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Now Pitching for Milwaukee

Sep. 24, 2010
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I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? And here’s something newsworthy, or at least unusual: I might be feeling nearly pretty good today. I just had a ride on one of those spanking-new county buses some of you’s may have noticed here and there ’round the town. Yes sir, the No. 30 route it was, and this baby even had the “new-bus” smell to her, I kid you not.

Yeah yeah, it would be nice if these new buses also showed a movie during the trip or served chocolate-chip cookies on board. And to be able to order a cocktail or glass of champagne would be to dream, what the fock. But I’ll tell you, as soon as the new-bus smell on these democratic people movers fades to the more familiar Milwaukee County Transit System fragrance I call “Ode a la Unregulated Nursing Home,” I’ll let you know ’cause that’s the kind of journalist I am.

And speaking of democratic, I felt nearly pretty good to exercise my voting privilege in the primary election last week and at least negate the vote of some looney-tune Tea Party madhatter—if not in effect, then in spirit, god bless America. But don’t forget that democracy still so happens to be one privilege you just can’t get enough of, a privilege that separates us as greater than the equal of Commies, American citizens less than age 18, and baboons up a tree.

And speaking of baboons, who were the focking idiots that decided kids could legally vote at age 18 for some knucklehead or knobshine, but not hit the bottle legally ’til 21? I find it to be cruel and unusual punishment to force anyone to make an educated guess about which member of the usual cast of baboons for whom they should piss away their vote without the benefit of a stiff legal belt o’ bourbon or three first. Yes, democracy can sure be a harsh mistress for some, what the fock.

(Hold on, it’s the phone. Got to take this. It could be the health-insurance establishment calling me back. Now that we got the reform for this insurance stuff, I’m down to two-and-a-half days of “what-the-fock?” phone calling for each bill instead of the usual four-to-five.)

“Hey Artie, it’s Jimmy. Got a second?”

(It’s my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine. I’ll try to make this short-ski.)

“Jimmy, listen. I’m smack-dab in the middle of slapping my essay together, so make it snappy.”

“Okey-dokey, Artie. I heard this story you might want to use in your little article. A story about Sarah Palin and that nutbag lady Republican Senator candidate what’s-her-name, Christine O’Donnell…”

“The bitch and the witch.”

“You betcha, Artie. So these two half-ass pieces-of-work are sitting at the bar after an appearance at the Values Voter Summit and they’re watching the 6 o'clock news. There’s a story about some guy threatening to jump from the Brooklyn Bridge. And mama bitch Palin bets the witch O’Donnell 50 bucks that he’ll jump, and the Delaware witch takes the bet. And sure enough, 10 seconds later the guy jumps, so the witch gives the bitch the 50 bucks.

“But Palin says, ‘I really can’t take this money. You’re my sister tea-bagger and when I’m president, I’ll make you secretary of something they need a secretary for.’ But Christine O-for-christ-sake insists that a bet's a bet. Sarah fesses up that she already saw this story on the 5 o'clock news, so she really can’t take the money. And the Tea Bag darling from Delaware Christine says, ‘I saw the 5 o’clock news, too; but I never thought he’d jump again. I mean, that’s like so insane!’”

“OK Jimmy, yeah, maybe I’ll run this story in my essay, especially if it’s abso-focking-lutely not focking true—I can pass it off as an homage to FOCKS Nitwit News, what the fock.”

“Attaboy, Artie. No sense for you media types to be partisan pissants like the politicians. So Saturday, what time was it you’re going to be by the Uptowner?”

“Let me check my oh-so chock-packed jam-full social calendar. Let’s see, Saturday, Sept. 25, I’ll be by the Uptowner tavern/charm school like 4-7 p.m. They got the Center Street Daze that day all day 11 a.m.-7 p.m., up and down the Center Street from Humboldt west to Holton Street and back again. Yeah, they’ll have the music and gosh darn if I’m not hoping to see my old friend Voot Warnings, stuff to eat, the outdoor billiard-pool contest for charity, arts and crafts stuff for the hippies, and all kinds of other schmutz I don’t know about ’til I get there. OK, got to run Jimmy and finish the essay. Later.”

And speaking of Center Street Daze, I’ll be by the Uptowner 4-7 p.m. Saturday. And for you’s who think I never go over there, come by and take a goddamn picture, what the fock, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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