Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, as I continue to recover from the Daylight Saving Crime of the other week, I got to tell you’s that I am so feeling ferschimmelt, maybe even farkakte, meshugenah for sure, with a more than healthy dollop of shmegegge to follow on this so-called page of information, what the fock.
Yeah yeah, the finale to the Lenten season approaches and as a lapsed Catholic for gosh darn good reasons, and to boot, a years-ago occasional student as a young lad over at Our Lady In Pain That You Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough, I still feel obligated to give up something, to forego, this or that (choices may include alcohol, tobacco, lighten up on sports bets, fat-ass juicy cheeseburgers, coveting the next-door neighbor’s wife/paramour/live-in gal friend). A dilemma upon the devil’s horns my sorry ass now rests, or something like that, cripes.
And so I rolled some dice and, at my aged age, have decided to give up “giving up,” each and every day of any goddamn year. There you have it, you betcha.
And let’s just hold on a cotton-focking-picking minute here, shall we? Hey, it’s that time of year where I’ve got to signal for a time-out, and take a breather—it being the Lenten season (previously mentioned), during which I have yet to decide on a personal sacrifice (previously referred to) I ought to make, and the clock keeps ticking, what the fock.
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So I figured maybe best at this late-ish date an alternative to giving-up giving-up, would be to give up whipping out an essay this week, and instead bless myself with a retreatfully quiet period so as to observe and religiously fulfill the solemn task of completing my bracket-form-thing for this year’s Men’s NCAA College Basketball Tournament before it’s too goddamn late, praise the lord.
I may have mentioned this in the past, but it deserves a replay—especially for you’s young people who may be dipping your toe into the NCAA bracketology pool for the first time—that in any kind of economy, pissing away eight-hours-a-day of company time for a couple, three days on making your basketball bracket selections will not get the job done, I kid you not. You need to spend a lot more time than that if you’re truly serious about winning your buck two-eighty office/co-worker jackpot.
For christ sakes, the other day I already spent more than 16 hours researching just the #6 BYU vs. #11 Duquesne match-up in the East Regional, and yet the best I can figure is that somebody’s going to win and somebody’s going to take it in the shorts but good. Cripes, I haven’t even begun to think about #5 Gonzaga and #12 McNeese in the Midwest or #8 Nebraska and #9 Texas A&M in the South. And I’ll bet you a buck two-eighty that you haven’t either, ain’a?
And don’t forget, like life, there’s no do-overs in the bracketology. Once you’ve made your choices and click on “Enter,” your fate is cast, and you will either rejoice or regret the entity you chose to be national champion—and I’ll say right now that if you chose Longwood or Grand Canyon State not to mention focking Duke or Trump University, god help you.
Anyways, I got to get back to choosing mine own fate. I suppose it being the dwindle of Lent not to mention the post-St. Patty’s Day-and-a-week-and-a-focking-half hoo-ha, it would be appropriate for me to choose a nice Catholic school to win it all—how ’bout Marquette? Yeah, screw that. Ever since they changed the team moniker from Warriors to some kind of bird name (like they couldn’t have returned to the classic Hilltoppers?).
So, this year, as always, I say “Go Badgers!” ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
