If We Were A Kids' Show...

Now it's time once again for our occasional dip into the Unbelieva-Mailbag...

This one is from Huw Rinal from Tan-Y-Bwlch, Wales, who writes:

Dear Unbelievables, 
     I know you had a TV show pilot that wasn't picked up by the networks, bach, isn'it, there's lovely. But if it could be rebooted as a kids' show, what sort of format would you like it to take - cartoon, live-action, 3D, computer animated, or what? There's lovely, isn'it?

Your pal from the valleys, bach, isn'it,

Huw Rinal.

Great question, and one I think we'll all have interesting opinions on. Myself, I'd like to see us as a Gerry Anderson-type action adventure show, with puppets as ourselves, like Thunderbirds or Joe 90. Intrigue, drama, espionage, technology, jumping out of planes, downhill skiing while shooting at people, etc. Like James Bond on a smaller scale.

Here's a couple of clips to give you an idea:







Can't you just see us kicking Henri Petit's butt in Supermarionation? Or knocking seven bells out of Little Debbie or Sam Snow while dangling dangerously from some exploding tower? Or even taking on extra intelligence a la  Joe 90 to defeat Negative Charge or Dr. Oldschool? And then winding down in the pool at Tracy Island with some lovely ladies (Hello, ladies!!)? 

I  think it would be a sweet idea. I may just get on the horn to some TV types and suggest it, but before I do, I'll have the guys weigh in on this topic.

Ciao!

This week's conclusion to the adventure that began last week

We scrambled to the rooftop, wondering how we could seal it shut. Rope? Glue? Our own bodies, if necessary? Whatever it takes!

There, we were met by an elderly man with three buckets of hot tar, three mops... and three pairs of slacks. Well, pants.
"Here you go, boys. You'll be needing all of these", he said.
"You... have slacks for us?", Jeff asked.
"A-yup. This is hot messy work. To try to do it without some sort of pants would be downright irresponsible."
Without time to waste, we leapt enthusiastically into the slacks (well, Michael wasn't that enthusiastic) and got right to work sealing that roof up.

Within mere minutes, thanks to our patented precision teamwork, we had pretty much finished. "Good luck opening now, eh?", I exclaimed. "Darn fine work, I must say", said the old man. Michael asked, "Who are you anyway?"
"I'm Charlie, the building custodian. And this leaky ol' roof has been a problem for years. Doc said he'd get it taken care of and I guess he did. He's an odd duck but he is effective."

"Wait a minute," Jeff said. "This whole thing was a scheme to get us to do roof work?!?"
"A-yup", said Charlie.
Michael said, "What about the moon beam ray? And those guys wired to boxes?"
"That 'beam ray is something the doctor built in his spare time out of old model airplane parts. Most difficult thing was finding the green light bulbs. It don't actually do nothing but light up and buzz, like pretty much all the 'equipment' down there. And those fellers are working with the doc on his new side project to develop really big i-Pods."
Jeff asked, "Why did they look so uncomfortable?" Charlie answered, "They're trying to figure out how to scrub out that free U2 album from a couple of years ago."

Michael pointed out, "But now the roof is sealed. You can't even open it for telescopes any more."
"Ah, the observatory business ain't what it used to be. We're going to make a go of it as a microbrewery. Craft beers and all that. Very trendy."
That's when I blew up. "What an incredibly stupid, unnecessarily elaborate scheme! What's the point?" Charlie looked at me sideways and asked, "How much did we pay you to do it?"

"I can't believe it", Jeff said. "We've been fooled by Dr. Oldschool!" Suddenly Dr. Oldschool appeared, hovering just off the edge of the roof on some kind of home-made hovering device. "You've been fooled by Dr. Oldschool! Ha ha ha!". I went to lunge at him; "You dirty sonova..." but Jeff and Michael held me back.

"Yes, I imagine right now is when you'd like to kick me through some kind of window, and as much as that would complete this immersive Unbelieavables experience, I think I will escape instead. But this has truly been a pleasure. You did top notch work on this roof and it was pure delight watching you work on a case the way you used to." The three of us looked at each other sheepishly; we had to admit that it had been pretty fun. "So listen, I'm going to leave. Charlie will show you out. We should be open in a couple of weeks. Once you aren't mad at me anymore, come back and I'll treat you to my specialty microbrew. I call it 'Moon River'." He looked at Michael and said, "And in your honor we're planning on having a pants-optional section! Bring dates! Later!". With that, I caught Michael smiling as Dr. Oldschool flew off into the Swiss distance.

Getting Our Slacks Dirty

While Clark and Michael searched for the 'adjacent room' where the beam ray was housed, I tried to get a few answers from the three guys who were installed inside the little boxes. But since they were unable to talk, I had to look around me for clues. I saw three lab coats hanging up on hooks just inside the door. I looked at the guys in the boxes and said "These yours?"
They nodded.
I looked at the name tags on the lab coats. Shadrach, Meshach, and Bob. All highly qualified astronomers.

I tried to open the door of one of the boxes. It was impossible - no handle, and nothing to get any good grip on.

Just then, the others joined us.

"Jeff - you gotta see this!" They dragged me into an adjoining chamber, where I was confronted by this giant piece of machinery, sitting where the telescope used to be, pointing up towards the heavens through the open roof.

Yikes.

"Wow... it's like... straight out of H.G. Wells!" I breathed.

"Yeah, and it's like, bolted to the floor, too." replied Michael.

"Big bolts," added Clark.

In the dim light I could see that there were wires extending from the machine into the wall. They had to be the ones keeping the three guys sitting in their boxes, not daring to move lest they should die in some unknown yet horrible way.

Suddenly the light flicked on, followed by a creepy voice. "So! You have found it! My glorious Moon River Ray!"

We turned in unison to see Dr. Oldschool - a typical mad scientist type.

Heh heh heh!

"It wasn't difficult, Oldschool - it's in the next room."

"Yeah, OK, you got me on that one. but you're still going to have to get your slacks dirty in order to defeat me! Heh heh heh heh!"

"What is this obsession with dirty slacks? That's like, the third time you've mentioned it."

"Silence, Unbelieva-twit! Use your noggin!"

"Noggin, nothin'" growled Clark. "Imma put you in a frickin' headlock, you old coot!"

"Hold it, Clark, that's just what he wants you to do!" I exclaimed. "If you go after him he'll probably flick some switch and we're all goners!"

"Ah, so one of you does have a whisker of common sense about you, then! How perceptive!"

"Ah shaddap and let me think, you crackpot!" cried Michael. "Lads, let's go!"

We turned and left the room. I could tell that Michael had a plan.

"To the roof, boys - our slacks (which we still aren't wearing) are not only going to get dirty - they'll be positively filthy once I'm done with them!"

"The roof?" I gulped.

"Yes, the roof - if Oldschool can't get the roof open..."

"Then he can't bring down the moon!" Clark said.

"Pre-cisely!" said Michael.

Tune in Friday for the thrilling conclusion!

Oldschool: The Confrontation (sort of)

At the Observatorium we happened on one of its docents.

"Excuse me," I chimed. "You wouldn't happen to know if a certain Dr. Oldschool is about, would you?"

The docent looked at me curiously, then at Jeff and Clark. Back to me he asked "Would you three happen to be The Unbelievables?"

"Why, yes ... yes we are," I replied.

"Can I see your passports for proof?" The docent held out his hand expectantly.

"Well ... erm ... you see, we don't exactly ..." Jeff muttered.

"What Jeff is trying to say" I offered "is that were not exactly sporting anything in the way of proof if you know what I mean ..." Outside our snowboots we were still doffed in nothing but our pantsless snowboard training attire. 

Not much pocket room for passports, even if they were current and we had'em.

But ... we look good.

"I've noticed" the docent sneered. "Still, I need a little proof. Answer me this: Where, exactly, in the state of Wyoming is this Wendigo Flats from which you hail?"

"Stiletto Flats. And it's in Nevada, not Wyoming," Clark corrected.

"Proof enough" he responded. "There's a room at the top floor of the observatorium that leads to the rotating dome. It's marked. You'll find it when you take the elevator down the hall," he pointed.

Exiting the elevator, we found the room without a problem. And it was marked.

"Caution: Giant moon-pulling ray beam thingamujig inside" it stated.

"Well isn't this quaint," I commented. I gripped the doorknob. "It's unlocked. This seems a little too convenient." I opened the door.

Sinister!

In the room three bulky, rather plain looking steel contraptions sat with men stuffed inside, only their heads exposed. They looked uncomfortable and they couldn't talk; they could only look at us, pleadingly. A note was on the floor addressed "Unbelievables: Read" in block letters.

"Another damned note," Clark huffed as he picked it up to see what it said. It was, of course, from Oldschool.

"Unbelievables: Attached to these men is my beam ray of which I spoke previously. You'll find it in another room adjacent to this one. The poor men before you are an integral part of the ray's workings. Try and free them and they die. Try and dismantle my beam ray and they die. The moon has precious little time left before it is brought down once and for all into the river. It's almost Moon River time! You have but one chance to save it, save these men and redeem yourselves as the protectors you claim to be ... but I'm not telling you how. I told you you're going to have to get your slacks dirty yourselves - no one else can take your place! It's almost Friday! Let's see what you can do ..."

Thrills, Spills and Chills

"The first thing we need to do," I said to the lads on Monday over lunch, "is to figure out exactly where this 'Dr. Oldschool' -  if indeed that is his name - is going to fire this supposed 'beam ray' from. If it's as cataclysmic as he makes it sound, it's gotta be pretty huge, and therefore a bit difficult to hide, surely?"

"Not necessarily," warned Clark. "It could be easily hidden in a mountain, or a volcano, or a very large building like the White House, for example. A building with a dome like that'd be ideal."

"It's not gonna be in the White House!" hissed Michael.

"I didn't say it was," retorted Clark. "I just said, LIKE the White House."

"Don't forget, it's gotta be near a river. Moon River, remember?"

Well, this went on for some time.

Meanwhile, I had a thought. I went to the bin and pulled an envelope out of the trash. Marching over to the table, I hollered at the guys, "Who's the idiot that forgot to put this in the recycle bin?!"

They stopped and stared. "That's brilliant, Jeff!"

"It is?"

"Yes," said Clark, "that's the envelope the letter came in. Check to see if there's a postmark!"

There was. In no time we were headed to Switzerland. Dr. Oldschool had mentioned skiing in his letter, so we were packed accordingly. 

Here's Michael in his usual ski attire.

And here's the three of us at one of Michael's "Pantsless Snowboarding" training weekends.

Naturally, along our journey to Switzerland we'd been studying all we could about the country and where a a giant moon-pulling ray beam thingumajig could be hidden.

"It'd have to be high ground," said Michael.

"Hence Switzerland. Hence skiing. Mountains. The Alps." Clark replied.

"Good job we're prepared for that" I added.

The others nodded in agreement.

As we parachuted down from our Unbelieva-Jet towards our secret safe house on the outskirts of Bern, I looked over at Clark and shouted, "This is so cool! Who needs airports, eh?"

"Yeah!" he replied. "I haven't even renewed my passport in twenty years! HAHAHAHAHA!!"

"HAHAHA!! Me either!"

We opened the hidden underground garage at our secret safe house and discovered the battery flat on our souped-up mountain-ready Yugo.

Two hot cylinders of throbbing power!

"I guess we DO need airports after all. We're gonna have to rent a car." said Michael.

We strapped on our snowshoes and lumbered into town to rendezvous with our pointman, Hertz Van Rentl, to see if he couldn't rustle us up a set of wheels, with big knobbly tires and some snow chains, and preferably some of those nice beaded sheepskin seat covers that give you a back massage.

Where were we headed? To the most obvious place, really. A place on high ground - at the top of a mountain, actually. And the perfect place for looking up at the heavens - an observatory, no less.

That's right, I'm talking about the Sphinx Observatorium, not far from the Eiger.

Like something straight outta James Bond.

Clark will let you know how we got on tomorrow (even though you know we succeeded, because the Moon didn't fall in a river on Friday, but what the hey...)

The Only Thing "New" Will Be A Fresh Schooling Of Dr. Oldschool

He caused my frittata to become a bit cold. What a jerk.

"I hope you can stop me, but I'm not sure you can, given how you've let yourselves go."

It was Wednesday morning. Reading what Clark had handed me - the warning letter from Dr. Oldschool (and in particular the above line) - I put down the forkful of frittata I was about to bite into, took a quick sip of mimosa, got up and ran to the restroom. 

Gazing in the mirror I said to myself: "I don't know what he's talking about. I haven't let myself go in the least."

I opened a cabinet door and pulled out a pair of Lobster Rage Fists. (Multiple pairs are stashed all over the Unbelieva-Base; you never know when a need may arise.) I attached them and looked in the mirror once more, striking a pose: "I'll show this Dr. Oldschool how we 'beat up some henchmen'" I thought.

Dr. Oldschool might have all manor of glowing dials and tubes

and levers and pulleys and various gadgets.

But ... does he have one weapons? I highly doubt it.

I stored the Fists and returned to my breakfast. An Unbelieva-Babe had freshened my mimosa while I had taken leave.

 This guy's supposedly giving us until Friday, huh?

"I'm not the least bit concerned," I thought as I picked up that bite of frittata once more.

After all ... we know what needs to be done.