Mm-hm, it's on now! You've entered another dimension, an astral plane where pigs lead their 12-piece bands as you browse the menu and select the cuts of your galactic choice, dig?
The captain of this mothership—let's call him Porksy Collins—is breakin it down.
He is the spiritual brother of the Holy Funkin Emperor, Bootsy Collins, after all. Don't believe me? Check it out:
The hat, the shades, the stars. The divine style. This is barbecue of Bootsy proportions!
Of course, when you get right down to it, this is just another attempt to create a Utopia where the animals provide the accompaniment to their own death. Porksy hardly bears his lot in life with stoic grace, head down, shoulders up around his ears. Hell no! He funks with his lot in life, chin up, gold tooth gleaming!
And doesn't that make it all better? This goes beyond the animals granting you their permission. Man, the pig has already gone! He's on the motherfunkin mothership headed for Planet Funk! The flames that soon will cook him have become his funkin symbol, for p-funk's sake! They're on his jewelry. He uses them to see! Laugh at death? He gets down with death! "Free your mind and your ass will follow!"
So eat up! The pigs won't mind. The pigs just chuckle at the triflin nonsense y'all get up to. Tear off a hunk and they'll just shake their ass out beyond the stars!
(Bootsy Collins photo from www.tascam.com)