Friday, July 21, 2017

Under-Ed-stimated

"You know" Clark commented "Ed is making a name for himself ... as our most inept foe to date." - Monday

Turns out I (we) might have sold Ed short. Granted, Michael was correct in stating that none of Ed Flurb's* threats against us ever came to fruition, but we're not the only people who ever get threatened. And while he has consistently failed to harm, impress, or even bother us, he has been making his presence known elsewhere.

He has at least one airplane. While that in itself is not a crime, a guy who on multiple occasions has threatened mayhem with the ability to take to the skies is a serious potential problem, as history has shown...


Not that he needs to fly to be a menace...
He broke into this house and stole this poor family's cupboards!! The note the fiend left behind said, "Please try to enjoy your cereals and canned goods stacked together on a table from now on! HA HA HA HA HA!!!"


The security team that somehow allowed him to get close enough to Janet Jackson to, um, offend, has been relieved of their duties.


And probably most disturbing of all...
He's gained access to the fertile young minds of our college students!

So, citizens, we can not afford to dismiss this man as a mere nuisance. Please keep your eyes open for anyone fitting this description, or even specific aspects of it, and if you see something, say something!

PERSON OF INTEREST: ED FLURB*

  • Hockey helmet
  • Glasses
  • Mustache
  • Spandex bodysuit
  • Lack of or, at best, ill-suited undergarments
  • Sack lunch
* We suspect that "Flurb" is not his real name, but rather an onomatopoetic alias based on the noises created when he puts on and takes off his bodysuit

Insult-Ed



For me, it wasn't so much how inept he appeared to be, it was how inept he most certainly was and yet was still able to get the ladies.


I mean, come on! He looks like he bought a giant condom, put it on and covered it with Magic Marker.

I voiced my opinion about this, loudly, to the guys when the above picture flopped onto our front doormat one day with an accompanying note:
Dear Unbelievables,
You guys think you're the only ones who know how to drive the ladies wild, huh? Well, let me tell you something - you're not!
Yours evilly, Ed Flurb, the evil guy
That one hit us where we live, you know?

Not only that, but the guy seems to have a following, for some obscure reason. So much so that he has inspired imitators who turn up at Comic-Cons dressed like him.



What is that all about!?

My opinion? Flurb is just a harmless nutter, albeit a mildly irritating one.

Clark will weigh in with his take on this fellow later. TTFN!


 

Monday, July 17, 2017

Ed Flurb, The Evil Guy





Someone we've never mentioned previously, Ed Flurb, is perhaps one of our dumbest foes ever. 

As a matter of fact, calling him a foe at all was a bit of a stretch. The guy was a genuine maroon.

But ... everyone has a dream, right? And few ever get the opportunity to get out there and live those dreams. Ed? Well, he got to gettin' and did his thing. So, in that respect, I guess we have to give Ed his due.

He first burst on the scene with - you guessed it - a letter (hand written even) that came to us out of the blue one day:


Unbelievables:

I'm The Evil Guy. And I just might turn out to be your worst super villain nightmare. So watch out!

Ed Flurb aka The Evil Guy


Yep. That was the extent of our introduction to him. Nothing more. We promptly forgot all about him.


Ed Flurb, The Evil Guy.
Evil ... personified.

Then, a few months later, we got another note from Ed:


Unbelievables: 

Remember McDonald's "Super Size" options on their meals some years back? It was all the rage and even got attention in that Morgan Spurlock film. Remember how "super sizing" was then vilified and eventually done away with by the chain? Well, I'm bringing it back. Me, The Evil Guy! Super sizing will be reintroduced to the doom of all mankind!

Ed Flurb (better known as The Evil Guy)


We pondered over this a while (it was a really a short amount of time we actually pondered) and decided to take a wait and see attitude about the affair. As it turned out, nothing ever came of it. Once more we promptly forgot all about Ed's threat.


Obviously taking a break from evil doing.

Another few months passed and another post came our way.


Unbelievables:

I'm planning on world domination in the form of slowing production values of the public at large. How am I going to do this? By randomly putting up orange safety cones on some of the busiest freeways ever, forcing bottlenecks and resulting in traffic jams and, thus, lost work hours. No one will be able to get anything done! With work stymied, the economy will collapse! Watch out!

Ed Flurb (You know me better as The Evil Guy)


We had a good chuckle at that one. And, of course, nothing was ever heard of on this particular issue.


We don't know. Don't ask.

"You know" Clark commented "Ed is making a name for himself ... as our most inept foe to date."

A few more months went by. Another letter.


Unbelievables:

You want trouble? I'm going to hand it to you on a silver platter. I'm teaming with Fidel Castro and Cuba and together we'll bring about "The Bay Of Pigs - The Sequel!" Start counting your days; they're numbered!

Villainous Ed Flurb, The Evil Guy

"Uhm ... doesn't he know Castro died a few years back?" Jeff queried.

But it didn't make any difference. Because we never heard word zero about Cuba or Casto or a resurrection of The Bay Of Pigs nor Ed's "alliance" again.


Again ... no clue.

Like I said: Ed did his thing. Giving credit wear credit is due, he did dream big. (So to speak.) But he never followed through on anything so far as we could tell. Or ... maybe he did and his plans simply died on implementation. We don't know.

But the dude was a never ending source of sniggers.

Jeff and Clark might have a few more words on Ed later in the week. Just, you know, don't expect much.


Note: We didn't hear from The Unbelievable Dance Crew over the weekend so there was nothing further to report on their behalf. When they get back to us, we'll get back to you. I know, I know ... you're waiting with bated breath to see what they come up with ...

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Everybody Dance - Wow!

KA-POW!!!

I was in the mailroom helping Ulf the Unbelievadog and Kip the Mail Boy to un-jam the copier when I became aware of a commotion from outside - lots of clapping, cheering and "YAY"ing going on. Before I could even open my mouth to ask what in the name of Henri Petit's lighter was occurring, Michael came in and collared me.

"Jeff," he hissed, "There are some rather enthusiastic young folk outside who wish to converse with you."

"With me?" I asked.

"Oh yes, you. Clark and I have done our turn with them, and now it's up to you."

"Whaddya mean, 'up to me'?" I enquired, but before Michael could answer, there I was at the front door faced with the vibrantly-attired group you see above.

"HI, JEFF!!!!!" They cried as they saw me.

"Er, hello to you," I responded, to which some of the girls in the crew giggled and said things like "Aw, he's sooo British" in a swoonsome manner.

"And who, might I ask, are you lot?" (More cries of "Ooh, he's such an Englishman" etc.)

"We're The Unbelievable Dance Crew! And we're here because you're our heroes and you need a signature dance! We think it would be super awesomely cool if you guys had a signature dance named after you that people could do when they're out for the night!"

I was intrigued. "Go on..."

"So we need to find out what kind of dance moves you guys like so we can incorporate them into a super-cool fabby dance routine and teach it to people!"

"Well, OK. I like a lot of dances, but particularly ones from the 30s, 40s and 50s, like the Charleston, Lindy Hop, Black Bottom, etc. Not to mention the Jitterbug, the Bop and the Stroll. That enough to be going on with?"

"That's totes amazeballs, Jeff!!" They shouted. "We think they're fan-dabi-dozi too! Give us a couple weeks to get it all choreographed and we'll come back with a sneak preview for you chaps!"

"How nice, " I thought to myself as the crew left the building. "They even threw in some U.K. slang to show me how much they like me."

I wonder what they'll come up with?




Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Everybody Dance ... How?




I had just come from somewhere in the base, coffee still in hand, when I heard "You know what? Hold on a moment ... I'm going to go get Michael ..." 

Then there was a loud cheering.

Clark came up to me. "Your turn. Go talk to the group outside."

"What? Who is it?" I asked.

"Just go. You'll see," Clark urged. He waited behind me a short distance, for what I hadn't a clue.

I went and opened the door. Cheering assaulted me and I jumped back a step. I swore I saw a few people in the background get thrown up in the air cheerleader style.

"HI, MICHAEL ... !!!"


Just like Clark, I took in the raucous greeting a bit unsettlingly. "Um ... hi?"

"We're The Unbelievable Dance Crew! And we're here because you're our heroes and you need a signature dance!"

I stepped back behind the door and looked over my shoulder at Clark. He floofed his hand at me in a "go on, talk to them" sort of gesture. I returned to the cacophony of cheering and greetings.

"'The Unbelievable Dance Crew' you say?"

"YES!!!" they shouted back at me.

"Unbelievable" I responded. 

"YES!!!" they shouted again. "We just think it would be awesome if 'The Unbelievable' was a dance that people could do in clubs and at weddings and other social occasions where people dance!"

"Truly unbelievable ..." I said again, under my breath. But, apparently, not quietly enough.

"YES!" claimed one person.

"Imagine it!" stated another emphatically.

"It would be awesome sauce!" cheered a third.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY ... !!!" all of them screamed in unison.

I stepped back, closed the door slightly and turned again to Clark. "Why are you encouraging this?!?"

"Oh, let'em have their fun! They're just enthusiastic and they dig us. Where's the harm? Besides ... they're even willing to incorporate robotic moves in whatever they do ..."

I grumbled and reopened the door. A troupe of 7 of them had initiated a costume change. My jaw dropped:



"Uhm ... you know what? Let me get Jeff. I'll be right back ..."

I closed the door, turned on my heel and scowled at Clark (he appeared to be enjoying my reactions) as I marched down the hall to find Jeff.

"Robotic! Moves!" Clark called after me as I disappeared around a corner ...

Monday, July 10, 2017

Everybody dance now

We finally got home from Switzerland the other day and hadn't even settled down when these characters showed up at the door:
I greeted them but was unnerved. In addition to being aggressively colorful, they also wouldn't stop moving around. Before I could ask "who are you?", They said, in unison, "Hi! We're The Unbelievable Dance Crew! And we're here because you're our heroes and you need a signature dance!" This was before I could ask, "why are you here?" Another piped up and said, "we just think it would be awesome if 'The Unbelievable' was a dance that people could do in clubs and at weddings and other social occasions where people dance!" Managing to get a word in, I said "weddings are the only social occasion where people dance." That made that one dancer slow down just a little.

But yeah, bottom line here is that these young go-getters are all about us being represented in a signature dance. The kind where when you look at a dance floor at a discotheque and say "what are they doing?", the answer would be "they're doing The Unbelievable!". And they are fully prepared to 'go viral' in making it happen. Through sheer force of will and obnoxiously high energy, I don't doubt it. Since they admire us, they wanted to get our personal input into what should be part of it.

I told them I love robots so I would very much to see some robotic moves be part of what they eventually come up with:

Wait til you see what Michael and Jeff have for them later this week!

Friday, July 7, 2017

The Whole Thing Was Choc Fulla Nuts



... from Wednesday ...


"Isn't it obvious? He's planning to corner the nut market, in order to put the squeeze on the chocolate biz. And he's probably going to destroy huge nut crops in order to do so!"

Of course this made sense right off the bat. All the obvious, tell-tale signs were there: Devious ne'er-do-well leanings, delusions of grandeur, a power play aimed at disrupting the normal course of events. Yep ... it sure sounded like the M.O. of Henri Petit.


But I confessed: "I was just winging it, guys. I don't have a bead on who it is behind this plot. We just haven't had any rows with the little twit of late and I was ... you know, wishful thinking it was Petit, y'unnerstan' ..."

Regardless, we had work to do. And we couldn't let down our friend Guinney nor see his successful business run out of profitability, nuts or popularity.


So, it was back to the states with us to determine if this was a real threat or someone with a desire to yank Guinney's chain.


The first order of business was to see if Petit was really behind this nefarious plot or if it was someone else. We didn't have any concrete evidence it was actually Petit - no video from Guinney's shop, nothing. Just our friend's word. But it sure sounded like something that imp Petit would involve himself with.


Doing some digging about nuts (California being one of the largest producers of almonds, pistachios and walnuts, all perfect in chocolates) and the like, I stumbled on this video:




A light when on after the first two and a half minutes. It smacked of jealousy and underhandedness to me. I postulated a theory that it wasn't Petit at all and there wasn't any pending nut crisis in the least in the future. 

Because it was obvious: Jimmy Fallon - and his abundant jealousy of Guinney Pepper's success - was the culprit here. And, to all three of us, that was just nuts.

We paid a visit to Fallon's studio the next day for "a little chat." (The details of that chat aren't important. Let's just say he saw clear to steer away from any shenanigans involving Guinney, his business and nuts in general. He even admitted he was the one who threatened Guinney at his shop posing as "the very tall man in a trench coat." And, yes, he midget on his shoulders who did all the talking who was an avid smoker.)

In the grand scheme of things, it was a pretty easy case to solve. Guinney was relieved to discover it was all a hoax when we broke the news to him.

Later, Clark asked: "Wait ... so ... we don't get to rough up Petit? You know, throw him screaming through a plate glass window from 15 stories up somewhere?"

Jeff and I consoled him with some of Guinney's superb chocolate creations we'd picked up while in Switzerland ...





Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Drop those nuts!

Guinney spilled some of his work on his shirt
"Tune in later this week for the next part later this week! For, like, the next part!" - Jeff, earlier today

We wailed and skanked our way back to Guinney's shop. Once there, I did my best to focus on the matter at hand - impending evil ploy perpetrated by the mini-menace Henri Petit - and not sample even more of Guinney's wares. Here's what he said:
"My nuts are in trouble!"
When asked to elaborate he said, "No self-respecting chocolatier can possibly hope to have a line of treats without offering nuts and almonds and pecans and etcetera." To which I replied, "Duh."

"Well, the other day", he continued, "a very tall man in a trench coat and wearing a hat came in here and threatened me, saying 'Enjoy your nuts while you have them, because they're not long for this world'. Then he laughed in a sinister manner and transitioned into a nasty smoker's cough."

"Tall man, eh?", Jeff queried. "That lets out Petit." "Yes, but as he turned to leave, he was very unsteady", Guinney said. "I think it was a small person on a regular-sized person's shoulders." We all looked at each other and shared the same thought: "Henri Petit would totally try to pull a stunt like that!"

"But to what end?", Guinney asked. Michael said, "Isn't it obvious? He's planning to corner the nut market, in order to put the squeeze on the chocolate biz. And he's probably going to destroy huge nut crops in order to do so!"

We've got to save those nuts.

Choc Full Of Nutty Happenings

Naturally, we stayed on in Switzerland for a few days after we'd inadvertently done Dr. Oldschool's D.I.Y. for him, wishing him the best of luck in his microbrewery venture.

It just seemed appropriate. We love Switzerland anyways. I love clocks, Michael loves pantsless snow activities and Clark, well...

Clark loves chocolate. Especially the handmade Swiss kind. Clark is as happy in Switzerland as a pig in muck. We just let him loose in downtown Geneva and said, "take your time, buddy."

But it was on Sunday when Michael and I were in the hotel that things took a turn.

Michael had heard about the Large Hadron Collider and wanted to know more about it. I was trying to explain the science of accelerated particles and it was clear I was not breaking through. Michael's a great guy, very smart, you understand, but sometimes it's like he's wearing glasses made from pure snot while trying to critique an oil painting. It wasn't until he'd made some sexual reference, giggling like a schoolboy, that I realized why I wasn't making any headway.

"No, no," I said. "Large Hadron. HADRON, H-A-D-R-O-N, not H-A-R--"

Suddenly the door burst open and in waddled a clearly chocolate-engorged Clark, near enough bouncing off the walls.

"Guys, guys! You will never believe it!"

"What, that you have eaten your own weight in chocolate?" I said cynically.

"Like you didn't buy fifteen cuckoo clocks?" retorted Michael.

"OK, OK, so I like them," I replied, and then, returning to Clark, I I asked what was up.

"You will never believe who's opened a chocolate shop here! You'll never guess. When I tell you, you're gonna flip your flippin' lid!"

We stared at Clark for what seemed like an age.

"Guinney Pepper!"

"--"

"Yes, the Guinney Pepper! You know, of Lick The Chalice fame!"

The penny dropped.

We're all big fans of reggae superstar Guinney Pepper. On fishing trips and long car journeys, he's practically all we listen to.




He's also one of our international network of moles and informants from the world of celebrity.

"What!? What is he doing in bloomin' Switzerland?" I asked.

"Well, not only does he love chocolate and timepieces, he's onto something big! He thinks it's something to do with - (ahem) - Petit!"

"Good gravy!" cried Michael. "I thought after last time, that little dingbat troll monkey would have hung up his pipe for good!"

"We need to get down to the shop where he's having his grand opening and see what he knows. There's no time to waste!"

We sped off, pronto.

Tune in later this week for the next part later this week! For, like, the next part!

Friday, June 30, 2017

This week's conclusion to the adventure that began last week

We scrambled to the rooftop, wondering how we could seal it shut. Rope? Glue? Our own bodies, if necessary? Whatever it takes!

There, we were met by an elderly man with three buckets of hot tar, three mops... and three pairs of slacks. Well, pants.
"Here you go, boys. You'll be needing all of these", he said.
"You... have slacks for us?", Jeff asked.
"A-yup. This is hot messy work. To try to do it without some sort of pants would be downright irresponsible."
Without time to waste, we leapt enthusiastically into the slacks (well, Michael wasn't that enthusiastic) and got right to work sealing that roof up.
Within mere minutes, thanks to our patented precision teamwork, we had pretty much finished. "Good luck opening now, eh?", I exclaimed. "Darn fine work, I must say", said the old man. Michael asked, "Who are you anyway?"
"I'm Charlie, the building custodian. And this leaky ol' roof has been a problem for years. Doc said he'd get it taken care of and I guess he did. He's an odd duck but he is effective."
"Wait a minute," Jeff said. "This whole thing was a scheme to get us to do roof work?!?"
"A-yup", said Charlie.
Michael said, "What about the moon beam ray? And those guys wired to boxes?"
"That 'beam ray is something the doctor built in his spare time out of old model airplane parts. Most difficult thing was finding the green light bulbs. It don't actually do nothing but light up and buzz, like pretty much all the 'equipment' down there. And those fellers are working with the doc on his new side project to develop really big i-Pods."
Jeff asked, "Why did they look so uncomfortable?" Charlie answered, "They're trying to figure out how to scrub out that free U2 album from a couple of years ago."

Michael pointed out, "But now the roof is sealed. You can't even open it for telescopes any more."
"Ah, the observatory business ain't what it used to be. We're going to make a go of it as a microbrewery. Craft beers and all that. Very trendy."
That's when I blew up. "What an incredibly stupid, unnecessarily elaborate scheme! What's the point?" Charlie looked at me sideways and asked, "How much did we pay you to do it?"

"I can't believe it", Jeff said. "We've been fooled by Dr. Oldschool!" Suddenly Dr. Oldschool appeared, hovering just off the edge of the roof on some kind of home-made hovering device. "You've been fooled by Dr. Oldschool! Ha ha ha!". I went to lunge at him; "You dirty sonova..." but Jeff and Michael held me back.

"Yes, I imagine right now is when you'd like to kick me through some kind of window, and as much as that would complete this immersive Unbelieavables experience, I think I will escape instead. But this has truly been a pleasure. You did top notch work on this roof and it was pure delight watching you work on a case the way you used to." The three of us looked at each other sheepishly; we had to admit that it had been pretty fun. "So listen, I'm going to leave. Charlie will show you out. We should be open in a couple of weeks. Once you aren't mad at me anymore, come back and I'll treat you to my specialty microbrew. I call it 'Moon River'." He looked at Michael and said, "And in your honor we're planning on having a pants-optional section! Bring dates! Later!". With that, I caught Michael smiling as Dr. Oldschool flew off into the Swiss distance.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Getting Our Slacks Dirty

While Clark and Michael searched for the 'adjacent room' where the beam ray was housed, I tried to get a few answers from the three guys who were installed inside the little boxes. But since they were unable to talk, I had to look around me for clues. I saw three lab coats hanging up on hooks just inside the door. I looked at the guys in the boxes and said "These yours?"
They nodded.
I looked at the name tags on the lab coats. Shadrach, Meshach, and Bob. All highly qualified astronomers.

I tried to open the door of one of the boxes. It was impossible - no handle, and nothing to get any good grip on.


Just then, the others joined us.

"Jeff - you gotta see this!" They dragged me into an adjoining chamber, where I was confronted by this giant piece of machinery, sitting where the telescope used to be, pointing up towards the heavens through the open roof.


Yikes.

"Wow... it's like... straight out of H.G. Wells!" I breathed.

"Yeah, and it's like, bolted to the floor, too." replied Michael.

"Big bolts," added Clark.

In the dim light I could see that there were wires extending from the machine into the wall. They had to be the ones keeping the three guys sitting in their boxes, not daring to move lest they should die in some unknown yet horrible way.

Suddenly the light flicked on, followed by a creepy voice. "So! You have found it! My glorious Moon River Ray!"

We turned in unison to see Dr. Oldschool - a typical mad scientist type.

Heh heh heh!
"It wasn't difficult, Oldschool - it's in the next room."

"Yeah, OK, you got me on that one. but you're still going to have to get your slacks dirty in order to defeat me! Heh heh heh heh!"

"What is this obsession with dirty slacks? That's like, the third time you've mentioned it."

"Silence, Unbelieva-twit! Use your noggin!"

"Noggin, nothin'" growled Clark. "Imma put you in a frickin' headlock, you old coot!"

"Hold it, Clark, that's just what he wants you to do!" I exclaimed. "If you go after him he'll probably flick some switch and we're all goners!"

"Ah, so one of you does have a whisker of common sense about you, then! How perceptive!"

"Ah shaddap and let me think, you crackpot!" cried Michael. "Lads, let's go!"

We turned and left the room. I could tell that Michael had a plan.

"To the roof, boys - our slacks (which we still aren't wearing) are not only going to get dirty - they'll be positively filthy once I'm done with them!"

"The roof?" I gulped.

"Yes, the roof - if Oldschool can't get the roof open..."

"Then he can't bring down the moon!" Clark said.

"Pre-cisely!" said Michael.

Tune in Friday for the thrilling conclusion!

Monday, June 26, 2017

Oldschool: The Confrontation (sort of)



At the Observatorium we happened on one of its docents.

"Excuse me," I chimed. "You wouldn't happen to know if a certain Dr. Oldschool is about, would you?"

The docent looked at me curiously, then at Jeff and Clark. Back to me he asked "Would you three happen to be The Unbelievables?"

"Why, yes ... yes we are," I replied.

"Can I see your passports for proof?" The docent held out his hand expectantly.

"Well ... erm ... you see, we don't exactly ..." Jeff muttered.

"What Jeff is trying to say" I offered "is that were not exactly sporting anything in the way of proof if you know what I mean ..." Outside our snowboots we were still doffed in nothing but our pantsless snowboard training attire. 



Not much pocket room for passports, even if they were current and we had'em.
But ... we look good.

"I've noticed" the docent sneered. "Still, I need a little proof. Answer me this: Where, exactly, in the state of Wyoming is this Wendigo Flats from which you hail?"

"Stiletto Flats. And it's in Nevada, not Wyoming," Clark corrected.

"Proof enough" he responded. "There's a room at the top floor of the observatorium that leads to the rotating dome. It's marked. You'll find it when you take the elevator down the hall," he pointed.

Exiting the elevator, we found the room without a problem. And it was marked.

"Caution: Giant moon-pulling ray beam thingamujig inside" it stated.

"Well isn't this quaint," I commented. I gripped the doorknob. "It's unlocked. This seems a little too convenient." I opened the door.



Sinister!

In the room three bulky, rather plain looking steel contraptions sat with men stuffed inside, only their heads exposed. They looked uncomfortable and they couldn't talk; they could only look at us, pleadingly. A note was on the floor addressed "Unbelievables: Read" in block letters.

"Another damned note," Clark huffed as he picked it up to see what it said. It was, of course, from Oldschool.


"Unbelievables: Attached to these men is my beam ray of which I spoke previously. You'll find it in another room adjacent to this one. The poor men before you are an integral part of the ray's workings. Try and free them and they die. Try and dismantle my beam ray and they die. The moon has precious little time left before it is brought down once and for all into the river. It's almost Moon River time! You have but one chance to save it, save these men and redeem yourselves as the protectors you claim to be ... but I'm not telling you how. I told you you're going to have to get your slacks dirty yourselves - no one else can take your place! It's almost Friday! Let's see what you can do ..."

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Thrills, Spills and Chills

"The first thing we need to do," I said to the lads on Monday over lunch, "is to figure out exactly where this 'Dr. Oldschool' -  if indeed that is his name - is going to fire this supposed 'beam ray' from. If it's as cataclysmic as he makes it sound, it's gotta be pretty huge, and therefore a bit difficult to hide, surely?"

"Not necessarily," warned Clark. "It could be easily hidden in a mountain, or a volcano, or a very large building like the White House, for example. A building with a dome like that'd be ideal."

"It's not gonna be in the White House!" hissed Michael.

"I didn't say it was," retorted Clark. "I just said, LIKE the White House."

"Don't forget, it's gotta be near a river. Moon River, remember?"

Well, this went on for some time.

Meanwhile, I had a thought. I went to the bin and pulled an envelope out of the trash. Marching over to the table, I hollered at the guys, "Who's the idiot that forgot to put this in the recycle bin?!"

They stopped and stared. "That's brilliant, Jeff!"

"It is?"

"Yes," said Clark, "that's the envelope the letter came in. Check to see if there's a postmark!"

There was. In no time we were headed to Switzerland. Dr. Oldschool had mentioned skiing in his letter, so we were packed accordingly. 


Here's Michael in his usual ski attire.

And here's the three of us at one of Michael's "Pantsless Snowboarding" training weekends.

Naturally, along our journey to Switzerland we'd been studying all we could about the country and where a a giant moon-pulling ray beam thingumajig could be hidden.

"It'd have to be high ground," said Michael.

"Hence Switzerland. Hence skiing. Mountains. The Alps." Clark replied.

"Good job we're prepared for that" I added.

The others nodded in agreement.

As we parachuted down from our Unbelieva-Jet towards our secret safe house on the outskirts of Bern, I looked over at Clark and shouted, "This is so cool! Who needs airports, eh?"

"Yeah!" he replied. "I haven't even renewed my passport in twenty years! HAHAHAHAHA!!"

"HAHAHA!! Me either!"

We opened the hidden underground garage at our secret safe house and discovered the battery flat on our souped-up mountain-ready Yugo.


Two hot cylinders of throbbing power!
"I guess we DO need airports after all. We're gonna have to rent a car." said Michael.

We strapped on our snowshoes and lumbered into town to rendezvous with our pointman, Hertz Van Rentl, to see if he couldn't rustle us up a set of wheels, with big knobbly tires and some snow chains, and preferably some of those nice beaded sheepskin seat covers that give you a back massage.

Where were we headed? To the most obvious place, really. A place on high ground - at the top of a mountain, actually. And the perfect place for looking up at the heavens - an observatory, no less.

That's right, I'm talking about the Sphinx Observatorium, not far from the Eiger.


Like something straight outta James Bond.



Clark will let you know how we got on tomorrow (even though you know we succeeded, because the Moon didn't fall in a river on Friday, but what the hey...)

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

The Only Thing "New" Will Be A Fresh Schooling Of Dr. Oldschool



He caused my frittata to become a bit cold. What a jerk.



"I hope you can stop me, but I'm not sure you can, given how you've let yourselves go."


It was Wednesday morning. Reading what Clark had handed me - the warning letter from Dr. Oldschool (and in particular the above line) - I put down the forkful of frittata I was about to bite into, took a quick sip of mimosa, got up and ran to the restroom. 

Gazing in the mirror I said to myself: "I don't know what he's talking about. I haven't let myself go in the least."

I opened a cabinet door and pulled out a pair of Lobster Rage Fists. (Multiple pairs are stashed all over the Unbelieva-Base; you never know when a need may arise.) I attached them and looked in the mirror once more, striking a pose: "I'll show this Dr. Oldschool how we 'beat up some henchmen'" I thought.



Dr. Oldschool might have all manor of glowing dials and tubes
and levers and pulleys and various gadgets.
But ... does he have one weapons? I highly doubt it.

I stored the Fists and returned to my breakfast. An Unbelieva-Babe had freshened my mimosa while I had taken leave.


 This guy's supposedly giving us until Friday, huh?

"I'm not the least bit concerned," I thought as I picked up that bite of frittata once more.

After all ... we know what needs to be done.