Art Kumbalek vintage Valentine
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? Cripes, February? Jeez louise, I’m thinking perhaps the best thing I can say about it is that the second month of the year signals we’ve only got a couple, maybe three, more months of winter. And this year it only lasts 28 days instead of the interminable 29 we get with the occasionable so-called Leap Year, what the fock.
But within those frigid crappy days, it’s a cram-packed month, you betcha: What with your Valentine’s Day, your Super Bowl football Super multi-million dollar advertising Sunday (so that you learn which kind of bag of snack chips you ought to buy), your Presidents’ Day (a big favorite of mine on account that there’s no mail delivery, thus pushing forward by a day the inevitable query from some kind of health “provider” as to where is their dough from out of my pocketbook for “services”), and for certain religious-cult members, there’s the Ash Wednesday—the kick-start to the Lenten Season when it is so prescribed that one foregoes this-or-that so as to mimic Jesus alone in some kind of desert for 40 days and 40 nights with nothing for sustenance than to suck on his loincloth, or something like that.
So listen, I was out and about just the other day and some knob says to me, “Hey Artie, writing those essays must be good therapy, ain’a?” And I was reminded of a little story:
This gal goes to her psychiatrist ’cause she’s having big problems with her sex life, wouldn’t you know. The psychiatrist asks her lots of questions but wasn’t getting a clear picture of her problems. So finally he asks, “Do you ever watch your husband’s face while you are having sex?” And she says, “Well, yes, I did once.” The psychiatrist asked her how he looked and she said, “Very angry.”
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The psychiatrist felt he was finally getting somewhere: “That's very interesting but we must look into this further. Now tell me, you say that you have only seen your husband's face once during sex, which seems somewhat unusual. How did it occur that you saw his face that time?” And she says, “He was looking through the window.” Ba-ding!
Yeah yeah you betcha, Artie’s his own therapist, how ’bout that. By cutting out the middle man, I figure I’m saving myself maybe about a $150 bucks an hour; so the drinks are on me. And as a therapist, one thing I know is that we can all use an extra pat on the back. Actually, I got a better idea. More than an extra pat on the back, we could all use an extra 20 or two in the wallet, what the fock. Hold on, I got an even better idea. How ’bout, say, you go see one of these psychiatric guys for a little shrink rap, and at the end of the session he gives you a crisp $100 bill and change instead of the other way around—“Hey doc, gosh. Thanks for the dough. I'm feeling better about myself already.” And isn’t that the point?
Fock if I know, but I sometimes do wonder what things would be like these days if there had been an outbreak of the psychology racket in the olden days. Say back in the year 0027 or something, they pull Jesus in for a psych session: “Well, Mr. Christ, to me it looks like we’re dealing with a pattern of self-destructive behavior here. I’d say you were clinically depressed but that hasn’t been invented yet. This savior thing. It’s a grand idea, but practically speaking, what about the future? Do you actually see yourself doing this at 40, 50? And you say one thing, but then do another. ‘Love thy neighbor,’ fine. But then you go bust up their money-changing temple. What I’d like to do is see you weekly for the long-term. Who is your health care provider, Mr. Christ?”
Anyways, what with the Valentine’s Day folie à deux right ’round the corner, I wish you’s good luck and god speed with your love and romance. And as tradition here at “Art’s Sake” 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.
