The city at rest. Itıs a small city, lotta trees. Itıs right there on the southeastern coast of Polias. Man, smell that salt sea air. Pretty good, right? Now, some cats might say it ainıt no city; why itıs barely even a town! Them cats might say it ainıt no place for decent folk, and they might say itıs a wee bit peculiar. In fact, they might say itıs a lot peculiar. Whoa, lordy, they could say that, cause it shoı nuff ainıt like no other place on this big olı Web oı Worlds!
Now, never you mind what them cats is sayinı. They donıt know nothinı about Well Thereıs really only one word to describe what them cats donıt understand about that little city on the coast. Itıs something the city got, that they donıt and probably never will. You either got it or you donıt, and if you donıt got it, you better get it, leastaways if you live in this city you do. But donıt worry, baby, cause this city got a lot to go around; enough for evırybody, even folks from far off places on Holiday. Tasnicans, Guardians, Crystalese, Esperians, Manx, it donıt matter.
But I digress. Thereıs only one word to describe what this city got.
Itıs called, ³funk.²
Uh-huh.
Yeah
Hit it.
* * *
The citizens of Wangofunk gathered around the Funky Palace, eagerly anticipating the spectacle to come. Sure enough, within moments, the gigantic Mothership zoomed down from space, hovering eerily in place. It had a kind of double-scalloped shape, painted white but covered in thousands upon thousands of flashing lights in every color of the psychedelic rainbow. The people roared with delight.
Presently, a large hatch opened at the bottom of the ship, accompanied by the heavy groan of turning gears and a hiss of released air pressure. From the hatch, a long white ramp slowly extended out towards the roof of the Funky Palace. A hush fell over the crowd.
Onto the ramp stepped a man with long, black hair dressed in an elaborate and frumpy purple gown. He wore a shimmering diamond tiara, and carried a jewel-encrusted scepter. He walked on the tallest pair of high-heeled platform go-go boots they had ever seen, made of gleaming white leather.
He was joined by a black-skinned man in white sequined jumpsuit, with an afro and purple star-shaped sunglasses, who spoke: ³Oh, yeah! Get on up and show ya love! Yıall gotta respect the Dynomite Diva of Disco, the Goddess of Groove, gettingı down and gettingı very, very funky, da Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen of Wangofunk, Queen Brunoletta!!!²
The crowd exploded in cheers. The city-state of Wangofunk was, according to its most sacred traditions, ruled by a Drag Queen. The locals felt that this helped to discourage power-hungry tyrants from seeking the throne; it was imperative that any prospective ruler must not take himself too seriously.
The Queenıs announcer spun around and shook his arms in the air, and then exclaimed, "Oh yeah! Put those hands together and shake yo` moneymakers! The Parliament`s gonna lay down the funk on all y`all brothers and sisters!" From within the Mothership emerged the five elaborately costumed member of Parliament. They started to shake. They began to shimmy. They jived on down the ramp, and danced in a single line behind the Queen.
The Queen grabbed a microphone from the announcer and shouted to the crowd, "My loyal subjects! We command you to GET DOWN!" The wail of a trumpet boomed through powerful arrays of speakers, soon joined by a smoooooooth bassline, a synth keyboard (with drumkit), and a pair of jamming guitars. The crowd was hip to it, and began to dance.
"When we say we want you to get down, we ain`t kidding around! I mean it, funky people... GET DOWN!" The crowd became a swaying, shaking mass of rhythm and beat. "Without a doubt, that`s what we`re talking about! Now, y`all gotta tell us something, citizens of funk. The Queen`s got a real important question, you dig? What? Didn`t hear you. Let`s try this again. The Queen`s got a real important question, YOU DIG?"
The crowd replied with an emphatic, "WE CAN DIG IT!" and the Queen squealed with delight.
"Funktastic! What we wanna know is, what do all y`all people want?"
The Parliment waved their arms in the air and sang, "What y`all people want?"
"WE WANT THE FUNK!" roared the assembled Wangofunks.
The Queen cupped one hand over his ear. "Oh, goodness, tell us what all y`all people WANT!"
"What y`all people want?" echoed the singing Parliament, shuffling to the left.
"WE WANT THE FUNK!!!" repeated the crowd, even louder this time.
"Well, y`all better be ready... The funk`s coming for ya!"
At this point, the five members of Parliament spread out into a line and pumped their fists in the air. At the far right, Commodore Brickhouse of the Wangofunk Navy waved his left arm back and forth over his head, and shouted, "We gonna bring the FUNK!"
Next to him, the tan-skinned Lady Marmalade (clad in a skimpy loincloth, some beads, and a few feathers in her afro) swung her hips around and said with a sassy tone, "We gonna turn this mutha OUT!"
At the center of the line was the blind Sir Duke, wearing black sunglasses and a leather cap, jacket, and pants. He shook his head from side to side, and cried, "We`re one nation under a groove, honey!"
To his right was Captain Tennille, commander of the Funk Police and in possession of one serious set of mutton chops. He hopped from his left foot to his right, and intoned with a heavy bass voice, "Pledge a groovallegiance to the funk."
At the left end, Major Tom tipped his yellow hardhat, and there was a huge smile below his incredibly thick mustache. He pointed at the crowd with both hands and called out, "The United Funk of Wangofunk!"
Wangofunk`s five appointed legislators danced in unison, and sang out:
Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Wango, Wangofunk! (Wangofunk)
I`m glad to be, a Wangofunk!
Wango, Wangofunk!
I`ve got to be a Wango! Ow....
Everyone wants to be a wango wangofunk
to have the kind of booty, never can be sunk
Dancing in the mornings, go man go
Goes out to the disco, big afro
You can best believe that, he`s a Wangofunk
ready to get down in, anybody`s bunk
The five rolled their arms, and jived from side to side. They pumped a fist in the air and swiveled their hips. They slid to the right, turned, and hopped backwards, and finally delivered the final chorus to the wildly dancing crowd.
Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Wango, Wangofunk! (Wangofunk)
I`m glad to be, a Wangofunk!
Wango, Wangofunk!
I`ve got to be a...
So glad to be a...
I`ve got to be a...
WANGOFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNK! UGH!
The cheers of the populace were deafening. The Queen returned to the forefront and smoothed out his gown, waiting for the crowd to settle down. When the ovation had died down enough to be heard, the Queen addressed them once more. "And now, people of Wangofunk, we are delightfully proud to bring you... the BRAND NEW FUNK! Guards! Bring out the funk!"
Behind the Queen, Parliament chanted, "The funk, the funk! Bring out the funk! Don`tcha know that Papa`s got a brand new funk!" The crowd murmured with anticipation.
Suddenly, a pair of green-and-yellow suited guards burst out of the stairwell on the roof. They dashed to the Queen`s side, and nearly out of breath, they told him the news. His eyes nearly seemed to bulge out of his head.
"WHAT? What do you MEAN, someone has stolen our brand new funk?!?"
Presently, a large hatch opened at the bottom of the ship, accompanied by the heavy groan of turning gears and a hiss of released air pressure. From the hatch, a long white ramp slowly extended out towards the roof of the Funky Palace. A hush fell over the crowd.
Onto the ramp stepped a man with long, black hair dressed in an elaborate and frumpy purple gown. He wore a shimmering diamond tiara, and carried a jewel-encrusted scepter. He walked on the tallest pair of high-heeled platform go-go boots they had ever seen, made of gleaming white leather.
He was joined by a black-skinned man in white sequined jumpsuit, with an afro and purple star-shaped sunglasses, who spoke: ³Oh, yeah! Get on up and show ya love! Yıall gotta respect the Dynomite Diva of Disco, the Goddess of Groove, gettingı down and gettingı very, very funky, da Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen of Wangofunk, Queen Brunoletta!!!²
The crowd exploded in cheers. The city-state of Wangofunk was, according to its most sacred traditions, ruled by a Drag Queen. The locals felt that this helped to discourage power-hungry tyrants from seeking the throne; it was imperative that any prospective ruler must not take himself too seriously.
The Queenıs announcer spun around and shook his arms in the air, and then exclaimed, "Oh yeah! Put those hands together and shake yo` moneymakers! The Parliament`s gonna lay down the funk on all y`all brothers and sisters!" From within the Mothership emerged the five elaborately costumed member of Parliament. They started to shake. They began to shimmy. They jived on down the ramp, and danced in a single line behind the Queen.
The Queen grabbed a microphone from the announcer and shouted to the crowd, "My loyal subjects! We command you to GET DOWN!" The wail of a trumpet boomed through powerful arrays of speakers, soon joined by a smoooooooth bassline, a synth keyboard (with drumkit), and a pair of jamming guitars. The crowd was hip to it, and began to dance.
"When we say we want you to get down, we ain`t kidding around! I mean it, funky people... GET DOWN!" The crowd became a swaying, shaking mass of rhythm and beat. "Without a doubt, that`s what we`re talking about! Now, y`all gotta tell us something, citizens of funk. The Queen`s got a real important question, you dig? What? Didn`t hear you. Let`s try this again. The Queen`s got a real important question, YOU DIG?"
The crowd replied with an emphatic, "WE CAN DIG IT!" and the Queen squealed with delight.
"Funktastic! What we wanna know is, what do all y`all people want?"
The Parliment waved their arms in the air and sang, "What y`all people want?"
"WE WANT THE FUNK!" roared the assembled Wangofunks.
The Queen cupped one hand over his ear. "Oh, goodness, tell us what all y`all people WANT!"
"What y`all people want?" echoed the singing Parliament, shuffling to the left.
"WE WANT THE FUNK!!!" repeated the crowd, even louder this time.
"Well, y`all better be ready... The funk`s coming for ya!"
At this point, the five members of Parliament spread out into a line and pumped their fists in the air. At the far right, Commodore Brickhouse of the Wangofunk Navy waved his left arm back and forth over his head, and shouted, "We gonna bring the FUNK!"
Next to him, the tan-skinned Lady Marmalade (clad in a skimpy loincloth, some beads, and a few feathers in her afro) swung her hips around and said with a sassy tone, "We gonna turn this mutha OUT!"
At the center of the line was the blind Sir Duke, wearing black sunglasses and a leather cap, jacket, and pants. He shook his head from side to side, and cried, "We`re one nation under a groove, honey!"
To his right was Captain Tennille, commander of the Funk Police and in possession of one serious set of mutton chops. He hopped from his left foot to his right, and intoned with a heavy bass voice, "Pledge a groovallegiance to the funk."
At the left end, Major Tom tipped his yellow hardhat, and there was a huge smile below his incredibly thick mustache. He pointed at the crowd with both hands and called out, "The United Funk of Wangofunk!"
Wangofunk`s five appointed legislators danced in unison, and sang out:
Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Wango, Wangofunk! (Wangofunk)
I`m glad to be, a Wangofunk!
Wango, Wangofunk!
I`ve got to be a Wango! Ow....
Everyone wants to be a wango wangofunk
to have the kind of booty, never can be sunk
Dancing in the mornings, go man go
Goes out to the disco, big afro
You can best believe that, he`s a Wangofunk
ready to get down in, anybody`s bunk
The five rolled their arms, and jived from side to side. They pumped a fist in the air and swiveled their hips. They slid to the right, turned, and hopped backwards, and finally delivered the final chorus to the wildly dancing crowd.
Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Wango, Wangofunk! (Wangofunk)
I`m glad to be, a Wangofunk!
Wango, Wangofunk!
I`ve got to be a...
So glad to be a...
I`ve got to be a...
WANGOFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNK! UGH!
The cheers of the populace were deafening. The Queen returned to the forefront and smoothed out his gown, waiting for the crowd to settle down. When the ovation had died down enough to be heard, the Queen addressed them once more. "And now, people of Wangofunk, we are delightfully proud to bring you... the BRAND NEW FUNK! Guards! Bring out the funk!"
Behind the Queen, Parliament chanted, "The funk, the funk! Bring out the funk! Don`tcha know that Papa`s got a brand new funk!" The crowd murmured with anticipation.
Suddenly, a pair of green-and-yellow suited guards burst out of the stairwell on the roof. They dashed to the Queen`s side, and nearly out of breath, they told him the news. His eyes nearly seemed to bulge out of his head.
"WHAT? What do you MEAN, someone has stolen our brand new funk?!?"
* * *
It was the biggest crime to cross Chief Gibb`s desk in over a decade. What kind of low-down, dirty dog had the audacity to steal the funk right out of the Palace? Gibb rubbed his white-haired mustache in thought, and took a bite of a cheeseburger. This was big time. Time to call in his best detective. He pushed the button on the intercom, and said in a gruff tone, "Marla! Get Inspector Pants in my office, pronto!"
Half an hour later, the knob to Gibb`s door turned, and in stepped the smoothest detective on the force, Inspector Pants. He was a tall fellow, with a thick brown afro and some serious sideburns, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades whether it was light or dark. True to his name, he wore the flyest pair of khaki bellbottoms ever seen, held up by brown suspenders over a white buttoned shirt with a wide lapel. He greeted the chief in a bass tone, "What`s happenin`, Chief?"
Chief Gibb slammed his cheeseburger on the desk, squirting a drop of ketchup on his shirt. "Dammit, Inspector, what took you so long to get here? Don`t you know there`s been a case of grand theft funk? Somebody ripped off the Palace itself!"
Inspector Pants waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you know, Chief. Same ol`, same ol`. I get around. So, there`s been a funk larceny, huh? That`s some cold shit. What kinda brother steals municipal funk?"
"The fuck do I know? That`s why I called you, Jackass. The only clue we found was this here matchbook." The Chief handed him a pair of tweezers holding a spent matchbook with a glittering disco ball on the cover.
"Oh, I can dig it, Chief. Looks like I`m gonna groove on down to Studio 55 tonight. Solid! Ain`t that place run by the Soul Mafia?"
"You got that right, Inspector. Studio 55 is a front for the Godfather of Soul and his cronies. So you`d better be careful, sonny."
"Damn, the Soulfather himself. Ain`t no worry, Chief, Inspector Pants is on the case, you dig?" He winked at the Chief Gibb, and slammed the door on his way out.
Later that evening, Inspector Pants arrived at Studio 55 with his partner, the dark-skinned heavyset Officer J. J. Rerun. The exterior was covered in flashing neon lights, making it stand out even on avenue where the streetlamps were disco balls. There was a line stretching around the block. Pants and Rerun walked right up to the front. They were stopped by a massively muscular bouncer.
"Get yo` ass to the back of the line. There ain`t nobody on my VIP list by the name `Mr. Asswipe and His Guest, A Tub Of Lard With Feet`. So get lost, dummy."
Rerun fumed, but Pants played it cool and flashed his badge. "The Funk Patrol don`t need no lists, so step down, son. We`re here to get funky and to talk to the Soulfather. Now get outta my way before you need my boot to be surgically removed from yo` ass."
Once inside the club, they sat down at the bar to check the place out. The dance floor was packed with men in polyester leisure suits and women in brightly-colored hot pants, all shaking their collective booty to the disco beat. Flashing lights twinkled everywhere, including panels of the floor.
Rerun tried to catch the attention of the bartender, who glared at him and continued on. The Inspector grabbed the man by the shirt and held up his fist. "Listen, turkey, we`re not here to play around. We`re the Funk Police. You get us two shots of Black Label, or you`re under arrest."
The bartender scowled. "For what?"
"I don`t see no mood ring on any of those fingers, now, do I? That`s a violation of Funk Edict 27N - you can`t serve alcohol after dark without a mood ring, baby. I got to uphold and protect the funk. Now get those drinks and tell the Soulfather we need to talk to him." Wangofunk law was filled with obscure regulations and bizarre international treaties requiring standards of funkyness at all times.
"Yeah..." added Rerun, "...and get me some nachos, sucka!".
The bartender scurried off to get their drinks. While they waited, they were approached by a man in a cheap white leisure suit with a yellow shirt underneath. His black hair was greased back, and he wore a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses. He spoke with an accent common only to the area of North Viper known as The Heights. "Good evening, youse gentlemans. My employer sends ta youse by way of me his most warmest regards."
The man offered a handshake, but Pants ignored his extended hand. ³Well, if it isnıt Boogie Lou. I thought I had you deported a long time ago.²
Boogie Lou sneered. ³Youse did. But den my lawyers finally dug up my honest-to-gods boirth certificate, which proves my muddahs was a native Polian. And by one oı dem treaties, dat makes me Polians, and Polians canıt be deported from Wangofunk, leastaways not if they has native Wangofunk pet rocks to support. Dem rocks would just crumble widdout me. So I did time insteads. And not fa nothing, but since da Godfaddah oı Soul ainıt never been convicted of no crimes, him being a legitimate businessmans and all, youse canıt accuse me of cavorting witı known criminals.²
³Just cut the crap, Lou. We need to have a word with your employer.²
³He will speak with youse after his numbah. Da crowd demands a performance from da hardest woiking man in show business. He will be on da stage shortly. I will take you to him afterwards.²
Boogie Lou walked off, and the bartender returned with two drinks and a plate of nachos, which J. J. Rerun devoured. ³Man, these nachos are dy-no-mite!²
Soon enough, a spotlight shown down on the stage behind the dance floor, and the DJ announced, ³And now the moment youıve been waiting for the Hardest Working Man in Show Business put your hands together The GODFATHER OF SOUL!²
Into the spotlight stepped a black man in a purple suit with slicked-back straight hair that was peppered with grey. He walked with a silver-tipped cane, and around his shoulders was a white cape that glittered with rhinestones. The patrons of Studio 55 clapped enthusiastically.
He spoke in a raspy voice, ³Fellas I`m ready to get up and do ma thing I wanna get into it man, you know. Like a² He trailed off, and his music hit. The Soulfather shuffled to the rhythm and sung,
³Like a sex machine,
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Stay on the scene, get on up!
Like a sex machine, get on up!
Wait a minute
Shake your arms, and use your palms
Stay on the scene, like a sex machine
You gotta have the feelinı, sure as youıre born ,
get it together, right on right on
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
The way I like it is the way it is
I got mine donıt worry bout his
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Stay on the scene, get on up!
Like a sex machine, get on up!²
He shifted from foot to foot, and spun around. ³YOW! Hit me now! Right on, right on! On the good foot! Ugh!²
Then, from the corner of his eye, Inspector Pants noticed a man in a yellow raincoat standing amidst the crowd. The man drew some kind of weird ray gun and aimed it at the stage. ³GET DOWN!² yelled Pants, but that only encouraged the crowd to dance harder.
The man in the raincoat fired, hitting the Soulfather squarely in the foot, causing him to stumble to the floor. ³YOW! He hit me right on... the good foot... Ugh!² There was no visible damage, except to the purple suit which inexplicable turned into a modern grey business suit. His cane became a plain black umbrella, and his white cape became a scarf.
Boogie Lou ran to the Soulfatherıs side to help him to his feet. ³Are youse OK, boss?²
The Godfather of Soul spoke in a dull, tired voice, ³Oh, dear Iıve become defunked!²
The music stopped, and somebody screamed.
Pants and Rerun pushed their way past the panicking crowd, trying to follow the man in the yellow raincoat as he ducked outside. When they reached the entrance of the club, they were greeted by not one, but three men in identical yellow raincoats. Each of them pointed a ray gun at them.
³Who the hell are you cats?² shouted Inspector Pants with alarm.
One of the men smiled, and said, ³Weıre the Renegades of Funk.²
Half an hour later, the knob to Gibb`s door turned, and in stepped the smoothest detective on the force, Inspector Pants. He was a tall fellow, with a thick brown afro and some serious sideburns, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades whether it was light or dark. True to his name, he wore the flyest pair of khaki bellbottoms ever seen, held up by brown suspenders over a white buttoned shirt with a wide lapel. He greeted the chief in a bass tone, "What`s happenin`, Chief?"
Chief Gibb slammed his cheeseburger on the desk, squirting a drop of ketchup on his shirt. "Dammit, Inspector, what took you so long to get here? Don`t you know there`s been a case of grand theft funk? Somebody ripped off the Palace itself!"
Inspector Pants waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you know, Chief. Same ol`, same ol`. I get around. So, there`s been a funk larceny, huh? That`s some cold shit. What kinda brother steals municipal funk?"
"The fuck do I know? That`s why I called you, Jackass. The only clue we found was this here matchbook." The Chief handed him a pair of tweezers holding a spent matchbook with a glittering disco ball on the cover.
"Oh, I can dig it, Chief. Looks like I`m gonna groove on down to Studio 55 tonight. Solid! Ain`t that place run by the Soul Mafia?"
"You got that right, Inspector. Studio 55 is a front for the Godfather of Soul and his cronies. So you`d better be careful, sonny."
"Damn, the Soulfather himself. Ain`t no worry, Chief, Inspector Pants is on the case, you dig?" He winked at the Chief Gibb, and slammed the door on his way out.
Later that evening, Inspector Pants arrived at Studio 55 with his partner, the dark-skinned heavyset Officer J. J. Rerun. The exterior was covered in flashing neon lights, making it stand out even on avenue where the streetlamps were disco balls. There was a line stretching around the block. Pants and Rerun walked right up to the front. They were stopped by a massively muscular bouncer.
"Get yo` ass to the back of the line. There ain`t nobody on my VIP list by the name `Mr. Asswipe and His Guest, A Tub Of Lard With Feet`. So get lost, dummy."
Rerun fumed, but Pants played it cool and flashed his badge. "The Funk Patrol don`t need no lists, so step down, son. We`re here to get funky and to talk to the Soulfather. Now get outta my way before you need my boot to be surgically removed from yo` ass."
Once inside the club, they sat down at the bar to check the place out. The dance floor was packed with men in polyester leisure suits and women in brightly-colored hot pants, all shaking their collective booty to the disco beat. Flashing lights twinkled everywhere, including panels of the floor.
Rerun tried to catch the attention of the bartender, who glared at him and continued on. The Inspector grabbed the man by the shirt and held up his fist. "Listen, turkey, we`re not here to play around. We`re the Funk Police. You get us two shots of Black Label, or you`re under arrest."
The bartender scowled. "For what?"
"I don`t see no mood ring on any of those fingers, now, do I? That`s a violation of Funk Edict 27N - you can`t serve alcohol after dark without a mood ring, baby. I got to uphold and protect the funk. Now get those drinks and tell the Soulfather we need to talk to him." Wangofunk law was filled with obscure regulations and bizarre international treaties requiring standards of funkyness at all times.
"Yeah..." added Rerun, "...and get me some nachos, sucka!".
The bartender scurried off to get their drinks. While they waited, they were approached by a man in a cheap white leisure suit with a yellow shirt underneath. His black hair was greased back, and he wore a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses. He spoke with an accent common only to the area of North Viper known as The Heights. "Good evening, youse gentlemans. My employer sends ta youse by way of me his most warmest regards."
The man offered a handshake, but Pants ignored his extended hand. ³Well, if it isnıt Boogie Lou. I thought I had you deported a long time ago.²
Boogie Lou sneered. ³Youse did. But den my lawyers finally dug up my honest-to-gods boirth certificate, which proves my muddahs was a native Polian. And by one oı dem treaties, dat makes me Polians, and Polians canıt be deported from Wangofunk, leastaways not if they has native Wangofunk pet rocks to support. Dem rocks would just crumble widdout me. So I did time insteads. And not fa nothing, but since da Godfaddah oı Soul ainıt never been convicted of no crimes, him being a legitimate businessmans and all, youse canıt accuse me of cavorting witı known criminals.²
³Just cut the crap, Lou. We need to have a word with your employer.²
³He will speak with youse after his numbah. Da crowd demands a performance from da hardest woiking man in show business. He will be on da stage shortly. I will take you to him afterwards.²
Boogie Lou walked off, and the bartender returned with two drinks and a plate of nachos, which J. J. Rerun devoured. ³Man, these nachos are dy-no-mite!²
Soon enough, a spotlight shown down on the stage behind the dance floor, and the DJ announced, ³And now the moment youıve been waiting for the Hardest Working Man in Show Business put your hands together The GODFATHER OF SOUL!²
Into the spotlight stepped a black man in a purple suit with slicked-back straight hair that was peppered with grey. He walked with a silver-tipped cane, and around his shoulders was a white cape that glittered with rhinestones. The patrons of Studio 55 clapped enthusiastically.
He spoke in a raspy voice, ³Fellas I`m ready to get up and do ma thing I wanna get into it man, you know. Like a² He trailed off, and his music hit. The Soulfather shuffled to the rhythm and sung,
³Like a sex machine,
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Stay on the scene, get on up!
Like a sex machine, get on up!
Wait a minute
Shake your arms, and use your palms
Stay on the scene, like a sex machine
You gotta have the feelinı, sure as youıre born ,
get it together, right on right on
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
The way I like it is the way it is
I got mine donıt worry bout his
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Get up-ah! Get on up!
Stay on the scene, get on up!
Like a sex machine, get on up!²
He shifted from foot to foot, and spun around. ³YOW! Hit me now! Right on, right on! On the good foot! Ugh!²
Then, from the corner of his eye, Inspector Pants noticed a man in a yellow raincoat standing amidst the crowd. The man drew some kind of weird ray gun and aimed it at the stage. ³GET DOWN!² yelled Pants, but that only encouraged the crowd to dance harder.
The man in the raincoat fired, hitting the Soulfather squarely in the foot, causing him to stumble to the floor. ³YOW! He hit me right on... the good foot... Ugh!² There was no visible damage, except to the purple suit which inexplicable turned into a modern grey business suit. His cane became a plain black umbrella, and his white cape became a scarf.
Boogie Lou ran to the Soulfatherıs side to help him to his feet. ³Are youse OK, boss?²
The Godfather of Soul spoke in a dull, tired voice, ³Oh, dear Iıve become defunked!²
The music stopped, and somebody screamed.
Pants and Rerun pushed their way past the panicking crowd, trying to follow the man in the yellow raincoat as he ducked outside. When they reached the entrance of the club, they were greeted by not one, but three men in identical yellow raincoats. Each of them pointed a ray gun at them.
³Who the hell are you cats?² shouted Inspector Pants with alarm.
One of the men smiled, and said, ³Weıre the Renegades of Funk.²
* * *
Under the waters of Groovewater Harbor was a secret subterranean complex known as the Fortress of Funkitude. This was the headquarters of Wangofunk`s super-powered defenders, the Funky Bunch. The brave super heroes of Wangofunk were gathed around a table.
At the head of the table was the group`s leader, Afroman. He reached into his voluminous `fro and pulled out a map, laying it out on the table. "This is very serious business, Funky Bunch. First the brand new funk was stolen right out of the Funky Palace, and then the Godfather of Soul and two of the Funk Police were defunked at Studio 55."
At the mention of the Soulfather, the black meta-human to Afroman`s left grew agitated. "Those suckas took out my father!" yelled Soul Man. "He may not have been completely on the up-and-up, but he`s still the hardest working man in show business. Nobody deserves to be defunked, that ain`t right! I`m gonna soul-choke those suckas till you can hear their soul coughing!"
Across from Soul Man, Superfreak crossed her arms and nodded. "You damn right. Especially considering they defunked a fine brother like Inspector Pants. I`m just itching to make them freak out!" Afroman quietly decided that whoever designed Superfreak`s hot-pants-and-bikini-top costume (with "S" on the left cup and "F" on the right) should be awarded some kind of medal
At the other end of the table sat a refurbished Guardian robot of the very oldest generation of near-sentient AI, covered in flashing neon lights. DiscoTech`s body emitted a whirring noise, and a slip of paper emerged from a slot on his shoulder, which Afroman grabbed and read aloud . "Memo from Funk Police Headquarters. Eyewitness account describes perpetrators as three men wearing yellow raincoats calling themselves the Renegades of Funk. Status unknown; possibly connected to funk-theft from Palace."
The fifth member of the Funky Bunch observed the proceedings silently from the top of the table, helpfully holding down the map in case a sudden breeze should threaten to blow it away. Although any ordinary pet rock could do that, Prog Rock was no ordinary pet rock. First of all, it had a little cape glued onto it. Secondly, it had powers that were progressively evolving and changing form. No one could predict what abilities it would have next, other than being a fantastic paperweight. Like all of Wangofunk`s pet rocks, Prog Rock`s rights and freedoms were carefully protected by Wangofunk law.
Soul Man smiled. "That`s all I need, baby. Let`s all hop in the Eight Track, `cause I`m gonna do some Soul Searching."
The five funky heroes hopped into the Eight Track, a treaded vehicle that could transform into eight different modes for travel by land, sea, and air. It rose to the surface as a submarine, then converted to a helicopter for aerial reconnaissance. On the ground below, Wangofunk citizens pointed up at the Eight Track and cheered, confident that truth, justice, and funk would prevail.
Inside the vehicle, Soul Man focused his soular powers, seeking the soul of the man who defunked his father. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Well, bless my soul! I think I found them! Set us down by the Roller Derby!"
The Eight Track touched down on the street, and the Funky Bunch hopped out and cautiously entered the Roller Derby. Inside, the place appeared to be empty, which was a sure sign trouble was afoot; the Roller Derby was one of the hottest places for young Wangofunks to hang out. "Spread out," said Afroman. "Oh, and you might need these." He reached into his afro and pulled out several pairs of roller skates. They all took a moment to lace up, except DiscoTech, who simply extended a set of wheels underneath his robot feet, and Prog Rock, who was placed inside a child`s skate and sent rolling away by Superfreak.
After a few minutes of fruitless search, a door suddenly opened on the side of the roller rink, a dozen men in yellow rain coats skated out and circled the rink in a tight pack. Afroman spotted them and called out the Funky Bunch`s rallying cry, "It`s time to Boogie Down!" Soon, they were chasing each other around the rink.
Two of the men skated up behind Afroman, ray guns in hand. Afroman grabbed his favorite weapon from inside his massive hair, and hurled it behind him, smacking one of the men right in the head and sending him unconscious to the floor. His Platform-Shoemarang then came spinning back, knocking the other one out cold.
Soul Man ducked out of the way of a defunking beam, and fired back with a soular fare. It caught three Renegades, who promptly crumpled to the ground, overcome by pangs of loneliness and existential ennui from deep within their souls. Then Superfreak used her freaky mental powers to ensnare two more opponents in a web of strange hallucinogenic visions. They completely freaked out; one screamed, "Holy shit! There`s ferocious Jive Bunny gnawing off my leg! Get it off!" while the other cried out in terror, "The roof! The roof! The roof is on fire! Get me outta here! It`s a disco inferno!" DiscoTech turned out to be a terrible skater after all, so he settled for blinding a guy with a high-powered lava lamp.
The remaining four Renegades chased after Prog Rock`s speedy little child-sized skate. Suddenly, its skate hit a bump, causing Prog Rock to fly out and hit a wall. This triggered its progressively morphing powers, and it unleashed a savage dust storm. The yellow rain coats failed to protect their faces from all the dust in the wind, and they fell down choking and blinded.
Just when the Funky Bunch thought they had won, a cackling voice came over the loudspeaker. "Very impressive, Funky Bunch. But I`m afraid you`ve fallen into my trap!"
"I`d know that voice anywhere!" shouted Afroman. "Dr. Funkenstein, you fiend! I should have known that only you could be so devious. Give up this madness!"
"I have a better idea. Why don`t you give up? Give up the funk, that is!" Dr. Funkenstein laughed evilly, and then the Funky Bunch were struck by defunking beams that emerged from the Roller Derby`s many disco balls.
They were transformed into three accountants, a photocopier, and a block of cement.
At the head of the table was the group`s leader, Afroman. He reached into his voluminous `fro and pulled out a map, laying it out on the table. "This is very serious business, Funky Bunch. First the brand new funk was stolen right out of the Funky Palace, and then the Godfather of Soul and two of the Funk Police were defunked at Studio 55."
At the mention of the Soulfather, the black meta-human to Afroman`s left grew agitated. "Those suckas took out my father!" yelled Soul Man. "He may not have been completely on the up-and-up, but he`s still the hardest working man in show business. Nobody deserves to be defunked, that ain`t right! I`m gonna soul-choke those suckas till you can hear their soul coughing!"
Across from Soul Man, Superfreak crossed her arms and nodded. "You damn right. Especially considering they defunked a fine brother like Inspector Pants. I`m just itching to make them freak out!" Afroman quietly decided that whoever designed Superfreak`s hot-pants-and-bikini-top costume (with "S" on the left cup and "F" on the right) should be awarded some kind of medal
At the other end of the table sat a refurbished Guardian robot of the very oldest generation of near-sentient AI, covered in flashing neon lights. DiscoTech`s body emitted a whirring noise, and a slip of paper emerged from a slot on his shoulder, which Afroman grabbed and read aloud . "Memo from Funk Police Headquarters. Eyewitness account describes perpetrators as three men wearing yellow raincoats calling themselves the Renegades of Funk. Status unknown; possibly connected to funk-theft from Palace."
The fifth member of the Funky Bunch observed the proceedings silently from the top of the table, helpfully holding down the map in case a sudden breeze should threaten to blow it away. Although any ordinary pet rock could do that, Prog Rock was no ordinary pet rock. First of all, it had a little cape glued onto it. Secondly, it had powers that were progressively evolving and changing form. No one could predict what abilities it would have next, other than being a fantastic paperweight. Like all of Wangofunk`s pet rocks, Prog Rock`s rights and freedoms were carefully protected by Wangofunk law.
Soul Man smiled. "That`s all I need, baby. Let`s all hop in the Eight Track, `cause I`m gonna do some Soul Searching."
The five funky heroes hopped into the Eight Track, a treaded vehicle that could transform into eight different modes for travel by land, sea, and air. It rose to the surface as a submarine, then converted to a helicopter for aerial reconnaissance. On the ground below, Wangofunk citizens pointed up at the Eight Track and cheered, confident that truth, justice, and funk would prevail.
Inside the vehicle, Soul Man focused his soular powers, seeking the soul of the man who defunked his father. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Well, bless my soul! I think I found them! Set us down by the Roller Derby!"
The Eight Track touched down on the street, and the Funky Bunch hopped out and cautiously entered the Roller Derby. Inside, the place appeared to be empty, which was a sure sign trouble was afoot; the Roller Derby was one of the hottest places for young Wangofunks to hang out. "Spread out," said Afroman. "Oh, and you might need these." He reached into his afro and pulled out several pairs of roller skates. They all took a moment to lace up, except DiscoTech, who simply extended a set of wheels underneath his robot feet, and Prog Rock, who was placed inside a child`s skate and sent rolling away by Superfreak.
After a few minutes of fruitless search, a door suddenly opened on the side of the roller rink, a dozen men in yellow rain coats skated out and circled the rink in a tight pack. Afroman spotted them and called out the Funky Bunch`s rallying cry, "It`s time to Boogie Down!" Soon, they were chasing each other around the rink.
Two of the men skated up behind Afroman, ray guns in hand. Afroman grabbed his favorite weapon from inside his massive hair, and hurled it behind him, smacking one of the men right in the head and sending him unconscious to the floor. His Platform-Shoemarang then came spinning back, knocking the other one out cold.
Soul Man ducked out of the way of a defunking beam, and fired back with a soular fare. It caught three Renegades, who promptly crumpled to the ground, overcome by pangs of loneliness and existential ennui from deep within their souls. Then Superfreak used her freaky mental powers to ensnare two more opponents in a web of strange hallucinogenic visions. They completely freaked out; one screamed, "Holy shit! There`s ferocious Jive Bunny gnawing off my leg! Get it off!" while the other cried out in terror, "The roof! The roof! The roof is on fire! Get me outta here! It`s a disco inferno!" DiscoTech turned out to be a terrible skater after all, so he settled for blinding a guy with a high-powered lava lamp.
The remaining four Renegades chased after Prog Rock`s speedy little child-sized skate. Suddenly, its skate hit a bump, causing Prog Rock to fly out and hit a wall. This triggered its progressively morphing powers, and it unleashed a savage dust storm. The yellow rain coats failed to protect their faces from all the dust in the wind, and they fell down choking and blinded.
Just when the Funky Bunch thought they had won, a cackling voice came over the loudspeaker. "Very impressive, Funky Bunch. But I`m afraid you`ve fallen into my trap!"
"I`d know that voice anywhere!" shouted Afroman. "Dr. Funkenstein, you fiend! I should have known that only you could be so devious. Give up this madness!"
"I have a better idea. Why don`t you give up? Give up the funk, that is!" Dr. Funkenstein laughed evilly, and then the Funky Bunch were struck by defunking beams that emerged from the Roller Derby`s many disco balls.
They were transformed into three accountants, a photocopier, and a block of cement.
* * *
On the eastern side of Wangofunk, there is a dojo where only the purest funk warriors train. Here, practitioners of Wang Fu practice their not-very-ancient art in peace and harmony. Wang Fu is a blend of many martial forms, allowing a true Wang Fu Master to bewilder his opponent with an unpredictable chain of moves. The true power of Wang Fu comes from within, however.
On this day, much like any other day, Hung Wang was instructing his eager students. He was shirtless, revealing a tatoo of a dragon that started on his chest and disappeared into his loose black pants. "Do not think. Feeeeeel. Feel the power inside you. It is the power of your Wang. The power of the Wang is the true power of Funk."
There was a loud knock at the door. "Come in," said Master Wang.
Wang`s youngest student hurried into the room, barely taking the time to give a proper bow. "Master Wang! The city is in great danger, and my father and grandfather have been defunked! You must help me avenge my family. I implore you!"
Wang waved his hand dismissively. "There will be plenty of time for that after our daily meditation, Funk Soulbrother."
There was urgency in Soulbrother`s voice as he exclaimed, "No, there won`t! There`s no one left to defend the city! The Funk Police, the Funky Bunch, even the Wangofunk Navy have all had the funk drained out of them by Dr. Funkenstein. He`s using all that funk to power all his strange inventions, while the people he`s defunked become his yellow-raincoat-wearing minions, the Renegades of Funk. Please, Master Wang!"
Hung Wang frowned. "This is grave news indeed, a true funk emergency. Rise, then, my students! We must fight for the liberation of the funk!"
When they emerged from the dojo, however, they found pandemonium on the streets. Wangofunks ran screaming in terror from hoards of rain-coat wearing troops. The street was littered with defunked items as sunglasses became bifocals, platform shoes became galoshes, and mood rings became napkin rings.
Saddest of all, the Queen bolted past them, his eye-shadow deeply smeared. "Run for your lives!" shrieked the Queen. "They`ve taken control of the Mothership! Dr. Funkenstein`s gonna drop Da Bomb on all of us! The Afunkalypse is at hand!" Da Bomb was Wangofunk`s only missile, which was rumored to be a U-Missile. It had a smiley face painted on it and was considered to be the chief general (and only member) of the Wangofunk Army.
There was fear on the faces of his students, but Master Wang remained calm. "Fear not, my students. A true Wang Fu warrior can never be deprived of funk, for it comes from the power of his mighty Wang."
"We`ll see about that!" sneered a nearby Renegade, who blasted Wang in the back with his defunking ray.
Master Wang gritted his teeth and turned around, glaring at his attacker. "I am.. still funky... FEAR MY WANG!" He launched a powerful kick, striking the man directly in the wang. The man doubled over in pain, and began to weep and moan. The students gasped in awe, seeing that their teacher was still quite funky.
"Now, my students... We shall take their rain-coats and disguise ourselves. Then, we shall board the Mothership and defeat Dr. Funkenstein once and for all. Trust in the power of your Wangs, and we shall be victorious!"
Soon, Master Wang, Funk Soulbrother, and twenty other students donning yellow raincoats gathered outside the Funky Palace amidst hundreds of Dr. Funkenstein`s Renegades. They were to be beamed aboard the Mothership, so they could watch in safety with Funkenstein as he dropped Da Bomb on the city. As they waited, they chanted Funkenstein`s name in eager anticipation.
As he waited, Master Wang spotted the Mothership approaching from the west. It appeared as though the Mothership was powering another of Funkenstein`s terrible inventions; underneath the ship, torrents of grey raindrops showered the city below. As the downpour struck, the streets and buildings became covered in a thin, grey ooze, draining every last once of funk down to the bedrock. At last, Wang understood what the raincoats were for.
A great orange beam emerged from the Mothership as it passed overhead, and Wang was drawn upwards through the defunking storm into the Mothership. Once aboard, Hung Wang and his students regrouped and observed Funkenstein addressing his minions.
Having absorbed tremendous amounts of funk, Dr. Funkenstein was unbelievably funky, with platform shoes, bellbottoms, a lavender shirt with a butterfly collar, and ten glittering mood rings. He flipped a switch on the ship`s console, and some extremely funky music started to play. Dr. Funkenstein danced smoothly, using several of the moves he drained from the Soulfather. He grabbed a microphone and sung out,
"I`m Dr Funkenstein
The disco fiend with the monster sound
The cool ghoul with the bump transplant
Hip bone connected to my thigh bone
My thigh bone connected to my leg bone
My leg bone connected to my ankle bone
I get so hung up on bones
Dr Funkenstein here
Preoccupied and dedicated
To the stealing the motion of hips"
His minions attempted to dance as well, doing a very poor job of it. They responded,
"We love to funk you, Funkenstein
Your funk is the best
Take my body, give it the mind
To funk with the rest
Hit me with the one and then
If you like, hit me again
We love to Funk-a-stein"
Funkenstein cackled with glee, and continued,
"Dr. Funkenstein, King of the Funk, yeah!
Swift lippin`, ego trippin` and body snatchin`
I`ll blow your mind
Comin` to you directly from the Mothership
Pulling up the last leg
Of the Wangofunk"
Suddenly, Wang and his students charged the stage, shedding their raincoats "What is the meaning of this?" cried Funkenstein.
Wang smiled. "We are here to end your reign of evil, Funkenstein."
"Who the hell are you, the Wu-Wang clan? No matter. Defunk them all!" The Wang Fu warriors were assaulted by countless defunking rays. They gathered the power of their Wangs, however, and stood firm.
"Now, Funkenstein," proclaimed Master Wang, "I shall end this." He launched a kick at the evil Funkenstein, who ducked and punched him right in the balls. Wang collapsed and gasped, "Holy crap... my Wang..."
Funkenstein raised his arms in victory. "Now I am the ultimate cock-knocker! HAH HAH HAH!"
"THIS IS FOR MY FAMILY!" cried Funk Soulbrother, and slammed his foot directly into Dr. Funkenstein`s genitalia. The evil doctor spit blood, and fainted, breaking his mental control. His fellow students cheered ecstatically and reversed the defunking ray, bringing the funk back to the battered city of Wangofunk. The power of the Wang had saved the City of Funk.
On this day, much like any other day, Hung Wang was instructing his eager students. He was shirtless, revealing a tatoo of a dragon that started on his chest and disappeared into his loose black pants. "Do not think. Feeeeeel. Feel the power inside you. It is the power of your Wang. The power of the Wang is the true power of Funk."
There was a loud knock at the door. "Come in," said Master Wang.
Wang`s youngest student hurried into the room, barely taking the time to give a proper bow. "Master Wang! The city is in great danger, and my father and grandfather have been defunked! You must help me avenge my family. I implore you!"
Wang waved his hand dismissively. "There will be plenty of time for that after our daily meditation, Funk Soulbrother."
There was urgency in Soulbrother`s voice as he exclaimed, "No, there won`t! There`s no one left to defend the city! The Funk Police, the Funky Bunch, even the Wangofunk Navy have all had the funk drained out of them by Dr. Funkenstein. He`s using all that funk to power all his strange inventions, while the people he`s defunked become his yellow-raincoat-wearing minions, the Renegades of Funk. Please, Master Wang!"
Hung Wang frowned. "This is grave news indeed, a true funk emergency. Rise, then, my students! We must fight for the liberation of the funk!"
When they emerged from the dojo, however, they found pandemonium on the streets. Wangofunks ran screaming in terror from hoards of rain-coat wearing troops. The street was littered with defunked items as sunglasses became bifocals, platform shoes became galoshes, and mood rings became napkin rings.
Saddest of all, the Queen bolted past them, his eye-shadow deeply smeared. "Run for your lives!" shrieked the Queen. "They`ve taken control of the Mothership! Dr. Funkenstein`s gonna drop Da Bomb on all of us! The Afunkalypse is at hand!" Da Bomb was Wangofunk`s only missile, which was rumored to be a U-Missile. It had a smiley face painted on it and was considered to be the chief general (and only member) of the Wangofunk Army.
There was fear on the faces of his students, but Master Wang remained calm. "Fear not, my students. A true Wang Fu warrior can never be deprived of funk, for it comes from the power of his mighty Wang."
"We`ll see about that!" sneered a nearby Renegade, who blasted Wang in the back with his defunking ray.
Master Wang gritted his teeth and turned around, glaring at his attacker. "I am.. still funky... FEAR MY WANG!" He launched a powerful kick, striking the man directly in the wang. The man doubled over in pain, and began to weep and moan. The students gasped in awe, seeing that their teacher was still quite funky.
"Now, my students... We shall take their rain-coats and disguise ourselves. Then, we shall board the Mothership and defeat Dr. Funkenstein once and for all. Trust in the power of your Wangs, and we shall be victorious!"
Soon, Master Wang, Funk Soulbrother, and twenty other students donning yellow raincoats gathered outside the Funky Palace amidst hundreds of Dr. Funkenstein`s Renegades. They were to be beamed aboard the Mothership, so they could watch in safety with Funkenstein as he dropped Da Bomb on the city. As they waited, they chanted Funkenstein`s name in eager anticipation.
As he waited, Master Wang spotted the Mothership approaching from the west. It appeared as though the Mothership was powering another of Funkenstein`s terrible inventions; underneath the ship, torrents of grey raindrops showered the city below. As the downpour struck, the streets and buildings became covered in a thin, grey ooze, draining every last once of funk down to the bedrock. At last, Wang understood what the raincoats were for.
A great orange beam emerged from the Mothership as it passed overhead, and Wang was drawn upwards through the defunking storm into the Mothership. Once aboard, Hung Wang and his students regrouped and observed Funkenstein addressing his minions.
Having absorbed tremendous amounts of funk, Dr. Funkenstein was unbelievably funky, with platform shoes, bellbottoms, a lavender shirt with a butterfly collar, and ten glittering mood rings. He flipped a switch on the ship`s console, and some extremely funky music started to play. Dr. Funkenstein danced smoothly, using several of the moves he drained from the Soulfather. He grabbed a microphone and sung out,
"I`m Dr Funkenstein
The disco fiend with the monster sound
The cool ghoul with the bump transplant
Hip bone connected to my thigh bone
My thigh bone connected to my leg bone
My leg bone connected to my ankle bone
I get so hung up on bones
Dr Funkenstein here
Preoccupied and dedicated
To the stealing the motion of hips"
His minions attempted to dance as well, doing a very poor job of it. They responded,
"We love to funk you, Funkenstein
Your funk is the best
Take my body, give it the mind
To funk with the rest
Hit me with the one and then
If you like, hit me again
We love to Funk-a-stein"
Funkenstein cackled with glee, and continued,
"Dr. Funkenstein, King of the Funk, yeah!
Swift lippin`, ego trippin` and body snatchin`
I`ll blow your mind
Comin` to you directly from the Mothership
Pulling up the last leg
Of the Wangofunk"
Suddenly, Wang and his students charged the stage, shedding their raincoats "What is the meaning of this?" cried Funkenstein.
Wang smiled. "We are here to end your reign of evil, Funkenstein."
"Who the hell are you, the Wu-Wang clan? No matter. Defunk them all!" The Wang Fu warriors were assaulted by countless defunking rays. They gathered the power of their Wangs, however, and stood firm.
"Now, Funkenstein," proclaimed Master Wang, "I shall end this." He launched a kick at the evil Funkenstein, who ducked and punched him right in the balls. Wang collapsed and gasped, "Holy crap... my Wang..."
Funkenstein raised his arms in victory. "Now I am the ultimate cock-knocker! HAH HAH HAH!"
"THIS IS FOR MY FAMILY!" cried Funk Soulbrother, and slammed his foot directly into Dr. Funkenstein`s genitalia. The evil doctor spit blood, and fainted, breaking his mental control. His fellow students cheered ecstatically and reversed the defunking ray, bringing the funk back to the battered city of Wangofunk. The power of the Wang had saved the City of Funk.