Filled O’ Bluster

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh man manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I know the world rejoices that the Catholic pope is back home and convalescing from his recent surgery. I don’t know if the holy pontiff is a fan or reader of my essays, but in the event that he is, here’s a little story that might bring a smile and speed his recovery:

One day, a man was golfing when he hit his ball into the woods. When he went to retrieve it, he found that it had hit a small man in green tights.

“I’m so sorry!” the man said.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, you caught me. I’m a leprechaun and you have managed to stop me. You get three wishes.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want the wishes. Just as long as you’re OK.” The leprechaun thought the man was so nice that he decided to indeed grant the three wishes. He gave him unlimited money, terrific health, and a great sex life. Sim Sala Bim!

A year later, the man came back to the golf course and recognized that same leprechaun.

“How’re you doing?” asked the leprechaun.

“Terrific. Every time I stick my hand in my pocket a 100 dollar bill comes out, and I’ve eaten nothing but Snickers bars for a year and I’m at my ideal weight and can run a mile faster than anyone.”

“How’s your sex life?” the leprechaun asked.

“Fantastic! I’m up to twice a month now!”

“Twice a month? Why so little? I gave you a great sex-life wish!”

And the man said, “Hey, it’s not bad for a priest!” Ba-ding!

Anyways, I don’t know how much of an essay I’m able to slap together for you’s this week since I’m expecting the guys at my door any second now in order to haul my sorry ass Up North past by Hayward there for our restored Valhalla week at my buddy Ernie’s brother-in-law’s ramshackle cabin/cold-water coop, you betcha.

So instead of a regular essay, I thought I’d trot out a list I provide for you’s readers once in a while of “don’ts” to help ensure that the remaining days of this year’s socially near-regular summertime are safe and maybe even tolerable, what the fock, and you’re welcome.

Not Quite a Hundred Things Not To Do the Rest of This Summertime

Do Not:

• Eat your shorts.
• Eat my shorts.
• Have a buddy putting all the cocktails on his tab and at some point during the evening before bartime say, “No thanks, I’ve had enough.”
• Stream any movie with a “Dame” so-and-so somebody in it unless you got the insomnia bad.
• Get stinking drunk in a boat out on the water and I’ll tell you why. I knew these three guys years ago who went out fishing along with a couple, three cases of ice-cold bottled beer. So they’re out there all goddamn day catching nothing but one hell of a buzz under the hot sun. At one point, one of the tipsy trio stands up to take a leak, loses his balance and flips head-over-heels right over the side of the boat into the water and starts to sink.

The other two bozos are so blasted that they don’t even notice their buddy has jumped ship until maybe a half-hour later. No sooner do they realize that they’re no longer three men in a tub but two than do they dive into the water and frantically grope around for the missing mariner. Eventually, one of the loopy lifeguards grabs ahold of his overboard buddy down deep, hauls him into the boat and commences with the mouth-to-mouth.

“Jesus H. Christ!” he says, recoiling in revulsion. “I don’t remember Corky’s breath stinking to the high heaven like this, do you?”

And the other guy says, “Fock no. And not only that. I don’t remember him wearing that snowmobile suit, either!” Ba-ding!

• Ever give the correct time when asked by a late-night stranger on a darkened, desolate street, but instead always reply, “Time? You bet. How ’bout time to buy a focking watch, loser.”
• Forget to tip.
• Make an appointment for a routine medical checkup and I’ll tell you why. It’s a no-win situation. If you’re feeling OK and you go to the doctor’s and he says you’re OK, what have you gained? Not a focking thing, but you certainly have lost time and money. Now, if you go and the doc says, “Uh-oh, we got a problem here,” well, now not only do you have a problem but you’re bound to be depressed about it and who in their right mind needs that kind of combination? You tell me.
• Walk into a biker bar and shout, “Hey, which one of you candy asses use to own the wuss Electra Glide out front I just backed into with my Mazda?”
• Tell your girlfriend you can’t take her kids to the church festival ’cause you got a hot date with her sister.
• Order a salad instead of a steak.
• Find a pair of bum’s underwear on the street and wear them before laundering.

OK, the following isn’t a “don’t” but I got lakes and fishing on my mind, so what the fock: This guy’s standing at the edge of a lake when he spies a woman who looks familiar, flailing to and fro out in the deepest part. Since he can’t swim, he starts yelling for help and wouldn’t you know, some trout fisherman runs up to him. The guy says to the fisherman, “My wife’s drowning and I can’t swim. Please save her. I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”

The trout guy dives into the water and in just a couple powerful strokes reaches the woman, puts his arm around her and swims back to shore. The fisherman drops her at the guy’s feet and says, “So how about that hundred dollars?”

And the guy says, “Listen, when I saw her going down for the third time, I truly did think it was my wife. But this is my mother-in-law.”

And the trout fisherman fishes through his pockets and says, “Damn, just my luck. OK buddy, how much do I owe you?” Ba-ding!

• Forget about at least one good deed daily.
• Get sick without health insurance.
• Vote Republican.
• Just stand there.
• Look back.

All right already, that may not be exactly 100 “don’ts” so sue me. But the guys are banging down the door and I got to go, so see you around and Go Bucks! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.