Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, here we be in the second month of this new year (Februarius as you Roman readers of this essay would say) and it’s not like we don’t already got plenty to be fearful of—Russians grabbing Eastern Europe and starting a world war, maybe a new deadlier Covid variant about to float around, perhaps a new Dane Cook “comedy” special; but I’ll tell you’s that my little eye spied the following headline from late last month (Ianuarius), and I immediately had to put my heebie-jeebies pants on, and here’s why. This, from msn.com:
Object found in the Milky Way 'unlike anything astronomers have seen'
Focking swell. I really don’t think that can be a good thing, this unknown schmutz in space from whom and why knows where? Reminds me of a probable news headline from back in 2015-16 that would be somewhat similar, to paraphrase:
Unusual object seeking Republican nomination for president unlike anything rational political observers have seen
And we know the disaster that was to the safety of democracy not to mention the focking planet, and continues to be, don’t we. Yes, we do—as in the Republican National Committee now declaring that the focksticks perpetrating the insurrectional deadly mayhem upon the U.S. Capitol Building, Jan. 6, 2021, were simply engaged in “legitimate political discourse.” And so soon, I imagine they will demand that Timothy Mc-focking-Veigh be posthumously pardoned for the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City (168 dead, 19 children) because he was only engaged in legitimate discourse. What the fock.
Stay on top of the news of the day
Subscribe to our free, daily e-newsletter to get Milwaukee's latest local news, restaurants, music, arts and entertainment and events delivered right to your inbox every weekday, plus a bonus Week in Review email on Saturdays.
These days, I’m thinking on our exceptional march toward American fruited plains of fascism that “it’s one giant step for white supremacist militia-ists, one small leap for the Republican party.” What a world.
Anyways, if you care, here’s the rest of the wacky Milky Way story from out of msn.com:
I hear there’s lots going on this month, ain’a? Like this Packer-less Super Bowl come Sunday, a broadcast that many TV viewers have enjoyed in the past for the so-called snappy commercials. Well, here’s a scenario I dreamt up a while back for a multi-million dollar ad targeted at the drink-responsibly crowd. And it goes something like this:
Three late-20s dickweeds are in a lively sports bar talking about how wasted they got the night before at a party that served beer in cans. First guy says, “I drank so much of that good beer last night that I got pulled over on my way home. I couldn’t recite the alphabet backwards while trying to walk a straight line with one thumb on my nose and the other up my ass; so the cop arrested me for a DWI, or maybe it was a ‘poc’ and I got a ‘IWD,’ fock if I know.”
Second guy says, “That’s nothing. I drank so much of that good beer that when I was driving home I picked up a hooker, my wife caught us in bed and then she wouldn’t join in even though I asked her all nice-like, the bitch.” Third guy says, “Big focking deal. I drank so much of that good beer last night that when I got home, I blew chunks ’til the sun came up.”
Cut to a shot of a big ol’ bad-ass German shepherd standing in front of a backyard doghouse. Camera pans up to the top of the doghouse where there’s this nice, homey sign that says “Chunks.” Ba-ding!
And just so you’s know, not much for me to say about these Winter Olympics going on ’cause what do I know from? Cripes, the closest I ever got to a pair of skis was way back when I lived in an upper flat above a nice Polish couple downstairs. I also vowed years ago to never watch these wintry games until they added some ice fishing events, you betcha.
But I suppose it’s nice to see that so many of the young, white people have spent their time, effort and somebody’s money to acquire employable marketable skills ’cause I tell you this: Once the final gun sounds on these Games, those kids can write their own ticket ’cause I would imagine no matter how bad the economy sucks, you just got to figure there’s always a need for your biatholinist, your bobsledder, your halfpiper, ain’a?
Hey, I hear that Valentine’s Day is upon us. And I’ve read that the ladies really go for a guy with a sense of humor. So gents, how ’bout you try a little humor with your gal when you go out for the fancy-schmancy dinner on Valentine’s, especially if you don’t know her too well. For that reason, I include the following story—to be memorized—so that you don’t get caught with your pants down in the humor department:
|
|
This guy goes to the doctor’s the other day ’cause he’s having trouble putting on the big ol’ honking woodie for the ladies. After the exam, the doctor tells him that he’s got a problem with the muscles “down there” and suggests a new experimental treatment for the problem. So the guy goes back the next week and the doctor takes the muscles from the trunk of a baby elephant and implants them in his noodle de la limp
Couple weeks later the doctor gives him the green light to try out the new equipment. So the guy takes this gal to a fancy restaurant for Valentine’s and right during the middle of the meal, he gets this stirring in the genital groin area that keeps going on to the point of pain, I kid you not. So to release the pressure, he unzips his fly and lo and behold, his schwanz shoots out of his trousers to the top of the table, grabs a dinner roll and returns to his pants.
The gal could not focking believe it. She says, “Wow, do that again!” And the guy says, “I would, but I don’t think I can fit a second roll up my ass.” Ba-ding!
And so, if you happen to find my name on your “loved ones” list come Cupid Day, you can skip the candy, fock the flowers, skip the rhinestone tie clasp—I’d prefer a wad of cold-hard cash, thank you, sweetest. Got it? Good, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
