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.

How High

Well, the power was easy enough to fix. It seems while Clark was on the phone with the Unknown Caller, Michael and I were simultaneously blending frozen cocktails in the blender (as one does), whipping up a batch of frangipan crumble cakes in the KitchenAid (natch) mixer, and cooking up a humongous platter of chilaquiles for everyone. The assorted appliances being used all at the same time caused the circuit to overload and the main switch to trip. 

After cleaning up the mess caused by Michael nicking his finger with a santoku knife blade (he's a real prolific bleeder), which occurred while rummaging in the kitchen drawer for a box of matches, which he needed so that he could go to the shed and look for a flashlight in the dark, in order to look at the breaker box under the stairs and flip the switch back on, by which time the auxiliary generator had kicked in and the lights were back on anyway, we decided to put our heads together over this mysterious matter of The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black. 

As we sat there, munching delicious chilaquiles and sipping Bahama Mamas, as well as nursing bandaged fingers, Clark started the discussion.

"Gents, I have only two questions. Who is The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black? Why is he so interested in killing us? And can I have the recipe for these chilaquiles?"

"That's three questions," said Michael, "but I think we should start by eliminating from our inquiry those tall men dressed in black that we KNOW can't be him."

"How do we do that when it could be absolutely anybody?" I asked.

"Well, it's not anyone that is currently dead, for example." said Michael. "It's not Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Johnny Cash or David Frye, is it?"

"Obviously not" said Clark. "Need I say 'duh'? By the way, this frangipan is an utter delight."

"You really like it, huh?"

"Absolutely, my gosh, it just melts in the mouth. I seriously want to taste this for the rest of my life."

"Anytime you want a batch, I can whip them right up for ya, no worries."

"AHEM!!And it's not any of our friends in the business of show, is it? Not Nick Cave, Dave Gahan or Peter Murphy, creepy as they all are?"

"Or Pee-Wee," Clark snarkily added.

"He's not that tall." I shot back.

"Wait a second! Waaaaait a cotton-pickin' second!" said Michael. "That is it! Tall! What if 'tall' in this instance does not refer to the man's height?!"

"What, then? His coffee preference?" I jokingly enquired.

"Maybe, maybe... it's worth checking out. Clark - get the 'Vette ready! We're going to Starbucks!"

Just as we were heading out the door, the phone rang again...

TO BE CONTINUED.... (dun - dun - duuuunnnnnnn!!)