This Gang Is A Bunch Of Animals, Part 2

It became evident rather quickly

we weren't dealing with just a bunch of well-dressed monkeys ...

Ulf The Unbelievadog, canine operative, clued us in:

"Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllll ... !!!" That's all Jeff needed to hear.

"Guys! Ulf The Unbelievadog just told me the greatest threat to the world as we know it is at hand and it's in the form of a bunch of dressed-up chimps with plans to take over the world!" Jeff panted. "It's a real live version of Planet Of The Apes! Let's thwart this thing!"

Clark and I looked at each other and then back again at Jeff. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! That's intel straight from Ulf!" Jeff confirmed.

"Ulf! Ulf, boy! C'mere!" Clark called. Ulf trotted over and sat down in front of Clark. "Talk to me, boy ..."

Ulf's ears pricked up and he stood: "Arf! Arf! Arffy woof woof! Hooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllllllllll ... !!!"

"Where'd you find this out?" Clark countered.

"Woof ... *gag* ... yelp, arf woof!" came the response.

"Huh," I puffed. "Real live chimps? That's a new one. It's a wonder no one's thought of this before. Are you sure they're not being led by anyone, Ulf? They're just chimps, all on their own, instigating and planning this overthrow?"

"Woof!" Ulf responded.

"We've got to get going!" Jeff blurted.

"Hold on ... we need a plan first," I offered. Jeff and Clark agreed.

"Clark: Run to the store and get a bushel or two of bananas. Jeff: Downstairs in the storeroom behind that old box of grenades is Charley Chimp. Grab him for me, will you? Meanwhile, I need to get out of these pants and give Ulf some water. He's parched!"

Charley Chimp: Best decoy ever

Clark headed out and we heard the 'Vette roar down the road seconds later. Jeff came back up from the storeroom with Charley.

"We'll use Charley as the usual diversionary tactic and put him in the middle of the floor at the Unbelieva-Base's laundry entrance. Surround Charley with the bananas Clark will bring back for us shortly and we have that animal horde right where we want them. Besides, I've been dying to bust out the Lobster Rage Fist!"

The Lobster Rage Fist:

Quite possibly The Unbelievables' most deadly weapon

15 minutes later after planting Charley as a diversion (and still waiting on Clark to return) we heard a commotion. We flipped on the Unbelieva-Monitors keeping an eye on the faux-laundry entrance to the Unbelieva-Base.

"Uh oh. We have a problem ..." Jeff half whispered through pursed lips.

There on the screen was Mr. B, Bames Jond, Mr. Shifter, Bobo and a couple dozen more chimp goons closing in on Charley in the middle of the entrance.

"No problem. I'll activate Charley. He'll keep those chimps busy wondering what he'll do next. But that will only last half a minute at best. Even with the best of our arsenal, it's us two against almost 30 of them. We're outnumbered 15 to 1! And with Kip The Mail Boy off today*, we need Clark desperately! What's holding him up ... ??!!?"(... to be continued Friday ...)

*In all honesty, Kip isn't much help in a tussle any time. No great loss there.

This Gang Is A Bunch Of Animals

You remember our special canine operative Ulf the Unbelievadog, right?

He helped us to defeat Mac Ramey (above, trying to fend off Ulf and failing miserably.)

I told you all a while back about Ulf and our other dog pals keeping tabs on rock stars and helping them to maintain their rock'n'roll personas without doing anything embarrassing (like dad dancing, or clipping coupons for example).

Well, I mentioned that there are other animal agents in our network, and this week they are on high alert.

Here are a few of our top agents:

Nutkins the Marksman, trained in all forms of miniature weaponry.

Top spy Sniffles McGrew, getting the down-low on the low-down and dirty.

Fins O'Toole, underwater tech.

Long-range shutterbug Reynard Randall, surveillance expert.

Old Blood & Nuts himself, General Gerbil S. Patton.

Microelectronics expert - Jimmy "Papa" Roach.

Fooling everyone with their cuteness, the Whiskers Twins.

BunBun Van Flop. the Moneypenny to Ulf's 007.

So why are they on high alert, I hear you cry? So glad you asked.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the biggest threat to the Earth since Loki tried to outdo The Avengers in a weird horned hat. (What exactly was the deal with that, anyways?)

Just can't take this guy seriously - not in that headgear, anyway.

Anyway, back to the matter in hand - the greatest threat to the world as we know it, which we aim to neatly wrap up by the end of the week, as we do.

Here are the main protagonists.

A high-ranking chimp officer known only as Mr. B. (Ulf tells me it probably stands for Buttons).

His top agent, Bames Jond - ladies man, weapons expert, addicted to tea.

The muscle of the operation - Mr. Shifter.

And their enforcer, Bobo.

Now I know to the ordinary person it just looks like a bunch of dressed-up chimps, but believe me when I say they have plans afoot to take over the Earth - yes, ladles and jellyspoons, it's a real live version of Planet Of The Apes about to take place in your neighbourhood! 

Don't believe me? Well, then feast your eyes on this latest photo from Animal Intel HQ.

Chilling stuff.

More on Wednesday.

Dark No More

You know ... I didn't want to come right out and say anything when Clark made the suggestion:

"I'm being dark and gritty. A fan suggested it."

You've seen Clark ... right? He's not the dark and gritty type. Oh, he can be dark and gritty unto himself ... but to do so, to put up a front and make a concerted effort to go broody to try it on for size? Doesn't really work for him, let me tell you.

But like he said and I'm paraphrasing here (sort of): "Try it. You might like it."

Here's what I discovered about myself, my dark, gritty, dirty, brooding, bottomless pit demeanor self: The only dark I really like? Is dark coffee and dark chocolate ... and I don't even like chocolate that much.

To put my mood in a dark frame of mind, that was near impossible. And I tried just about everything ...

I watched Leaving Las Vegas. (Ever seen Leaving Las Vegas with Nick Cage? Dude won an Oscar for that performance. It's depressing and sad. But the flick was handy so I thought it might help. It's not exactly gritty but there's a lot of brooding and darkness in it.) Result? It just made me thirsty for beer.

... grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ...

I channeled my inner Humphrey Bogart. Nothing.

I hung out in the slums and chewed jerky and made sure I was wearing clothes that had been worn too long between washings so it would help me get in the mood. Nothing. I hummed dirges. Instead of pointing me into a downward spiral of doom, I ended up liking them. It was futile.

I ate porridge. Didn't work. I ate nothing at all ... for days. I figured that would put me in a bad mood, perhaps force me to look at things in a glum way. Nope. I just kept looking forward to the joy of finally eating something when the experiment was all over.

Then? I thought of something that just might jump start my goal. I put on pants ... and wore them for an entire day straight. And then two days straight. An entire week, uninterrupted. (You know how I prefer my pantslessness to just about anything.) It didn't crack me.

Finally, I pulled out all the stops because nothing else was doing the trick.

Even Spinal Tap's "Black Album" was fruitless ...
I went lightless. I embraced goth rock. A swam in a bevy of black clothing. Maybe watching Arnold Schwarzeneggar performances would click my inner grittiness. (Nope.)

I spent a couple weeks zeroing in on Jeopardy in an effort to mimic Alex Trebek. (Talk about glum.) Nothing.

Alex couldn't do it either.
I hung out with and shadowed Clark more than usual - he seemed like he might be on the right track in trying to bring out his edginess. Still ... zippo. 

I finally gave up. It's just not in my nature to be gray and somber and brooding.

"Guys?" I confessed one morning at the breakfast table, right in the middle of some bland, undoctored oatmeal. "I'm a failure at this gritty, brooding thing. Dark and handsome? That I can dole out in spades. But all the grunting and bad attitude projecting and stuff ... it's just not in my wheelhouse. I give. I concede. This experiment got the better of me ..."

I stood from my seat, took off my pants, sighed a sigh of relief, walked out of the room and into the kitchen. I came back with a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey. 

"Anybody want some?"
 

This stuff? Lightens any mood.

Jeff and Clark looked at each other, then back at me. They held out their bowls of lifeless oatmeal, tears welling up in their eyes in silent approval.

We were all much happier that day ...

A Journey Into My Dark Heart

So it was decided. We were all going to try to explore our dark side. Set out on a journey into the deep dark recesses of our souls, take ownership of what we found there and then let our exteriors reflect that. Sounds easy, right?

Hmm.

Where would I find inspiration? How would I embark upon this journey?

It was not easy, believe you me. After all, there are many role models out there to help guide us. All the tough action heroes from books and movies was a place to start, but sorry, I'm not a quiet brooding guy like Nic Cage or Jimmy Stewart. I'm not a muscled-up tank-top wearing Bruce Willis or Rambo type. But then I thought... who are MY icons? Whose personal style speaks to me? And one name kept on coming up time and again.

Don Knotts.

The Guv'nor.

DK, to those in the know.

You might be laughing now, but underneath that gangly, googly-eyed, goofy exterior, DK was secretly a badass.

I mean, don't you remember THIS LP?

And remember the time when this rare shirtless shot leaked out?

So I did a little soul-searching. I meditated on it. I played ping-pong for six hours straight against Clark, and I'm pleased to say I beat him 275 games to 272. Finally, I felt ready. I went into the Unbelieva-closet, got myself all dark and gritty, then emerged, metamorphosed into a doom-laden, quietly brooding bad boy.

Whaddya think?

Dark and gritty isn't pretty

"You guys are supposed to be stylish gents, right? Well, do you know what's in style now? Dark and gritty reboots. Why don't you guys start all over with black and grays and a generally more somber attitude?" - an anonymous suggestion.

I don't know. Doesn't sound like much fun. But if it's good enough for James Bond, who am I to dismiss the idea without trying it? I sprung it on the boys the other day at breakfast...

JEFF: Okay, I'm making lattes! Who wants what?

CLARK: Coffee for me. Straight black.

JEFF: What no pumpkin spice?

CLARK: Coffee. Black. I'm brooding.

MICHAEL: Why are you brooding?

CLARK: Because I'm tortured by what I've seen and done and generally my whole tortured past and whatnot.

MICHAEL: Are you still bothered about eating all the caramel corn when we watched "Breakfast At Tiffany's" the other night? I told you that was no big deal and not to worry about it.

CLARK: No! I'm being dark and gritty. A fan suggested it.

JEFF: Ah, that explains your grey, black, dim grey, charcoal, ebony and dark black attire. 

CLARK: I haven't shaved in three days and where I used to speak to people I came across, now I just offer a disdainful grunt! Because I was probably orphaned when I was a child or something! Cool, huh?

MICHAEL: Kinda. But why? What is the point of changing something that works?

CLARK: Well, they did it to James Bond, they did it to Batman...

JEFF: He's right! They even did it to Superman!

CLARK: Yeah! We now have a moody, brooding Superman wearing a costume that looks like he washed it in used motor oil!

MICHAEL: I don't know. It seems like a silly trend that doesn't necessarily work out all the time...

CLARK: I'm going to go for a walk in the rain downtown tonight. I'm going to punch someone right in the face and not even say anything, because I'm edgy now. You guys should come with me!

They weren't enthusiastic but they didn't reject it entirely either. I'll let them tell their own stories about our (ultimately unsuccessful) attempt at re-branding ourselves as gloomily violent borderline psychos.

Power Plays

In our line of work, successes feel so much better when you have a theme to play (either in your mind, or your 8-track player)that fits the mood. But we also need songs to get us pumped before stuff goes down. Here's three of my personal faves...




Yes, we ARE the best, are we not?



"Eyyy, it's strategy, I know what I'm doin'! Eyy Clubber! Hit me harder!" 



Yaaaaa!!


A good police drama's theme tune is always a good choice for those moments such as stakeouts - when the tension is so palpable you could reach out and grab a handful. A classic cops'n'robbers theme such as Z Cars helps ease the mind and focus at the same time.



Starting point for both Judi Dench and the amazing Brian Blessed.





The Doctor Who theme has a good celebratory groove to it, but there are many versions. My personal favourite is the Peter Howell version, used from 1980-85, from the end of Tom Baker's run, through Peter Davison and into Colin Baker. Yes, I know - I'm a bit of a Whovian.



That giant "phooom!!" at the end is such a great emotional release. You can't help but feel better for hearing it.

Even more nerdy is my love of late '70s sci-fi show Blake's 7 - and the theme is full of brooding power. Perfect for swooping in and getting the job done, then revelling in the moment.



Sometimes you need something with a bit of pomp and bombast - the Thunderbirds theme is spot on.



And lastly, even though we're laid-back guys on the whole, some moments require a kick-ass rock tune with a ballsy riff, one you can not only do air guitar to, but air drums too.



Not to mention a crazed incoherent Mancunian lead singer.



And at the end of the day, when I'm in the Unbelieva-shower, I use the excellent acoustic properties of the room to great effect when I belt out this classic anthem.




The guys like to joke about making the bathroom soundproof, which is laughable. After all, that would ruin the natural reverb of the room. They are such a pair of goofballs sometimes.

It's about that walk

Ah yes, our individual musical themes. if we were baseball players, this would be known as our "walk-up music", the song played when we stepped up to the plate in our home ballpark, intent on doing malice to the opposing team's hope and aspirations with our Louisville Sluggers. In our case, we do more than walk-up, so we need multiple themes.

My choice for walk-in music, as in when I walk in to a place like a darkened tavern or some other villainous hive, is the classic Peter Gunn Theme.


Mancini. A nasty surf-guitar riff. A really dirty saxophone. Combine all three of those and it's unbeatable. There are other versions...

From Blues Brotherly...

To Artfully Noisy...


But any version will do the trick.

As a stylish gent (because we are those), sometimes I just walk around being stylish. In which case, this is the accompaniment I prefer (sorry, it's un-embedable)


Now I prefer a different theme altogether when it comes to walking away from explosions. Yes, I know that walking away slowly with your back to an explosion has become something of a tired, overused and cartoonish trope...

...but in this line of work, things explode all the time. If you sit around and pay attention to everything that blows up, you're never going to get things done. It's in cases like these, I go to this song:

What? It's pretty!