’Hosen Off

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, just a quick reminder to everyone not to forget that yes, indeed, I am a candidate-in-waiting to be your next governor and Milwaukee County sheriff. That’s right—two jobs. Kind of sucks that in today’s economy a guy just can’t get by holding only one job, and to tell truth, I’d most prefer to have no focking job, I kid you not.

But to be guv and county sheriff? Your days are spent talking out of your ass and ducking responsibility while your nights are spent freeloading at one fundraising banquet or another. Trust me, I can handle a cruise gig like that. Vote for me.

And speaking of talking out of your ass, how ’bout those new spectacles the Texas Gov. Rick Perry’s sporting these days? A regular Clark Kent so cleverly disguised that guy is, ain’a? But Rick, listen, the problem is the secret’s out. We all know that when you run into a phone booth to switch identities, you won’t be able to navigate your way out of said phone booth, even though it’s an imaginary phone booth ’cause there aren’t any real phone booths anymore. And we all know this: that with the glasses on, you couldn’t spell “NITWIT” even if spotted the “N,” “I,” “T,” “W,” and “I,” but with the glasses off you couldn’t spell “NITWIT” even if spotted the “N,” “I,” “T,” “W,” “I,” and “T.”

And so I am reminded of a little story:

This guy rubs a genie out of a lamp who says he’ll grant one wish. “I want to live forever,” the guy says. “No can do,” genie says. “I’m not allowed to grant wishes like that.”

“Dang. OK, then I wish that I want to die after Congress gets their heads out of their asses,” the guy says. “You crafty bastard,” says the genie. Ba-ding!

OK, how ’bout this one:

A thief sticks a pistol in a swell-dressed guy’s ribs and says, “Give me your money.” The swell guy, shocked by the sudden attack, says, “You cannot do this. I am a congressman.” And the thief says, “In that case, give me my money.”

Yes sir, here we be two-years-and-change from our next presidential electoral crapshoot and taking a gander at the truth-jugglers and clowns lining up to board the Republican Party’s Ship of Fools Who Think They Could and Ought to be President, I am perfor-ced to quote that great American exceptionalist, Daffy Duck: “It is to laugh.”

And that’s my cue to open up the Joke Bag; because of rampant Tea Baggery steeping our country ’tis of thee in Stupid, and the over-the-top jackassery of events around the rest of the globe, what else is there to do? Hey, you tell me.

And then I’ll tell you one that goes out to wealthy Republican trophy wives everywhere:

A homeless guy walks up to a rich-looking woman shopping on Rodeo Drive and says “Excuse me, ma’am, but I haven’t eaten anything in four days.” She looks at the guy and says, “God, I wish I had your willpower.”

Of course, this wealthy Republican clueless fockstick probably sees a psychiatrist on a regular basis, so there’s this:

This gal goes to her psychiatrist ’cause she’s having big problems with her sex life, wouldn’t you know. The psychiatrist asks her lots of questions but wasn’t getting a clear picture of her problems. So finally he asks, “Do you ever watch your husband’s face while you are having sex?” And she says, “Well, yes, I did once.” The psychiatrist asked her how he looked and she said, “Very angry.”

The psychiatrist felt he was finally getting somewhere: “That’s very interesting but we must look into this further. You say that you have only seen your husband’s face once during sex, which seems unusual. How did it occur that you saw his face?” And she says, “He was looking through the window.” Ba-ding!

And speaking of husbands and wives:

A man and woman are standing at the altar about to be married, when the bride-to-be looks at her prospective groom and sees he has a set of golf clubs with him. “What on earth are you doing with those golf clubs in church?” she whispers. “Well,” he says, “this isn’t going to take all afternoon, is it?” Ba-ding!

And now, a few years later:

Police are called to a home and find a woman holding a bloody 5-iron standing over a lifeless man. Detective asks: “Ma’am, is that your husband?” Woman says: “Yes. YES.” Detective says: “Did you hit him with that golf club?” Woman says: “Yes, I did.” She begins to sob, drops the club and covers her face with her hands. Detective asks: “How many times did you hit the deceased?” Woman says: “I don’t know, five, six, maybe seven times… Oh, for christ sakes, just put me down for a five.”

In conclusion, please don’t forget to get down to German Fest this weekend. And if you got lederhosen, cultural tradition has it they are not to be cleaned:

So this guy from Bavaria goes to the doctor for a checkup. Doctor examines him and says that he needs to give a blood sample, a semen sample, urine and stool sample, so further tests can be run. The Bavarian nods, removes his lederhosen and hands them to the nurse.

Ba-ring-a-ding-ding! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.