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Die Together, Live Alone

May. 28, 2010
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I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, sorry to say that I can’t exactly pony up a fully blown chock-packed jam-full essay for you’s this week on account that for starters, this recent spate of hot weather has me depressed, doleful and debilitated. For crying out loud, 86-87 degrees ’round these parts before Memorial Day? What the fock, if I wanted to live in Death focking Valley I’d move there, lack of public transportation notwithstanding.

And speaking of Death Valley, I’m also suffering a deeply dire post-stress-syndrome from the finale denouement of “Lost,” the fabulous network TV show for people too cheap or poor to view the really excellent serial shows on cable, but who had the faith in common sense to pay attention, lo these years, to the travails of the survivors of Oceanic Airlines Flight 815 rather than the idiotic musical pander of its puerile primetime competitor, “American Karaoke.”

Yeah yeah, mystery be a constant companion no matter where you be, dead or alive, ain’a? Anyways, for those of you’s still hankered with a “Lost” fixation, here’s a scenario from the original pilot that ended up on the cutting room floor, I kid you not:

A man boards an airplane, Oceanic Airlines Flight 815, and takes his seat. As he settles in, he glances up and sees a most beautiful woman boarding the plane. He soon realizes she is heading straight towards his seat.

Nervous anticipation washes over him. Lo and behold, she takes the seat right beside his. Eager to strike up a conversation, he says, “Business trip or vacation?” She turns, smiles, and says, “Business. I’m going to the annual Nymphomaniac Convention in Cucamonga.”

Our male passenger with a troubled backstory that we will become familiar with ad nauseum over the course of six TV seasons swallows hard, crazed with excitement. The most gorgeous woman he has ever seen is sitting next to him and she’s going to a meeting of nymphomaniacs.

He struggles to maintain his outward cool, and calmly asks, “What’s your business role at this convention?” “Lecturer,” she says. “ I use my experiences to debunk some of the popular myths about sexuality. One popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed when in fact, it is the Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait. Another popular myth is that French men are the best lovers, when actually it is men of Jewish descent.”

Suddenly, our attractive woman displays embarrassment and blushes. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. I don’t even know your name!” The man says, “My name? Sitting Bull. Sitting Bull… Goldstein. Pleased to meet you.”

And then there was this from “Lost,” a flashback scene from Season 3 between Bernard and Rose that didn’t make the cut, for obvious reasons as you shall see:

No matter what this husband did in bed, his wife never achieved an orgasm. Since a Jewish wife is entitled to sexual pleasure, so it is written, they decide to consult their Rabbi. The Rabbi listens to their story, strokes his beard, and makes the following suggestion:

“Hire a strapping young man [Josh Holloway- Sawyer]. While the two of you are making love, have the young man wave a towel over you. That will help your wife fantasize and should bring on an orgasm.” And so they go home and follow the Rabbi’s advice.

They hire a handsome young man [Flashback world: Josh Holloway-Sawyer] and he waves a towel over our couple as they make love. It does not help and the wife is still unsatisfied. Perplexed, they go back to the Rabbi.

“OK,” the Rabbi says to the husband, “try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them.”

Once again, they follow the Rabbi’s advice. They go home and the strapping young man [Flashback world: Josh Holloway-Sawyer] gets into bed with the wife and now the husband waves the towel. The shirtless young man gets to work with great enthusiasm and soon the wife has an enormous, room-shaking, ear-splitting screaming orgasm. The husband smiles, looks at the young man and says to him triumphantly, “See that, you schmuck? THAT’S how you wave a towel!” Namaste, as they say, on the island that once was, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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