The Unobsessibles

Having effectively dealt with Günther Parsifal McParshnipp (was there ever a doubt?), it occurred to me that an awful lot of our foes find themselves on the wrong side of the law due to their inability to effectively control their uncontrollable obsessions. McParshnipp with rooted vegetables. Mac Ramey with stringy fashion. Henri Petit with being a disgusting little urchin.

Yuck.

There's lots of people out there dangerously preoccupied with various things. Not all of them are criminals of course, but some of them are a mere gentle shove from becoming such. We monitor many of these folks for the sake of nipping potential problems in the bud, so to speak.

Such as...

LUDWIG VON DUCK

This guy wants to turn himself into a duck. Nothing wrong with that, I guess. Ducks are nice. He started out like this...

But recently has taken it to an extreme...

Yeah, this is worth keeping at least one eye on.

SHELLY BEENE

This is Shelly and she loves jelly beans. "Love them?", she queries. "Anybody can love them. Everybody SHOULD love them. They're amazing. They're incredible! They're the best thing on earth. In fact, they're the only good thing about this godforsaken world. I want them. All of them. I want every jelly bean there is!"

You're kidding, right Shelly?
"Huh? Oh (heh heh) yeah, just...you know... kidding."
Mmm-hmm. We're watching you, Shelly.

CAY and the KWALKERS

I can't say that we care for this kind of creepy capering about. "What's the problem", asks Cay on behalf of her little band of whatever-this-is doers. "Why, it's The Cakewalk! It's a prancing stage dance with a backward tilt. It's fun and good for your posture!" How is it good for your posture? You people look like human question marks. 10 minutes of this and anybody would be in lower lumbar agony. "Why, I never! How dare you imply that we're bitter about paying an exorbitant sum for the exsclusive rights to an antiquated form of dance that we hoped to turn into a retro fitness movement, but failed miserably, losing a fortune in the process!"

There are more just below the radar potential annoyance-providers that the fellas will tell you about later this week.

More Twists And Turns Than You Can Shake A Stick At

~~~moving on swiftly (we hope)~~~

The Renault stopped abruptly and Petit turned in his seat to face us, saying "So, Unbelie--", promptly falling out of his booster seat, dropping his ciggy, saying "shit" a few times, retrieving the still-burning smoke, realising the carpet was on fire, stamping it out and clambering back up into his seat, huffing and puffing to catch his breath, then finally spluttering, "So... Un... believables *cough*"

"Spit it out, you insufferable toe-rag," growled Clark, "before I defenestrate you again!"

That clearly rattled Petit and his eyes glowed with anger. Or did they? No, they didn't. It was merely the reflection of the roaring fire that was now raging on the floorboards where he had previously dropped his lit fag-end. 

We scrambled for the doors and each of us grabbed one of the TVD girls and bailed from the vehicle, gallantly rescuing them from the rapidly escalating conflagration.

"WAIT! WHAT ABOUT ME!!!" screamed the nasty toddler-like git.

"Shall we rescue him?" I asked the others.

"I suppose we have to if we want to find out what is going on," Michael replied, "although there's no immediate hurry."

"I CAN HEAR YOU!!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!" wailed Petit, so we resignedly went over and opened the door.

"Wait, the door was unlocked the whole time, you tiny freak! Was that some kind of trick?" I gasped incredulously.

"Well, normally I'd say yes, Unbelieva-goons, but sadly it pains me to say that I just couldn't reach the handle. You guys just don't know what it's like to be me, you know, it's hard, it really gets me down someti--"

His pitiful speech was abruptly stopped by the van exploding (as these things are apt to do, especially in movies, which was somewhat ironic considering we were standing in what appeared to be an abandoned movie set).

"Well, that's our ride gone" said Clark.

Thus far the TVD's hadn't uttered a peep, but just at that moment one of them said, "Sorry guys..."

We heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked and turned slowly to see the girls pointing weaponry at us.

From behind them we saw the doors of all the fake buildings opening and the familiar figures of many of our nemeses spilling from them - Sam Snow, Little Debbie, Negative Charge, The Double "D" Dames, to name a few -  all led by Tie-Po and Mac Ramey. All of them armed, and looking more than a little menacing.

What was the meaning of all this? Why were we at an old movie studio surrounded by villains? What did they want? How are we going to get home mow? How did we get out of this alive? (Because we did, you know. That's how come I'm able to write this. So there!).

Well you may ask. Fear not though, for more will be revealed on Friday!

~~~continuing on with all the continuation and stuff~~~

Our Highs, Our Lows

I don't know why we have to continually revisit certain things the public seems to "forget." But here we go again.

It's been well documented I've been upstaged / had the wool pulled over my eyes (See what I did there?) / suffered the shenanigans of one of our old enemies Mac Ramey. I'm not perfect. It's just that I (and the other fellas) appear that way a majority of the time. (We DO have an image to uphold, you know. We do what we can to put our best foot forward, something expected of us.)

Regardless, I learned a few good things about those encounters with Ramey. Various soothing techniques (as an aside) I willingly incorporated into my personal Unbelieva-Fu® regimen for example. Not to mention a few instances where I could apply variations of crime fighting techniques to what we already know and have developed.

But, yes, there was an awkward low point to one of those encounters (much to the chagrin of Jeff and Clark) - the infamous crocheted shorts. It seems I used to flaunt around in them too much. Looking back, they were rather embarrassing.

So, yeah ... Low Point. I'll admit that. And of my own free will. Besides, it's on the internet for-EV-er. I couldn't deny it if I wanted to. There's nothing known to mankind which can eradicate something like that from the history books.

But ... there was a positive consequence borne from it. The fallout from those crocheted shorts led to my "world famous" pantslessness image and preferred mode of traipsing about, especially around the Unbelieva-Base. (And other locales when I can get away with it.)

 
So, there you go. Really High Point.

Need I provide examples of any others? (Don't answer that. If you really must know more information about me, you can find plenty in the annals of The Unbelievables. Don't be lazy. Go search stuff out for yourself. There are volumes of good and bad characteristics to glean.)

Meanwhile, maybe this week we'll discover why Clark often looks like this ...

... when his turn to contribute comes about later this week.

(Disclaimer: Many of you might be all a'flutter waiting for that tidbit. Don't hold your breath; I'm not promising he'll fess up that easily.)

The Dogs Of Rock

So as Clark was saying on Monday, Ringo is all about #peaceandlove, as are we Unbelievables. And one of the ways we ensure the peace and love quotient of the world is being maintained is with the help of our global network of undercover operatives, moles and informants. But did you think that all of our undercover operatives, moles and informants were humans? Tsk tsk. Surely you remember the story of the Double 'D' Dames and their sinister involvement with one Mac Ramey?

This dude.

You do? Then no doubt you remember that we couldn't have cracked the case without the help of our canine chum, Ulf The Unbelievadog.

Good boy, Ulf! Cuff'em and stuff'em!

Well, would it surprise you to learn that we have a global network of Ulf's poochy pals who are specially designated to keep tabs on the rock 'n' roll community, and alert us to any situation where a rock star might be getting in too deep. Not the usual rock and roll excess, you unnerstan'. That's par for the course in the music biz. No, we mean when rock stars do things that are a bit too un-rock'n'roll. Need a few examples? I thought so.

Jim Morrison gave Parisian Labrador Phaideaux here no end of trouble - writing poetry and wanting to be taken seriously etc. 

Skipper was there to make sure Bret Michaels' coffee-table book of, ahem, "Artistic polaroids" never saw the light of day.

Fizzer was on hand guarding Keith Richards from the perils of fundraising for disabled veteran Test cricketers.

Even Ringo needed help from Fluffbag when he foolishly started wearing turtlenecks.

Janis Joplin, shown here with Mister Squiffles, who alerted us to the fact that Janis was ordering clothes from the Sears catalog. How un-rock'n'roll!

Here's the amazing Gruff-Gruff with Fab Macca Wacky Thumbs Aloft himself. Gruff-Gruff is shown teaching Paul how not to be a total nob who's completely up himself.

Ozzy was best pals with Squeeks, or Agent X-7a as we knew him. He would bite Ozzy's ankles whenever he caught him clipping coupons.

The Spotzenheimer twins making sure that Roger Daltrey behaved himself in the sheep pasture. 

Fred and Dorinda Basset teaching a young E. Presley, Esq. how NOT to pull up his socks.

Last but by no means least, Simon Weimaraner helping a brain-addled Trent Reznor off the carpet in the lobby of the DoubleTree Suites. He'd tripped on a kink in the rug after one too many double mocha cappuccinos.

So as you can see, were it not for the intervention of certain furry four-footed friends, the history of rock might be quite different from the way it is today. And it's not just dogs, either.

Tibblekins acted as a therapeutic pet for Joey Ramone when he was all angsty and feeling like buying La-Z-Boy armchairs. His soothing purr made Joey all happy again.

Only trouble is, spending time among the rockers of the world can rub off on you, as Jose Fur-liciano found out when he was adopted by Keith Flint of Prodigy.

More Villainy

Just to let you know, there's a new entry in Villains Row - and it's all about these lovely ladies...

The Double-D Dames!!!

Denouement of the Double D Dilemma

For the life of us, we couldn't figure out what was going on with Michael. What had its insidious hooks in him and who was behind it? Through much hard work, keen detective-ing and a veritable pile of thoroughly kicked asses, we were able (as always) to get to the bottom of it. Turns out it was this guy:

Mac Ramey, would-be international fashion criminal.
Ramey was using the Double D's and the allure of their hot pants to implement his grand plan to destroy not only the world of fashion but the entire garment industry by having people make their own clothes of yarn and rope and string. As the designer of these "fashions" as well as the single largest shareholder in this company...

...he stood to become a very powerful and wealthy man. With Michael incapacitated, Jeff and I turned to Ulf, the Unbelievadog to help take Ramey down before he could fully carry out his fiendish plot.

"AAGGH! GET HIM OFF ME! HE'S CHEWING MY FRINGE!!"
Good boy, Ulf. Good boy.

Good thing too, because if not, you all would have been walking around in stuff like this:

As for Michael, we never did find out what actually took such firm control of his mind but thanks to years of ongoing therapy, we have our partner back. Unfortunately, he is still prone to relapse. So if you ever see him out and about wearing these...

Um, there's no wallet in that pocket...

...please call us immediately.