Factual Errors

So.

I have a few questions for Clark about his entry for Wednesday. I assume you read the whole shoddy report and you know what I'm talking about.

Firstly of all - I know you're a ladies' man, Clark, as are we all (hello, ladies!!!), but I know darn well that the Stiletto Flats jail is NOT, repeat NOT co-ed. Therefore I have serious doubts about the veracity of this picture.

Seriously? We're meant to buy this?!

Secondly, and this is the main point, I am heck-fire sure that Clark's tale of prison potatoes being better than mine is a giant fib, designed for some reason to wind me up. Why Clarkito should see fit to make a joke about the quality of my whipped potatoes is beyond reason - I mean, I use fresh ingredients - potatoes, butter, salt, pepper, etc.(don't want to reveal all the ingredients - it's a secret recipe, for flip's sake), and everyone knows fresh ingredients beat reconstituted pap any day of the week. But just to make sure, I took it upon myself to go visit this guy Lucky at the jail and see for myself. First thing I saw was row upon row of these -- 

which explained everything. For it is a well-known fact that Clark has a weird fetish about artificial chicken flavour anything. I mean anything. And not just chicken, either. Take a look at some of these things that I have personally seen Clark consuming:

Clark, your taste buds must be shot!!


P.S. I met this guy Lucky - wooden leg, missing ear, almost blind, hearing aid, mostly missing dentures, missing digits, several large warts, hunched back and a speech impediment - and asked to sample the potatoes. He agreed and handed me a bowl full of runny gunk. Quite simply, they were MESSAGE REDACTED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES MESSAGE REDACTED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES  in my life. So there you have it. In your face,Clark!

The Saddest Troll Of All

You really have to feel for this guy ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a little shit ...

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

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

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

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

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

Like I said ... cruel.

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

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

Phoney Calls

Okay, let's just get one thing straight before we launch into this: it was Clark that pooped in Michael's coffee, not me. And it was not real poop. It was a 'cat poop' cookie. Y'know, one of those delicious no-bake cookies that look like a cat turd. Don't believe me? Here you go, have a recipe: Cat Poop Cookies

Now, before this turns into a cookery show, let's get the show on the road.

I got a call on the Unbelievaphone the other day...

"Hello, Unbelievables! You tip us off, our hats we will doff!"

"Jeff, will you please stop doing those stupid ad-rhyme-greeting things?"

"Oh, hi Michael. What up, dawg, fo rizzle ma nizzle?"

"And quit with the ghetto speak. That is also not very cool. What I wanted to talk about was Clark and his stupid training calls. To speak in the lingua franca of your birth country, they are getting right on my wick."

"Yes, me too, matey. And top marks for getting the phrase right."

"So what do we do about it? He called me earlier, pretending to be you and claiming that you pooped in my coffee, and urging ME to go poop in your tea."

"Well, that is ridiculous. I don't even drink tea. I'm a coffee guy, like you. Maybe we should call him up on that carphone he's so ruddy proud of."

"Now, that's an idea..."

So, a little bit later...

"RINGGG!!!"

"Heyy, Clark here, comin' at ya live from Da Unbelievajalopy!"

"(sigh) not you as well... Clark, we need you back here at the base pronto! Code red, repeat, code red!"

"I'm on the case! Returning to base asap!" (Sound of car tires squealing)

Boy, did we laugh. See, we knew what was waiting for Clark when he got back.

Payback.

What Up, Droid?

So ... you might be wondering:

"I wonder what Clark's doing today?"

Well ... he's listening to the "weird vibrational multi-sonic effects and electronic melodies created for the ears of androids."

What else would he be doing?

... and, of course, Clark approves!

Party!

We DO know 'cause we've been told!
"We DO know 'cause we've been told!"
The Unbelievables' parties break the mold!
"The Unbelievables' parties break the mold!"

Food and drink and so much more! 

"Food and drink and so much more!"

Their parties are the stuff of lore!

"Their parties are the stuff of lore!"

Unbelieva-Babes at every turn!
"Unbelieva-Babes at every turn!"
They'll dance your socks off, this you'll learn! 
"They'll dance your socks off, this you'll learn!" 

Party tunes to rock the house! 

"Party tunes to rock the house!"

Loose that tie! Ease up that blouse! 

"Loose that tie! Ease up that blouse!" 

Corn maze, cider, pumpkin pie! 
"Corn maze, cider, pumpkin pie!" 
Hay rides so high you can touch the sky! 
"Hay rides so high you can touch the sky!"

Jokes and laughter rule the night! 

"Jokes and laughter rule the night!" 

There's nothing that they can't do right! 

"There's nothing that they can't do right!" 

An invitation in hand's a must! 
"An invitation in hand's a must!"
Else you'll be left in the dust! 
"Else you'll be left in the dust!"

Criminals, adversaries, the ne'er-do-well

"Criminals, adversaries, the ne'er-do-well" 

Ain't invited! They can go to hell! 

"Ain't invited! They can go to hell!" 

All the chickadees, all the cool cats! 
"All the chickadees, all the cool cats!" 
Will be congregatin' in Stilleto Flats! 
"Will be congregatin' in Stilleto Flats!"

They'll pass out lampshades for your head! 

"They'll pass out lampshades for your head!"

 And play twister! Left hand ... RED!

"And play Twister! Left hand ... RED!"

"Hello, Ladies!" is how they'll greet
"'Hello, Ladies!' is how they'll greet"
All the gals they're sure to meet!
"All the gals they're sure to meet!"

Pictures sittin' in Clark's Corvette!

"Pictures sittin' in Clark's Corvette!"

 With an Unbelieva-babe co-piloting, you can bet!

"With an Unbelieva-babe co-piloting you can bet!"

It's a given there'll be canapes! 
"It's a given there'll be canapes!" 
Made with their special recipes! 
"Made with their special recipes!" 

The drinks will flow, the laughter oh so gay! 

"The drinks will flow, the laughter oh so gay!"

What's that? Another Manhattan, you say? 

"What's that? Another Manhattan, you say?"

Their groovy tunes you can be assured 
"Their groovy tunes you can be assured"
Will be nothing like you've ever heard!
"Will be nothing like you've ever heard!"

And if the party's Tuesday night 

"And if the party's Tuesday night"

Jeff's whipped potatoes will be outta sight!

"Jeff's whipped potatoes will be outta sight!"

  

Sittin' on Naugahyde near curtains of bead 
"Sittin' on Naugahyde near curtains of bead"
A 70s theme will make the night! Indeed!
"A 70s theme will make the night! Indeed!"
  

And best of all, come the midnight stroke 

"And best of all, come the midnight stroke"

Michael will doff trou! That crazy bloke!

"Michael will doff trou! That crazy bloke!"

Is It An Emergency? One Never Knows ...

You know ... for my money, days like today are what turn my crank. Fall has arrived, you can feel there's a definite turn in the weather and all seems right with the world.

And because of that, right here and right now, I get the opportunity to alter the path of the spotlight that's usually shining down on me (*heheheheheheheh*) and direct it to my two more-than-capable colleagues, Jeff and Clark.

Here's the deal:

I got an emergency message early this morning from a fan of The Unbelievables. Jeff and Clark don't even know about it ... and they won't until they read it here on the site. The message was this:

Dear Unbelievables:

What the hell is the deal with the inclusion of "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" in the film Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid ... ??? It must be the most singularly stupid insertion in all of filmdom - it doesn't make sense in the movie and it has no place being in it. I know the film is from the late 60s and it probably doesn't mean squat when it comes to the whys and wherefors of it being inserted in that Newman / Redford vehicle, but, somehow, I feel there's a story to be told there with a hint of evil being afoot.

Can you guys find out what the story is behind this and get back to me by Friday? It just so happens I have a bet with a fellow employee about it. He bet me The Unbelievables couldn't crack this particular case in under a week. I'm betting you can.

Do me proud.

Jacob

I may have something to say about this down the line, but for now I'm leaving the mystery of this B.J. Thomas / Burt Bacharach co-penned easy listener in the hands of my buddies.

Take it away, boys ...