I hope you’re all up for more news from the animal kingdom (I assume it still is a kingdom—unless there’s some UN-sanctioned regime change I haven’t heard about). It isn’t really news, but it seems topical again, in light of the recent discovery of a new mammal species in South America. (See my missive of last week for the rundown on that.)

     But—back to the subject at hand. We here in Funsville are ever ready to give credence to wild rumours, lend an ear to tall tales, fall for far-fetched fables and, when all else fails, believe the unbelievable. (What can I say? It helps to pass the time.) Despite all this, community consensus long held that one story which persisted in making the rounds had no more facts to back it up than a Canadian senator’s expense claim. Funsvillians reading this (and they won’t) will know exactly what I’m talking about. The rest of you (yes, both of you—or is it three now?) will need to be put into the picture. As pictures go, this one remains a little on the sketchy side, since it’s a picture of an animal that has only been recently discovered, and only to a certain degree—the once-legendary, and still largely elusive, feeny lizard.

     So, what’s a feeny lizard when it’s at home? Well, it’s definitely at home in Funsville and environs; whether you’ve encountered it or not wherever you are (or not) depends on whether you recognize the description I’m about to give you. (Take careful notes; I’m starting now. Ahem…) The feeny lizard is rumoured to be about yea high at the shoulder, and about yea long and then some, including the tail. As far as its habitat goes (and it goes about yea far, give or take a little) it tends to favour root cellars, crawlspaces, dark alleys, under the restroom sinks in certain cheaper bars and pubs, and any other place where it can’t be seen clearly. In fact, not being seen appears to be the feeny lizard’s true—and perhaps sole—raison d’être.

     Those who hold that seeing is believing are inclined to doubt the feeny lizard’s very existence. This opinion is not shared by those who trust their ears as much as their eyes. Whether you’re a skeptic or not, the feeny lizard will make its presence known to you with its distinctive namesake cry of “hey feeny feeny feeny feeny feeeeeeny”, which it delivers in a voice unnervingly reminiscent of the late Peter Lorre. This peculiar vocalization is a singular example of a highly specialized ecological niche, since the purpose of the cry is neither mating nor self-defense, but instead is nature’s way of ensuring that the feeny lizard would first be seen only by a herpetologist named Feeny. Many dedicated and devoted—not to mention unbalanced and obsessive—men and women answering to the name of Feeny have attempted to catch a glimpse of the lizard, only to find their efforts unvaryingly thwarted. It seems that, in addition to its other attributes, the feeny lizard possesses an innate ability to determine whether someone actually is named “Feeny”, or is merely answering to the name to see what might happen. The feeny lizard is very particular in this regard: expeditions led by Professors Finney, Fanney, Faney, Phiney and Fenner were all disastrous failures. An expedition led by a Professor Feeney also discovered nothing—except that, to a feeny lizard, spelling counts as well.

     Some small few years ago, the long-awaited moment finally came to pass—however, Dr. L. J. Kennington Feeny was so proud of being singled out for such a rare honour that he jealously guarded his discovery, refusing to share it with the scientific community, or any other community for that matter. Instead, he took the secret of the feeny lizard to his grave, where he sits, clasping a lily to his chest and waiting for the inevitable. Experts are sharply divided on the question of whether all of this provides better evidence for evolution, intelligent design, or the general idea that the Universe is badly in need of a tune-up.

     Whatever the case may be (as they say in the unclaimed luggage business), yes, Virginia, there is a feeny lizard—and if your name is “Virginia Feeny” you’ll have a chance of seeing it. Otherwise, you’ll have to make do with other signs, signals, and evidence. The tell-tale “F.L.”-shaped footprints in the dust around the stereo cabinet you haven’t used since you got your first iPod…

     …the teeny-tiny toothmarks on the collection of Monchhichis you lost interest in after the initial craze…the trail of slips from fortune cookies you never opened after your last several Chinese take-out orders. All these are clear indications that you may have a feeny lizard in your midst. If it’s only one, be thankful. The colony of feeny lizards we have living in between the roofing joists of the Fortress of Funitude have taken to sending down hand-calligraphed grocery lists, rendered in elegant cursive. My appreciation of artistic penmanship has led me to be rather a soft touch, with the attendant result that the feeny lizards have become increasingly bolder and more outlandish in their demands. Where I’m supposed to get ice wine-glazed artichoke hearts and organic baby Swiss chard at this time of year is anybody’s guess.

Uncle Fun    

P.S. If you haven’t had your fill of lizards for one sitting, you can follow the blue-lettered link and listen to another one of Mr. Feeble’s Fables—The Chameleon and the Image Consultant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Salutations, fellow fauna fanciers:

     Even as I greet you in this way, I realize that it’s rather a liberty on my part to assume that each and every one of you shares my abiding fondness for the animals…or any other groups fronted by Eric Burdon.

     Hm…not exactly the rip-roaring start I was aiming to get off to. Let’s try again…

      We here in Funsville take a special interest whenever an animal makes the news. (The name “Checkers” is still enough to draw a crowd when whispered in a back alley.) So many of our citizens are animals themselves—albeit mostly of the talking anthropomorphic cartoon variety—that there’s always a fair-to-middling chance that some local resident’s distant relative may be mentioned in the dispatches.

     The previous week’s headlines, however, brought us a long-overdue exception to that rule. Before last Friday, no-one in town—even in the critter-crammed Animal Avenue district—had any more idea than the rest of the world what an “olinguito” was.
 

      Of course, the olinguitos have known what they were are all along, despite the bulletins proclaiming “New animal discovered!” and so forth. As far back as they can remember, they’ve been doing whatever it is that olinguitos do, and feeling perfectly at home while doing it, in the remote depths of Andean jungle country. If science wants to call them “new” simply because it never noticed them before, surely that’s not the olinguitos’ problem. They’ll just keep going about their business while the experts get on with deciding whether an olinguito is more like a raccoon, a bear, a cat, a fox terrier, a cacomistle, a toy panda you win at the county fair, or my Aunt Agatha’s genuine imitation plush Orlon cloche hat.

     In the meantime, the minor cause célèbre swirling around the discovery of the olinguito has spun off a small musical tribute, by Animal Avenue’s resident bard and troubadour, the house piano player and bandleader at the Ashcan Club, Professor DeLuxe. Like the olinguito itself, it’s not, strictly speaking, 100% new. The tune is that old standard “Mona Lisa”, familiar to fans of the late great Nat King Cole, if no longer to anybody else. If you don’t know the melody, google it and have a listen before proceeding to the lyrical content below:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Touching, stirring, yet somewhat poignant, n’est-ce pas? As I write these lines, the Animal Avenue Newcomers, Immigrants, Refugees and Fugitives Welcome Wagon is holding a special emergency meeting to prepare for the expected influx of olinguitos looking to escape the inevitable flood of taxonomers, conservationists, documentary filmmakers, photographers from National Geographic, eco-tourists, exotic pet traffickers and the zoologically curious that’s about to come their way. We’ll do our best to help them keep a low profile, but there are never any guarantees. This isn’t the first time that a newly discovered member of Mother Nature’s menagerie has taken up residence in Funsville…but more on that next time.

     While you’re waiting (and who could wait for anything like that without something to pass the time?), you can listen to another one of Mr. Feeble’s Fables. This one is about a species at the other end of the “just been discovered” spectrum…to be more specific, The Last Passenger Pigeon.

Uncle Fun    

 

 

 

 

The Battle of the Boing, Part 6

     If you’re following this story (and there’s no earthly reason why you should be), you’ll already know that Gerald McBoing Boing, the boy who speaks in noises, music and squeaks, turned the cartoon world upside down by turning stool pigeon at the House Un-American Activities Committee.

     Though his accusations damaged many a reputation, they hit Gerald himself even harder. Having a red-baiter in their ranks did not endear Gerald to his employer, UPA, a studio known for its attachment to liberal causes. Gerald went from being one of the studio’s top stars to persona non grata, securing only odd bit parts, such as Tiny Tim in Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol. To add insult to injury, Gerald was stripped of the unique contribution he could have made to this holiday special—his dialogue was dubbed in by another actor.

     This was to be Gerald’s last work for UPA—or any other studio—for quite some time. When Sparky encountered him a few years later, Gerald was decidedly down on his luck.

 

     You’ll remember that Sparky and Gerald were not on speaking terms—and if you don’t, the links to Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 of this story will put you in the picture. Circumstances being what they were, it seemed pointless to dwell upon the past. Putting their differences behind them, the two embarked on a new friendship that soon proved profitable for both.

 

 

     The reunion was not entirely a chance occurrence. Sparky had heard that the producers of a new sitcom were having trouble finding just the right sound effect to sell their pilot to network brass. Gerald came up with the effect; Sparky copyrighted and licensed the rights to it; and the rest is history. Whenever Elizabeth Montgomery wiggles her nose to make magic on an episode of Bewitched, half the magic belongs to Gerald.

 

 

     This went over so well that Gerald and Sparky were commissioned to furnish a sound for Barbara Eden’s blink on I Dream of Jeannie.

     So it was that two cartoon characters began a lucrative business providing signature sound effects for live-action TV shows. If you’ve heard the Skipper getting crowned by a coconut in Gilligan’s Island…

 

 

     …you’ve heard Gerald.

     Likewise with the instantly-recognizable helicopter blades from M*A*S*H…

 

 

     …Archie Bunker’s toilet…

 

     …and, well, just about anything on Star Trek.

 

 

     Sparky and Gerald branched out from television into other money-spinning sidelines. Gerald’s rendition of “La Cucaracha” on a car horn continues to be a big seller.

     The revenue from this joint venture has assured Gerald a comfortable living, and forms the basis of the slush fund for the care and upkeep of the Fortress of Funitude…including the all-too-frequent repair costs we incur.

 

     Sparky and Gerald would continue to be producing and marketing new material, but they dissolved their partnership due to a disagreement over ownership of the original concept for the squeaky sound SpongeBob makes when he walks.

     That, however, is a story I can’t tell you ‘til the courts are finished dealing with it. In any case, I’ve got no time to tell it to you now. The Catwoman Fanciers Society of Funsville is having its annual celebration of Julie Newmar’s birthday, and it’s always best to get there early…especially this year. You see, Milady Madeira M’Dear has promised that she and Miss Moose would take part in the occasion’s obligatory cosplay.

     For something like this, I want to be sure I’m in—you should pardon the expression—the catbird seat.

Uncle Fun    

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Battle of the Boing, Part 5

     If you remember (and isn’t memory a wonderful thing?), I’ve been telling you the story of Sparky’s long-running feud with Gerald McBoing Boing, the cartoon boy who speaks only in sound effects. I left off with Gerald putting his noisy little finger on Sparky in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee. Sparky’s was just one of a long list of names that Gerald rattled off during his testimony. To make an already bad situation worse, young McBoing Boing’s vocal peculiarities meant that a lot of what he said got lost in translation.

 

 

     This led to a number of unfortunate cases of mistaken identity, such as the one that nearly destroyed a career when Gerald informed on the noted film composer Elmer Bernstein.

 

 

     Sparky largely escaped the worst of this smear campaign’s ill effects, mostly because he didn’t depend on performing to earn his livelihood. In any case, it was hard for anyone who knew Sparky to see him as a hard-core Communist. His dedication to the solidarity of the working masses was always more philosophical than practical…as his fellow members of the Allied Cartoon Characters Guild learned time and again, at the cost of their residual cheques.

 

 

     Others named as left-leaners by Gerald McBoing Boing found themselves shut out of film and television altogether. One of Sparky’s occasional poker-playing pals had been slated for a recurring role on The Flintstones as Fred’s sister, but had to take work in a comic strip instead.

 

     The less politically-charged environment of the funny papers proved a haven for many of those blacklisted due to Gerald McBoing Boing's HUAC testimony. Some of them took full advantage of their new lease on life—for example, this young school chum of Gerald’s who found himself implicated in the Alger Hiss affair.

 

 

     In the long run, the accuser suffered just as much as the accused, if not more so. After causing many of his closest friends, acquaintances, and entertainment industry connections to be ostracized, Gerald McBoing Boing also found himself on the outside looking in. When help finally came for him, it was from a most unlikely source…but I’ll fill you in on the details next time. Right now, I have to finish getting ready for the Funsville Rod and Reel Club’s Izaak Walton Memorial Fishtravaganza and Salmon Derby. This year's grand prize goes to whoever catches the most steelhead in a bowler hat, so I have to re-waterproof my favourite lucky Stan Laurel autographed trolling model, size 7 5/8.

Uncle Fun    

 

 

 

 

The Battle of the Boing, Part 4

     If you don’t know what this strange title refers to, you haven’t been following the story that’s been appearing in this space for the past three weeks. You can bring yourself up to speed one of two ways: by clicking on the links and reading Chapters 1, 2, and 3, or by saving the strain on your mouse and your eyes and skimming the quick summary I’m about to give you.

     Long ago, my protégé Sparky found himself embroiled in controversy because of a long-running feud between himself and another cartoon boy. Gerald McBoing Boing, hitherto famous for speaking only in sound effects, made quite a different set of noises to the House Un-American Activities Committee.

 

     Sparky’s name headed the list of alleged Communist sympathizers Gerald handed over to HUAC, in exchange for immunity from prosecution on repeated violations of the Mann Act. Though never officially confirmed, the identity of Gerald’s female correspondent has long been an open secret.

 

     It should have come as no surprise to anyone that Sparky was a fellow traveller. His association with leftist causes dated back to 1920, when he appeared in Debs for Debs, a Socialist Party-sponsored short subject linking Eugene V. Debs’ bid for the presidency with the Nineteenth Amendment.

 

     M’Dear and Miss Moose never mixed entertainment and politics again. (Side note from us: politics are entertaining enough without anybody’s help. –M’Dear and Moose) Sparky, on the other hand, remained active and committed. (Another side note: “committed” is what I’ve always said he should be. –Moose) During the Great Depression, he appeared on screen in support of Socialist candidate Norman Thomas’ presidential campaigns.

 

 

      Sparky’s obscurity, his love of getting in trouble, and his overall recalcitrance mitigated the damage that revelations about his anti-establishment politics might have caused. Others in his field were not so lucky…but more on that in the next chapter. The Funsville Conservatory of Musical Improvisation and Other Contact Sports is, as usual, running behind in the last-minute preparations for its combined Herb Ellis/Maurice “Rocket” Richard birthday celebrations, which are coming up this Sunday. Wrapping 10,000 left-handed hockey sticks with flat-wound jazz guitar strings for the noonday parade and jam session would have been more than enough work for everybody, but it’s nothing compared to wrapping 10,000 arch-top jazz guitars with hockey stick tape for the evening’s charity shinney tournament and free-for-all.

Uncle Fun

 

And then the chef came out with a meat cleaver when we mentioned the dirty fork…

     Usually, I leave this space to Uncle Fun, Sparky, and their friends, but every now and then something happens that seems to belong more in their world than in anything resembling reality:

     Yesterday my wife, our baby daughter Ruby and I went out for Chinese food at lunchtime. At the table next to us, the owner of the restaurant and a clown (in full costume and makeup—red nose, big shoes—the whole bit) were making balloon animals and comparing their philosophies on life. As our food arrived, a man from the health department showed up for a surprise inspection. The clown got his lunch for free because it was his birthday, but tipped the waitress two balloon dinosaurs for her trouble.

     My life has officially become a Monty Python sketch. I wonder if I can get Terry Gilliam to dust off his paper cutouts and animate a link to the next bit of it.