Not Only Lies But Impending Doom

Jeff touched on the lies unbeknownst to us as kids.

But I'm going to bring to light something much more heinous than simple lies posted between the pages of our favorite funny books.

Something not only heinous but downright deadly.

Ever seen one of these things, a Swing Wing? They were popular for a moment in time back in the mid-60s:




Sure ... it looks fun. Carefree. It's plainly crafted to appear as if it will keep kids entertained for hours on end.

But that is a complete falsehood. In truth? It's downright deadly.

See the kid stumbling along while rotating his Swing Wing, trying to shuffle forward? (He's at the 14 second mark of the video.) Seconds later, you see him walking toward you listing to his left. That, folks, is the first sign of brain damage inflicted in the act of having "fun" with this suspect vintage toy.

Back in the day, you played with this thing once and you were addicted. Play with it over and over again and neck injuries ensued.

Then upper back problems followed.

Spinal deformation began to appear next.

Hip pain and inexplicable numbness slowly became evident.

Later? Death.

Yeah ... it's all fun and games until some kid croaks.

So The Unbelievables enlisted their buddy "Sfez" (one of our cadre of informants) to put together a little piece to showcase some of the dangers of the Swing Wing.

The finished product was disseminated on national television with just about every major network on board with its distribution. "The parents need to know what this thing does!" they cried.

Quicker than you can say "cervical fracture" the Swing Wing disappeared from store shelves.



Because ... no parent should have to lose a child to something like this.

It's not just criminals, ne'er-do-wells and thugs The Unbelievables rid the world of. We do our duty for the common good and for the future of humanity: The children.

Once again: World? You're welcome ...

Nic O'Teen: A distasteful solution

This has truly been one of our most difficult cases. And difficult cases call for difficult choices. Ultimately, we decided to take up with this guy...

I know, I know. None of us were thrilled but what were we supposed to do? It's not like we were getting help from scientists...

Athletes...

Doctors...

Actors...

Or politicians.

Like I said, we were desperate. So we scheduled a meeting with Death and laid out some parameters.

MICHAEL: Okay Death, we don't like you and you don't like us...
DEATH: Like you? I love you. In fact, I want to hold you in my cold embrace forever.
JEFF: Ugh! Your breath, mate. It's worse than... well, you, if that's conceptually possible.
DEATH: Thank you!
CLARK: Listen, we don't want to do it but we need to work together here.
DEATH: So you, The Unbelievables, are here to make a deal with Death? Lovely! I'll get the chessboard!
MICHAEL: We don't want to play chess. We just want you to kind of associate yourself with cigarette smoking. We're battling the nefarious Nic O'Teen and frankly, not making a lot of headway.
JEFF: I can't quite put my finger on what it is. There's definitely an overwhelming stench of decay, yet sickly sweet at the same time.
DEATH: You want me to kill more smokers? That's already a huge chunk of my daily workload but I suppose I could dial things up a bit.
CLARK: No, don't kill more people, you idiot. We're trying to save lives here.
MICHAEL: Yeah, just do a better job of letting everyone know when smoking is the reason you kill someone. We're hoping to counteract these ridiculous positive testimonials with you.
DEATH: Oh! Sure, I can do that! That's easy. I'm totally going to kill all the people in those testimonials eventually anyway. The irony will be delicious! But beyond that, what's in it for me?
CLARK: We would be willing to kick 50% more criminals through plate glass windows from the top floors of skyscrapers.
JEFF: I'm sorry, but I can not get past the overwhelming horrific odor of his breath. I mean, woof!
DEATH: Make it 75%
MICHAEL: All right. That's fine.
DEATH: Can some of these "criminals" be little old ladies, sweet innocent children and adorable puppy dogs?
MICHAEL: Absolutely not!
CLARK: A couple of old ladies, sure.
DEATH: We have an agreement, my friends. Let's bring it in for a group hug. Come on. No? Okay then.
JEFF: There's something oddly familiar about it...
DEATH: I'm so sorry. I had lunch in the UK today.

Anyway, we're not exactly happy about this partnership or whatever you want to call it but the end justifies the means.

On Wednesday, someone got hurt

"Sounds like somebody had a case of the Mondays!", Jeff and I said simultaneously, followed by an awkward exchange of attempted fist bumps and high fives to celebrate how clever we were. "You guys", Michael continued. "I think we need to take this seriously. My Michael Sense is tingling". Jeff responded to the first part of that statement, as our policy is to ignore when Michael refers to his 'Michael Sense', which he seems to believe is some sort of inherent ability to anticipate danger yet only seems to be accurate when it comes to finding clothing-optional recreational sporting events nearby. "Come on, Michael", he said. "We get threatened all the time. Threatening The Unbelievables with doom and dismemberment is practically a cottage industry at this point." I had to agree (Jeff glares at me when I don't agree with him and I find that unsettling). "I agree. If somebody doesn't threaten us at least once a week, I actually get a little depressed", I said. "I don't know", said Michael. "Something seems different about this and I don't like it." "Well, if it turns out to be legit, it's probably the work of D I-ngo Serra", I offered. Jeff and Michael stared at me. "Why would you say that?", Jeff asked. Over the next two days (Because that's the only way this whole story makes sense without asking you, the reader, to believe that it took two whole days to get this far in a relatively short conversation. You'll see why in a second.), I compiled a long list of reasons why I think he or she hates me that I started to read to Jeff and Michael when I was suddenly interrupted just now (if you're reading this on Wednesday, May 7th; if you're reading this at a later date, that's when it happened) by a rock thrown through the window that struck me in the back of the head, knocking me unconscious (See? This is to what I was referring earlier). Ow!
So anyway, it looks like there was something to Michael's 'Michael Sense' after all. Huh. Who knew? It's going to be real interesting around here on Friday! I hope I'm not the one who dies, though.

"Ladies, I don't see why we all can't take turns looking after Clark's head wound."

On Monday, There Was Drama

As is customary, I venture out to the mailbox on Monday mornings and put the bills inside to be picked up by the mailman when he makes his rounds.

This morning? I found a note.

I read it while I stood at the mailbox and then meandered back to the Unbelieva-Base with it to show the guys.

I ran into Clark first and asked: "Hey ... did you pay the electric bill?"

"Yep," he replied.

Jeff walked in on us just then. "You didn't gripe anyone's cookies by parking in two spots simultaneously when you went to the store the other day, did you Jeff?" I asked him.

"Not that I recall," he replied.

"Well ... we might have a problem," I told them and showed them the note I discovered ...