We lost our funk in a terrible funk-related accident back in 1978. Suffered an almost total impairment of funktioning untreatable by funk therapy, funk injection, or even radical funk transplantation. Mind you, our funk was never ship-shape. It was always a sickly, pale, avoid-strenuous-activities kind of funk. A funk that lacked spunk. Still, it was something, our funk.
I myself was born funk-deficient. I'd like to say it was a medical fluke, but in point of fact, everybody on my father's side of the family lacks the all-important funk chromosome.
Oh, Dad tried to fake funk in his college years, when he played sax for any jazz band that would let him pencil their gig into his immaculately-maintained appointment book, but it was no good.
Finally in 1969, when he first got tenure, he gratefully stopped living the lie. And the rest is (arcane) history.
If you wonder if your own funk requires medical attention, be sure and take the funk-deficiency test.
Comments