The Great Freak Snowstorm Party (or, the case of the dirty punchbowl)

It was Yuletide down in Stiletto Flats
And downtown was all twinkly and sparkly
But in a top-secret location
We three fellas looked through a glass, darkly.

"This punchbowl is filthy,", said Michael.
"Who soiled it? I really must know!"
The other two of us three
Were as puzzled as he - 
But right then, it started to snow.

"Snow? In Nevada? Really?" said Clark,
"It isn't unheard of, but rare..."
I stood scratching my head.
"Let's get out the sled!",
Cried Michael. We others yelled "Yeah!"

We called up a few of our cohorts
And said "Hey everybody, c'mon!"
"The snow's coming down, let's build snowmen,
And go sledding before it's all gone!"

The first to arrive was The Kitsch Bitsch
And she made a beeline for the bar.
(No, it's not what you think,
She was mixing some drinks!)
Then she saw the punchbowl and cried "AARGH!"

"This punchbowl is filthy, who soiled it?"
We all looked at her and gave a shrug.
She stared at us guys
Arms akimbo, and sighed
"No matter, I'll just use this jug."

Some other guests started arriving
Marissa was dressed for the weather.
She looked just like Anna Karenina-
But 75 times more clever.

Laura was stunning in her teal blue coat
Accented with what looked like snow.
She said "the old El Dorado refuses to start,
So I skied all the way, dontcha know."

We all went out to the backyard
Which was blanketed thickly in white.
Guests were building snowvillains
And making snow forts
And having a huge snowball fight.

Then the band "Playgirl Club" made their entrance
They set up their gear and plugged in.
They sound a bit like Grand Funk Railroad
With a bit of Mel Torme thrown in.

The KB, our mentor, gave us a drink,
Saying "I call this an Irish Mule.
It's icy, yet fiery with ginger,
And a kick like Peter O'Toole."

(For recipe, see below)

Well, those drinks warmed us up, that's for sure,
And the party, it went with a bang.
It was getting quite late in the evening
When Clark slapped his head and went "Dang!"

"What's up buddy boy?" said Michael and I.
"What irks you? What's giving you grief?"
He replied "The punchbowl! It's my fault!"
Michael muttered, "Well, that's a relief."

Clark said "I used it to transplant seedlings,
from the garden to my terrarium.
"I just set it down when I walked back inside - On the shelf right next to the aquarium."

"No, it's my fault," I said. "Blame me, guys."
"I used it to make whipped potatoes in."
"I thought they were earthy and tasted quite dirty - 
That explains it!" said Michael with a grin.

"But I must tell you guys, I'd be lying
If I didn't explain what I knew.
I used it myself, before you did - 
Cleaning mud from the sole of my shoe."

So that was the punchbowl mystery solved
And we had a good laugh and a giggle.
Then we unplugged the band and switched on the hi-fi
(The band's music had started to niggle.)

We three headed into the kitchen
Clark made a huge batch of hot cocoa.*
I cooked up my world-famous waffles
(Jamie Oliver's recipe. Sshh! they don't know.)*

We all sat and chilled out, munching waffles,
(Which we dunked in the cocoa - yum yum!)
All the guests went back home, with a tear in their eye-
Well, that's not quite true. Not everyone.
(Hello, ladies!!!)

The next morn, the snow had all melted,
And you'd never have known it was there.
But those who were there have their memories
Of the freak snowstorm party that year.

So let's raise a glass of something,
And wish good will to all, peace on earth.
Happy holidays to all and sundry
(even villains... for what it's worth.)


*Recipes follow...

http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/chocolate-recipes/epic-hot-chocolate/

http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/eggs-recipes/griddle-pan-waffles/

Irish Mule Recipe:
-1 part good quality Irish Whiskey
-2 parts Jamaican style Fiery Ginger Beer 
-Aromatic Cocktail Bitters
-several lime wedges and juice of 2 whole limes

In a large pitcher half filled with ice, mix together whiskey, ginger ale, and juice from 2 limes. Top off with 2 splashes of bitters. Garnish with the lime wedges.


Sit back, drink, and enjoy!

NB: For a Kentucky Mule, substitute the Irish Whiskey for Bourbon.

Innocence

After "tinkling" (who uses the word "tinkling" anymore unless you're potty training a toddler?) I had an idea. (Hey ... I do some of my best thinking in the loo, you know.)

I practically bowled over Jeff and Clark as I came out the WC. "What are you guys doing hovering around the bathroom door? I'm not going anywhere! *geez* Look ... I know how to get to the bottom of this entire mess. We'll get KB ... I mean ... Mama' on the horn and she'll set the matter correct. We'll put her on speaker ..."

That sounded like a plan to the guys. Clark asked if he could still hold the lamp for effect while we talked to The Kitsch Bitsch. He'd grown fond of the thing.

"I'm still gonna hold the lamp. For effect ..." he said in no uncertain terms.

We dialed up The Kitsch Bitsch. "You guys do the talking. It's up to you guys to determine if there was any funny business going on. I'm confident in my innocence - it's you two who need the convincing."

Jeff sneered. His mustache twitched. Clark raised an eyebrow. He switched the lamp from his right hand to his left. The phone began to ring.

KB answered "Hello?"

"Cheers, Mama," Jeff replied. "It's me, Jeff. I'm with the guys. We're trying to get to the bottom of the quandary about your one site sinking like a stone once Michael came on board to moderate. Michael says he's confused about what happened; we were hoping you could shed a little light on the subject ..."

For punctuation, Clark positioned the lamp at that moment to shine its light directly in my eyes.

"Oh ... that. Yeah ... it's too bad I had to shut down that site. It got way, way out of hand. Too man savories who thought they were entitled to do whatever they wanted. I mean ... you have to have rules - and I did. I pointed them out time and again. But some people just seem to love reveling in chaos. Michael was a sweetheart coming on to help out. Not only did he offer his services, but he took time out to help out dissolving the site when I threw in the towel."

"Really?" Jeff asked somewhat incredulously. "You weren't coerced into doing it?"

"No," KB responded.

"He didn't try any funny business?" Clark wondered out loud.

"No."

"There wasn't anything underhanded going on?" Jeff suggested.

"No."

"No elements you might consider blackmail-like in nature?" Clark postulated.

"No! Why?"

"Well ... Michael seems a bit confused as to why any of it happened at all. Sounds suspicious to us ..." Jeff replied.

"Michael had nothing to do with it. It's been going on for quite some time ... the jerks on the site, I mean. Some of them seemed to thrive on doing what they want regardless of anyone else. It's plain and simple selfishness and them wanting to mess things up. Luckily, that hasn't happened with my other sites. That one got too big for its britches, anyway; too many members, too many uncontrollable members, really. That's recipe for drama. Me and the other moderators did what we could - Michael included - but it was really too late in the end. The inmates had taken over the asylum so to speak. It was purely coincidental Michael that came on when he did with my decision to shut down that page just a few days later ..."

"So ... he's completely innocent of any wrong doing?" Jeff wondered.

"Yes. He was a sweetheart. He even helped me shut the page down."

"Because ... if there's any doubt, anything you're not telling us that needs to come to light ..." Clark punctuated the "come to light" part of his response by jerking the lamp toward me "... we have some things we can do to make him talk ..."

"What do you mean?" KB asked.

"Chinese water torture, for one," Jeff offered. "We haven't used that one in quite some time. It's pretty effective ..."

"What? No! Torture? Why would you want to do that?"

"I could force him to listen to modern country music while tied to a chair," Clark offered. "He isn't the least bit fond of the stuff. He hates Sade, too."

"No! Michael didn't do anything!"

"You know ... we could make him eat off metal plates. He has 'a thing' about eating off metal plates, remember ..." Jeff suggested.

"Ooooooooooooooo ... good one!" Clark agreed. "Hey ... I got it: We could force him to eat off metal plates while watching reruns of that Honey Boo Boo show ..."

You could see Clark's eyes light up. Mine just rolled up into their sockets. I sighed.

"DO NOT TORTURE MICHAEL!" KB yelled over the phone. "He didn't do anything!"

"Are you sure, Mama? Because we could break out our head squeezey thing, too. It's like a vice-grip. That always gets'em talking."

"No! Stop that! I have to go. You boys need to play nice and leave Michael alone. Otherwise, I'll be over there to put the hammer down ..."

Jeff and Clark sighed. I reached over and disconnected the phone. I also took the lamp away from Clark, turned it off and put it down.

"Are you guys satisfied?" I asked.

"Not really," Jeff said. "Now what are we going to do? We had all this pent-up energy ready to roll. Now you and Mama quashed it ..." Clark had his head down. He appeared dejected.

"I know: Jeff - Why don't you go whip up a batch of potatoes?"

Jeff looked at me. "But ... it's not Tuesday ..."

"So? And Clark? You could go kick Henri Petit's ass just for the fun of it. That will cheer you up ..."

Clark looked up with a gleam in his eye. A smile began forming.

Of a sudden, the air in the room vacated its smell of noir ... and all was right with the world.

The Grilling of Michael

The scene: A pokey little back room at the Unbelievabase. The loo, to be precise. Michael's loo. (Yes- we each have our own. I have a little sign on my bathroom door that says "The Wee House". Geddit?!)

Note: Not actually Michael's loo. (P.S. It totally is.)

Michael is seated on the throne, Jeff is questioning Michael while Clark stands behind Jeff, holding a desk lamp in the air.

JEFF: Now, Michael, my old friend, ol' buddy ol' pal, let's go through this one more time. Just so's we get it straight. WHAT THE @%&#*@ happened!!?!? Hm? Hmm?

CLARK: Yeah, hm?!? Hmmm?!?

MICHAEL: Look, fellas, I dunno. I'm as confused as you are.

J: Confused, eh? Eh?

C: Yeah, confused eh??

M: Yes, I mean, when KB -

J: That's Mama to you, butterball!

C: Yeah, what Jeff said.

M:(to Clark) Crawler! (to me) when she needed help I offered my services -

J: I bet you did, I bet you did...

M: ...and said I would moderate the page.

J: And??

M: And what? The trolling didn't stop or slow down, and even using every Unbelieva-skill in my arsenal I was powerless to stop it. Heck-fire, I even tried using common sense but it was no use! I was up against something bigger.

J: And...?

C: What he said.

M: And that's it. After two days the KB - I mean, Mama had had enough and pulled the plug.

J:And...?

M: Look, I've had enough.Can I tinkle in peace, please?

C: And...?

M: And read the paper.

J: Okay... but this is not over! We will get to the bottom of this one way or another.

M: Guys, you're just in denial.

J: Whatever.

C: Aaand...?

A mystery within

"Oh, is it hot in here? We haven't done
 anything wrong, so we didn't notice"

Something has happened that threatens to r-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-p-p-p-p The Unbelievables apart!

Here's the basic rundown:

As you all know, it's the top-secret files of The Kitsch Bitsch from which we initially sprung. She's like a mother to us. At least some of us feel that way.
Anyway, an enterprise created by KB (that's what we call her; you have a nickname or two for your own sweet Mama, yes?), a Facebook page to be specific, was struggling with a troll infestation recently. Michael offered his services in order to bring the situation under control. Two days later, the page was shut down. It's very similar to when a popular-yet-struggling family restaurant claims it's closing briefly for re-modeling and when it re-opens, it's a Burger King.

"And when we do, are you going to want pickles on that Whopper?"

Yes folks, something stinks. And for once, it's not Michael's gym bag. And why does a guy who only participates in "sans clothing" sports leagues need a gym bag anyway?
Michael has some explaining to do. And Jeff and I know how to get somebody to talk, don't we Jeff?

"What have you done to our beloved Mumsie, you lousy sonova..."

Guest hosts with the guest most

This Tuesday (tomorrow if you're reading this when it first comes out and why wouldn't you?), June 18, The Unbelievables will be the guest moderators at the Facebook page of the one and only Kitsch Bitsch. Hand-selected for this honor by none other than the Kitsch Bitsch herself, we will be on-hand all day, sharing some of our past adventures, introducing new fun stuff and interacting with the Kitsch Bitch's retro groovy readers. I hope you'll put on some hot pants, a satin jacket and your roller skates, and join us for festooned fun!

We don't normally get too excited about stuff, an unfortunate side-effect of having been there, done that, often times more than once.

And often times while still wearing our socks

But this is a big deal for us. The Kitsch Bitsch gave us our start and has supported our operations through the years, after all. For us, this is like being called upon to guest host the Tonight Show in Johnny Carson's absence. Which reminds us of how much we enjoyed being Johnny's personal security detail.

Johnny was a huge star and there was no way NBC was going go leave his safety and well-being in the hands of some retiree with a flashlight and a windbreaker. We protected him from all kinds of threats, ranging from deadly wild animals...

 ...to creepy perverts...

...and sometimes both.

But it was always well worth it because the after-parties were a stone groove blast!

Of course, we've had a variety of high-profile bodyguard-type assignments over the years. I'll let Jeff and Michael clue you in on some of those.

And we'll see you on Tuesday at The Kitsch Bitsch!