The Groom When It Happened

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, there’s this, from President Humpty Dumbty Trumpel-thinskin during his under-attended wankfest in Tulsa, “You’re Doin’ Fine” Oklahoma, O.K., last weekend: “The unhinged left-wing mob is trying to vandalize our history, desecrating our monuments, our beautiful monuments, tear down our statues and punish, cancel and persecute anyone who does not conform to their demands for absolute and total control, we’re not conforming,” He also drank a glass of water one-handed and demonstrated his mystifying Olympiad skills by descending a shallow ramp unassisted. Yes sir, the Amazing Trumpellini, ladies and gentlemen. Okay, what the fock, the first week of November can’t come soon enough, I kid you not.

And I do see November out there in the headlights, now that it’s already the end of June for cripes sakes. But I got to tell you’s, so far this summertime I really can’t complain much about the weather around here, even though I’d sure as hell would love to since complaining is what pats the butter onto my bread, or something like that.

No sir, so far it’s been a slight improvement over last year’s ultra wet-and-damp as I recall about this time of year when I was getting ready for my Saturday night bath on the Sunday and I took a gander in the mirror and noticed I’d sprouted a plot of chest hair. What the fock, chest hair, out of the blue after all these years? So I got closer to the mirror to check it out, and guess what? It wasn’t chest hair at all. It was moss. Moss, what the fock. And yeah, I’m a wee bit anxious that a similar occurrence may happen later this time of year, so anybody out there knows a handy method of moss removal short of kerosene and a match, give me a holler why don’t you. Preparation, the key to health and safety, so lacking, lo, these days, ain’a?

Although, during this past month of 2020 it seems the rain/monsoon we’ve gotten always came on the Saturday. But to an indoors guy like me (regardless of the circumstances) that’s just water off a duck’s back, big focking deal. But I do realize there are those who might have a problem with all these rain showers, such as those celebrating the betrothing of their connubial nuptials on these Saturdays during the wedding month of June, this month also marking the socially distanced re-openings of this-and-that from the COVID.

Yeah I know, who wants such a lousy day on the day of their wedding? Hey, get used to it. Now that you’re married, there’s a boatload more of those babies coming your way, you betcha.

But that’s not the kind of thing you newlyweds of this month need to hear. You want to hear something uplifting and hunky-dory. Something along the lines of what Samuel Johnson said when he heard of a friend getting married for the second time after his first wife croaked, and remarked how he found that admirable ’cause it celebrated the spirit of hope over experience. Kind of a nice thought, isn’t it?

Since none of you’s happy couples invited me to your shindigs, even for the socially distanced open bar portion, where I could’ve wished you all the blah-blah best in person, I did a little research to find some bright words of wisdom about the wedded state I could pass on to you through this essay. I checked the Bible and you can just imagine the kind of gas they were passing on the topic. Of course, they’d be all gung-ho on marriage back when a wedding cost next to nothing. For christ sakes, think what you’d save on the reception alone. You wouldn’t have to pay a photographer since the snapshot had yet to be discovered; and a band? Hey, how much you think a couple guys tooting on potato pipes would’ve run you? You tell me.

And then I’ll tell you that what the Bible had to say sounded trite and contrived to me, and I figured you already heard it all before, anyways. Then I came across a couple things from the ancient Greeks. One, a proverb, “Marriage is the only evil that men pray for,” and the other from some guy named Hipponax out of the 6th century B.C.: “Two days are the best of a man’s wedded life: The days when he marries and buries his wife.” Kind of sexist for this day of age, so I kept researching.

I leapt ahead a couple thousand years to Helen Rowland in 1922’s A Guide to Men, “A Husband is what is left of a lover, after the nerve has been extracted”; and Ambrose Bierce wrote in his The Devil’s Dictionary, “Bride, n. A woman with a fine prospect of happiness behind her.” And speaking of happiness, the ol’ ray of sunshine himself, Friedrich Nietzsche, had this to say: “If married couples did not live together, happy marriages would be more frequent.”

Sheesh. I thought of Shakespeare. He’s known for having a way with words and I found this out of his Twelfth Night: “Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.” Can’t argue that, ain’a?

None of the quotes I found had anything good to say about marriage, which turns out to be the same thing I could’ve said myself on the subject in the first focking place—nothing good. So you’re on your own. Looks like you’ll have to come up with something good to say about marriage yourselves. Don’t worry, you got a whole lifetime to find it, but since you’re married, it’ll only seem like two lifetimes, ba-ding!, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.

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