Jailbird's Warning

All we wanted to do was throw a wickedly spooky All Hallows Eve shindig to delight and entrance as well as entertain the good folks of Stiletto Flats (and a few special guests). Why anyone would want to stomp on our good time is beyond me, but like Michael said on Monday, there are always a few complainy-pantses out there who can find nothing better to do with their time than, well, complain.

But we certainly didn't expect it to be our adversaries. I mean, they are usually opposed to our actions as a matter of course, but Halloween? The night when spooky stuff is supposed to happen and all sorts of demons, sprites and goblins walk the earth looking for mischief to do? You'd have thought that a bunch of ne'er-do-wells and so-called 'master' criminals would fully embrace that scenario!

We were busy doing our party-organising duties (making the VIP list, ordering supplies in bulk from Costco, music playlist, etc.)

Including this one, natch.

...when wouldn't you know it, the phone rang. Kip the Mail Boy picked it up and from the next room we could all hear that whoever was on the other end of the line was not happy. Screaming down the phone is not a behavior that we regard highly, but that is what this person was doing. 

Kip transferred the call to the conference phone.

I dipped my toe in the water first. "Er, hello? Unbelievables here, how may we assist you?"

"NOW JUST YOU LISTEN TO ME, YOU UNBELIEVABLE PLONKERS! JUST WHAT THE BLINKY O'STINKY ARE YOU GEEZERS PLAYING AT!?!"

"Rest assured, sir," said Clark, "we are not playing - we're rather busy at this moment in time. With whom do we have the dubious pleasure of conversing?"

"'ERE, MUSH!" came back the voice. "I MAY NOT BE THAT CLEVER AN' ALL THAT, 'N THAT, BUT I KNOWS SARKY ASM WHEN I 'EARS IT, DUNNEYE? FUHGEDDABOUDIT, IT'S MCGEE."

"McGee? Again? But didn't we...? And aren't you...?" McGee was supposed to be in jail. 

"YER, WHAT OF IT? LISSEN, I AIN'T GOT MUCH TIME. ME AND THE BOYS IS MIGHTY UPSET ABOUT NOT GETTIN' INVITES TO THIS 'ERE PARTY. PRETZELS, BEER, THE WHOLE SCHMEER, BIM BAM BOLEO. YA KNAA'I MEAN?"

There was no mistaking that it was Tony "Monobrow" McGee, the world's only New Jersey cockney, on the other end. Clearly, he was ringing from jail, meaning that whatever had upset the man, he'd found out about it whilst in clink. Meaning it was something big.

 "Forget it, McGee" said Michael. "No dice. Whatever the problem is, we are not, repeat not interested."

"OH YER?" he replied. "LISSEN UP, UNBELIEVABUBBLES. 'ALLOWEEN IS S'POSED TO BE A NIGHT FOR NOT-DO-GOOD PEOPLES LIKE ME AN' ME BOYS TO DO NOT-GOOD STUFF, NOT FOR YOU DO-GOODERERS TO 'AVE PARTIES. THE CRIMINIMINIMAL FRATERTERATERNITY ARE FROWNING ON THIS, AND WILL DO WOT EVER IT TAKES TO STOP IT. YOU 'AVE BIN WARNED. FUHGEDDABOUDIT.(Click)".

We sat for a brief moment in stunned silence, then looked at each other and grinned. 

Then we fell about laughing.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAHAAAHAAAAA!!!"

"Tee-hee-heee!"

"Chortle!"

"Chuckle!

"Snicker..."

"Ha-ha."

Then Clark said, "Quick question...."

"Yes??" Michael and I asked in unison.

"Jack-O-Blast or Pumpkin King?"

"BOTH!" we cried. "HAHAHAHAAAHAHAAHAHAHAAHA!!"

St. Pat's - Like Christmas (with more booze and slightly less crying)

"Hello yerselves, ye Unbelievalads!"

The guys are right; St. Paddy's Day is often the inspiration for our most raging ragers. This year is no exception. We can't share ALL the raucous details with you but we did catch some highlights on video and after some heavy editing (for the sake of those with delicate sensibilities), we can share them with you

(NOTE: You are reading this entry in real time because this all happened last night; as is the case with almost everything we do, we start early and go late. Hello ladies!).

Please click below to enjoy some of the Unbelievably unhinged debauchery from this year's celebration of everything green, Irish and green, starring me, Jeff and Michael and featuring Kip the Mail Boy and Ulf the Unbelievadog!



(NOTE to criminals, mastermind class or otherwise: Please don't do anything illegal until Monday. Thanks.)

St. Pat's - Like Christmas (Including Annoying Family Members, By All Means)

"Yes, in terms of partying, St. Pat's at the UnbelievaBase is second only to Christmas ..."

And Jeff is spot on in so saying!

Faith and begorrah! You haven't the slightest idea! The festive mood is thick in the air around the Unbelieva-Base this week! So thick we (meaning: I) have started early by testing and fine tuning my traditional Gaelic costume.

You know how a picture's worth a thousand words? Well ... feast your eyes with a little preview of me "getting my Irish on" and be amazed:

Come Friday, there will be absolutely NO trousers on this guy! (But fear not! The festive St. Patrick's socks will probably be present.)

Take it away, Clark!

Halloween Spoil Sports

"Why not a Halloween drive? the question was asked from across the dinner table while the three of us were repasting in the Unbelieva-Base one evening.

And so was born another terrific Unbelievable idea, right there and then.

"We'll gather up donated costumes and distribute them throughout the tri-state area to whoever requests them!" came one thought.

"Candy donations, too!" came another.

"No doubt some of the little tykes - or at least their parents, who are more than welcome to join in - will want to dress to a 'T' just like us, cravats and play Lobster Rage Fists just so!" came a third.

"Hey! We can even throw our own open house Halloween extravaganza here at the Unbelieva-Base! The kids will be clamoring to come join the fun!" came yet another.

Apple dunking! Pin the tail on the dragon! "Graveyard" cupcakes! Festive orange and black popcorn balls! Pumpkin carving! Jello brains! Scary stories! A chili cook-off for the adults! A terrific time will be had by all! What could possibly go wrong?

What indeed?

And that's when the Society of Idiotic Ludicrous and Laughable Yucksters (the "SILLYs") took note and decided they needed to throw a wrench in the machine.

And what a wrench it was ... because these folks have priors, little did we know:

 

Fortunately, The Unbelievables know how to deal with these types of weirdos ... 

Back In The Fold

"You want I should knock some sense into this Michael guy ... ???"

Those guys ... !!!

First? They tried to reason with me, doing their best to circumvent my departure from The Unbelievables. 

Then? they considered strong arm tactics, playing around with bringing in Guido The Knuckleballer (above) to "convince" me not to leave. (They realized there was no point in doing that. Each of us knows Unbelieva-Fu - Guido wouldn't stand a chance against me.)
 
I told them my mind was made up, that it was a done deal. I had to go. But I could tell my story about a journey of self-discovery wasn't flying with them. That's why they insisted on throwing a farewell party.

But ... it wasn't a party the guys threw ...

... it was an intervention.

Well ... the guys had a little help from some of The Unbelieva-Babes ...

They confessed they'd exhausted all other means of reason, that - in the guise of a party - was simply a matter keeping  my best interests in mind. Departure from The Unbelievables was tantamount to throwing a well-built career down the drain. They gave examples of all the good we'd done as a team, all the benefits we'd provided to the public, all the evil we'd thwarted over the years. It was hard to argue their points.

But the real clincher?

"The word is out among the bad guys, too. Some of them have sent us letters asking we consider their humble requests for inclusion as replacements in your absence. Of course that's not going to happen ... but the fact they even have the gall to ask ... that's reason enough you should stay, don't you think?"

And they were right, of course. I mean ... who could fill the shoes of Amigo Tóxico? Who could possibly NOT wear pants better than me? And, honestly, stopping Nick O'Teen dead in his second hand tracks by partnering with Death and, in return, dropping teen smoking to an all-time low ... what other job held such satisfaction as that? Such do-goodery right there elicited a certain sort of attraction found nowhere else. And so much more.

That clinched it. I decided to do the right thing. I was back in the fold.

And right then ... the intervention? It became a party. Complete with Furious D ...

Because, really, we don't do interventions all that well ...

A pretty good example of how on of our "interventions" turn out ...

Parties, on the other hand ...

P.S. Marissa and Laura were thrilled I was back, too.

The Party To Save Michael

Yesterday Clark and I decided that we needed to sit the boy down (Michael, that is) and try to knock some sense into him. Not literally, you understand. We haven't had to get physical with him, at least not yet.


First, we reminded him (again) of all the great stuff he was going to be missing out on (see Clark's post from Wednesday).


"It's no use, fellas" he said, shaking his head. "My mind is made up. I'm retiring from the butt-kicking game."


We played along. "So what are planning to do with your time?"
"Well, I'm not sure just yet. What I think I might do is to go on a spiritual journey of self-discovery. I shall journey to the Himalayas, find a lonely peak - a blunt one - and sit on it for a few years."

Yeah, right.

At this, I'm sorry to say, we had to stifle a giggle.
Clark said, "Well, OK, if your mind is made up. But at least we should throw you a leaving bash. Invite all our friends. Blow the roof off the place. Whaddya say?"


Might have been a trick of the light but I swear I saw a flicker of suspicion in Michael's eyes.
"Well, alright," said Michael with some reticence. "But don't go to too much trouble, guys."
"Come on, how long have we known each other?" I replied. "We will make it tasteful and chic. It'll be a night to remember."


The party is set for tonight. We have invited EVERYONE, including that caveman we once discovered frozen in a ravine in Sausalito (long story).

Now just calm down, Ug.

The Unbelievababes have been working on decorating the rooms.

Nice job, Gloria!

Marissa has set the tables.

I hit the kitchen with Ulf the Unbelievadog to whip up mass quantities of whipped potatoes.

We even convinced one of Michael's old girlfriends Greta Scacchi to put in an appearance.

We even hired a boat.

So, hopefully, we can change the man's mind. We'll let you know how we get on. Wish us luck.

Ghosts of Costume Parties Past

Now, you may be wondering (you may not be wondering actually, I've no idea), "Since you guys are experts in disguise, you must love getting dressed up for little or no reason, so why do you only have ONE costume contest per year?".

Well, it's true, we ARE rather fond of dressing up. And we LOVE a good costume party.

Us with Marissa at the 1968 Halloween Mixer. Who's who? Hint: Marissa's on the right.

We've been holding costume parties since forever. But it was only after a couple years we realised what a good opportunity fancy dress balls present to us crimefighting types. Opportunities to gather information.

We decided it would be a rather brilliant wheeze if we were to put the word out on the grapevine that we were hosting a costume party, knowing that eventually, word would reach the criminal underground.

Master criminals are very fond of dressing up and showing off (think The Joker, The Penguin, et al). Even ugly toddler Henri Petit and the diabolical Lester Von Hornrimm have been known to slap on some greasepaint and funny clothes from time to time - and to dress up for a party too (see what I did there? Ha ha ha!).

That's Henri in the middle.

Any road up, what we'd do is this...

Get some of the Unbelievababes to work the door, serve the drinks etc. All in costume, of course.

Guests arrive, in costume.

Everyone's in costume, nobody knows who is who, the guests eat, drink, relax and start talking shop.

We have microphones placed everywhere, recording conversations between evil-doers and ne'er-do-wells.

It's brilliant. And because nobody knows who is wearing what, sometimes we don't even show up!

We're elsewhere, kicking butt and fighting crime. 

But anyway, that's not the point. I was supposed to talk about entries from previous Unbelievables costume contests. There were many clangers and howlers I can recall, but my favourite one is this - it's wrong and right on so many levels I have to give it a special mention.

The name's not quite right, and there are only two, but come on! Borderline genius, Elsie and Fay Rectangle from Attleboro, MA!

Oh, and a special Happy Halloween greeting to our spectacular friend Monica Lewis (yes, that Monica Lewis, who is seen here getting in on the act.)

P.S. The real reason we only have ONE costume contest per year? Halloween, natch.

Get those entries in! There may be a prize in it for you! Or not.

Petit The Party Pooper

You may be forgiven for thinking that people in the crime-fighting biz have this sort of, uh, bond with their arch-nemeses (nemesises? nemesii?). All the time in superhero movies and comics, not to mention thriller/spy flicks (think J.Bond Esq.) you'll see these types confront each other and gab, gab, gab about this and that instead of kicking butt. Or they'll start in with some fisticuffs and then some witty banter, followed by more fisticuffs. It's like they're pals really, underneath it all, and one's good and one's not so good but the good one isn't perfect and essentially they are like two sides of the same coin.

So like I said, you may be forgiven for believing that in real life, we're like that too.

Ahem. No.

Take this little creep Henri Petit, shown here with his mom (she's a wrong'un if ever I saw one).

"That's right son... breeeathe deeeep."

When he and his henchmen invaded our party (see previous instalment) it could have been construed as one of those comic-book fantasy moments where a villain shows up and merely wants to hang out with his do-gooder counterpart, like it's some sort of gentlemen's agreement.

Baloney. We knew from the get-go that if Petit shows up unannounced (or even announced, for that matter), he's only there to stir up trouble. No matter how good his mom's potato salad might be. Not that we'd know - Clark peed in it before anyone could get a taste. Purely as a preventive measure, of course. That delicious-looking dish was probably laced with some mind-bending substance or poisonous tincture, so it was best to render the stuff inedible. You can't be too careful.

There was no goodie/baddie camaraderie when he showed up, just a swift measure of whoopass and marching orders for this evil tot. He's been a thorn in our backsides ever since we first encountered the demonic infant. We know he's up to no good, even when asleep. He can't help it. It's his nature. 

Dreaming up more wicked plans, no doubt.

Anyway, once we had sent the nasty little pipe-smoker on his way with a few bruises and a soggy diaper, the party resumed and went off without a hitch. Michael wheeled out his Unbelieva-stereo-box

and put on a couple of his favourite LPs.

 We partied till dawn, chuckling occasionally about the feeble attempts of Petit to try and ingratiate himself. Potato salad indeed! Whatever next?

Party crasher (part II)

Henri Petit: "Well well well, The Unbelievables are having a party. Partying, are we? Are we here to par-tay? Heh heh heh."
Michael: "Get out of here, Petit."
HP: "Relax. I'm not here to cause trouble. On the contrary, in fact. I'm here to celebrate."
Jeff: "You're picking the wrong place to stir up trouble, chum."
HP: "No, I mean it. I even brought potato salad. Just like my mother used to..."
Clark: "We hate you, you hideous, vile infant!"
HP: "FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME, I AM NOT A... Look, we've had our differences over the years..."
M: "You reek of curdled baby formula, stale tobacco smoke and enmity."
HP: "As I was saying, while we may have had our differences over the years..."
J: "And failure. I definitely smell failure on you, Henri. Like you've been wallowing around in a big puddle of it for years and years and years and years."
HP: "...at the end of the day, you've won some, I've won some and there's a hard-earned mutual respect between us."
C: "You are a disgusting, misshapen lump of goo with eyes. Nobody loves you beyond the sense of satisfaction that comes from inflicting physical harm on you."
HP: "Are-are you... peeing in my potato salad? What is wrong with you?"

Party Crasher

We debated ... but only for a moment.

And it really wasn't that much of a debate. As a matter of fact it was more the posing of a quick question.

"You know ... Monday is our 300th post on the website.  Should we throw some sort of shindig to celebrate?"

Collectively and with gusto, we all blurted out "DUH!" and got down to business.

The result? The entire community of Stilleto Flats joined us over the weekend to celebrate.

We decided to rent the the Flats' local park for the event so as to accommodate everyone who wanted to come. There's nothing quite like tossing a fest at your home base, right?

And there was indeed the gathering. Tents and balloons and music and food and frolickry were the order of the day. Jeff made a big deal of it by whipping up his world famous Cocktail Weenie Casserole. Clark made certain his Corvette was washed and polished and behind velvet rope so everyone could gander at it and take pictures as they saw fit (No touching allowed though.) And me? Well ... I donned trousers for the occasion. You know ... as a change of pace.

There was laughter in the air, the Unbelieva-Babes made certain everyone had a refreshing beverage at hand, the dance floor was crowded, back slaps were given liberally, smiles shown everywhere and the good times were flowed in abundance.

And then?

In tow with several of his goons, that little rat bastard Henri Petit crashed the party with a big bowl of potato salad*.

And that's when all hell broke loose ... 

*In reality, the bowl wasn't that big. It was simply Petit's diminutive size that gave it that appearance.

St. Patrick's Day? Accomplished.

Ah, yes ... the Irish St. Patrick's party. 

But of course the party boasted plenty of food. (You stick with the basics first and foremost at an Irish shindig hosted in Ireland lest the locals become restless.) 
 

... and drink ...

... and the usual party games to go along with (or promote) a festive social atmosphere ...

And, of course, there has to be a DJ.

Now ... you might think it wise to have one of the locals stand behind the turntables when in Ireland. But The Unbelievables know an opportunity when it presents itself. So ...

Yep. Furious D. Because nothing will start-startle a party than a DJ who comes directly out of left field. And Furious D was nothing less than that.

Dressed accordingly in blue (above, as is his signature) "D" had everyone scratching their heads right from the get-go. You start off with a little Lawrence Welk tune and play it out for 30 seconds - just enough for everyone "not in the know" to begin to get a little heated beneath the kilt, so to speak - and then put the kabosh on that nonsense by bringing it to a screeching halt with the likes of Tag Team's Whoomp! (There It Is) and House Of Pain's Jump Around. Then? The party was just this side of out of control.

Naturally, Laura and Marissa were the hit of the party in their get-ups. Especially on the dance floor. (Jeff sat out his dance moves - his bruised ankles were giving him problems ...) Clark was in his glory discussing the finer points of professional hockey to anyone who was willing to allow a bending of his/her ear (surprisingly, that was quite a few). Me? Well ... I introduced the throng to the first "No Trousers St. Patrick's Day" which, I am assured, is now an annual mid-March tradition. Enough said.

Amazingly, we were able to recreate this party photo during a break in the music:

See if you can see any differences in the following shot from the one above:

Pretty uncanny, isn't it? It's just what we do.

At the party's end, everyone got a green-tinged Krispy Kreme to munch. As the brood made its way out the door, we heard various choruses of Danny Boy wafting from up and down the lanes as everyone stumbled (and otherwise) home. (We're pretty certain most of them made it to their intended destinations, some with a little help from their friends.)

Was a good time had by all? Per the ladies who originally asked us, absolutely.

Thank you, Ladies!

Let's just say we convinced quite a few new friends to join us at our digs in Stiletto Flats for Cinco de Mayo this year. 

They're getting their passports in order right this very minute ...