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Where Blue Birds Fly

Apr. 6, 2012
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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So yeah, as Dorothy said to the wizard, “there's no place like home,” then to awaken in her bed with the company of three itinerant farmhands; I will match the Kansas farm girl's “home” and raise it by telling you's that there's abso-focking-lutely no place like the Uptowner tavern/charm school, majestically crammed onto the fabled corner of Hysteric Center Street and Humboldt Boule-focking-vard. It's where me and many others have often found that troubles can melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops; to wake up where the clouds are far behind, but praying that the aspirin is front and center, what the fock.

Thank you Shawn and Steve for graciously and generously acknowledging this one's 25 Years of Excellence with One Goddamn Newspaper last Sunday's so pleasant afternoon. Yes sir, the Uptowner—
where today is always at least a day before tomorrow and yesterday may gosh darn well be today—that's where you'll find me, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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