Golden Glob

×

Expand

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh man manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, to paraphrase the late, great Alex Thien of the old Milwaukee Sentinel, here’s a couple, three newsy bits to kick-start your day with.

• Just flew in from attending that Golden Globes hullabaloo the other night and boy-oh is my libido tired. Didn’t get a chance to catch-up with Salma Hayek, which was a shame, ’cause talk about a pair of golden globes—ay chihuahua. But I did have some laughs, cocktails, etc., with Jodie focking Foster at the after-party and let me tell you’s, after meeting me she’s considering taking a re-gander at that same-sex thing, I kid you not.

• Hey, now that the National Hockey League has got their bullshit together in order to commence with a fan-thankfully shortened season, will the Stanley Cup championship trophy this year be called the “Stan Cup”?

• Read a story from out of London awhile back where the first paragraph said exactly this: “A computer programmer found out his girlfriend was having an affair when his pet parrot kept repeating her lover's name, British media reported.” Those parrots I tell you, they are in-focking-credible plus smart to boot. Reminds me of a little story:

A guy walks into a tavern and there's a horse behind the bar serving drinks. The guy just stares at the horse, so the horse says, “Hey buddy, what’s the problem? You never seen a horse serving drinks before?”

The guy replies, “No, it's not that... it's just that I never thought the parrot would sell this place.” Ba-ding!

• Here’s the results of a study my late, great buddy Jay sent to me, not that long ago goddamn it, that some of you’s guys might find interesting. He got it from off the Internet, so I’m thinking it’s got to be legit, ain’a?

“A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of male face a woman finds attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle:

“For instance, if she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.

“However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she is more prone to be attracted to a man with a pair of scissors lodged in his temple and a baseball bat jammed up his ass while he is on fire.”

• And speaking of relationships, from halfway around the world way over by the Australia, comes this former winning entry in the Down Under “Joke of the Year” contest:

Ned walks into his bedroom with a sheep under his arm and says: "Darling, this is the pig I have sex with when you have a headache."

His girlfriend is lying in bed and replies: "I think you'll find that's a sheep, you idiot."

And Ned says: "I think you'll find I wasn't talking to you." Ba-ding!

• And now that this Green Bay Packers season has become just another fart in the wind, I’m thinking of starting a support group for those who are sick to death of trying to look on the bright side of things, who are tired of hoping for good things to happen.

You see, I, Art Kumbalek, am a recovering blue-sky high-octane sunshine on your lolli-focking-pop kind of kitten-up-a-tree optimist. How ’bout that? And I have to live each day the rest of my life knowing that at any time I could slip and have a cheery thought powerful enough to send me back through the door of insanity and unreality, making my life unmanageable.

The road of my recovery has been long. It was 1959, I was a lad when our Braves lost a one-game playoff to the L.A. Dodgers for the opportunity to advance to the World Series. It was then, simultaneous with the final out, that I made a searching and fearless inventory of myself and the real world I lived in and realized that maybe life does suck after all. A little more than a year later, when our Packers, charging down the field, lost 17-13 to the Eagles in Philadilly-dally ’cause time ran out, there was no “maybe.” Life focking sucked.And my support group for losers will not be just some kind of men’s thing ’cause really, how far can you really get sitting around complaining about how there’s no topless hardware stores and how they keep jacking up the fine for parking in handicap zones? You tell me.

And then I’ll tell you that Art’s Doom of Actual Reality Group is for everybody of a sex—there’s plenty of snuggling room under my big top. Come one, come all, and repeat after me: “Expect to lose, expect the worst, and you can never be disappointed.” And if that doesn’t make you feel better, then the hell with you’s, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.