Mark Wahlberg strides into the Funkodrome, sporting his original 1991 Calvin Klein Jeans slung suggestively beneath the elastic band of a pair of boxers. The chiseled crevice between his beefy pecs guide the eye up towards his head, where a baseball cap is perched, mischievously askew.
Scottie Gee, Duffle, Ashey Ace, DJ-T and Hector the Bootie Inspector sink deeper into their 5-man Luv Sac, avoiding eye contact.
Hey guys! Guess who heard about the reunion tour!
After an intense whispering match, Ashey Ace is elected to break the news to Marky, and he solemnly stands.
What’s going on? Come on guys; let’s load up the van and get going! I canceled everything for the next two months!
Listen, Marky, about the tour…
Sensing something is wrong, Mark lets the basketball jersey draped over his shoulder slip to the floor.
You can’t be serious.
Look, we all talked it over, and…
Come on guys! It’s me! Marky!
He busts out a flashy ankle-driven body spin. The silence in the room is deafening.
We just think The Bunch is going in a different direction.
Hector the Bootie Inspector is overcome by inner shame.
It’s nothing personal.
Nothing personal? Nothing personal?! How can it not be personal after all we’ve been through? Recording the soundtrack for Surf Ninjas?! "You Gotta Believe" going gold?! Our video game for the Sega CD?!
DJ-T, always the sage of the group, tries to diffuse the situation.
Good times all, my friend. But was is it not written in the Bible, gam zeh ya'avor: “This too shall pass?”
Shut the fuck up, T, or I’ll shove that pipe up your limey ass!
Scottie Gee can contain his rage no longer.
See? This is what I was talking about! He’s changed, man! He was in a Scorsese movie and now he thinks he’s too good for the Funkies!
Yo yo, I got no idea what youse is talkin’ abouts.
See? He’s using the accent right now!
Marky lunges at Scottie, and they beat one another savagely.
With a mighty heave, Marky Mark projects Scottie out an open window, and he plummets the entire height of the 30-story Funkodrome, to be dashed upon the craggy shores of Taveuni Island, Fiji.
Within instants, DJ-T is at his side, staring fixedly at the small patch of crimson spreading in the frothy waters below.
Dear god…what have I done?
It’s okay. I’m pretty sure no one knows all of the members of The Funky Bunch anyway. Hell, I had to Wikipedia us just to remember all the names to write on the tax forms.
Hector Inspects a Booty. Exuent.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael watches Three Kings on DVD as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!