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.

The "Short" Of It

You may have asked yourself previously: "True ... The Unbelievables are natural attractants of the fairer sex. It's been well documented time and again. But how, exactly, do such comely gals gravitate to those guys?"

Terrific question. Something not so "out there" in the way of understanding that it can't be explained easily.

In the simplest of terms, as a group, it comes courtesy of our super suave sophistication. Individually, it's our own personal tenets. 

Think about it: Wouldn't you want to be a member of The Unbelievables, consisting of days spent kicking evil doer butt, happy-go-lucky shindigs jam-packed with food and frolickery and adoring fans and well-wishers galore? What's not to like?

But I'm here to delve into the personal aspects of our attraction, specifically hot cars (Clark), good food (Jeff) and a "less is more" approach (me).

Yes, it's a fact Clark digs his motor vehicles. You know well his fondness for his beloved yellow Corvette, a 100% chick magnet if ever there was one.

 One of Clark's many photos atop his Corvette ...

Jeff? Let's just say good cookin' isn't only for the male of the species; a man in a kitchen stewing up a batch of signature whipped potatoes is sexy as all get out.

Many, many chefs the world over have attempted to duplicate

even one of Jeff's whipped potato recipes.

All have failed ... spectacularly.

Me? As mentioned (and also well documented in these pages) it's the allure of minimalism that gets the ladies ("Hello, Ladies!") excited. In short, no shorts. Pantslessness. The breech of bloomers. Undeniably, it's simplicity at its finest.

Now ... some of you might think "That's just downright creepy. A guy walking around without pants, strutting about in nothing but boxer briefs ... ewww." But you would be wrong.

It takes a special skill set to pull this look off, folks.

Especially when you've got the legs to pull it off. (And I have'em.) Not to mention the confidence. You see, it's not just the fact of "sans trouserism" ability; few have it. It's not as simple as doffing your jeans. First and foremost you have to have stately limbs for it to work. And you must project certainty in so doing. There's got to be poise, along with a bit of carefree brashness. Not to mention nerve. And you have to have your wits about you, too. It's not just daring; there's a definite mettle that needs to be in one's possession in order to establish this particular state of being. You have to own it without boasting it.

Clark can't do it. Jeff can't do it. I've offered pointers, they've tried. But we all have our strengths and weakness. Only I can attain "lack of slacks" and make it look effortless. It's a gift, really.

After all, Jeff and I can't woo the ladies ("Hello again, Ladies!") the way Clark can with his roadster. And I, along with Clark, bow to the mastery of Jeff's spud-making skills which get the girls running his way.

"Have you've seen Michael without pants today?"

(Typical Unbelieva-Babe whispering behind closed doors at the Unbelieva-Base.)

I mean ... when you've got it, you've got it. And The Unbelieva-Babes know I have it.

Later in the week, the guys will elaborate on their endowments that make the Unbelieva-Babes giddy.

Moving forward with the matter at hand

Okay, so maybe I touched up my jail photo a little bit, you know, for aesthetics. And maybe the original looked more like this...

And maybe I have a preference when it comes to certain foods. I don't trust nature, okay? What, you put a seed in the ground and in a couple of weeks you pull a potato out of a ground and you're just supposed to pop that in your mouth? That's the sketchiest thing I've ever heard! No!
No, you take that potato and run some science over it and dehydrate it and make it super-concentrated so when you add water to it, it's amazing. That's how you do food!

Mm-MMM!!

Anyway, let's re-focus; Henri Petit was able to put ME, an actual card-carrying Unbelieveable IN JAIL! How?? WHY?!? Does he have a better lawyer than we do?
This is what we need to work on right now!

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!

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.

Of course there's no such thing as an "Unbelievables Starter Kit", but if there was...

A starter kit?
To become an Unbelievable?
Ha.
Ha ha ha ha ha.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!

What a gradually ascending 'Ha-ha-ha'-inducing concept. To believe there could ever exist such a thing as an "Unbelievables Starter Kit" is to believe it's possible to just start being Unbelievable. In other words, such a thing could never, ever exist in any form whatsoever.

But if it could exist, it would probably have the following items AT LEAST.

A VOLLEYBALL

Michael enjoys competing in a number of "clothing discouraged optional" sports leagues, but his first love and primary pursuit is the sport of volleyball. WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH BECOMING A CRIMEFIGHTER? Well, you learn agility, teamwork, and in the leagues Michael plays in, protecting one's dangly bits from speeding projectiles.

WHIPPED POTATOES

There are few things Jeff loves more than good whipped potatoes. What qualifies as good whipped potatoes? Basically, any potatoes prepared and served in a whipped fashion would qualify. WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH BECOMING A CRIMEFIGHTER? An appreciation of good cuisine is essential. Say you're attending a formal, catered affair where your nemesis is trying to woo vital military secrets from a baroness. There's no better way to draw the attention of everyone in the room than bypassing the flaming shrimp appetizers everyone else is enjoying and ordering, "Potatoes. Whipped, not baked." Jeff has done this more than once and it never fails to jar his adversary's confidence.

A CAR 

Specifically, this car, the Unbelievabamobile. With this girl. WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH BECOMING A CRIMEFIGHTER? Seriously? If you have to ask that question, there's honestly no point in you pursuing this line of work.

That's just three elements that would have to be included in any kind of "Unbelievables Starter Kit" and I have no idea how you would even package them together. 

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?