Unraveling the Gingervator's scheme

As is usually the case when we're chasing down bad guys, we caught up to Bernard "The Gingervator" Bigyott on the roof of one of the office buildings downtown (Aside: Why do bad guys always run into buildings, charge up flight after flight of stairs until they reach the the roof, where they suddenly realize there's nowhere to go? What did they expect?). And, as is also usually the case, he was only too eager to spill his guts (seriously, we didn't even have to ask).

B"G"B: Yeah, I teamed up with Carrot Top. Of course I did! Don't you see the inherent genius in my plan? People loathe that guy. He's a prop comic! Next to him, I couldn't help but look good enough to generate enough good will to re-launch my modelling career.
Me: I have to admit, there's a certain logic there.
Jeff: Yeah, there's nobody in entertainment hated more than prop comics.
Michael: That's true. Well, except maybe mimes.
B"G"B: Mimes?
Me: Ooh yeah, people really hate mimes.
Jeff: And clowns.
Michael: Ugh. Don't get me started on clowns.
B"G"B: Wait...
Me: And of course, ventriloquists.
Jeff: Yuck!
Michael: The worst!
B"G"B: Hey...
Me: So creepy!
Jeff: Jugglers.
Michael: Stilt walkers.
B"G"B: Come on!
Me: Girls with ukuleles.
Jeff: Magicians.
Michael: Puppeteers.
B"G"B: ...
Me: Nuns.
Jeff: Yeah! Wait...what?
Michael: Nuns aren't entertainers.
B"G"B: Nuns?
Me: They're street performers!
Jeff: Welllll....
Michael: Yeah, I can kinda see that. I'll allow it.
B"G"B: Um, hello? What about me?
Me: Huh? Oh yeah, of course everybody hates you.
Jeff: Yeah, just look at you. You're downright offensive on every possible aesthetic level.
Michael: You're truly hideous and you inspire a deep, seething hatred and unrelenting sadness upon the mere sight of your visage.
B"G"B: Yeah, yeah, yeah. So am I under arrest here or what?
Me: Arrest? No, we kick ass. We don't arrest people.
Jeff: We just wanted to tell you to stop sending us mail.
Michael: And leave Carrot Top alone. He hired us to let you know that you creep him out.
B"G"B: (under his breath) Wait 'til you all meet my sister!

The Case Of The Gingervator

Back in the day there was a young boy with ginger hair that we Unbelievables became acquainted with through the magazine photoshoots and catalogue modelling jobs we had. His name was Bernie Bigyott, the son of wealthy banker Bernard Bigyott Sr. and his wife Iona. He was jealous of our good looks and our style, grace and elan, not to mention our success with the ladies. He blamed it on people not understanding him, but we all knew it was because he was a strange-looking redheaded kid.

I mean, what's with that weird facial expression? I know he's meant to be licking his lips, but it looks like he's trying to use his tongue to pick boogers. Really.

Things didn't improve when he got older. His Bacardi advert was to be his last. The decision to grow a 'tache may have been his undoing.

Holy Hell.

Well, he blamed it on us, of course. we were still getting plenty of offers when they were drying up for him. And all this became a little too much to bear. He sank deeper into depression and finally snapped, becoming a bitter and twisted individual hell-bent on revenge... on us. Bernie renamed himself the Gingervator (in homage to his early work, see above) and retreated Unabomber-style to a remote location where he was at liberty to plot and scheme 24/7. 

Suffice it to say, Bernie "The Gingervator" Bigyott was disowned by his family and only very occasionally did anyone hear from him. it was usually us, and the communiques came in the form of threats, either via phone or on notes hand-delivered to our mailbox. We never really took them seriously, believing them to merely be the diseased ramblings of a messed-up mind. That is, until he started to get serious, personal and dangerous. 

I'll leave it to Michael and Clark to let you know what became of The Gingervator. All I will say is that it is serious gut-wrenching, page-turning stuff, and you'll need more than a glass of Canada Dry to recover from it.

Ciao...