Ah, The Funday Sunnies.

Ah,  Duncan.

Ah, slapstick.

(You lost art form, you.)

Crime doesn’t pay, but it has a pretty decent benefits package…

Happy Friday, lurkers in the nooks and crannies of Cyberspace:

  

We have returned with The Cousins Family from Toronto, where Sparky and I spent an educational and profitable weekend in the public interest removing loose clutter (such as dusty old preparatory sketches for A.Y. Jackson paintings) from dimly-lit corners of the Art Gallery of Ontario and Casa Loma. For Sparky’s part and mine, we’d just as soon have stayed there.

   You see, the renown of the recently-opened impromptu speakeasy and after-hours rumpus room at the Fortress of Funitude has spread so quickly that we are opening our doors to strangers and the curious before our regular hours of business are slated to begin. One of our recent guests was a representative of the Animal Alley chapter of The Society for the Protection of People From The Society for the Protection of People, who dropped by to inform us of the range of services his organization offered, and the consequences of not accepting them. Our would-be benefactor, The Amazing Doctor Catterhouse (neither a title nor a description—his first name is ‘The Amazing Doctor’—his mother had high hopes for him) explained that this was just a routine “how do you feel about having a sudden unexplained fire” visit—a courtesy call, if somewhat lacking in the courtesy department.

   Don’t get me wrong: I’m a connoisseur of old-school gangster-movie shakedowns, but when the gangster doing the shaking down ends each sentence with “meow, see”, he may have gotten just a little too deeply into the spirit of things. However, being nothing if not courteous ourselves, we asked T.A.D. Catterhouse if he would partake in some refreshments, and perhaps a game of skill and chance. The teetotaling T.A. Dr. Catterhouse declined the beverage, but not before Our Miss Moose had helped Milady M’Dear mix a fresh batch of her special knockout punch (fortunately, it loses its potency after 48 hours, after which it becomes an outstanding plant food for Venus flytraps and creeper vines). He was more amenable to the game of skill and chance, which involved us taking the chance that he wouldn’t notice Sparky’s skill at marking cards, or mine at dealing from whatever part of the deck seems most appropriate.

   The upshot of all of this is that Sparky, Milady M’Dear, Miss Moose and I are now co-holders of the title deed to the Ash Can Club, an intimate little hole-in-the-wall of a boîte de nuit (and often, early morning as well) in the bohemian artists’ quarter of Animal Alley. Ambivalent as I am about our new status as members of the propertied class, this particular piece of real estate is likely to serve as a useful bargaining chip. I fear we haven’t heard the last of all this.

  Something we have heard the last of, for a while at least, is “Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus”. It’ll return in just a few weeks’ time to take a final bow, but in the meantime, we’ll bridge the gap with a short series of our own, entitled Uncle Fun and Sparky’s Radio Colouring Book. Click on the blue letters just in back of this sentence to hear the first episode of this mini-magnum opus. Fret not, fans of Science Boy—he features prominently in it.

   And now, it’s time for me to check the sleeves of my good coat to make sure that all my extra aces are still where I put them, in case we get another visitor.

Uncle Fun



Prog Spring…well, not quite one, and not quite the other, either…

Good Morrow, early risers in Cyberland:

  If you scroll down, you will notice that this week’s edition of The Funday Sunnies is up a couple of days early. This is owing to the fact that Sparky and I will be taking a well-deserved holiday away from the Fortress of Funitude, in honour of the upcoming Residents’ Day weekend.

   No, sharp-eyed readers, there is not a letter missing. On the third Monday of February, the citizens of Funsville take a break from their daily cares and strife to celebrate the life, work, and music of The Residents, the seminal avant-garde art-rock collective.

   And no, don't ask me why. Nobody here really knows, either. It always makes things hectic here in Funsville, coming as it does hot on the heels of the annual Ray Manzarek's Birthday celebrations.

  It’s a wild time…you’d never think that there were so many people who played the Fender Rhodes keyboard bass, or that they could descend on one town so quickly. The streets of Funsville are still littered with the debris from the Soft Parade, so before the mayor of the notorious Animal Alley district comes calling for us with a push broom and shovel, we thought it best to beat a strategic retreat, and hit the road with La Famille deCousins for Parts Known.

   We’ll be stopping in with composer and all-around Renaissance man Alex Eddington, who is currently hard at work setting the municipal parking code of the City of Toronto to music for orchestra, 97-piece mixed choir, and a quartet of soloists on citation booklets. If not, he now has something to respond to in his own blog. It’s all in the interest of keeping Cyberspace active and cheerful.

   And, with that in mind, here, in all its glory, is a link to the latest episode of Science Boy versus Professor Proteus. Like the rest of today’s disinformation, it has a musical theme…as well as possibly the worst music-based pun you will ever be exposed to. Click on the blue letters and see what happens…but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Uncle Fun





The Funday Sunnies (Special Friday Edition)

This week The Funday Sunnies featuring Duncan comes to you on Friday. Since the posts to this blog start with the most recent, you’ll already know the reason why.

If not, scroll up…it’s just that simple.

Would two hearts that beat as one need a double bypass?

Hello, young lovers, whenever you are:

While Mister Kuzzents iz othurwize occupied goin’ at th’ 20-cubick-foot ice dam whut iz blockin’ th’ back entruntz ta th’ laundry room’a his buildin’ with a ball peen hammer, I thot I’d carp a dime (which iz whut Uncle Fun sez iz Latin fer “seize th’ day”) an’ share with alla ya this hand-draw’d, vecktur-gennuratud Valuntime pickchoor what I helpted him make fer Missez Kuzzents (he held th’ mouse whilst me an’ three’a my friends mov’d th’pad). Sints this iz Valuntime’s Day an’ all t’day, I figgered it wuz my reposnsibillitty as one half of a committed relashinship (Moose, who I’m in th’ relashinship with, offen sez I otta be committed) ta give alla you lovelorns out there th’ benefit of our knollidg ‘bout whut makes fer th’ best kinda romantic happytude. So, here ‘tis, an' don’ say I dint warn ya. Once again, Moose tooked diktashun so’s th’ spellin’ an’ grammur’d be more like th’ offishully licensed kind (i.e., not so creative nor interestin’).

(Here I go again, folks. Like a couple going out for dinner on Valentine’s Day, I have definite reservations—Moose.)

Anywhere you find the spirit of romance, the spirit of adventure can’t be far away. A great way to experience the kind of adventure that only true love brings is to surprise your true love with a day pass for two on a bobsled run.

(Yes, because nothing says “I love you” better than sharing your last moments together hurtling at 150 miles an hour down a twisty-turny slippery icy Mobius strip of death.)

Love flourishes best when surrounded by an air of mystery. To put some mystery into this Valentine’s Day, why not give your sweetheart a box of chocolates, but take out the little legend that says which chocolate’s which?

(You do that again, and I’ll do to your incisors the same thing that rock-hard Brazil nut that I thought was a chewy caramel did to mine.)

Leave little notes around signed with secret romantic messages…things like “pick up dry cleaning”; “milk’s gone off before the ‘best before’ date again—need another quart”, that sort of thing. Sign them with secret romantic letters, like “XOXO”, “SWAK”, and “LMFAO”. The letters “NSFW” must be really, really romantic, the way people get all giggly and embarrassed whenever they’re mentioned.

(No, no, no, absolutely NOT. Wait…what’s that third one from the right? Set that one aside.)

In general, you can never go wrong with anything heart-shaped, or anything related to the heart. Last year, my Valentine’s present to Moose was an appointment for an echocardiogram.

(This one I AM grateful for. I found out I have a slight murmur due to a sticky aortic valve. Who knew?)

We gots lots more, but Moose sez rite now we hasta get all gussied up so’s we kin head out an’ trip th’ light fantastic, whatever that iz. Mebbe we’ll go dancin’ afterwurds. I’m kinda hopin’ we kin swing by th’ noo an’ improv’d impravized speekeezy at th’ Fortress’a Funitude. It’s “Lucky in Love” nite at th’ gamin’ tables, an’ Uncle Fun’s Number One Gal deals a mean hand’a baccarat…frum her own shoe, even.

Sparky

   I hate to disappoint you, Sparky, but the apple of my eye and I have other plans for the evening. The discretion befitting both a gentleman and a lady preclude me from elaborating any further. Let’s just say that playing cards are not likely to be involved.

Uncle Fun

It’s Sunday, and that can only mean one thing.

Until we figure out what that is, here’s another edition of

The Funday Sunnies featuring Duncan to tide you over.

(This one probably should have appeared on Super Bowl Sunday…or maybe it shouldn’t have. You decide.)

As you probably don't remember from our last episode...

…or gets you labelled as a sycophantic toady (I’ll explain what that means after we’re done here, Sparky). Right now, we thought you might like to get to know someone you’ve been hearing if you’ve been following the links to the audio files we put up in our virtual display case…sort of a chance to put a face to the voice, as it were. So, here’s the face:

   The sober intonations introducing and narrating the episodes of “Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus” and “Footsteps of Canadian History” which have been regular features in this space belong to George Lamb, an old friend and colleague of ours and Mr. Cousins. We’re not sure exactly how El Cousins first managed to rope George into doing narrations for his silly little radio larks—maybe it has something to do with their shared fondness for the metre-and-rhyme-contorting meditations of Ogden Nash. It probably has just as much to do with the combination of professionalism and wry humour which allows George to deliver some truly and self-consciously ridiculous lines with a completely straight face. Frankly, neither Sparky nor I know quite how George does it: in all the time we’ve hung around watching him in action, I think he’s been made to break his vocal stride by the sheer idiocy of what he’s been given to say maybe twice, but perhaps not even that often. For his part, The Cousins With His Writer’s Hat On has often told us what a joy it is to create dialogue for these narrations, knowing that George will nail it on the first take nine-and-a-half times out of ten.

   Some things are best left as pleasant mysteries of life, George.  So, why don’t all of you out there in The Wonderful World of Virtualness take a break from thinking about life’s mysteries, click on the blue letters that follow, and listen to the next episode of Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus, narrated as always by the inimitable George Lamb.

Uncle Fun

P.S. That’s pretty much whut I wuz gonna say.

Sparky

P.P.S. If you’re reading it as a free translation of “George iz neat”, which you scribbled in crayon on the inside of a Skittles wrapper, yes.

Uncle Fun

P.P.S. So whut’s a “sick-o-fantastic toady”, anyway?

Sparky

Yes, it’s The Funday Sunnies once again.

Once again, it’s Duncan.

Not exactly Madonna doing the Super Bowl halftime show, but you have to take your entertainment where you can get it.

B’fore this all starts, I jus’ wants allaya ta know this izzunt my fault.

Sparky

   That’s a matter of opinion, Sparky. If things are a little slow in the ‘getting off the ground’ aspect of this Friday’s posting, it has to do with what transpired yesterday. The second day of February, as you all know, is traditionally associated with the meteorological mantology peculiar to a certain member of the rodent family known as ‘Marmota Monax’ to zoologists, and plain old ‘woodchuck’ or ‘groundhog’ to its friends.

   It’s important to know, before we proceed, that Sparky’s flair for malapropism stretches all the way back from his tongue to his ears. So, when I innocently (and as events would prove, mistakenly) entrusted Sparky with the task of obtaining the eponymous hibernating mammal for Funsville’s annual Groundhog Day observances, what he brought us back instead turned out to be a ‘grog hound’…

…this one, in fact.

   This is Sudsy Beagle, bootlegger extraordinaire and purveyor of bathtub gin, beer, wine, and anything else that can be fermented in a bathtub to Funsville’s notorious Animal Alley neighbourhood. Sudsy’s penchant for serving as his own quality control monitor for his illicit liquor business has earned him a well-deserved reputation as not just an all-around bad influence, but an all-around canine dipsomaniac. Already five-and-a-half sheets to the wind when Sparky dragged him through the door, Sudsy proceeded to imbibe The Fortress of Funitude out of its plentiful stock of libations—up to and including a vintage bottle of peppermint extract that I had been saving for a special occasion.

   While Sudsy was still able to maintain his balance by leaning on whatever pieces of our furniture remained intact from his previous attempts to do so, I attempted to press him into service in the capacity for which Sparky had erroneously recruited him. Incapacitated as he already was, he could only narrow down his decision on the question of whether or not he saw his shadow to a choice of three things which he was willing to try to identify as his shadow…if only they’d stop moving. Neither Sparky nor I moved quickly enough to prevent him from using a small-caliber handgun we should have guessed was concealed on his person to eliminate all but what he called “the %$#@*@# one in the middle” from the running.

   Reliable accounts of what happened after that become hazier and hazier as the hours roll along. Suffice it to say that the general consensus is that The Fortress of Funitude appears to have been transformed into a temporary speakeasy, a status it still enjoys, pending zoning permits from Funsville’s always-zoning-permissive-for-the-right-price city council. We’re grateful for the extra revenue, as well as the good standing this will put us in with the Funsville chapter of the Euphemistically Named Completely Legitimate Business Community Association, but the fact is that the place is a mess, and the first knock on our new secret door (don’t ask how it got there…I have no more idea than anyone else does) is due any minute.

 While we’re tidying things up as best we can, why don’t you all click on the blue letters and have a listen to the next episode of Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus. It has nothing to do with what went on here last night, but then, the less said about that the better.

Uncle Fun