We're doing the best we can... and that's pretty great!

Here's a letter we got recently...

Dear Unbelievables,
Boy, have you guys been asleep at the wheel in 2016! So many celebrities have passed away that it's impossible to list them all and you guys didn't save any of them! Why is whoever is paying you goofs to do what you do paying you goofs to not do what you're supposed to do?!?
PS: UGH!
Sincerely,
Deeply Disappointed in you Ding Dongs

Okay, calm down.
First of all, our primary purpose in life is not protecting celebrities, and certainly not all of the celebrities.
Secondly, a sad fact of life is people die. Granted, it's a depressing fact that so many beloved public figures have passed in such a short period of time but it's not like there's a global plot to assassinate them (there's isn't, and if there was we'd know about it and we wouldn't share that with you). It's just one big, weird, grim coincidence.
Thirdly, who says we haven't saved any celebrities? You're only thinking of those that are no longer with us. What about those that still are? Such as...

KEITH RICHARDS

This is the obvious one, the lowest hanging fruit on the "How are they still alive?" tree. Every year (not just this one), people remark how it must be a miracle that half of the Glimmer Twins has yet to Break On Through To The Other Side (I know that's not a Rollings Stones song and I don't care). All I can say about that is "no, it isn't" and "you're welcome".

DWAYNE "THE ROCK" JOHNSON

 "Oh, come on, Unbelievables!!", you're saying. "He's relatively young and clearly a fitness and exercise fanatic. There's no challenge in keeping someone like him alive." You wouldn't say that if you knew about his frequent participation in underground naked jousting tournaments.

TUPAC

What?!? Why is this here?? Typo. Misfiled. Error. Classified. Forget you saw this. You didn't see it. Plausible deniability. move along, please. Nothing to see here.

PAULA DEEN

Forget how many people she's angered. If you think it's easy to keep someone who thinks chicken-fried butter with ranch dressing gravy is a vegetable from seizing up a couple of times a day, I'd like to see you give it a try.

SINBAD

You people keep killing him (on Wikipedia and other web sites) and we keep not letting it happen in real life.

Of course, there are more. Many more. Find out who some of them are later this week!

The Smaller The Better

The SILLYs (that's the Society of Idiotic Ludicrous and Laughable Yucksters) are a bunch of clowns. That we know.

They are hell-bent on ruining Halloween and any other days they can think of by gadding about and getting all up in everyone's grill with their freaky makeup and menacing grins. And it's up to us, The Unbelievables, to quell the SILLY clown rebellion.

As Clark said on Wednesday, "...the way we brought The Leapers back to earth (heh!) was building a trap. It worked then, no reason it won't work this time.

The question remains, what kind of trap will we use to round up The SILLYs?"

The answer is diabolically simple. They're clowns, right? And what type of vehicle can clowns not resist? 

Exactly. Small ones, the smaller the better. They see a small car, they try to jam about 25 clowns in it.

So we have embarked on a program of buying up all the tiny vehicles we can muster, making some slight modifications to them (that is, making it so that whoever gets in it can't get out) and parking them in random places. Just like a wasp trap (a jar filled with warm water with a spoonful of jam dissolved in it, covered over with a newspaper lid held secure by a rubber band, with a small hole poked in the top - the irritating wasps are drawn to the sweet-smelling jar, climb in through the small hole and subsequently drown in the sweet liquid -- it's barbaric but effective), the SILLYs will be irresistibly drawn to the miniature autos and, once inside, the automatic locks will trap them, whereupon we will come and get the car towed to the nearest police precinct.

Here are some vehicles we purchased just this afternoon...

That should take care of them. And hopefully in the process, we'll catch the leader of the SILLYs...

although what we'll do with him once we've caught him, I'm sure I don't know.

Send in us to get those clowns

"Fortunately, The Unbelievables know how to deal with these types of weirdos ..." - Michael, here, Monday

Yes, yes we do.
In fact, this group reminds me of a similar outfit that went around causing mayhem for no good reason than their own entertainment that we dealt with just about a year ago: The Leapers.

Remember these obnoxious buffoons?

The SILLYs (Society of Idiotic Ludicrous and Laughable Yucksters) might see a tad more menacing, due to America's current obsession with scary clowns that is almost certainly a massive hoax and the popularity of a certain unkillable GC Comics/Movies villain.

Different versions of The Jokester, arch-nemesis of Flying Rodent Man

Other than that, they're basically the same. Goofballs whose idea of a good time is putting on outfits and running around like a bunch of idiots, trying to ruin everybody else's good times. And the way we brought The Leapers back to earth (heh!) was building a trap. It worked then, no reason it won't work this time.

The question remains, what kind of trap will we use to round up The SILLYs?
Jeff will have your answer Friday!

Halloween Spoil Sports

"Why not a Halloween drive? the question was asked from across the dinner table while the three of us were repasting in the Unbelieva-Base one evening.

And so was born another terrific Unbelievable idea, right there and then.

"We'll gather up donated costumes and distribute them throughout the tri-state area to whoever requests them!" came one thought.

"Candy donations, too!" came another.

"No doubt some of the little tykes - or at least their parents, who are more than welcome to join in - will want to dress to a 'T' just like us, cravats and play Lobster Rage Fists just so!" came a third.

"Hey! We can even throw our own open house Halloween extravaganza here at the Unbelieva-Base! The kids will be clamoring to come join the fun!" came yet another.

Apple dunking! Pin the tail on the dragon! "Graveyard" cupcakes! Festive orange and black popcorn balls! Pumpkin carving! Jello brains! Scary stories! A chili cook-off for the adults! A terrific time will be had by all! What could possibly go wrong?

What indeed?

And that's when the Society of Idiotic Ludicrous and Laughable Yucksters (the "SILLYs") took note and decided they needed to throw a wrench in the machine.

And what a wrench it was ... because these folks have priors, little did we know:

 

Fortunately, The Unbelievables know how to deal with these types of weirdos ... 

Friday TBD

Of course, as usual, once again, par-for-the-course, Jeff and Michael are wrongo-bongo. Please allow me to clear up any confusion you might have about what's happening in these mysterious photographs.

These are tryouts for the Stiletto Flats Community Theatre production of "Grease". The problem isn't that everybody wants to be 'Sandy'. It isn't even then nobody wants to be any other character. The problem is that Stiletto Flats is populated almost entirely by women best-suited for the role of 'Rizzo', if you catch my drift (my drift is that they're slutty).

This is a sailor on shore leave here in Stiletto Flats (how the Navy docks ships in Nevada, I'll never know) who's been out at sea so long that he hasn't seen how tight they're making jeans these days. He's concerned about what wearing such tight pants might be doing to her circulation and is using his cap to fan her, um, region. God bless our sailors.
 

Bob and Betty Gutterball are convinced that they can make a profit running an extremely low-tech bowling alley. Who's to say they're wrong? It'll take the whole family to chip and make it work, but isn't that how lots of businesses made it? At least it looks like they're enjoying themselves.

The technology to develop invisible vehicles is not developing at an expedient rate. The problem with this prototype is not that it's quite visible, it's that it's an airplane.

Black & White Lowdown (for real)

That Jeff! He's so wacky!

Can you believe those "guesses" he came up with on the photos posted earlier? Nothing could be further from the truth. (Actually, he only got one thing right about one of the photos; I'll note that below.)

Here's the actual truth, Ruth, about the mysterious black and whites we received ...

The above image is obviously an anti-Trump pep rally shot detailing secretive martial arts moves in the event Mr. Trump (or his followers) decide to flaunt their testosterone. The different modes of dress denote various levels of mastery.
 

The sailor above is not jealous, was not ripped off $50.00 for a 3" Ferrari Berlinetta Boxer tattoo nor is that "Millie O-Nair." He's simply some random sailor at a military social responding to the tatted dame when she forwardly asked him if he'd like to come on stage to see the realistic Mexican-American War inking on the inside of her right thigh. (Note the sailor gallantly doffing his hat in gentlemanly fashion.)

Here's where Jeff was right: This is an example of bowling pin dodging. But Jed Leapinski and "Jumpin" Jill Hatdrop aren't wearing the proper uniforms. And ... they're cheating by using the side rails.

This photo is actually a simulator developed by NASA back in the 60s to allow the blind the same care-free experience of Sunday driving as other regular folks ... without the damage or mayhem of a blind driver getting behind the wheel and actually driving.

The simulator - the "Pretend-O-Drive" - was innovative at the time and included realistic vehicle sounds and wind effects, a real working horn, dashboard cigarette lighter and removable driver door capable of accommodating a carhop who served burgers and malteds (for a small additional fee.)

See? Jeff couldn't have been more off base about those photos if he wanted to.

As to the reason behind providing us with the photos as well as who sent them in the first place, well ... that's a mystery I'm sure is forthcoming ...

We Got Some 'Splainin' To Do

The other day at the UnbelievaBase, an odd piece of mail arrived. It looked like any other letter, except that all that was inside the envelope was a handful of black-and-white photographs, with a small Post-it note with the scribbled message "Explain these away, Unbelieva-dummies!"

Well, as we pored over the pictures, we each tried to come up with an explanation for what were quite unusual photos. Here are my best guesses:

This is a picture of an ancient ritual, now lost in the mists of time, known as the Cheerleader War Dance-Off-A-Thon. Opposing teams of cheerleaders would line up and do their best scary intimidating moves until one by one the teams would drop out due to exhaustion and/or intimidation. These War Dance-Off-A-Thons could go on for days.

Here we see famed tattooed lady Millie O'Nair showing off her ink to a jealous sailor who had just been ripped off fifty bucks for a 3-inch tat of a Ferrari Berlinetta Boxer on a sensitive area.

Crazy courting couple Jack DeLadd and Carrie Doesntlivehereanymore, inventors of the sport of bowling pin dodging.  You stand next to the bowling pins until the very last moment when you leap out of the way. Oh, what fun.

Rare photo of GM's short-lived Instalment plan whereby you paid for your car in instalments and received the car in instalments. Never really took off since most people really can't afford the payments on a car anyway, so most never got much further than this,which explains all the half-built cars sitting around in old people's garages.

Well, those are my theories. Michael and Clark will have theirs later in the week, by which time we hope to have figured out (a) who sent us the letter, and (b) what the point of the entire exercise was in the first place.

Cured ... But With Side Effects

The question is this: Do we, The Unbelievables, each of us individually ... do we really need some measure of therapy?

When you're in a position of authority as we are, doling out justice and common sense to the senseless as we often do, when you find yourself in a sometimes precarious and delicate decision-making mode, the answer is yes ... yes we do. On occasion. Much as we might not want to admit it to ourselves.

After all, as Clark mentioned earlier this week, no matter the kind of reader you may be of our adventures (and non-adventures) we have recurring themes.

Mine? Duh. Pantslessness. As if you didn't already know.

Personally, I've never had a problem with it. But when my two cohorts and I first purchased and modified and, finally, housed ourselves permanently at our Unbelieva-Base in Stiletto Flats, Nevada it was, well ... a bit of an "issue" for them.

I'll spare you the details but it came down to this: "Michael ... Jeff and I have buried our pride long enough to session with the brilliant Dr. Quinton Quitit. We think it's time you had a chat with him as well ..."

Understand, I love the guys. So, to keep the camaraderie high and continuous, I relented. It was off to Bedrest, New Hampshire for "a talk."

It went a bit like this (which, you might recognize, was uncannily similar to Clark's original session visit):

QQ: Hello Michael. It's nice to see you. I'm told you are here because of a bit too little pants wearing, yes?

ME: You betcher bippy, doc. Freedom! What can I say? Ease of movement! It's not like I have defenestration issues like Clark or I find the need to shave a spud or two and concoct a murphy dish several times a week. And really ... who am I hurting? Besides ... the Unbelieva-Babes dig the cut of my jib, despite how little of a jib there may be to see*.

QQ: *heh heh heh* As it is to us all, Michael.

ME: Really? It's not just me? You enjoy below the waist freedom as well?

QQ: Of course! Doesn't everyone? Why, it's as natural as eating, sleeping and making love.

ME: Whew! That's a relief!

QQ: The key is moderation. If you do too much of anything, it is bad. Very, very bad! Too much eating? Bad. Too much sleeping? Bad. Too much with the making of the love ... well, maybe not as bad. Ha ha! I am kidding. But ... restraint. And common sense. They're the keys to this proclivity you have, you understand. My point is this: It's like Goldilocks and The Three Bears, which very few people realize is a true story; you have to find the "just right" fit between too much and not enough.

ME: But how, Doc? How?? I really want all of us to be happy and get along but I know they're not completely on board with me running around in my skivvies 24/7 ...

QQ: You'll see soon enough. Now ... let's get you fitted for some electric nipple clamps and a pair of goggles ...

Afterward, I couldn't see or wear a shirt for a week. But I also didn't kick anyone out of windows either. (Because I don't have a problem with kicking people out of windows like Clark.)

But what I did notice was I acquired a heightened sense of awareness for actually wearing things.

For example, my love and devotion to the fantastic and stylish Lobster Rage Fist. Especially while outfitted in a tie, vest and - you guessed it - trousers.

All I have to say is this: Thanks, Dr. Quinton Quitit. You're one swell guy ...

"You're welcome."

*I wondered if he caught the not-so-subtle pants reference. He did as it turned out.

Dr. Q and His Words Of Wisdom

"Later this week, my cohorts will regale you with tales of their own regarding their interactions with the incredible Dr. Quitit."

                                                 --Clark, Monday

Personally, I've never felt the need for Dr. Quitit's services. Well, almost never.

There was one occasion.

I'm a little reluctant to talk about it now, as I'm still not 100% happy with the way things turned out. Here's the conversation I had with him...

ME: "Well, Doc, the other day we three Unbelievables were having a little shindig at our place, you know the sort of thing - music, girls, petit fours, naked Twister - just the usual sort of event we are used to hosting.

After a while, one of the others (probably Michael, but I can't be sure) suggested we fire up the old hot tub and take the party outdoors.

Everything was going fine for a while, and truth be told, the weather had grown decidedly chilly. However, none of us had noticed it because we were sitting in lovely warm water. 

I noticed our drinks tray was empty and, instead of getting out of the tub myself and going to the kitchen, I leaned over to my companion, the lovely Miss Penny Pound-Sterling, heiress to the Cillit Bang millions, 

and said, "I say, sweetheart, would you mind awfully replenishing the beverages?". She agreed, and stepped out of the tub.

"Ooh, it's very chilly all of a sudden," she said. "I'd better be quick.", and picking up the tray, she headed indoors. When she returned presently with the drinks, she suddenly said, "Oo-er, I do feel a bit strange, you know...." and keeled over onto the floor, shivering and surrounded by spilled bevvies.

We jumped out of the tub, and I rushed to Penny's side while the others all sensibly went inside (it was quite cold, which was very unusual for the time of year). I picked up Penny and quickly followed the others, placed the hapless girl on the sofa and gathered some blankets to warm her up. After a while she came round and we put her to bed with a nice thick duvet, a mug of Ovaltine and the soothing strains of Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass on the stereo.

The next morning we went to check on her and she appeared fine, aside from a mild sniffle."

DR. QUITIT: "And..?"

ME: "That should have been me! I blame myself for the whole thing!"

DR. Q: "I'm sorry, what??"

ME: "If I hadn't been so darn selfish, I'd have gotten those drinks myself and then I'd have collapsed and gotten a sniffle! I'm racked with guilt! I put that poor girl's life in danger purely because I was too lazy to get out of the hot tub! Oh, woe is me! I am such a heel! Why oh why oh why oh why..(blubbering uncontrollably)...boo hooooo!"

DR. Q: "Now now, Jeff, don't blame yourself. You weren't to know that the weather would change, were you?"

ME: "(sniff, sniff) No, I guess not..."

DR. Q: "And you didn't know that the drinks were going to run out right at the exact moment the weather changed, did you?"

ME: "Well..(sniff).. no..."

DR. Q: "And Penny is alright now, isn't she?"

ME: "Uh... er, yeah."

DR. Q: "So, there you are, then. Nothing to worry about. All's well that ends well. Chin up, Jeff. Nothing is your fault. No need to blame yourself, or anyone else for that matter."

ME: "Really? Well, thanks, Doc. Cheerio! Pip pip and all that!"


So there we are. Some handy words of advice, and I was as right as ninepence. And I've never needed to seek his counsel again, but I have held those words of his close to my heart. A motto, if you will. Anytime I feel self-doubt creeping in, I remember his words of wisdom.


"Chin up, Jeff. Nothing is your fault. No need to blame yourself..."

And Penny? Well, oddly enough she dumped me soon after. But it's alright, because nothing is my fault and there is no need for me to blame myself.

Unbelievably therapeutic therapy

Long-time or short-time or brand-new or recently-deceased readers may have noticed some recurring themes:

• Michael loves not wearing pants
• Jeff loves whipped potatoes
• I am a defenestration devotee

As such, it's entirely possible that someone could get the idea that The Unbelievables demonstrate the traits of people who might have addictive personalities.

Well, that someone is correct. But we manage it! Not only that, we use it to our advantage. 

Laser-like focus!

Now, we would love to be able to take full credit for doing that ourselves, but the truth is we have benefited from having the remarkable therapist Dr. Quinton Quitit on retainer.

Dr. Quinton Quitit
You can tell if someone is a good doctor by how much they're able to accomplish with their eyes closed.

Dr. Quitit is the brilliant mind behind the innovative and somewhat controversial S.T.A.T.E. (Stop That Already, That's Enough) method of treating addiction.

Each of us, from time to time, on an as-needed basis, have "checked in" with Dr. Quentin at his facility in Bedrest, New Hampshire.

Idyllic setting. Food's not bad either.

For example, I once found myself hiring Henri Petit lookalikes for the sole purpose of kicking them out of windows. 

Some of them didn't even resemble Petit that much at all, if I'm being honest, which I am because that's part of the healing

Jeff and Michael brought that to my attention and I went to see Dr, Quitit. Here's a transcript from that visit:

QQ: Hello Clark. It's nice to see you. I'm told you are here because of a bit too much window kicking, yes?
ME: You know it, doc. What can I say. The sound of shattering glass caused by a human body going through it is like music to me.
QQ: As it is to us all, Clark.
ME: Really? It's not just me?
QQ: Of course! Everyone loves hurling people through glass. Why, it's as natural as eating, sleeping and making love.
ME: Whew! That's a relief!
QQ: The key is moderation. If you do much of anything, it is bad. Very, very bad! Too much eating? Bad. Too much sleeping? Bad. Too much with the making of the love... well, maybe not as bad. Ha ha! I am kidding.
ME: Ha ha! I recognize that as a sex joke. I like that!
QQ: Thank you. But my point is that it's like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, which very few people realize is a true story; you have to find the "just right" fit between too much and not enough.
ME: But how, Doc? How??
QQ: You'll see soon enough. Now let's get you fitted for some electric nipple clamps and a pair of goggles.

Afterward, I couldn't see or wear a shirt for a week, but I also didn't kick too many people out of windows either. So, you know, that was pretty good.

Later this week, my cohorts will regale you with tales of their own regarding their interactions with the incredible Dr. Quitit.

(Seeking help for mental health issues is not a laughing matter, unless it's a made-up [fake] story about yourself and involves electroshocking your nipples. Then it can be kind of amusing. But if you or somebody you know actually needs assistance with a real-life situation, this is a good place to start: https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/find-help/index.shtml)

Pumpkin Spiced Punk'd

The more I thought about what was at stake, the angrier I became. And the more angry I become, the more I need to head to the kitchen to indulge in some home comforts, by which I mean whipping up a batch of tasty and nutritious whipped potatoes. Which I did. A lot. Remember, I was really angry, so I needed to calm down pronto, and so I ate more. Eventually, the guys pulled me out of there (no easy task) because I was in serious danger of becoming as big as a houseboat.

See, I remember my very first Pumpkin Spice Latte. I was standing in line at the counter of Mitchell's Store in Lake Stevens, WA, waiting to pay for some decorative oven gloves and a book of stamps. when an employee of the in-house coffee bar (remember, I was in Washington State, not a million miles away from Seattle, the birthplace of Starbucks) wielding a tray of small cups of steaming liquid, and proffered it in my direction. 

Something like this.

"Why, thank'ee, sirrah," I offered. "prithee what hast thou there?"

"Excuse me?" he replied.

"I mean to say, what's this then?" I replied.

"Some new flavours we're testing out, sir. Go ahead, try one."

Now you know me and free stuff. One of my personal mantras is "If it's free, it's for me!" I was on it like a car bonnet.

The first was delicious. "That one's Eggnog Latte, sir," he declared. "Try the other one."

I reached for the other, tasted of it and was instantly transported to a world where flavour knew no bounds.

Yes sirree, I sure do love me that Pumpkin Spice flavour. If I'm honest, the one thing that can get me out of a funk better than whipped potatoes is a Pumpkin Spice Latte, double tall, extra shot.

So naturally, my inclination was to go straight downtown to the Starbucks and sink a few PSLs. But as was already mentioned, they'd been cleaned out. 

I stumbled through the dusty streets of Stiletto Flats like a lost soul. I wandered for what seemed like hours, like a ghost ship in the Arctic Circle, aimless, almost lifeless, a vacant wanting stare on my visage. I went over the events of the past week in my mind, rambling like a loon. "No more pumpkin spice... no more pumpkin spice... gone... all gone... bye bye... no more pump--"

I abruptly stopped as something caught my eye. Down a small alley, I could see a new coffee shop had opened and the A-board outside declared, "Best Pumpkin Spice Lattes in Town!"

I sniffed the air and could smell the heavenly scent wafting on the light autumnal breeze. As if to add to the  whole vignette, a few red and orange leaves skittered along the ground in front of me.

I headed straight to the coffee shop, calling the guys for backup as I did so.

Almost immediately the 'Vette pulled up and Michael and Clark hopped out. They'd been worried about me since my whipped potato binge and had been tailing me at a safe distance.

We Michael and I entered the cafe while Clark located the back entrance. The cat behind the counter seemed oddly familiar.

"Alright, Diabolical Pumpkin Spice! We're onto your little game!" I cried (literally), while Michael aimed his Lobster Rage Fists at him.

Clark entered through the kitchen door and declared "This guy's been stockpiling Torani syrups!"

144 cases, to be precise. That would be gross larceny.

After all the hubbub had died down and Pumpkin Spice revealed to be none other than local ne'er-do-well Norbert McVehicular, we figured out what had occurred.

Norbert had become obsessed with running a successful coffee shop but was thwarted by the masses who go to Starbucks all the time. He had intercepted and stolen their entire supply of Pumpkin Spice syrup and had only involved us when he had had a moment of self-doubt and called us as a thinly veiled cry for help.

So all's well that ends well. Starbucks are back making their PSLs, Norbert is under house arrest and attending regular therapy, and The Unbelievables (and the known world) are blessed by the return of all things Pumpkinny and Spicy.

Some say it was all masterminded by me. I'm saying nothing, except to mention that FALL IS HERE, FOLKS! PUMPKINS! EGGNOG! TURKEYS! SCARECROWS! CORNSTALKS! CORNUCOPIAS! etc.

Boy, do I love Fall. Mmm, pumpkin spiced pecans!

P.S. What devilry is this?

It's bad. It's really bad.

"Let's just cautiously approach this and see what shakes out" I tried to reason. "How bad could it turn out to be?"
How bad indeed? - from Monday's edition, written by Michael

How bad? Ugh!
Really bad.
Like, terrible bad, okay?

Hi. We're the White Girls. Not a band like The Spice Girls ("Wannabe" is the karaoke jam!!) or a family whose last name is White, like "Bill White is our dad or whatever". No, we're girls who are white and we love the pumpkin spice.

It's supposed to be Clark's turn to submit an entry on this blog but we have gained control of The Unbelievables web site with our legit hacking skills.

"Clark, your sandwich is ready!"

Now let's get down to serious business, like for realz. When we say we love pumpkin spice, you need to know that we looooooooove it. We lurve it!

We love it more than all of the following...

Fishtail braids...

Dressing in layers...

Yoga...

Yoga pants...

Yogurt...

Replicating the classic "Charlie's Angels" pose...

Emojis...

And partying with our squad of besties! OMG I hate you! LOL! JK! BFF!

I hope you're beginning to understand. Pumpkin spice isn't just a delicious beverage, it's a lifestyle choice. As in, we wish we could live as actual real-life pumpkin spice lattes!

So, we don't know what you Unbelievables need to do to fix this sitch, but if you don't get things back to per ushe ASAP, well, there are a lot of us (white girls) and that means there's gonna be a lot of this:

So get out there and do what you do and make this right, Unbelievables!