Of Cat Faces and Bum Legs

Look:

I don't know what all the big deal is with "Shifty-Leg" Solar Sue and the guys' interest between she and I but I'm here to tell you I WASN'T THE CAUSE OF THE TWISTY POSITION OF HER BUM LEG ... !!!

And that's final!

Let it be known I respect Captain Space and Solar Sue ... and even Bleep-Blorp isn't that bad a piece of machinery. (He's useful on occasion.)

Cosmo, on the other hand ... well ... as I've usually said: The only good cat is a flat cat. They don't pay attention, they're pains in the ass who do their own things without regard and they secretly suck the life-breath out of you when you sleep at night. (Here's one more little tidbit about the foursome: Steve Space isn't partial to Cosmo either - he tolerates the furball just to keep Sue on the happy side of the fence.)

I thought about detailing the time The Unbelievables and our interplanetary compatriots joined forces shortly before we put the Unbelieva-Base in order at our digs in Stiletto Flats, Nevada ... but I'm not quite certain that's declassified. Because ... you know ... it has to do with Sue's bum appendage ... possibly.

Guess I'm going to have to get clearance for that first ...

Kraktos, Explained

Captain Space, Solar Sue and Cosmo, along with the infinitesimally astounding Bleep-Blorp, will now explain about the constant threat posed by The Globe Gobbler, Kraktos.

CAPTAIN SPACE:"Well, folks, this is Kraktos.

Kraktos is called the Globe Gobbler because, well, that's what he does. He floats around the galaxy looking for stray planets that nobody will miss much, and than, whenever he feels peckish, gobbling them."

SOLAR SUE:"You said it, Cap! He sure is a hungry one!"

COSMO:" Miaow!"

BLEEP-BLORP: "Bleep! Blorp-bleep! Blorrp!"

CAPTAIN SPACE: "Exactly. Well, a lot of good honest folks don't quite know what to make of this sort of thing. All the time I get asked questions like, 'Captain Space, why does Kraktos do what he does? Why's he so hungry all the time, Captain Space? Captain Space, what gives with this fellow?' and y'know, I understand their frustration and perplexment, I really do. And I gotta tell ya, it was something that made us scratch our ol' noggins a time or two, that's for sure!"

SS: "You said it, Cap! We didn't know what was going on!"

C:" Miaaaoowwee!!"

B-B: "Bleeepp-blip-blip-blip blorrrp bloob!"

CS: "Well, a while ago we found out more about this here Kraktos character. Turns out he started life as an Earthling - an Iowa boy to be exact. And wouldn't ya know it - his kid sister runs a little lunch counter-cum-tavern in Grafton called - wait for it -  "The Gobbler's Roost"!

Best biscuits and sausage gravy from here to Mason City.

Yes, there she is, proudly purveying her fried chicken stripettes with tequila slammers, Darla Storakk (an anagram of Kraktos!) says lil' brother Eddie (Kraktos' real name) had a raging appetite from day one. He ate from morning till night, becoming so big that he needed a winch to get him on the school bus. This led to a lot of bullying from which he never recovered, poor lil' fella."

SS: "You said it, Cap! He had a lot of issues!"

C: "Mee-yooowww!!"

B-B: "Blob blob blobbb!"

CS: "Hey, now, cool it, Bleep-Blorp! Enough with the fat jokes! Well, he got so big that one day he just simply took right off into the air like a blimp, into the ionosphere, higher and higher until he finally just started floating around in space, looking for his next meal. We figure if he ever does choose to eat the Earth, he'll start at The Gobbler's Roost! If he does, by golly, we'll be ready and waiting!"

SS: "You said it, Cap! Pass the deep-fried potato skins and a Jager bomb!"

C: "Meeeeee-oooo...ow."

B-B: "Blorp blop! Bleeb!"

CS: " Now Bleep-Blorp! I've told you before, Solar Sue does NOT have a drinking problem! She simply has trouble unwinding after a hard day's crimefighting in space! That, and her leg still gives her serious gyp."

Thanks, Captain Space and friends. Now we know more about Kraktos, we can rest a little easier at night.

Our interplanetary pals

A lot of people wonder if we, The Unbelievables, restrict our butt-kicking crime fighting and general good guy-ery to the planet earth.  We do. Not because there isn't villainy afoot among the stars and not because we don't want to, because there is and we don't. But there are actually people better suited to that kind of thing. Specifically, our chums Captain Space and Solar Sue. What are the odds that a guy named Steve Space would grow up to be a commissioned astronaut flying around the Milky Way, busting space smugglers and battling star squids? Probably about the same as meeting a girl named Solar Sue with similar interests. Together with their cat Cosmo, they designed a crime fighting robot named Bleep-Blorp for which George Lucas should probably be thankful he hasn't been sued. Speaking of Sue, her seriously deformed left leg (injured under mysterious circumstances that Michael always refuses to discuss, for some reason) frequently leads to her being taken hostage and put in sexy metallic outfits before eventually being rescued by Captain Space, Cosmo and Bleep-Blorp. Other than those sporadic setbacks, this is a formidable team and we can all sleep better at night, knowing that they will blow up any eclipses that threaten to trigger the rise of Kraktos, The Globe Gobbler.
Let's see what Jeff and Michael have to say about these asteroidinal do-gooders!

On Friday, Someone DIEs

So far, we had very little to go on. We had this note...

We had an injury (Clark got struck by a rock, making the first part of the note come true)...

And we had a hunch. "Well, if it turns out to be legit, it's probably the work of D I-ngo Serra" said Clark.

And we had a prediction - "Friday someone DIES!!" 

I decided to find out all I could about this D I-ngo Serra person. What sort of person has a name with a hyphen after a capital letter and before a consonant? Someone with a slim grasp on the English language, I'll wager. But more of that later - I had some research to do.

The first and most obvious thing to do would be to see if this blatherskite Serra had a Facebook page.  I am not sure if you've heard of it - it's quite popular with the kids, I am given to understand. 

Sure enough, D-Ingo Serra DID have a Facebook page. I immediately set to looking at the photos that were posted there. Hmm. To say they were enigmatic was an understatement. If there were people in the pictures, their faces were obscured or turned away. If they were by some haphazard chance not blurry or fuzzy, there was no way of knowing (a)whether it was indeed D I-ngo, and (b)whether it was male or female. So I ended up drawing a blank.

I took my lack of findings to the guys. We scratched our heads. We scratched our gentleman's areas. Then, we danced the hoochie-koochie. We were well and truly stumped.

And then, this morning, it all began to unravel.

Firstly, Clark left right after breakfast, which was unusual even for him. In cases like this, when direct threats have been made against us, we usually stay on task until the job is done. But Clark said he had just remembered he had a hair appointment and had to hurry on to the salon. Unusual, really - his hair is immaculate most every day and I've never known him use the services of anyone other than the Unbelievababes. Still - if he had an appointment, then who were Michael and myself to rock the boat. We trusted Clark and figured he knew what he was up to.

Shortly after Clark went for his hair appointment, Michael and I were stuck for answers. We began clutching at straws. Then we clutched at pretzels. Then we clutched at the vacuum cleaner. Anything to try to come up with some ideas.

It was while vacuuming the Unbelievadesk for the sixth time this morning that Michael finally noticed something. A full-color half-page ad on the back of the Yellow Pages.

Now, this got our attention, not least because it is 2014 already and there are still people in the world using Comic Sans.

That bad spelling... the word 'Dingo'... a hair salon... the word 'dieing'... Clark having a hair appointment... it was all starting to make sense. Especially with that '$5 off' thing. Not saying that Clark's a cheapskate, but...

We needed no second bidding. Michael and I bolted to the car and hightailed it to this place of bad spelling and hair products. The way we saw it, Clark was walking into a trap, although what sort of a trap had yet to be seen. 

We screeched to a halt outside, even though we'd only gone four blocks. Rushing in, we found Clark, sitting in the chair. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how our compadre looked.

Shocked, we started to try to tell Clark that he had walked smack dab into a trap, when we were interrupted in our friend-advising-endeavours by none other than D I-ngo Serra her(him?)self (we're still unsure). 

"Ah, the Unbelieva-gents. Care to take a seat? I'm just about finished with your friend here. What'll it be? Crew cut? Short back and sides? Mullet?"

"Not so fast, you illiterate fiend," snarled Michael. "We know what you're up to. You're going to try to kill one of us, aren't you? That's your evil plan! Well, I'd like to see you try!"

"Yeah," I put in. "What he said!"

"I-I don't understand, guys.." quivered D I-ngo. "I'm just a hairstylist with poor literacy skills. Why would I want to hurt you guys. You guys are my heroes!"

At this point Clark interjected. "Listen boys, it's all very simple. D I-ngo and I had a bit of a falling out. But we made up after I realised that the rock that knocked me unconscious on Wednesday was just D I-ngo's way of reminding me about my hair appointment. I got a dye job!"

"Haha! You mean DIE job, don't you?" I retorted.

"Yes," replied D I-ngo. "I left that note in your mailbox to remind Clark about his appointment. I kinda forgot which one of you guys made the appointment, which is why the note said "someone". I was reminding him that he'd get a reminder (a rock in the noggin) and then on Friday get his hair tinted."

Well, we were shocked. Then we were amazed. Then we all stared at Clark, and Michael said "Buddy, that truly is a DIE job!"

Michael likes to repeat jokes.

Still, we all fell about laughing anyway. Wouldn't you?

"I don't see what's so funny."

On Wednesday, someone got hurt

"Sounds like somebody had a case of the Mondays!", Jeff and I said simultaneously, followed by an awkward exchange of attempted fist bumps and high fives to celebrate how clever we were. "You guys", Michael continued. "I think we need to take this seriously. My Michael Sense is tingling". Jeff responded to the first part of that statement, as our policy is to ignore when Michael refers to his 'Michael Sense', which he seems to believe is some sort of inherent ability to anticipate danger yet only seems to be accurate when it comes to finding clothing-optional recreational sporting events nearby. "Come on, Michael", he said. "We get threatened all the time. Threatening The Unbelievables with doom and dismemberment is practically a cottage industry at this point." I had to agree (Jeff glares at me when I don't agree with him and I find that unsettling). "I agree. If somebody doesn't threaten us at least once a week, I actually get a little depressed", I said. "I don't know", said Michael. "Something seems different about this and I don't like it." "Well, if it turns out to be legit, it's probably the work of D I-ngo Serra", I offered. Jeff and Michael stared at me. "Why would you say that?", Jeff asked. Over the next two days (Because that's the only way this whole story makes sense without asking you, the reader, to believe that it took two whole days to get this far in a relatively short conversation. You'll see why in a second.), I compiled a long list of reasons why I think he or she hates me that I started to read to Jeff and Michael when I was suddenly interrupted just now (if you're reading this on Wednesday, May 7th; if you're reading this at a later date, that's when it happened) by a rock thrown through the window that struck me in the back of the head, knocking me unconscious (See? This is to what I was referring earlier). Ow!
So anyway, it looks like there was something to Michael's 'Michael Sense' after all. Huh. Who knew? It's going to be real interesting around here on Friday! I hope I'm not the one who dies, though.

"Ladies, I don't see why we all can't take turns looking after Clark's head wound."

On Monday, There Was Drama

As is customary, I venture out to the mailbox on Monday mornings and put the bills inside to be picked up by the mailman when he makes his rounds.

This morning? I found a note.

I read it while I stood at the mailbox and then meandered back to the Unbelieva-Base with it to show the guys.

I ran into Clark first and asked: "Hey ... did you pay the electric bill?"

"Yep," he replied.

Jeff walked in on us just then. "You didn't gripe anyone's cookies by parking in two spots simultaneously when you went to the store the other day, did you Jeff?" I asked him.

"Not that I recall," he replied.

"Well ... we might have a problem," I told them and showed them the note I discovered ...

Advice for the would-be gentleman would-be chef

It would appear that Jeff and Michael have covered every single thing in the universe that any female enjoys (if you thought that list would be much longer, you're WRONG and STUPID). However, to my relief, they did leave one item for me, and it's a big one.
WOMEN LOVE A MAN WHO CAN COOK
Listen, dancing and robots are awesome (especially if you combine those two things) but absolutely nothing, NOTHING heats a lady's oven like a dude who knows his way around a stovetop. "But I don't know how to cook", you simper like a simpering simpleton. Stop that! You're a man. You may or may not know what a whisk is, how to prepare a proper Béchamel sauce or what kind of wine goes with flamingo but those are details. The fact is as a male, you are genetically predisposed to applying fire to stuff and putting it in your mouth. Besides, this is a case where presentation is virtually everything. Get into the kitchen and start opening and closing cabinets while stirring things up in various pots and pans and just watch the eggs fire out of your lady's ovaries like rounds from a M240B machine gun. This is something that women find irresistibly adorable. If you actually produce something remotely edible, consider it a bonus. "But seriously, Clark", you continue to protest, "I know zero recipes". Okay, I can see where you might think that's a drawback. For that reason, I am listing a number of dishes that you should have the items for in your 'fridge and that you should be able to figure out just from the name. Simply get the items you think each dish requires, smoosh them up (together or individually) and apply some heat, along with your natural man instincts, and you should end up in the "close enough" territory.
Weiner Hash
Cheez Platter
Salad Dressing Sandwich Surprise
Coq au Vin Americano(chicken chunks in Kool Aid)
Deep Fried Gravy Nuggets
Choco-ghetti-o's
Egg Yellows

Remember, your presentation is key! Keep it classy and you're in!

"Yep, them's MY drawers tonight!"