An (Unreliable) Side Note

Speaking of unreliable ...

*knock, knock*

I opened the front door. A police officer was standing on the stoop. "Hello?"

"Good morning. Does a Clark Brooks live here?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes he does."

"Is he here? May I speak with him?"

"Sure. I'll get him. Hold tight a moment ..."

I ran inside and tracked him down. "There's a police officer at the door who wants to speak with you," I told Clark.

"What does he want?"

"To speak with you."

"Come with me. This smells fishy," Clark said. We both trotted down the hallway to the door.

Clark opened it to see the waiting officer. "Good morning. I'm Clark. May I help you?"

"Clark Brooks? You're the owner of a vintage yellow Corvette, correct?" the officer asked.

"Yes."

"There have been several reliable reports of a vintage yellow Corvette seen cruising down Main Street in the wee hours of this morning with several women spilling out of it. One account stated there were no less than 4 ladies barely inside the vehicle ..."

"Well ... that doesn't sound reliable to me. That's just not possible," Clark responded. "The 'Vette's only a two-seater ..."

"Were you driving down Main Street early this morning between the approximate hours of 12:45 a.m. and 1:15 a.m.?"

"No. I was here."

"Can you verify you were here during those times?" the officer shot back.

"Of course. I was on my computer ... buying robots."

"Robots?" the officer asked quizzically.

"Yes. I like robots. I have a printed receipt I can show you around the time you mentioned which will show the time of purchase. Someone is pulling a fast one on you, officer. I was never outside this location. Yesterday around noon when I was out getting some lunch, that was the last time I was around and about."

"So ... you weren't out driving around Main Street this morning?"

"No."

"And you didn't have half a dozen women spilling out from your Corvette?"

"No! I told you: It's a two-seater ..."

"I'd like to see that receipt if you don't mind," the officer requested. Clark went inside to get it. As he passed me, he threw up his hands and shrugged. I did the same back at him.

I heard giggling coming from the kitchen where Jeff was cooking something. In between the chuckling, he was half singing, half humming War's Spill The Wine: 

"... spill the wine, get that girl ... spill the wine, dig that pearl ..."

The Saga Of Michael and Luanne

Hoo boy. Relationships, eh? A lot of the time they can be tricky things to keep in balance. It's like being a tightrope walker - one wrong step and the show's over. You might as well stay home and play a board game just to be on the safe side.

Maybe not this particular one, though.

And it's probably best not to try this, either...

Because after all, isn't the image we have of the perfect relationship something like this?

But all too often it ends up being more like this?

And we Unbelievables have, with relatively few exceptions, managed to keep our relationships with the ladies (Hello, ladies!!!) in control. But in a few cases, such as the one mentioned on Monday by Clark (thanks for that, by the way, Clark) things have gone south in double-quick time. 

Here's an excellent example of a relationship that went pear-shaped in short order.

Michael met this lovely, attractive girl Luanne from the typing pool. She seemed like the kind of girl any international butt-kicking crimefighting playboy would want on his arm - cute, smart, funny etc. - but just like every superhero has an inner demon or a major character flaw or a secret weakness, Luanne had one thing that let her down and let her down big time. 

She couldn't take her liquor. By which I mean she could drink it just fine, but once she did, it brought out some unpleasant traits which caused Michael to reconsider his eagerness to date this otherwise charming young lady. 

Fig. 1: After a couple Singapore Slings Luanne became overly touchy-feely, playing with his ears and making Michael look a complete sap.

Fig. 2: Dismayed by Michael's dislike of the public displays of ear-fondling, Luanne gets even more drunk. As you can see by his expression, Michael is regretting coming out on this date.

Fig. 3: Once home, Michael finds himself in the awkward position of trying to sober up a mean drunk. She can't even be bothered to sit like a lady.

So as you can imagine, Luanne was a dud. Michael did let her down easy, but that's life, isn't it? She'll get over it.

So what does it take to stop your love life from looking like this (see below)?

"I hate you, I hate your friends, I hate this drink, and I hate the way you just stand there grinning like an idiot."

I think I have found the answer from some of my fellow countrymen...