The Dogs Of Rock

So as Clark was saying on Monday, Ringo is all about #peaceandlove, as are we Unbelievables. And one of the ways we ensure the peace and love quotient of the world is being maintained is with the help of our global network of undercover operatives, moles and informants. But did you think that all of our undercover operatives, moles and informants were humans? Tsk tsk. Surely you remember the story of the Double 'D' Dames and their sinister involvement with one Mac Ramey?

This dude.

You do? Then no doubt you remember that we couldn't have cracked the case without the help of our canine chum, Ulf The Unbelievadog.

Good boy, Ulf! Cuff'em and stuff'em!

Well, would it surprise you to learn that we have a global network of Ulf's poochy pals who are specially designated to keep tabs on the rock 'n' roll community, and alert us to any situation where a rock star might be getting in too deep. Not the usual rock and roll excess, you unnerstan'. That's par for the course in the music biz. No, we mean when rock stars do things that are a bit too un-rock'n'roll. Need a few examples? I thought so.

Jim Morrison gave Parisian Labrador Phaideaux here no end of trouble - writing poetry and wanting to be taken seriously etc. 

Skipper was there to make sure Bret Michaels' coffee-table book of, ahem, "Artistic polaroids" never saw the light of day.

Fizzer was on hand guarding Keith Richards from the perils of fundraising for disabled veteran Test cricketers.

Even Ringo needed help from Fluffbag when he foolishly started wearing turtlenecks.

Janis Joplin, shown here with Mister Squiffles, who alerted us to the fact that Janis was ordering clothes from the Sears catalog. How un-rock'n'roll!

Here's the amazing Gruff-Gruff with Fab Macca Wacky Thumbs Aloft himself. Gruff-Gruff is shown teaching Paul how not to be a total nob who's completely up himself.

Ozzy was best pals with Squeeks, or Agent X-7a as we knew him. He would bite Ozzy's ankles whenever he caught him clipping coupons.

The Spotzenheimer twins making sure that Roger Daltrey behaved himself in the sheep pasture. 

Fred and Dorinda Basset teaching a young E. Presley, Esq. how NOT to pull up his socks.

Last but by no means least, Simon Weimaraner helping a brain-addled Trent Reznor off the carpet in the lobby of the DoubleTree Suites. He'd tripped on a kink in the rug after one too many double mocha cappuccinos.

So as you can see, were it not for the intervention of certain furry four-footed friends, the history of rock might be quite different from the way it is today. And it's not just dogs, either.

Tibblekins acted as a therapeutic pet for Joey Ramone when he was all angsty and feeling like buying La-Z-Boy armchairs. His soothing purr made Joey all happy again.

Only trouble is, spending time among the rockers of the world can rub off on you, as Jose Fur-liciano found out when he was adopted by Keith Flint of Prodigy.

The Bad Guys Are Here, and They Rock

I had completely forgotten. It had totally slipped my mind. I have to face facts - my memory, though still razor sharp 95% of the time, is not what it once was. 

There we were, all week, pondering the meaning of this cryptic message...

All week we wondered (well, not all week - just up until about lunchtime Thursday), and all week none of us could figure it out. 

Until about 11:57 am, when I saw a van making its way up the street while on periscope duty (that's right, we have a periscope - u jelly?).

Anyway, as I say, I saw a van tooling its way along Main St. and suddenly the penny dropped. Bad Guys! Thursday! A van! A tour van!

Not actual bad guys... Bad Guys the band! From the UK! THESE Bad Guys!

I completely forgot that I had invited them to our hideout to set up for this weekend's Unbelievables music Festival!

Wait, wait, let me back up...

Unbelievafest is our first foray into the festival scene. After all, May is nearly half over and everyone is getting ready for festivals such as Bestival and Rock Am Ring and Splendour In The Grass and Wychwood and Tentertainment and Create and all those other festivals that mostly end with the word "stock". So we thought - why not? We like music, and parties, and beer, and girls, so let's start it with just the one band, plentiful drinks and the Unbelievababes, and if all goes well, then we'll go bigger next year. So we asked Bad Guys (an appropriate name, I thought, given our line of work) to come along and play some kick-ass rock for us all weekend. And they were happy to come along. Because Bad Guys are our kind of guys. Need proof? Here you go.

So as I write, they are about to take the stage for their first set. Clark's just expertly crafting a few beer-based cocktails, Michael is blowing up some festive balloons (pantsless, naturally) and I have just made a mondo bowl of the most amaaaazing whipped potatoes for us all to enjoy. This should be a weekend to remember. Just us and the Bad Guys, rockin' and rollin' till Sunday night. Crank it up to eleven, boys!




P.S. That whole pin thing? We asked the guys about that and they said the reason they used a pin was not to throw us off or anything like that. They had simply run out of Blu-Tack and sticky tape.

Some-time sourpusses

A big part of being an Unbelievable is maintaining an upbeat attitude. After all, we are on the side of Truth, Justice and the Good Guy way. Why in the world would we have the need to be dark and brooding? Still, we are human beings and subject to our occasional share of the gloomy doomies. That's when it's a good thing there are three of us. When one of us gets sulky, the other two can pin down the moper and hammer his legs with their knuckles until he snaps out of it. On those rare days when two are grumpy, we tend to find the third member's sunshine-iness so obnoxious that we cheer up just to spite him.
Then there are those incredibly rare situations when all three of us are grumpy.
Hoo boy.
When that happens, there's nothing to do but work through it.
That's what we were trying to do when we formed a band...

Me, Michael and Jeff

Yep, we came up with a name to reflect our terrible attitudes, went down to the Discount Softball Liquidators store at the mall for some band uniforms and proceeded to work out our angst in murky, turgid rock songs. Of course, in spite of our lack of formal musical training, we're just so naturally talented and good at everything we try that our songs were all hits and the resultant love and adoration

(L to R) Love and Adoration...or is it Adoration and Love? I never could remember...

snapped us right out of our malaise and we were fine.

Like I said, it doesn't happen often, but it does happen. My colleagues will fill you in...

I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine

Does anybody else think it's odd that Michael wrote about pants on Monday, considering how many of his favorite adventures occur sans pantaloons? No? Okay then.
Ah yes, clothing. Clothing for our good friends who make up the spirited rock combo known and adored as Queen. As Michael mentioned, we're good pals with those fellow and have been for some time. Quite a while before they broke though into the big time, actually. It should come as no big surprise that some of our influence would rub off on them. And while a good set of trousers is a wonderful thing, I'm more of a jacket man myself.
Often, when we'd have a party, Queen's lead crooner Freddie would offer to help park cars. As an up-and-coming musician, he was frequently light on scratch and the tips he got provided some much-needed 'walking around' money. He wasn't an employee, just a friend that we were happy to help by putting him to work. One night before one of our larger soirees, he came over early, as he often did because he could get in a quick game of squash with us before the evening's activities got underway. But on this particular day, he didn't feel like playing. He was pretty down and lamenting his lack of a signature 'look'. "I'm very comfortable performing in this white pants and tank top get-up", he said. "But I look like a house painter. That's not exactly rock n roll and definitely now what I'm going for, really." "I've always thought of you as more like a circus acrobat from the 1920's", I offered helpfully. "Honestly, when you perform, I don't know whether to hold up a lighter or shoot you out of a cannon." I suggested that he combine the outfit he already wore for comfort and combine it with a stylish, flashy jacket of some sort. He and I spent the next couple of hours brainstorming...

"A classic, of course, but it's been done"



"And re-done"



"Nah, too studded"

"Nah, too zipper-y"

"Nah, way too big."

Freddie was really down now. He sighed heavily and said, "Well, let me get out to the car park booth. Guests will be arriving soon." I stopped him before he trudged out the door. "Wait, Freddie", I said. "Safety first!", and I handed him the standard-issue yellow slicker that we required all of our parking attendants to wear.

Freddie suddenly got a big smile on his face and bounded out the door. I'd never seen him so excited about safety!
Oddly, he didn't stick around long enough that night to park a single car, but shortly after that, good things started to happen for the band. So that worked out nicely.

Just Another Rock-n-Roll Bodyguard Story

As Clark made you all aware on Monday, there have been many times when we have undertaken bodyguard-type work. Michael refers to these times as "a little extra sum-sum'pn" but I prefer to think of them as "slow crime weeks". See, when there's not enough bad guys out there to vanquish, things can get a little thin over at the Unbelieva-base.

At least there's beer.

Now, because we were so well-known around Vegas and Tinseltown, not to mention the Great White Way, Tin Pan Alley and La-La-Land (and Disney World), we had been asked many times if we offered personal protective services, by which we mean this...

Not this.

So, in order to keep the wolf from the door, we decided to take on a few clients and keep the fridge fully stocked.

Just can't get good help these days.

One of our first clients was the actor Karl Malden, who felt the need to hire bodyguards when he embarked upon a recording career and felt certain he would be mobbed wherever he went.

Sadly for Mr. Malden, this was not only his only recording, but the only copy ever sold. Well, that's not specifically true - he actually gave us this copy, then 'borrowed' five bucks from Michael one day and 'forgot' to return it.

We also met a musical group of young'uns who were big fans of ours. Such big fans, in fact, that they did a pastiche of one of the more famous pictures of us, from one of our early cases where we employed the services of Schlomo McCaskill, the world's only Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent. Here's the original...

And their version...

They called themselves Jiminy Christmas and The Fires of Molech, but we thought that was a bit wordy and just called them dorks. However, we offered them our services, and it worked out for a while. Because we needed to protect our identities, we went in disguise as another band, which helped us to blend in seamlessly.

Here we are as "The Spontaneous Cheese Polka Experience". Now that's a band name.

It all went belly-up with Jiminy after a while, when they failed to secure a record deal and went their separate ways. We only had one more musical client after that, and it was this character.

As you can see, his name is not worth remembering, but he thought he was something when Dick Dale, after one too many adult beverages, agreed to let him play at his club. Big mistake. This dude literally never wore clothes anywhere if he could avoid doing so. We got really fed up with escorting a nudist about. So when he took the stage, believe me, he needed protecting. However, by this point we'd had enough of his naked shenanigans and had left the building.

I'm sure he's OK and made it out alive.

Michael will let you know about some of our other bodyguard assignments on Friday. Till then... ciao!