One Born Every Minute

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh man manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, since being rather new and somewhat clueless as to the appropriate lifestyle of being an “old fart,” I found myself on a pleasant Sunday afternoon wondering just what the fock to do. Shortly, I had an “aha” moment. Golf! Yes sir, watch golf on TV. That’s what old farts do on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, what the fock.

So I fired up the Philco, and yes, there was golf on TV to watch. Oh, boy. Exciting? Perhaps, but only if you’re the kind of a guy who can get a boner from listening to paint dry.

One thing I’ll say about those golfers though. You don’t really ever hear about them getting arrested for waving a gun around at 3 a.m. in the parking lot of some hotsy-totsy discotheque, nor do you often read in the papers where any of these well-compensated duffers get pulled over for a routine traffic stop that culminates in the discovery of a crack pipe under the front seat and a hundred pounds of pot in the focking trunk, as you may read about those involved in the less gentile sports.

But after about 15-focking-minutes, five words popped into my head: “I am such an idiot.” Yes sir, the old-fart lifestyle is going to take some time to get used. So off went the TV, had a smoke, mixed up a nice cocktail and cracked open the latest issue of Bendover magazine, what the fock.

The big feature was a historically pictorial spread called “The Tarts of the House of Hohenzollern.” I never knew the box camera had already been discovered by the 1700s. Sometimes their research articles seem a little shaky, like the time they said that scientists had discovered a food that diminishes a woman’s sex drive by more than 90%. So I’m reading and reading, and it turns out the food is Wedding Cake, I kid you not.

But in this issue, they had a Father’s Day article that said a bunch of scientists whipped out some newfangled research on the male line of this DNA stuff that led them to surmise, if not downright deduce, that all beings of human actually have the same one-kind-of father from ’round about 250,000 years ago, give or take a couple, three millenniums.

Imagine that. One dad, lots of kids. Me and you and Plato. Me and you and Marie focking Antoinette. Me and you and Fyodor Dostoevsky. Malcolm X. Pinky Lee. Peggy Lee. Lee Marvin. Marvin Gaye. Faye Throneberry. Fay Wray. Martha Raye. Martha Mitchell. Billy Mitchell. Billy Martin. Martin Heidegger. Dean Martin. Dean Wormer. Dizzy Dean. Daffy Dean. Muammar al-Qaddafi. Al Jolson. Prince Albert. Princess Grace. Gracie Allen. Allen Toussaint. Eva Marie-Saint. St. Guy of Pomposa. Guy de Maupassant. Buddy Guy. Buddy Hackett. Cesar Chavez. Julius Caesar—all right, you get the picture.

You and me and everybody, past, present and future, we’re all honest-to-gosh related. One big family. And still people wonder why there’s war all the time all over the world? Give me a focking break. Like they say, you can pick your friends, you can pick your nose; but you can’t pick your relatives, so it looks like we’re stuck but good. Have a nice day.

The one thing that bugs me about Bendover is they’ve got too many goddamn advertisements featuring some kind of semi-celebrity douche bag or knobshine—none of whom is me. HEYYY! I’m available anytime, anywhere to push your line of crap, so just call me. It’s time these big corporation companies and marketers start coming up with big dough to writers for endorsing their focking products. I dream of the day BiC Pen comes to ink some several hundred dollar exclusive endorsement deal contract with me. I even got the magazine ad already played out in my mind. Picture the picture:

Caption: “Art Kumbalek, Newspaper Hack.” I’m sitting on a stool in some swanky cocktail lounge with two showgirls on each knee. Art’s saying, “Yeah gals, not only am I glad to see you but that is a BiC in my pocket. It’s the only pen I’d use to sign the check for the tab we’ve run up the last couple days. Fock, the check will bounce but you two, and my BiC, are coming back with me to my place.”

Or how ‘bout Kraft Macaroni & Cheese (“Breakfast, lunch, dinner—I live on the stuff, America!” Or baloney: “Not only do I write it—I eat it, too. Get Real!”) And of course, any kind of liquor you got.

Which reminds me, Bendover also had a story with this headline: “Study shows some health benefits from alcohol.” What the fock, what say we go get healthy big-time, but you buy the first round ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.