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Watt a World

Jan. 13, 2012
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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So listen, since this new year 2012 so far has been abso-focking-lutely nothing to write home about, I'm putting the kibosh on whipping out an essay for you's this week. Instead, I'm on my way to meet up with my gang for the first time this year up over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school majestically crammed onto the corner of wistfully hysteric Humboldt Boulevard and the fabled Center Street. Tag along if you like, but you cover the first round. Let's get going.

Emil: I got the nephew for Christmas one of those periscopes, so he could look at the moon and space, you know? I hear the only focking thing he's looked at so far is the neighbor lady 'cross the yard when she's getting ready for bedtime.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Periscope, Emil?

Emil: Yeah, and I got to tell you the lady wasn't bad looking either, once you got the focus on her clear.

Ernie: You should never give a kid stuff that's supposed to be good for what-you-call imagination and curiosity. Once you start cramming imagination and curiosity down a kid's throat, you're going to end up with a kid who's unemployable in the real world.

Julius: Focking-A. I don't give a rat's ass if the unemployment is getting better. You put down on an application that you're good at the imagination and curiosity, the first thing the job guy will tell you is to imagine trying to get hired somewhere else 'cause you sure as hell ain't going to work there.

Little Jimmy Iodine: I'm surprised that kids don't run away and join the circus anymore. Kids years ago had a lot more on the ball than today. They wouldn't join a gang or a cult, 'cause they knew they'd be throwing their future overboard. They joined the circus and learned a skill. Ringmaster. Lion tamer. Clown. Good jobs that would take you anywhere, ain'a?

Herbie: Me and the wife drove all over creation Christmas Eve, trying to find one of these special edition Tickle Me Elmo focking dolls for the granddaughter. I told her with the money we're spending on gas, we ought to just fly to China and get one straight from the focking factory.

Ernie: You sure they make those puppets in China? “Elmo” doesn't sound like any kind of Chinese name to me.

Herbie: Listen, the Chinese know from puppets, believe me you. When Mao ran the joint, he personally pulled the string on a billion of them, I kid you not.

Ray: Hey, how 'bout an Artie Kumbalek doll—kid squeezes it and crap comes out of its mouth.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.

Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know.

Emil: I know that Julius says that unemployment's going down, Artie.

Art: That may be well and good for the economy, but I always found a job to be like an Alcatraz around my neck. I was lucky to have personally developed this philosophy of labor at a young age: “Don't work harder. Work less.” You'll live longer.

Herbie: Focking jobs—just another tool for the ruling elites to use to keep the working-man oppressed.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Fellas, time to raise our glasses and toast the great Bob Watt, ain'a? To an artist, poet, and a guy who really knew from imagination, curiosity, not to mention the feminine form… Us guys, here, all, now, will miss the universal Indian but good.

Herbie: I voted Bob for mayor when he ran back in 2000, and I'm thinking, Artie, if Tom Barrett becomes the new governor once Gov. Snidely Whiplash gets shit-canned, our town's going to need a new mayor. It'd be a nice tribute to Bob for you to toss your focking hat into the ring and turn this burg into “Art City.”

Artie: You's guys well know that political office has always appealed to my personal philosophy of labor: People give you money, people write your speeches and advertisements for you, people pick out your clothes and comb your hairand all you got to do is show up somewheres when they tell you to and then lie your ass off. Can do. Don't work harder, work less, what the fock.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Sounds good to me: Artie Kumbalek, mayor of the City that Always Sweeps. As for the weak-kneed doubters, fock 'em, and remember what Bob would say: “Fear No Art.” Amen.

(Hey, it's getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)


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