Buy Bull

×

Expand

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, as I hammer together the goods necessary for me to make a grab for the cushy seat behind the big-honking desk in the Oval Office over there by the White House—a patriotic task I’ve attempted since 19-focking-86, I find myself knee deep in schmutz, what the fock.

My past political experience tells me that I’ve got to raise big-time dough to run for president, and I’m talking the kind of dough that tops the cost of my Milwaukee County transit bus card for a few rides, or a couple, three frozen dinners and a box of some kind of cookies from the Metro Market up the block, not to mention the recent upchuck in rent payment on my dinky apartment, the bastards.

Hello, big-ass wallet philanthropist-donors? TV advertising time is not cheap. Can I get a little help?

Hey, me and my campaign brain-trust already created a TV spot-ad that could work magic with the American hoi polloi if we were only able to secure the necessary funding and maybe a couple bucks extra, to put this wake-up call into production and onto the air.

This political genius was hatched from over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school majestically crammed at the corner of wistfully historic Humboldt Boulevard and the fabled Center Street, where today seems like yesterday and tomorrow may as well be today.

Here’s a snippet from our campaign confab:

Ray: I hear you’re running for all kinds of political office again, Artie, like a case of diarrhea from a bad burrito. But I don’t know anything about what you’ll do for the people.

Art: That’s ’cause there’s no real free speech. Free speech costs dough and I don’t have any. That’s why all these rich-focks can run for government and it’s like they get to speak through one of those fancy-schmancy speaker system like they got in an arena. For the poor schmucks who can’t pay for the free speech, it’s like you may well as be talking with rotten teeth, bleeding gums, a draining boil on your tongue, and right before they hand you the microphone, somebody tapes your mouth shut and breaks your jaw with a focking baseball bat.

Julius: You need some effective TV advertising for the votes, Artie. I got an idea for you’s. Picture the picture: OK. You see two homeless guys walking down the city street. One of them starts sniffing his nose and says to the other, “Hey, what the hell am I smelling here. You crap your pants?” Other homeless guy says, “Fock no.” Another half-a-block goes by and the one says, “Are you sure you didn’t crap your pants?” The other says, “No focking way, what’s your problem?”

They walk a little farther and the first homeless guy says, “Yes you did. I can focking smell it. You did. You crapped your pants.” Second guy says, “The hell I did. I’ll prove it.” So he drops his drawers, and there smack-dab in his skivvies is one big honking turd.

“See?” the first guy says. “If you didn’t crap your pants, what’s that focking turd doing in your BVDs?” And the other guy says, “Fock if I know. It was there when I found ’em.”

Herbie: That’s the stupidest focking idea for a campaign commercial I ever heard, I shit you not.

Julius: Wait, hold on, I forgot. One of these guys is wearing a sign that says “Democrats” and the other guy wears a sign that says “Republicans.” Now, at the end of the ad, right after the second guy says the turd was already in the shorts when he found them, a thunderous Moses announcer voice like from the NFL highlight films says: “Republicans. Democrats. No wonder Washington stinks. Time to clear the air and change your soiled government. Vote Art Kumbalek.”

You bet. And as I recall, some kind of conversation meandered on:

Julius: Holy cripes, looks like Ernie just got hit by a bus or something ’cause he had to go outside for a smoke.

Art: Hey, no one ever said that smoking a Pall Mall couldn’t be hazardous to your health. And smoking outdoors just increases the risk, what with your lightning strikes, rabid dogs, psychotic panhandlers and what not. It’s not an activity for the faint of heart.

Little Jimmy Iodine: You know what you never hear about the Great Flood? Besides two of each of all the animals, Noah must’ve had plants and trees on that Ark to boot. God must’ve told Noah to pack a tobacco plant otherwise we wouldn’t be able to smoke in the modern times, ain’a? So I’m thinking it’s against the Bible to outlaw smoking, at the very least.

Julius: What I’d like to know is what the fock Noah was thinking when he was checking the passenger list and didn’t let any dinosaurs get on board but gave the green light to every kind of cockroach. Hey, thanks for nothing, asshole.

Emil: What the fock, do you know how much easier it would be to kill a dinosaur than it is to try to squish a focking cockroach before it runs under the refrigerator?

Yes sir, to borrow a phrase from the great writer Raymond Chandler, “I was neat, clean, shaved and sober and I didn't care who knew it,” as I strolled into the Uptowner/charm school that evening but was nothing such as I stumbled out come the closing time yet perplexed as to how to raise some dough for my presidential campaign.

AND THEN, I figured to pull a page from out of the scambook written by the “very stable genius” Trumpel-thinskin and maybe peddle my own Art Kumbalek Kneel-down Bible (“Bible-licious,” I’d call it) for big and small donors, one and all, ready to flip their dough my way. Ka-ching!

Sure, my bible would contain the usual kit-and kaboodle featuring Adam & Eve, Jonah, famines, locusts, Deuteronomy and what-not, but I would replace the Orange Circus Peanut’s choice to include the lyrics to Lee focking Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” with the lyrics to Savoy Brown blues band’s “Train to Nowhere.”

Here: genius.com/Savoy-brown-train-to-nowhere-lyrics

And, I might addendum a quasi-religious chuckle or two, such as this: 

A lawyer and the pope died simultaneously, both went to heaven. They were met at the Pearly Gate by St. Peter who conducted them to their rooms. The pope’s room was spartan with bare floor, army cot for a bed, and a single bulb for light. They came to the lawyer’s room. It was huge with wall-to-wall carpeting, king-sized water bed, indirect lighting, huge HD TV, Jacuzzi and fully stocked bar. The lawyer said, “There must be a mistake. This must be the pope’s room!” St Peter said, “Theres no mistake. This is your room. We gotta load of popes, but you be our very first lawyer!” Ba-ding!

Okey-dokey, got to go, there’s a train I’m supposed to catch ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.