Bananarama Pajama Drama

As you are by now acutely aware, we Unbelievable types have many friends (moles, contacts, informants) in the business known as show. Some of our more interesting stories involve talented celebrities who requested our assistance in some form or another. This is one of those stories.

Back in the 1980s we were lucky enough to become acquainted with three lovely ladies who went by the names of Siobhan, Keren and Sarah. Collectively they went by the monicker Bananarama. At least, they did after they met us.

When first we encountered the 'Nanas, they were a gospel trio that had hit upon hard times. It was in a little taverna in ol' Piedras Negras, right across the Texas border, that we found what were then known as The Faith Tones, singing their little hearts out and desperately trying to flog the last few remaining copies of their one and only LP Jesus Use Me out of a battered suitcase propped up against a sleeping Mexican drunk (who knew they even existed?) who himself was propped up against the upright piano.

L to R: Keren, Sarah, Siobhan.

We were there on another case involving an aloe-smuggling ring we had uncovered via our great pal, the late great DK - Don Knotts to the folks at home. But I digress.

While sipping the local brew we discussed the merits of the trio of ladies in the corner.

"These kids need help," mused Michael.

"You're not wrong there, bucko, " riposted Clark. "Someone needs to tap them and tell them."

I pondered for a moment and decided we should introduce ourselves, so after another rousing chorus of Rock Of Ages we sidled over and told them who we were.

"Oh wow!" replied Siobhan. "We love you guys - and Jesus, of course."

Sarah interjected, "Oh my Gawd, can you guys help us? We are not doing well here, as you can see. In fact, you could say we're sucking wind. Surely three stylish gents such as yourselves can help us out a little?" Those may not have been her exact words, but you get the gist.

We were taken aback by the charming Sarah's unabashedly upfront approach, and after a short discussion agreed to take the girls under our wing and give them a top-to-bottom inside-out makeover.

We told them to lose the up-do hairstyles and go for something a tad more funky-punky. The uptight church clothes were to be swapped for loose, baggy yet feminine urban streetwear. The clunky pumps traded in for hi-tops and hiking boots. And that name? The Faith Tones? Ditch that and go all out with something silly. The daftest name you can think of. Well, on TV at the time was an episode of ITV's Dramarama - so after playing with it for a minute or two, Bananarama were born.

See how much happier they look? Especially after Keren got contacts.

We used our showbiz contacts to get them some studio time and a few choice session players to back them up, and after a while, the name Bananarama was on everyone's lips.

But that isn't the end of the story. Oh no.

A few years later the 'Ramas requested help from us again - this time to hunt down a bootlegger who was clearly confused, selling tapes of old demos under the Bananarama name, yet decorating his product with pictures of the foul and repellent children's characters Bananas In Pajamas. Eeesh. The last thing the ladies wanted was their good name tainted and besmirched by the talent-free oversized fruits.

Well, we hunted down the culprit - wasn't that hard, actually, ya just gotta know where to look -  and the ladies were so grateful they showed us their pajamas.  Well, not so much pajamas as inflatable bananas really.

And then we naturally dated them all for a while.  Good times, good times...

But this wasn't the only time we've helped Z-listers become A-listers, was it boys?

An (Unreliable) Side Note

Speaking of unreliable ...

*knock, knock*

I opened the front door. A police officer was standing on the stoop. "Hello?"

"Good morning. Does a Clark Brooks live here?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes he does."

"Is he here? May I speak with him?"

"Sure. I'll get him. Hold tight a moment ..."

I ran inside and tracked him down. "There's a police officer at the door who wants to speak with you," I told Clark.

"What does he want?"

"To speak with you."

"Come with me. This smells fishy," Clark said. We both trotted down the hallway to the door.

Clark opened it to see the waiting officer. "Good morning. I'm Clark. May I help you?"

"Clark Brooks? You're the owner of a vintage yellow Corvette, correct?" the officer asked.

"Yes."

"There have been several reliable reports of a vintage yellow Corvette seen cruising down Main Street in the wee hours of this morning with several women spilling out of it. One account stated there were no less than 4 ladies barely inside the vehicle ..."

"Well ... that doesn't sound reliable to me. That's just not possible," Clark responded. "The 'Vette's only a two-seater ..."

"Were you driving down Main Street early this morning between the approximate hours of 12:45 a.m. and 1:15 a.m.?"

"No. I was here."

"Can you verify you were here during those times?" the officer shot back.

"Of course. I was on my computer ... buying robots."

"Robots?" the officer asked quizzically.

"Yes. I like robots. I have a printed receipt I can show you around the time you mentioned which will show the time of purchase. Someone is pulling a fast one on you, officer. I was never outside this location. Yesterday around noon when I was out getting some lunch, that was the last time I was around and about."

"So ... you weren't out driving around Main Street this morning?"

"No."

"And you didn't have half a dozen women spilling out from your Corvette?"

"No! I told you: It's a two-seater ..."

"I'd like to see that receipt if you don't mind," the officer requested. Clark went inside to get it. As he passed me, he threw up his hands and shrugged. I did the same back at him.

I heard giggling coming from the kitchen where Jeff was cooking something. In between the chuckling, he was half singing, half humming War's Spill The Wine: 

"... spill the wine, get that girl ... spill the wine, dig that pearl ..."

The Saga Of Michael and Luanne

Hoo boy. Relationships, eh? A lot of the time they can be tricky things to keep in balance. It's like being a tightrope walker - one wrong step and the show's over. You might as well stay home and play a board game just to be on the safe side.

Maybe not this particular one, though.

And it's probably best not to try this, either...

Because after all, isn't the image we have of the perfect relationship something like this?

But all too often it ends up being more like this?

And we Unbelievables have, with relatively few exceptions, managed to keep our relationships with the ladies (Hello, ladies!!!) in control. But in a few cases, such as the one mentioned on Monday by Clark (thanks for that, by the way, Clark) things have gone south in double-quick time. 

Here's an excellent example of a relationship that went pear-shaped in short order.

Michael met this lovely, attractive girl Luanne from the typing pool. She seemed like the kind of girl any international butt-kicking crimefighting playboy would want on his arm - cute, smart, funny etc. - but just like every superhero has an inner demon or a major character flaw or a secret weakness, Luanne had one thing that let her down and let her down big time. 

She couldn't take her liquor. By which I mean she could drink it just fine, but once she did, it brought out some unpleasant traits which caused Michael to reconsider his eagerness to date this otherwise charming young lady. 

Fig. 1: After a couple Singapore Slings Luanne became overly touchy-feely, playing with his ears and making Michael look a complete sap.

Fig. 2: Dismayed by Michael's dislike of the public displays of ear-fondling, Luanne gets even more drunk. As you can see by his expression, Michael is regretting coming out on this date.

Fig. 3: Once home, Michael finds himself in the awkward position of trying to sober up a mean drunk. She can't even be bothered to sit like a lady.

So as you can imagine, Luanne was a dud. Michael did let her down easy, but that's life, isn't it? She'll get over it.

So what does it take to stop your love life from looking like this (see below)?

"I hate you, I hate your friends, I hate this drink, and I hate the way you just stand there grinning like an idiot."

I think I have found the answer from some of my fellow countrymen...

"The Unreliables"

Frequently, we make mention here of our many, many, many successful exploits when it comes to courting the fairer sex (females). As much as I'd like to say that we're batting 1.000 (so to speak), that simply isn't the case. Not all the ladies love us.

One of the most high-profile examples of that is Jeff's failed relationship from some time ago that impacted all three of us.
He was dating a woman named Polly who was a television executive with the BBC, a relationship that started out fine before curdling for some reason. She took it hard. So hard, in fact, that she attempted to exact revenge on us by producing a television show that made us look ridiculous, "The Unreliables".

Real subtle, Polly, Downright classy, in fact. Sheesh.

It starred Malcolm Lennon, Ian Jagger and Graham Ledzeppelin and was the story of three lazy, bumbling, incompetent crimefighters, a very thinly veiled parody of us. The characters names were Mark (me), Mickey (Michael) and Geoff (Jeff). Clearly, most of her ire was directed at Jeff but none of us came off very well in it. Here's a sample of dialogue from the show:

MICKEY: Well, great. As a result of doing something stupid, as usual, we're being held prisoner. Again.
MARK: What are we going to do about it this time? Keep in mind that I am emotionally stunted.
GEOFF: Don't ask me. I'm too busy with my own selfish and childish indulgences to try to make something of myself. In this case, making myself into someone who is not being held prisoner.
MICKEY: I've got to get out of here. I have girlfriends to neglect! Maybe we could climb over the wall.
GEOFF: That thing is at least a meter high. I haven't stretched because I never exercise and I'm not risking a rip in these pants, which are raggedy, covered in stains and not fit for a proper rubbish bin, yet I insist upon wearing them all the time.
MARK: How am I supposed to send mixed messages as to my level of commitment to some young woman who is too good for me in the first place from in here? Can we at least try the doorknob?
GEOFF: We could, but it's all the way over there and probably locked,
MICKEY: It's four steps away and I know for a fact it's unlocked. They walk right in and out when they deliver our food, which I eat like a slob and don't even offer to share.
GEOFF: Ugh. I'm just way too lazy to try, you guys!
MARK: I am so bad at sex!
MICKEY: We all are!
GEOFF: And weirdly proud of it!

Thankfully, the show didn't get great ratings and was cancelled (destroying the careers of everyone involved with it) before we had to sic the Unbelievalawyers on them.
Believe it or not, there are other instances where the ladies were less than impressed with us. Jeff and Michael will fill you in later this week.

Count Me In!

Many apologies for the lateness of this report, but I was doing some last-minute packing. What? Yes, I'm definitely going, even if the others aren't. Here are my reasons.

1. I love parades, with their noisy vuvuzelas, endless drill teams and majorettes and token naked people.
2. I love free stuff. Who doesn't?
3. I love hotels. Especially the minibar with its great pricing structure. What's that ya say? $20 for a can of Pepsi? Don't mind if I do!
4. I love banquets, especially ones in my honour, as long as there are plenty of whipped potatoes to go round. It doesn't even have to be Tuesday, for Pete's sake!
5. I love to travel. I love sitting next to complete strangers on cramped airplanes making small talk about clouds and eating from miniature furnaces made from plastic. I love not knowing where to put that infuriating clingfilm, drinking from small cups and watching a movie I would gladly pay to avoid coming into contact with.
6. I love BBQ. Seriously, who doesn't love charred meat products slathered in brown sauce accompanied by masses of side dishes of indeterminate origin?

So what if we've never met these people before? So what if we know absolutely nothing about them? A quick Google search should sort that out...

Holy cow! Look at this place!

 Sign me up! What could possibly go wrong!?


(Note: this entry was a scheduled post, written before Jeff took off in a hurry to the airport. We are still waiting to hear from him. - Michael and Clark)

Parades are perfect

Yeah, Michael is right. There's definitely something fishy going on. We're not exactly sure who this Gene Joyner is...yet...but what he apparently doesn't know is that we do some of our best work during parades.
Think about it;

• Lots of people
• A serpentine route through the heart of a metropolitan area
• Floats!

An ideal opportunity to create mayhem. An even more ideal-er opportunity to thwart said mayhem.

Of course, step one is to outfit the Unbelievamobile in parade mode. Sure, it looks festive but the oil slicks, smoke bombs and wheel-mounted tire shredders remain completely functional, making it impossible for Shriners on tiny motor scooters to follow us.

It's amazing how many villains have the one great idea of making something evil and giant and how many of those villains think they're the first ones to think of unleashing them during a parade. Also amazing is how easily titanic monsters like this are defeated with a well-aimed lawn dart.

Giant monster, giant man. Whatever. Same concept, same end result: Us = one, bad guys = zero.

For whatever reason, Michael opted out of this one.

I don't know who is supposed to find a giant fish threatening, aside from smaller fish. Regardless, we got this.

Once stupid, mewling, infant jerk Henri Petit got involved by entering an enormous himself (left) in a parade, our patience with the concept was exhausted. Hence the deployment of UnbelievaGiant (right), which we used to punt the giant idiot into the Grand Canyon. 

Usually, our known presence at an event is enough to make people feel safe and comfortable. Such was the case with this Gay Pride parade in Chicago that went off without a hitch, because at that time,  unfortunately, gay people weren't allowed to marry each other. That wasn't our fault, though. We're only human. One battle against the forces of oppression at a time, folks.

No parade is too big or too small for us. We're always in attendance for Stiletto Flats' annual "Salute to Practical Municipal Service Vehicles Day" parade, which is a very brief affair.

I think you get the point. Whatever happens this weekend, we'll be ready. Isn't that right, Jeff?

We Love A Parade ... but ...

So ... this isn't fishy. 

Nope. 

Not in the least ...

Hey, Unbelievables!

We want to throw you a parade next weekend in your honor! Just for the heck of it! Because we really like you guys!

Think all three of you can make it to West Palm Beach, Florida to my personal botanical garden which houses the only rainforest in the United States? All you need to do is get to an airport and everything else will be taken care of on us: Transportation, food, accommodations, the works! You won't have anything to worry about!

Be here Friday night and if you're here early enough we'll take you out to dinner. Otherwise, your hotel will be waiting ... and we'll have separate rooms for all three of you.

Saturday? That's the big parade. It starts at noon so dress in your colorful best. It will run about an hour with a big BBQ at the tail end of it for you guys! And ... that night? It's party time!

Sunday - after you sleep in - we'll have a late morning send off before you head back.

I'm sure you guys can make it. If you have any questions, get in contact with me. Your plane tickets are coming via FedEx. You should have them sometime Monday afternoon.

See you then!

Gene Joyner
Gene Joyner's Unbelievable Acres Botanic Gardens

I passed the info along to Clark and Jeff so they can look into this further.

You never know what kind of parade may be being held "in our honor" ... if you know what I mean ...