Thanksgiving Dinner - Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I expect to enjoy immensely this year’s November primarily ’cause there’s no state/nation-wide elections, which means no barrage of million-dollar political ads on my TV suggesting that said bullshit candidate deserves your vote based on the family photo-op in front of a Christmas tree holding high-powered rifles that Santa brought ’cause they’re rough-and-ready on crime. Cripes.
Give me a Roto-rooter, Pepsodent toothpaste or old-school Phil Tolkan “Talking Pontiac” commercial any day, I kid you not.
Anyways, here we are as we globatize the Sun, this 11th month of the year, the one we call November from the Latin novem meaning 9 (Huh? Was the robed gang who in the olden, olden days slapped together the calendar we use today the ancient forefathers of those who designed the Ford Edsel or who determine what constitutes an acceptable pass reception in the National Football League?).
But it is November, and as I check my “Strumpets of the South Seas” wall calendar, I see we got a month that includes All Saints’ Day; All Souls’ Day (a day that I learned during my scholastic purgatorial period back at Our Lady In Pain That You Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough we ought to pray for the souls receiving an ass-kicking comeuppance in purgatory); a Daylight Saving Time adjustment ( we pick up an extra hour, Nov. 2, an hour which I plan to put to productive usage, such as finally starting and finishing Finnegans Wake and slapping a fresh reed on the ol’ Buffet and re-memorizing Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A major, K. 622); big-buck Bambi-dad deer slaughtering; Thanksgiving; Black Friday shopping.
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Reminder Alert: Astrologically, I got a Scorpion B-day near the top-of-this-month (cold cash in a thoughtful card appreciated), just so you’s know. Also, at my advanced age, one of these new-fangled GoFundMe deals sent my way would be welcome. And, I could use a nice new fall jacket, a bag of socks, not to mention monetary relief from a boatload of medical $chmutz. And what the fock, I take a 42-44 regular in a nice sports coat that could come handy for my display in the coffin if I choose such an au revoir, god bless you.
Yeah yeah, we’re talking November, but I’m flipping this essay together at the end of September due to deadline/printing schmutz. Cripes, by the time you read this palaver, I could be dropped over deader than a doornail, how ’bout that? You may have read my obit before you read this page. Yeah, the obit with the headline “Art Kumbalek,” and then continues for a while downhill from there. Good lord, I haven’t even thought of an epitaph for the gravestone yet; although, I am leaning toward something like this: “Your call is important to us. Please remain on the line, and someone will be with you shortly,” or, “Anybody got a light?” or, “I knew I should’ve looked both ways, goddamn it.”
And of the Thanksgiving. There are a couple, three perennials that could happen in the future I would be thankful for: “President” Trumpel-thinskin doing the perp walk sporting a nice pair of fool’s gold handcuffs. Yours truly wins a $3 billion Megabucks lottery drawing, because I could really use the dough. Jordan Love leads the Green Bay Packers to victory in Super Bowl LX.
Which reminds me, how ’bout I give you a little something you can take along and share at your gathering the fourth thankful Thursday of November 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. It goes something like this:
So these two ladies fall off a hiking cliff to their death and are waiting in purgatory to hear the results of their life audit. A door opens and two men enter. An angel walks in with an ugly, gremlin of a man. The angel says “Nancy, in 1982 you ran over a duck with your SUV: Punishment will be to spend your eternal life with this pustule of a man” He slaps the shackles on each of their arms and are sent off together for eternity. Next, an angel walks in with a gorgeous hunky dude. He slaps the shackle on Alice and the handsome man and she are sent on their way. During their walk, she thinks she must have been a good person during her life on Earth, when she’s interrupted by the man’s muttering: “I knew I shouldn’t have killed that duck.” Ba-ding!
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.
