From The City That Always Sweeps

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Art Kumbalek Grilling/Cookout

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, can it really be the month named June already, for crying out loud?

Now, I could tell you’s that it’s been known as “June” since the year 1582 when Pope Gregory XIII dicked with the ol’ rusty Julian calendar and decided to name the sixth month of year after the Roman goddess Juno, and from my toe-tip into the waters of research, she was “the god of marriage and childbirth, and the wife of Jupiter, king of the gods.” Must’ve been some kind of hotsy-totsy to be named a calendar girl for, lo, these couple, three, eleventeen hundred years, ain’a?

But the big deal with June I hear is we’ve got Father’s Day coming up like a bad burrito on the Sunday the 21st (also the first day of summer, the day where my favorite words of the season are “cool front on the way” as pronounced by our TV weather guys and gals, I kid you not).

But about Dad’s Day, maybe or not, you’d like to present a gift to the old fart but you’ve got no dough to waste; besides, he’s already got more neck ties, fish lures, child-support payments and packages of flat-head nails than he can use in a lifetime.

So how ’bout this, you give him the gift of laughter, call them “Dad Jokes,” that he can use over and over again so’s to antagonize friends, relatives, neighbors, sheriff deputies, former co-workers and therapists, what the fock.

You think? OK. Let me dip into Artie’s Joke Bag for a couple, three that you can gift Pop when/if you see him, and they’re definitely cheaper than a six-pack of Old Style.

A guy walks into a tavern and there’s a horse behind the bar serving drinks. The guy stares at the horse, so the horse says, “Hey buddy, what’s the problem? You never seen a horse serving drinks before?” The guy says, “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I never thought the parrot would sell this place.” Ba-ding!

Maybe you’ve heard this one before, but I’ll bet you a buck two-eighty that maybe he hasn’t: There’s this guy struggling to decide what to wear to a fancy costume party when suddenly he has an idea. Later, when the host answered the door, she found the guy standing there with no shirt, no socks and no shoes. The host says, “And just what the fock are you supposed to be?” And the guy says, “A premature ejaculation—’cause I just came in my pants!” Ba-ding!

Here’s one definitely for Pop: One day, during a lesson on proper grammar, the teacher asked for a show of hands for who could use the word “beautiful” in the same sentence twice. First, she called on Katie, who said, “My father bought my mother a beautiful dress and she looked beautiful in it.”

“Very good, Katie,” the teacher says. She then called on Michael. “My mommy planned a beautiful brunch and it turned out beautifully,” he said.

And then the teacher called one of the Justins. “Last night, at the dinner table, my sister told my dad that she was pregnant, and he said, ‘Beautiful. That’s just FOCKING beautiful!’” Ba-ding!

How ’bout one more ’cause what the fock: A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel sticking out of his pirate pants zipper. Bartender says, “Hey, Long John Silver! Did you know you have a steering wheel attached to your dick?” And the pirate says, “Aye! It’s driving me nuts!” Ba-ding!

A-focking-men. Happy Father’s Day. And if any of the above might not pass muster with your Mr. Bluster, then relay the following little story on some kind of phone when you call him to say you can’t drop by on the Sunday ’cause you got more important things to do:

So this foursome of guys are on the first tee. As the fourth guy is smack in the middle of his backswing, a funeral procession passes by on the road that runs alongside the tee. The guy drops his club, takes off his golf cap and places it over his heart until the line of cars recedes from sight.

The other three guys are beside themselves in awe and admiration. After the round was over, one of them says to Mr. Respect-for-the-Dead, “Jeez louise, Hank, that was an honorable thing you did back there on the first tee.” Hank says, “You mean when the funeral passed by? Thanks, but I figured it was the least I could do. After all, I was married to her for 42 years.” Ba-ding!

Okey-doke, genug ist genug, ain’a?

But I’ll wrap up this special Father’s Day essay with a personal note: Of father, of son, this time of year, I’ll be seeing you, as the song goes, in all the familiar places, I’ll be seeing you, in every lovely summer’s day somewhere over the rainbow, I remember you ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.