The Ol’ Railsippers

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? Listen, what with Hillary taking some hard shots in the shorts from do-know-nothing congressional Republicans, I’m wondering if, for the good of the country, I ought to toss my hat into the 2016 presidential ring of fire. So, no essay this week—instead, I’m off to meet with my campaign brain trust up over by the friendly confines of The Uptowner tavern/charm school, majestically crammed at the corner of wistfully historic Humboldt Boulevard and the fabled Center Street. Tag along if you like, but you buy the first round. Let’s get going.

Emil: Hey, that’s my bar change, numbnuts.

Julius: The hell your bar change. You talk like a sausage. Little Jimmy’s got you two rounds now and you haven’t bought even one yet to have money on the bar that’s yours. That’s my bar change.

Ernie: So I was out at my Ma’s last Sunday and I said to her, “Ma, for a Mother’s Day gift, how ’bout I take you out to the ballpark when the Brewers are back in town.” And she says, “Like watching a bunch of losers wouldn’t be bad enough, I’d have to sit next to one to boot? Forget about it.” So I’m a loser, so big focking deal. It’s got nothing to do with her not wanting to go. She quit going ever since they stopped selling beer after the seventh inning, what the fock.

Emil: All right Mr. Smarty-focking-Pants, if this really is your bar change, tell me who’s on this five-dollar bill I’m holding.

Herbie: So I see the Brewers are out in Pittsburgh right now, ain’a?

Ray: You betcha. The Steel City. Reminds me of a little story: So this guy’s at the airport, and behind the ticket counter is a gal sporting a décolletage that telltales breasts of Brobdingnagian dimension. The guy goes weak at the knees and says, “Yes ma’am, I’d like two pickets to Titsburgh, please... Oh my. Did I say ‘Titsburgh’? Excuse me, I mean, two tickets to Pittsburgh.”

So our traveler to “Titsburgh” is majorly embarrassed but the guy in line behind him says, "Relax, buddy. We all make Freudian slips from time to time. Just the other day at the breakfast table I meant to say to my wife, ‘Please pass the butter, dear,’ but I accidentally said, ‘You goddamn bitch, you’ve totally ruined my life. I hate your focking guts!’ "

Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.

Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know?

Herbie: I know I gave the wife a DVD of that movie Lincoln for Mother’s Day. I’m hoping the idea of emancipation from our union might work out to my benefit.

Julius: You know, with those focking teabag-sucking jackanapes in the House of Representatives trying to chew our president a new one every time he turns around, I wonder what Abe Lincoln would say about that if he got resurrected today.

Ray: First thing he’d say: “So, how did that show turn out anyways?”

Emil: What the fock are you talking about?

Ray: Hey, he got shot 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?

Herbie: He got shot by one of the actors, ain’a? Probably Abe was a little juiced up from winning the Civil War and he was heckling or something.

Emil: Or maybe he was trying to open a candy wrapper and it was real loud. Actors hate that kind of crap when they’re trying to act.

Little Jimmy: You’s guys, he got shot from the back by the actor John Wilkes Booth, who was not cast in the production Abe was watching 148 years ago last April. He sure was a great president, even if he was Republican.

Julius: You don’t hear Republicans talk much about Honest Abe. They’re always jerking their beefaroni about Ronald Reagan this, Reagan that, but you sure don’t hear them talk about the Ol’ Railsplitter.

Art: I’m guessing 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 focks.

Ernie: You know what I think about Lincoln getting shot that never came out? Say maybe Booth got the seat right behind the president and say Abe was wearing that focking stovepipe hat of his. Say Booth asked him to take it off a couple, three times and maybe he wasn’t exactly polite about it; so maybe Abe said, “Hey, I’m the goddamn president. I’ll wear it if I want to. Fock off.” It had to be something like that ’cause what actor would ever just up and want to shoot an audience member, ain’a? It’s always the other way around.

Emil: You don’t see those stovepipe hats much anymore.

Ernie: Yeah, and now you know why.

(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.)