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Word Crock from the Sun

Jul. 18, 2012
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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So listen, I don't have much time on my hands to whip out an essay this week 'cause I've got a boatload of phone calls to make on account of this heat and focking humidity we've been having. I got to find out who ordered this goddamn weather; therefore I'm going through what constitutes the phone book these days, A-Z page by page, and dialing it up the jock, hoping to find the knobshine who fesses up to placing the order so's I can stop by his place and kick his butt 'round the block and back. (Just my luck it would be some jag with a cell phone who ordered the weather. Yeah, "jag with a cell phone," as if there was any other kind.)

Simmertime and the livin' is queasy 'round our town, I kid you not. I sit and sweat inside my dinky apartment with no air conditioner and the only way I can tell I haven't died and gone to hell is 'cause I'm not having my ears reamed out by a max-vol endless loop of "Tony Orlando & Dawn's Greatest Hits," to boot.

And every time I do choose to step outdoors, lo, these days, I get nervous, jumpy, you could say disoriented, 'cause all of a sudden I don't know if I'm within the friendly confines of the greatest city in the upper Midwest anymore. No, sir. Seems more like I involuntarily stepped in some kind of deleteriously delirious transport machine and got shanghaied direct to New focking Delhi, where when the thermometer dips to 120 degrees above freezing, the people call up UNICEF to hurry up and airdrop emergency sweaters and hand-muffs, for christ sakes.

You know what? It's too pissing hot to groan and moan even for a guy like me, a guy who practically but not quite makes a living at it. But you got to stay positive, so I hear. After all, we still do live in the greatest city in the upper Midwest—even if it feels like it got relocated to Missis-focking-sippi.

And hey, let's not forget, especially you kids, that Beer Town also happens to be one of the largest cities in southeast Wisconsin. But in these cotton-focking-picking hot summer months, this town becomes the largest city in the whole wide world whilst we embrace and celebrate peoples all manner of stripe, custom, color, costume, vernacular, talent and what have you, with our vibrant chain of ethnic fest pageants played against a lazy yet restricted lakefront, or something like that. I'll bet you a buck two-eighty that you could sneeze, blow your nose-snot on your sleeve and if it's summertime, somebody will throw a festival about it, and that's got to count for something, ain'a?

And speaking of festivals, don't forget about the Festa Italiana going on down there by the Summerfest this weekend. (Or as some wags would describe it, not unlike the way I have many, many times, the "Let's See How Many Over-the-Hill Guys Named Johnny We Can Get to Sing 'New York, New York' Fest.") They'll have everything molto bene you could possibly want down there. History? Fashion? You want fashion history? Hey, if you ever wondered where the leisure suit went after it died, you come to Festa, so forget about it.

Anyways, I got to go and try to preserve the very little precious topical brainforest I got left. But before I go, let me leave you with an extra supplemental astrological look-see that may be easier to read than one you may otherwise find in this paper 'cause it leaves out all the bullshit. And remember, Art could sure use an air conditioner, you betcha.

Spirits improve following the writing of a check for "cash" and mailed to Art Kumbalek, c/o Shepherd Express.

Same as above, no bull.

Send two checks, same address.

See a doctor.

See "Aries" for special message, hairball.


Hey knob, where's my check?

Scorpio: See "Libra" for special message.

Fock if I know.

It's a wonderful life, but what would it be like without you around? Before you try to find out, take out a life insurance policy. Stars indicate "Art Kumbalek" to be beneficiary. Go jump off the Hoan, but make it look like an accident.

Hey waterboy, bear me a couple, three Jacksons why don't you.

Fish got to swim, and eagles got to fly from you to me.

Yeah, you may never heard of this sign before, but you know who you are and if you don't, I do, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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