I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So I hear another solar eclipse has come and gone. And I’ll tell you’s, a couple-three minute sun and moon shadow dance is no big focking deal to me, hell no, not to a guy who’s been in eclipse for years, I kid you not.
Yeah yeah, I saw the photo of our President Orange Circus Peanut staring up at the eclipse (retina-schmetina, those astronomer scientists think they know everything, fock ’em); thus completing the trifecta. And by that I mean he’s always had “dumb” nailed, you bet. He’s got “deaf” in his hip pocket, since he can’t and won’t listen to anyone or anything but his own meshugah inner demons. And now he’s going for “blind.” What a guy. What the fock.
And speaking of blind, what’s with the big focking type you ask? It’s so I can read what I’m whipping out on this page here. Apparently, I, too, may have gazed, sans safety glasses, at the goddamn eclipse a smidge longer than recommended and now my eyesight seems to have gone all ferkakta on me, for crying out loud. Cripes, I knew I probably should’ve slaughtered and sacrificed a goat before the eclipse like I had planned. If I had, maybe I’d be just peachy now instead of wondering if I should ask for a tin cup and cane for Christmas this year, what the fock.
Anyways, since I’m already feeling half blind, I may as well go all the way and head up to the Uptowner tavern/charm school where I shall sacrifice a Jackson or two at Old Crow’s altar. Come along if you’d like, but you buy the first round ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.