Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, after all the hellzapoppin’ hoopla of the March Madness, I’m now suffering from what-they-call post-NCAA Men’s College Basketball Tournament letdown syndrome, also known as PNCAAMCBTLS. Ever heard of it? Yeah, me neither, but I’m sure TV ads with drugs you can ask your doctor about are already good to go for the commercial breaks during this evening’s “Jeopardy,” what the fock.
And so, in my depressive state I was sitting around with nothing better to do than wonder when my hair will begin to flee my noggin’s nest on account of the chemotherapy, I figured it’s high-time for me to decide from which side of the presidential candidacy pot come ’28 I ought to pee—in it, or on it.
And whenever I got an ass-kicking decision to put off, I first seek counsel with my personal brain trust, already ensconced within the friendly confines of The Uptowner tavern/charm school, majestically crammed onto the wistfully historic corner of Humboldt and Center. Come along if you’d like, but you buy the first round. Let’s get going.
Ernie: Emil, I could use some change. You got two tens for a fiver? And where the hell is the bartender?
Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.
Art: Mornin’ gents, what do you know, what do you hear.
Julius: I hear Trumpel-thinskin’s looking for a new attorney general lawyer type ’cause he says the one he had is “transitioning” to a private sector.
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Herbie: Yeah yeah, Trumpty-Dumbty has no use for the mystery of gender identity—a William Shakespeare he be not; although, I always thought what’s her name, Melania, has a mannish je ne sais quoi, what the fock.
Little Jimmy: Maybe when the president croaks or gets sent to prison or they get divorced, she can hook up with that RuPaul’s show, ain’a?
Art: Listen fellas, I need to tap your smarts on an important decision I got to be mulling over on soon.
Emil: What the hell is “mulling”?
Herbie: “Mulling” is one of those words you only ever find in a newspaper headline. Means the same as “bullshit.”
Ernie: Artie, you want to “tap” something important? How ’bout you get behind the goddamn bar and tap me a focking Leinie.
Julius: Artie, if what you’re “mulling” is about paying back that twenty bucks you owe me, I say yea before I mull to kick your butt ’round the block and back but good.
Art: Hey! One for Julius over here. Put it on Ray’s tab.
Little Jimmy Iodine: So what you trying to decide, Artie?
Art: To run for president or not.
Herbie: Oh christ, not this again. How many times you run now, eight, ten?
Ray: Yeah, about the same number as votes he’s gotten all put together, ain’a?
Little Jimmy: Isn’t it a little too early to decide, Artie?
Art: Might be, but I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. I remember in 2016, I didn’t officially declare ’til dang near middle of October Columbus Day, and I learned that a couple, three weeks to raise some dough and get my platform together for the people to stand on just wasn’t enough hours.
Ernie: Hold on, Artie. I thought you’s were going to run for the county sheriff.
Ray: Did you say “for” or “from”?
Art: I might bail on that race, whenever it is. I’d probably need a driver’s license to be sheriff, and I don’t have the dough to get one. For christ sakes, how would that look, the county sheriff trying to pull over a speeder from the back seat of a focking freeway flyer?
Little Jimmy: I don’t think you should be president, Artie. It’s too dangerous. We haven’t had an assassination for a while, but you’re just the kind of guy some crackpot would hanker to take a pot shot at, I kid you not.
Herbie: You know, with civil wars all around the globe everywhere, I wonder what Abe Lincoln would say if he came back today.
Ray: First thing he’d say: “Hey, how did that show turn out anyways?” Ba-ding!
Emil: What the fock are you talking about?
Ray: Listen numbnuts, Abe got capped watching a play, I think it was Damn Yankees. Never saw the end of the goddamn thing. For christ sakes, didn’t you ever have any history?
Julius: He got shot by one of the actors, ain’a? Probably Abe was a little hepped up from the winning the Civil War and he was heckling or something.
Ernie: Or maybe he was trying to open a candy wrapper and it was really loud. Actors hate that kind of racket when they’re trying to emote, ain’a?
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Little Jimmy: You’s guys, he got shot in the back of the head by the actor John Wilkes Booth, who was not cast in the production Abe was watching 161 years ago April 14. He sure was a great president, even if he was Republican.
Herbie: April 14—same date the Titanic took the dive at 11:40pm 1912. How ’bout that?
Little Jimmy: We’re all like that Titanic boat, Herbie. Each and every one of us has some kind of big-ass iceberg with our name on it out there floatin’ around somewheres just waiting to tear us a new one sideways in a sec, something the farthest thing from your mind, I don’t care who you are.
Art: Tell me about it.
Julius: You don’t hear Republicans talk much about Honest Abe these days. They use to always jerk their beefaroni about Ronald Reagan this, Reagan that, but you sure don’t hear them talk about the Ol’ Railsplitter.
Art: That’s ’cause he was for a government of the people, by the people and for the people. That means all the people—not just the rich billionaire millionaire focks.
(Hey, it’s getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)
