis in the object's qualities; a craze.
"prairie restoration is the latest gardening fad in the Midwest"

If something outlives being a fad, it becomes a thing.

thingnoun
An item or activity that used to be a fad.
"so I guess that's a thing now"

Something that used to be a fad but is now apparently a thing, because it's been happening for years now, is girls posing for photos with fake mustaches.

Now, we don't have anything against mustaches...

And I'm ppppprrrreeeetttyyyy sure we're on record as loving the ladies...

Hello once again, ladies!

But we are not fans of this thing that used to be a fad.
Why? Well, certainly not because of any hang-ups regarding gender identity issues,

We're soooo far beyond that!!

It might be because at least one of us (me) has an admittedly irrational fear of a possible velcro situation that might occur while kissing a 'stached lady. I don't know. What I do know is that this, as is usually the case, is the fault of a nefarious super villain. Specifically, this guy...

Who is he? What does he want? What's his name???
More to be revealed later!

The Jobs We Don't Do

As was said on Monday, we get letters all the time asking us all manner of questions and requesting all kinds of assistance. Seems people are now so lazy that they turn to us for the slightest trivial issue.Never mind calling 911, we get asked to fill in for plumbers, electricians, vets, sous chefs, prima ballerinas... it's crazy. And even though we could do those things (take it from me, once you get some tights on Clark, you would not believe the pirouettes and grand jetés we see from him), it's not what we are about. Not our primary function.

Some of the oddest requests I can recall being asked to do? 

There was the time Simon Pyman from Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire wrote us his tale of woe concerning flooring. Seems he was concerned that the laminate wasn't fitted correctly.

No kidding.

All we could say was "Call a professional. This isn't our area. Sorry."

For some reason flooring comes up a lot. For example, Roger De Loger of Stet, MO thought we could help him with his carpeting issues.

Seriously, do these people not own a Yellow Pages?

It wasn't just Roger. Gryant Bumbel of Mossy, WV also sent pics of his shoddy carpet.

I mean, come on!

There was also a slew of people needing help with their broken ovens. I'm serious. Take a look at this selection.

What the heck happened here, Davina McBatty of Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, Quebec?

Loreena Quigley of Goole, Yorkshire, I think a broken oven is the least of your worries.

Just to set the record straight, we are not repairmen, carpet fitters or flooring specialists. So quit bugging us, people.

Hopefully next week will be better.

The weather, and other things we shouldn't talk about

Do yourself and everyone else a favor and issue yourself a preemptive SHUT UP any time one of these topics pops up. For three reasons:

1) Like Michael said, we can't do anything about them so what's the point?

2) Shut up.

3) OMG, SHUT UP!!!

THE HEAT 

"It's hot outside!"
Yes. It's summer time. This is not a particularly illuminating observation. It is hot outside. You're not making it cooler nor are you educating anyone. Nobody who has been outside has said, "there's something about the environment in which I am currently an inhabitant but I just can't figure out what it is." Hey, it's hot outside. "You know what, that is exactly what it is! Hot! Thank you!"

THE COLD

"It's cold outside!"
See above and change some of the words around, you dummy.

THE POLITICS

"Your candidate is awful"
"My candidate is also kinda awful, if I'm being honest"
"All the candidates are awful"
"Everything is awful"
Yeah. And?

THE NEW RESTAURANT

We know, it's awesome, the best place ever, just amazing. Unless it's terrible, the worst place ever, just horrible. The service is outstanding. Unless it sucks. The food is just incredible. Unless it sucks. One of two ridiculous subjective extremes. You feel like it's your obligation to get the word out, either way. That's fine. But here's what you need to do: publish a review on Yelp where we can conveniently ignore you and people like you in one place.

THE SPORTS

Chances are if I didn't make a point of sitting down and watching the guy run around and kick the thing and hit the other guy, it's because I didn't want to. And even if that's not the case, if I missed it for some reason, there are only about a million different ways I can get caught up without hearing you talk about it.

THE FANTASY SPORTS

If you're a fantasy sports enthusiast, you already know that people who aren't have no interest in the subject, as well as people who are. You already know from previous failed attempts to engage people that exactly zero people care that you missed the playoffs in one of your leagues because your kicker missed a 27-yard field goal after making kicks of 33, 48 and 53 previously in the same game. What you also need to know is that the name of your team is nowhere near as clever as you think it is. Setting up a web page and issuing "hilarious" fake press releases and memes with your made-up logo poorly Photoshopped on to Jake Cutler's helmet is nothing more than a waste of bandwidth, even today when that isn't even a thing people worry about anymore.

Not even remotely funny, on any level whatsoever.

Jeff?

Sorry, Folks ... We Don't Cause International Incidents

Poutine: Fries with squeeky cheese and gravy

Yes, The Unbelievables are fabulous, well-mannered, snappy dressers and popular with the ladies. (Hello, Ladies!)

But we've said it before: There's only so much we can do.

All requests that come through our mailbag or answering service receive our individual attention, but you have to understand there are certain things that have been set in place which are pretty immovable - they can't be messed with. Often, that's where our many foes choose to venture and when we have to step in. (See previous posts for the many and varied examples.)

Case in point: I don't know why but we receive letters several times a month asking if there's anything we can do about the beginning of the week, Mondays. Why anyone in there right mind would think we would want to tackle such a staple of everyday life, something that pops up week in and week out 52 times a year, is beyond me. And why it's so vilified in the first place is beyond my personal comprehension. I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it here again: There's nothing I, or The Unbelievables, can do about Mondays. Accept them for what they are, however they manifest themselves. Personally, I love Mondays and don't understand all the hate ... which, in my opinion, I hypothesize might be from others' sad and sorry states of attitude.

Or cats. Look: There are dog lovers and cat lovers out there. It's usually the dog lovers who contact us and ask what can be done once and for all about cats. The answer is simple - not a damned thing. We don't mess with evolution (Hello! Evolution is beyond our control!) or the proclivities (wrong though they may be) of feline affection. Again ... deal with it. They're a fact of the matter and they're not going away any time soon.

Where's all this leading? Directly to today's topic, something that reared its head as a result of a small leak in my personal undercover operations ...

"Hey, Michael:

I understand you're soon to be 'on assignment' in The Great White North. While there, see if you can do anything about that odd Canadian favorite poutine. Why anyone would want to eat something so bland is beyond me.

Work it and get back to me when you can. Soon

- Charles"

Well Chuck, first off I'm not about to begin the week pissing off our neighboring country to the north by dissing one of their national culinary treasures. As far as I'm concerned, poutine never hurt anyone.

The dish - french fries topped with cheese curds (sometimes known as "squeeky cheese") and mild tasting gravy - is a personal preference of Canadians. You have every right to indulge in the concoction or otherwise without fear of reprisal or consequence. Personally, I get a hankering for fries and gravy, but gravy of the thicker, more flavorful variety ... and sans cheese curds. Cheese curds, in and of themselves, are often bland as a rule. Why Canadians love them so much is their business, not mine.

This place digs lacrosse, all things maple and cheese curds.
Sure, poutine has migrated its way into the United States, particularly Washington, the Dakotas, Minnesota, Wisconsin. But we don't boycott those folks just because their eating proclivities drift over to the blah, uninspiring end of things.

And The Unbelievables aren't willing to get on Canada's bad side over their food preferences.

That's something our foes (i.e. Little Debbie) might delve into ... not us.

Evil, personified.

Clark and Jeff might have other personal takes on Mondays or cats or poutine and other things too ridiculous to look into as a butt-kicking entity.

Stay tuned ...

Breakfast Interruptus

Our esteemed colleague Michael is currently on top secret assignment (all we can say is, you're welcome, would-be volcano victims in Hawaii) and unable to contribute to this discussion of memorable breakfasts. He will do so upon his return. In the meantime, help yourself to a healthy, nourishing breakfast, sit back and relax. We'll be back on Monday with adventures or something.

Starting the day in an Unbelievable way

We all know breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but did you ever stop to realize it's the sexiest meal of the day?
Think about it.
There's nothing sexy about lunch, which consists of heating up a Lean Cuisine in a dirty office microwave or going out for a sandwich.
What's sexy about dinner, a big heavy meal that makes you sleepy?
No, it's breakfast, the meal you eat after getting out of bed. Just look at the sexy names of the food items you eat at breakfast:

• Omelette
• Quiche
• Croissant
• Sausage

Not to mention hot Coffy

Best breakfast I ever had? Well, this one was pretty good...

Four years ago or so, somewhere in Chicago. I think we had eggs and stuff or something.

2009 or 2010 in Canada? This one was delicious too. Waffles, maybe. Or pancakes.

Oh yes, I remember this one in detail! It was in the spring of either 2011 or 2008 or 2006 when I was in Texas or Detroit. We had French Toast. Pretty sure.

New Years Day, 2001. Or Easter morning, 2004. Europe? I don't remember. This was a pretty great breakfast, in spite of a pretty awful menu. I got a stomachache. 

Eggs again? Maybe? I don't know. I'm going to go with eggs. In the winter. Or summer. Maybe spring. Possibly autumn. Somewhere in North America. Probably.

The absolute best breakfast I've ever had though? That's easy!

No contest

February 4th, 2015, 8:34 AM at the Waffle House in Walterboro, South Carolina. I had two eggs over medium, with the edges just slightly crispy, two sausage patties (NOT LINKS!), wheat toast, hash browns in the classic scattered, smothered and covered style, with a large orange juice to drink. I paid with cash, a crumpled $20 bill printed in Ft. Worth, Texas and issued into circulation in 2007 upon which someone had doodled glasses and a mustache on Andrew Jackson's face. I left a 30% tip.

Back To Reality

You know, coming down from a marathon Virtual Reality session high is weird. It took a few hours to adjust to actual reality. There were a few jumpy moments when we were convinced we'd be set upon by old foes or zombies if we went to the bathroom, but we're OK now. What put us right, in the end, was being forcibly removed from the house by Kip on the promise of a slap-up breakfast.

So we five (including Ulf the Unbelievadog, natch) piled into the 'Vette and headed to one of our favourite breakfast joints - a greasy spoon by the name of Doozer McGoozer's on the northeast corner of Richard Simmons Blvd. and Alcopop Ave. in downtown Stiletto Flats.

We were immediately seated in our favourite booth and to begin the restorative process, Kip ordered multiple jugs of hot fresh coffee, which we slurped at maniacally while perusing the menu.

I say menu, but in fact there is no written menu. All one has to do is wet a finger, swab it on the table and have a taste, and you'll know what's been recently ordered. 

"Mmm", I said, "Crab omelette with avocado, home fries and a side order of sour cream and salsa. That sounds excellent. I'll have that, with wholemeal toast, if you would please, Doozer."

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and if you even want to stand a chance of coming anywhere close to being as Unbelievable as we Unbelievables are, you'd better make sure not to skip your brekky.  An overwhelming percentage of my favourite meals have been breakfasts. For example:

There was the time I needed a quick and easy breakfast while on a vital recon mission in Mukilteo, WA, so I popped into  The Stak-A-Takk and ordered their Spam Scramble. Oh yeah.

Then, while on a vital international recon mission in Kyoto I popped into Fuji's FryUps and ordered the Spam and egg sushi. Delish.

There I was in Tinseltown on a recon mission and feeling peckish, so I popped into Dynamo Dan's Cafe for the Spam-Steak Hero Baguette. Oh yeah.

There I was on a vital recon mission in the International District of Vancouver BC. I popped into Kooky's Korean Kitchen and ordered the Korean Spam Rice Bowl. Oh yeah.

You've heard of the whole umami thing, right? The combination, which would appear to be counter-intuitive, but is actually right on the money, of sweet things counterpointing salty ? Well, one time while on a recon mission in Llandudno, Wales, I popped into Blodwen's Blowouts where they serve Spam and Eggs Benedict with avocado on a cinnamon bun. Oh yeah.

  
So this prompted a conversation about our best breakfast ever, and the guys' answers, I think you'll find, are both surprising and intriguing. Challenging, even.

Find out more on Wednesday!

Sorry For The Delay...

~~~continued from where we left off~~~

"Guys! Guys, wake up!" I thought I heard Kip say.

Kip? KIP? Kip who'd been revealed to be a robot driven by the foul preschooler Petit? Why would I be hearing his voice, considering we were on an old movie set doing battle with dozens of past foes, next to the burning remains of a cushty Renault Espace?

As Clark, Michael and I dispatched villain after villainess, goon after goonette, henchmen after henchwoman, we all turned as we heard it again.

"C'mon now guys, time for breakfast!"

"How curious", I thought, and I could tell the others did too.

We all looked at each other. 

Roundhouse kicking Negative Charge across the room, Michael said, "You know (oof), even though we are (biff) incredibly skilled crimefighters (thwak), well versed in UnbelievaFu (clonk) and other forms of hand-to-hand (boiinngg) combat, including but not limited to capoeira (doof), tae kwon do (bosh) and the little-known Scottish art of Fookujimmi (crakk), doesn't this all seem remarkably easy?"

"Now that you (pow) mention it," replied Clark, "I was beginning to think I had just gotten (whammo) amazingly better at fighting, too."

"Chaps, I think it's time (blaff) we did something completely out of left field," I said, casually pummeling the punchable face of Mac Ramey as I did so. "Let's see what happens (kerbloop) if we stop fighting."

The others were incredulous, but quickly decided that they'd give it a try.

"On three, OK? One...two...two and a half...three!!"

We stood still and let our arms flop to our sides. As I suspected, everyone else stopped fighting too and stood around with puzzled looks on their faces. Suddenly we heard a voice.

"CUT!! CUT! Guys, what the hell are you doing?"

We looked across to a director's chair in which an incensed Henri Petit was sitting, wearing a beret and aviator pants and smoking with a very long cigarette holder. 

"You guys weren't supposed to stop! It's not meant to be like this! No fair! My film is ruined! Waaaah!!" he bawled. 

~~~GAME OVER~~~

"Wake up, you guys, come on!" yelled Kip. "You've been playing that game for weeks now!"

We felt a pair of hands removing something from our faces, revealing Kip, solid and definitely not a Petit-driven robot, in front of us.

Woozily, Clark was the first to speak. "What game? What are you talking about?"

"This one." Kip handed Clark a copy of our video game, which has now been made into a Virtual Reality version (only $69.99 in stores now, folks! Get'em while they're hot!).

"Lemme see that," snarled Michael, snatching the box away from Clark. "Hmmm. Well, I'll be goddamned. What level were we on?"

"Apparently, a custom level whereupon you can meet all previous foes and a few new ones, called "THE UNBELIEVABLES MEET TIE-PO AND THE TEETA VON DEESE TRIPLETS" Michael said, reading from the box. "Play as Michael, Clark or Jeff as they team up with an old enemy to defeat an army of old adversaries on a Hollywood backlot." Well, that's what happened, I guess. But the whole backstory of sitting around in the backyard, hearing the girls' voices, watching them drive away in a Renault Espace, meeting Tie-Po, being put in gunnysacks, dumped in a parking garage, picked up by that shrimp Petit and made to fight an onslaught of disguised stuntmen while he films it? To what end, might one ask?"

"You think that's bad," replied Kip. "It's lucky you didn't put it in Zombie mode."

We all three looked at each other. "ZOMBIE MODE?!"

We reached for the goggles...

More Twists And Turns Than You Can Shake A Stick At

~~~moving on swiftly (we hope)~~~

The Renault stopped abruptly and Petit turned in his seat to face us, saying "So, Unbelie--", promptly falling out of his booster seat, dropping his ciggy, saying "shit" a few times, retrieving the still-burning smoke, realising the carpet was on fire, stamping it out and clambering back up into his seat, huffing and puffing to catch his breath, then finally spluttering, "So... Un... believables *cough*"

"Spit it out, you insufferable toe-rag," growled Clark, "before I defenestrate you again!"

That clearly rattled Petit and his eyes glowed with anger. Or did they? No, they didn't. It was merely the reflection of the roaring fire that was now raging on the floorboards where he had previously dropped his lit fag-end. 

We scrambled for the doors and each of us grabbed one of the TVD girls and bailed from the vehicle, gallantly rescuing them from the rapidly escalating conflagration.

"WAIT! WHAT ABOUT ME!!!" screamed the nasty toddler-like git.

"Shall we rescue him?" I asked the others.

"I suppose we have to if we want to find out what is going on," Michael replied, "although there's no immediate hurry."

"I CAN HEAR YOU!!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!" wailed Petit, so we resignedly went over and opened the door.

"Wait, the door was unlocked the whole time, you tiny freak! Was that some kind of trick?" I gasped incredulously.

"Well, normally I'd say yes, Unbelieva-goons, but sadly it pains me to say that I just couldn't reach the handle. You guys just don't know what it's like to be me, you know, it's hard, it really gets me down someti--"

His pitiful speech was abruptly stopped by the van exploding (as these things are apt to do, especially in movies, which was somewhat ironic considering we were standing in what appeared to be an abandoned movie set).

"Well, that's our ride gone" said Clark.

Thus far the TVD's hadn't uttered a peep, but just at that moment one of them said, "Sorry guys..."

We heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked and turned slowly to see the girls pointing weaponry at us.

From behind them we saw the doors of all the fake buildings opening and the familiar figures of many of our nemeses spilling from them - Sam Snow, Little Debbie, Negative Charge, The Double "D" Dames, to name a few -  all led by Tie-Po and Mac Ramey. All of them armed, and looking more than a little menacing.

What was the meaning of all this? Why were we at an old movie studio surrounded by villains? What did they want? How are we going to get home mow? How did we get out of this alive? (Because we did, you know. That's how come I'm able to write this. So there!).

Well you may ask. Fear not though, for more will be revealed on Friday!

~~~continuing on with all the continuation and stuff~~~

It seems that things are not as they seem

~~~still more continuation~~~

"Eww!" - my reaction upon seeing this...

"Ooh!" - my reaction upon seeing this...

My repulsion to the idea of being stuck in a car with the repulsive Henri Petit was repelled by the prospect of being in the back of a car with the mysterious-but-undoubtedly lovely Teeta Von Deese Triplets. "Shotgun! In the middle, on the hump! I called it!", I shouted as I climbed inside. "Shotgun is not in the back, it's passenger side in the front", Michael said. "Also, you can't call in the middle, on the hump. That's the worst spot in any car", Jeff added. I nodded my head toward Petit in the driver's seat and they both yelled, "Not Shotgun!" as they jumped into seats on the middle bench. "So I'm in the front by myself then? That's just great", muttered Petit. He put the car in drive and headed for the exit as we hurled insults at him.

"Hey, where's your car seat?"
"Yeah, how can you even reach the pedals? Is there an even uglier man-baby on the floorboard up there?"
"Can you at least put out the cigarette, you malodorous doink?"

None of us had asked where we were going or why. Personally, I didn't care, being as I was surrounded by three lovelies who weren't saying a word and didn't have to. But once we actually rolled out on to the street that was as empty and abandoned as the garage, Michael finally said, "where are you taking us, Petit?" The stinky tot answered, "If you remember, Tie-Po said he wanted to introduce chaos to the world, a place 'where up is down, hot is cold, foes are friends and everything happens whenever it wants to'. Now where could that happen, hmmmm?"
"Your mom's house!", I offered, which was greeted with high fives from Michael and Jeff. Michael said, "I think we can figure this out without involving the vile runt." Jeff said, "I think I already have; the answer is a movie set! A made-up fictional world where the creators make up all the rules! All these buildings are false fronts, sets for scenes from stories to be filmed!"
"Well done, Unbelievables", Petit said condescendingly. "And I am not a ru--"
"SHUT UP!", we yelled in unision.

So okay, we were on some vacant Hollywood back lot. But where were we going and what would happen next and how was I supposed to concentrate on any of that while getting all snuggly-wuggly with the TVD Triplets?

Answers to be revealed at some point soon!

~~~again with the continuation~~~

Another Unlikely Turn Of Events

~~~continued yet again~~~


If there's one thing that irritates me more than anything else, it is not knowning what in the Sam Hill is going on. I like to be focused and in control and aware of everything at all times. So sitting there with Michael and Clark, scratching our noggins and wondering where we were, why we were there, and having just been told a load of complete nonsense by some cheap illusionist typewriter-headed hack called Tie-Po was sufficient to cause me to have a near meltdown.

Especially since we knew were going to have to find and join forces with that irritating chain-smoking toddler Henri Petit to fight against the situation that we currently found ourselves in.

But where were we? That was the first item on the agenda. Looking around, it appeared to be an abandoned parking garage. 

"How incredibly Streets of San Francisco" remarked Michael. "It was always an abandoned warehouse or an abandoned parking garage."

"Well, in that case we need to find an exit and look for the nearest pile of cardboard boxes on the street and wait for the squad car to smash into them!" said Clark flippantly.

"Actually, that's not the worst idea I've ever heard" I replied.

Time passes slowly when you're looking for an exit door and none is to be found. We had been looking for a good fifteen minutes when suddenly we heard the familiar sound of squealing tires.

We spun around to see a red Renault Espace heading towards us.

Not unlike this one.

It pulled up alongside and the doors opened. Who do you think the driver was?

"Hop in, mes amis!"

And who was in the back?

~~~to be continued yet again some more~~~