Comfort ... And Style

Jeff came running into the opulent lounge of the Unbelieva-Base one afternoon bursting with exuberance:

"Guys! Guys! Guys! Great idea here! We're now selling Tees!"

Clark and I looked at each other, puzzled. I could tell Clark's mind was spinning with different ideas and I'm certain he could tell mine was doing precisely the same.

"Tease?" Clark asked.

"Yup! Tees! Great idea, don't you think?"

"Ts?" I asked.

"Exactly! It'll be great!"

Clark and I exchanged looks once again."You know ... he might have something there," Clark admitted, stroking his chin. "Let's go out to the garage for a minute ..."

The three of us headed down the hallway to the garage exit. Once there, Clark opened a cabinet, took out a bunnet and cravat, put them both on and leaned against his Corvette with his arms and legs casually crossed, completing the look with a raised eyebrow.

"You're right, Jeff. Nothing garners the attention of the ladies ("Hello, Ladies!") like a good tease ..."

Not exactly what Clark looked like leaning against his Corvette ...

... but you get the picture.

Jeff countered "No, no, no. Tees ... I mean tees ... !!!"

"Oh! I gotcha, Chief!" I ran out of the room and came back lickety-split in a tailored pair of trousers, a fitted long-sleeved shirt and jacket. I was in my disco best. "Tah-dah! I'm dressed to a 'T' ... though you know I prefer pantlessness. Still, I know what turns heads!" I exclaimed.

Put them all together and  << BOOM >>  it's me.

Jeff sighed and shook his head at the floor. "Wrong! I mean Tees as in T-shirts! We've got a golden opportunity to cater to the average Joe and Joette and T-shirts emblazoned with our likeness, calling out The Unbelievables, is just the ticket! Those kinds of Tees ..."

"Yeah ... that'll work" Clark said at the exact same time I did. 

Jeff beamed ...

"The Unbelievables on a T-shirt ... just for me?"

Yep. Get yours today right here. You're welcome. 

Unbelievaclothiers

Being the stylish gents that we are, it's only natural that we would dabble in clothing design from time to time. Usually, it's at the request of an equally stylish celebrity, head of state or other person of influence.

Often, it's an extravagant piece of jewelry...

Perhaps some evening wear...

Maybe something for a formal occasion...

Or even intimate situations...

But until now, we haven't designed anything for the average Joe or Joette. Well, that changes now! Presenting the Unbelieva-T!

I can't say George Clooney has one. But he wants two of them.

That's right! An all-purpose classic t-shirt, perfect for anybody and absolutely ANY occasion! As it says in the catalog:

"Now you can show your allegiance to your favourite butt-kicking stylish crimefighters The Unbelievables with these high quality tees - just perfect for lounging by the pool, staking out the local donut shop, making a batch of whipped potatoes - or even when attending an all-day Unbelievinar on the importance of lapels."

For the unbelievably low, low price of just $18 for fellas and $21 for ladies, these sexy tee's are available in Jeff black, Michael green, Clark purple, Marissa pink and Doo-doo brown (as shown) in sizes up to 4X. And they look absolutely fantastic crumpled on someone's bedroom floor.
Get yours today RIGHT HERE!!

Unbelievaranchers No More

Many apologies for the lateness of this post. Suffice to say - we ain't farmers no more, no sir.

I mean, all any of us know about farming may be summed up in two pictures.

So what on earth possessed us to even attempt it? We had some sort of earthy collective notion that it would be some sort of noble cause, a way of thanking Mother Earth for her endless bounty and making ourselves look cool and altruistic at the same time. Not to mention strong and manly, yet caring. Ladies love that.

NOT one of us.

Nope, as soon as we realised the stress of what we were up against - the early mornings, the feeding, the mucking out (pee-yew!), the thankless tilling of soil from dawn till dusk with nary a breadcrust to munch on at snacktimes, we knew we were onto a loser.

What we couldn't figure out was where the consignment of goats came from in the first place. We scratched our heads for four, five minutes before Michael said," I really don't care where they came from. Sure they're cute lil boogers, but they have got to go. They're eating us out of a wardrobe full of primo threads!"

But where to send them? Again, we put our heads together. But Michael cut through the clouded thinking once more with, "I don't care! Just send'em to someone we really hate."

At this, Clark's eyes lit up. "PETIT!"

He was on the phone to the truck guys within 30 seconds, and one hour later, the goats were loaded onto the truck and gone.

What Henri Petit, that foul infant pipe smoker, made of them is no concern of ours.

Oops.

And the farm? Gone to rack and ruin.

Baaaaaaaaaad News part 2

Before one of us could even comment on how peaceful a place called "Serenity Acres" must be, we heard the "Beep...Beep...Beep..." of trucks backing up. That was followed in quick order by the "Bleat...Bleat...Bleat..." of animals loaded onto those trucks. A LOT of bleating as in A LOT of animals, all of them goats. Truck after truck lined up to offload on our property. So many! We couldn't count the trucks, let alone the individual animals. What the hell was going on??
"What the hell is going on??", asked Michael. The driver of the lead truck said, "We have your livestock delivery, fellas. Where do you want us to leave it all? Because we thought we'd just open the tailgate and let them out all over the place and then drive off. But that was before we realized you were actually here." "No, no, no, don't do that!", Jeff yelled as the drivers of the other trucks did exactly that. I piped up with, "There must be some mistake. We didn't order any livestock. Why would we?" The lead driver was pushing the last goat out of the back of his truck as he answered, "Who knows? We just drive the trucks. Livestock today, furniture tomorrow, who knows the day after that, y'know?" As he hopped into the cab of his truck and drove off, leading the others, Michael asked, "Is that it? Do we need to sign something or...? No? Okay, I guess." It was barnyard bedlam! Goats everywhere. But they were pretty adorable and a couple of them came right over and nuzzled us affectionately
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Well, I guess we're in charge of all these animals now. I always wanted to be a farmer."
Jeff said, "Yeah, this is no big deal. We can make this work. Unbelievaranchers!"
Michael sighed and said, "I suppose we could...". He paused, his thoughts interrupted by the sight of one of the goats munching on his very favorite macrame vests which he was wearing at the time. He clenched his fists as his eyes glowed like embers, He turned to us and growled, "This...shall not stand."

R.I.P, vesty

Baaaaaaaaaad News?

All three of us just got back from a quick weekend get away in beautiful Cabo San Lucas. (A few of the Unbelieva-Babes "convinced" us we needed a little R&R down Mexico way.) Naturally, a terrific time was had by all.

But, on return to our headquarters, we discovered this:

Being a Sunday evening, there wasn't much we could do. We checked the Base for anything unusual - everything seemed in order, no worries there. So we rolled on over to the local diner for pie and coffee to discuss the matter.

Who was behind it? Was it some sort of joke? And ... goats? Really?

Our only real lead was on the bottom of the sign: serenityacresnow.com.

And that's when things got strange ...

Unraveling the Gingervator's scheme

As is usually the case when we're chasing down bad guys, we caught up to Bernard "The Gingervator" Bigyott on the roof of one of the office buildings downtown (Aside: Why do bad guys always run into buildings, charge up flight after flight of stairs until they reach the the roof, where they suddenly realize there's nowhere to go? What did they expect?). And, as is also usually the case, he was only too eager to spill his guts (seriously, we didn't even have to ask).

B"G"B: Yeah, I teamed up with Carrot Top. Of course I did! Don't you see the inherent genius in my plan? People loathe that guy. He's a prop comic! Next to him, I couldn't help but look good enough to generate enough good will to re-launch my modelling career.
Me: I have to admit, there's a certain logic there.
Jeff: Yeah, there's nobody in entertainment hated more than prop comics.
Michael: That's true. Well, except maybe mimes.
B"G"B: Mimes?
Me: Ooh yeah, people really hate mimes.
Jeff: And clowns.
Michael: Ugh. Don't get me started on clowns.
B"G"B: Wait...
Me: And of course, ventriloquists.
Jeff: Yuck!
Michael: The worst!
B"G"B: Hey...
Me: So creepy!
Jeff: Jugglers.
Michael: Stilt walkers.
B"G"B: Come on!
Me: Girls with ukuleles.
Jeff: Magicians.
Michael: Puppeteers.
B"G"B: ...
Me: Nuns.
Jeff: Yeah! Wait...what?
Michael: Nuns aren't entertainers.
B"G"B: Nuns?
Me: They're street performers!
Jeff: Welllll....
Michael: Yeah, I can kinda see that. I'll allow it.
B"G"B: Um, hello? What about me?
Me: Huh? Oh yeah, of course everybody hates you.
Jeff: Yeah, just look at you. You're downright offensive on every possible aesthetic level.
Michael: You're truly hideous and you inspire a deep, seething hatred and unrelenting sadness upon the mere sight of your visage.
B"G"B: Yeah, yeah, yeah. So am I under arrest here or what?
Me: Arrest? No, we kick ass. We don't arrest people.
Jeff: We just wanted to tell you to stop sending us mail.
Michael: And leave Carrot Top alone. He hired us to let you know that you creep him out.
B"G"B: (under his breath) Wait 'til you all meet my sister!

A Rather Disturbing Discovery

As Jeff mentioned last post:

"... the communiques came in the form of threats, either via phone or on notes hand-delivered to our mailbox. We never really took them seriously, believing them to merely be the diseased ramblings of a messed-up mind. That is, until he started to get serious, personal and dangerous."

Well ... sort of. 

The phone calls? We blew them off as pranks. Because that's what they were ... poor ones, too. They weren't the least bit serious. (And, if memory serves, Jeff even used one as a headquarters answering machine message once.)

But the notes were a different matter all together.

They began arriving more frequently at the Unbelieva-base ... and annoyingly so. It came to the point of our Unbelieva-base mail boy Kip alerting us to their voluminousness:

"Hey guys? We got 34 letters and postcards from Bernie this week. The Stiletto Flats post office is starting to complain they're working too hard and want us to nip this in the bud ..."

Things were unusually quiet on the ne'er-do-well front so we decided to do some digging on Bernie.

Most of what we discovered on the guy was fluff. Stuff and nonsense. The blather of a disgruntled, whiny, self-absorbed little peon who thinks he hadn't gotten his due in life. 

But ... there was one thing we found that got us to sit up straight in our chairs.

An association.

A disturbing association.

A disturbing association with a known deviant.

Scott Thompson.

Better known as ...

... Carrot Top.

Clark will fill you in ...