My Head All Full of Stuffin’

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, the Milwaukee Film Festival is underway and once again there will be no Kumbalek Production on the schedule, what the fock. But I got a couple, three projects I plan to have wrapped up in time for next year’s fest:

Ex-Men: ’Til the Court Do Us Part. In this flick, I examine the men who enter holy matrimony and their subsequent mutant status. Certainly, they are no longer men. They are less than men. They are “other.” Sure, during the day at work, on the street, they have the ability to pass as men, but upon return to the wife they undergo a testosterone-numbing transformation and revert to their mutant personas, which include Pussywhip, Henpeck, Doghouse. As mutant men, they’re the ones who wear the leotards in the family. And we’ll recall the words of Helen Rowland in 1922’s A Guide to Men: “A Husband is what is left of a lover, after the nerve has been extracted.”

Sturm und Drang in Milwaukee. I realize that most people imagine me as an action guy when it comes to the cinema, but this baby will be one of those romantic feel-up feel-good movies. It’s about some gal who gives me the heave-ho to Dump City, so I re-assess my inklings. I develop a taste for long walks on the beach with my trusty metal detector at my side; and I learn to love animals, especially when tendered for 45 minutes at 350 degrees in a nice sauce.

Then I take my shirt off and pump out 50 no-arm pushups whilst I soliloquy sotto voce about being very lonely in my dinky apartment. I use a lot of focking foreign words (pardon my French). I frequent exotic dance emporiums, looking for a love to last. I exchange bon mots with the bouncer and eventually get the girl in the end, so to speak.

Casting has been a hang-up here. I’m looking for a young Traci Lords-type eager for her first juicy dramatic part. It’ll be a focking tear-jerker of a kind, you betcha. All I can tell you, especially you guys, don’t forget to bring your hankies.

Daddy Day Care: Please Don’t Flush the Toilet. A light-hearted comedy for the entire family. Gambling debts force me to start up an under-the-radar day-care hideout for some extra dough. First day, some snot-nose tries to flush a bad-guy action figure down the can, except Juggernaut gets jammed down the pipe maybe halfway toward meeting the sewer; so the kid flushes again and now backing-up all over the bathroom floor come the fecal remnants of the burrito supreme I relieved earlier in the day from the night before. I launch an interior monologue about how 8-year-olds, instead of having so much time on their hands so’s they can dick with the toilet, ought to be out in the world a couple, three hours a day with a nice little job to pick up a little spending money I could use (adult exasperation always plays big at the box office—see: Spencer Tracy). The Russian mafia and a bunch of nuns get involved and hilarity ensues, what the fock.

One more thing, before your “Obamacare” kicks in and you’re able to stave off filing for bankruptcy by a few extra months due to medical expenses because we don’t have a goddamn single-payer system in this focking country, remember that laughter is the best medicine, so I’ve heard:

So a blonde, a brunette and a redhead were travelling through the desert on their way to Vegas when their car stalled. They didn’t know how to get the car started and realizing they were going to have to hoof it, they each took something from the car. The brunette took a bottle of water, the redhead took a bag of trail mix and the blonde, with great effort, yanked the car door off the hinges. After walking a mile or so, they sat down to rest. The brunette and the redhead broke out the food and water and passed it around. Then they asked the blonde, “You know, food and water are pretty obvious to take because you know you’ll get hungry and thirsty, but what’s up with hauling that car door?” And the blonde says, “I just thought that if we got like super-hot, we could roll down the window.” Ba-ding!

And on the gender flip-side:

So one day, Billy Joe walks down Main Street and sees his buddy Dale driving a brand-new pickup truck. Dale pulls up with a canary-eating grin and Billy Joe asks, “Dale, where’d you get that truck?” And Dale says, “Bobbi Sue done give it to me.”

Now Billy Joe, he’s a little skeptical and says, “Hold on, there. I knew she was kinda sweet on y’all, but I can’t believe she’d give you a new truck.” And Dale says, “Listen up, we were driving out on County Road P smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. Bobbi Sue, she pulls off the road, puts the truck into 4-wheel drive and heads into the woods. She parks the truck, gets out, throws off all her clothes and says, ‘Dale, you take whatever you want, y’hear?’ So, I took the truck!” And Billy Joe says, “Dale, you are one cagey cracker. None of them clothes woulda never fit you.” Ba-ding! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.