Futter suffers from acute boogiemania

Rare footage of Futter’s ailment, as captured on surveillance equipment.

Mike Garcia
Co-Editor In Chief

He has a glide in his stride and a dip in his hip. And he’s not happy about it.

Catherine Wheel guitarist Brian Futter was visibly shaken Tuesday morning when doctors diagnosed him with acute boogiemania, also commonly known as Da Funk. It is believed that Futter contracted the disease when he inadvertently played a groove-infected compact disc.

“My CD of the Scorpions’ Love at First Sting had become really scratchy,” Futter explained, “so I ordered another copy from Columbia House. A week or so later, the parcel arrived in good condition, but apparently the wrong CD had been put inside the case.

“I was so excited about listening to ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’ without any skips that I failed to notice the mistake in time.”

Futter, who had the volume of his CD player turned to near maximum, inserted the CD and suddenly found himself the victim of a blaring “Tear the Roof Off the Sucker (Give Up the Funk),” one of the hit singles from Parliament’s 1976 record, Mothership Connection.

“I tried to turn it down, but my body didn’t seem to be cooperating,” Futter said. “My arms commenced to move in angular motions, and I developed some sort of spasmodic activity in my gluteus maximus. I found it quite difficult to aim the remote control.”

According to studies, spasmodic rearward motion is one of the initial symptoms of acute boogiemania.

“It’s rare, but not unheard of, to get ‘Funk in Da Trunk’ on your first listen,” said specialist William “Bootsy” Collins, whom Futter first contacted for help. “But it’s my opinion that the high volume is what so seriously funkatized Brian’s groove thang. Simply put, Brian was standing directly in the center of a bop zone of a two-block radius. That’s heavy exposure, baybeeeee!”

It was during Collins’s initial exam that Futter learned his booty had been permanently loosened.

“I’ve been plagued with chronic episodes ever since,” Futter agonized in a recent interview. “It’s at the point now where I’m terrified to be seen in public. How can my wife and I, for instance, go enjoy a nice lobster dinner, when at any moment I could stand up and start getting totally freaky?”

Futter’s wife was less pessimistic about the situation.

“I’ve been telling Brian that he needs to loosen up for a long time,” she said. “Always moping around, dressed in black. It took an outbreak for him to finally buy those white flare-pants and silk shirt I’ve been wanting him to try out. They look good on him, I must say.”

Futter smiled slightly and nodded in agreement with this. “Yes, perhaps I’ve been a bit conservative in that respect. Sometimes, to be honest, I can be an uptight cat. Maybe I should just free my mind once in awhile.”

Mrs. Futter added, “We were told by Mr. Collins that if Brian were to free his mind, his rear end would adjust itself accordingly.”

“I am decidedly unfunky,” Futter said, twitching slightly. “Perhaps occasionally I should break down and do that stuff—er, you know, that thang… shake my groove thang… oh, my word… shake what the good Lord gave me so—”

At this point, Futter’s speech broke off, and he arose from his chair slowly, while pointing in his wife’s direction with outstretched arms.

“He’s having an episode,” she whispered. “Watch: this is marvelous.”

While tapping one foot on the floor to an imaginary beat, Futter aimed both pointing fingers upward, then straight downward. He then shifted his pelvic area abruptly to the left while turning his head sharply in the same direction, then spread his legs apart until he was doing splits on the floor.

Futter leapt up directly from the splits, nearly three feet into the air. Upon landing, he began to dance, again to an inaudible beat. His dance was roughly equivalent to jogging in place while rowing—somewhat gangly, yet skillful. These gyrations continued for some time, until Futter held up his right hand toward his audience, as if signaling “stop.” Futter then initiated a “moon walk,” still holding up his right hand, and shaking his head as if to say “no,” repeatedly. It was unclear to whom he was directing his cautionary remark.

Futter then centered himself directly in front of the group, clapped his hands, and let out a loud scream.

“Thumpasaurus Peoples!” he shouted. “You have summoned me through the Groove, and I am here with the Mothership to funkatize the planet! I have a Bop Gun, and I am armed and dangerous!” Futter reintroduced his double pointing fingers, as well as a dance not entirely dissimilar to an energetic hula. However, despite his warning, no “Bop Gun” ever came into view.

The dance ended abruptly. Futter exhaled and turned very red in the face.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, and sat down rather sullenly in a nearby easy chair. As if to signal the end of the interview, Futter immediately began watching a rerun of Becker on the family television.

His wife, however, clapped quite heartily for some time after the outbreak had concluded.

“He may not like it,” she said, “but he’ll come out of his shell eventually. Personally, I think it’s remarkable. It’s not a disorder, in my opinion—it’s a gift. And I am fully prepared to give up our ordinary life for Da Funk.

“To the rear, march.”

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