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 ...

Gone In A Flash

This pic plopped on to our desk this morning, with a Post-it note attached, bearing a hastily scribbled "Guys, I'm retiring. See ya round - Len"

What do we glean from this? Not the fact that Unbelieva-Photog Len Scapp, our very own world-class shutterbug, is retiring, oh no no no. Anyone with a good eye can figure out that this picture is not Len Scapp, but a female of the woman variety in disguise. Plus, the note didn't look like Len Scapp's handwriting. Which can lead us to only one of about twelve conclusions. Confused? Sure you are. But bear with me and I'll try to explain.

You see, we know of easily a dozen female photographers and/or models who are also villains. For instance...

Mona Pletheridge, 8mm of pain her specialty.

Iona Mansion, heiress to the Barratt Homes fortune. She 'clicks' with the guys, but when she 'snaps' - look out!

Dixie Bose-Sennheiser. Petty larceny and blackmail were just stepping stones into large-scale camera-shop heists and in her latest caper, she stripped a movie studio of all its Panavision cameras and film stock in under three minutes. She's very high on our list, but - kidnapping? 

Doris Gumph, animal abuser and nudist.

Vita Phone, aka the Red Devil. Also into abusing animals - see the lamb she just kicked in the butt?

Gladys Paine-Fulle, cruel to tiny ponies and humans alike.

McKenzie Von Snarf, just plain weird.

Glorious Honeybun. So OCD she tried to make musical notes get in line. Nice gams though.

Vespa McNerf, Tartan-wearing scooter fiend with a long list of hit-and-runs.

Petronella DeKrupp. This beauty would stomp a lion's face in with stilettoes if she felt so inclined. Look out, Lenny!

That's just nine of our list of possibles. Any of them could have done something awful to Len and for various reasons. Michael and Clark will explore further avenues during the week. Meantime, if you think you've seen any sign of our man Len, drop us a line, won't you?

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

It's great that the guys told you all about our fantastic association with Queen, the most amazing rock band in the history of all things cool, and their influence on our style and vice versa. 

But I would be remiss if I did not relate to you the now-declassified tale of the single greatest day in our Unbelievable lives!

That's right. A day so amazing it would be scorched like a brand onto our collective brains.

It all started when in 1978 Freddie rushed excitedly into the Unbelievabase clutching an advance copy of their new album Jazz. (Remember, this was the 70s, when you could get away with giving your new LP a title that had nothing to do with the record contained therein, such as James Taylor's Greatest Hits or The Best Of Roger Whittaker.) 

"Listen to this!" shouted Fred, putting the record on the Blaupunkt and cranking it to 11.

We were mesmerized. Mesmerized enough to stop what we were up to (a game of Strip Parcheesi, as I recall) and listened to the instant classic that was Jazz.

Still, we could not help but notice the look of worry and concern on Freddie's face. We were curious. What on earth did he have to be anxious about? The album was brilliant, as has been already noted. So we asked him. 

"Why the long face? What's troubling you?"

"Well," he replied, "I'm having a creative block. The first single off of Jazz is gonna be a double-A side, "Bicycle Race" and "Fat Bottomed Girls" but I have absolutely no idea how to promote it. I mean, listen to those songs. Those songs ROCK OUT LOUD! They are guaranteed KILLERS! But the record-buying public is fickle. They'll buy anything the DJs tell them to. How else do you explain Clive Dunn's "Grandad" going to Number One?"

"Good point" quoth I.

"Trouble is, I need something so amazing, so shocking, so memorable that it'll be a shoo-in for sure... but what??"

"So you thought you'd pop in and pick our brains, eh?" interjected Clark, in a perplexing Canadian accent he was trying to perfect for some oddball reason (turns out he had had a brief fling with a Canadian air hostess, and was probably hoping to repeat the process).

Freddie was slightly embarrassed. "Um, er... yeah."

"Well, why didn't you say so!!" Michael and I cheered in unison. We were already two steps ahead. 

"Leave it to us, Freddie. We'll get this sorted in no time." I reassured him.

Clark leapt to his feet and fetched us all a beer. "BREWSKIES, EH!?!" he declared.

For once, we let it slide. 

So... a few phone calls to the Unbelievababes, to Marissa and Laura, several bike shops in London, a few top photographers and Wembley Stadium later, we had it all arranged.

I think you know where this is all going.

The Unbelievababes, with Laura and Marissa somewhere in there.

Marla and Trixie won top prize! (For what, I'm not sure).

We all got to spend the day in London watching the Unbelievababes ride around naked on bicycles!! Oh. My. God. We were in hog heaven - especially Michael, who spends most of his life getting naked anyway. It was so much fun, and such a success that they incorporated the shoot into the video.





Queen - Bicycle Race by Leo59

Not only that, but sometimes the Unbelievababes were drafted in to participate in live shows when the band were playing the song.

So there you have it. 

We've done a lot of fun stuff in our lives, but a day spent watching naked girls on bikes in the company of the greatest rock band in the world, as well as my two amazing crimefighting compadres, takes some licking. 

But that's another story...

Len Scapp, unofficial official Unbelievables photojournalist

What The Unbelievables are to international crime-fighting and romance, Len Scapp is to the world of art and fashion photography. He's stylish, charming, flambouyant, passionate and utterly adored by the ladies (hello ladies!). He's also infatuated with us.

Shortly after the interaction that Jeff detailed previously, he scrapped all of his other projects and devoted his life to following us around and documenting our adventures. "The Unbelievables! They shall be my greatest accomplishment, a never-ending, always-changing, work-in-progress, sexy and violent real life performance art captured in an ongoing series of still photographs!" That description, delivered in person by Len to the World Humanity Organization of Art (W.H.O.A) led them to present him with a lifetime achievement award which came with a self-repleneshing annual grant of $3 million, a huge trophy, free french fries at Hardee's/Carl's Jr and an uncomfortably moist hug from W.H.O.A chief administrator Maurizio Von Skreech.

"Where are you going? I was not quite finished hugging you! Wait...okay, never mind. I am done now."

Of course, we're very proud of our role in helping Len reach this level of achievement but he's a highly talented artist in his own rite, as illustrated by some of his previously published art installations...

This is from "A World Without Lighters". It was followed in quick succession by "Models Without Hair".

This one is from "Miniature Models Making Major Messes". Len sought the smallest models he could find, paired them with the largest props possible and spent two weeks screaming, "KNOCK IT OVER! THAT'S IT! SPILL IT! SPILL IT, YOU GORGEOUS, FRAIL, UNDERAGED, ANOREXIC, NOT-QUITE-A-MIDGET, NARCISISTIC WAIF!!" and capturing the results on film.

Of course, this is from "Paging M.C. Escher" in which high fashion models in haute couture were displayed on architecturally impossible sets, given a cell phone and told to call the famed Dutch graphic artist and ask him how to get down.

"Carl's Jr.". We're not sure but we have a feeling that Len just really likes Carl's Jr.

This is all fine with us. Len's a good enough guy and we kind of like having our work documented. But in spite of what people think, he is NOT our official photographer. That honor belongs exclusively to none other than the even more stylish, charming, flambouyant, passionate and mononymous Sprezzatura.

Hello Sprez!!

Girls Like Us, Cameras Love Us

Back when we were just starting out as crimefighters (under the tutelage of the late great Ralph) we never really gave a second thought to our appearance, beyond just wanting to look good for the ladies (Hello, ladies!). We just did what every suave, debonair, playboy man-about-town-who-is-secretly-fighting-crime would do. Expertly coiffed hair. Perfectly precision-cut facial hair. Natty threads. Sweet, sweet custom-made shoes. Awesome wheels. All the usual stuff.

But one Tuesday while we were hanging out on the set of The Misfits in Stagecoach, NV (where they filmed that wild roping scene), chatting to Clark Gable and the delightful Marilyn (yeah - name dropping, I know) a photographer named Len Scapp stopped me in my tracks and said "You know, you have amazing cheekbones."

Blushing, I mumbled shyly, "Yeah, I know! That's what all the ladies say anyway (Hello, ladies!!)"

Then he turned his attention to Michael and Clark and said, "You guys are all lookers. You could make a fortune modelling, you know." Then he gave me a fresh bowl of whipped potatoes, with lots of butter and cracked black pepper.

Well, that was it. Nothing we Unbelievables like better than flattery, or whipped potatoes, especially on a Tuesday. He gave us the number of a couple big modelling agencies and we were on our way, baby. Gig after gig came our way, and soon we found that some of our crime-scene photos also looked so good, what with us being so stylishly dressed and everything, that they could easily be mistaken for catalog pictures, so we slipped them in too. 

In order: drug smuggling ring, plagiarists, and international donut thieves. We busted them all.

But the pictures of us on billboards, bearing the legend "The Unbelievables"? How'd that come about? I'll let Clark explain...

How'd this come about?

P.S. What Michael said about the Unbelieva-base? Well, our first test shoot with the legend that is Len Scapp took place in the inner sanctum of the base, and it was from that shoot that this image came...