Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, if I said that I was thinking of giving up working for the rest of Lent, I guess I wasn’t kidding. Turns out I’m scheduled for a medical procedure right about now, the ramification of such could make me a non-worker right through Easter Sunday—Lenten obligation fulfilled. Praise the Lord.
But before I go, there’s no reason to be overly concerned I’ve been told. Swell, but I’ve got a strong hunch that as a way to spend a couple, three days away from work, I see “two big thumbs down” coming in my review.
And natch’, one hopes that nothing gets screwed up when faced with a medical situation, like that time some years ago a guy in Florida was scheduled to have his right leg amputated, only to discover when he came to in the recovery room that it was his left leg that was removed. Oops!
So yeah, I’m hoping they’ve got the procedure correctly identified on my chart when I enter the spotlight, because with my luck, I fear that instead of “biopsy,” some health professional with a hearing problem wrote down “autopsy,” what the fock. Which reminds me of a little story:
So this professor is giving the first-year medical students their first lecture on autopsies, wouldn’t you know. They’ve all been issued fresh cadavers and he wants to give them a couple important pointers before they commence with carving up the stiffs.
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“You must be capable of two things to perform an autopsy,” the professor says. “The first thing is you must have no sense of fear.” At this point, he inserts a finger into his dead man’s anal orifice, removes it, and then licks the tainted digit. He then asks the students to do the same thing with the specimens in front of them. After a period of awkward silence punctuated by the sound of throat clearing, they follow suit.
“The second thing,” the professor continues, “is that you must have an acute sense of observation: I stuck my middle finger into the cadaver’s anus, but I licked my index.” Ba-ding!
And speaking of anuses: So this doctor walks into a bank. Preparing to endorse a check, he pulls a rectal thermometer out of his shirt pocket and tries to write with it. Realizing his mistake, he looks at the thermometer, annoyed, and says, “Well that’s great, just focking great—some asshole’s got my pen.” Ba-ding!
Hey, since laughter, or something like it, is supposed to be the medicine, here’s a dose for you’s:
Three elderly gents are sitting on the porch of a retirement home. The first says, “Fellas, I’ve got a problem. I’m 77 years old and every morning at 7 a.m. I get up and try to urinate. All day long I try to urinate. They give me all kinds of medicine but nothing helps.”
And the second guy says, “You think you have problems? I’m 80 years old. Every morning at 8 a.m., I get up and try to move my bowels. I try all day long. They give me all kinds of pills but nothing helps.”
Finally the third elderly gent speaks up: “Fellas: I’m 90 years old. Every morning at 7 a.m. sharp, I take a good long pee. Every morning at 8 a.m., I clear my bowels but good. And every morning, 9 a.m. on the dot, I wake up.” Ba-ding!
And then there’s this chestnut: So this guy wakes up from surgery for a prostate this-or-that. Doctor enters the room to give the guy the report. Doctor says, “Well sir, I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news. The good news is that we were able to save your private parts.” Guy says, “That’s a relief, I tell you. So what’s the bad news?” Doctor says, “They’re under your pillow.” Ba-ding!
So see you next week, but I got to tell you that right now I’m reminded of the classic utterance by the timeless thespian, Daffy Duck, as the 10-ton safe rapidly descends from directly overhead: “Mother!
