@ArtKbfdFU2

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the Milwaukee Bucks are NBA champions, and I’m also still trying to recover from the Downtown victory parade at which yours truly took the last charge of the basketball season when at the intersection of North Van Buren Street and Wisconsin Avenue I was knocked to the pavement by a couple, three youthful fans in frantic pursuit of a souvenir T-shirt flung by beloved mascot Bango from atop a passing firetruck, I kid you not.

During my tumble to the ground, I smacked but good my ribcage on some fan’s bicycle tire. You betcha, “Ouch!” And natch’, at the point of infraction, just like a regular NBA game, there was no referee looking my way so’s to call a flagrant foul nor a nearby Bucks official to award me a pair of season courtside-tickets for taking one for the team. But carefree, painless drawing of breath finally seems to be but a day or two away (an hourly rehab regimen of iced tubs of Old Crow has aided my recovery), what the fock.

Anyways, I got to tell you’s that I hear a lot of people telling me I ought to get good with the Twitter social-media ruckus ’cause America and the world could stand to know what I’m thinking and doing every cotton-focking-picking second of every cotton-focking-picking day.

They say they’d rather put up with brief blasts of what I’ve got to say rather than having to wade through the steaming lump sum of all of it once a week like you the reader are doing right now.

But that’s not going to happen. I’m sure it’d cost me dough—out of the question—’cause don’t you need to buy some kind of Twit machine or fancy phone for the blathering to begin? I can barely afford a landline, so forget about it.

All I know about this popular Twit stuff is it has something to do with the number of your characters. And when it comes to “character,” I always refer to poet, essayist and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said, “Judge of your natural character by what you do in your dreams.”

Well, Ralphie boy, last night I dreamt that I was schtupping Rita Hayworth—not Ava Gardner, not Lana “The Sweater Girl” Turner, not Betty Grable or Dietrich, Monroe or any of today’s gals they call “stars”; no sir. I was schtupping Rita focking Hayworth right out of Gilda—missionary position, smack-dab upon second base at old Milwaukee County Stadium in-betweenst games of a sold-out twi-night double-header between our Braves and the Cincinnati Pirates (hey, it’s a dream, OK?). It’s a recurring dream I’ve had for years and years, and what it says about “natural character,” fock if I know. You be the judge.

It appears that the “character” is elemental and essential to the successful Tweet, so I hear. But the word “character” is a nuanced one: By “character” you can mean “Moral or ethical strength; integrity; fortitude”; but then there’s “character” as in the old, toothless, soiled jackass sidewinder in a Western lolling outside the saloon, who will “dance” for a drink when the bad guys come shootin’-it-up into town.

Well, what the fock. Donald Trumpel-thinskin seemed to get plenty of juice off this Tweet malarkey at 280 characters a shot I seem to recall, so maybe it’s about time I get with the times. So, suck on these Tweets (available only here, and nuance not an option) I would be tweeting if I knew how why don’t you:

Username: Art K

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Had a Babe Ruth breakfast—5 hot dogs, T-bone, Jim Beam pint, baked potato, Pabst Blue Ribbon & happy dessert from the escort service I called

@ ArtKbfdFU2: I’m pretty sure I’d choose an eternity in hell over a day in Texas, what the fock.

@ ArtKbfdFU2: No horseshoes in the Summer Olympics again this year. Those Olympics don’t have enough events the common man can relate to, like poker, ain’a?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: The Commie countries will never let poker in the Olympics—the triumph of the individual who gets to keep all his dough instead of passing it out to every Tom, Dick and Dickless with his hand out? Focking forget about it

@ ArtKbfdFU2: After the Olympics, can these athletes turn pro and get jobs that actually help society—like breakfast cereal salesmen or Walmart greeters?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Drop the legal drinking from age 21 to, say, 16. I propose to suggest that we put our American kids in bars instead of behind bars.

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Are dogs Man’s Best Friend ’cause they never wake you up in the middle of the focking night to “talk” about something?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Hey Republicans? No taxes, no more? You got a problem with your street, buy your own tar & fix it yourself, smartasses, after all, it’s your highway, not the government’s

@ ArtKbfdFU2: For the Focks Network: “America’s Wildest and Wackiest Death Row Executions.” Load up a van full of cons and drive it off Pikes Peak.

@ ArtKbfdFU2: About conspiracy theories: Nixon had Bobby K taken out all right. The name “Nixon”—switch the vowels (the “i” and the “o,” for the home-schooled, so you know) and spell the name backward. What do you get?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Focking “Nixon,” that’s what. Now take “Sirhan Sirhan” and switch the names around. What do you get? Enough said

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Cars were invented by insurance companies to rip you off legally. You got a car, get rid of it—leech rides from friends like I do.

@ ArtKbfdFU2: When will the drug companies have a pill for focksticks who can’t keep their stupid-ass big yaps shut at the motion picture theater now that we can go back to the theater?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Superman’s from another planet—thus, another species. If he got hitched to Lois Lane, could Republicans swallow an inter-species marriage?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Earth women having connubial relationships of a conjugal nature with creatures from outer space—wonder where the Bible chimes in on that, ain’a?

@ ArtKbfdFU2: If you could truly go fock yourself—hell with clean underwear, bathing, aftershave, straightening up the place, condoms—hey, it’s go time, anytime.

@ ArtKbfdFU2: Got to go, toilet’s plugged. Maybe a lighter breakfast tomorrow, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.