Critical Space Theory

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh man manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, first off, a big “thank you very kindly” to the mensch I know as El Jefe from the Old Line State of Maryland (state crustacean: blue crab). The Jef’ sent me a box of a package across state lines that shall ensure I’ll be well-maintained come the Fourth by way of a couple of fifths. Mucho gracias, my friend.

And in regard to my run to represent Badgerland in the U.S. Senate come 2022, I got to skip this week’s essay so’s better to meet with my campaign brain trust to figure out why the heck I’ve yet to receive nary a candidate-mention in the press, what the fock. So I’m off to confab with my advice-aholics over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school majestically crammed onto the corner of wistfully hysteric Humboldt Boulevard and the fabled Center Street. Tag along if you like, but you cover the first round. Let’s get going.

Herbie: Listen, Julius, yes I do believe we’ve got these UFOs flying all over our country, and they have been for years. Even the military now fesses up. And what’s the first thing these focking aliens from outer space do when they land here? They goddamn get themselves elected to the House of Representatives and the Senate as Republicans so they can annihilate democracy and the American way and take over, what the fock. Pay attention, for christ sakes.

Emil: No, Ernie, I don’t have any guns. But if I went out for the conceal-and-open-carry, I’d get two guns. That way if I get held up by the gunpoint from behind and the focking robbers take my gun, hey, I still got another one I can whip out and blow away those thieving assholes.

Ray: Charlie Bronson, rest in peace.

Ernie: Aren’t you supposed to get some kind of official training after you first buy a gun?

Emil: Official training, what the fock, like I never watched a cop show on TV? It’s insulting.

Julius: Anybody know if our gun-totin’ lack-of-laws includes all kind of rifles? I wouldn’t mind packing a Winchester on my Downtown daily constitutional and picking off a couple, three of these garbage-ass sea gulls disturbing my peace and crapping anywhere and everywhere all the time.

Little Jimmy Iodine: I use to be against everybody having guns, but now I’m thinking I ought to have one for protection when the Republicans come to my door to replace my Medicare with a ticket for a foot massage and free cup of yogurt, just so some rich asshole can buy a new yacht.

Ray: “Listen punk, you can have my Medicare when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

Herbie: The lengths some of these politicians will go to avoid laying a fair tax on the more-often-than-not undeservedly rich focksticks, ain’a? I heard of a plan to “save Social Security.” It’s a deal where parents could sell the “naming rights” of their kids to participating big businesses. The dough the parents get paid would go directly into a “personal account” that would get invested into the stocks of the companies their kids are named after. So, your Joshua could become “Pfizer,” your Jennifer is now “Pampers,” and the bun-in-the-oven will be “WD-40” no matter the sex. You got twins? “Procter” and “Gamble” sounds kind of nice, ain’a?

Ray: That reminds me of a little story: Two married guys are having a beer and one says, “So, how's your sex life?” Other guy says, “Nothing special. I'm having Social Security sex.” First guy says, “What the fock is Social Security sex?” Second guy says, “You know: I get a little each month, but not enough to live on.”

Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.

Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know.

Little Jimmy: I know the president got home from seeing Putin and managed not to get poisoned. Does Joe know his way around foreign policy or what, ain’a?

Emil: I know I’m disappointed there’s no Polish Fest down by the lake again this summertime. I always enjoy the booth with the guy who guesses the number of consecutive consonants in your last name.

Herbie: And I hear Julius wants to start a one-man Downtown seagull removal program.

Ernie: Maybe we could send a big focking bunch of these seagulls to some city that doesn’t have any ’cause they don’t have any big water body. And they don’t have to send us anything in return.

Julius: What the hell kind of deal is that—you don’t get anything back? Say what you want about Trumple-thinskin, but he’d never make a deal like that.

Ernie: People say Trump is a shrewd dealer; so I’d betcha that if he were our town’s mayor, he’d send a couple truckloads of seagulls to some town in Timbuktu trying to attract tourists, and in return he’d get a bunch of camels. That would be good for the tourists who come to Milwaukee—if instead of too many goddamn seagulls, we had a bunch of camels roaming around that the tourist could hop on anytime and take a ride past all the hotspots.

Little Jimmy: A bunch of camels can’t cost more than a streetcar, ain’a?

Emil: I don’t think any other American city has a bunch of camels, outside their zoo, that the people could make use of. We could even put a camel on our new city flag, whenever it is we’re supposed to get one.

Ray: Make our flag great again.

Herbie: What the fock, whatever did happen to the new city flag we were supposed to get. Didn’t we have a design for new flag the other year, one with a kind of “rising sun” on it? Jeez louise, the first thing I thought of when I saw it was that we ought to organize and mount a surprise sneak attack Illinois, ain’a?

(Hey, it’s getting late but thanks for letting us bend your ear, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek, and I told you so.)