Since I don’t have any guns, I figured my day was
clear. The focking voices then told me to head over by my favorite open-daily
23-hours and 59-minutes restaurant for a relaxing breakfast ala caffeine du
jour, seeing as how it’s a tad early for a nice cocktail over by the Uptowner
tavern cum charm school. Come along if you want but you leave the tip. Let’s
get going.
Bea: Hey there, Artie, nice to see you. What’s your
pleasure?
Art: How ’bout a nice cup of the blackest, thickest and
cheapest cup of whatever you’re calling plain-old American coffee today. Coffee
with a gravitational force of its own, thank you kindly.
Bea: One cup of “Black Hole” coming right up, Artie. So
what do you hear, what do you know.
Art: I hear there’s a lot of dough in the private prison
racket these days. They could make a movie—Field
of Cons. A guy clears his backyard, puts up Century fence all ’round it,
gets a Doberman and all of a sudden Al Capone comes waltzing out the unattached
garage and says to the guy, “Build a prison and they will come, capisce?”
Bea: Lordy, I almost forgot. Here. I got you a card—for
Earth Day. It’s belated, ’cause I haven’t seen you for a while.
Art: Jeez louise, since when are you supposed to
exchange cards for Earth Day? I tell you, Bea, the greeting card industry has got
to be stopped before it’s too late. What’s their industry slogan
again—“Deforestation is just another way of saying ‘Thinking of You’”?
Bea: I’m told not one single twig went into the making
of this card and envelope, Artie. It’s composed of some kind of all-natural
multi-purpose recyclable high-tech product. They also make a brand of walking
shoes from the same material.
Art: Oh yeah, I bought a pair of those babies once.
Walking home from the store was a religious experience. Ashes to ashes, dust to
dust. They recycled themselves back to Mother Earth before I even got halfway
home.
Bea: You do believe in the value of recycling, don’t you
Artie?
Art: Are you kidding, Bea? Cripes, as a would-be
essayist, that’s the bread and butter of my beeswax. So who exactly told you
this card is made of some all-natural high-tech schmutz?
Bea: The people at the Earth Day convention I went to
the other week.
Art: I went to one of those once years ago. Some of
those people need to do more research for their literature, like this pamphlet
I got called “Facts You Should Know About Wildlife.” It had this fact
and that fact, but they forgot the most important fact.
Bea: Which fact is that, Artie?
Art: “Best served at 350-400 degrees for 45 minutes to
an hour or until tender.” No Bea, I can’t celebrate any Earth Day until it
becomes an official bona fide holiday, one where you get a paid day off from
work so’s you can go visit relatives and drink their beer all day.
Bea: Aren’t you going to open the card, Artie?
Art: Abso-focking-lutely, Bea. Let’s see here… Good
lord! Look at this cover.
Bea: It’s a bonobo chimpanzee.
Art: And is this chimp doing what I think he’s doing to
the guy wearing the lab coat around his ankles and bent over the examining
table?
Bea: Seems to be, Artie.
Art: Serves him right. Monkeys and chimps aren’t meant
to be stuck full of electrodes and needles in a laboratory somewheres. They’re
meant to wear bellboy outfits and roller skates at the circus so’s to entertain
the Homo sapien. Bea, read the note inside you wrote, would you? I recently
lost my reading glasses during the twists and turns of a bar bet.
Bea: “Dear Artie, don’t forget to cultivate your garden
in this, the best of all possible worlds. Signed, Bea.”
Art: The best of
all possible worlds? Now I’m really depressed. But let me be candid,
Bea—without you in it, this world would sure be a lot worse, I kid you not. But
I got to run, so thanks for the coffee and for letting me bend your ear there,
Bea—utiful. See you next time.
Bea: My pleasure, Artie. Always nice getting talked at
by you. Take care.
(Okey-dokey, off to the Uptowner. If I see you
there, then you buy me one ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)
