Sockin' it to the Muffin Man

I do remember this case very well. If for no other reason than it was the last time I ever had the pleasure of sitting behind the wheel of my beloved Corvette (I don't know why my colleagues insist on referring to it as Ralph's; Ralph certainly didn't need it anymore, what with being all crushed and burnt-up, and had anyway bequeathed it to me with his last, crushed and burnt-up breath, so I don't know why anybody has to keep referring to it as "Ralph's car" ... It was my car! MINE!!), even though I was packed in there with a bunch of dudes. I still don't know how one puts an automobile in gear while changing a radio station although I suspect it has something to do with why "agent" Mitchell wasn't in a position of higher authority (at the time, of course; my understanding is he is the Personal Security Specialist for Hollywood starlet Halle Berry now). At any rate the Corvette was totalled that day, same as the Muffin Man's drug/baked goods/hosiery operation.

And of course I remember our sock aliases. As mentioned previously, Michael was indeed "Azure Jewels", but Mitchell was "Crimson Glory", Schlomo was "Royal Confetti", Jeff was "Mauve Splendor" and I was "Pumpkin Buggerer".

My recollection of the origins of this photograph differs, however. I would have sworn this was our initiation into the gang; I remember a cold room (very cold, hence my perceived, um, shyness) and leaving a foggy imprint of our buttocks, which very few people realize are actually more distinct than fingerprints or dental records, on the plexiglass cubes was their way of making sure we were legit and not undercover operatives. Fortunately for us, Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill had somehow anticipated this circumstance and arranged for us all to be outfitted with prosthetic buttocks beforehand. I still have no idea how he could have known something like that but he basically saved the whole operation and our lives. But it was a long time ago. I could be completely wrong.

Still, right or wrong, I'd have to say my fondest memories of this case come from getting to meet and work with the amazing Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill. What a remarkable man. Truly an inspiration to crimefighters and those with prosthetic buttocks alike. I'll never forget the last time I saw him. He said, "Ay, The Muffin Man may have gotten away this time, but I dinna plan to give up on finding this fercockt gonif! Mind ye this, boychick; he could be closer than ye think! A bi gezunt, laddies. Man oh man, do I love baseball!" With that, he finished eating the last bite of his hot dog haggis muffin with cream cheese and capers and rode away on his motorcycle. We haven't seen him or the Muffin Man since.

A Little Perk Being An Unbelievable

Is this the fiend known as "The Muffin Man" ... ???
We may never know for sure ...

One of the things about the "Socks And Drugs And Sausage Rolls" case Jeff didn't elaborate on in the previous post was why, at all, we were required to wear the colorful footwear evident in our group shot. Quite a simple explanation, really.

The Muffin Man's operation was such that no one knew the names of any of "the gang." The tell tale sign you were part of his contingent was by the socks you wore. "Blue Houndstooth" and "Chocolate Down Below" and "Orange Creamsicle" were common terms of referal for guys who were bag men or drug runners or drivers in Muff's operation. I've forgotten what our aliases were - perhaps Clark will recall later. (Wait! I remember mine! "Azure Jewels" ... !!! How could I forget ... ?!?)

Anywho, no other con man of the time was thus stylishly dressed. A flick of the trouser cuff revealing your footwear and anyone in-the-know automatically pinned you as a member of the fiendish organization. Brilliant "silent communication." Rather clever, that.

While Jeff has pretty well described the events of the case, the really interesting thing that came of the entire affair was as a result of the group shot. And it's right there beneath us in a simple, concise line: "Announcing the best-dressed men in America." Yes ... we were duped as models for modern footwear after Mitchell clandestinely began making copies of the piece and distributing to all his friends. In practically no time at all the photo landed in the hands of some advertising agency and << boom >> we were splashed in the pages of all sorts of grocery store rags and haute couture pifflely pieces as "those daring young men in their colorful footies." (Side Note: Our refusal to recreate the shot or appear live in anything but socks made us all the more popular in the day proving something The Unbelievables have known for some time: Not giving the people what they want can create excitement.)

So there you go. Just a little value added bump of being in The Unbelievables.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

P.S. I would like to point out a few  things about our photo.  You can readily see Mitchell (far left, top) was a little too comfortable in the disguise at hand (or, "at foot" as the case may be) which should have been one of our first indications he wouldn't fit in as An Unbelievable on future ventures. Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill (top, in blue socks) appears a bit sheepish ... but it was his suggestion to be tagged sans clothes. (There was something just a bit "off" about that guy. But we always got some sort of photograph to put in our file for reference, so why not this one? Our proclivity toward detail can't help but make us think that way. Else ... we wouldn't have anything to show you good people, you know?) Jeff, Clark and I (from the 9 o'clock position, clockwise) are our usual gregarious and fabulous selves, if I do say so myself. 

Though ... I'm not quite certain why Clark appears a bit shy ...

Socks And Drugs And Sausage Rolls

It was a wet September evening somewhere in the early 1970's. Michael, Clark and myself were staking out a store known as "Sock It 2 Me", a shop which we knew was a front for an illicit baked goods and drug ring. Yes, baked goods. Danish pastries, Chelsea buns, Eccles cakes, crullers, steak and onion pasties and sausage rolls, mainly. The leader of the whole operation was known only as "The Muffin Man" and had thus far proved difficult to capture. He'd been smuggling drugs into the country via a Guatemalan bakery, and then filtering the baked items out to his network via the sock shop. The reason for this was because an actual bakery would have been too obvious, and the authorities would have noticed straight away. Fiendishly clever.

As we sat in our old pal Ralph's (rest his soul) Corvette we were slightly cramped. Actually, we were very cramped. Alright, we were contorted into extremely uncomfortable positions and each of us had at least one limb that had gone numb. The reason for this is because this was our first joint operation with the FBI, and office junior Mitchell wanted to come along for the ride, as he'd never seen an actual takedown before. Also with us was the guy in charge of the FBI operation, Schlomo McCaskill, the world's only Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent. However, as we sat in a cramped automobile with steamed up windows (made worse by Mitchell's insistence on bringing two Thermos flasks - one filled with hot coffee and the other with scalding tomato soup) we began to wonder if perhaps two vehicles might have been a better option. That, and walkie-talkies. And matching jumpsuits.

Schlomo knew his stuff. He'd been researching the Muffin Man's operation for a long time and several times had come close to nabbing the fiend, but never quite made it. This is why he'd called us, to pool our resources, so to speak. 

We'd been on The Muffin Man's tail a good while too. We were beginning to wonder if we'd ever get a break in the case, when Schlomo called us. We were glad of the help, frankly. Especially when you consider the following chain of events.

It was eight o'clock, and despite the cold and the rain outside, Michael finally cracked and wound down the window of the 'Vette. Fortuitous that he did, for it was at that moment that we noticed some shadows flickering in the half-light from inside the store.

Just then a truck pulled up and went around the rear of the store. The truck bore the legend "Muffin Man Bakery" on the side. We somehow knew this was our guy.

We split up and made our way around to the back entrance. Schlomo went with Clark, Michael and I went the other side, and Mitchell was left to mind the car and keep feeding the parking meter. He seemed quite content with his soup anyway - and he liked to play that game where you try to spot license plates from every state, so we didn't feel bad about leaving him on his own. "Keep the engine running," we said. "We might need to leave in a hurry."

Well, it seemed like it was all over in a matter of moments. Clark and Schlomo busted into the store while Michael and I subdued and restrained the truck driver. Clark sat on one guy (he kept wriggling - a lot), Schlomo cuffed another while he was in the act of stuffing a pair of blue Esquire Socks with a drug-laced sausage roll and a New York Water Bagel, but where was the Muffin Man himself?

Just then we heard the crunching of gears and turned in time to see the maniac take off in the truck, grinning widely and leaving the parking lot. However, the truck came to a sudden halt when the Corvette - our car - Ralph's precious 'Vette - lurched from its parking space, up onto the curb, knocked over the parking meter and fishtailed into the front of the truck. The Muffin Man was too stunned to do anything but just sit in the cab, looking glazed, like a cake donut.

We were pretty amazed too. Mitchell - our office junior, the guy who usually made the coffee - had saved the day. We raced over, shouting words of congratulation to Mitchell, except for Clark, who was muttering stuff about the car and repair bills and how hard it is to find a decent mechanic these days. However, it seemed that what had transpired was that Mitchell had become bored, was tinkering with the radio, and had accidentally put the car in gear. But no matter. The day was saved. After we had repaired to the nearest bar for two or nine beers with Schlomo, he suggested we pose for the above photo as a way of celebrating a successful capture. Quite why we agreed to do it nude, I can't recall. It seemed a good idea at the time.
The picture still resides on our office wall, and brings back some great yet fuzzy memories. 

The Muffin Man made a daring escape from prison a few years later using a laundry cart, a gross of paper-clips and a hockey puck, and is currently at large, whereabouts unknown...

And Mitchell? Well, he left us soon after that, claiming the event had "traumatized" him, but we noticed a few weeks afterwards that he was advertising his services in the local want ads as a private detective. I wonder where he is now...

The Case Of The Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Death Filling - Or The Hostess With The Most Explosives (Further Foibles And A Secret Weapon)

As related by Clark and Jeff before me, you can see The Case Of The Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Death Filling (et all) is filled (no pun intended) not only with diabolical delights (no pun intended) and intrigue, but packed in the middle (no pun intended) with more convolution than a 5 pound sack containing 10 pounds of potatoes.

This case has confounded The Unbelievables to no end. Oh, sure ... there have been a few inroads and successes in frustrating the intentions of The Hostess, Little Debbie and that freak of nature the evil Bimbo Bear. We've been able to quash a plan or several and put them on the run. And we've forced them to hide underground. But it's Baron Jude Turgider that pulls many of their string - he has a proclivity for manipulating laws both domestic and international in order for the insidious fiends to carry out their underhanded intentions year after year after year. And he almost got away with getting Hostess reinstated, reorganized and baking again, but, thanks to us, we were able to toss a wrench in the machine and halt the attempt.

This time.

Now, obviously we can't divulge any information relaying just how we've managed to put speed bumps in the roadway of their plans, but rest assured we continue to be on their tails.  Justice will ever be served on them in packaging not suitable for individual sale, but by the caseload.

I can say this, however: As a direct result of Hostess products, The Unbelievables have forged relationships with some pretty powerful and "impressive" allies. And one of the most adept at perplexing our foes' intentions is none other than Sonny The Cocoa Puffs mascot. Yeah ... go figure.

Here and now, it can be told Sonny has been instrumental in the spy business. How is it possible that we can reveal, for the first time anywhere, he is a player in the game? Because Sonny - believe it or not, just like The Unbelievables - is a master of disguise. 

And you'd never know it but ... back in the day? Woody The Woodpecker was able to keep him in line. (But that's a story for another time.)

Meanwhile, Hostess Bakeries are in flux, finally ordered to dissolve once and for all despite Baron Jude Turgider's efforts with The Hostess forced to seek other means to carry out her cronies' no doubt on-going evil doings. 

There will be more adventures to come from this evil group, but rest assured, Free World: The Unbelievables will be there to counter.

The Unbelievables - Opening Credits

Just in case you hadn't caught it on our Facebook page, here's the opening credits sequence from our TV show that the networks avoided, inexplicably.

The Case Of The Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Death Filling - Or The Hostess With The Most Explosives

As if by magic, it appears that one short day after my colleague Clark's analysis of the whole Hostess-Twinkies fiasco was published, Hostess has agreed to a one-day 'mediation session' with the union, the meeting orchestrated by US bankruptcy court judge Robert Drain.

Yes. THE Judge Robert Drain. Well known to us Unbelievables by his anagrammatical name, Baron Jude Turgider, the evil mind behind Rapid Implementation of Noxious Gases and Dynamite-Infused Nibbles (Global), aka RINGD-IN(G). 

The Baron seeks to reduce the world's burgeoning population (a genuine problem, I grant you) through deadly poisons secretly introduced into popular snack cakes. The reason he chose Hostess brands is plain to see: North America is full of snack-addicted folks, and the quickest way to reduce the population of the continent with the fattest nation on Earth is to lace their snacks with potent added ingredients. 

Whichever way you slice it, this is murder, pure and simple. The Baron has been in cahoots with The Hostess (the mastermind of all the insidious and nefarious activities of the organisation) and Little Debbie, not to mention that weird Drake fella, for years. Their joint goal - reap massive wealth from the people while secretly killing them off one by one. It's a foolproof plan - the cakes are so addictive that even though they kill, no-one will ever suspect. What's that you say? The FDA? Those clowns haven't checked a thing in years.

So like I said, Turgider and his cronies will find a way to bring back the Twinkie and its ilk, by "selling off" the brands to the highest bidder - no doubt shell companies created by The vile Hostess and Miss Debbie, not to mention that 'cute' little evil bear Bimbo - and they'll be back on your shelves killing people in no time, all the while making it look as if small regional bakeries have purchased the rights to produce the brands. We Unbelievables are going to need a bit of backup in order to stop this fiend, and it may take some time. I have already put in a call for help to the one they call "Mr. Pringle".

If sartorial elegance had a face, this would be it.

I shall leave it to Michael to explain the rest of the long and sordid story to you. Meanwhile, I have some important top secret and highly toxic Unbelievables stuff to be getting on with. I hear tell that Toucan Sam and Betty Crocker have some vital info to impart. More on that as and when. Ciao.

The Case of the Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Death Filling

Hostess is going out of business, declaring bankruptcy after a prolonged bakers strike. I guess that's one way to put it. Another, and far more accurate way is to say they're declaring defeat after a prolonged siege by The Unbelievables. You're welcome, free world.

Let me explain. 

First off, we're all aware that Twinkies, the signature product of Hostess, are famous for two things: 1) Having a nearly indefinite shelf life and 2) Being highly explosive. Do those things sound like typical characteristics of traditional baked goods? Of course not. That's because since the mid-1970s, Hostess's baked treats operation has served as a front for one of the world's most insidious and treacherous munitions dealers. Name a terrorist action in the last 40 years and there's a Hostess product attached to some sort of weapon that was involved in it.

• Kingsmill Massacre? Suzy Q's
• Hijacking of Air France flight 139? Ho Ho's
• The airport attack in Esenboga? Donettes

There are more, of course. Many, many more.

We discovered this fact when we came across a fiendishly clever code embedded in the baseball cards printed on the bottom of boxes containing Hostess products, like this: 

Harmless, no? NO! Not if you could form the words "THESE EXPLODE" from the words on the baseball cards, in which case you had yourself a box of bombs. And not the sugar kind.

These were shipped off to Israel, Afghanistan, Iraq. Basically, anywhere you could find unrest, turmoil, strife and discord. Boxes that didn't contain the code were sent to supermarkets and convenience stores. After a while, subtlety was ignored and they stopped trying to hide the code altogether.

So how did The Unbelievables figure this out when no other agency on earth did? Well, we are The Unbelievables. Plus, we follow baseball and know that the Cincinnati Reds have never had a shortstop named Explodio Morales. Also, top-notch PR on behalf of the Hostess corporation. Needless to say, we knew we had to step in and take them down. What followed was a mission that lasted well over 30 years, undoubtedly one of our most extensive, and it led us to the nefarious villainess behind the whole operation, The Hostess: her parties are as likely to kill as to thrill.

I'll let Jeff and Michael fill you in on the ins and outs of the case and how we were eventually able to tighten the noose. I just wanted you to know that this talk of bankruptcy is nonsense; like I said, The Hostess is incredibly savvy when it comes to public relations ... in addition to throwing a simply spectacular spring gala.

Meanwhile, I'm going to take a moment to celebrate this occassion with a Twinkie, secure in the knowledge that for the first time in decades, I don't have to worry about biting into it and scattering the contents of my head over a six-block radius.

Then I'm going to review our case file on Little Debbie. What a piece of work she is.