Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? Listen, I got a confession to make. Let me tell you, when I started to see Christmas kaboodle in some stores before Columbus Day for crying out loud, I got to admit that I started to look a little forward to the holidays, what the fock. But now with the holiday season heating up big-time but good, I must confess that I’m sitting here with not a thing to celebrate but my own failure to deliver the goods I had on my list this week for you’s. Here’s why.
I thought for sure by now at this late date in the season, I’d have this holiday song I’ve been working on for years ready for your preview, ’cause if you hear what I hear this time of year every year, you know damn well that the creaky seasonal canon needs new ammunition. Yes sir, I believed that “Every Day’s Just Another Focking Holiday” not only would hit the charts Numero Uno with a big ol’ bullet but it would be the first holiday tune in human history that could be played each and every day of the year. And then some hotshot impresario would turn it into a Broadway musical and I’d be a millionaire, I kid you not.
But I’m having troubles working out the bridge to the tune, such that I feel like jumping off a bridge like a regular George Bailey, and it definitely is not a wonderful life. Not when you’re flirting with the iron maiden of deep, dark despair on account of another failure—that being my inability once again to get the Art Kumbalek Mistletoe Belt Buckle to the holiday market. This really blows.
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And I tell you, based on the number of queries I field throughout the year as to the availability of this fine gift idea, the Art Kumbalek Mistletoe Belt Buckle is also a million-dollar moneymaker waiting to happen. You may recall that the AKMBB is conceptualized to be so much more than just a focking stocking-stuffer gag gift, in that the belt buckle is designed to be compatible with the Art Kumbalek Big Boy Belt. Modeled on Batman’s ultra-handy utility belt, the snazzy Big Boy Belt—to be available with the Mistletoe Belt Buckle for only an additional buck two-eighty—would sport all kind of clips, loops and high-tech doo-dads so as to hold practical items like a can of beer, Bowie knife, Chapstick, flask, carton of Pall Malls, an extra pair of socks; so that you could cart this stuff around the town and maintain accessible convenience.
But alas, again with the production problems in that this Santa can’t locate a decent sweatshop. I found that a lot of these Fourth World elves are looking to make 14 cents an hour and I simply can’t do business if I have to focking fork out blue-chip Third World wages like that. Hey, who could? You tell me.
It just occurred to me that some of you’s right now may also be feeling failure and disappointment this time of year even as I write and you read, and the least I could do is give you a handy tip since I got experience in this area. You know what I do when I get disappointed cum out of whack? Nothing, not a goddamn thing that’s what, ’cause why bother? Just suck it up and steady yourself for the next load of dashed desire due down the pike any second. And never ever forget that your crap casserole might not be some other knucklehead’s filet mig-focking-non; so what makes you think you’re so hoity-toity special you can’t have some disappointment once in a while? You tell me.
And then I’ll tell you to remember this: “No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if Clod bee washed away by Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”
I got to tell you, those old farts who wrote stuff a couple hundred years before TV couldn’t spell for crap. I had to read the above a couple, three focking times until I understood that the important thing not to forget is that every time a bell tolls, an angel gets its wings ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
