Sorry For The Delay...

~~~continued from where we left off~~~

"Guys! Guys, wake up!" I thought I heard Kip say.

Kip? KIP? Kip who'd been revealed to be a robot driven by the foul preschooler Petit? Why would I be hearing his voice, considering we were on an old movie set doing battle with dozens of past foes, next to the burning remains of a cushty Renault Espace?

As Clark, Michael and I dispatched villain after villainess, goon after goonette, henchmen after henchwoman, we all turned as we heard it again.

"C'mon now guys, time for breakfast!"

"How curious", I thought, and I could tell the others did too.

We all looked at each other. 

Roundhouse kicking Negative Charge across the room, Michael said, "You know (oof), even though we are (biff) incredibly skilled crimefighters (thwak), well versed in UnbelievaFu (clonk) and other forms of hand-to-hand (boiinngg) combat, including but not limited to capoeira (doof), tae kwon do (bosh) and the little-known Scottish art of Fookujimmi (crakk), doesn't this all seem remarkably easy?"

"Now that you (pow) mention it," replied Clark, "I was beginning to think I had just gotten (whammo) amazingly better at fighting, too."

"Chaps, I think it's time (blaff) we did something completely out of left field," I said, casually pummeling the punchable face of Mac Ramey as I did so. "Let's see what happens (kerbloop) if we stop fighting."

The others were incredulous, but quickly decided that they'd give it a try.

"On three, OK? One...two...two and a half...three!!"

We stood still and let our arms flop to our sides. As I suspected, everyone else stopped fighting too and stood around with puzzled looks on their faces. Suddenly we heard a voice.

"CUT!! CUT! Guys, what the hell are you doing?"

We looked across to a director's chair in which an incensed Henri Petit was sitting, wearing a beret and aviator pants and smoking with a very long cigarette holder. 

"You guys weren't supposed to stop! It's not meant to be like this! No fair! My film is ruined! Waaaah!!" he bawled. 

~~~GAME OVER~~~

"Wake up, you guys, come on!" yelled Kip. "You've been playing that game for weeks now!"

We felt a pair of hands removing something from our faces, revealing Kip, solid and definitely not a Petit-driven robot, in front of us.

Woozily, Clark was the first to speak. "What game? What are you talking about?"

"This one." Kip handed Clark a copy of our video game, which has now been made into a Virtual Reality version (only $69.99 in stores now, folks! Get'em while they're hot!).

"Lemme see that," snarled Michael, snatching the box away from Clark. "Hmmm. Well, I'll be goddamned. What level were we on?"

"Apparently, a custom level whereupon you can meet all previous foes and a few new ones, called "THE UNBELIEVABLES MEET TIE-PO AND THE TEETA VON DEESE TRIPLETS" Michael said, reading from the box. "Play as Michael, Clark or Jeff as they team up with an old enemy to defeat an army of old adversaries on a Hollywood backlot." Well, that's what happened, I guess. But the whole backstory of sitting around in the backyard, hearing the girls' voices, watching them drive away in a Renault Espace, meeting Tie-Po, being put in gunnysacks, dumped in a parking garage, picked up by that shrimp Petit and made to fight an onslaught of disguised stuntmen while he films it? To what end, might one ask?"

"You think that's bad," replied Kip. "It's lucky you didn't put it in Zombie mode."

We all three looked at each other. "ZOMBIE MODE?!"

We reached for the goggles...

Flying high over and past 500

The celebration of the Fantastic 500 was/is one to behold, if not experience. Michael observed the occasion at 30,000 feet. Jeff did his thing, which he will tell you about on Friday. And I marked it, as well as the incoming New Year, with a night of quiet contemplation and introspection. Yes, 500 is quite an impressive milestone. But what does one do when they reach a milestone? Does one stop? Perhaps, briefly, to take note of what has come before and what may lie ahead, but no, nobody actually stops at a milestone.

"Well, we're here. I guess."

No! One continues onward and upward! or outward or down or wherever it is they're headed.

And so that's we did/do/are doing/done. As such, you can look forward to more...

Nefarious ne'er-do-wells

Fabulous femme fatales

Varoom-y vehicles (sometimes, alliteration is hard)

And the annoying little twerp Henri Petit will undoubtedly stick his misshapen malignant melon (ah, I'm back!) into things at some point.

"Ah yes, I have grand, twisted, evil plans indeed for The Unbelievables in 2016! And finally, they will pay me the respect to which I am... Hey, put me down! What are you doing? Do NOT buckle me into a car seat, place me in the back seat of a minivan and turn on 'Finding Nemo'! I keep telling you that I am an adult and I... " 

A Hive Of Scum And Villainy part 2

It's true, getting away to San Diego once a year to frolic with the Comic Con folks is pretty much his thang. What he doesn't know is that Jeff and I planned to show up and surprise him there this year. That scheme ran into a couple of snags though.
First, I got to town and talked my way into an extra key to his hotel suite at the impossibly posh San Diego Grand Plaza Terrarium. I changed into a perfect and brilliant disguise and went to his room. However, when I got there, I found a would-be assassin lying in wait. Tsk. As Unbelievables, there's never a time when we're truly safe from ne'er do-wells. Anyway, thanks to the top-notch security system at the San Diego Grand Plaza Terrarium, I'm able to show you exactly how I took care of the situation.
If you think that was wacky, just wait until you hear Jeff's story!

A Hive Of Scum And Villainy

Want to know where one of the world's most dangerous pantheons of deviousness resides? Where hundreds of ne'er-do-wells and schemers who wish to put the "bad" in badness meet up?

Beautiful San Diego, California.

In mid-July at the southern tip of the state smack dab in the middle of "America's Finest City" there's a little shindig known as Comic-Con International which showcases a festival of all things geek in nature.

Originally fueled at its core by the once lowly comic book, Comic-Con has morphed over the years into a spectacle welcoming dork interests, nerd attractants and cosplay weirdos for years. And it's really played up to television and film promotion in the last 10 showings, too. Enough hype to fill your wazoo, enough private parties to choke a horse, enough panels and detailed workshops and art shows to please any passerby. Add it all up and you have a 4-day orgy that brings out the heretofore socially stunted contingent of the world's population in unparalleled numbers.

But ...

Comic-Con isn't just for the geeky fan or casual observer. Oh, no.

Underneath it all is a not-so-secret playground for the criminal element, where bad guys glean ideas for new and innovative monkey business to foist on an unsuspecting public. Where they blueprint their next nefarious plan for world domination. Where they can hobnob and rub elbows with other fiends to network their skills and knowledge. Simply for the benefit of their over-sized delusions of grandeur.

Yep. Comic-Con. Bad people's paradise. 

Let me show you some examples, both brilliant and ... well, not so brilliant of their work:

Some wannabee villains think an unsuspecting public will fall for just about anything ...

Ummmmm ... no.

Clearly an aged and underhanded baddie who just doesn't know when to call it quits.
(As evidenced by her "cleverly disguised" motorized wheelchair.)

 Again: No. (*yeesh*)

Talk about "working it."
Even good guys like me are impressed with this kind of dedication.

Hello, Ladies!

 See what I mean about delusions of grandeur?

 As a bad guy wannabee,
if you think you can get away with putting a burger on your back
and using it as some sort of evil bomb or propulsion unit?
You've got quite a way to go in the R&D Department ...

No question which side of the fence this guy is on ... 

Obvious villains.

I again note the dude with the burger on his back a few photos up: 
It's back to the drawing board, folks.

Yes, it's obvious this woman doesn't have anyone's best interests at heart.
But, she's not the concern.
See the dude in the back giving the "thumbs up" at her?
He's a clear candidate for evil.

Now, while this Smokin' Joe may appear to be a badass,
you have to applaud his honesty.

I'm saddened to report fellow Unbelievables Clark and Jeff weren't able to accompany me on this (not so) little reconnaissance venture. But rest assured they'll weigh in just the same. 

No end to the fiendish villains we face

Q: What's more evil genius-y than people with enormous heads (like Simon Bar Sinister or Megamind)?
Q2: What's creepier than twin girls (like in The Shining)?
A: The combination of both of those horrible things.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold Fiona and Fetlana, The Fivehead Twins (not to be confused with the Klumpmasterflash Twins).

Proof that they're creepy? They're 35-years-old in this picture.

Starved for attention ever since their starstruck mother (also a villain in her own rite, the henious Stagemom whose catchphrase, "Who wants to be the next Dana Plato?", instills terror in all those who hear it) failed to get them steady work as child actresses, the Fivehead Twins concentrated on training their enormous brains to emit mind control over others. They succeeded in developing a technique that would actually display subliminal messages on their foreheads like an image on a movie screen at a drive-in movie theatre, albeit slightly smaller. Over the years, the messages they've attempted to inflict upon the general population include, "DEAD ROCK STARS CAN'T BE WRONG; HEROIN IS GOOD!", "SAVE TIME; TEXT AND DRIVE!" and "CALL (904) 633-2000 FOR JACKSONVILLE JAGUARS SEASON TICKETS". We've battled them for years, always coming out victorious, always by simply making them wear hats. We've gone so far as lining them up with legit advertising jobs (Fiona was named employee of the month once by Anheuser Busch) but they always seem to stray from the path of good back to their evil ways.
Of course, there are many more minor-league menaces out there. The guys will share some experiences with them later this week.

The Case of King Cotton (Part 2)

When we first learned that hot dogs were being tainted, making them more deadly, we wondered 'why bother?'. That's like putting an unnecessarily sharp, rusty edge on a nuclear bomb. But once, Jeff determined that it was mind control, we knew where to start our investigation: the criminal mastermind Henri Petit.

Henri Petit is an evil genius afflicted with a rare and mysterious medical condition; he's a full-grown adult who looks like a child. He is also a sociopath, obsessed with the idea of stunting the growth of children, using meat products and tobbaco to accomplish this.

When he himself was actually a child, his parents served him nothing but Prairie Belt Smoked Sausages, either because they were very poor or they hated young Henri (both theories are valid). It's believed that the product within the cans caused his condition and that the artwork on the outside of them inspired his twisted, evil, meaty plans:



SERVING SUGGESTION: Potted meat = mutant children people

 We've dealt with him many, many times but he's incarcerated today because we thwarted his plot to infuse chcken nuggets with nicotine.

We travelled to the maximum security holding facility in Baltimore where he is currently being held to interview him in order to get some insight into the mind of this "King Cotton". Here's a partial transcript:

MICHAEL: All right, Petit. Tell us what you know about bright red hot dogs.
PETIT: Ah, the mighty Unbelievables need my assistance! How ironic. How delicious. Very well. Quid pro quo. I will tell you things and in exchange for my cooperation, you will tell me things. Do we have an agreement?
CLARK: I agree to grab you by your stubby legs and drag your head back and forth across the bars of this jail cell!
PETIT: Okay, that's...
JEFF: I will put a tiny sombrero on your head, hang you from the ceiling and hit you with a stick until candy comes out!
PETIT: What??
MICHAEL: I will punch your face so many times you'll beg me to kick your ass, just for the sake of variety!
PETIT: Listen, seriously, what is it with you guys and physical violence? Just once, couldn't we compete on a more clever, intellectual level, a battle of wit, vocabulary and elocution like a verbal chess match?
CLARK: Shut up, you ugly fat baby!
JEFF: Yeah! Talk, you hideous infant!
PETIT: I AM NOT A... Look, you can't harm me. Sure, on the outside of these prison walls you've beaten me to a pulp and hit me with cars and thrown me through plate glass windows more times than I care to remember. But in here, I'm surrounded by a phalanx of prison guards who don't give a damn about the vaunted Unbelievables. It would appear your 'justice system' has failed you; you see, I'm in here to keep the public safe, yet I'm the one being protected. Once again, how deliciously ironic!
MICHAEL: Yeah, we're almost done over here, guys (continues signing autographs and posing for photos with prison guards).
PETIT: (Sighs) Damn it!

 It didn't take long after that, but further, um, discussion with Petit confirmed Jeff's theory that King Cotton was seeking to establish control over the minds of children for the purpose of making them serve as his mindless slave army.


Already armed with weapons and swearing allegiance to their new overlord.

We had to make our next move quickly... and that's exactly what we did.

Friday: The conclusion to The Case of King Cotton

Happy St. Patrick's Day From The Unbelievables!

 A reminder from The Unbelievables: 

During this festive weekend, it's perfectly okay to ingest any and all green foods or beverages. 

We're not saying these things won't make you sick, just that you should eat/drink them. 

You know, in the spirit of the thing.

 

McPost Script (See what we did there?) Being the jolly (and stylish) gents we are, there are times when camaraderie and good will toward men is simply "the right thing to do" ... you know? And, in the spirit of such, we're even willing to wish some of our past and present villains and ne'er-do-wells a Happy St. Patrick's Day ...

... even one whose name naturally tends toward "the green" (despite the fact he is annoying as can be), one Leo Von Grunwald ... better known as "Lee Greenwood."

Happy St. Patrick's Day to even you, Leo ...