Qadaffy Duck

I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a?

(Listen, before I launch into the regular part of my essay, my heart goes out to those of you's who, like me, in the hopes of winning a buck two-eighty have pissed away valuable company time whilst dicking around on the job with those NCAA basketball brackets for the winners of this year's flabbergastingly topsy-turvy college tournament. And as we head toward the Final Four weekend, take a gander at your carefully considered bracket-chart. Ohio State? Duke? Kansas? Notre focking Dame? Oops! Again, if you're like me, your four remaining institutions of higher learning may as well be the University of Jack Shit, Long Gone State, UF(ocking)I(diot), and Up-Your-Butt Tech. On the other hand, "upset" is the name of the game. Anything can happen, baby; so maybe, just maybe, if the Nazis come back and take Leningrad or Osama bin Hidin' substitutes Muhammad with Jesus, hey, I could still win my pool, what the fock.)

Anyways, no regular essay this week. I'm still smack-dabbed with my annual personal fund/pledge, and thanks to the contributions from James, Herbert and Marji, I'm able today to park my dupa on a stool over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school majestically crammed at the corner of wistfully hysteric Humboldt Boulevard and the fabled Center Street, where I shall perhaps muse upon the meanderings of our day in the sunshine of mother earth's love to denude the Homo sapien so as to have her way. Tag along if you like, but you cover the first round. Let's get going.

Herbie: All I'm saying is we better be good and goddamn careful over there with this Qaddafi character. Like our buddy Will Durst says: "His name begins with a Q, it's not followed by a Uhe plays by rules we don't even understand. If that don't spell crazy, time to get a new dictionary."

Emil: I was watching the news last week and I couldn't believe that Michael Jackson died again, what the fock.

Julius: You jackass. That was Elizabeth Taylor who died. They just happened to look alike, eventually.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Her fifth husband, Richard Burtonthat guy could act up a storm with the Shakespeare. I've heard people say they would give their left arm to have seen him do "Hamlet" in his prime.

Ray: Yeah, and I'd give my left nut to have done Elizabeth Taylor in her prime.

Ernie: I'm with Ray. When it comes to your thespians, I always liked the ladies more than the guys. I guess I was born that way, ain'a?

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

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

Emil: I know the other day it was like 35 degrees, and I saw some fockstick on the street in those Bermuda shorts. Depressing.

Herbie: And I'll tell you why, Emil. I don't mind the gals in the shorts, but when you see some guy wearing short pants, you know this knob has no clue and no class. It's just something a gentleman does not wear in public.

Ernie: Artie, you think Frank Sinatra ever did the ring-a-ding-ding with Elizabeth Taylor?

Julius: I just finished the new Sinatra biography called Frank: The Voice, and there was no mention that the Chairman ever wore a focking pair of shorts in public.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Heck no, none of the Rat Pack guys did. They had self-respect.

Art: Now that the Pack is done and gone with, I'm thinking maybe us guys could take over that slot.

Ernie: Are you cuckoo, Artie? We could never match the snappy banter those cats had. I got a tape of a live recording of Frank, Sammy and Dino doing a nightclub show somewheres. Sammy's performing these impressions and then he says he's going to do Nat King Cole. Dino says, "And a merry old soul was he." Frank says, "Wait a second. You know any other nursery rhymes?" Dean says, "I knows Humpty Dumpty." Frank says, "Yeah, Humpty Dumpty, the ugliest broad I ever saw." Dean says, "Who, Humpty?" And Frank says, "No, the one with youDumpty." The crowd goes nuts.

Little Jimmy: The people like to enjoy a good time back then, and they used to know from funny. Today, who gets laughs that everybody knows? Focking Dilbert, some focking moosedick beanbag who sits in an office cubicle and gets pushed around. Christ, take me now.

Ernie: On the recording, the band starts playing the music to that song "Brazil," and Frank sings, "Brassiere... I dig a broad with no brassiere..."

Ray: Amen.

Ernie: Then Frank starts singing the old chestnut, "You made me love you... I didn't want to do it... you woke me up to do it." The audience is roaring like a banshee and then Dino starts in with that "Carolina" whatever-the-fock it's called tune: "Nothin' could be finer... than to shack up with a minor in the morrrrrr-ning."

Art: Yeah, those were the days.

Herbie: I'd like to know how the hell Joey focking Bishop ever got into that Rat Pack. What a focking loser.

Little Jimmy: He made a nice martini. That's all I can figure.

Julius: In every group of guys, there's got to be one guy the rest can slap around, ain'a?

Emil: Any you's guys got a fiver for two tens?

(Hey, it's getting late, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek, and I told you so.)