Based on his late father Ken’s legendary status as a rogue agent in the C.I.A., Matt recently gained access to sealed documents and photos of the pair never before made public. The shocking truth is that when these two “met” in 2006, their feigned expressions of unfamiliarity belied a long history. In fact, Richard and Carl have been P.I.C.’s (“Partners-In-Crime”) for decades – and their experiences together shaped the men we see today.
How they met remains a mystery, but the two appear to have first surfaced as adults in 1950s Manhattan. Wary of publicity, the duo combined talents to publish beat poems under the pen-name Mort Snoot. Details from this period are few, but sources close to the two claim that in 1956 they penned their magnum opus - a poem called 'Hoot', exploring the human condition with a raw and vulgar vibrancy never before put to page. However, shortly after they hit the Greenwich streets to celebrate with vanilla cokes, their roommate Al collected the manuscript pages lying about and disappeared with them – later publishing their masterpiece sans the 18-page chapter that explored the primordial power of boogers. Young Richard, while devastated, was not surprised. Al had shown little regard for their free spirits, and had repeatedly warned them to stop leaving their shoes in the living room and their papers lying around. The lesson would remain with Richard for life.
Disenchanted with the word revolution, they yearned for something tangible. As shown in this never-before-seen photo, separate paths led them to the Cuban tropical forest. Both were attracted to le revolucion by the retro jungle outfits and promises by young Fidel of “s'mores” prepared with single-plantation 90% cacao chocolate. Tension rose to the surface for the first time in their relationship when Ricardo snagged the last hat. Claiming that the "hat was the best part,” Carlos had had enough, and disappeared into the dense wilderness.
Having tasted the spartan life of a revolutionary, Carl set his sights on Hollywood. Now known as Carl Welles-Fellini, he found himself directing critically acclaimed but commercially unviable films like the 1959 classic “Son of Godzilla and Mothra vs. the Blob.” Struggling to write a hit, Carl called on his P.I.C. in hopes of capturing lightning in a bottle once again. Carl’s then fiancé Marilyn was awestruck by Richard. She spent days by the pool, entranced by glimpses of Richard’s glistening pectorals as he emerged from his afternoon swim. Again, details from this period are murky. To this day, Hollywood dramas involving love triangles occupy a soft spot in Carl’s tender heart. Hence, the boxed sets of Dawson’s Creek that decorate the Plunkett media library.
Passport control records from Dover, England indicate that Richard next surfaced in Liverpool under the name Ricky Schlectington. There he eked out a life entertaining pub patrons with blistering renditions of barbershop classics from his violin. Convinced that the future of music lay in rock bands fronted by master fiddlers, Ricky gathered four lost souls to provide back-up. Spellbound by Ricky’s radical hairstyle, Carl invited the group to premiere in the U.S. on “Rockin’ Sockin’ hits with Mr. P” - his nascent evening variety show broadcast from his Atlanta basement. No video of the performance exists, but stagehands from the era claim that Carl insisted Ricky drop the four long-haired freeloaders and join him in a duet. By order of the FCC, neither has been broadcast live since.
According to their file, the record is blank until five years later. A former NASA official recently came forward with shocking proof that the Apollo 11 mission was a do-over. The first attempt was apparently doomed by two of the astronauts. Only fragments of tape from the black box remain:
[Astronaut 1]: How come Carl gets the window?
<4 minutes, 38 seconds inaudible>
[Astronaut 2]: Stop looking at me! Michael, Richard won’t stop look <inaudible> me.
[Astronaut Collins]: Don’t think I won’t turn this rocket around right now!