The Case of King Cotton (part 3)

As much fun as it was to put a savage beating on Henri Petit...just like it always is...we weren't really that much closer to finding King Cotton and shutting him down. We headed back to The Unbelieva-base to go over some clues with our team of research interns and come up with our next move.



"We just whipped up a fresh round of 'clues', boys. The next move is yours!"

 That's when our neighbor and landlord Marissa Rapier, proprietor of Miss Riss's Home for Wayward Showgirls, popped in. She's always a big fan of our sausage parties and had been in attendance at the one where this whole caper first unfolded. We sat on the plush couches surrounding our indoor fire pit (of course we have an indoor fire pit) and just threw the facts of the case out at each other. Marissa listened thoughtfully and chimed in with, "I remember bright red weinies being sold in grocery stores in Georgia. I haven't seen them here in Nevada. Is there a connection to the South?" We stopped, sat up straight and looked at one another. Then we burst out laughing.
Michael: "Wow, way to pin down a specific location, Marissa!"
Jeff: "Yeah, we'll just head in that direction until we hear banjos and then start knocking on doors: 'Hi, is this The South? If so, does King Cotton live here?'. Ha ha ha!"
Clark: "Seriously, Marissa! A connection between The South and anything relating to cotton? Where do you come up with this stuff?"



Highlighted: The neighborhood where Marissa thinks we should look for King Cotton.

 We laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Then, when we finally settled down, Michael said, "You guys want to beat up Henri Petit again?". Naturally, we did so we said yes and went back to Baltimore to do that.



"Aw, leave me alone, will ya?"

 The point is, we still haven't solved the mysterious case of King Cotton and his mind-altering red weiners. We'll get around to it eventually though.

The Case of King Cotton (Part 2)

When we first learned that hot dogs were being tainted, making them more deadly, we wondered 'why bother?'. That's like putting an unnecessarily sharp, rusty edge on a nuclear bomb. But once, Jeff determined that it was mind control, we knew where to start our investigation: the criminal mastermind Henri Petit.

Henri Petit is an evil genius afflicted with a rare and mysterious medical condition; he's a full-grown adult who looks like a child. He is also a sociopath, obsessed with the idea of stunting the growth of children, using meat products and tobbaco to accomplish this.

When he himself was actually a child, his parents served him nothing but Prairie Belt Smoked Sausages, either because they were very poor or they hated young Henri (both theories are valid). It's believed that the product within the cans caused his condition and that the artwork on the outside of them inspired his twisted, evil, meaty plans:



SERVING SUGGESTION: Potted meat = mutant children people

 We've dealt with him many, many times but he's incarcerated today because we thwarted his plot to infuse chcken nuggets with nicotine.

We travelled to the maximum security holding facility in Baltimore where he is currently being held to interview him in order to get some insight into the mind of this "King Cotton". Here's a partial transcript:

MICHAEL: All right, Petit. Tell us what you know about bright red hot dogs.
PETIT: Ah, the mighty Unbelievables need my assistance! How ironic. How delicious. Very well. Quid pro quo. I will tell you things and in exchange for my cooperation, you will tell me things. Do we have an agreement?
CLARK: I agree to grab you by your stubby legs and drag your head back and forth across the bars of this jail cell!
PETIT: Okay, that's...
JEFF: I will put a tiny sombrero on your head, hang you from the ceiling and hit you with a stick until candy comes out!
PETIT: What??
MICHAEL: I will punch your face so many times you'll beg me to kick your ass, just for the sake of variety!
PETIT: Listen, seriously, what is it with you guys and physical violence? Just once, couldn't we compete on a more clever, intellectual level, a battle of wit, vocabulary and elocution like a verbal chess match?
CLARK: Shut up, you ugly fat baby!
JEFF: Yeah! Talk, you hideous infant!
PETIT: I AM NOT A... Look, you can't harm me. Sure, on the outside of these prison walls you've beaten me to a pulp and hit me with cars and thrown me through plate glass windows more times than I care to remember. But in here, I'm surrounded by a phalanx of prison guards who don't give a damn about the vaunted Unbelievables. It would appear your 'justice system' has failed you; you see, I'm in here to keep the public safe, yet I'm the one being protected. Once again, how deliciously ironic!
MICHAEL: Yeah, we're almost done over here, guys (continues signing autographs and posing for photos with prison guards).
PETIT: (Sighs) Damn it!

 It didn't take long after that, but further, um, discussion with Petit confirmed Jeff's theory that King Cotton was seeking to establish control over the minds of children for the purpose of making them serve as his mindless slave army.


Already armed with weapons and swearing allegiance to their new overlord.

We had to make our next move quickly... and that's exactly what we did.

Friday: The conclusion to The Case of King Cotton

The Case Of King Cotton (Part 1)

Hi there, readers. Have you ever noticed that when you buy hot dogs in the grocery store, some are what you might call "normal" in colour, i.e. a sort of pinkish-brownish, meaty colour, 

and yet others are a bright, unnatural, near-neon red?

Did you ever wonder why that was?

Well, now it can be revealed. It all began one rainy August afternoon. I remember it like it was only yesterday...

The guys and I were entertaining some friends on the patio by flambéing some franks and downing a couple pitchers of Moscow Mules each. Suddenly Michael noticed a few RED hot dogs in amongst the selections, and, being naturally curious, shouted "What the blinky o'stinky is up wit dat, yo? Let's get those suckers to the lab for analysis!"

Well, long story short, we found them to be laced with all kinds of weird chemicals and additives. A lethal cocktail of mind-control drugs and laxatives, with a bit of Roundup thrown in for good measure. Who could be responsible for this fiendish tomfoolery? We searched the kitchen bin for clues, and found this alarming piece of evidence...

King Cotton?! We scratched our heads. Then we scratched our armpits. Then we pretended to be monkeys for a bit of fun (those Moscow Mules were really strong). Then we scratched each others' backs. Just who was this fiend King Cotton?

A bit of research found that King Cotton (if that was his real name) was a tricky character, who was clearly a master of disguise. Various pictures surfaced, all different.

Dagnabbit! That foul demon! What on earth was his game? Here he was, lacing wieners with poisons, but to what end? And why the disguises?

I'll leave it to the others to tell you how we quashed King Cotton and his evil trickery. We weren't going to take this...

...sitting down. He had to be stopped. You take it, boys.

If that's not mind control at work, you tell me what it is.