Blockblusters

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, here it is already later May what-the-fock and I have yet to receive nary a single invite to be the prime-time gasbag at any kind of commencement ordeal, can you believe it?

Cripes, I haven’t even been on the receiving end of any kind of feelers, such as “Our commencement speaker was arrested last night. Are you available this evening?” “Can you work clean?” “Could you show up sober?”

So for your permanent record, here’s the deal: Anybody who’s got a bunch of graduates who need a talking to—be they of University; College; High, Tech, Trade or Matchbook School; Middle School; Academy Charter Institute of Conceivably Some Learning for Young People; Prison Substance-Abuse Sanity Program for Early Release; Pre-School; Daycare Center Who Employs a Bus Driver Who Can Conduct a Head-Count—I’m your mouthpiece. Pony up 50 bucks with a case of ice-cold bottled beer plus cab fare home, and I’ll be there, I kid you not.

Anyways, it’s that time of year where I remind you that all summer long, I’ll be premiering some ballyhooed newspaper/online writing in essay form for and on the Shepherd Express. Just to whet your whistle, here’s a sneak preview of a couple, three of my blockhead-busting essays now in development. And don’t forget you can carry-in all the Good & Plenty and ice-cold bottled beer you can stand whilst reading these upcoming essays ’cause why would I care, what the fock.

Miter-Man: Here, I get a bug up my butt but good that turns me into a crusading super-humanist who battles all forms of religious belief during the course of one helluva action-packed essay, I kid you not. Be you Moslem, Baptist, Buddhist, Catholic, Hindu, Aztec, Mormon, Deadhead, Penta-focking-costalist or Jehovah’s Witness, I’m kicking your fanatical fanny around the block and back. Possessed only with the powers of regular common sense and an ounce of compassion for his fellow creature, it’s one man’s attempt to set the world on a sane and just path as we leave all the various Lords and what-nots shrinking to nothingness in the rearview mirror.

Godzillionaire: Couple of batshit-crazy billionaire brothers create a monstrous oligarchy that thrives by eating the poor. The number of uber-rich focks increase exponentially and wreak total destruction on a republic of democracy by not paying taxes and stashing profits offshore.

Ex-Men: Days of Freedom Passed: Slated for a June release and aimed like Cupid’s arrow at the bride-and-groom demographic. I might open with a snappy little story: A divorce court judge says, “Mr. Quinn, I have reviewed this case very carefully and I've decided to give your wife $325 a week.” The husband says, “That's very fair your honor. And every now and then I’ll try to send her a buck two-eighty myself.” Ba-ding!

I’ve been doing some research on the subject of marriage and discovered that the ancient Greeks were gosh darn familiar with the topic: a proverb says, “Marriage is the only evil that men pray for,” and then there’s this from some guy named Hipponax out of the 6th century B.C.: “Two days are the best of a man’s wedded life: The days when he marries and buries his wife.” Ouch! ain’a?

Wish I Was There: Kind of a documentary here ’bout the theory that the first humans got to our neck of the woods by way of a land bridge from Siberia across the Bering Strait up north there. I’ll wonder at how tough moving must’ve been back in the really olden days years ago before the hand-truck was discovered and bunches of people would decide to pick up and move all their stuff thousands and hundreds of miles to countries that didn’t even have names yet, so that once they got there they didn’t even know where the heck they were.

I’ll imagine a family that schlepped on foot all the way down to the Yuca-focking-tan Peninsula. The wife’s unpacking to set up housekeeping, and she says, “Hon? Do you remember which sack you packed the dung serving dish my mother gave us when we got married?” Yeah, you remember all right. You remember that you forgot it back at the old yurt now about fifty-focking-thousand miles away and if you don’t walk back and get that goddamn dish, you will never have another moment’s peace. Welcome to the New World, same as the Old World.

Mom’s Night Out: This essay’s strictly for the kids and slated for later summer when the katzenjammers are bored a’ plenty with spending their days shoplifting and burning bugs with a magnifying glass. I’ll toss in a little brain-teasing word puzzle ala NPR’s Will Shortz. I’ll have a bunch of questions and then tell the youngsters that each correct answer begins with a consonant and ends in a vowel. Here’s two questions I got so far:

What has 75 balls and screws old ladies? and What did the veterinarian say to the dog who kept licking his balls?

Answers: Bingo! And Thank you.

I might toss in a little story the kids could share at day camp or on the playground:

Pinocchio’s girlfriend says to him, “This sucks. Every time we make love I get splinters.” So Pinocchio goes to Geppetto for advice and Geppetto says, “Sandpaper, my boy. That’s the ticket!” A few days later, Geppetto sees Pinocchio and says, “So how are you doing with the girls now?” And Pinocchio says, “Who needs girls?”

Ba-ding! All that’s left for me to do is to go bask in the bright lights of the Uptowner tavern/charm school and get down to work, ’cause I’m fully vaccinated Art Kumbalek and I told you so.