The Flying Funk

As we drove along the country road between the outskirts of somewhere and the nether reaches of nowhere, the radio played a country song (on the only station I was able to get at that moment) in which the lyrics, “If I didn't have bad luck I'd have no luck at all,” caused me to laugh out loud and grab Miranda’s delicate forearm.

“Ha ha, isn't it the truth!” I said, “I know all about bad luck!”

Miranda tried searching for another station but was unsuccessful.

“Everyone has bad luck,” she chided, “it's not just you.”

“Well, I've had my share,” I replied.  The afternoon sun glared with country intensity as we approached a small hamlet.  As we passed a few storefronts, our attention was gathered in by a sign in the window: Antiques.  We eyed each other and there was no need to utter a word – – we both wanted to check it out and so we did.

Oh there were a plethora of items that you would expect and we both browsed with relish. Between a row of cobalt blue vases and an antique coffee grinder, I noticed what looked like a Frisbee, but it was hardly a Frisbee.  In small white letters curved on the top I read, The Flying Funk.  I immediately picked it up and held it against my side, as if I expected Genie-thieves to come wafting out of one of the vases and hold me up.  I was a buyer bewaring--I knew this was something I had to have.  It got even better when I inspected the underside and read the following:

I am a simple Flying Funk, toss me around for better luck.
  Your good luck will indeed prevail when you toss me and watch me sail.
  Yet if you overdo the deed you’ll trip yourself in fortune’s greed.
  So toss me some along the way for your good luck just once a day.

“What do you think, Miranda?” I asked as we both sidled into the car.

“It’s cute, it’s interesting,” Miranda offered, checking her appearance on the flipped down sun visor.  “Yet I wouldn’t take that philosophical mumbo jumbo seriously.  Toss me for good luck, indeed!”

“O where is your spirit of adventure, my sweet!” 

“I guess I don’t give in to a Flying Funk,” she lowed.  “By the way, what are all these indentions on top?  They seem to have glass lenses.”

__________________________________

Turns out all the little indentations were holes for lights, lights of all colors that lit up when I threw The Flying Funk.  Not only that, but it sang, too.  And, would you believe it?  It sang, “If I didn’t have bad luck I’ve have no luck at all,” when I gave it a toss in the back yard and watched it sail pass the swing, over the tomato plants to then skip off the aluminum gate and land in the neighbor‘s yard.  It looked and sounded like some kind of a mini UFO commissioned by the Grand Ole Opry, and I stood there wondering if I was still sane.

I just posed there, quietly, collecting my thoughts, wondering what good fortune might come my way.  O, but I thought of Miranda’s skepticism, too, and I must confess to having shared it.  But I ask you--how could I have resisted a Flying Funk!

It was just about that time in my mental meandering that a flock of geese flew over in typical V-formation, as they are want to do.  I looked up to admire them.  Just then--splat!  One darling goose fancied himself a bombardier of sorts, dropping his ordinance smartly on the sidewalk just inches from my shoe.  O it was a near miss!  I could have had a face full, I thought, aghast.  But wait a minute, it did miss me, did it not?  Lucky me!  I felt a chill run down my spine and looked to The Flying Funk lying with dignity in the neighbor’s grass.  Son-of-a-bitch! I thought...good luck indeed!

I was proud, like I held a winning lotto ticket.  I strolled with a prideful grin on my face into my neighbor’s yard to retrieve my Funk, when, to my surprise, my neighbor bopped out of his house and approached me. (I thought he had been at work.) 

We had a pleasantly cordial conversation, joked and laughed and even allocated a few minutes to serious matters beyond the confines of our immediate universe.  Of course, my newly acquired Opry singin’, UFO luck bringin’, flyin’ Frisbee look-a-like dominated our vis-a-vis.  Yet I was indeed taken aback when he said he wouldn‘t mind taking it off my hands.

Succinctness having always been a trademark of mine, I simply responded:

“I don’t give A Flying Funk.”


792 Words
Writer’s Cramp
April 10, 2014