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A Funk-y State of Mind (or why a guy in his eighties can still kick my ass)

Gloomy Inks


So. In 24 hrs I met two people who have claimed to met Eddie Funk. I have not, and after writing this title, I think it might be a good idea if I don't.

I was out drinking, not my usual these days (I also ended up playing guitar, so I would assume that I was at least two sheets to the wind) and I get to talking. I'm chatty anyways, and this lady comes after I'm done making a jackass of myself with six strings. We get to talking, her, my lady and myself.

"I know Eddie Funk," Says she, "His shop was filthy!"

Well OK...

I did not go into urination as form of replenishing ink. But I did have vodka and pineapple juice. Quite a few. More than a few.

This week has been a bunch of firsts, including meeting my ladies Mom and her Mom's guy. And yes, it was the next day, so I feeling and looking just like one might think. A bag of ass with a face. Oh no, no nerves or anything. I'd much rather have to tattoo ______________________ (insert intimidating name here).

I sit down, and we all talked for a bit. "I'm from Philly," The guy tells me.

"Do ya know Crazy Eddie?" I ask, and I was still hung over from the night before, so this is just as flippant as it reads.

"Oh yeah," He says, "I know Eddie. You can't live there and not know Eddie."

I'm pro Eddie Funk. I would suggest the highest office for the man.

Crazy Eddie - Bowery Stan 2016



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