Eustace promises, Eustace delivers, my babies.

Eustace Lufgren Welcomes You to Funkytown

Prepare your stonied eyes to imbibe the dazzling rays of pure funkadelic light, my babies, and may your thunder be struck and your flabbers be most unreservedly gasted.   Bearing refreshment and backbeats like a frozen rain of the smooth retsina, Eustace "Funky J" Lufgren flutters back into your collective consciousness to disperse his sleek and soulful strains with the most benevolent funkitude.

Despite the shaken faith of so many of you, mah chilluns, in the deepest recesses of your hearts, in the Funkiest of Funkies, you knew this day would come.  Did you perilously pontificate that the Grand Groovemaster had abdicated his throne and abandoned his promised 2007 release date?  Hearken not, my precious ones, to such twaddle.  Let your aching hearts be sumptuously satisfied with yet another temptuous, tantalizing morsel of classic Eustace:

Naught But An Skelington

Tell me the story of the doghouse alight
Speak of the glory and whisper tonight
That the flames won't engulf the seven seas
That you'll never let the truth come back to me

Sell off the interest of your sheeply nacht-mares
Catch your last breath and fade down the stairs
There's naught but an skelington in the hemlock tonight
Yes, he say, naught but an skelington tonight
Uhhuh, he say, naught but an skelington tonight

Spread out the news that you've hooked me into
Publish the omens resounding anew
And the bogtrees won't shed another tear
For the life that they would soon let disappear

Sell off the interest of your sheeply nacht-mares
Catch your last breath and fade down the stairs
There's naught but an skelington in the hemlock tonight
Yes, he say, naught but an skelington tonight
Oh baby, he say, naught but an skelington tonight

And when you've bagged your packs this one last time
Say a quick prayer for the rest of mine
And raise up your glass to toast the next end of time

And once more, make no small amount of haste as you delve into the unctuous intellectual confines of my partner in funky crime at:

The Centre For Neufeldian Jabberwocky

O Rapturous Delight!  Prithee, from whence shalt thou sally forth amongst the lillies to vituperate the adversary?

Yes, Dearest Funky Chilluns, it is I.  Be still your quavering hearts, for The Grand Vizier del Santa Funkaria and Lord Protector of Groovytown has graciously ascended once again to rule and reign his noble subjects with Liberty and Jive for all.  My benevolent funkisma shall absolve you of all manner of unfunkitude, and the His Funky Highness shall commence to lay down the glorious grooves with extreme and supreme prejudice, and unshackle the heavy-burdened from their exceeding weight of the lusciously loathesome Jive Turks.  Ooh-wee babies, you set my soul on fire.

To massage your marvelling minds with wave after wave of funktastic literary pleasure, I present the lyrics to a recent composition that shall find its way onto Eustace Lufgren Welcomes You To Funkytown, due to be released Fall 2007:

And as always, funky chilluns, please peruse the unscrupulous smatterings lambasted with World Wide Wizardry by my funkatronic friend and colleague at:

The Centre For Neufeldian Jabberwocky

Currently Playing Fish out of Water By Chris Squire see related

Dearest Fellow Aficionados and Connoisseurs of the Finest Fresh First-Rate Funk Your Precious Dinars Can Buy:

Thus with a renewed spirit of altruistic alliteration, my bombastic superfluity of funk shall recrudesce in this Hallowed Haven of Highly Honed Hoopla.  My cup of groovishness runneth over, my babies, indeed.  Yes, my aspiring future residents of my now-and-forever abode of Funkytown, your inimitable "Funky J" desires to see you made perfect in all manners of the Funk.  Verily, as the limpid strains of "Gorgonzola" reverberate amidst the wide and fruitful landscape of this Our Land of America, I stand undaunted against the rising tide of Communist AntiFunk...your Eustace, the Unflinching Champion of the Funk, Intrepid Vanquisher of the Disease of AntiFunk, will never yield one syncopated note, my funky chilluns.  May we dwell in peace and freedom from fear within the hallowed walls of Funkytown forever.

And as always, feel the funky grooves in the air, and saturate yourself with the political jive-jabberings of my closest associate at:

The Centre For Neufeldian Jabberwocky

O, my dearly beloved victims of funk deprivation...how long have I so egregiously neglected your wanton cries of yearning as your futile quest to recklessly seek the hallowed streets of Funkytown manifests itself as a catastrophic failure to the uttermost?

Yes, your delightful Vendor of the Groove returns to bless your Jive Turkey selves with consipicuous smatterings of the most groovalicious, Grade-A, unscrupulously profligate FUNK.

But be a deer (yes, the hooved variety, my funky chilluns) and visit my good amigo, the Vice-Chancellor of Funkytown himself, over at:

The Centre For Neufeldian Jabberwocky