funked

A new study shows.

“Going to the store is a better way to observe a species while we shop,” responded one Gandorlaffian.

“Online shopping means I cannot rub my tongues on a product to ensure its quality!” responded a Vlabby.

Heading into GA.12.18B429 (Earth Year 2017) here are the hottest items sought after in the galaxy:

   •    Orifice Plunge 5L12 (Medical probing and fluid extraction kit): Hard to find or purchase without a Hypamium Medical License, it’s what all the secret observers of humankind are looking for to get their sampler trays.

   •    My Pillow Hyperspace Version 2.7: Ever come out of hyperspace only to find that 3 weeks of sleeping in a stasis chamber has given you a crimp in your tentacle? This pillow is literally lightyears ahead of the competition.

   •    Pentulashian Gold Jewelry: In fashions for all 13 known genders, it’s made of precious metals mined from the very asteroids we protect and threaten all Terran life with. What’s super hot are orifice “grills” custom-made for any species (even the Mush-Face Po-Pos on Elo 3). And who knows, your new earrings could be from Earths next massive extinction event.

   •    Greytech Conglomerate Pocket Folder: Tired of having to wait for your ship computer to calculate space folds? GC’s Pocket Folder can calculate a space fold most near-galaxy time-space continuum disturbance models in under 14 vectons. That’s three times as fast as a standard bridge computer. And far more convenient that some spiced-up guild navigator babbling all that crazy math at you.

   •    Tor’Chal Mithuduuk’s Guide to Human Emotions: Legendary Earth explorer Tor’Chal spent over 13,000 standard years on “the wet mess” of Earth. Charting out their most intricate chemical responses that they call “emotions,” TCM can explain why humans go to war over nothing and yet lose their minds over a feline that manipulates oddly designed eyebrows. Why some commercials make them cry and others make them argue until they have no family who will go to dinner with them. This book will help you blend in smoother, access more information without arousing suspicion AND allow you to exert control with rhetoric or recently born canines.

:: Rod Weston

SHOP ZONT APPAREL @ FUNKED.COM!

There’s so much going on every holiday season that I find hunting for the right Christmas tree to be a chore. Real or re-useable? Height? Color? Smell? There’s too much to choose from in a season filled with stress, so this year I made a bold choice by hanging tinsel on Godzilla instead of a fir. Here’s why I couldn’t be happier with my decision:

1.  Low maintenance. This is a creature that lives off nuclear radiation, which it happily stocked up on before the holiday season, so no need to fertilize or worry about the kids getting eaten. And when it was feeling parched, it didn’t let lights catch its scaly hide on fire and burn my home down, it just waddled to the kitchen to grab what it needed.

2.  Package protection. It seemed relatively quiet, but Godzilla has a black belt in judo and 0 problems whooping anyone trying to burgle my loved ones’ gifts. For serious offenders, its Atomic Breath radioactive heat ray was on deck to teach a lesson. Or for my curious kids, I asked for alerts so Godzilla gave a holler when someone snooped.

3.  Self care. I’d heard that Godzilla had a real eye for detail, which benefited me any time an ornament was out of place or our cat Mr. Diddlebaum knocked one askew. Mr. Diddlebaum thought it was business as usual for his yearly "hide-and-go-seek" in the tree, but not with Godzilla around. One roar and Mr. Diddlebaum was Mr. See-ya-in-the-Spring.

4.  Energy efficiency. Nuclear energy is clean and low-cost, which fits perfectly with my work to use renewable resources. Godzilla was able to help keep the Christmas lights glowing in the most practical way, and bonus: no need to worry about a timer.

5.  Easy clean up. No needles to step on or try to vacuum for months. No water spilled around the base. No trying to stuff it back in a box or dragging it to the curb. MY family just gave Godzilla a high five and wished it on its merry way.

by nicki wright

SHOP MOBS APPAREL @ FUNKED.COM!

By John Smith

Of course, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably already guessed my name is not John Smith. Sorry, your languages don’t make the proper sounds or equations to pronounce my real name, so I go by John.

But just because I have a bland human alias as I live among you does not mean I live among your highest and most secretive orders that are running the global cabals, conspiracies and societies. For many years, alien theorists have just assumed that our goal as interplanetary visitors is to take over the world by infiltrating politics, intelligence agencies and multi-national business. Oh, and as part of some secret boys club with cool handshakes and ancient passwords.

Um, sorry to disappoint. That’s actually the last thing we want. If taking over your planet would involve a clandestine meeting in a secret lodge with a bunch of animal heads on the wall, I’m portalling back to my homeworld right now. Some of us have dabbled in your secret orders over the millennia, but only as part of our main goal: observation with little interference. Because let me tell you, I’ve learned more about humans from Marge Nyquist’s mustard cocktail wienies just ROCKING the potluck table at the PTA meeting than I ever have from sharing a scotch and an international currency tip with a Bilderberger. Illuminadi? More like Illumi-not-gonna-do-it. I’m going bowling instead. Plumbers vs. accountants. And I’m not telling you which team I’m slamming pitchers with when I roll.

Besides, if we really wanted to take over the world, we’d do it the old-fashioned way. With ships, lasers, mind control and large volume anal probing clinics (Proctologists Without Planets, baby!). But we’ve grown up from that. It’s time you humans did too. Next time you want to spout off about Reptilians controlling the White House and oil prices, think instead about the Reptilian who is coaching your kid’s soccer team. Or listening to your open mic poetry about pain no one understands. Or at your comic book club arguing why Frank Miller might be just a teensy bit overrated. We’re watching the real humans. And deciding if you’d be worth saving when one of those nefarious clubs finally get their poop in a group and actually threaten humanity.

SHOP ZONT APPAREL @ FUNKED.COM!

- Joseph Parsler

I’ve been Undead (we prefer the term Post-Lifers) for 132 years now. I was bitten by Apache zombie back in 1884, and at first I was pretty freaking depressed about it. Because there are lot of drawbacks to being a zombie that other Post-Lifers don’t have (see: Vampires). You smell bad most of the time. It’s hard to find good clothes to go over your more exposed organs (and you really learn to appreciate duct tape and silicone caulk). I even had wasps make a nest in my neck one time. But those are some of the actual drawbacks. All the rest is discrimination and propaganda.

For instance, the living think we are mindless, flesh eating, slow-moving drones looking for soft human brains to eat. Not true. Most of us love a good read and if our vocal chords haven’t rotted away, we can hold a pretty good conversation. I don’t even eat brains. Granted, I like my meals raw and bloody, but that’s what roadkill is for. 

Because we zombies are so blatantly stereotyped, people are always looking for a cure. Though it’s true when I first turned, I looked for one hard. Everything from witch doctors to exorcism to potions and up to gene therapy. Enough!  The living are always trying to cure us. 

But after over a century, I can honestly say I’m proud to be a zombie. I’m prefer my Post-Lifer existence. I can binge on books, movies and shows without the living worry of wasting my time. I don’t need a job. I need a house either, which is fine by me because I’ve always been the outdoorsy type. A car? Why do I have to get anywhere fast? I have all the time in the world! 

Talking to other proud zombies, vampires, ghouls, liches, poltergeists, etc., we are all saying the same thing. Stop with the curing! I don’t care what causes zombification or vampirism. The living can keep their stem cell cures, antivirals, formulas, topical ointments and all that stuff and put it in a hazmat waste unit. We do not want.

Post-Lifing is not a disease. It’s not a choice. It’s a way of life. It’s like those weird politicians and theologians who think that homosexuality is a sickness that can be cured. Well, buddy, you can’t cure what you are. And you shouldn’t try. You are what you are and you shouldn’t be ashamed or hide under a pile of leaves. I’ve made peace with my Post-Lifing and I plan to carry on with pride. 

Over the years we’ve seen films about a future robot uprising, but that’s an impossible scenario. “How can you be so sure,” you ask? Let me tell you: Santa Claus has our backs.

Jolly Saint Nick is more than rosy cheeks and a bushy beard; he’s a leader and a tough cookie. He built a home in one of the most severe climates on the planet, so he’s strong. He creeps in and out of homes undetected, so he’s stealthy. He brings gifts to children all over the world, so he’s giving. That’s all great, but here’s why he could definitely whoop a Terminator if it ever became a threat:

Santa has a workshop that can make anything. Anything! Like armor, tanks, or a re-wired, leather-clad, human-loving robot that doesn’t take sass from other, rude, people-slaughtering robots. The IT department is great as well so a virus to stop a computer from becoming self-aware wouldn’t be out of the question. Really any need to de-escalate a mechanized threat is possible in the workshop.

Santa has his helpers. Elves are as tenacious as they are tiny, and thousands of them are ready to help their fearless leader do anything he needs to bring a smile to the faces of children. Have you ever seen a nature show where a swarm of smaller beings overwhelm a larger predator by volume and ferocity? That’s precisely how the elves would run through a mob of sentient robots. And on the other side of the sleigh are magical flying reindeer! No one knows how hard a magic reindeer can kick, because anyone who’s had the experience didn’t live to talk about it. Those animals mean business.

Santa has a bevy of toys in a bottomless sack carried around in an open sleigh. If anyone thinks he’s not fully able to fight off the meanest of attackers, get real. All those shiny objects have garnered unwanted attention in the streets and Santa wouldn’t have survived if he didn’t know how to throw down when necessary. But that bottomless sack is where the real power comes in – over the years technology and personal security measures have been upgraded extensively, so obviously St. Nick’s have too. Guns aren’t his style – but a firetruck with hose could effortlessly fit in there, used to short out the Terminator’s circuitry with panache. Also easily stored in the sack? That human-loving robot! (You may be asking, “why would that nice robot ride shotgun in the sleigh,” but Santa has a penchant for subtlety so he makes a cozy home for his companion in that sack and if he’s called upon, the robot is at the ready to mow down any threats.)

Old Saint Nicholas is kind, generous, and ferocious, and as long as he’s out there, we can all sleep easy.