Where's Michael? Asking because I don't know

You may have noticed that Michael didn't post on Monday. And you may have interpreted that as him being missing. That is both true and not so much.

Photographic proof of evidence that we were in one spot at the same time at some point.

See, Michael and I were working on a top secret case and he snuck into a top secret crime hideout to do some top secret recon. I was supposed to pick him up after... but I forgot where I dropped him off. So he's where he's supposed to be (presumably) but I don't know where that is. Hence, not missing and missing.
If anyone has any ideas where he might be, it might help. Here's what I remember:

• There's a castle, with parapets and everything
• Lots of people
• A serious rodent infestation
• Curiously clean in spite of the rodents
• Hot!
• A whole bunch of presidents
• Dwarfs
• Talking animals that don't talk
• Modes of transportation that Henri Petit would not be eligible to ride

Seems like I should know where this is.

Possible Monkey Business Afoot ...

I'm not certain but I'd be willing to bet my face was screwed up in a bout of confusion at the information Clark offered Jeff and I after his little venture over to Petit's place.

"Well ... that's just weird. He didn't do anything? Nothing? Just sat there?"

In retrospect, Clark wasn't the best person to surveil Henri Petit. The two have a huge backlog of ... well, let's say "history" and just leave it at that. 

"Not a single thing at all?" Jeff asked. "Not a peep when you called him a malformed chimp?" Clark shook his head.

"Wait. Look at this picture again and tell me if you see anything strange" I asked the guys.

"He's wearing an ape mask?" Jeff asked.

"It makes him look handsomer than ever before? " Clark offered.

"That the stoop is the only place he can sit where his feet reach the ground?" Jeff continued, chuckling.

"No, no, no. What's missing from this image?"

"Height?" Clark mused.

"Character?" Jeff jested.

"Poise? Him holding a homemade bomb? Lunch dribbles down the front of his shirt?"

"NO! Look ... there's no cigarette! He's not holding one, he's not smoking one, there's no evidence of cigarettes anywhere. There aren't any butts on the ground, zippo. I'm not so sure this is a picture of Henri Petit. You did say he didn't acknowledge you in the least, right Clark?"

Clark nodded. "So? He doesn't like me anyway. Might have something to do with all the beatings I've given him over the years ..."

Jeff chimed in. "If you're right, Michael, and that's not Petit, we need to get over there and find out for sure ..."

"Oh, HELL no ..." Clark interjected.

I looked at Clark. "Jeff's right. Pardon the pun but there might be monkey business afoot. You know you'd miss him if anything happened to the little twerp, Clark ..."

Just then, we heard a chime coming from one of the computers in the office down the hall. An e-mail came through. We pulled it up:

There were no "instructions below."

We all hopped into Clark's 'Vette and drove over to Petit's place ...

... wait ... Where Are The Unbelievables?

Where's Michael? Don't worry, we know where he is.

You may have come here Friday looking for Michael's contribution to this week's plotline, the conclusion. If you did, you were disappointed because it wasn't here. Unfortunately, Michael was unable to file his report due to getting too close to the subject matter, which is a fairly routine occupational hazard for us. Specifically, the bulb-headed boob Walter Palmer found out we were on his trail and thought he'd deal with that by trying his hand at hunting the deadliest game: Unbelievable.
This was obviously another huge mistake and miscalculated judgment on Palmer's part. Michael's fine (of course) but it's standard company policy to get a day off when somebody tries to kill us. Michael took his yesterday and Jeff and I forgot to cover for him.
Oops! Sorry!

He's Probably In The Cereal Aisle ...

Have you seen Clark? He looks sort of like this.

And he may - or may not - have a beard ...

Was I worried when Clark flew the coop all of a sudden? Not in the least.

"He's probably off to the store again or something," I told Jeff when he asked where Clark had gone.

But when the hours stretched into days (5 days to be precise) Jeff was a mite more concerned.

"Seen Clark?" he asked.

"You just asked me that," I responded.

"That was Wednesday," Jeff informed me.

"Wednesday? What are you talking about?" I was engrossed in my most recent copy of Dodgem Logic and turned the page while Jeff kept bugging me.

"Wednesday. When I asked you if you knew where Clark was. You said he'd probably gone to the store." he explained. "Today is Monday ..."

"What? Didn't you just ask that?"

"Yes. 5 days ago. Wednesday."

I lowered my magazine to my lap and looked up quizzically. "Really? Huh. That's an awful long time to be at the store. He must really be stocking up," I chided more to myself than at Jeff. "And he didn't leave a note or anything?"

Jeff scrunched his shoulders and made half-hearted gestures with his hands. "Nope ..."

"Well ... since it's been 5 days and no word from him, I guess we better, you know, do something. Or, at the very least, be a little concerned. Is his car outside?"

"Nope."

"Huh. We'd better put our heads together, then," I mused.

I got up and went to my office to check the latest on my computer. A few minutes later, I yelled for Jeff. We'd gotten an e-mail from Clark.

"See? Nothing to worry about. He sent us a photo or something"

"Of what?" Jeff wondered.

I accessed it and we both took a gander.

At first glance I thought Clark might be checking to make certain

Lucretia had her belt through all her belt loops ...

... but Jeff's take on what was going on made more sense.
(And seriously: Who would be caught dead like this checking proper belt loop etiquette?)

"Oh ... that's Clark all right" Jeff commented. "Looks like he's tussling with Lucretia Von Schploomph. Why does she have him flipped over her shoulder? Or ... is that him getting to second base with her? Again. What a show off ..."

"See? Nothing to worry about. Our pal is just fine. He's just off on some sort of holiday or he's sowing oats or taking a load off or something."

But later that afternoon, we received additional notes from Clark with curious photos attached. Jeff told you about them Wednesday:

 Drowning? No. Fishing? You betcha.

"Outnumbered." Uh huh ... right, Clark.

"Well ... that settles it. It's official: I'm not worried about Clark. You're right, Michael - he's out and about letting off steam ..."

"He has been working rather hard lately ... I'll cut the guy some slack," I mentioned. "... but he better come back home with a carload of groceries. It was his turn to do the shopping last week. Still, I hope he had fun with Lucy and comes back in a good mood, refreshed and recreated ..."

P.S. I'm really glad Jeff mentioned the infamous Woman With No Name. I'll tell you about her in a couple weeks ...

 

I'm back, not that anybody noticed I was gone. Sheesh.

Well, I'm glad to see that my crime-fighting colleagues were so distressed by my more-than-a-week absence that they were able to have a magazine party.
Never mind that I was gone.
Never mind that they had no idea where I was.
Never mind that I might have been in serious danger.
Did they even mention that my whereabouts were unknown? No, they did not!
Even though I did manage to send them this picture, engaged in combat with the notorious and nefarious female muscle-for-hire, Lucretia Von Schploomph...

Weee, second base! Er, I mean, Help!

What makes Lucretia so dangerous is that nobody expects a demure damsel, a fetching female, a gorgeous gal to be one of the most lethal bodyguards in the biz. Get too close and it's too late.
Does it not look like I'm in the process of being maimed if not killed? Well, I was-ish. I mean, something could have gone wrong and things could have ended badly, as shown in this picture I somehow was able to send to Jeff and Michael...

Mmmmm...Er, I mean, Glub glub, I'm drowning!

Did they come running to my aid? No, they did not! Not even when I sent this picture of me battling Lucretia and some unknown assailant (I believe she was Swedish but I never got around to getting her name)

Ha ha ha ha! Er, I mean, Oh dear, I'm outnumbered!

Okay, maybe the email I sent these pictures in could have had a different subject line than, "Check it out, suckers". Or "I'm (obviously) fine". Or "Do NOT come and try to help me, seriously DON'T, I mean it". But still! They made no effort whatsoever to come and try to help me, meaning I had to get home from the airport by myself.
Ugh!
Sure, I survived (heh heh!) but I'm lucky. That's right; lucky to be alive!
Harumph.

Obamaback! (But it's not all good news)

Well, Michael wasn't much help, was he?
Tsk.
Oh well. That kind of thing happens from time to time and we move forward.

First of all, good news; the President has been found! It turns out he had retired to a lavatory and was seen carrying a copy of this particular magazine:

We think the messenger who sent us the email got confused:

No biggie. The President is back and he's fine.

Now the bad news; it would appear that we have some new rogues to add to our gallery. A group of ne'er do wells who call themselves The Stews are out to cause mayhem. The young lady featured in Jeff's entry on Monday is a member, as are the ladies (if you want to call them that) shown above. Their M.O. (that's Latin for "how crooks work") is to use their feminine wiles to lure otherwise responsible air travelers into following them aboard planes and then making them misbehave (smoke, drink to excess, use objectionable language, etc.). Were they involved in this particular case? Probably. We're not entirely sure.
What we do know is that what starts out like this on the runway A in Pittsburgh...

Turns into this in the air over Omaha...

The next thing you know, innocent rock stars are being led astray...

"They seemed like such nice girls"

To what end? I don't think The Stews have even figured that out for themselves. Just for kicks, maybe. At any rate, I'm sure we'll cross paths with them again in the future.

What's More Important Than The POTUS Gone Missing?

Far be it that we Unbelievables shirk our responsibilities.

We're known for our resoluteness, our uncompromising courageousness in the face of danger, being mavens of fashion and our gracious attitude toward the ladies. (Hello, Ladies!)

But I digress. Regarding this "Obamagone" business (and Jeff hit the nail on the head with his final declaration in Monday's post:

"More on this story as it develops."

Well guess what? Nothing has developed.

Not a single thing. There are no further developments. Nil. Nada. Zippo. Zilch.

As far as we know The President is still jib-jabbin' around with the likes of David Letterman as he was Monday evening. Here, see for yourself:



It's not like he's Vladimir Putin disappearing for a month (or more) at a time, completely out of the public eye. And you must be aware President Obama is surrounded by secret service 24/7. It's a little difficult to fall off the face of the earth for any length of time without them knowing.

So ... when something comes up? You'll be the first to know. We're on it. We're privy to the 911 on the POTUS.

Besides, there are more important things than The President gone missing. (And let me clarify one last time: We highly doubt he's truly missing.) 

What's more important you ask? How about this past Monday, Star Wars Day? (Hokay ... maybe not.) Well ... what about yesterday, Cinco de Mayo? (Uhmmm ... no.)

You're right. Neither of those is really important. But you know what is important? I'll tell you what's important folks:

Today is May 6th! Monica Lewis' birthday ... !!!

What's more important than that ... ??!?