Land of the Fee

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, as respect to what we call Independence Day in this part of the globe, I did some presidential research the other day ’cause what the fock, and discovered that President Martin Van Buren, our eight president and only president (so far) to speak English as a second language. And, lo, some 188 years later, we have a president who speaks English as a language beyond understanding. It is to wonder.

In regards, I can only imagine that Trumpel-thinskin will soon have Marty’s casket dug up and deported to a galaxy far, far away or perhaps South Sudan. Safe travels, Old Kinderhook.

Anyways, since I was reminded the other day, courtesy of Republican U.S. Sen. Joni Ernst out of Iowa (State slogan bullshit: “Our liberties we prize, and our rights we will maintain.”), that “We are all going to die.”

Thanks for the heads-up, senator. I’ll keep that in mind, what the fock.

And so, given the less-than-rosy results of my recent MRI/CT schmutz, I figured to rummage through the unopened boxes stacked in a closet from when I moved into my dinky apartment 25 years ago on Downtown Van Buren (serendipity) Street in search of some kind of memorabilia and what-not that may value a buck two-eighty so’s to apply toward the medical bills they keep calling about.

And EUREKA!

In a box, beneath a stack of Milwaukee Braves program/scorebooks from the early ’60s, I rediscovered that in my possession is what actually appears to be part of a daily diary belonging to that olden-days long-departed Greek philosopher who went by the handle of Plato, you betcha.

Don’t know why I have this, or why the now Cudahy Family Library would have had it since that would be where I swiped it from for some reason, lo, those many years ago.

But I’ll tell you’s, I hear new-found writings by these ancient guys goes for big dough these days since they’re not shoveling out any more of it. And if some grandma can walk away with $100-grand from the “Antiques Roadshow” show for some rancid-looking “still life” she lifted from a yard sale, wait ’til you get a load of a page of the diary I had translated by a guy I used to know:

Summer In the Year 402 Before the Birth of A Guy Named Christ

“I’m telling you, if I have to work one more gig with that old fart Socrates, I’m leaving the business and that’s a focking promise, I kid you not. So what’s the beef, you ask? Here’s just the latest:

“So we’re on our way to do a Dialogue up around old Mycenae, a real jerkwater crowd but the bread’s good—and the wine’s not half bad, either. Ba-ding!

“But, seriously. It’s hotter than hell and I’m boiling my butt off, so I say, ‘Let’s take a break, Socks, I’m too focking hot.’ He asks, ‘What is hot?’ I say, ‘Listen pally, I got to take a load off. My dogs are aching and my head’s killing me.’ So then he asks, ‘But what is pain?’ I am so sick of that shish ke-knob’s stale, old schtick of all-the-time with the questions that I give him a good, swift sandal to the privates and when he’s done barfing, I say, ‘OK Einstein, does that answer your question?’ I mean I’ve been carrying this guy for years. I wish the old fart would just retire but he can still bring a crowd through the arch, so he keeps getting booked.

“So we’re at the gig in Mycenae. I’m doing my half of the show and I’m killing, literally killing. I opened with some of my new boffo cave material, then did a couple perceptions and decided to go out with my ‘The Material World’ stuff with that great, new closer I just came up with—the one about the thirsty skunk, a duck and a giraffe who walk into a public house. Skunk says, ‘Sorry guys, I can’t buy. All I’ve got’s a scent.’ Duck says, ‘Hey, don’t look at me. I only got a bill.’ So the giraffe says, ‘Well fellers, looks like the high balls are on me.’ Ba-ring-a-ding-ding!!!

“But right before I get to the punchline, I pause, do a take to the crowd and just about crap my toga ’cause there’s that asshole Socrates with his...

How ’bout that? Talk about a cliffhanger. Those Greeks knew from drama, ain’a?

And this from the guy who wrote: “Is that which is holy loved by the gods / because it is holy, or is it holy because it is / loved by the gods?” Hey, beats me since I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance, what the fock.

Anyways, time to get my bottle rockets organized for my 4th of July blast-off. I’ve got Jim Beam, Early Times, Kentucky Tavern and I know Old Grand-Dad’s hanging around here somewheres. But to tell the truth, I like to make Independence Day each and every day of the year, god bless America, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.