Recipe For Love

You may have seen around th'Interwebs a phrase, an axiom or quote if you will, that goes along the lines of "Any man can love a thousand women, but a real man (or "rare guy" or "good man") can love one woman in a thousand different ways." While this is complete hokum, of course, with a little tweak it can be made into a serviceable adage for the ages. Simply substitute "woman/women" for "potato/potatoes" and there we have the perfect sign to hang above the ceramic hob.

Fellas, it all boils down to this - to get the ladies all steamed up, get to know the humble spud. If you can get to a level of ability in the kitchen that's even a fifth as good as my own when it comes to the pommes de terre,  then you will be surrounded by beautiful ladies from morning till night. It's a secret I learned from reading the chef's diary of legendary gourmet, bon vivant, and potato aficianado Chris P. Bacon, who died when attempting to get out of his well-worn bed in order to visit the kitchen and whip up a fresh batch of Murphys when the bed collapsed, entangling him and his two female companions in a heaving mass of silk sheets, continental quilt and coiled spring. The more they struggled to be free of the bed's metallic grip, the tighter the coils became, not to mention the splintered wood and nails flying all over the place. They were discovered three days later, all dead and contorted together with eerie grimaces on their faces, not to mention flecks of dried mash on their chins.

Unlike Chef Bacon, however, I practise moderation in all things - if I didn't, I'd be the size of a small hotel - but still live a life fully satisfied in the whipped potatoes dept. as well as the female companionship area.

See, the ladies can't resist a well-prepared spud. These pics should more than prove my point.

Oh yeah. She knows.

Fresh is always preferable, but the popularity of these items with the ladies kinda goes some way to proving me correct.

Whut?

But what I've discovered is that women will go to extreme lengths to pledge their allegiance to the humble tuber. Let's take these examples of women's garments which are freely available on the Web...

Oh wait, it gets worse (or better as the case may be)...

Wow.

Oh, hang on a min... I've just noticed Unbelievababe Sheila E. McEaston slipping in through the door of my boudoir, wearing nothing but a sly smile - which she flashed in my direction - and this item...

 

Ahem! Er, uh... goodnight all.

It'll Be All White On The Night

White is an achromatic colour, a colour without hue. An incoming light to the human eye that stimulates all its three types of colour sensitive cone cells in nearly equal amounts results in white. White is one of the most common colours in nature, the colour of snow, milk, chalk, limestone and other common minerals. In many cultures, white represents or signifies purity, innocence, and light, and is the symbolic opposite of black, or darkness. According to surveys in Europe and the United States, white is the colour most often associated with perfection, the good, honesty, cleanliness, the beginning, the new, neutrality, and exactitude.

So while most of what the guys have had to say about the colour white these past few days is correct, I must rectify Michael's Monday assertion that the colour white is the absence of colour - indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. As stated above, it is a colour, but one without hue. It stimulates all our eye's colour receptors in equal amounts.  

However, the white colour on television screens and computer monitors is created with the RGB colour model by mixing red, green (not yellow) and blue light at equal intensities. Mixing red, blue and yellow pixels on a computer monitor will give you black, and it is the counter-intuitive red-green-blue that results in white. So we can say that all white in nature is created with red/blue/yellow, and white on TVs and monitors and iPhones etc. is the RGB combo. Savvy?

So what we can then extrapolate from this is that wherever Janus took White Boy on Sunday will stimulate the sensitive cones on his retina to a constant full amount (except at night) and he will consequently either learn to love the color white, become snowblind or go completely bonkers (but he was kinda nutty anyway).

What we can also say is that if you go into our kitchen here at the Unbelievabase and combine red, green and blue, you are likely to come up with something delicious, like this.

Which goes well with a White Russian.

And the soothing sounds of Polar Bears In Purgatory. Polar bears are white, after all. And so are the boys in the band, although not nearly as furry.

Hey, know what else is white? 

P.S. Notice how I wrote the word 'colour' with the English spelling about seventeen times in this missive? That's just my little joke on the guys, as they seem to think everything American is superior, including the American lingo. Ha ha!

Fun Is Our "In Tent", Geddit?

Rise and shine, campers! Time for another fun-packed day at Camp Unbelievable!

So Clarkito and The Mikester gave you a bit of info regarding what happens at Camp Unbelievable during the summer. But they didn't give you the full story. Oh, sure, they told you what you might find if you were to read the, ahem, prospectus...

The front cover.

But...


It is my job to provide the entertainment. After all, at the end of each day, our campers are tired yet happy after a day of merry adventures.

See? Tired yet happy.

 Clark mentioned some of our core programs, but we do also have some slightly more 'unusual' classes...

"How To Bring Down Giants"

"Hi-Fi Maintenance"

"The Coolness Of Scooters"

"Leaping From The Roof Of One Building To Another Just Like they Do In The Movies"

"More Scooter Coolness"

"Naked Christmas Decorations" (Michael's Idea)

"Nude Rowing" (Michael's idea again)

"Honey Hotrod Teaching Classic Car Maintenance" (Michael again... you sense a pattern here?)

 Anyway, they're going to want to wind down in the clubhouse (or outside, if it's fine) and be served up some top-notch entertainment and/or fun and relaxing activities. Such as...

Camp Unbelievable's very own heartthrob, Mr. Ellis Parsley. The resemblance is purely coincidental.

Partially-Clothed Bedtime Stories. (Michael's idea).

Re-enacting the Battle of New Orleans using Unbelievababes and Volleyballs (Michael sure has a lot of these ideas, doesn't he?)

Michael also ensures the safety and well-being of our campers by being fully proficient in First Aid and CPR. He also runs the on-site Pharmacy.

Pantsless, of course.

Sometimes we just get out the ol' stereogram and whack on a couple of party-type platters...

in order to shimmy the evening away. Except of course, on Tuesdays. As you know, Tuesday is always 'whipped potato day', and that means...

Walkmans for EVERYBODY!

Banish Those Bad Day Blues

The trouble with all this I Hate Mondays and Terrible Tuesdays malarkey is that it's all so misplaced. How can an arbitrarily named day possibly be any worse (or better) than any other day? I mean, they're just names, right? If the name makes the day bad, then change the name. Call it Monkeyday or Fartday or what have you. It makes no difference. A day is a day is a day.

I fail to see why anyone has trouble with Tuesday anyway, at least at the Unbelievabase. Tuesday is whipped potatoes day, as well you know. Whipped potatoes are love. Whipped potatoes are life. Nothing beats whipping up a big batch and sitting with a heaping bowl in your sun lounger listening to the mellow strains of Andre Kostelanetz or Julie London and just kicking back. That makes any day into a happy day.

Some people think Sunday's the worst. it's the day before Monday, there's jack squat on TV and things close earlier. Boooorring! Even that can be cured with whipped potatoes and appropriate music.

It seems music can make the whole day better. If you could pick the right song for the right time at a moment's notice, wouldn't that be great? We certainly think so. Which is why we have created our own online music service. It's called Unbelievify™ and it'll be going live soon. Here's a glimpse inside the Unbelievify™ studios.

Unbelievababes Helga, Heidi and Hildreth (all communications majors at their respective colleges) spinning discs on demand for your listening pleasure.

Yes indeed, soon you will be able to banish a bad day with a moment's notice, with Unbelievify™ as your aid. 
World? You're welcome.


P.S. Don't forget the whipped potatoes.

A Brief History Of The Concept Of Time, and T-Shirts

A few years ago while vacationing in sunny Mansfield, OH...

They do the best scrambled eggs here, by the way.

I was at breakfast when a guy walked in wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the mantra "Time is an invention."

Well, you know, that set me to thinking. If this was true, then who was responsible for inventing it? And why? I immediately accosted said stranger and inquired of him where he purchased his shirt. I knew he didn't find it in Mansfield, that's for damn sure. I know, I looked all over Mansfield for an interesting T-shirt and I came away with this one.

Pretty pedestrian, I trust you'll agree.

He told me he'd bought it via mail order. A small ad in the back of a CB magazine, apparently. His handle was StringVest. I didn't really need to know that, but he told me anyway. I told him that it really wasn't relevant, but he told me I'd just eyeballed StringVest and was to remember that. Why, I can't fathom, but there ya go. It takes all sorts, doesn't it?

The magazine in question was this issue of CB Action.

Nice cover.

The ad in the back was for a T-Shirt and sweater company. There was an address to send for a catalog. Just out of curiosity, I sent for one. When it arrived three days later, I was impressed by the quality and selection of T-shirt designs. 

Show me the way.

Class.

They even had cool CB sweaters. 

I know what Michael "The Sweater King" is getting for Christmas.

Still, I couldn't see the "Time Is An Invention" shirt. So I headed straight to the library to see what I could dig up about it. I ploughed through book after book - science, philosophy, nature, encyclopaedias, National Geographics, tomes and pamphlets....

I came away with a massive headache from reading about the Planck scale, wormholes and the very existence of time. Does it exist or is it a human concept? We don't see time pass, just the hands of clocks moving, all that stuff. Didn't get me any closer to finding out about that t-shirt, or where I might purchase one. No help. And what, you may be asking, does any of this have to do with Temporal Al OR Henri Petit?

All I know is, Temporal Al is a shady, shifty figure, and his mucking about with time shenanigans are not going to stop anytime soon. Did you know it was he that decided on NINE minutes being the ideal amount of time for a snooze? When you hit the snooze button on your alarm clock, you get nine minutes. Not ten. Not fifteen, which might be considered a good amount of time for a proper snooze. But nine. See, he's messing with us.

So I'm sorry, folks, if you were expecting some sort of neat conclusion to all of this, but we are having tremendous difficulty even pinpointing Temporal Al's whereabouts, not to mention how we go about stopping him once we find him. I apologise. 

However, I'm off to the kitchen. It's Michael's birthday and I'm going to whip him up a batch of my extra-special whipped potatoes, with Spam fritters, but ssshhh! Big secret. Michael no know, savvy?

Oh, and speaking of T-shirts, I have one for his birthday present. Wanna see?