I’m
Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, it’s been
one heck of a couple weeks around the Kumbalek neck of woods, where every day
seems to be Halloween, I kid you not.
Anyways,
I got to tell you’s that I’ve run clean out of time to pony up a big-time essay
this week, one that I’m sure would’ve been graciously particulate about how the
world would be 10-times a better place if there were fewer focking idiots
inhabiting said world. (See: Republican candidatial slate for elective office.)
Had
an encouraging chat with my campaign manager Little Jimmy Iodine the other day.
Here’s a little excerpt:
“I
tell you Artie, if Hillary gets elected it’ll actually be a nice treat for you
instead of that Trump prick. With Big Bill as her First-what-the-fock, you can
use all the old Clinton jokes again and not have to think up anything new,
ain’a? And don’t forget to use my favorite one.”
“Which
one’s that, Jimmy?”
“OK,
what’s the first thing Bill says to Hillary after sex?”
“Jeez
Jimmy, I forget.”
“‘I’ll
be home in twenty minutes.’ Ba-ding!”
And
speaking of Halloween, reflection is my game today, remembrance of All Hallow’s
Day past. Like the time just the other year when my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine
was down with some kind of flu that had been making the rounds. Remember?
So
I had to go over by his place and help him prepare the healthily free-farm
green rain-barrel drenched treats he planned to offer the little
trick-or-treater beggars come by to ring his bell with their costumes—mashed
potatoes with organic gravy, and scrambled eggs with the diced holistic raw
onion stuck in it. I was able to help Jimmy ’cause the kids don’t come by me
for the Halloween ever since I put out the cubed head cheese and pickled
chicken hearts for them the other year, god bless; they keep their distance
from my door now.
Yeah
yeah, Jimmy kept feeling worse and worse so I stuck around to pass out the
goods to the little costumed ding-dongers. There was this one kid come by made
up like the movie Rocky, with the
boxing gloves and satin shorts. Kid even had colored in a black eye; at least,
I think he colored it in. So I scoop a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his
bag, and wouldn’t you know, short time later he’s back at the door. I said, “What
the fock, weren’t you the same Rocky who was just here?” Kid says, “You bet,
but now I’m Rocky II plus I'll be
back three more times tonight, and if you don’t pony up something better than
goddamn mashed potatoes, I’m going to kick your ass around the block and back,
mister.”
Tough
kids, these days.
Then
there was this other little guy come by the door who had one of those
what-you-call speech predicaments. So I answer the door and he says, “Bick or
beet.” So I says, “And what are you supposed to be for Halloween?” He says, “A
birate.” I says, “Isn’t that sweet. A ‘birate.’ And where are your buccaneers?”
And this kid says, “On the side of my buckin’ head, asshole.”
So,
I got to run, to somewheres. But I ought to leave you with a little story
appropriate to this festive time of year. You may have heard it before but now
you’ll hear it again, so what the fock—and given the ways of the world for
crying out loud, this could be the last time from me. You never know. So read
up, all you people:
So this guy’s driving home late one night
and starts feeling a little frisky. He’s passing by a pumpkin patch and thinks,
“You know, the interior of a pumpkin is not altogether unlike a certain part of
the female anatomy—in a sensual sense, that is. And what the fock, there’s no
one around for miles.” So he slams on the brakes, jumps the fence, picks the
juiciest-looking pumpkin he sees, carves an anatomically correct aperture,
drops his drawers and commences to slake his burning desires. Reaching the
heights of passion, he fails to notice the police car pulling over to the side
of the road.
Cop
walks over, shines a flashlight on the guy and says, “Hey buddy, did you know
you were porking a pumpkin?”
The guy looks at the cop, then down at the pumpkin
between his hands and says, “Good lord, officer! Is it midnight already!?!”
Ba-ding!
’cause I’m Art Kumbalek you betcha, and I told you so.
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