Played out

We tracked Negative Charge down at one of his hideouts, an abandoned Radio Shack (well, it's still open but it is a Radio Shack) at the Stiletto Flats Galleria. Wanting to waste no time, we presented Jeff's theory and asked him if he was behind it. "That's fiendishly brilliant", he said. "So much so that I wish I had thought of it. Three weeks ago. Before I signed that document. Damn it, that might have worked!" "No, it wouldn't have", Michael replied. "The fact that we're standing here asking you about it now clearly indicates we would have figured it out." Negative Charge sighed and said, "Good point. Hence the reason for us signing. We simply can't win. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go set the clocks on the VCRs." Jeff stopped him. "Wait a minute. Why do all of you seem to be so in line with each other on this, to the point where it looks downright synchronized?" Negative Charge turned and said, "I guess we're finally learning all kind of things from you guys."

With that, we returned to the Unbelievabase. "Well, I guess that's it then", one of us said. Without words between us, because at this point we're so attuned to one another that sometimes we don't have to speak aloud, we started packing things up to be put into storage in case we ever need them again. Pretty soon, the place was practically empty. Michael restored the "broken" washer in the laundromat to fully functional before taking Ulf the Unbelievadog to a boarding kennel. Meanwhile, Jeff drove a bus full of Unbelievababes over to Marissa's newly re-christened "Miss Riss's Home for Wayward Showgirls and Former Unbelievababes". It's right across the street, but Jeff does love a nice bus ride, regardless of the length.

I was the last one, waiting for a truck to pick up the last of the storage containers. That's when I heard a knock at the door. Guess who it was?

Of course.

"Henri Petit! What are you doing here? Is this when you mount your attack? You trick us into breaking down our base, separating from each other and then you move in? Well, bring it on you wee, disgusting, vile..."
Henri shook his head and said, "No, that's not it at all. I just came over because...well...since this is over now...", as he started to choke up. "OUT WITH IT, HORRENDOUS TWERP!"
"Well, all I ever really wanted was for you guys to like me, so we could hang out and be pals. It was all a cry for attention. I just admire you all so much and it was so painful, facing your rejection all the time. And now that the whole thing is over and we're not on opposite sides, I thought maybe we could, I don't know, play a game. Like friends."

He took the game out of the box and set it up on one of the crates, near the window where we saw cars driving by, their drivers oblivious to what had taken place in the amazing-yet-non-descript building they had passed so many times over the years.
"Up to four can play but it looks like Michael and Jeff aren't here, so maybe just you and I?" He looked so pathetic and small and vulnerable and ugly. I said, "Sure Henri. Why not. Now are there actual rules to this game?" He said, "Yes, they're printed on the box down there on the floor." I bent down to pick it up and looked up just in time to see him, in a pair of oversized boots, rearing back to kick me out of the window.
Then everything went black.

Are We Being Played?

Well, it's taken a few days, but we are about 95% caught up. Ever since Negative Charge presented Michael with that rather extensive legal document, the three of us and Ulf the Unbelievadog have been calling all the foes, past and present (including some we haven't even gotten around to telling you about, such as Yodelin' Bob Trevino, the half-Mexican cowboy pigeon rustler, and society pages regular Mandy Rice-Pudden, champagne thief)that signed the document stating that their criminal days were over and they were finally giving in. 

Apparently, it's back to the life of a regular charro for Yodelin' Bob.

And Ms. Rice-Pudden wants to go straight, too.

However.

Like I said, we'd called almost all of them, and so far the responses had been identical. In fact, they'd almost all been word-for-word the same. Almost mantra-like, if you want to know the truth.

I voiced this opinion to Clark, Michael and Ulf quite early on in the process and they quickly told me I didn't know what I was talking about. Three hours later, weary and in need of a break, they looked at me and said - "you know, I think you're right. It's almost like they've been brainwashed. They all say exactly the same thing, like we're talking to a bunch of cult members."

"Yeah, and who's good at brainwashing?" 

"Well, I remember a fellow who had some... minions?"

"You don't mean... Negative Charge himself? You think he set us up?"

"Wuff!" agreed Ulf.

"Alright," said Clark, "let's go see what he has to say for himself. If we're being tricked into taking things easy, I might just have to defenestrate somebody!"


I'll let Clark pick up the tale on Friday.

The Unbelievables Take A Final Curtain Call?

The phone rang. I answered it. 

"Unbelieva-Base. This is Michael ..."

"Just the person I wanted to talk to. Michael? This is Negative Charge ..."

And so began a really strange day.

Negative Charge, so-called master of electricity, wanted to come over and talk. He had some important news for us and wanted to reach out to me first, thinking I was the most level-headed of the three. (I don't know where he got that information but I went with it.) "Sure. See you when I see you," I replied.

He arrived and I invited him into the parlor. I asked if he wanted a refreshment. "What's up?" I asked.

"I'm here as a representative of the coalition of foes of The Unbelievables," Charge began. "Quite simply, we wanted to put out to you guys we're finished with our evil doing ways. It's just not worth it any longer. Every time we try to do something - take over the world, for example - The Unbelievables are right there, foiling our plans. It gets old, let me tell you. Not to mention all the time it takes to plan these things. And the expense! Whew! Talk about hitting home! Between the pocketbook and the groundwork necessary to come up with some sort of viable world domination blueprint, well ... we give. We're done. The entire lot of us. We're hanging our hats for good. And every last one of us is on board with this, too. We even have an official signed and notarized say-so promising compliance."

I was stunned ... but I didn't let it show. I just nodded and listened attentively during his spiel. But ... was it a spiel? I thought so, simply out of caution and past experiences ...

... until he handed me the document.

I took it and looked it over. There was a lot of official wording and legal promises to the page. But it seemed to be on the up and up. It was signed by each and every ne-er do well we'd come across: Mac Ramey. Bernard "The Gingervator" Bigyott. The Leapers. Günther Parsifal McParshnipp. Little Debbie. Dr. Oldschool. The Klumpmasterflash Twins. Cripes ... even that foul midget Henri Petit had signed the thing. Clark was going to get a kick out of that. In fact, I was willing to bet cash money he'd want to hear it straight from the little imp's piehole Petit was relinquishing his nefarious ways. 

"Huh," I noted. "Is this a copy for us? Because we're going to have to verify this, Charge. It's not that I don't trust you. But ... you have priors, you know."

"By all means. Do what you have to do. And yes ... that copy is yours. It's completely official. Verify everything I've told you and get back to us. Contact our attorney, there, at the bottom of the page. He speaks for all of us. He and the courts will tell you this is completely legitimate, totally above board ..."

I showed Charge out and thanked him for coming by. As he left, he turned to me and stuck his hand out.

"Of course, with our exit, I suppose this will put The Unbelievables out of the crime and injustice fighting business. There won't be anything left for you to do, I imagine."

"We'll get back to you," I replied, ignoring his comment.

But ... was Negative Charge right? Was this truly the end of The Unbelievables? 

Oddball Obsessives

As Michael correctly surmised on Wednesday, "Jeff might have a couple more we missed.". Oh, I have at least a couple. My question is, what is these people's problem? Why do most of them want to dress up as or transform into other species? For example:

DUCKY McDUCKFACE

Yes, she's had her name legally changed to Ducky McDuckface, and is hell-bent on becoming a duck, in order to "take over the world". Isn't that what they all want? However, she is not specific about what she'll do with the world once she takes it over. She just says she'll "run it her way". Well, if her attempts to turn into a duck consist of a little more effort that two Pringles and a couple of grapes, maybe we might be bothered to sit up and take notice. Until then, however, we're just gonna chill.

FRANKIE LIMON

This one time fruit seller was robbed repeatedly until all he had left was a bunch of limes (oddly enough, his favourite fruit). They stole his fruit stand and his clothes, so he now wears the limes as a sort of superhero costume, with a vow to "teach society a lesson - you don't mess with the fruit sellers". No danger to us, but we keep an eye on him as he seems to be a bit of a danger to himself.

AYE-AYE POPEYE GUY

At one point, this candy-and-tobacco addicted former crazy-golf-hut-attendant was a handsome man. You wouldn't know it now, though. The candy rotted his teeth, he lost his job at the crazy golf place... you fill in the blanks. He now makes a living as a Popeye impersonator on the streets of Stiletto Flats, doing what is probably the strangest, if not wholly inaccurate Popeye impersonation I think I've ever seen. Again, a danger to no-one but himself, he has come panhandling in our launderette a time or two, and we've had to throw him out and send him on his way with a flea in his ear.

RATDENTIST

Ratdentist is a great lover of kids' movies, and so was inspired when he saw Ratatouille, the movie about the rat that becomes a top-flight chef. "I thought, why not! If a rat can become a chef, then why not a dentist. I'a always been a passion of mine to go into dentistry..." What he doesn't mention is that he's taken to petty larceny to pay for dental college. If we can get him to go straight, we'd gladly pay his tuition, but he needs to turn himself in first.

BRENDA BLASTOV

Ms. Blastov has been experimenting for many years with creating human missiles, propelled by a variety of fuels, all of them a variation on the same theme. The idea behind it is apparently to get the humans airborne and then shoot at people below with a poison dart system. We keep an eye on her simply because she might either succeed in getting more than three feet off the ground, or blow herself up.

RAMENELVIS

Ramenelvis believes in the natural psychic-enhancing properties of noodles, and therefore wears a wig of ramen to enable him to telepathically read peoples minds. We keep an eye on him simply to protect him from getting attacked by seagulls.

 So there you have it. A few more oddballs that we simply have to keep tabs on simply to stop them from themselves.

P.S. Have you ever wondered what happened to Harry after The Hendersons? I spotted him the other day on the subway in Prague. What was I doing there? Maybe I'll tell you someday....

More Unobsessibles

We've got our eye on you, Unobsessibles

Clark hit the nail on the head about many of our foes. (Personally, I think they come from broken homes with bad childhood experiences ... but that's just a theory of mine.)

Still, you gotta watch out for some of these Bozo noses ...

Dander Puss

Oh ... he's innocent now. (I think it's a he. No judgment here.) But wait until whatever obsession he's exhibiting takes a turn for the worse. 

Can you imagine? Hairball hacking superpowers ... allergic reaction ray guns ... incessant mind control torture meowing ... rampant apathy. The list could go on and on ... and on.

Chanita Jones aka Furbelly

A couple miles over  from Dander Puss is this character. Put the two together and who knows what evil they could come up with as a team ...

Grandma Establishment

I see this piece of work doing much more than waving a cane above her head and yelling at kids to stay off her damned lawn. Don't you? (Note: Sorry for the graphicness of the above photo. Some of these wackos are blatant and uncultured.)

Natasha "Knows"

Gross. Just ... gross.
  

Melonhead

What a goofball.

Still, what could he be planning, if anything? The reintroduction of watermelon seeds to everyone's favorite summer fruit? (Scandalous!) Some sort of rind chicanery? (Unthinkable!) Melon ball panic mania? (What?!?) Who knows?

Tom Smith

(Better known as "LGBT-atarian")

What sinister dealings (or color schemes) this possible Obsessive might have lurking in the folds of his muumuu is anyone's guess. I shudder to think. *shudder*

But it's this next group we might really have to keep a closer than usual eye on. Because it's not the group itself but the brains behind the curtain, so to speak, that could drum up bad business ...

This is an example of an innocent little tyke dolled up in a Santa outfit. Cute as a button, isn't he? 

And that, right there, is the problem. Can you see the potential of this kid - or a bevy of them - being the center of attention while devious doings are afoot behind the scenes?

You betcher Bippy. Just imagine it: People's attentions distracted by all that lovablenness while crime is being committed not a stone's throw away. Despicable! Contemptible! And absolutely within the realm of possibility. The chaos and no-good-doer-y of this unnamed menace are limitless. And, with the Christmas season practically upon us, that's why we've got a bead on this viable threat.

Jeff might have a couple more we missed. Stay tuned for Friday's entry ...

The Unobsessibles

Having effectively dealt with Günther Parsifal McParshnipp (was there ever a doubt?), it occurred to me that an awful lot of our foes find themselves on the wrong side of the law due to their inability to effectively control their uncontrollable obsessions. McParshnipp with rooted vegetables. Mac Ramey with stringy fashion. Henri Petit with being a disgusting little urchin.

Yuck.

There's lots of people out there dangerously preoccupied with various things. Not all of them are criminals of course, but some of them are a mere gentle shove from becoming such. We monitor many of these folks for the sake of nipping potential problems in the bud, so to speak.

Such as...

LUDWIG VON DUCK

This guy wants to turn himself into a duck. Nothing wrong with that, I guess. Ducks are nice. He started out like this...

But recently has taken it to an extreme...

Yeah, this is worth keeping at least one eye on.

SHELLY BEENE

This is Shelly and she loves jelly beans. "Love them?", she queries. "Anybody can love them. Everybody SHOULD love them. They're amazing. They're incredible! They're the best thing on earth. In fact, they're the only good thing about this godforsaken world. I want them. All of them. I want every jelly bean there is!"

You're kidding, right Shelly?
"Huh? Oh (heh heh) yeah, just...you know... kidding."
Mmm-hmm. We're watching you, Shelly.

CAY and the KWALKERS

I can't say that we care for this kind of creepy capering about. "What's the problem", asks Cay on behalf of her little band of whatever-this-is doers. "Why, it's The Cakewalk! It's a prancing stage dance with a backward tilt. It's fun and good for your posture!" How is it good for your posture? You people look like human question marks. 10 minutes of this and anybody would be in lower lumbar agony. "Why, I never! How dare you imply that we're bitter about paying an exorbitant sum for the exsclusive rights to an antiquated form of dance that we hoped to turn into a retro fitness movement, but failed miserably, losing a fortune in the process!"

There are more just below the radar potential annoyance-providers that the fellas will tell you about later this week.

A Pretty Simple (g)Root Extraction

Free but still captive, weighing our options on how we were going to deal with Günther Parsifal McParshnipp and realizing all around us were nothing but root vegetables to use as weapons, I considered what Jeff and Clark had thought and said previously:

"... trying turn the world into a root-veg-only buffet, well, that's fascism." Which is a little bit odd coming from Jeff, being he's a big potato aficionado. And, being a type of tuber which is a form of root vegetable, well ... The distress of being captured and the added excitement of McParshnipp's digs ("I was drooling over that kitchen, let me tell you! It had EVERYTHING!") was rather overwhelming. And our new foe did lean to the extreme.

Clark's summation was a little more pointed: "You know, maybe this guy isn't completely off base here. Misguided, sure. Overly ambitious, definitely. But the world could probably benefit from more rooted vegetables ..." I mean, who couldn't benefit from a better diet that included vegetables nowadays? 

The fact of the matter, however, was we were nabbed and confined by an adversary rooted in roots.

What to do? What to do?

Then it came to me << BOOM! >> like a lightning bolt. 

"Guys, I have a plan. It's a little off-kilter but, being this McParshnipp guy is somewhat deluded* but I certain we can turn this root proclivity of his to our advantage." I detailed the plan to the guys. It was pretty simple but everyone need to be on board. "I noticed a Walmart not far away on our way here ..."

Finished detailing with the guys what I was about to do, I called out to McParshnipp's goons: "Get your boss. I need to talk to him." He came through the door a few minutes later.

"Ach, what gives?" McParshnipp huffed.

"I need to run an errand ... with your permission, of course." I told him.

He was naturally shocked at my request. "Nine, mein Herr! Are ya daft? If ya thin I'ma gonna let ya slip oute the compound, yav lost it, Jimmy ..."

"Again with the 'Jimmy' ..." Clark noted.

"Look" I reasoned "Clark and Jeff are still here. It's not like you don't have any hostages. And you can send as many of your goons with me you like. Plus ... I'll let you hold on to my driver's license. I know you know how hard it is to get those thing replaced ..." I opened my wallet and handed him my license.

"Well now ..."

"I'll be back lickety split. Promise."

He sighed heavily. "Ahll right, then. Off with ya ..."

I was back in less time than I thought. McParshnipp and the guys were waiting in anticipation. "Here." I handed him a wrapped package.

"Wot's this?" he asked.

"Just open it." I looked at Clark and Jeff. Both of them exchanged smirks.

"Ya wouldn' be foolish enough to hand meh uh bomb now, wouldja?"

"Just freakin' open it ..." I commanded.

He delicately ripped the paper of the package. He looked at his henchmen and they straightened to attention just in case. 

McParshnipp pulled out a stuffed Groot doll. You know ... Groot from Guardians Of The Galaxy.

McParshnipp looked confused. "What's this now?"

"Squeeze it." He did so.

"I am Groot!" Groot stated. "I am Groot!" The look that came over adversary was classic, just as planned.

"Mein passion has changed! I love him ... !!!" he yelped to us. "Kommit here, mein little Root! Ya've gotta wee bit of odd accent ... but I love ya, ja!" Hugging the Groot doll, we couldn't help but be a bit embarrassed for the dude. But it was a means to an end ... the end of our captivity.

He handed my license back to me, freed us, shook our hands profusely and continued going gaga over his new toy. He even promised to stop his (possible) nefarious ways and be nice.

Obviously, McParshnipp had been overtaken with joy by a kid's toy he mistakenly thought was named Root. It doesn't get any more poetic than that. 


*Note: And who of our rivals aren't deluded in some way?

Rooting out the truth

Serious tactical error by Günther Parsifal McParshnipp, locking us in a cupboard. Did he really think we wouldn't be able to get out of there? Did he not realize that by not separating us that we would come up with a plan together? Of course we did both of those things almost immediately. Once we were free and before we sprung into action, I brought up a point to consider.

ME: You know, maybe this guy isn't completely off base here. Misguided, sure. Overly ambitious, definitely. But the world could probably benefit from more rooted vegetables in our global diet. Corn and grapes in abundance!
JEFF: Corn isn't a rooted vegetable.
MICHAEL: And grapes aren't even a vegetable at all.

As frequently happens, they missed my point. And I didn't have time right then and there to explain how vegetables work, in that they grow on trees and trees have roots. So I just dropped it for the time being.

Considering Günther Parsifal McParshnipp's fascination with rooted vegetables, it made sense that the nerve center of his operation would be in the cellar of the building we were in. Sure enough, it was. We knew we had to make our way down there and smash people and stuff. As we proceeded, we found things along the way that gave us insight into the mind with which we were dealing.
In his book case...

On his CD player...

On his 'fridge behind a magnet shaped like a carrot...

And of course, buckets and barrels and bins full of veggies...

ME: I bet he root, root, roots for the home team
JEFF: Nice.
MICHAEL: Good one.
ME: Thanks!
JEFF: But what is his home team? I can't think of any roots-based sports organizations
MICHAEL: For that matter, where's his home? He's Scotch/German. How does that happen?
ME: And who's Jimmy?
JEFF: If I'm not mistaken, Haguelands Village (Burmarsh Romney Marsh Burmarsh, KEN TN29 0JR) is a farming community and known for its alpacas. It's located between Scotland and Germany. Maybe that's where he was born and raised.
MICHAEL: By Jimmy, I believe you're correct! 

He was!

ME: Do alpacas eat rooted vegetables?
JEFF: No, they're modified ruminants which means they chew cud like a cow or deer.
MICHAEL: They eat hay and grass.
ME: So, like grass... roots?

But would any of this newly-acquired info about the obsession driving our foe and his possible point of origin be of any use in bringing him to heel? Find out Friday!!

The Root Of All Evil

One of the wonderful things that occurs from time to time when writing these adventures is that one or two of our past cases become declassified, allowing us to finally tell the story. Such is the case with this tale. What follows is the death-defying dossier on one Günther Parsifal McParshnipp, a Scots/German well-dressed gent and root-vegetable obsessed maniac.

How did he gain our attention? Funny story, really. He, as you can see, was a somewhat well-to-do fellow with a reputation for being somewhat eccentric, no more, no less. The ladies swooned for him whenever and wherever he appeared - we know what that's like (Hello, ladies!). But that was the extent of our knowledge about the chap - as far as we could tell, he'd never had any run-ins with the law, aliases or other things that might cause concern. 

So one day, we received an invitation from him, quite out of the blue, to a social gathering he was hosting at his mountain retreat in glorious Humboldt, Iowa.

"But hang on a second, " I hear you cry, "Iowa is as flat as the proverbial really thin crêpe! There cannot be any mountains!"

Oh, believe me - we thought the same thing, until we got there. We'd accepted the invitation more out of curiosity than anything. "If there's an Iowan mountain, boys, I gotta see it at least once before I die!" said Clark, and we concurred.

As it turned out, you cannot see the mountain just by looking, as it is in fact, a sunken mountain. A prehistoric mountain that just got swallowed whole one day during some Paleolithic super-quake, and is preserved, complete, underground - peak and all. If someone were to dig up Humboldt Municipal Airport and remove all the dirt, you'd see it. (Please don't, though - it's a lovely little airport.)

When we arrived at the airport, one of McParshnipp's aides (I think his name was Smedley, but I can't swear to it) ushered us to a small door marked BROOM CUPBOARD and bade us enter. We ended up going down a tremendously long spiral staircase until we reached another door, cut into the solid rock.

Inside was a palatial bachelor pad, elegantly designed and well-appointed. We were greeted by our host effusively.

"Ach du Himmel, Der Unbelievables, you have kommt zu meine party, ja? Och aye, see you, Jimmy!"

"Err... yeah. Nice place you have here," said Michael, then turning to me "Which one is Jimmy?".

"Come, have a drink! Scotch, or perhaps ein Bier, hein? You fellas must be a wee bit thirsty. Ein McEwan's Export do yiz?"

Clark leaned in to me and whispered, "I can't understand a frickin' thing he's saying!"

"Don't worry, boys," I replied, " he's veering wildly between Scottish and German - just follow my lead."

We all accepted our tinnies of Export Ale and followed Günther into the main area where several guests, mainly lovely Teutonic and ginger-haired ladies, were already mingling. On the tables were dotted little bowls of snacks, which looked great, although quite unlike traditional party fare.

Beet and Sweet Potato Chips...

Lotus Fries...

and a parsnip,  mushroom and barley thingy. 

All of it was delicious, but as you can see, it all seemed to be made from root vegetables. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it just seemed... a little extreme.

"How're ye likin' the grub the noo, fellas?" our host enquired. "Pretty wunderbar, if I may say so myself!"

"Yes, we were wondering actually..." began Michael, but McParshnipp cut him off.

"Och, d'ye want tae ken aboot the root veggies, hein? Kommt mit mir und I will show you something verrry cool, ja?"

We followed McParshnipp into his kitchen (I was drooling over that kitchen, let me tell you! It had EVERYTHING!) and he led us to a door at the back of the room. The door was marked STAFF ONLY and we were obliged to put on face masks and rubber gloves before entering.

Inside was the biggest hydroponic greenhouse I'd ever seen. All he was growing was row upon row of root vegetables - carrots, turnips, swedes, potatoes, radishes, beets, the list goes on.

"I bet you are wonderink why I only have the root veg, eh Jimmy?"

"There he goes with that Jimmy again! What is that about?" hissed Clark.

"I am sorry, mein Herr - I was born aus Deutschland but spent a great deal of my youth on the back streets o' Glasgie, d'ye ken? So occasionally I slip intae the auld slang, ja? You understand."

The guys gave me blank looks.

"Mein passion is farming the vegetables - the root vegetables I am not being allergic to, so I grow only those. If I so much as look at a pea or piece of broccoli I swell up and become like, a big truffle-puff! Hahahahahaaaa!"

"Weird."

"Ja, and now that I have you Unbelievables here , I can put ze next part of meine Action-Plan into action, know what ah mean, jimmy?"

"No."

With that, we were bundled into another cupboard, tied and our mouths taped. Before he closed the door on us, Günther looked us in the eye and said, "You might as well take a nap, boys, because when you wake up, the world will only have root veg for breakfast, Mittagessen und dinner!  HHAAAHAHAAA!", and within seconds, three more henchmen, armed with hypodermics, entered the cupboard and administered a sleeping drug to each of us.

Now, I'm not averse to root vegetables, but trying turn the world into a root-veg-only buffet, well, that's fascism. 

I'll let the guys tell you what transpired once we awoke...

Mail call for fall mail

Is this thing EVER empty??

Most of the sheer mass of mailings we receive can be sorted into a few categories that pop up repeatedly:

• Requests for advice
• Idiotic questions
• Threats (credible)
• Threats (outlandish and impossible)
• Fan mail
• Nudies

Often, these letters qualify to be classified under multiple categories. For instance, most nude shots come from fans. While a naked picture from Henri Petit could be considered threatening.

Don't get any bright ideas, vile curtain climber

Another category that might merit its own slot is seasonal concerns. For some reason, this fall has brought forth a veritable deluge of autumn-centric inquiries. Like this one:

"Dear Unbelievables,Why do you lose your battle every year with whatever super villain that changes time and shortens days? It's great that you come back and defeat him (her? whomever) in the spring, but why not just win that battle when it happens? It's not like you can't prepare for it; it happens every year. Come on guys. Be proactive, not reactive. I'm sick of it. At least tell me what I should do to be able to deal with it. If you don't get a handle on this, I'm going to do something very, very bad. I don't know what or how I will do it, but it will be incredibly tragic!
Sincerely,Frustrated, Really Angry, Unbelievably Disappointed
PS: Don't get me wrong. I'm a huge fan. Please see the enclosed photo. You're welcome."

Congratulations, F.R.A.U.D. You are the first person to send us a letter that qualifies for every category!

We Get (Autumnal) Letters

It's not often I get irritated by letters. Usually I'm a very patient man, the other guys will be quick to verify. But sometimes the quality of the letters we receive declines sharply.

Here's a couple examples:


Hey Unbelieva-lads, 

Costume parties are a 'thing' this time of year. What's your best advice on home-made costumes? 

Francis Enstein
Acme, LA

What?!  Didn't we cover that topic more than adequately a bunch of times before? Most recently a couple weeks ago? NEXT!

Hey Jeff, 

What are your favourite recipes for a fall party?

Dr. De'Ath

Tucumcari, NM

Oh, do come on. This is old hat, surely.

Dear Jeff,

Any suggestions for cocktail recipes for an autumnal shindig?

D. Racula

Isabel, ND

WELL! Now you're talking. Here's a couple I've found to be winners at previous parties...

PUMPKIN KISS SHOT

Ingredients: 

1 oz. cream

1/2 oz. Pumpkin King Cordial

1 tsp. Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate mix

Method:

Pour the cream into a glass, then layer the Pumpkin King cordial on top. Add the hot chocolate mix and give it all a good stir. Some of the chocolate mix won't dissolve, but that makes for a cool effect with little bursts of chocolate in each sip.

BEST EVER MULLED SCRUMPY

Ingredients
2 litres good-quality traditional hard cider
6 cloves
3-4 star anise
¼ nutmeg , finely grated into the pan
1 cinnamon stick
1 vanilla pod , halved
1 orange , juice of
2 clementines, juice of
1 pomegranate, juice and seeds of
4–5 tablespoons caster sugar

Method

Pour the cider into a large pan on a low heat and let it warm through for a few minutes. Add all the spices and juices and turn the heat up. Once boiling, turn down to a simmer and leave to tick away for 5–8 minutes.
As everything infuses you’ll get delicious layers of flavour. Taste it and add sugar as you like. You don’t want it sweet; you just want the sugar to join the spices in a harmonious taste. When you’re happy with the flavours, ladle into glasses or mugs and serve warm.

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