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That Distant Bell

Jun. 10, 2009
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I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, if you wonder whether or not I might be a tad put off by the fact that our president chose someone other than me to fill up his first U.S. Supreme Court vacancy; wonder no more. I am disgruntled, and here’s why.

On the eve of last summer’s political convention for Democrats, I informed then-Sen. Barack Obama that I would kibosh mine own presidential candidacy so as to avoid an ugly nomination fight on the floor of said convention, thus ensuring his spot as the chosen one. In return, I asked that upon his election as leader of the free world, he would either appoint me as ambassador to a nice country with a temperate climate located somewheres in the South Pacific (one where the native gals maintained an ambivalent attitude toward the notion of “fully clothed”) and/or put me on the Supreme Court first chance he got.

So far, he’s granted me squat.

Cripes, it’s not like I haven’t had any numerous experience with our nation’s legal system. For example, I can remember this one time when a lawyer I had asked the judge to grant a delay in passing judgment on my case since I still had about $500 bucks left in my bank account, so what the fock.

Yeah, so anyways, here we are in the month of June, that favorite time of year for young ladies to become new brides; and their boyfriends to become new grooms, whether they like it or not. And so June, as the years pass, does become the month for anniversaries, the remembrance pleasant, or bittersweet.

So this guy goes to the Wizard to ask him if he can remove a curse he has been living with for the past 40 years. The Wizard says, “Perhaps, but you will have to tell me the exact words that you believe were used to put the curse on you.” And without hesitation, the man says, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

(And some might question my huzzah to attract the younger product-buying iPhone reader demographic to this newspaper even though, at my advanced age, I can still pull a snappy marriage joke out of my ass on a moment’s notice, such as above? As that great American, Daffy Duck, would say: “It is to laugh,” what the fock.)

Anniversaries. Fifty-five years since that Longest Day on the WWII beaches of Normandy in early June, the month with the longest day, summer solstice, it has been. Lost a lot of good boys.

Good boys. Lost. What a world.

Yeah, I’ve got nothing to finish this essay with. Instead, I ought to deploy myself to a front where the objective requires I be locked and loaded with the faith to quietly keep a personal memorial day observance—“a distant bell, and stars that fell like rain, out of the blue,” like the old song says.

“In all the old, familiar places; that this heart of mine embraces,” I plan to spend the rest of this day to cultivate my garden, such as it is, through kind words and good deeds. That’s right— kind words and good deeds. No one ever said observance and remembrance was easy, and I believe it. But if that’s what it takes to see mine own lost boy Mr. B now over there in Kloveria, then done is done, for this week at least, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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