A mystery within

"Oh, is it hot in here? We haven't done
 anything wrong, so we didn't notice"

Something has happened that threatens to r-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-p-p-p-p The Unbelievables apart!

Here's the basic rundown:

As you all know, it's the top-secret files of The Kitsch Bitsch from which we initially sprung. She's like a mother to us. At least some of us feel that way.
Anyway, an enterprise created by KB (that's what we call her; you have a nickname or two for your own sweet Mama, yes?), a Facebook page to be specific, was struggling with a troll infestation recently. Michael offered his services in order to bring the situation under control. Two days later, the page was shut down. It's very similar to when a popular-yet-struggling family restaurant claims it's closing briefly for re-modeling and when it re-opens, it's a Burger King.

"And when we do, are you going to want pickles on that Whopper?"

Yes folks, something stinks. And for once, it's not Michael's gym bag. And why does a guy who only participates in "sans clothing" sports leagues need a gym bag anyway?
Michael has some explaining to do. And Jeff and I know how to get somebody to talk, don't we Jeff?

"What have you done to our beloved Mumsie, you lousy sonova..."

In A New Jersey State of Mind

Feast your eyes, folks. This is the ad we should be paying attention to. The one that Clark shared on Wednesday was just a cover, and after some surreptitious and judicious investigation, we found that all the rogues in Wednesday's gallery of hirsute horribles also ordered product from the address above, in East Orange, NJ.

So we trekked across the continent to said address, and what should we find?

A coin-op laundry, no less.

So we decided to go in and inquire as to the whereabouts of the owner, and why a laundry would be advertising fake facial hair.

The surly counterstaff at first ddn't want to tell us anything, but after a little persuasion from our friend George (Washington, that is) we got to meet the owner. Or so we thought...

This was getting good. Tony "Monobrow" McGee was well known to us as a petty crook and lightbulb salesman, but we never figured he'd get himself mixed up in the lip-rug game. But, looking back, I guess it makes sense.

"What's the game, lads?" he cried as he saw who he was dealing with. "I ain't done nuffin', I swears to ya." Did I mention he was a New Jersey cockney?

"A likely story," interjected Clark. "What's the deal with the fake face furs, eh? Eh? EH!!??"

"Oh, is that wot this is about, lads? Calm dahn, no need to lose yer rag. Lemme just explain, it's all completely innocent, above board. I got me boney-fridays and everyfink, innit?" At this he produced from a drawer beneath the counter his business documents. Sure enough - he was licensed, bonded AND insured.

"Hmmm. Looks like he's on the level," said Michael, trying to sound like a hardboiled cop (New Jersey tends to have that effect on people), "but still, I think we should have a look around."

As it turned out, we never got the chance, because at that moment, the front door opened and who should saunter in but these two...

Mr. Waverly, sans Pith helmet. Handy with a machete.

Papa Dolmio, pitch man for Dolmio sauces. Handy with a ripe tomato.

I had seen enough. 

"Cuff'em and stuff'em boys," I barked (see what I said about New Jersey rubbing off on a person?), "and book'em, Danno, whatever that means!"

Once we had all three mustachioed villains in custody, we turned them over to the Feds. 

Unfortunately, Waverly and McGee were let go, because they couldn't find anything they'd done wrong.

And Papa Dolmio? Sent down for a long stretch. His crime? Crimes against the Italian language, including casual racism and playing a stereotype. As were his entire family. Need proof?

And the connection between foul fiends and hirsute hairiness? Search me!

Facial profiling

It feels good to have been able to help Robert Silverberg/Loren Beauchamp turn his life around and make such a positive impact on the literary scene. But he was not the first to have been seemingly led astray by the arrangement of hairs across his visage. In fact, here's a partial rogue's gallery of facial follicle fiends...

(L to R) Val KillMore, "Lipless" Louie LaChance, Francis "Fuzzy Bollocks" Fingerman, Gordon Gozook

(L to R) Captain Sid Squidmore, Stan "Crazy Eyes" McGeedle, Ted "The Rogue" Rogers, Dr. Pavel Pachabel

(L to R) Lancelot Lurksalot, Claude "The Disappointer" Burnbottom, Ed "What? It's just a mustache! Don't get all bent out of shape, rabbi" Bleen (AKA "The Passive Aggressor") General Sergei Von Grut

(L to R) "Smarmy Joe" Woodcock, Dick "Dirt" Tidrow, Felix "The Iron Douche" Skidmarque, Henry "The Squisher" Gloomgard

What do all these dirtbags have in common? One thing. It appears each was influenced into a life of crime by this ad...

And who, pray tell, is responsible for this ad? I will let Jeff fill you in on Friday.

Pulp Fiction

Over the course of many, many posts (see some of our history in the entries prior to this one ... hello!) The Unbelievables have made some pretty wild claims and told some pretty (shall we say) "unbelievable" tales.

"Seriously, guys: Is all the stuff you boast about true and factual? I mean ... there are things that really stretch the boundaries of plausibility and seem to carom into the world of science fiction* ..."

And you know what? We understand that. We know you wonder about this stuff.

So here's a brief anecdote about Loren "Butch" Beauchamp.

"Butch" was a nemesis of ours. He was an average, meddling villain of somewhat disreputable report. He put his hands in some pies he shouldn't have and caused a few messes. No big deal really. But we stumbled on him at barber shops working shady deals trying to convince patrons goatees were "a thing of the past." Why? Because he was the only one who wanted to be known wearing one. (His goatee was his "trademark" we came to discover.)

Well ... the guy was nothing if not annoying. So Jeff and Clark steered him into a literary field they thought might suit his creative side.

The result? Pretty spectacular. See for yourself ...

Yep. "Butch" became a sleaze pulp fiction sensation. And quite the successful one, too.

Now the kicker: I was on my annual international nude volleyball tour for a couple weeks when all this went down. Jeff and Clark were handling the case by their lonesomes in my absence. On my return they told me about "Butch" and informed me he'd be coming over for dinner. I was intrigued as all get out. Little did I know (little did the guys know) we were all in for a surprise.

The doorbell at the Unbelieva-Base rang one evening and I go to answer it. Who's at the doorstep when I open up? None other than multiple award-winning science fiction author Robert Silverberg  complete with flowers and several bottles of wine in tow. As a sci-fi buff, I recognized him right away.

A dashing (and younger) Robert Silverberg

with trademark goatee

"You're Michael ... right? How ya doin' ... ??? Jeff and Clark invited me for dinner and I wasn't about to come over empty handed ..."

Over the course of the evening, Bob regaled us of his failed decline into (a rather tepid) villainy and public goatee suppression. It was the kindly efforts of Jeff and Clark, he noted, that led him out of his doldrums and into the paperback sleaze arena (under the pseudonym Loren Beauchamp) which - in turn - put him back on track as the successful sci-fi writer we all know and love.

And there you go. A true tale we're proud to say we had a hand in ... and not only to the overall betterment of one man's life from petty, aggravated chicanery but onward toward a solid, productive career.

World? You're welcome.

* irony personified

Nic O'Teen: A distasteful solution

This has truly been one of our most difficult cases. And difficult cases call for difficult choices. Ultimately, we decided to take up with this guy...

I know, I know. None of us were thrilled but what were we supposed to do? It's not like we were getting help from scientists...

Athletes...

Doctors...

Actors...

Or politicians.

Like I said, we were desperate. So we scheduled a meeting with Death and laid out some parameters.

MICHAEL: Okay Death, we don't like you and you don't like us...
DEATH: Like you? I love you. In fact, I want to hold you in my cold embrace forever.
JEFF: Ugh! Your breath, mate. It's worse than... well, you, if that's conceptually possible.
DEATH: Thank you!
CLARK: Listen, we don't want to do it but we need to work together here.
DEATH: So you, The Unbelievables, are here to make a deal with Death? Lovely! I'll get the chessboard!
MICHAEL: We don't want to play chess. We just want you to kind of associate yourself with cigarette smoking. We're battling the nefarious Nic O'Teen and frankly, not making a lot of headway.
JEFF: I can't quite put my finger on what it is. There's definitely an overwhelming stench of decay, yet sickly sweet at the same time.
DEATH: You want me to kill more smokers? That's already a huge chunk of my daily workload but I suppose I could dial things up a bit.
CLARK: No, don't kill more people, you idiot. We're trying to save lives here.
MICHAEL: Yeah, just do a better job of letting everyone know when smoking is the reason you kill someone. We're hoping to counteract these ridiculous positive testimonials with you.
DEATH: Oh! Sure, I can do that! That's easy. I'm totally going to kill all the people in those testimonials eventually anyway. The irony will be delicious! But beyond that, what's in it for me?
CLARK: We would be willing to kick 50% more criminals through plate glass windows from the top floors of skyscrapers.
JEFF: I'm sorry, but I can not get past the overwhelming horrific odor of his breath. I mean, woof!
DEATH: Make it 75%
MICHAEL: All right. That's fine.
DEATH: Can some of these "criminals" be little old ladies, sweet innocent children and adorable puppy dogs?
MICHAEL: Absolutely not!
CLARK: A couple of old ladies, sure.
DEATH: We have an agreement, my friends. Let's bring it in for a group hug. Come on. No? Okay then.
JEFF: There's something oddly familiar about it...
DEATH: I'm so sorry. I had lunch in the UK today.

Anyway, we're not exactly happy about this partnership or whatever you want to call it but the end justifies the means.

Nick O'Teen: Menace To Society

Foulness: Personified!

Despicable!

Grievous!

Horrid!

Unconscionable!

Dastardly!

Immoral!

Without scruple!

Lowdown!

Heinous!

Vilified!

Soulless! 

But enough about Henri Petit (alias "Fritz" ... though no one really knows why he digs that alias) ...

I told Yep. That's him, in yet another candid Kodak moment:

That little shit Petit.

We're talkin' Nick O'Teen here!

Nick O'Teen: What an ass ...

"NO'T" is just as loathsome as Petit ... and more so on a number of levels. Sometimes, he's even more the dirty player than the trollish Petit.

Want to see some of his handiwork? (Warning: It's not pretty.)

I told you: Not pretty.

 Yuck.

This? It's almost pornograhic ... wouldn't you agree?

But that's Nick O'Teen's ultimate goal ...

He doesn't just stop his machinations here in the states, either. 

O'Teen isn't afraid to go global ...

Black and white doesn't mitigate the vileness of O'Teen's foul plans ...

The only thing this screams is "Uh oh ..."

It's not just kids the stooge targets either. Get a load of this: He's not beyond targeting our heroes ...

He even got Arnold to wear a "Arnold Is Numero Uno" shirt.

Real motivational confidence builder ... isn't it?

Yep: None other than Nicky Fags is behind each and every one of those images above. (By the way ... he hates it when I call him "Nicky Fags" ...)

Lower still, he even tortured poor Porky Pig himself with tobacco products:

O'Teen's henchmen ("The Stogie Three") menace our hero Porky

Want to see an example of a child's innocence dashed beyond all comprehension? Here you go ...

 It's mind-boggling the depths to which O'Teen will descend ...

Under his tutelage, O'Teen seduces kids to go two-fisted before they know it.

What a bastard. He's beyond belief. And with the power (such that it is) of Petit behind him, how can this villain possibly be stopped?

You won't believe what Clark has to say Friday ...

Not So Fast...

Sorry folks. It seems that we have a problem. 

You see, that ugly dwarf-troll-child Henri Petit is at it again. 

No sooner do we thwart one of his twisted plans than he is back again with another stupid idea to take over the world - only this time, he's after your kids.

He has teamed up, apparently, with another failed master criminal - the fiendish Nick O'Teen, who was in the cigarette-peddling biz a few years back. Remember?

We all thought that we'd seen the back of O'Teen when we heard that none other than the Man of Steel had put paid to this villain's scheme.

But he's back - and Henri Petit (under the alias of Fritz) has teamed up with him to produce these evil cancer-sticks with which to tempt children.

I mean, COME ON!  We know it's you, Petit.

Why, I hear you cry? Simple. He reckons if he can get our children hooked on smoking huge unfiltered cigars and wreck their health, then the easier the Western world will be to conquer. You can't fight if you're gasping for breath and hacking up gobbets of phlegm all the time.

But fear not, citizens. We Unbelievables are on the case and will have this villain and his new chum rounded up and dealt with forthwith. Kids smoking cigars is something we simply will not put up with.

Michael and Clark will tell you more about our progress later on in the week. Meanwhile, we talked to Superman and let him know Nick O'Teen was on the loose again (we were hoping to maybe get a few tips from ol' Clark Kent about the malodorous O'Teen), but the news that a fiend he had spent a considerable amount of time pursuing thirty or so years ago was back in circulation sent him into a bit of a decline. 

So I don't guess we can rely on him for any help this week.