From The City That Always Sweeps

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Art Kumbalek thanksgiving turkey

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So, I hear the November is upon us, which means that winter’s coming. And about that, all I can say is that you best crank up the thermostat and mix another hot focking toddy. Survival guaranteed, what the fock.

And let’s not forget that toward the rear-end of the month, we’ve got Thanksgiving on the platter—the day a guy or gal is supposed to figure out what to be thankful for. Personally, my Thankful List runs pretty much A to A—I’ll be thankful I never had to hear myself say, “But she told me she was 18, your honor. I swear.” Or, “Hey, is that a shrunken head hanging from the string around the neck of the guy standing next to the guy who’s holding a blow gun to his lips?” Or, “Wait. I thought you said the red ones were fatally poisonous.” Or, “OK, so if I squeal like a pig just once, you promise you’ll give back my canoe paddle, right?” And I’ll be thankful that I’m not serving hard time with no chance for parole. That about does it, I kid you not.

Of course, there are things that could happen in the future that I would be thankful for: Former President Trumpel-thinskin finally gets sent to jail where he belongs. Yours truly is elected mayor of Our Town, because I could really use the dough. Aaron Rodgers leads the Green Bay Packers to victory in Super Bowl 56.

Oh, and before I forget, to those of you’s who plan to jump the gun on the holiday shopping season: I take a 42-44 regular in a nice sports coat, god bless you.

And speaking of jumping-the-gun, given these bifurcated times, as a safety tip allow me to suggest that wherever you may go for the holiday, besides perhaps bringing a dish to share, do not forget to pack a piece ala concealed-carry protection in the event some in-law at a get-together has too much eggnog, gets a little cranky and all of a sudden whips out a heater and wants to blow your head clean off ’cause he just remembered you didn’t come by to lend a hand and help take his focking pier out up at his crappy cottage by Crivitz last Labor Day because you were too damn busy wearing a mask and getting vaccinated.

Which reminds me, how ’bout I give you a little something you can take along and share at your gathering of thanks so’s you don’t show up empty-handed like some kind of freeloading fockstick. If you’re too damn lazy to bring a dish or gallon of bourbon, a humorous story would be a nice alternative, you betcha.

There’s this group of hunters who always go up to the same neck-of-the-woods every year for a three-day beer-drinking shootout. Each morning they’d pair off in twos for the hunt. Well sir, one evening one of the guys came back alone, dragging a huge 10-point buck. The other guys wanted to know where Jerry was, and the guy dragging the deer said that Jerry had a stroke or maybe a heart attack, couple miles back. “Cripes, you left Jerry lying there in the cold and the dark and dragged the deer back instead?” And the guy says, “Yeah, it was a tough call, but I figured no one would steal Jerry, so what the fock.” Ba-ding!

Yes sir, that ought to bring down the house gathered ’round ol’ Tom Turkey, ain’a? As for me, I’ll be gathered ’round something other than a turkey ’cause I never touch the stuff, no sir. For my Thanksgiving feast, I enjoy to boil up a nice ring baloney because I cannot eat turkey out of respect for our Founding Fathers who dang near made it our National Bird for christ sakes—I’m guessing because of the turkey’s much ballyhooed beauty and intelligence, what the fock.

And I guess had they made that decision, today we would be basting and carving the traditional eagle come the fourth Thursday each November. Well, maybe not necessarily the eagle, but whatever bird it would be, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the turkey ’cause you just don’t cram a thermometer up the butt of the National Bird, I don’t care who you are.

But if it were to be the eagle, you know what? I got a sneaking hunch that it doesn’t “taste just like chicken,” no sir. In fact, I got a funny feeling that the eagle tastes just like a woman’s saddle shoe, size seven, shoelace included. So yes, I’m thankful that the Founding Fathers failed to make the gobbler our nation’s fowl symbol for all that’s noble and strong about our country. Besides, the turkey carries enough symbolic weight as it is anyways, witnessed by the fact that we elect so goddamn many of them to Congress every couple years, ain’a?

And in conclusion, let me say that wherever you find yourself this Thanksgiving holiday, god speed and remember to fight the good fight ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.