But ... Are They *Really* Unbelieva-Perks?

Unbelieva-Perks? Oh, yeah. Comes with the territory.

But ...

In order for there to be rainbows, a little rain must fall. (Yeah ... I'm taking liberties with the saying.)

Here are a few "examples" ... 

A life time supply of curry

Now ... I don't know about you but I'm not particularly fond of curry.

I don't use it in anything I cook and, unless it's ordered for or presented to me directly, I won't eat it. But that didn't stop the good-hearted soul whose cats we saved from a backyard oak tree presenting us with a supply of the spice. We graciously accept it and continue to do so every time a package of the stuff arrives at our doorstep. And it arrives like clockwork at the first of each and every month. Then? We donate it to culinary schools, restaurants and other organizations willing to take it off our hands.

Yeah ... a life time supply of curry. Strange, no?

6,920 feet of retail space

One group of elderly ladies - after helping them get their car started - left us a deed to a second hand store.

Yes. An. Entire. Second. Hand. Store. Fully stocked with gadgets and trinkets and old clothing and shoes and unused baby stuff. Go figure.

"Thank you" wood

Yeah. Wood. It seems one of our do-good deeds set us up with the gift of left over tree trimmings, such that they were. While unexpectedly set in the firewood department for the next few years, the question naturally arose about how much firewood we actually needed ... in Stiletto Flats, Nevada. (Hint: Zero.)

Clark will wrap up the week with more Unbelieva-Perks. Though, of which variety is anyone's guess.

Unbelieva-Perks

One of the greatest things about being a member of an elite group of international crimefighters is the perks. Of course, we don't expect people to thank us in kind - we do what we do because, well, somebody's got to, and it's probably better that it's us doing it rather than some ill-equipped, unprepared schmoe who'd probably make a right old pig's ear of it, huh? We are well trained and highly skilled, not to mention experienced, and it just makes good sense to put us on the case. But we don't expect thanks of any sort.

However, when people thank us for helping out in whatever small way we can, it is always appreciated. Even if it happens to be a tip of the hat, a peck on the cheek or a handshake, it feels good to be respected, beloved, esteemed and cherished.

But what feels really good is when we get gifts. A lifetime supply of jam, for example. When we solved a case for a fruit farmer, his wife vowed to send us homemade jams and jellies for life. Every month a small package containing half a dozen jars of jams and marmalades* arrives, regular as clockwork. And if they're not snaffled by Kip the mail boy, we do what we like to call "getting our preserves on". Clark hits the toaster, Michael whips out the butter and I open those jars, butter knife at the ready. We call on a couple of Unbelievababes and maybe some of the residents of Marissa's Home for Wayward Showgirls and we pig out.

We be jammin'

Another time Clark just happened to mention in passing that he loved playing records on tinny old novelty record players cranked up to "distort", and a few days later, this arrived in the mail.

He was in hog heaven, I'm telling you.

So as you can see, little surprises like that make it all worth while. I mean, it's all very well getting that warm glow of inner satisfaction from the knowledge of a job well done, but what can compare to the feeling of getting cool stuff just handed to you on a silver platter? It doesn't get any better than that.

Michael and Clark will no doubt have tales of other 'little extras' we sometimes earn. But in the meantime, we gotta run... we just got given three tickets to see the amazing Rocky Preston in concert, just for breaking up a black market Christmas sweater syndicate. All in a day's work.

*I love marmalade, by the way.

A Double Dose Of Ky-Bosh

No matter the manner in which you put an explanation out there, there's always going to be a Doubting Thomas who will attempt to refute it.

I was going to expand on the posts from Clark and Jeff this week with additional tales of daring-do and our "team-ups" as such, when our threesome becomes a twosome as called for.

But then THIS letter showed up in the mailbox yesterday:

Hey, Unbelieva-Dorks:

Imagine the irony of your moniker regarding this week's "theme" (if that's what you want to call it).

News Flash: You can't fool us. There might be a few out there who take everything you say as gospel but believe me when I state you jerks have a huge following who revel in calling you on your bullshit. And specifically on one of you being a "third wheel" on select "cases."

You see, we read between the lines. We see through the hogwash and know you are in the midst of some pretty engaging turmoil where your group stands. We know the three core members of The Unbelievables - Clark, Jeff and Michael - are continually at odds with each other; it's a power struggle of rather larger proportion that creates a big mess within your ranks whenever any two of you head out without the third. Toes get stepped on ... egos get bruised. And what you guys do is either ignore those hurt feelings or pretend they don't exist.

Well, sorry. We don't buy it. It's just a matter of time before you stooges implode from all the backstabbing. And we'll be there with bells on to witness it all.

In anticipation, Trevor

Isn't it a kick how some people take things and run with them? A few tales in this week and "Trevor" has ascertained our trio is so fractured we're on the verge of collapse.

Don't worry, folks. Nothing could be further from the truth. Jeff, Clark and I are rock steady and solid through and through. There isn't any pending social shake-up, no jealousy chipping away at our veneer. There's no oneupsmanship and there certainly isn't any backstabbing. (Well, there is ... but it's all in good fun. And we've never let it well up to a point where it could do any damage.)

"Trevor" is winging it and simply has some warped ideas.

Dream on, Trevor ... dream on. 

Los Unbelievables en México

One of the greatest examples in Unbelieviana* where two heads are better than three is The Case Of The Evil Luchadoras, otherwise referred to as Michael y Jeff patear algunos burros graves.

Yes, that's right, this was the time when we Unbelievables suspected that Mexican Lady Wrestlers (or Luchadoras) were secretly fronting a Portmeirion Pottery smuggling ring. Sounds bizarre, doesn't it? But the truth is far stranger than fiction. Serious collectors would pay top peso for a single teacup made by that famed pottery (that used to be in a Welsh village where they filmed The Prisoner but then moved to Stoke-On-Trent). 

Oh, the price they could get for a single mini-ramekin or flan dish would make your head spin.

900 pesos.

Loads more pesos.

So Michael and I decided to don our wrestling duds and head South of the Border for a little tag-team time. And of course, disguise is dead easy when all you have to do is don a mask and a cape. Presto! We were luchadores.

I was EL COBRA LOCO!

And Michael... Amigo Tóxico!

We fit right in with the other luchadores and had a great time fighting in the ring and hanging with them after work. We were, of course, pumping them for inside information into where we could locate the one they called...La Madonna con los pechos grandes!

One fateful Martes afternoon, we were doing a spot of shopping in between wrestling shows in the little village of Poco Inferior, when we ran into some luck. All of it bad. 

We were approached by these, ahem, ladies...

who began taunting us and suggesting that our wrestling prowess was perhaps not all it could be. Well, ladies and gents, we were not going to back down from this kind of threatening behaviour, ladies or no ladies.  We gave them a good sound thrashing. Unfortunately, the local federales  came and broke the fight up and we found ourselves tossed in the local hoosegow with these nefarious characters who all looked like Danny Trejo, or relatives of Danny Trejo. One of them even had a Danny Trejo tattoo on his arm - or was it his leg?

Well, we immediately befriended them by eagerly participating in the knife game and eventually told them about our quest to locate La Madonna con los pechos grandes.

This group of ne'er-do-wells had all met her before. Twice. One was even married to her for 18 hours in Las Vegas. And yes, he knew where she was.

So after a mysterious benefactor (Clark, who had received our emergency homing signal back at the Unbelievabase) paid our extortionate bail money, we were back on the trail of La Madonna con los pechos grandes!

Once we found her hideout and flushed her out, it was time for a little tag-team magic. We hadn't reckoned on the three lady luchadoras who had so cruelly taunted us to reappear, but we were ready. If traditional wrestling moves failed, then it was time for some butt-kickin' Unbelieva-Fu. Half-nelsons, full nelsons, pin falls, triple suplexes, we used them all. But Unbelieva-Fu got the job done. Cuffs on, cops called, warehouse of stolen crockery discovered, crime ring destroyed, bish-bash-bosh. 

But if it had been different, say if it had been Clark and Michael, or me and Clark, it might well have been a failure. Because Clark may be many things, but he is no wrestler. He hates the sport. He has no time for it. It fails to light his fire.

That's not to say he can't fight, oh no no no. He can whoop a punk's candy ass like you would not believe, he's skilled with weaponry like we all are, but if it came to wrestling his heart would not be in it. His head would not be in the game. He'd much rather be down at the local cantina hoisting a few with the locals and getting the lie of the land, so to speak. He's our intel guy, and that's the point of this story. Sometimes you need two to kick ass, and one to make the long-range plans.

I'm sure Michael has another 'two heads are better than three' story to tell...







*Unbelieviana - noun. Stories associated with the Unbelievables.

"Several important box-files of Unbelieviana..."

Sometimes, less is more

Clark & Jeff with dining companions. Not pictured: third wheel.

We, as a team of three, are badasses.
Everybody knows that.
Sometimes however, it suits us to pare down and pair off. In other words, we're actually more effective with fewer members (so to speak). The most obvious example is that it's much easier to get a table for four than a table for six at most swanky uptown establishments. But beyond that, some situations call for one of us to stay back at headquarters or in a van, drinking cold coffee and monitoring the situation via radio, if not sitting things out entirely. That's because our individual skill sets sometimes work best in a 50/50 ratio rather than 33/33/33. Consider this:

Clark = violent

Michael = naked

Jeff = British

Infiltrate an underground S & M circuit? Me and Michael.
Go undercover at a fancy dinner with international dignitaries present? Jeff and Michael
Beat up a bunch of dirty hippies? Me and Jeff

You get the idea. I'm sure Jeff and Michael can cite other examples where it takes two to make a thing go right.

Onesie 'Pon A Time

I love the onset of Fall (or as we Brits refer to it, Autumn). The sizzling temperatures of the summer begin to cool. There's a definite chill in the air. The leaves change from verdant green to a myriad of yellows, browns, oranges and reds. They drop, like a fresh sea-spray in your face when going out in your dinghy to your luxury yacht, onto your carefully manicured lawns and have to be raked up and made into a pile so your snot-nosed kids can then jump in it and ruin the fruits of your labours. Holy terrors.

The cooler weather means we have to cover up a little from our preferred semi-naked state, lest our manly flesh gets covered in goosebumps and scares all the maiden aunts down at the library. Being international playboys who just happen to be butt-kickin' crimefighters, speed and comfort are of the essence. This is when the one-piece jumpsuit comes into play, as noted by Michael on Monday.

In these modern times, however, the jumpsuit has been hijacked by the youth, who have changed the name of it from 'jumpsuit' to 'onesie'. We Unbelievables have a problem with this change for a couple of reasons. 

• Firstly, the terminology is all wrong. This

is a onesie, a one-piece shirt-with-crotch-snaps for babies. Why the crotch snaps? To hold that burgeoning diaper in place while the parent runs around like a headless chicken looking for the baby wipes, the fresh nappy and the butt cream, that's why. A true 'onesie' for adults doesn't really bear thinking about, but it might be useful for those guys who are so chubby that they have trouble keeping their shirts tucked in at work. Eeesh.

• Secondly, what now passes for a onesie is actually a pair of 'footie pyjamas' without feet. Trouble is, they are available in a myriad of wild and silly designs, which might be amusing the first time you wear it, but soon gets old. All that comes of this is that your friends and family now believe you to be a ginormous dork.

This girl (I assume it's a girl) has watched Charlie and The Chocolate Factory one too many times and now wishes to become Violet Beauregarde.

No, if you want to do the jumpsuit right, you have to go back to the classics. It's not a pair of jammies, snug and warm for Fall though they may be. It's a suit, practical and stylish, where the trousers are joined to the shirt and (in some cases) jacket. 

Clark and I showing off our stylish suits. We are ready for action!

And I know the festive season is just around the corner (only 18 Tuesdays away, folks!) but seriously -  Christmas onesies are even worse than the normal kind.

Except for this one, of course.

Football Fashion For Fall!

As the air gets cooler and the leaves turn browner, it's almost time to put away the summer fashions.

If you own this in more than just white, you're good.
If not, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?

Lest we forget, the sports calendar moves along as well. That means after a summer when the whole world was watching football (and rooting for the upstart and dearly departed nation of Unbelievia to bring home The World Cup), it's time to start watching football! The two most powerful retailers in the world (J.C. Penny's and Sears, of course) have fantastic fan wear that will allow you to root for any of the 26 NFL teams in style! 

A rain slicker is a must-have. Might as well get one that supports your favorite team. As you can see, this item is available for black people too!

What would it look like if one really fast player played for every team? Buy all 15 of these sweatshirts and find out!

Simple. Understated. Classy. Nothing conjures up what the NFL is all about like the iconic football helmet, the shoddy, ineffectual headgear that shortens the lifespans of real former football players, often by rendering them suicidal!

What better way to show your support for the greatest football player of all time, O.J. Simpson, than with a shirt with his picture on it? Other teams available too.

The key to any good workout regimen is a sharp looking track suit, as shown on this page by former Pittsburgh Steeler Dan Tackwad. Dan is in the pro football hall of fame as the last white defensive back to play in the NFL. He starts his days now just like he did when he played, with a very slow two mile run. Top off your ensemble with a douchey Ashton Kutcher cap!

Time for bed. Even the most intense 'roid rage will be quelled by these comfy, cozy jammie sets. Nighty-night, all star!

Here's the ultimate! An actual NFL team uniform! You and your friends can put together your own versions of the Los Angeles Rams and Houston Oilers. All uniforms are available in the "home" (dark) version only and are numbered either 33, 44 or 55 for maximum confusion and mayhem on the gridiron. Best of all, you know these uniforms are authentic NFL caliber; $9.99 is the same amount the NFL invests in the on-field safety of each of their players!