I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, while Trumpel-thinskin brags and blows his own blugelhorn about how fan-focking-tastic the ratings are for his misinformed and delusional coronavirus press conferences, the rest of the country plays “Taps.” Yes sir, “Dr.” Donald Trump, a regular Florence Nightin-focking gale he surely is.
Heyyy there, I’ve got a horn of my own I can go to town on to the tune of something you may remember:
And now, without further ado, my Look Back/Watch Out Ahead essay (from early this year,) and remember that pithiness is the soul of brevity; so here it is for you to pith on:
The Year 2019: Sucked, but good.
Watch Out Ahead, 2020: Will suck, even more. Hard to believe, ain’a?
As Leon Black might remark: “That’s some serious soothsaying motherfocking shit, there, Artie.”
Aside: Yes, that Leon Black, from TV’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” a series you all now have the time to catch up on, and I recommend that you do. And if it’s a book you’re looking for with which to while away the hours, how ’bout 1963’s A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole, a posthumous Pulitzer Prize winner in 1981, by the way. And also, by the way, a title that would acutely serve a future history of the Humpty-Dumbty “administration,” what the fock.
And if it’s a movie you’re looking for, I suggest the highly educational The Vikings (1958), surprisingly not on the list of the American Film Institute’s greatest 100 movies. What the fock. They don’t make movies like that anymore, especially when it comes to historical accuracy. And talk about casting—Kirk Douglas, Tony Curtis and Ernie focking Borgnine. No one at the time realized the brilliant subtlety of casting guys from New York and Jersey as a bunch of Vikings. But what the picture was trying to say was not only that the Vikings were obviously the first to discover the New World, but also the first to stay settled in it—most notably around the area we now call the Bronx.
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(For proof, just listen to Tony Curtis, as a Viking, when he says, “Ovah yonduh floats the boat of my Viking bruddah.” And that’s still the way they talk in that part of the New World about a thousand-years later.)
Anyways, as I was saying, 2020: “Will suck, even more. Hard to believe, ain’a?” Not in any which way hard to believe anymore, and it’s only the top of the April. We’ve still got another nine months of 2020 to go, during which there is the possibility of ass-busting aliens from another galaxy landing here, and among the gifts they may come bearing could be a whole ’nother deadly disease virus, and this one would be intergalactic, so good luck finding a vaccination for that schmutz, earthling.
But on the bright side, I believe, if I had to choose, I would take this corona ordeal over night-time London Nazi bomber raids with the daytime Stukas and such, for 56 in-a-row days during the fall of 1940. Now, that would be a really difficult experience as opposed to maintaining a six-feet circumference from the person coming down the aisle at the grocery store as I may make my way to the refrigerated bin in search of vanilla tapioca, ain’a?
And speaking of movies and the so-called “New World” and its early inhabitants, how ’bout a nice little story:
A film crew was on location deep in the desert. One day an old Native American what-they-used-to-call Indian went up to the director and said, “Tomorrow, rain.” The next day it rained. A week later, the Indian went up to the director and said, “Tomorrow, storm.” The next day there was a hailstorm.
“This Indian is incredible,” the director said. He told his secretary to hire the Indian to predict the weather. But then, after several successful predictions, the wise Native American was not seen for weeks. Finally, the director sent for him, and when he appeared, the director said, “I have to shoot a big scene tomorrow, and I need your native expertise. What will the weather be like?” The Indian shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know,” he said. “Radio broke.” Ba-ding!
OK, got time for one more story, one that proves how essential certain “essential” businesses are during these troubled times:
A nice, calm and respectable lady says to the pharmacist, “I would like to buy some cyanide.” The pharmacist asks, “Why in the world do you need cyanide?” The lady replies, “I need it to poison my husband.”
The pharmacist, shocked, says, “Lord have mercy! I can’t give you cyanide to kill your husband! That’s against the law! I’ll lose my license! They’ll throw both of us in jail! Absolutely not! You CANNOT have any cyanide!”
The lady reaches into her purse and pulls out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist’s wife. The pharmacist looks at the picture and says “Well now. That’s different. You didn’t tell me you had a prescription.”
Ba-ding! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
