From The City That Always Sweeps

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Clock illustration by kotoffei - Getty Images

Art Kumbalek with 2024 clock

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So how’s this new year been treating you’s so far? I don’t know if it’s just me but to be honest, I don’t notice a dime’s worth of difference from the previous crappy year. But I hear it’s got that “new” year smell that experts are calling 2024, good lord. 

January, again—that time of year that reminds me of what writer Roald Dahl (The Magic Finger, The Twits) said: “If I had my way, I’d remove January from the calendar altogether and have an extra July instead.” Amen, I’ll buy that, and I might also put a down payment on this, from his Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: “You should never, never doubt something that no one is sure of.” OK, got it, what the fock.

But here’s something that I’m surely confident of, and that would be my truthfully traditional dead-on Look Back/Watch Out Ahead essay, and please remember that pithiness is the soul of brevity; so here, for you to pith on:

The Year 2023: Sucked, but good, major big-time—wars, inhumanity, Counsell to the Cubs.

Watch Out Ahead, 2024: Will suck, even more, you betcha.

And just so you’s know, I’ve been annually whipping out this savant-sodden style of essay for more than 30 years and dag-focking-nabit if I’ve ever been off the mark. Check this, from Dec. 30, 1993:

1993: Sucked.

1994: Will suck.

And let’s go back to Dec. 30, 2004, when I soothsayed:

The Year 2004: Sucked.

A Look Ahead, 2005: Will suck, even more.

How ’bout January 2017? Here:

The Year 2016: Sucked, but good.

Watch Out Ahead, 2017: Will suck, even more. Can you believe it? The only surefire thing I can predict is there’ll be a sucker born at least every minute, and maybe a couple, three.

Remember?

Yes sir, clean, economical and near-elegant with the pith, ain’a? And that’s all I’ll say about the media bullshit from well-paid prognosti-focking-cators you’ll read and hear this time of a new year, ’cause I need to break this off right here, right now, and do something nice for myself like crank up the thermostat and mix another hot focking toddy, after all, it’s focking January, so I’ve heard.

Yeah, hate to disappoint if you were in the market for a next-year’s prediction to be a tad rosier, but please remember that disappointment is a fact of life. Albert focking Einstein was disappointed that he never found a way to wrap up his Theory of Everything before he croaked. And I’m disappointed that I’ll never get to meet Marilyn Monroe, not to mention my deep disappointment cum despair that my bonehead ancestors thought a better idea was to settle in the Upper Midwest instead of the temperate and libertine lifestyle climes of Ta-focking-hiti, cripes.

But that’s life, mister. Yes, you’ll be disappointed, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and maybe for the rest of your life. Your Auntie Mame may once have said, “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death,” but your Uncle Artie says, “Life’s a crap casserole and all you can do is strap on the ol’ feedbag and say ‘bon appétit.’” 

So happy focking New Year. But before I go, I’d like to mention that for Christmas, I received a nice little story from my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine. I already had it, so I thought I’d re-gift it to you ’cause what the fock. Here, try it on:

Christmas morning, a cop on horseback sits at a traffic light; next to him is a kid on a shiny new Schwinn. Cop says to the kid, “That’s a nice bicycle you’ve got there. Did Santa bring that for you?” 

Kid says, “You betcha, officer.” Cop says, “Next year tell Santa to put a taillight on that bike.”

Cop decides to give the kid a lesson for Christmas and gives the lad a $20 bicycle-safety violation ticket. Kid takes the ticket, wishes the cop a merry Christmas but before he rides off, says, “Excuse me, officer. That’s a nice horse you’ve got. Did Santa bring that for you?” Upholding the spirit of the season, the cop says, “Yes son, he sure did.” 

Kid says, “Maybe next year tell Santa to put the focking asshole at the back-end of the horse instead of on top, OK?” Ba-ding

So, tradition: I wish that you’s all have a relatively copacetic new year and make a resolution that we may—lo, these days of age and rage—believe that one of these days “We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet / For the sake of auld lang syne   ”—hey, at my age I still like to think anything’s possible, what the fock, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.