He came a’ groovin’ one fine sunny day. He wore a swingin’ long jacket, with striped edges, and a fine striped shirt. His dark hair was swept back. He sported a pair of dark sunglasses and a joyful, bright smile that hardly ever left his face. He was a man who knew only the here and now; he cared not what path he’d been on, the place he was at. He knew the groove of the world, felt it deep in his soul. He shared that groove with everyone he came across, booties left a’ shakin’ in his wake.
Strapped across his shoulder was his rockin’ Groove Machine, his fine funky modified Electric Keytar: the deliverer of the Funk. She’d play as sweet as any guitar, trumpet, saxophone, or whatever funky sound suited your fancy. She’d let a fine swingin’ fellow such as himself record some playin’ and play it back for him when he needed her to, letting him be free to jive along without havin’ to worry about the full funky beat bein’ lost to those kitties and cats who might be listenin’ in. An all-in-one instrument for a one man Funk band such as himself. She rocked his whole funky world. He took pride in her, and treated her finer than any queen.
Now, it was on this swingin’ sunny spring day that this man of the Funk heard a soft little sound that halted his swingin’ stride. A melodious little sob so soft and sweet it’d darn near break your heart. Bein’ a man who brought the joy of Funk to everybody around him, he knew he had another gloomy soul that needed a little bit of that sweet jivin’ sound. He strolled over to the source of the noise, and found a little grey unicorn filly with a yellow mane sittin’ in the grass, sobbin’ her sweet little eyes out.
The man of the groove had never seen a sight quite like this. He’d already seen some crazy things since he’d left that last city, but he’d never seen a unicorn before. Still, the sweet little doll was cryin’ and he wasn’t one to judge any crazy situations he’d get himself into. You gotta flow with the rhythm life gives you.
He shook his head sadly as he strolled up to the little filly. “My, my, my,” said the man of Funk, in a deep, soul-filled voice, “I ain’t never seen such a sad sight in all o’ my life. You look like you got the blues sittin’ in yo’ soul. Tell me now, why you so glum, little sister?”
The filly’s head shot up, her wide eyes staring at him in disbelief. She had never seen a hairless monkey-creature like this before. But right now, one thing sat atop her mind above all others: “Um, why did you call me your ‘sister’? We’re not related.”
The man of Funk smiled. “Little darlin’, it don’t matter if you’re black, white, or polka dotted. Don’t matter who or what you are: We’re all brothers and sisters on this crazy, jiving world.”
The little filly sniffed a little. This creature was definitely strange, but seemed nice enough. “Who and what are you?” she asked.
“I done forsaken my name long ago in pursuit of the true path to the ultimate jive, the one true Spirit of the Funk. I am a witness to the soulful beat of the world, and I share that beat every time the music gets me. I leave booties shakin’ and hair let all the way down. I leave a bit of that spirit everywhere I go. They call me the Bringer of the Beat, the King of the Jive, the one true Funkmaster.”
There seemed to be a joyful gleam in the Funkmaster’s sunglasses. “Now, since I’ve done told you my name, wouldja mind returnin’ the favor, little miss? And tellin’ me why your soul seems so low as to bring a tear to your sweet little eyes?”
“My name is Dinky.” The little filly dried her eyes with her forehoof, “Well… Most of my classmates at school have found their special talents and earned their cutie marks already. My mom say’s I’m just a late bloomer, but now I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get mine… So I’m in a funk.”
The Funkmaster frowned. “Funk is not something to be in; Funk is best in you. You have to invite it into your soul and let it out.”
“As I’ve learned, Funk is the best cure for bein’ in a funk, understand?” He smiled knowingly. “Now I hear you on those troubles a’ identity. How about I tell y’bout how I found the true path of the Funk, little lady?”
He turned on his keytar, the knobs at the end lighting up slowly. He pressed a few buttons and twisted a few knobs. Then, sweet, glorious Funk began rising from his keytar. He began to sway with the sounds comin’ from his musical queen. He pressed a few more buttons, adding his own fine bass playin’ to the music. His shoulders began to bounce, getting into the jive.
“When I was but a boy, I first discovered my purpose in life was to spread the soul of Funk to every heart in the world. I got my sweet keytar at that young age, and when I first played everybody was grooving and havin’ the grandest time of their lives.” The Funk Machine blasted the tune welling up inside of the Funkmaster’s soul as he jammed and grooved with his keytar’s sweet jive. He opened his mouth, letting loose a soulful melody that rose to the skies, building in intensity with every note. “Yeah I was playin’~ And singin’~. The jivin’ was a thrivin’~ And when I~ played louder~ Eve-ry bo-dy shooouted to me:”(1)
“Play yo' funky Keeytar nice boy!~” The Funkmaster was in the grove now, the music fillin’ up his soul ‘till he felt like he was gonna pop. He jumped and dove, twirling and nodding along with the song, his jivin’ beat filling the air, the earth itself singin’ along. “Play it throuuugh the day and ni-ight!~” He slid to the right, leaping at the end of his smooth move. His energy was contagious, and Dinky found herself bouncing in harmony with the song.
“Play yo' funky Keeeytar right, boy!~ Usin' the groovin'~ Just keep yo' funky soul until you die!~” He did a final twirl and landed in a perfect split, a product of years of dedication to the art of Funk. The sweet Funk trailed off, and Dinky clapped her hooves together, delighted at the performance.
The Funkmaster looked around and noticed a couple other multicolored ponies gathering around, looking at him curiously. They had heard his Funkalicious jam from all over town, and were drawn in by the power of Funk, ready to hear his funky groove again. He smiled. “Well, now. Looks like we’re drawin’ in a bit of a crowd now.” He played a short bass line on his musical mistress. “Hey, hey, gather around, all you jivin’ people, stay a while and let me play you a tune that’ll light up yo’ swingin’ souls.”
The ponies drew closer, some sitting down on the grass, some shrugging amongst themselves. The Funkmaster merely smiled, cranking up a small tune. A Funkalicious drumbeat wafted out of his keytuar, and he jumped up, jammin’ along in a funky bass guitar mode. (2) Already, a couple of ponies were jammin’ just a little to the tune, rockin’ their shoulders, moves even he just could not suppress. “Now, the thing about Funk, it’s a universal feelin’, ya hear? Why I remember the very first funky song I ever played… Don't quite remember the words, but it went a little something like this:” He opened his mouth and unleashed the full force of Funk.
“Very Funkalicous~ Soul ain’t gone away~Very Funkalicious~ The Funk’s here to stay~” His feet moved in time with the jam, struttin’ in place and bobbin his shoulders. He could feel it now, all over, and everyone else was startin’ to feel it too.
“People all around me~ Livin' in the Blues~ Come on, feel the muuusic!~ It’s up to you to choose~” He strutted from side to side, bendin’ over slightly and shakin’ his head, completely entranced by the groove. His voice danced in the air with him; ponies there later swore they saw the air itself jammin’ along.
“When you get so tired~ of yo’ toil and yo’ work~ and you suffer!~” There was a blare of trumpets, and he jumped, kickin’ his keytuar high into the air, he jerked to the rhythm, fired up by the sweet music. “Funkalicious is the way~ Ay-y-yeah!~”
Most of the ponies were jamming in their own ways, others were entranced by his own expression on the Funk in his soul.
He kicked up his dancing a notch, determined to give his jivin’ audience the show of their lives. His feet flailed wildly, like the very ground had been set ablaze by the mighty tune. “Ooh, Very Funkalicious~ Keepin’ in the groove~ Very Funkalicious~ Always on the move~”
“For years I’ve been travellin’~ Woo!” He hopped backwards on one foot, spinning around, kicking back and swaying to the right. “I don’t stay very long~ I deliver groovin’~ With my funky song~”
“When you get so tired ,” His voice grew more soulful, rising higher with the melody. “Of yo’ toil and yo’ work, And you suffer~” He kicked around in a circle, grinning wildly, exploding with movement at the blast of horns. “Funkalicious is the way~”Everypony was getting’ it. They were all dancin’ and grovin’, havin’ the time of their funky lives. He saw this and smiled, but his smile stopped halfway. There was one who was not feelin’ the sweet soulful song: a grey mare with a darker grey mane.
Octavia was bewildered. Not moments before, everypony had been civilized and mature, but now it was as though the music had somehow bewitched them all. She did not even like this type of music in the slightest, and yet even she had the uncontrollable urge to shake her flank. But she stood her ground. She was a proper mare, after all.
Perhaps she just could not care for the joy of Funk. The Funkmaster called out to the mare: “Now I don’t mean to wreck the vibe, but this ain’t no place for the blues. This here’s Funkytown, baby.”
Octavia stared at the spectacle. “What kind of spell is this, that makes ponies dance so fervently?”
The Funkmaster was genuinely taken aback. “Little darlin’, this ain’t no magic; this is pure funky music. Superstition ain’t the way, sister. Now, seein' that this here's Boogie Wonderland, why don't you groove along?” He spun around and stopped abruptly, leaned slightly toward her with one eyebrow cocked and a silly grin plastered on his face.
It was Octavia's turn to be taken aback. "Then why do they engage in such improper lunacy?"
The Funkmaster grinned. "They's just flowin' with the music, hon. You just gotta let loose sometimes, have a little fun. That is the essence of Funk, my sister: the feelin' that lets everybody just let their hair down." He gestured towards the dancing ponies; Octavia had to admit that they looked like they were enjoying themselves.
"Now, if you'll be so kind as to excuse me, the next verse is comin' up." He straightened out his collar, back-flipped all the way back to where he'd stood before, and dove right back into the groove. If she didn’t want the Funk, he wouldn’t stop givin’ up the Funk, for the sake of those who could feel the funky beat.
Magic; how crazy a thing would that be? The only magic that could ever exist would be the feelin’ of Funk in yo’ soul.
Nevertheless, he kicked his voice into high gear, pouring his very soul into the notes.“Very Funkalicious~ Everyday’s a blast~” He nodded his head, dancin’ just a little harder than before.
“Very Funkalicious~ Let the feelin’ last~” He peeked out from his sunglasses, grinning, before redoubling his strut. Moonwalking backwards, he grinned at his audience. Even the grey mare from before was dancing along, enjoying the show he was pourin’ his funky heart into. Why, one might say she was one o' the best dancers out there, lettin' her hair down more than anyone he'd ever seen. “ People all around me! M-hmm~ Livin' in the blues~ Give in to the Funk now!~ It’s up to you to choose~”
He kicked everything into high gear, pushing his funkalicious mastery beyond the limit. There were no barriers, nothin’ that could hold him back, hold him down. He was the Funkmaster, and the Funk would set him free! “When you get so tired ~ of yo’ toil and yo’ work~ And you suffer~! Funkalicious is the way~! Now, now, now!”
The song reached its apex, and he glanced back towards his audience. Every last booty was a’ skakin’ and every pony was havin’ a grand old time. Seeing his job done, he moonwalked off, far beyond the horizon.
For he could not stay. Off the Funkmaster went, off to the next city. There were others out there; hundreds of booties left unshaken, and they called out to him. Before he left, he turned back, departing his final words to the sweet little darlin’ he’d met first: little Dinky. With a bright smile and a laugh, he told her, “Stay Funkalicious, now, alright sister?”
And with that, he was gone, the last of his Funk fading away into the distance.
Author's Note
Just as a side note Funk is capitalized on purpose.
Parodied songs:
(1) 0:52
[youtube=http://youtu.be/l70_stPTuok?t=2m3s]
(2)
Stay Funky, my friends.
