Our story this time so far, or something like it...

The last I remember as I slipped into unconsciousness was muffled grunts from Jeff and Clark. I could only assume they were experiencing my same fate ...
~~~ to be continued ~~~

~~~ currently being continued ~~~

Michael surmised correctly; we were indeed experiencing the same fate, a fate unlike any of us had experienced before. I was completely disoriented. I thought the business with the Teeta Von Deese Triplets happened just the other day but apparently several weeks had passed. I also thought Kip The Mail Boy had been exposed as a fraud and taken out of the picture months ago. I had no concept whatsoever of time and space. I tentatively poked a finger in the direction of Jeff's eye. He said, "Ow!". Or did he? I had no way to tell! "That's my eye, you idiot!", he yelled. But still.
Then I noticed a pair of military style boots near my face and a voice coming from above them, from the body with feet put inside of them, leading me to reason that I was lying on the floor. I looked and saw an odd-looking character with a typewriter for a head...

"Welcome, undoubtedly confused Unbelievables. My name is Tie-Po, and I am the Count of Continuity. For years, I have ruled writers with strict rules of order in storytelling where events occurred in a logical sequence dictated by the constraints of time. But these restrictions have driven me mad. I mean, look at me. I have a damn typewriter for a head! And now, I am on a mission to induce unchecked chaos into society, beginning with you, The Unbelievables. Welcome to a world where up is down, hot is cold, foes are friends and everything happens whenever it wants to. Or not! There are no rules!! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

With that he disappeared in an unnecessarily theatrical burst of smoke and the three of us looked at each other, knowing very little about our situation except for one thing: if we were going to restore order and get out of this alive, we would have no choice but to team up with Henri Petit.

"At least, we shall be besties!"

~~~ to be continued again some more ~~~

Overconfidence: It'll Getcha Every Time

As it turned out, the entire Teeta Von Teese Triplet conundrum, such that it was, was a bust. We didn't hear hide nor hair of them again.

No calls, no surprise visits, nothing.

 

The Klumpmaster Flash Twins and the so-called Teeta Von Deese Triplets: Nothing ever came of them in the weeks that followed ...

Knowing the Klumpmaster Flash Twins as we do, we chalked up the phone call from them - not to mention that visit from the Teeta Von Teese Triplets, if indeed and in fact that's who they were and not some fabricated monkey business concocted by the Twins for reasons unknown - as a sad attempt on their part to make us jumpy. Which simply doesn't work. (You've read about our adventures time and again; do we seem prone to jumpiness? That's what I thought you'd say ...)

Weeks passed without a hint of contact from Greta, Gerta or "the triplets." We'd put all of them out of our minds.

Then, the other night while we were kicking it in the backyard, shooting the breeze after yet another successful day's Unbelievable-ness (where have you heard THAT before?!?), there was a knock at the door. (We "heard" it from the backyard because of our ingenious and patented infra-red, acoustic-sensitive, fail-safe Unbelievable front door monitor™.)

"Kip!" Clark yelled. "Make yourself useful for a change and get that!"

Minutes passed by while we continued our kick backery. "Whatever happened to Kip?" Jeff asked casually.

Just then, he appeared in a doorway. He stood there, looking at the three of us.

"Well? Who was at the door?" I asked.

Then? He keeled over, face first, in a spectacular face plant right onto the grass.

All three of us jumped up and ran over to him ...

... and that's when everything happened.

As we leaned over Kip trying to determine what had happened to him, I was accosted from behind. I caught a hint of perfume as what I assumed was a gunny-sack was tossed over my head. Just as quickly some type of restraint wrapped around me to prevent fighting back and my nose and mouth were smothered with something that forced me to breathe in a noxious, debilitating gas, replacing the perfumey scent I'd detected a moment before.

This very well could have been our fate that evening ...

... but we were bagged and gassed ... so we hadn't a clue at the time ...

The last I remember as I slipped into unconsciousness was muffled grunts from Jeff and Clark. I could only assume they were experiencing my same fate ...

~~~ to be continued ~~~

I Don't Like Bob

The kicker was this: I didn't like Bob.

And I let it be known I didn't like him, either.

"What's wrong with Paris the redhead?" I asked the guys. "I'm certain the Unbelieva-Babes won't mind a 'Paris The Mail Seductress' added to the fold," I tried to reason.

Do you see any problem with Paris taking over the mailroom duties? Neither do I ...
But I was overturned. Things like "the mailroom is sacred ground" and "there's no need for distractions while our fanmail is being sorted" and "there are only so many duties that can be performed in high heels" were among the many (substandard) excuses bandied about.

I relented. But I wasn't giving in.

Oh, sure, Bob could use a mailroom scanner ...

... but doesn't everyone know how to use a mailroom scanner?

There was something a bit skeevy about Bob Diggity, his last name being not the least of it all. I couldn't put my finger on it. I began doing some digging ...

... and came up with this previous image of him:

Looks like a red flag photo to me ...

 
Right then and there, the tables turned regarding Bob's "qualifications ...

What About Bob?

As you might recall from a couple of weeks ago, Kip, our mail boy, turned out to be a makeshift robot with a latex skin piloted by that tiny pipe-smoking holy terror tot Henri Petit. Once the jig was up, we found ourselves without a mail boy. So naturally we received hundreds of applications almost immediately, and we have been conducting interviews this week, which is why this post is late. 

Most of the applications were accompanied by photos that looked like these:

We hurriedly turned these applications over to the Unbelievababes and they excitedly pored over them. The girls do get bored on the odd occasion and the prospect of showing the ropes to some new blood filled them with glee.

There were also some more 'professional-looking' CVs, such as this one:

This is apparently "Glenda Campbell". However, we soon discovered this pic had been taken from a catalogue for office furnishings.

We had narrowed it down to two candidates when this one was also revealed to be a fraud, as well as a terrible actor.

I'm happy to say I think we have found the ideal candidate. Ladies and gents, may I please welcome to the fold...

Bob Diggity, office guy extraordinaire. Here he is, getting the Unbelievababes to help him get settled in.  As you can see, he's our kinda guy.

The Last Final End Of Kip The Mail Boy (and this storyline)

(WARNING: The following material may elicit reactions like this...

...as it contains shocking developments of a revelatory nature. Those with low tolerance for suspense and surprises may choose to wait in our Unbelieva-lounge For Namby-Pambies.

Frozen cocktails and chilaquiles await!

No? Okay, daredevils. We now resume our two-fisted tale of intrigue!)


What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

My hands trembling with rage, I reached for Kip's neck...

...and ripped off the cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask to reveal...

Jeff and Michael gasped "It's the vile and disgusting Henri Petit!". "Of course it is", I said. Because It was. Henri Petit, our most sinister, chain-smoking, toddler of a foe, perched on some awkward mechanical stilts contraption, topping off his disguise with a cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask.

Michael asked, "But how did you know it was Henri Petit wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask and not actually Kip himself?" I replied,"Because not only is he wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask, he actually is cheap, ill-fitting Kip himself!" 
More gasps.
All these years, I knew my hatred of Kip was justified! Let's pick things up from the transcript recorded by our Unbelieva-voice recorders.

PETIT: That's right, Unbelieva-oafs! This whole time, I've had access to your mail and the inner workings of your top secret headquarters as I moved among you on a daily basis while you remained completely unaware! I've won. Do you hear me? I HAVE DEFEATED YOU!!JEFF: You fiend! You read our mail?!?
PETIT: What? Oh. No, I didn't actually read it. That would be rude. And illegal, I think.
MICHAEL: So you had access to our mail, a vital source of our communications...but you didn't read it?
PETIT: No, but I had access to it! And that means you were vulnerable to attack! Ha ha!
CLARK: But you never actually used that access to attack. And now you've been apprehended. What was your point?
PETIT: Well, ah... Hmm...
JEFF: Yeah, that makes no sense. Tell us what you were really up to!
PETIT: I was going to attack you. I was! But once I settled into the mail room and developed a routine, well, you get a lot of mail from ladies. and it smells really nice.
MICHAEL: Oh gross! You little pervert!
PETIT: Not just that! The pay was good for a pretty easy job and the benefits are top notch, so I thought 'what's the rush?' Plus that espresso machine in the break room is simply delightful! I was merely biding my time until...
CLARK: Bide this, you loathsome, grubby, espresso-swilling tot! (glass breaking)
PETIT: I keep telling you I am not a... (unintelligible, fading curses followed by a wet thud)
CLARK: Sorry guys. I guess we need a new window.
JEFF: And a new mail boy! (laughter, martini glasses clinking)
ULF: Arf, arf! (louder laughter)
MICHAEL: And more frozen cocktails and chilaquiles! (almost hysterical shrieking laughter)

The End

The End Of Kip The Mail Boy, Part 1

"WHAT?! You don't mean ... !?!"

I was about to exclaim something but was distracted by Clark cocking a couple firearms to dispose of Kip once and for all. His "Who says I didn't?" comment, shot at us way too coolly and confidently, was obviously the last straw.

And if you know anything about Clark you know he has an extremely short tolerance toward Kip.

Apparently that tolerance just got cut in half courtesy of our little exchange with Kip. It was the perfect excuse for Clark to "take action" on our (previously loyal) Mail Boy once and for all.

"Clark, cool it. You can't do that. WE don't do that. Hold on a moment ..." I urged, then turned back to Kip. 

"Look ... this charade has gone on long enough. There's no possible way, without our help, you could ever pull off a convincing about face and gain the trust of our opponents so easily. Our female opposition wouldn't tolerate you - they'd pulverize you in a hot minute. As it is The Unbelieva-Babes barely put up with you ... or so I've heard. And posing as someone you're not? It doesn't add up. Spill it, Kip. The truth. Right now. Because Clark's trigger finger is itching ... and I'm not sure Jeff and I can contain him this time."

Look at that baby face: This ... THIS is the face of defiance?

Kip The Mail Boy is now The Unbelievables' enemy?!?

Ulf The Unbelieveadog yipped and growled ominously while Jeff held him at bay. Clark just fumed ...

... and that's when Kip crossed his arms and sneered.

I couldn't believe it. None of us could. He'd never done that before.

Sure, Kip was sharp, even witty sometimes ... but defiant? Never.

What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

Schooled By Kip

"Kip!" I yelled at the schoolboyish face as he entered the room, "You got some 'SPLAININ' TO DO!!! Sic'im, Ulf!" and with that I unleashed Ulf towards Kip, who immediately fell under the force of Ulf's UnbelievaPaws.

Ulf in training. He can catch all those balls before they or he hit the ground.

The poor sap lay in a semi-fetal position while Ulf jumped all over him, shouting "Stop, stop, c'mon Ulf, stop, boy!" and crying... or was that laughing?

It was then Michael noticed something. "Hey, guys... Ulf's either gone soft or he's trying to slobber Kip to death!"

We pulled Kip to his feet and as he wiped the doggie drool from his face, we saw he was smiling broadly.

Clark was incensed. "Hang on just a cotton-pickin' moment, you snot-nosed little twit," he said. "What the heck just happened here?! C'mere, you little..."

Kip expertly dodged Clark's lunge towards him - a little too expertly, if you ask me - and began to explain.

"Guys, guys, calm down. What you're all probably wondering is how is the idiot mailboy behind all this threatening stuff?"

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, brother!" said Clark, who is rather fond of quoting Daffy Duck when irritated.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not. Or at least I wasn't to begin with. The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black is - was - a concoction dreamt up by none other than Little Debbie, Henri Petit, Sam Snow, et al - to spur you guys into thinking you were under serious threat. Which worked. Their aim being to catch you guys off guard at some point and kidnap one of you for a huge ransom."

Heh-heh!

Whatevs.

"Uh-huh" said Michael. "So how did you get involved?"

"Well, I'd seen how sloppy you guys were getting lately - I mean, making frozen cocktails and chilaquiles while under threat -

Mm mm mm.

Chilaquiles Verde Con Pollo, Unbelievables style.

 that's either ridiculous over-confidence or not giving a rat's patootie, either of which is dangerous. You need to be ever vigilant. So I solved the case for you and then decided to up the ante and pretend to be The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black to give you a much-needed workout. Which I hope I have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried. "Back the truck up uno momento, por favor! What do you mean you 'solved the case for us', Mail Boy?"

"Yeah!" said Clark. "How would you be able to do something like that without utilising our butt-kicking UnbelievaFu-type skills, etc.? Not to mention being extremely handsome and sexy? Huh? Huh, Mail Boy? Huh?"

"Who says I didn't?" replied Kip, coolly raising one eyebrow.

"WHAT?!" spluttered Michael, scarcely able to believe his ears (actually, nobody can believe Michael's ears. They are rather hairy, but let's not get into that right now). "You don't mean...!?!"

Not actually Michael's ear. Honest.

The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black ... Revealed?

  When last we left our heroes, Michael was considering answering the phone ...


The phone rang a second time.

"Hold on! We need to retrace what we know, or think we know. Something isn't adding up ..." I reasoned. I disengaged one of the lobsters from my Lobster Rage Fist I'd put on a few moments prior and began reasoning with the guys.

Then it rang thrice.

"Are you going to get that?" Clark asked me.

"In a second. Look: How can anyone be calling from inside the base? That's not possible ..."

The phone rang yet again.

"... especially when we've combed the place. Which didn't make much sense with all the failsafe technology and contraptions we have here at the Unbelieva-Base to prevent that kind of thing. We'd know if someone had tried to compromise us ..."

The phone continued to ring ...

"Still ... it was a good idea to go room by room just in case. You can never be too careful ..."

... and ring ...

"So where does that leave us? Someone outside tapping our line who somehow got around our state-of-the-art communications array?" Jeff wondered.

... and ring ...

"No. That just can't happen," I stated. "We spared no expense building this place not to mention thinking through our call system. We're putting too much thought into this. I have hunch it's a way simpler dilemma. Follow my lead, guys ..."

The phone rang one last time. I reached for it and picked it up.

"Hey ... Kip?" I said into the receiver frostily. "Come in here a minute, would you?" Jeff's and Clark's eyes widened.

"I'll be right there," I heard on the other end of the line.

The realization flooded over Jeff. And you could see Clark's face begin to turn red. I barely believed the unexpected ruse I threw out yielded fruit.

"Bugger! It's Kip ... ??? The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is Kip ... ??!?!??!" Jeff blurted.

"That's it. He's mine," Clark called out while cocking the pistol he still had in hand.

Jeff called Ulf The Unbelievadog to his side, ever at the ready.

I re-engaged the previously disengaged lobster to my wrist.

Just then, Kip came around the corner.

"What's up, guys?" he asked a bit too innocently.

"The Unbelievables Might Actually Die This Time!"

Shortly after the meeting Michael told you about on Monday ended, our phone rang...

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: (Unintelligible)
*click*

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I'm sorry. I had a mouthful of food and I wasn't expecting anyone to pick up after just one ring. Is this better?
CLARK: Yes, much better, thanks.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: You're going to die!
CLARK: One second. Kip, it's for you.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: No, I don't want...
KIP: Hello?
*click*

"Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello? Who is this? Hello? Hello?"
Hang up already, you moron!

Riiing!
CLARK: Hello?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Hi. Please stay on the line. I don't want to talk to Kip.
CLARK: Join the club, pal.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: No, when I said 'you're going to die', I meant you and Jeff and Michael. The actual Unbelievables.
CLARK: Oh, you're going to kill us, eh? Do you think we're afraid of someone who doesn't even have the guts to call in threats from an unblocked phone number?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: It's not me. I'm not coming to kill you. I have inside knowledge of a plot devised to eliminate you.
CLARK: Who is this and how do you have this information?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I can't answer either of those questions. All I can tell you is The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is coming for you!
CLARK: LeBron James is coming to kill us?
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: What? No. I didn't say it was LeBron James. Why would you...?
CLARK: You said it was a tall black man who plays basketball, which is a little bit racist, frankly. All tall black men don't play basketball, you know.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I didn't say he was black or anything about basketball! You're the one who...
CLARK: I can't say I'm surprised. LeBron is kind of mad at us about something right now that I can't get into. Although I am surprised that he's so mad that he'd want to kill us...
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: I really don't think it's LeBron James...
CLARK: I mean, of course I can see him wanting to kill Jeff. No brainer. But I didn't say anything and Michael wasn't even there at the time.

"Hey! Hey, you big crybaby! Waaaah! Waaaaaah!!"
"Ohmygod, knock it off! He's looking right at us! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!"

BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Listen! You need to take this threat seriously! I don't know when The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is coming for you but he is coming, and soon!
CLARK: I assume since you have this info, you were at that meeting we heard about where all of our foes gathered in once place to talk about us. In which case, you're a foe of ours. Why are you trying to save us.
BLOCKED NUMBER CALLER: Because I have plans of my own for The Unbelievables. Some day. In the future. A long time from now. Definitely not this week. Maybe during the NBA playoffs, when it might bring more traffic to the blog. At any rate, later. And my plan calls for much worse than merely killing you!
CLARK: Wait... is that you, LeBron?
*click*

 And then, the power suddenly went out!

So long Len, hello Linda!

Rankled as I was by the notion that we would ever take a lead from Kip, top-notch rankler and world class buffoon that he is, it was still something that needed to be checked out. Turns out Kip was almost on to something.
A simple phone call confirmed that the animal abusing nudist Doris Gumph was still under maximum security lockdown, after we busted her for trying to swindle the carnival industry and traumatize young children with her line of Whack-A-Mole games using real moles. But it also revealed the existence of her non-evil twin sister Delores (we deal with so many twins that it's almost like they exist for the sole purpose of bailing out lazy, unimaginative writers who rely on hack-y, shopworn plot devices who can't otherwise resolve their storylines!), who is also a nudist minus the tendency to harm little furry creatures.

This is Doris...

and this is Delores. Easy to spot the many, many differences if you're a trained professional.

As it turns out Delores is a certified gender identity counselor and is working with our old pal Len, soon to be known as Linda. That's right, Len is transitioning from male to female and simply doesn't have time to devote to photography, hence the retirement notice. The note sent was meant to be taken at face value and the photo was to illustrate the progress Len had made up to that point. Apparently, once started, things can proceed quite rapidly because here's an even more current photo of Linda:

Of course we, The Unbelievables, are totally supportive and wish Linda nothing but the best. If/when she decides to resume her career, we will be here for her.

Now, as to Kip and his creepy nudie magazine obsession that he tried to deflect by implicating Len, that's something best handled internally over a nice severe beating. In my opinion, anyway.

Gone ... With The Nudist?

In the first 24 hours of Jeff's post about Len Scapp's supposed "retirement" ("... if you think you've seen any sign of our man Len, drop us a line, won't you?") the floodgates of inquiry swung wide open.

Most of the concern went something like this:

"Hey, Unbelievables: It sure seems like you guys - or people you know or are associated with - go missing for some reason or another pretty damned often. It's either kidnappings, someone gets lost, retirement, extended vacations and the like. What gives?"

"You know ... they have a point," Jeff noted when the three of us sat down to discuss the situation.

"Somehow, I have a hunch this thing leads to Michael ..." Clark shot me a laser-eyed accusatory look and held up several of the photos. The ones of the redheads.

"Hey ... don't blame me!" I snatched the photos from Clark's hand. "Look ... I'll offer this: We can nix a third of the suspects right off the bat because they're redheads. I admit ... I *cough* know all of them on one *cough* level or another from past *hack,cough* dealings ..."


"I told you," Clark offered.

"Just as the sun rises in the east, we know he does dig the redheads," Jeff admitted looking Clark's way. Clark nodded in agreement.

"... and, diabolically, if they had anything to do with anything, nefarious though each of them may be, they'd come after me. I'd be the one missing, not Lenny." Reluctantly, my two compatriots were on board with that assessment.

I tossed the photos of the redheads on the ground, took the others and looked at them. "Any of these dames have dealings with him recently?"

Just then, Kip The Mail Boy strolled in the room eating an apple. "What's up, guys?"

Clark glared at Kip. (Everyone knows Clark regards Kip with distrust and bitter resentment.)

"Lenny's missing. We're following up on some leads ..." I responded.

"Lemme see," Kip said taking a chomp out of his snack noisily. I handed him the photos "Think I'd zero in on Doris if I were you ..."

"Why's that?" Jeff and I asked in unison. Clark just growled lowly and threateningly at Kip.

"Len has really been frequenting our magazines of late when he comes by ... especially the nudist magazines."

One of Lenny's preferred periodicals of late ...

He picked out one of the photos I was holding and turned it around for us to see.

"Isn't Doris Gumph a nudist?"

... hhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ...

Fantasy sports, Unbelievables style

There's no doubt you're all familiar with the recreational activity of "fantasy sports", which takes all the enjoyment, camaraderie, and physical exercise of participating in actual sports and completely removes it. You might be surprised to learn that we, The Unbelievables, are the focus of a new fantasy sports-type activity. Because we, The Unbelievables, sure were.

"Don't you want to play?"

Basically, this is what we have learned: The way you play is you don't just "draft" one of us (me, Jeff or Michael), you actually play as us. Then, you compete with your friends, earning points based on our/your exploits. We've heard that some leagues will also allow you to play as lesser role players like Kip the Mail Boy and even Ulf the Unbelievadog. I'll point out some examples of how you earn points if you were to play as me...

Drive a Corvette: 10 points

Be seen in the company of beautiful babes: 25 points per babe

This is 150 points, in case you were too distracted to do the math.

Get a beautiful babe to cook a meal for you: 50 points (meal must include an entree, at least one side dish and a cocktail. Dessert is good for 10 bonus points)

Kick a bad guy out of a window: 100 points (WARNING! 0 points and likely criminal prosecution if it's not an actual, verifiable bad guy)

That's how you play as me. Jeff and Michael will fill you in on their relative point values later this week!

Hot Roddin'

The Unbelievabase, sometime yesterday morning. Breakfast is on the table.

MICHAEL: So, any word on Rod and The Conductor?

CLARK: Nada. Zip. Smoke. Nuttin'. Not a peep. Nary a flicker on the radar scope. Not heard a word. No--

JEFF: We get it! I have, however, done some research--

C: Wikipedia, Ask Jeeves, Bing...

J: THANK you, yes, Wikipedia etc., (ahem) and I can safely say that with the combined age of The Conductor, Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen being approximately 636, depending on whose birth certificates are accurate, Rodders should have comparatively little difficulty escaping their clutches.

M: So... we don't need to worry?

J: No.

C: And the ransom? 

J: Paid.

CLARK,MICHAEL: How?

J: I know it sounds almost impossible to believe, but we have Kip The Mail Boy to thank.

C: Oh come ON! That little snot-nose?! What the--

J: Believe it or not, but all this time working as our mail boy has had a positive effect on Kip. He has learned how to hack computers. 

M: You're putting me on.

C: On what planet exactly?!

J: On this one, mi amigos. I sorta... suggested to Kip that perhaps he could hack into the finances of a very rich, very stupid person and use their money to procure the ransom. After all, being very rich, a transaction like that would be a drop in the bucket. And being very stupid, they wouldn't think to look. 

M,C: Come on though! Rich and stupid, sure, but still a person...

J: Not a good person. Not a nice person. A rich, dumb asshole who deserves to be stolen from. 

M: Oh, an asshole. That makes it alright then.

DOOR KNOCKS.

J: I believe I'll get that.

Jeff opens door to reveal Rod Stewart, alive and well.

ROD: Alright lads?

M, C: Hi Rod! What the heck?!

ROD: Relax, guys. Although I could have easily overpowered Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen, not to mention The Conductor, the ransom got paid and I just walked out, but not before hiring Ryūzō and The Seven Henchmen to be my staff. They're all great cooks (Pan-Asian Fusion is the best!) and Ryūzō himself is now my chief bodyguard. I had them clean out my attic for old spare bits of railway track, gave that to The Conductor, and then made my way here.

M, C: Wow.

M: That explains that, then. 

C; Yeah, except for one thing. The name of the rich, dumb asshole Kip hacked?

J: (slyly grinning) Oh, I'm sure if you think hard enough, you can come up Trumps.

ALL: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

This Gang Is A Bunch Of Animals, Part 2

It became evident rather quickly

we weren't dealing with just a bunch of well-dressed monkeys ...

Ulf The Unbelievadog, canine operative, clued us in:

"Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllll ... !!!" That's all Jeff needed to hear.

"Guys! Ulf The Unbelievadog just told me the greatest threat to the world as we know it is at hand and it's in the form of a bunch of dressed-up chimps with plans to take over the world!" Jeff panted. "It's a real live version of Planet Of The Apes! Let's thwart this thing!"

Clark and I looked at each other and then back again at Jeff. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! That's intel straight from Ulf!" Jeff confirmed.

"Ulf! Ulf, boy! C'mere!" Clark called. Ulf trotted over and sat down in front of Clark. "Talk to me, boy ..."

Ulf's ears pricked up and he stood: "Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllllllllll ... !!!"

"Where'd you find this out?" Clark countered.

"Woof ... *gag* ... yelp, arf woof!" came the response.

"Huh," I puffed. "Real live chimps? That's a new one. It's a wonder no one's thought of this before. Are you sure they're not being led by anyone, Ulf? They're just chimps, all on their own, instigating and planning this overthrow?"

"Woof!" Ulf responded.

"We've got to get going!" Jeff blurted.

"Hold on ... we need a plan first," I offered. Jeff and Clark agreed.

"Clark: Run to the store and get a bushel or two of bananas. Jeff: Downstairs in the storeroom behind that old box of grenades is Charley Chimp. Grab him for me, will you? Meanwhile, I need to get out of these pants and give Ulf some water. He's parched!"

Charley Chimp: Best decoy ever

Clark headed out and we heard the 'Vette roar down the road seconds later. Jeff came back up from the storeroom with Charley.

"We'll use Charley as the usual diversionary tactic and put him in the middle of the floor at the Unbelieva-Base's laundry entrance. Surround Charley with the bananas Clark will bring back for us shortly and we have that animal horde right where we want them. Besides, I've been dying to bust out the Lobster Rage Fist!"

The Lobster Rage Fist:

Quite possibly The Unbelievables' most deadly weapon

15 minutes later after planting Charley as a diversion (and still waiting on Clark to return) we heard a commotion. We flipped on the Unbelieva-Monitors keeping an eye on the faux-laundry entrance to the Unbelieva-Base.

"Uh oh. We have a problem ..." Jeff half whispered through pursed lips.

There on the screen was Mr. B, Bames Jond, Mr. Shifter, Bobo and a couple dozen more chimp goons closing in on Charley in the middle of the entrance.

"No problem. I'll activate Charley. He'll keep those chimps busy wondering what he'll do next. But that will only last half a minute at best. Even with the best of our arsenal, it's us two against almost 30 of them. We're outnumbered 15 to 1! And with Kip The Mail Boy off today*, we need Clark desperately! What's holding him up ... ??!!?"(... to be continued Friday ...)

*In all honesty, Kip isn't much help in a tussle any time. No great loss there.