Swinging, Swaying

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I hear it’s that time of year for outdoor festivals and music lovers all ’round the globe to be dancing in the streets and enjoy their passion up the jock and back, what the fock.

But this the year of 2026, maybe some of you’s got a quandary on your hands—that being do I spend my dough at Summerfest (June 18-20, June 25-27, July 2-4) down there by the lakefront, or do I take a pricey trip to Washington D.C. where party “President” McDonald Trumpel-thinskin intends to host the “Great American State Fair (June 25-July 10),” in regard to our nation’s semiquincentennial hoo-ha.

Pro tip: For those who enjoy their music to be performed by accomplished musicians who know their way around a fret, ivory key or percussion kit, Summerfest offers more than 800 of these solo, combo and what-nots while at Trumpty-Dumpty’s “Great American State Fair,” you’ve got your headliner Vanilla Ice (“Ice, Ice Baby,”—let’s party like it’s 1990 for those on the way to an El Salvadoran hoosegow hell hole), and then there is… uh… a fingerful of has-been performer(s) who have dropped from the public eye like pupils at an urban public school.

But not to worry, I’m confident that our thumb-on-the-pulse entertainment-impresario still has time to book a Carol Channing impersonator, the remnants of the Up With People song & dance confederacy (five time performers at the Super Bowl, ouch!), and maybe, just maybe, he can make a last-minute deal with Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds or the Starland Vocal Band (“Afternoon Delight,” big hit of the Bicentennial Year of 1976, remember?)

Good lord, the Orange Circus Peanut in charge of a national “State Fair”? I’m sure all of the amusement rides will be well-maintained and operated by the finest staff of tattooed toothless safety experts this side of a Nazi biker halfway-house from hell, ain’a?

Of course, there’s always the sharpster who tries to guess your age and weight (but here, also your date of birth, political affiliation and Social Security number, since he’s already received the info from the Department of Justice and Homeland Security, loser) for a small stipend, your reward for his impossible failure being a cracked white Whiffle ball or listless goldfish.

But I’ll tell you’s, me and my gang always like to play our own game of skill at a fair’s midway, which is to guess which carny/associate/ technician looks to be the responsible party for the most bodies buried in shallow graves to be found in remote locations above and below the Mason-Dixon Line, east to west. Don’t forget, nearly all these crackerjacks spend the off-season in Florida, which just happens to be Spanish for “serial killer” by-the-by, so what the fock, ain’a?

And how ’bout USA USA USA’s Stephen “Heinrich Himmler” Miller, White House deputy chief of staff for policy and homeland security advisor, taking a seat on the carnival dunk-seat. I’d certainly spend a couple, three bucks on pitching a ball at the target to send him into a vat of hydrogen cyanide if I were to be awarded a stuffed Snoopy what the fock.

Anyways, I got me a handful of fatigue here, as it occurred to me just the other day as I returned to my dinky apartment following an immunology treatment for some kind of cancer schmutz on the back of months of radiation and such that the merry month of May past marked the 40th year of me whipping out these essays from off the top of my head always to be found here on whatever Shepherd Express you can find. Thank you’s all for the years of either your kindly attention or raised fists.

But what the fock, how ’bout a nice musical interlude from the fabulous Claire Morkin and incomparable Connie Grauer:

Yes sir, vaguely discontented am I these days, but allow me to whittle this essay down to one word for me and you’s:

FORWARD! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.