Are We Being Played?

Well, it's taken a few days, but we are about 95% caught up. Ever since Negative Charge presented Michael with that rather extensive legal document, the three of us and Ulf the Unbelievadog have been calling all the foes, past and present (including some we haven't even gotten around to telling you about, such as Yodelin' Bob Trevino, the half-Mexican cowboy pigeon rustler, and society pages regular Mandy Rice-Pudden, champagne thief)that signed the document stating that their criminal days were over and they were finally giving in. 

Apparently, it's back to the life of a regular charro for Yodelin' Bob.

And Ms. Rice-Pudden wants to go straight, too.

However.

Like I said, we'd called almost all of them, and so far the responses had been identical. In fact, they'd almost all been word-for-word the same. Almost mantra-like, if you want to know the truth.

I voiced this opinion to Clark, Michael and Ulf quite early on in the process and they quickly told me I didn't know what I was talking about. Three hours later, weary and in need of a break, they looked at me and said - "you know, I think you're right. It's almost like they've been brainwashed. They all say exactly the same thing, like we're talking to a bunch of cult members."

"Yeah, and who's good at brainwashing?" 

"Well, I remember a fellow who had some... minions?"

"You don't mean... Negative Charge himself? You think he set us up?"

"Wuff!" agreed Ulf.

"Alright," said Clark, "let's go see what he has to say for himself. If we're being tricked into taking things easy, I might just have to defenestrate somebody!"


I'll let Clark pick up the tale on Friday.

Indispensable Ulf

Let's just get one thing straight - I was never in any doubt that Ulf was the perfect pooch pal for us unbelieva-chaps - I merely underestimated his abilities, which, let's face it, is easy to do when the only hounds you're used to are your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill, common-or-garden variety dogs. Ulf is one in a million. But to all appearances, he's just a regular dog, although you never can tell what breed. His mastery of disguise is legendary.

So as I was saying, I had yet to see his other abilities put to the test in the field, so to speak. I mean, sure, we set him up one of those dog-show style assault courses, and he aced it. More than that, he set a world record time without even having to be shown what to do. Unlike this feller here...




But I was to find out that there are many strings to Ulf's bow. For example...

He's rescued people in all sorts of dire emergencies. Here he is pulling some poor unfortunates from an icy grave...

Fearlessly diving in first to pull Michael Phelps out of a mucky lake while we three look on in admiration. Old Phelpsy had been on the wacky baccy again.

Searching through the rubble in some foreign land fully equipped to deal with unexploded bombs and landmines etc.

Helpfully guiding a lost dolphin back to her family group.

Demonstrating the art of digging for avalanche victims in the Pyrenees...

and teaching new Search & Rescue recruits how to jump out of helicopters into the icy Alaskan waters beneath in order to save people. 

He's a bomb disposal expert, too. Here he is showing one of those Army robots how it should be done.

On the weekends he trots off down to the airport to help sniff out contraband. He can tell the difference between Colombian marching powder and Lamb Jalfrezi at 100 paces.

Plus, he's extremely useful around here too.

Covering shifts for Kip the Mail Boy when he's on his hols...

Always takes his turns answering the phone...

and he's becoming a pretty decent cook.

The ladies love him. Good boy, Ulf!

Yes, I think it's fair to say that Ulf truly is The Unbelievables' best friend!

Ciao!

Ulf joins the team

Ulf's ability to disguise himself like some kind of chameleon who is also a dog was something that impressed us immediately.

Sometimes, like us, Ulf is black. Don't let it throw you.

But you can never be too cautious when bringing in a potential new team member, be they human, canine or other, so we subjected him to some thorough tests in the lab that yielded some very surprising results. Turns out, there is actually a good reason for Ulf's ability to change his appearance; he's a mathematically impossible combination of a variety of dog breeds:

50% Collie
50% Setter (Irish)
50% Boxer
50% Doberman Pinscher
50% Pointer
99.7% Labrador Retriever

We tasked Kip the Mail Boy with challenging these results in a field study with Ulf, the conclusion of which we caught on video:


Ha ha ha!
Kip is so stupid.

As far as I was concerned, at that exact moment, Ulf was one of us. Jeff needed just a little more convincing, however...

Origin Stories: Ulf The Unbelievadog

Ulf The Unbelievadog

Early on in The Unbelievables career - shortly after the world was made aware of our daring adventures, benefits to the international community at and obvious do-goodery - we discovered a small glitch with our popularity ...

"Damn," Clark huffed one afternoon. "I'm exhausted."

"Me, too," Jeff agreed. "We need to do something to take some of the load off our shoulders."

I chimed in. "Agreed. Shuttling here and there and everywhere to help out with stuff while vanquishing ne'er-do-wells is taking its toll. Let's put our heads together and come up with something."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmm" Clark thought out loud. "How about some outside help? You know ... lackeys or sidekicks or something to ease the burden?"

"That would take lots of time and training. And we're spread thin as it is," I countered.

Jeff jumped up out of his seat. "I've got it! An animal compatriot! Sure, there's training involved but there wouldn't be any back talk! An animal sidekick would work on the cheap with little drama or need for vacations and stuff like that!"

"Brilliant!" Clark agreed. 

"Like what?" I asked.

"A squirrel!" Jeff exclaimed.

"No." I said.

"How about a cat?" Clark suggested.

"Cats are worthless, interested in only themselves. And they don't listen. Plus they don't give a rat's ass about anything but ... well, rats. And mice."

"A dolphin!" Jeff offered.

I gave him a look. "Good only for sea-faring stuff."

"A fox?" Clark asked.

"I don't think so ..."

Jeff pointed a finger in the air: "Hello! Cockroach!"

Both Clark and I looked at him with frowns.

"Bunny rabbit?" Jeff asked sheepishly.*

"I got it. A dog," I concluded. "Trainable, loyal, adaptable, always willing to perform. A dog would be perfect!"

Clark and Jeff agreed.

So it was off to the local shelter to see what there was to see.

There were gads of dogs and cats up for adoption. All three of us went in different directions on the hunt. It was Jeff who found what we were looking for, however.

"He's perfect. An Irish Wolfhound!" But that's not what I saw. I saw a German Shepherd. Clark? Saw a Boxer. We were confused. We called over a shelter attendant to tell us about the dog we found. 

"Oh ... that's an Alaskan Malamute," the helpful employee told us. All three of us looked at each other confused.

Jeff pulled us in close. "You know what? This dog is perfect for us. We're masters of disguise and, obviously, so is this dog. Imagine the confusion on our enemies' faces when they think one kind of dog is coming for them when it will be something entirely different! It's as if this pooch was made just for The Unbelievables!"

There was no denying it. We filled out the paperwork the shelter foisted on us and got all the particulars on him. Healthy, all his shots, likable and easily trainable. And he wasn't even a year old yet. Perfect age.

When we got him home (after a run to a pet store to lavish our new friend with bedding, treats, toys and more) we got down to business.

"What should we call him?" Clark asked. 

"Scruffy!" Jeff blurted.

"Jasper!" Clark countered.

"Caper!" I suggested.

Our new dog just looked at us. "Ulf" he barked.

Clark stated the obvious: "This is going to be tough ..."

"Rulf" the dog replied. 

"How are we going to come up with anything any of us are going to agree with?"

"Schlulf" the dog gruffed.

"I know: Each one of us gets a say in some aspect of his name ... within reason, of course. Maybe that will narrow it down for us. Me? His name has to be monosyllabic. Easier to call that way."

"Ulf!" the dog shot out.

"Okay ... my stipulation is it has to be simple to spell," Jeff told us.

"Wulf!" our furry newcomer barked.

"It's got to sound German," Clark mandated.

"....rrrrrrUlf ... !!!" the canine called.

We looked at each other enlightened. You could practically see the light bulbs glowing over our heads: "ULF!" we exclaimed in unison.

From that day forward there wasn't any question. It was Ulf The Unbelievadog, without a doubt.

From the Unbelieva-Files: Ulf The Unbelievadog

leading unwitting international fashion criminal Mac Ramey

to the hoosegow.

Clark and Jeff will clue you in to more of Ulf's origin story later in the week.

*Coincidentally, each and every one of these animals eventually became a valued agent in The Unbelievables' extensive network.

The Unbelievables... For Kids!

We know that children look up to us as role models. We also realize that many of our exploits are not suitable for the wee ones. That's why we're proud to announce:

The Li'l Unbelievables

"These kids are fun! Fun clothes! Fun hair! Fun attitudes!

From the secret files of The Kitsch Story-Telling Lady ... we present ... The Li'l Unbelievables!"

See Jeff.

See Jeff and Michael.

See Jeff, Michael and Clark

See Ulf the Unbelievapuppy

Michael is not wearing a dress.

"Arf! Arf!", says Ulf the Unbelievapuppy

Maybe he is.

If so, that is okay.

But Michael hates wearing pants.

"I hate wearing pants!", says Michael

So it's probably just a long shirt.

Probably.

"Let's have an adventure!", says Jeff

"What a good idea!", says Michael

"I like adventures!", says Clark

"Arf! Arf!", says Ulf the Unbelievapuppy

"We should battle Henri Petit!", says Jeff

"Perfect! We are the same size now!", says Michael

"I want to kick him out of a window!", says Clark

"I like to hear the shattering noise!"

Shatter, glass, shatter

"And see Henri Petit fall to the ground!"

Shatter, Henri Petit, shatter

"Arf! Arf!", says Ulf the Unbelievapuppy

Parents: Gather your kids and see what happens next when Li'l Jeff and Li'l Michael continue our story of Stylish Tots and the mischief they get into! 

The Last Final End Of Kip The Mail Boy (and this storyline)

(WARNING: The following material may elicit reactions like this...

...as it contains shocking developments of a revelatory nature. Those with low tolerance for suspense and surprises may choose to wait in our Unbelieva-lounge For Namby-Pambies.

Frozen cocktails and chilaquiles await!

No? Okay, daredevils. We now resume our two-fisted tale of intrigue!)


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 ..."

My hands trembling with rage, I reached for Kip's neck...

...and ripped off the cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask to reveal...

Jeff and Michael gasped "It's the vile and disgusting Henri Petit!". "Of course it is", I said. Because It was. Henri Petit, our most sinister, chain-smoking, toddler of a foe, perched on some awkward mechanical stilts contraption, topping off his disguise with a cheap, ill-fitting latex "Kip" mask.

Michael asked, "But how did you know it was Henri Petit wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask and not actually Kip himself?" I replied,"Because not only is he wearing a cheap, ill-fitting latex 'Kip' mask, he actually is cheap, ill-fitting Kip himself!" 
More gasps.
All these years, I knew my hatred of Kip was justified! Let's pick things up from the transcript recorded by our Unbelieva-voice recorders.

PETIT: That's right, Unbelieva-oafs! This whole time, I've had access to your mail and the inner workings of your top secret headquarters as I moved among you on a daily basis while you remained completely unaware! I've won. Do you hear me? I HAVE DEFEATED YOU!!JEFF: You fiend! You read our mail?!?
PETIT: What? Oh. No, I didn't actually read it. That would be rude. And illegal, I think.
MICHAEL: So you had access to our mail, a vital source of our communications...but you didn't read it?
PETIT: No, but I had access to it! And that means you were vulnerable to attack! Ha ha!
CLARK: But you never actually used that access to attack. And now you've been apprehended. What was your point?
PETIT: Well, ah... Hmm...
JEFF: Yeah, that makes no sense. Tell us what you were really up to!
PETIT: I was going to attack you. I was! But once I settled into the mail room and developed a routine, well, you get a lot of mail from ladies. and it smells really nice.
MICHAEL: Oh gross! You little pervert!
PETIT: Not just that! The pay was good for a pretty easy job and the benefits are top notch, so I thought 'what's the rush?' Plus that espresso machine in the break room is simply delightful! I was merely biding my time until...
CLARK: Bide this, you loathsome, grubby, espresso-swilling tot! (glass breaking)
PETIT: I keep telling you I am not a... (unintelligible, fading curses followed by a wet thud)
CLARK: Sorry guys. I guess we need a new window.
JEFF: And a new mail boy! (laughter, martini glasses clinking)
ULF: Arf, arf! (louder laughter)
MICHAEL: And more frozen cocktails and chilaquiles! (almost hysterical shrieking laughter)

The End

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 ..."

Schooled By Kip

"Kip!" I yelled at the schoolboyish face as he entered the room, "You got some 'SPLAININ' TO DO!!! Sic'im, Ulf!" and with that I unleashed Ulf towards Kip, who immediately fell under the force of Ulf's UnbelievaPaws.

Ulf in training. He can catch all those balls before they or he hit the ground.

The poor sap lay in a semi-fetal position while Ulf jumped all over him, shouting "Stop, stop, c'mon Ulf, stop, boy!" and crying... or was that laughing?

It was then Michael noticed something. "Hey, guys... Ulf's either gone soft or he's trying to slobber Kip to death!"

We pulled Kip to his feet and as he wiped the doggie drool from his face, we saw he was smiling broadly.

Clark was incensed. "Hang on just a cotton-pickin' moment, you snot-nosed little twit," he said. "What the heck just happened here?! C'mere, you little..."

Kip expertly dodged Clark's lunge towards him - a little too expertly, if you ask me - and began to explain.

"Guys, guys, calm down. What you're all probably wondering is how is the idiot mailboy behind all this threatening stuff?"

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, brother!" said Clark, who is rather fond of quoting Daffy Duck when irritated.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not. Or at least I wasn't to begin with. The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black is - was - a concoction dreamt up by none other than Little Debbie, Henri Petit, Sam Snow, et al - to spur you guys into thinking you were under serious threat. Which worked. Their aim being to catch you guys off guard at some point and kidnap one of you for a huge ransom."

Heh-heh!

Whatevs.

"Uh-huh" said Michael. "So how did you get involved?"

"Well, I'd seen how sloppy you guys were getting lately - I mean, making frozen cocktails and chilaquiles while under threat -

Mm mm mm.

Chilaquiles Verde Con Pollo, Unbelievables style.

 that's either ridiculous over-confidence or not giving a rat's patootie, either of which is dangerous. You need to be ever vigilant. So I solved the case for you and then decided to up the ante and pretend to be The Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black to give you a much-needed workout. Which I hope I have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried. "Back the truck up uno momento, por favor! What do you mean you 'solved the case for us', Mail Boy?"

"Yeah!" said Clark. "How would you be able to do something like that without utilising our butt-kicking UnbelievaFu-type skills, etc.? Not to mention being extremely handsome and sexy? Huh? Huh, Mail Boy? Huh?"

"Who says I didn't?" replied Kip, coolly raising one eyebrow.

"WHAT?!" spluttered Michael, scarcely able to believe his ears (actually, nobody can believe Michael's ears. They are rather hairy, but let's not get into that right now). "You don't mean...!?!"

Not actually Michael's ear. Honest.

The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black ... Revealed?

  When last we left our heroes, Michael was considering answering the phone ...


The phone rang a second time.

"Hold on! We need to retrace what we know, or think we know. Something isn't adding up ..." I reasoned. I disengaged one of the lobsters from my Lobster Rage Fist I'd put on a few moments prior and began reasoning with the guys.

Then it rang thrice.

"Are you going to get that?" Clark asked me.

"In a second. Look: How can anyone be calling from inside the base? That's not possible ..."

The phone rang yet again.

"... especially when we've combed the place. Which didn't make much sense with all the failsafe technology and contraptions we have here at the Unbelieva-Base to prevent that kind of thing. We'd know if someone had tried to compromise us ..."

The phone continued to ring ...

"Still ... it was a good idea to go room by room just in case. You can never be too careful ..."

... and ring ...

"So where does that leave us? Someone outside tapping our line who somehow got around our state-of-the-art communications array?" Jeff wondered.

... and ring ...

"No. That just can't happen," I stated. "We spared no expense building this place not to mention thinking through our call system. We're putting too much thought into this. I have hunch it's a way simpler dilemma. Follow my lead, guys ..."

The phone rang one last time. I reached for it and picked it up.

"Hey ... Kip?" I said into the receiver frostily. "Come in here a minute, would you?" Jeff's and Clark's eyes widened.

"I'll be right there," I heard on the other end of the line.

The realization flooded over Jeff. And you could see Clark's face begin to turn red. I barely believed the unexpected ruse I threw out yielded fruit.

"Bugger! It's Kip ... ??? The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black is Kip ... ??!?!??!" Jeff blurted.

"That's it. He's mine," Clark called out while cocking the pistol he still had in hand.

Jeff called Ulf The Unbelievadog to his side, ever at the ready.

I re-engaged the previously disengaged lobster to my wrist.

Just then, Kip came around the corner.

"What's up, guys?" he asked a bit too innocently.

Fantasy sports, Unbelievables style

There's no doubt you're all familiar with the recreational activity of "fantasy sports", which takes all the enjoyment, camaraderie, and physical exercise of participating in actual sports and completely removes it. You might be surprised to learn that we, The Unbelievables, are the focus of a new fantasy sports-type activity. Because we, The Unbelievables, sure were.

"Don't you want to play?"

Basically, this is what we have learned: The way you play is you don't just "draft" one of us (me, Jeff or Michael), you actually play as us. Then, you compete with your friends, earning points based on our/your exploits. We've heard that some leagues will also allow you to play as lesser role players like Kip the Mail Boy and even Ulf the Unbelievadog. I'll point out some examples of how you earn points if you were to play as me...

Drive a Corvette: 10 points

Be seen in the company of beautiful babes: 25 points per babe

This is 150 points, in case you were too distracted to do the math.

Get a beautiful babe to cook a meal for you: 50 points (meal must include an entree, at least one side dish and a cocktail. Dessert is good for 10 bonus points)

Kick a bad guy out of a window: 100 points (WARNING! 0 points and likely criminal prosecution if it's not an actual, verifiable bad guy)

That's how you play as me. Jeff and Michael will fill you in on their relative point values later this week!

Introduction To The Labeler

Seriously ... what is it with the notes we get?

We got another one Sunday night ...

"Unbelieva-Fools! You're time is up! Nothing you due can stop me! No ware you look will you find me! I will bee you're doom!"

Right off, whoever this was, we knew s/he had bad grammar.

"That's probably the source of the anger I read," I thought out loud to Jeff and Clark. "This person is probably so nicked at the fact he or she didn't study in school the only recourse is to take it out on us."

"Makes sense," Jeff responded.

"I say we don't do anything and see where this goes. I mean ... what's this person going to do anyway? Torture us with poorly written notes?" Clark wondered.

Just then an alarm began ringing. Someone in the laundromat entrance to our headquarters. We took a look on our unbelieva-moniters to see a bunch of black-clad hooligans putting stickers on all the washing machines and dryers and soap dispensers.

Jeff noticed first what they were doing: "Hey ... they're changing prices on all the labels on our stuff!"

I scrunched my face at the monitor, watching them plaster new price points on everything. "We better get down there."

All three of us took off to the entrance. Opening the door, we were accosted by sticky-back notices in droves which tangled us up, made us fall to the ground unable to remain standing and rendered us immobile. A dark figure emerged with his face covered in yellow Post-it® notes. 

"Your mind now, Unbeliva-foons!" the daunting chiffer cackled. 

Jeff called out: "Where's Ulf when we need him? No good, flea-bitten ..."

... stay tuned ...

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.