From The City That Always Sweeps

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Art Kumbalek - Christmas Party

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I hear it’s now December: the month of the winter solstice (the 21st), the day with the fewest daylight hours, certainly a boon to vampires all over the Northern Hemisphere; so I suggest to you holiday gift-buyers out-and-about that you keep a keen eye out for fellow shoppers who may appear to be bat-crazy (numerous, they will be), I kid you not.

It can be a stressful time of year, and so a confession I must make: I thought by golly at this late date in the season, I’d have this holiday song I’ve been working on for years ready for your preview, ’cause if you hear what I hear this time of year every year, you know damn well that the creaky seasonal canon needs new ammunition.

Yes sir, I believed that my tune, “Every Day’s Just Another Focking Holiday,” not only would hit the charts with a big ol’ bullet but it would be the first holiday tune in human history that could be played each and every day of the year. And then some hotshot impresario would turn it into a Broadway musical and I’d be a millionaire, what the fock.

But I’m having troubles working out the bridge to the tune, such that I feel like jumping off it like a regular George Bailey, and it definitely is not a wonderful life. Not when you’re also flirting with the iron maiden of deep, dark despair on account of another failure—that being my inability once again to get the Art Kumbalek Mistletoe Belt Buckle to the holiday market. This really blows.

And I tell you, based on the number of queries I field throughout the year as to the availability of this fine gift idea, the Art Kumbalek Mistletoe Belt Buckle is also a million-dollar moneymaker waiting to happen. You may recall that the AKMBB is conceptualized to be so much more than just a focking stocking-stuffer gag gift, in that the belt buckle is designed to be compatible with the Art Kumbalek Big Boy Belt. Modeled on Batman’s ultra-handy utility belt, the snazzy Big Boy Belt—to be available with the Mistletoe Belt Buckle for only an additional buck two-eighty—would sport all kind of clips, loops and high-tech doo-dads so as to hold practical items like a can of Miller High Life, Swiss Army knife, prophylactic, loaded flask, carton of Pall Malls, an extra pair of socks; prepared to service truth, justice and the American way.

But alas, what with the production and supply-chain schmutz, Artie Santa can’t locate a decent sweatshop. A lot of these Fourth World elves are looking to make 14 cents an hour and I simply can’t do business if I have to focking fork out blue-chip Third World wages like that. Hey, who could? Beats me.

And I know that some of you’s may also be feeling failure and disappointment this time of year, and the least I could do is give you a handy tip since I got experience in this area. You know what I do when I get disappointed cum out of whack?

Nothing, not a damn thing that’s what, ’cause why bother? Just suck it up and steady yourself for the next load of dashed desire due down the pike any second. And never ever forget that your crap casserole might not be some other knucklehead’s filet mig-focking-non; so what makes you think you’re so hoity-toity special you can’t have some disappointment once in a while? Hey, you tell me.

And then I’ll tell you to remember this, from the English poet John Donne about 500-focking years ago: “No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if Clod bee washed away by Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”

Jeez louise, those old farts couldn’t spell for crap, ain’a? I had to read the above a couple, three focking times until I understood that the important thing not to forget is that every time a bell rings, an angel gets their wings.

So, there you go. And as a devotion upon an emergent occasion, I wish you happy holidays, merry Christmas, joyous whatever-it-is-you-got-deserves-celebrating.

And be damn sure to celebrate your holiday good and plenty. You just can’t ever be 100 per-focking-cent sure that it may not be the last one you’ll get; so make it a good one, what the fock, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.