This Again?

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Photo illustration: Dave Zylstra

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? Yeah yeah, another happy focking New Year. And the first thing I’ve got to do in 2020’s first essay is send a big ol’ slobbering “thank you” out to my would-be guardian angel El Jefe out of Bethesda, Maryland, the “Old Line State” whose State Crustacean is the blue crab. That’s one creature I won’t be reincarnated as, since I already am one, what the fock.

But thanks, Jef’ (fierce defender of the 13th amendment), for the inspirational words and the couple bottles of rye gut-rot—quite likely the best thing that comes my way all year with the exception that come November, Trumpty-Dumbty Trumpel-thinskin gets his fat ass voted out of office and then immediately shipped to Leavenworth. Hallelujah, jubilation!

So, here we be that time of year for my annual much-ballyhooed Look Back/Watch Out Ahead gala essay, the one where I whip out my crystal balls (I always use two to beef up the accuracy) and soothsay the hell out of the approaching shitstorm that will go down in the history books as the year A.D. 2020, what the fock.

But about the olden last year? Abso-focking-lutely Job-like for yours truly, I kid you not. You remember Job, ain’a? Yeah, the poor schnook out of the Bible who really took the shaft up the dupa sideways on account of this bet the Lord and Satan cooked-up to test Job’s faithfulness, and by “shaft” I mean he loses all his dough, his kids die and he comes down with a bad case of boils all over his biblical body—ouch! you betcha. Job got a tad PO’ed, which caused the Lord to speak to Job and really chew him a new one. Which reminds me of a little story about hearing voices:

So there’s this guy who lives in Ala-focking-bama. One morning, he hears a voice in his head. The voice says, “Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.” He ignores the voice. Later in the day, he hears the voice again. “Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.” Again, he ignores the voice. Soon he hears the voice every minute of the day: “Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.”

The guy can’t take it anymore. He believes the voice. He quits his job, sells his house, takes all his money, and flies to Vegas. As soon as he steps off the plane, the voice says, “Go to Caesar’s Palace.” He goes to Caesar’s Palace. The voice says, “Make your way to the roulette table.” He goes to the roulette table. The voice says, “Put all your money on RED 23.” He puts all his money on RED 23. The dealer spins the wheel. It comes up BLACK 17. The voice says, “Damn.” Ba-ding!)

And now, without further ado, my Look Back/Watch Out Ahead essay, and remember that pithiness is the soul of brevity; so here it is for you to pith on:

The Year 2019: Sucked, but good.

Watch Out Ahead, 2020: Will suck, even more. Hard to believe, ain’a?

And speaking of guardian angels, I remember a conversation me and my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine had just a couple, three weeks ago after watching the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, one of our favorites ’cause we are huge Lionel Barrymore fans, always have been. I’m sure you know the movie, the one where George Bailey plays the character who wants to see the world but every time he tries to leave town, someone or something chews him a new asshole and he’s forced to stay.

Anyways, after a couple, three hot focking toddies, we decided the big focking deal isn’t what the world would be like if you’d never been born—it’s what the world is like if you haven’t been born yet. You’re always luckier if you can get born as far into the future as you can. Focking-A, those poor slobs who got born a thousand years ago as opposed to today sure got the shaft up the butt sideways, ain’a?

There’s just more to do today in your spare time, for starters. A thousand years ago, you wouldn’t even have spare time on any kind of regular basis ’cause you were too busy working, fixing something, starving, getting slaughtered or sleeping. And when maybe you did have a little spare time, once every couple years, all there was to do was paint reindeer on a wall inside some cave. Focking swell.

Eking out a life in the past was not much a wonderful life compared to the future. The future’s just always got to be better, ’cause if it isn’t, what’s the point? What the fock is the focking point? You tell me.

And the I’ll tell you, as always, I hope you’s all do have a happy new year—hey, even at my age I still like to think anything’s possible, what the fock, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.