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With the Canadian Club

Nov. 8, 2016
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I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, here you read a voice from out of the past. For me right now with the newspaper deadline, it’s Election Day, Tuesday, Nov. 8, and by the time you maybe take a gander at this essay, you’ll already know who won, who got shafted, whether or not the Republicans were successful in stealing the Ohio and/or Florida vote through voting-machine shenanigans—so what can I say, what the fock. 

Well sir, I can say this: Last weekend, we were all blessed by the boon of an extra 60 minutes, courtesy of the machinations wielded by fall’s daylight saving time adjustment. And each and every year, I always try to put this free hour to some gosh darn good and beneficial use—learn a foreign language; darn a couple, three socks; blow the dust off my old Buffet clarinet and re-memorize the Mozart Clarinet Concerto in A major, K. 622; brush up my résumé and fire it off to Ted Thompson in regards to the soon-to-be-vacant Packers’ head coaching job—you betcha.

This year, I also scooped a dollop of time to investigate what our quiet neighbor to the north—that being the constitutional monarchy of Canada—may have to offer a prospective expatriate such as me, in the event that come Wednesday, Nov. 9, Mr. Orange Circus Peanut has claimed the White House and his know-nothing Republican cohorts control the other two branches of what used to be a government.

What did I know about Canada besides the boring-ass National Film Board of Canada documentaries on “King Coal” we had to sleep through in eighth grade science class, or that they’re the No. 1 publisher of recipe books for the preparation and serving of road kill? Yeah, not much.

But during my time of research and study, I began to learn that I’ll take their health-care system over ours any focking day of the week. Publicly funded? No deductibles? Virtually no co-pays that empty your wallet just to walk through the doctor’s door because you’re puking sick or worse? 

So I’m cutting this essay off here and now, ’cause I got more studying to do. And if this election doesn’t turn out the way I’d prefer, you can bet your buck two-eighty that I will grab my coat, get my hat, leave my worries on the doorstep and head out for that sunny side of the street north of here, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.

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