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Art Kumbalek with love balloon
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So how’s your 2024 going so far, what with its fading new-year smell? Seems kind of like the previously used year? Yeah, me too, what the fock
Cripes, February, already? 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, three more months of winter around these parts. On my other hand, the least thing I can say is it’s a Leap Year, so we get to suffer one whole extra day of this furshlugginer month, for cripes sakes.
So yeah, second month of this newish year, commonly known in the modern day as February, and also commonly known as the hardest month to pronounce, especially if you’re downing one hot focking toddy after another and cranking up the thermostat ’cause the weather sucks butt and what else can you do?
Of course, here in the Cheeseland, when we attempt to enunciate “February,” as in “February sucks and the hell with Valentine’s Day,” what I hear is “Febooreesucks…” etc.
Yes indeed, the letter “r” placed between the letter “b” and the soon to follow “u” has vanished here in the Upper Midwest, and so you hear “Febooree” (or “Febree”) as Badgerlanders negotiate the King’s English whilst speaking like we got a mouthful of creamed corn, yours included—Go Pack!—what the fock.
But within these frigid February crappy days, it’s a cram-packed month, you betcha: What with your Valentine’s Day, your Super Bowl football Super multi-billion 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”).
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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 yeah yeah, as a years-and-years-ago former matriculater over at Our Lady In Pain That You Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough, I still feel the guilt-obligation to give up something for Lent. One thing I know, I sure don’t have the personal constitution to ape the Lord and do something like fast for the 40 days out in the wilderness. No way could I pull that off; although, to be fair and balanced to myself, that was probably a little easier for Him to do than it would be Me, after all, from the pictures I’ve seen of the Lord, he really didn’t look like a very big eater to begin with, ain’a?
No sir, this year for Lent I’m thinking to forego learning how to play the trombone. Done and done—and I just imagined that I heard my dinky-apartment neighbors drop to their knees in gratitude.
And February: Black History Month, designated for the least month timewise, wouldn’t you know. My fellow Americans, if, and when, I am finally elected to be president of your United States of America on Nov. 5, 2024, Black History Month is to be 12-times a year but good, I kid you not.
So, with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I’d like to remind all the fellas to not forget the focking flowers ’cause the ladies go for them in a big way, you betcha. Like this one woman who was talking to the neighbor lady “over the fence” when she sees her husband coming home carrying a bunch of some kind of flowers. “Isn’t that nice, he’s bringing you flowers,” the neighbor lady says. The woman says, “Oh, great. Looks like another weekend flat on my back with my feet up in the air!” And the neighbor says, “What—you don’t have a vase?” Ba-ding!
In conclusion, I say to you’s, what with the Valentine’s Day folie à deux, 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.