Unbelievaball Explained!

"... I want to leave room for the guys to expound upon

the unique and exciting sport of UNBELIEVABALL ..."

- Clark last post

What you have to understand, first and foremost, is the fact UNBELIEVABALL has an important pre-game ritual to establish the boundaries of the particular game to be played. Of course cocktails are a necessary part of this ritual because any sport worthy of play demands a strict adherence to rules. And in order to stick to those rules you need to hash them out beforehand so everyone's on the same page when it comes to "go time." 

UNBELIEVABALL is no different in that regard. In fact it's rather unique as game play is different every time it's played. So, sitting down to chat about an upcoming game is not only civilized but a necessary part of the process. And what could be more civilized than working things out over a martini or a mai tai or two? Hashing out the necessaries is tantamount to professionalism in our book.

Just as important as the rules, though, is one odd item of note you may have picked up on: That we wear the same uniform as the Unbelieva-Babes who play alongside us. There are a couple reasons for this: 1) We're not afraid to show off what we have (if you know what I mean) and 2) the skimpy duds promote fair play without undue roughhousing. After all, there's not much in the way of padding in that apparel. (Well, that's not entirely true. The ladies have more "padding" than us. We gents have the natural muscle. So it's a win-win all around.) From the start you have to be a man of confidence in order to suit up for UNBELIEVABALL. It's not a game for wimps or those with weak constitutions or image issues.

Interestingly, it's a three-team contest with all teams on the field and jockeying for position at the same time. Needless to say you have to be on your toes at all times. Concentrate on one team too much and the other will capitalize on your folly. That right there is part of the uniqueness of UNBELIEVABALL - using the other teams as allies while, at the same time, realizing you have to keep them at bay from scoring on you. Not an easy task, let me tell you. This makes the game play intense, ultra-strategic and robust all at the same time.

Are there referees or umpires or officials involved? No. This is a game of gentlemanly-ship with clear-cut obedience to the rules put down and agreed to at the beginning of the contest. If you don't follow those rules chaos ensues. And the game isn't a free-for-all. It's a tournament of wills, a mental exercise in strategy and a challenge filled with intrigue. 

Not only that but you have to present a positive image when you're around the Unbelieva-Babes. Their presence is key to playing a fair and valued contest. Hockey and football and the like are fine for the neanderthal set who thrive on the physical prowess of their respective activities; UNBELIEVABALL requires more of a disciplined approach. It's a more satisfying competition than a mere test of brute strength.

Lastly, there's the all-important post-game discussion where Team Clark, Team Jeff and Team Michael review the match and dissect what worked, what didn't and how fabulous the Unbelieva-Babes looked on the field of play. Naturally, post-game cocktails are essential here, too.

And there you have it - UNBELIEVABALL in a nutshell. A cultured, sophisticated sport ... with rockin' uniforms.

But wait. I didn't really detail the actual rules of UNBELIEVABALL, did I? And that's because there are better, more capable men then me who can convey such detail-oriented explanation.

And one of those men just might be named Jeff ...

Downtiming It

*yawn*


Yep, that downtime.

Time to relax. Re-energize. Embrace the slack. Cool down. Tune out. With nary a care in the world. 

Because ... sometimes? You just need to unplug from the world and let it do its own thing without you. It will still be there when you get back.

Me? It just so happens I did some of that last week, in a manner of speaking. I took a much needed vacation. On my return, little did I know I would come back to a week's worth of downtime. Talk about the planets aligning ... !!!

I was so relaxed in fact while "downtiming" I didn't make time to post yesterday when I should have. That's how comfortable I am currently! (Yes, you may envy me.)

At any rate, you may wonder: How do I do at doing nothing? Not like Clark and his zen time, I'll tell you that. His languid ideas are too much work for me; all those jigsaw puzzles and stamp collecting. Nope, not my bag.

This is what I do ...

I'll relax in the pool with an ice cold brewski ...

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh ...

When that one has been quaffed leisurely-like, I'll call out to one of the Unbelieva-Babes for another ...

It's a rough life. I'm just here to tackle it ...

Later, a third one will most likely be in order ...

*sip*

I might get motivated from all the relaxing to ask a question or two ...

I'll probably wake up from snoozing in the pool to find yet another refreshing cold one has been placed in my hand ...

You may be wondering wear the lime slice is.

Those thoughtful Unbelieva-Babes take care of that prior to handing a beer over ...

*yawn*

Downtiming: It's hard sometimes.

Right about now you're wondering what Jeff's ideas on downtime consist of. You won't have long to wait ...

*yawn ... sip*

The "Short" Of It

You may have asked yourself previously: "True ... The Unbelievables are natural attractants of the fairer sex. It's been well documented time and again. But how, exactly, do such comely gals gravitate to those guys?"

Terrific question. Something not so "out there" in the way of understanding that it can't be explained easily.

In the simplest of terms, as a group, it comes courtesy of our super suave sophistication. Individually, it's our own personal tenets. 

Think about it: Wouldn't you want to be a member of The Unbelievables, consisting of days spent kicking evil doer butt, happy-go-lucky shindigs jam-packed with food and frolickery and adoring fans and well-wishers galore? What's not to like?

But I'm here to delve into the personal aspects of our attraction, specifically hot cars (Clark), good food (Jeff) and a "less is more" approach (me).

Yes, it's a fact Clark digs his motor vehicles. You know well his fondness for his beloved yellow Corvette, a 100% chick magnet if ever there was one.

 One of Clark's many photos atop his Corvette ...

Jeff? Let's just say good cookin' isn't only for the male of the species; a man in a kitchen stewing up a batch of signature whipped potatoes is sexy as all get out.

Many, many chefs the world over have attempted to duplicate

even one of Jeff's whipped potato recipes.

All have failed ... spectacularly.

Me? As mentioned (and also well documented in these pages) it's the allure of minimalism that gets the ladies ("Hello, Ladies!") excited. In short, no shorts. Pantslessness. The breech of bloomers. Undeniably, it's simplicity at its finest.

Now ... some of you might think "That's just downright creepy. A guy walking around without pants, strutting about in nothing but boxer briefs ... ewww." But you would be wrong.

It takes a special skill set to pull this look off, folks.

Especially when you've got the legs to pull it off. (And I have'em.) Not to mention the confidence. You see, it's not just the fact of "sans trouserism" ability; few have it. It's not as simple as doffing your jeans. First and foremost you have to have stately limbs for it to work. And you must project certainty in so doing. There's got to be poise, along with a bit of carefree brashness. Not to mention nerve. And you have to have your wits about you, too. It's not just daring; there's a definite mettle that needs to be in one's possession in order to establish this particular state of being. You have to own it without boasting it.

Clark can't do it. Jeff can't do it. I've offered pointers, they've tried. But we all have our strengths and weakness. Only I can attain "lack of slacks" and make it look effortless. It's a gift, really.

After all, Jeff and I can't woo the ladies ("Hello again, Ladies!") the way Clark can with his roadster. And I, along with Clark, bow to the mastery of Jeff's spud-making skills which get the girls running his way.

"Have you've seen Michael without pants today?"

(Typical Unbelieva-Babe whispering behind closed doors at the Unbelieva-Base.)

I mean ... when you've got it, you've got it. And The Unbelieva-Babes know I have it.

Later in the week, the guys will elaborate on their endowments that make the Unbelieva-Babes giddy.

Having A Smashing Thanksgiving

Well, as you may or may not have noticed, it was Thanksgiving last week.However, we were still reeling from Clark's unfortunate moment of incarceration and his troubles with Henri Petit and the now-disgraced Officer Sixpack Bicep and were too tired to do anything about Turkey Day Dinner. However, the Unbelievababes were on hand, saw how down in the dumps we were and pulled out all the stops to make our Thanksgiving a pleasant and happy one.

It was unseasonably warm on Thursday here in Stiletto Flats, so Barby Kewribbs whipped out the charcoal grill and got some spatchcocked pheasant starters sizzling and getting our mouths watering.

Then the beautiful Sue Donymm surprised us with some whoppers, glistening and moist and ready to be tasted. Turkeys, that is.

There were some lovely side dishes prepared by the delightful Jill O'Salad...

and the groaning board was a sight to behold.

The whole thing was so enjoyable that we completely forgot about all that unpleasantness with Petit.

Well, almost completely. Clark spent a couple hours playing his newest favourite video game - The Unbelievables (in stores just in time for Christmas, folks!) - specifically the special level named Clark's Defenestration Station where you can relive again and again some of Clark's best out-of-window-kicking-and-chuckings (see below).

Ciao!

Cured ... But With Side Effects

The question is this: Do we, The Unbelievables, each of us individually ... do we really need some measure of therapy?

When you're in a position of authority as we are, doling out justice and common sense to the senseless as we often do, when you find yourself in a sometimes precarious and delicate decision-making mode, the answer is yes ... yes we do. On occasion. Much as we might not want to admit it to ourselves.

After all, as Clark mentioned earlier this week, no matter the kind of reader you may be of our adventures (and non-adventures) we have recurring themes.

Mine? Duh. Pantslessness. As if you didn't already know.

Personally, I've never had a problem with it. But when my two cohorts and I first purchased and modified and, finally, housed ourselves permanently at our Unbelieva-Base in Stiletto Flats, Nevada it was, well ... a bit of an "issue" for them.

I'll spare you the details but it came down to this: "Michael ... Jeff and I have buried our pride long enough to session with the brilliant Dr. Quinton Quitit. We think it's time you had a chat with him as well ..."

Understand, I love the guys. So, to keep the camaraderie high and continuous, I relented. It was off to Bedrest, New Hampshire for "a talk."

It went a bit like this (which, you might recognize, was uncannily similar to Clark's original session visit):

QQ: Hello Michael. It's nice to see you. I'm told you are here because of a bit too little pants wearing, yes?

ME: You betcher bippy, doc. Freedom! What can I say? Ease of movement! It's not like I have defenestration issues like Clark or I find the need to shave a spud or two and concoct a murphy dish several times a week. And really ... who am I hurting? Besides ... the Unbelieva-Babes dig the cut of my jib, despite how little of a jib there may be to see*.

QQ: *heh heh heh* As it is to us all, Michael.

ME: Really? It's not just me? You enjoy below the waist freedom as well?

QQ: Of course! Doesn't everyone? Why, it's as natural as eating, sleeping and making love.

ME: Whew! That's a relief!

QQ: The key is moderation. If you do too much of anything, it is bad. Very, very bad! Too much eating? Bad. Too much sleeping? Bad. Too much with the making of the love ... well, maybe not as bad. Ha ha! I am kidding. But ... restraint. And common sense. They're the keys to this proclivity you have, you understand. My point is this: It's like Goldilocks and The Three Bears, which very few people realize is a true story; you have to find the "just right" fit between too much and not enough.

ME: But how, Doc? How?? I really want all of us to be happy and get along but I know they're not completely on board with me running around in my skivvies 24/7 ...

QQ: You'll see soon enough. Now ... let's get you fitted for some electric nipple clamps and a pair of goggles ...

Afterward, I couldn't see or wear a shirt for a week. But I also didn't kick anyone out of windows either. (Because I don't have a problem with kicking people out of windows like Clark.)

But what I did notice was I acquired a heightened sense of awareness for actually wearing things.

For example, my love and devotion to the fantastic and stylish Lobster Rage Fist. Especially while outfitted in a tie, vest and - you guessed it - trousers.

All I have to say is this: Thanks, Dr. Quinton Quitit. You're one swell guy ...

"You're welcome."

*I wondered if he caught the not-so-subtle pants reference. He did as it turned out.

TVOD

Despite the obvious shoddiness and overall uninspired scripts we've seen, replete with sad, poor imitations of our snappy selves in gutterball roles, there were one or two we found amusing. If only the production companies would have come forward and asked us for help or permission or even a piece of the action for the use of our likenesses, we might have given our blessing. (Doubtful but ... you know ...)

Alternatively we found it necessary to sic our legal representation after them, The Law Offices of Poon, headed by our go-to buddy and confidant Chung S. Poon, advisor extraordinaire.

Our pal, Chung S. Poon

(To date, and because of Mr. Poon's legal wrangling, we've seized the ideas for those few that have potential. Developed properly, they could see the light of day ... but under our watchful eyes only.)

Clark said it Monday: Television had a very specific cycle back in the day. Now? Not so much. But put a couple spiffy ideas out there featuring The Unbelievables - not recycled, reconstituted drivel but thoughtful, interesting, engaging sitcoms or dramas or the like - and television could be brought back to its glory days of old.

Instead? Well ... you've seen some of the examples earlier this week. To wrap up the week, I'm offering a couple more which necessitated cease and desist letters. A few even went so far as to interest a couple prominent production studios which, in turn, ordered pilots. (Don't ask which ones. Let your mind go wild.)

"Frank" ... ??? Who's Frank?

Uhmmm ... no.

The bi-line on this one?

"And how to get around those pesky child labor laws."

Wow.

The original title on this one was

"Look! Up In The Sky! Stargazing with 3 Guys Somewhere in Nevada"

Guess they wanted to go with the more straightforward title ...

This one was supposed to be a one hour after-school special one-shot.

Almost makes you want to give up television all together ... doesn't it?

Still ... that Unbelievababes one Jeff mentioned doesn't sound too shabby ...

We'd Do Just About Anything ... But We Won't Do That ...

The following took place a few months ago ...

*ring, ring*

Jeff answered the Unbelieva-Phone.

"Hello? Yes? Yeah? Well ... hold on a moment. That's not my department. Michael's the one you want to talk to ... hold on a moment ..."

I heard my name yelled out.

"What?"

"There's a Standish Coffee on the phone, says he's from San Diego Comic-Con. Pick up, will you?"

"What does he want? I was just about to go out for volleyball practice with a few Unbelieva-Babes ..." I told him.

"No clue. I told him you would handle it."

Hrmphing at the interruption (hey ... you get interrupted en route to a little volleyball practice with the Unbelieva-Babes and see if you don't get tiffed) but somewhat interested at who it was, I picked up the phone. "Hello ... this is Michael ..."

"Michael? Of The Unbelievables? Great. This is Standish Coffee, marketing head of Comic-Con International. I want to extend an invitation to you and your comrades to come down to San Diego next month to do a panel at San Diego Comic-Con. We'll pay for all expenses - travel, lodging, meals. Your panel will be up to you, you can talk about whatever you want for an hour. We'll even schedule you in Ballroom 20, one of the best venues. Thousands will attend. You can do a Q&A, show video, we can arrange an autograph session, whatever you want. Having you guys here will be a thrill. What do you say?"

Clark had overheard Jeff mention Comic-Con and both had congregated around me to try to pick up on what was going on.

"Thanks for the call. We're not interested, though. We appreciated you guys thinking of us. That lodging and travel freebie is mighty tempting. Maybe we can plan for next year if we can have something that jives with what Comic-Con is and does. Later." I hung up.

"Was that Comic-Con? Did I hear right?!? I've never been! I want to go!" Clark said excitedly. "Get back on the phone and tell that guy we'll be there!"

"Clark ... listen to me: Comic-Con is about comics, comic characters, comic books, comic art. We don't have anything to do with any of that ..."

"Are you insane?!? Hollywood has been attending for years! Promoting new TV shows! Debuting movie trailers! Offering stars the chance to show their adoring fans they appreciate them! Don't we want to do that!?!"

"No, we don't. We're not performing monkeys. We don't have a comic book ..." (I jotted a note in a notebook about putting an Unbelievables comic together) "... and we don't need them. Our fans know where we are and they get hold of us whenever they want."

"He's got a point, Clark ..." Jeff muttered. "I mean ... I'd like to go but Michael's right: We'd be swamped if we went. And we don't have any real reason to be there other than as fans. Still ..."

"... but ..." Clark stammered "... Comic-Con! All expenses paid, yes?! Free! Stinkin'! Tickets! To! Comic-Con ... !!! Chicks in superhero costumes!"

So ... now? Clark might have a point ...

"Let's not lose sight of who we are and what we do here, guys. Let's not get caught up in the glamor of it all. I mean ... what can Comic-Con offer that we don't already enjoy or do? We do have the Unbelieva-Babes, remember ..."

The guys reluctantly understood and nodded knowingly.

You see ... The Unbelievables, while we might have carefree and seemingly wild lifestyles and adventures, have an image to maintain. And pandering to the masses is not that image.

This, kicking our enemies out multi-story tower windows however, is:

Jeff and Clark will provide a few other examples when we turned down situations. Or ... they may not ...

It Matters Not

Wednesday Jeff said:

"Michael will be with you on Friday with more tales of danger, toilets (maybe) and other stuff (you never know with Michael, he can be kinda random sometimes)."

Just when and where have I gotten this reputation, I ask in all sincerity?

Look: I shy away from using two words day in and day out and those two words are "always" and "never." But I will state this: There is always a method to my madness. And that goes double for my randomness.

Yes, I'll admit: I can be random at times. But we've all heard the term "what goes around comes around" ... right? I just resemble that remark, is all.

So if you keep that in in the forefront of your mind, we'll get along just fine.

Now, back to business ...

Clark started the week off with "It's not that we'll refuse to offer our services ... it's just that we're going to involve ourselves with actual crimes and credible threats, where innocent people might actually be at risk." And he's right. It's not that we don't care, it's simply we don't care about what restroom someone uses.

It's like the time when we first moved into the Unbelieva-Base way back when. Understand, Nevada is hot and we were helping out the moving staff. It was the first time the locals noticed I wasn't wearing pants which - as you well know - has been a non-issue for years now. Back then? Not so much. But does anyone remember the uproar I caused that day? No. You know why?

Because it just doesn't matter.

(L to R: Clark, me, Jeff)

This photo shows us at Union Square on assignment years ago,

one of the first where I convinced the guys going pantsless

would up our popularity quotient. It was a great move and it worked.

(Side Note: It was Jeff's idea for he and Clark to wear shoe lifts.

"It will bolster our sex appeal" Jeff claimed. He was right on the money.

It took hours just to finish all the autograph and photo requests.)

Remember all those goats at the beginning of last year? No. You know why?

Because it just doesn't matter.

You have to admit: They were mighty cute ...

How about all the complaints and noise and broken glass clean-up from Clark tossing Henri Petit out uncountable windows over the years not to mention all of Petit's protestations? Right, you got it. It just doesn't matter.

Hey ... this happens sometimes. (Hokay ... lots of times. Get over it.)

That parade we held a couple years ago in honor of all the Unbelieva-Babes in our employ, both past and present? Sure, it caused a scene. Traffic up the wazoo. (And, to be fair, we DID work a deal with Stiletto Flats officials about all the trash generated on the streets because we're good guys after all.) But when all was said and done, no one even recalls some of the faux pas that came to pass. All anyone talks about is the fantastic cocktail party we threw post parade back at the Unbelieva-base.

There was a lot of trash to deal with ...

Because, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't really an issue to begin with ...

... which brings me full circle right back to this toilet use deal:

Seriously, folks: It. Just. Doesn't. Matter.

Or, as The Clarkster said when he put it to bed Monday:

"... adults with a modicum of maturity and self-confidence are remarkably good at handling those circumstances."

And that's the truth, Ruth.

The End Of Kip The Mail Boy, Part 1

"WHAT?! You don't mean ... !?!"

I was about to exclaim something but was distracted by Clark cocking a couple firearms to dispose of Kip once and for all. His "Who says I didn't?" comment, shot at us way too coolly and confidently, was obviously the last straw.

And if you know anything about Clark you know he has an extremely short tolerance toward Kip.

Apparently that tolerance just got cut in half courtesy of our little exchange with Kip. It was the perfect excuse for Clark to "take action" on our (previously loyal) Mail Boy once and for all.

"Clark, cool it. You can't do that. WE don't do that. Hold on a moment ..." I urged, then turned back to Kip. 

"Look ... this charade has gone on long enough. There's no possible way, without our help, you could ever pull off a convincing about face and gain the trust of our opponents so easily. Our female opposition wouldn't tolerate you - they'd pulverize you in a hot minute. As it is The Unbelieva-Babes barely put up with you ... or so I've heard. And posing as someone you're not? It doesn't add up. Spill it, Kip. The truth. Right now. Because Clark's trigger finger is itching ... and I'm not sure Jeff and I can contain him this time."

Look at that baby face: This ... THIS is the face of defiance?

Kip The Mail Boy is now The Unbelievables' enemy?!?

Ulf The Unbelieveadog yipped and growled ominously while Jeff held him at bay. Clark just fumed ...

... and that's when Kip crossed his arms and sneered.

I couldn't believe it. None of us could. He'd never done that before.

Sure, Kip was sharp, even witty sometimes ... but defiant? Never.

What happened to the Kip we knew and loved? The good kid? The "unofficial spokesman" for The Unbelievables, loyal through and through? Upstanding to the last?

I sighed. I looked at Jeff, who shrugged. I looked at Clark. I could practically see the bit he was champing on.

"Clark? He's all yours ..."

"The Unbelievables Must Die"

The room was packed. And it was a big room. There wasn't an empty seat in the place.

It seemed everyone was there: Herman Van Veen. Greta and Gerta, The Klumpmasterflash Twins. Negative Charge. The Leapers. (Though why they were present no one really knew.) Henri Petit. The Double-D Dames, Mac Ramey. Little Debbie. Mona Pletheridge, Dixie Bose-Sennheiser, Iona Mansion and all the other evil photographic models. Coach Fenella Flipoff. The infamous Woman With No Name. The Hostess. Lumpy "Hair Eye Am" Gonzalez and Neal Anderthal. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Cripes ... even Chafe Del Husqvarna was in attendance. I mean ... wowzah.

The room oozed evil intent. You couldn't make your way down an aisle without catching a whiff of sinister, dire circumstance. The place smelled thick as thieves.

Everyone was whining something at an ominously tall man dressed all in black behind a podium on a stage at the front of the room.

"They're tough, let me tell you ..."

"Jeff talks funny!"

"More windows have been broken with my head than I can count ..."

"Butt-kickin' doesn't begin to describe them ..."

"Michael doesn't even look that good in shorts!"

"All of our plans, months of scheming, tossed to the curb every time!"

"We spend good money trying to foil them! And we've got nothing to show for it!"

"Clark's 'Vette ain't all that, let me tell you ..."

"And we're damned tired of their ultra do-goodery! Not to mention all those Unbelieva-Babes hanging off their arms!"

The ominous tall man dressed all in black held up both his arms, hands parted, and waited patiently until the room quieted. Then he spoke:

"All of you have the exact same problem. And that problem is named Clark, Jeff and Michael, better known as The Unbelievables. I'm here to take care of that problem once and for all ..."

"HOW???" came the cry from all over the room.

"Your mistake, the thing each and every one of you have failed to understand, is this: You have to rid yourselves of The Unbelievables permanently. They have to be disposed of once and for all. And there's only one way to do that. It's something none of you has ever had the balls to do, let alone propose. I will do it for you ..."

"AND WHAT'S THAT???" came the cry from all over the room once more.

"I will kill The Unbelievables. They must die ..."

Leap Of The Lame

"Perhaps Michael can unearth some more info about them on Friday."

And "unearth" some more info I did. Reluctantly.

Let me explain ...

The Leapers aren't your ordinary ne'er do wells as you've read. Leaping about? Appearing only every 4 years as Leap Year's Day approaches? What idiocy is that, anyway?

And, truth be told, they're not that adept at thievery or as baddies. As Clark stated, they're "more a gaggle of annoying boobs" than anything else.

But, pain that it may be, we're called upon to quash their antics every election year like clockwork. It's really not that hard.

We find them, they get excited at our appearance, they get more agitated than usual, they do more leaping than usual and we nab them in mid leap. There's not much they can do about it. Easy, peasy.

But ... that "unearthing" I mentioned above ...

It seems the lot of them are from Down Under, I discovered. We didn't know this until recently. They neatly and effectively masked their Aussie accents for some reason -- we just assumed they were from somewhere in the states.

Anyway, some of my sleuthiness revealed they almost worship the Sony PlayStation character Crash Bandicoot. Their logic? Crash was continuously leaping about and crashing into stuff. In the case of the original game he was developed for, Crash "crashed" into crates releasing puzzle pieces to solve puzzles. There was more crashing than leaping, but the leaping part of the character stuck with The Leapers. (Because ... would you believe a gang of sub-par villains named "The Crashers" ... ??? Sounds more like they break into residences and pass out cold 'til morning.)

Thus, the somewhat perplexing origin of The Leapers, such that it is. I know, pretty lame. But what are you going to do? We don't give bad guys their names, they didn't give us ours. (Which, incidentally, is a pretty badass moniker for a top-notch crime fighting team.)

In many ways? The Leapers are a sad, sorry excuse for thugs. Dumb as Henri Petit is, at least he's got some skills. As "nice" as Negative Charge ("Master Of Electricity") is, he sports a menacing computer monitor for a head. The Leapers? They leap. And commit simple thievery, what they believe is the condolence prize for their inability to make it as premiere athletes. Wow.

And there you have it. *yawn* Now? We need to skedaddle and go monitor what those dolts are up to. Life may not always be glamorous as an Unbelievable ... but ...

Wait ... what? Am I goofy?!? Life as an Unbelievable is kick ass! We wouldn't want it any other way!

Weekend? And Unbelieva-Babes? Here we come ... !!!