Not That I'm Unconcerned, but...

I was somewhat less than amused when I awoke on Monday morning and discovered the Unbelievabase empty, save for myself, six of the Unbelievababes and a whole batch of whipped potatoes , freshly made in the kitchen. 

That's right. Clark and Michael were nowhere to be found. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Not there.

I scratched my head and tried to think if they'd told me of some undercover mission (what am I saying? ALL of our missions are undercover) they were embarking on, some urgent meeting with one or other heads of state (with the boobs that currently run this planet? Unlikely) or just an extended run to the store for some extra tortillas, guacamole and Tampico... but we were fully stocked.

I hunted around for some signs of life, or even a note. Nothing. Not even a religious pamphlet from The Church Of The Eighth-day, Holy-Rolling, Everlasting Gobstopper Freedom-Bus-Drivers of Nutwackett, NV just over in the next town. (Nutwackett, that is - they're a different breed over there. They had a suicide cult once, but once they'd gotten the brand new Nikes on their feet, they decided they didn't want to die. They're now the local basketball squad. They're good players and all, just don't accept any offers of Gatorade.)

But like I said, there was a moment or two of quiet panic and about five minutes of tearing my hair out with worry at what might have become of my two compadres, my amigos, my buddies, my ol' pals Clark and Michael.

And then I had an epiphany. A revelation. Buddhists may even say that I had a satori. (I did, once, and it was delicious, especially when washed down with a couple Mai Tais).

Like I was saying,  I had a satori. A pearl, a rare gem of sparkling wisdom, which was this.

I had the whole Unbelievabase to myself. I was alone with some fresh whipped potatoes and six of the Unbelievababes.

And that, my dear friend, is the point at which I quit worrying.  I'll be OK, and I'm sure my buddies are big enough and ugly enough to take care of themselves...

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!

I may not have helped my own defense effort...

Yep, I got arrested.
When they showed up to get me (after requesting autographs and selfies), the officers said, "Uh, Mr. Brooks, we hate to do this but you're being charged with Aggravated Assault on a Mr. Henry Pet-it." They don't speak French, I guess. That's all right, I knew who they were talking about. I have certainly Assaulted him and it's because he Aggravates me, so...
"Okay, sounds about right. Let's go." I hopped in the back of their squad car and away we went.

Hey neat! I've never been in the back of one of these before!

We got down to the jail station precinct whatever, did some paperwork (more autographs and selfies) and I was assigned to a cell with two other inmates.

If I'm being honest, which I am, so far, jail was not too bad. Oh sure, there were more than a few criminals there who hold a grudge against The Unbelievables and tried to kill me, but that's gonna happen.
Pretty soon it was dinner time and here's the amazing thing; they served whipped potatoes and they were better than Jeff's! I asked what the secret was and the chef (a guy naked Lucky who was in for boosting car stereos) and he said, "they're dehydrated flakes and we add water." Mmmm! Look into that, Jeff!

Anyway, Mr. Poon arranged for my bail and I'm out now and we need to do something about Henri Petit again, I guess.

An Account Of My Accounts

If there's one thing I hate more than Tuesdays without whipped potatoes, it's having to deal with personal finances. Paying bills is bo-o-oring! Let the accountant deal with that crap. I can think of nothing more stultifyingly dull than reading a bank statement or a credit card statement. So I talked to my accountant, a half-Cherokee named Dances with Calculator (although he prefers being called Reg), dumped all my bills and receipts at his tepee and asked him to tell me what I could trim from my personal budget. What he came back with was somewhat of an eye-opener.

It seems I am into interior design in a big way. Who knew? I mean, I knew, but I guess I was just in denial. What can I say? I just like good, cool stuff in my living space. Here are some of the excesses Reg pointed out...

My beautiful New York City desk. Handcrafted and accurately detailed. 27 grand well spent, I thought. And useful for if we ever have to plan a sting operation in NYC.

My King Arthur Knights of the Round Table Swing table. For when you have 11 poker buddies over. Or 11 guests for dinner. Or when you have eleven friends dressed in knight's garb and you want to hold a jousting contest. Personally, I think $17k is a steal.

One always needs a decent coffee table, and since I only ever serve the best coffee, this The Abyss table by Duffy London was something I needed! Reg said $24,000 was excessive, but he is a philistine!

And one always needs a comfy place to sit and drink the amazing coffee that's on the hella cool coffee table in front of it. So I needed this KiBiSi Brick sofa. So what if it's $13k, as long as it's comfy?

Sorry, but I don't do boring. Shelves don't have to be straight horizontal things. Tangrams are cool puzzles, so tangram shelves make sense. And they were a good deal at three-and-a half grand.

  

Cocktails are exciting, but they're even more so when your cocktail table does cool tricks with the light. Twelve large is not that much, really.

I hang this Storm Cloud Light over my bed and pretend I'm sleeping outdoors.  It's got a Bluetooth-enabled speaker in it, too, and different coloured lights that can react to the music. Wouldn't you pay $3.5k for this baby?

Reg seems to have it in for me. I like cool stuff in my home, I can afford it, so I don't know why wigwam boy has to wind me up about my home furnishings just because he hasn't got anything but a freakin' tent. Even stuff for my bathroom and garden didn't escape his notice.

A good shower can help you feel really refreshed and ready to face to trials and tribulations of the day, and when you're a butt-kicking crimefighting machine like me, the better the shower, the better the refreshment.  The Raindance Royal 350 AIR Shower Head with its 14-inch spray face can't be beat. And it's a bargain. $1900.

I bought a dozen of these Chill Slings at $180 a pop just in case we ever have nine other people over for a beach BBQ.

And this - well, I admit this was frivolous. But how cool is a Globe Fire Pit? Hand crafted, individually numbered, one quarter inch thick  carbon steel, 36" in diameter... I really wanted it, and I just happened to have $1700 in my wallet...

Long story short, I'm quite happy with my spending habits, but what I really do need is a new accountant who doesn't complain every time I open my checkbook. Reg, you're fired! One new accountant, pronto, please!

You'll do!

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.