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Thursday, March 30, 2017

Some Next Level Stuff

It's come to my attention that only a few Funky loyalists reader are staying faithful to this blog. Thus, I give you only a brief post to let you know that I will miss the robots: their dull, automaton eyes void of human feeling. Their occasional beeping sounds that won't stop until they are charged... I'm getting emotional just thinking of how emotionless they are.
Even though Edward and Brian destroyed my robot utopia, I hope that the entire staff learned something from these beautiful, soulless androids. I know I did. They taught me how to love again. And how to dance.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Talkin' Bout a Revolution

I heard from a little birdie (literally, I intercepted a pigeon) that there are strange things afoot at the Delavigne Corporation. There's talk of revolution, upheaval, rebellion, dissidence and protest. Frankly, that stuff is for the birds  (literally - I told that to the pigeon that's been flying through the office hallways).

I can't be bothered to involve myself in any of that political stuff because I'm sitting pretty, with my legs up on a desk watching old home movies of Susan Bliss. Don't ask me where I obtained them. Let's just say that it's easy to get weird stuff in the back alleys of Bangkok.

Ever since the robots arrived at Delavigne, life has taken a turn for the 'awesome' for yours truly - robots iron my suits, make my sales calls, attend my meetings and ocasionally tickle my #$^% with a feather. Now you know why I intercepted that pigeon.

Anyway, I don't know what Brian has planned, but I want no part of it. Politics and robots don't mix, I always say. Besides, what has revolution ever done for anyone? I mean, aside from the creation of democracy, or freedom from dictatorship?

What do you think, public at large? Revolution or status quo? I'm all ears. Send your pigeons to the comment box.


Thursday, January 26, 2017

Robo Dystopia

Greetings fellow humans,
(also hello to robot readers and of course the nanobots at the NSA)

Welcome to the robo dystopia. I for one welcome our new robotic bretheren, especially if they've got those same magic fingers that BrianBot possesses - Wowza, that Bot can shiatsu with the best of them. He gives my regular masseuses (masseese?) Olga and Yuriko a run for their money. Impressive.

Now that I'm relaxed and freshly massaged, I just want to echo my support for more robots in the workplace - but why stop there? Philip is lobbying hard for robots to move from the the boardroom to the bedroom, and Harold Warbuckle enjoys playing Russian Roulette with his cowboy bots. I say this can only end well - Humanity and robots are meant to live together in harmony and without complications or violence, I fail to see any scenario in which things might go wrong.

In conclusion: Bring on the robots! Bring on the jobs they will eliminate. Bring on corporate tax exemptions. Make Delavigne Great Again! ---

Whoops, sorry, I think a robot must have typed that last bit. I guess may be they're not to be trusted after all. Food for thought.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Dream on


The hallucinations have stopped, I've just fallen down from the ceiling with a bump. The dream sequence is definitively over. The last of the foie gras has definitively left my body. I hope Bob Carter won't mind me vomiting in his desk drawer like that.

Like divorces, dream sequences are a staple of the Christmas season. Who can forget the ghosts that visit Scrooge in A Christmas Carol? George Bailey visiting a world in which he was never born in Frank Capra's It's a wonderful Life? The Wizard of Oz is pretty much 3 hours of dream sequence (or complete tosh) depending on how much mulled wine you've had.

Pretty f@%*ed up: Scrooge tripping next
 to his fire place in Dickens' A Christmas Carol

Ecstatic: James Stewart rejoices that his
dream sequence is over. Only 3 more hours of fim left to go.

Off their tits: Where would The Wizard of Oz be without foie gras?

But let's not dwell on the films of Christmas past. I've got some practical help for you. If you ever eat some dodgy festive food at work (let's face it, a lot of turkeys are stuffed more with mescaline than stuffing these days), here is some advice on how to handle your own dream sequence.

1. Don't panic. Take a few deep breaths and admire your broccoli hands. Your head might be spinning... in the opposite corner of the room. This is completely normal. Relax and enjoy your trip.

2. Verify your dream sequence. Ask yourself: "Am I dreaming?". If you open your mouth to answer and your soul drops out, this is probably a drug-induced dream sequence rather than an actual dream. Good news!

3. Don't pee. Perhaps the most important, you know in a real dream, when you need to pee, you pee in the dream but never in the bed? Foie gras-fuelled dream sequences are NOT like this. Apologies again to Hannah Benedict who is currently drying off in the stationery cupboard.

4. Enjoy yourself. Dream sequences don't come every day, so make sure you make the most of it. You'll probably get fired at the end of it so you might as well have a good time.

That's about everything. I did have some insights into the meaning of existence, but they seem to have evaporated with the last morsel of foie gras in my blood. Something to do with Freddy Mercury...

Anyway, it was nice tripping with you! Why don't you take drugs at work and tell me what happens?

Enjoy the rest of the holidays. See you in 2017!


Thursday, November 24, 2016

A very French Thanksgiving

In lieu of a proper Thanksgiving with a big Turkey, this year at the office we were treated to a bird of an entirely different feather - actually there were no birds at all, just a cornucopia of French delicacies prepared by our resident French romantic, Jean Marron.

Here's what we had on the menu:

Frogs legs sautéed in garlic butter - Horatio claimed they were nothing special, and tasted like an average toucan.

Petits-fours rechauffés au micro-onde - Jean wanted to add an American touch to the tasting, so we 'nuked' these bad boys.

Museau "D'orsay" - Pig snout is definitely an acquired taste. When Luna saw this dish, she nearly resigned on the spot. We convinced her to stay by agreeing to keep dream journals for a month.

Escargots - Snails. Enough said. Homelessness is never an issue for them, and as Americans we should strive to achieve such autonomy and self-sufficiency.

Cheese plate: Camembert / Brie / Roquefort / Reblochon / Vacherin / Pont Leveque. Icarus was excused upon their presentation as the smells induced a recurring nausea and severe 'mommy issues'. 

Tonton Hubert's famous foie gras - The 'pièce de résistance' according to Jean. This dish elicited the most excitement and consternation from the group. Only a few were brave enough to try it. According to Jean, the master of ceremonies, Hubert imbued each goose liver with a strange and mysterious ingredient. I assume that it's just alcohol, but only time will tell.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and may you all be like snails in the coming year.


Thursday, October 27, 2016

Help me Brian May. You're my only hope!

Dear Brian May,

I'd obviously love to be addressing this to Freddy, but he's dead. So it falls to you Brian May, the frizzy-haired guardian of the Queen legacy.

I imagine you may have heard Dumb Prank's new hit Bacon and Eggs?  It goes: bacon and eggs... bacon and eggs... bacon and eggs... It's sometimes referred to as 'the song with really good lyrics'.

I'm sorry to have to tell you that this song was stolen from me by a French arnaquer called Guy DuPuy (or Guy le bastard, as I now call him). He's the short one from Dumb Prank (he looks marginally more ridiculous than the tall one). 

I don't want music royalties or anything, but could you find it in the goodness of your heart to round up some of your musician mates and give Dumb Prank a good kicking?

Rick Astley
Kemp Brothers (Spandau Ballet)
Image result for rick astley
Image result for kemp brothers
blows to stomach More comprehensive beating away from eyes of public

I was thinking Eric Clapton could hold GuyDePuy while you or maybe Rick Astely punch him in his fat Camembert belly. Then Tony Hadley from Spandau Ballet could get him in a headlock (careful, this Gallic swine probably bites!) then the Kemp brothers (from the same group) take him outside for a proper going over. It would be perfect justice dolled out from the hands of the greatest musicians in my record collection. Do you think you could make it happen?        

Failing that, how about a music collaboration? I'm pretty sure together we could come up with something that would blow Bacon and Eggs out of the water. I'm actually working on a new song, it's called - Scones and Jam. The public have had it with breakfast inspired songs - afternoon tea is definitely where things are going.

Anyway, I know you're busy protecting badgers and your astronomy takes up a lot of time. But do not hesitate to post some sort of coded message on your official website, Brian May, after you have given Guy DuPuy the duffing up of his smelly life.

Thanks in advance.

Much love,

Edward Moon
(uncredited author of international hit, Bacon and Eggs)

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Observations on the Moon family from Earth.

There's an expression in English: The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm not sure of its origins - certainly Anglo-Saxons are fond of agrarian metaphors, as well as those concerning fruit. In any case, the expression means that a child often grows up to resemble their parent, particularly their father.

Fathers and sons. Progeny and progeniture. Genetically, emotionally and spiritually bonded, except it seems in the case of the Moons.

In fact,  I've rarely seen an apple fall farther from a tree than in the case of Stephen and Edward Moon. Maybe once - that time I visited a farm during a tornado, but that was a different.

Stephen Moon seems to be a man's man. Rugged, stoic, paranoid and libertarian. He has a healthy fear of the government, as well as a healthy respect for privacy. He uses moose to circumambulate. He kills wolves via drone strikes.

Edward, by contrast, is a gawky, pale teen in search of meaning. His forays to the coffee machine and the photocopier have taught him nothing about the real world. His continued attempts to connect with a patriarchal figure via the music of his time - rock and roll, seem fruitless.

Which brings us back to fruit. We've come full-circle. While Stephen Moon seems to be as American as apple pie in his violence, self-sufficiency and thirst for gold, he also seems a bit bananas. The younger Moon, Edward, well, let's just say there's no comparing the two - They're apples and oranges.

What did you think of the pair?