Bloom or Bust
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? And yes, I hear we got Father’s Day coming up this Sunday and I’ll tell you’s, with the bad rap fathers have got in the press and on the TV for far too long, I’m surprised the day is celebrated at all. Cripes, why don’t they just go ahead and change Father’s Day to Deadbeat Dad’s Day, or Workaholic Dad-You’re-Never-Around-The-Focking-House-When-We-Need-You Day, what the fock.
And yes, I’m too busy to serve up an essay here again this week. Foremost, I’m about to leave for the Uptowner tavern/charm school where me and the fellas shall gather to make our Polish Fest plans for the weekend. Yeah yeah, perhaps “she’s too fat for me,” but you can bet your buck two-eighty that never not ever is “she too drunk for me,” you betcha.
And yes, I am reminded that June 16 is to celebrate the 113th anniversary of the novelistic day that took an Irish guy by the name of James Joyce practically 10 million pages and who knows how many gallons of whiskey to write about, lo, those years ago—perhaps the greatest focking novel nobody’s never not ever read all the way through.
And yes, I’m reminded of a little story:
Once upon a time and a very good time it was, there was an Irishman, an Italian and a Polish guy in a tavern, sitting around and enjoying a couple, three rounds of cocktails. James, the Irishman, says, “Aye, this is a nice bar, but where I come from, back in Dublin, there’s a better one. At Lucky’s, you buy a drink, you buy another drink, and Lucky himself will buy your third drink!” The others agree that it sounds like a nice place.
Then Dante the Italian guy says, “Yeah, that’s a nice bar, but where I come from, there’s a better one. Over in Brooklyn, there’s this place, Pozzo’s. At Pozzo’s, you buy a drink, Pozzo buys you a drink. You buy another drink, Pozzo buys you another drink.” They all agree that also sounds like a very great bar.
Then the Polish guy, let’s call him Kumbalek, says, “You’s guys think that’s great? In my neighborhood, there’s this place called Godotski’s. At Godotski’s, they buy you your first drink, they buy you your second drink, they buy you your third drink, and then they take you in the back and get you some action!”
The other two guys are smithied with wonderment. “That’s fantabulous! Did that actually happen to you?” they want to know. And Kumbalek, the Polish guy, says, “No, but it happened to my sister!” Ba-ding!
And yes, then later, Kumbalek approached a lady named Didi wouldn’t you know, sitting solitary at the end of the bar. A man of direct address, Kumbalek said he’d been waiting to meet an attractive gal such as she was, and told her he’d like to get into her pants, if that were to be copacetic. Didi says, “No thanks, there’s an ass in there already.” Ba-ding-ding-ding!
And yes, about the state of today’s health care: Guy goes to the doctor. Doctor says, “I have some bad news, and some very bad news.” The guy says, “Might as well give me the bad news first, I guess.” Doctor says, “The lab called with your test results. They said you have 24 hours to live.” Guy says, “24 HOURS! You got to be jerking my beefaroni. So what the fock’s the very bad news?” Doctor says, “I've been trying to reach you since yesterday.” Ba-ding!
And yes, if you are to see dear old dad come Sunday you’re too focking cheap to spring for a gift for the old fart, how ’bout you bring him a nice little story?
One day, during a lesson on proper grammar, the teacher asked for a show of hands for who could use the word “beautiful” in the same sentence twice. First, she called on little Molly, who responded with, “My father bought my mother a beautiful dress and she looked beautiful in it.”
“Very good, Molly,” replied the teacher. She then called on little Stephen.
“My mommy planned a beautiful banquet and it turned out beautifully,” he said.
“Excellent, Stephen!” Then, the teacher called on little Leo.
“Last night, at the dinner table, my sister told my dad that she was pregnant, and he said, ‘Beautiful. That’s just FOCKING beautiful!’” Ba-ding!
And yes, of fathers, of sons, this time of year, I’ll be seeing you, as the song goes, in all the familiar places, in every lovely summer’s day, I remember you, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek, and I told you so.