I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, you just got to love a country whose economy is finally escaping from hell and yet has a major political party who got de-pantsed in the last presidential election on account of gross ineptitude whilst declaiming that the only way to put this Land for You and Me back on the good foot is a boatload of more cuts in common-good taxes for the million-billionaire rich focks whose wives and mistresses spend more in a year on hair spray than the United States of America spends on neighborhood school education, don’t you?
While sinking, if the captain of the Titanic had imagined that if only the ship could strike a second iceberg, then prospects for survival would skyrocket. Yeah, and our current opposition party leadership would’ve nominated that guy for sainthood.
And if you choose me for your next president, I promise that on my first day in office to arrest every single focking Grand Old Party member of Congress for treason, and “Gitmo” down there Cuban way would now be known as “GOP-mo,” you betcha.
And about the Super Bowl past, I found it to be a self-relaxing contest since I had abso-focking-lutely no rooting interest—but those goddamn commercials! I didn’t notice any political ads, but I sure saw plenty of talking and singing animals, the sheep, dogs and what-not this year. My guess is that these commercial-makers got their cue from the Republican presidential debates that feature a stage full-up with speaking jackasses—especially, last debate, the Irish guy from Florida, Marc O’Rubio, who kept repeating the same lame-brained notion over and over no matter what he was asked: “Marc O’Robot,” what the fock.
Stay on top of the news of the day
Subscribe to our free, daily e-newsletter to get Milwaukee's latest local news, restaurants, music, arts and entertainment and events delivered right to your inbox every weekday, plus a bonus Week in Review email on Saturdays.
And of jackasses, I’ve been watching some of this TV series, “The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story,” and I got to tell you’s that the trial still has me dumbfounded. Let’s rev up the time machine and take a trip back ’cause I got nothing else planned.
The jury said “not guilty” and so The Juice got loose and free (to kill again, some would say, if he so chose) ’cause gosh darn it, this is still America.
But about that, this is what I know: O.J. says he didn’t do it. The jury sent him home. The L.A. police/prosecutors say we had our man and the candy-ass jury let him off; we’re not looking for anybody else, fock it.
And I say this is a wash. Apparently, allegedly there is no murderer. But you still got two dead bodies to be accounted for. What do you bet, had the jury found O.J. guilty, his defense team would’ve scraped the bottom of the believability barrel and hired a bevy of experts for the appeal to prove that the deaths were from natural cause, ’cause what other explanation could there be?
“No murderer” proves that the only logical conclusion to the Brown/Goldman croaking is an obvious case of double suicide. Yeah, that’s it, had to be. They killed themselves while O.J. happened to be walking by and tried to stop them.
While doing so, his driving gloves fell out of his pocket and then he got nicked by Nicole’s knife as she tried to cut her head clean off. So he sensibly took his socks off to wrap his cut finger and then drove and/or ran home to apply a little Bactine, chip a couple of golf balls in the front yard, then rush back to the suicide scene to apply one more ounce of prevention. He noticed they were done dead, then also noticed his gloves in the blood pool, picked ’em up so he could rinse them out at home before they stained and looked like hell, suddenly remembered he had to catch a plane to Chicago, re-saddled the Ford Bronco, tossed the pair of gloves onto the dash and the seat, raced back home where the limo was now waiting, grabbed the gloves and rushed into the house (dropping one who-knows-where), and, you get the picture.
Back at the scene, a homeless guy came back and took the suicide knives ’cause they were there. Case closed. And O.J.’s free for the time being, which is more than you can say for a lot of black guys, what the fock.
Anyways, with the Valentine’s Day folies à deux and all, good luck and god speed with your love and romance. And as tradition here dictates, let me remind you what the famous Greek philosopher Anonymous said about that: “The ideal relationship can only be achieved when one partner is blind and the other is deaf,” ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
