To Thine Own Self You’re Screwed

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Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, about this FBI “raid” down there by Trumpel-thinskin’s Mar-a-Lago hideout in search of materials that rightfully belong to the American people and not to the orange dipshit. I’m thinking J. Edgar Hoover (never knew what “J.” stood for, but with some research, I’m thinking it stood for “Jagwagon”) is rolling over in his grave. Why? Because I read this from a cnn.com report by Kate Bennett:

Shortly after the FBI searched his Mar-a-Lago home earlier this month, former President Donald Trump fumed on social media about agents rummaging through his wife’s clothing and personal items.

“Just learned that agents went through the First Lady’s closets and rummaged through her clothing and personal items. Surprisingly, left area in a relative mess. Wow!” Trump posted on Truth Social.

Yes sir. Ol’ Edgar would’ve loved to have personally been in on that raid, what with the rummaging through a lady’s closet so’s the ol’ historically famous cross-dresser could grab a couple, three nice outfits to fashion at an after-hours dank and smoky soiree where Edgar could be Edwina, to each his own, what the fock.

And speaking of smoky, the former “president” now demands a constitutionally impossible do-over of the 2020 presidential completely regular, legal, verified-beyond-the-pale election for the U.S. top seat.

A do-over. Of events past. OK. Could be a nice thing, if possible. How ’bout that divisional round playoff game last January when the Packers puked their way to a 13-10 de-pantsing versus the focking 49ers? I’d appreciate a do-over, you betcha.

How ’bout a do-over of that ferkakta 2000 election Does anyone in their right mind not think that the way of this world, lo, these days, may be more copacetic had Al Gore been rightfully ensconced as our smart-guy leader in the White House rather than the idiot-douchebag W.?

How ’bout the Milwaukee Brewers trade of the guts-out productive fan-favorite Gorman Thomas to the Cleveland “Indians” for light-hitting center-fielder Rick Manning, back in June, ’83?

How ’bout I could do a do-over where I was born a scion to a mega-rich Swiss family rather than a working-class clan in Cudahy, Wis., where the stink from the Patrick Cudahy meat-slaughter schmutz, the tanning company up on Packard Avenue, the nightly slamming of some kind of heavy-ass-duty drop forge from Ladish, on-and-on, as they made America great, back in the ’50s days?

Anyways, it was early, early last Sunday morning and I abso-focking-lutely could not fall asleep ’cause for the life of me I could not remember if on the old TV series “Hawaii Five-O,” Kam Fong was what’s-his-name, the character Chin Ho, or if Chin Ho played the character Kam Fong, I kid you not.

I knew then my Sunday would be a waste. A tossed-and-turned night will do that to a guy. I barely had the energy to crack open the newspaper and check the Megabucks results, which confirmed the fact that I was never good with numbers.

Then I thought maybe I should get off my sorry ass and actually go out and see a movie now that the COVID is imagined by the entertainment industry to be done and done. Cripes, I don’t think I’ve seen a motion picture in the theater since Leaving Las Vegas around 1995. I checked the listings and found nothing that I’d care to get on the goddamn bus and travel somewheres to see. Good lord.

So I fired up the Philco and noticed that on some kind of platform that Shakespeare in Love was available. I had never seen it ’cause it sounded too much like a ladies’ picture for my taste, but for christ sakes, it won the Best Picture Oscar, but they only make one picture with Shakespeare in it? No sequels? Jeez louise, Ol’ Shake’ is at least as famous as Superman and if I’m not mistaken, could sport a pair of leotards just as well as the Man of Steel. A sequel(s) sounds like a cash cow to me, I kid you not.

Just off the top of my head I can think of a whole kit and caboodle of titles that I could pitch to Hollywood knobshines that would rejuvenate the Shakespeare franchise, not to mention my bank account as creative producer:

Shakespeare in Outer Space. Shakespeare in Hot Pursuit. Shakespeare In Like Flint. Shakespeare in the Clubhouse, Three Under Par. Shakespeare in Old Kentucky. Shakespeare in the Catbird Seat. Shakespeare in the Navy. Shakespeare in the Bullpen, Warming Up. Shakespeare in Cahoots. Shakespeare In Cold Blood. Shakespeare in With the In Crowd. Shakespeare in the Hall of the Mountain King. Shakespeare in Alcatraz. Shakespeare in Sales: How May I Help Thee? Shakespeare In a Silent Way. Shakespeare in a Hot Tub Time Machine. Shakespeare In Harm’s Way. Shakespeare in the Park Sunday with George. Shakespeare in an Itsy Bitsy Teenie-Weenie Yellow Dot Bikini. Shakespeare in Custody. Shakespeare In the Mood. Shakespeare In-a-Gadda-da-Vida.

Yeah yeah, now that it’s September, this week was supposed to be my gala Back-to-School Address to our young matriculators and matriculees. Looks like I’ll be at least a week late, just like every single goddamn homework assignment I ever got while serving time at Our Lady Of Pain That You Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough, what the fock.

But I’d like to quickly point out to our juvenile rocket scientists that you got one hell of a lot to learn, compared to if you had to go to school 2,000 years ago. Hey, how hard could geography have been back then? For crying out loud, they only had like about four countries, I kid you not. Piece of focking cake. And history? Those people were born yesterday compared to what you all got to memorize these days. English Lit back then? Mighty slim reading list, wouldn’t you say? You young people of the modern age sure got your work cut out for you’s, you betcha. I recommend heartily that you brush your teeth and stay in school. A successful future can be yours as long as you don’t fock it up.

And then, I would like to write the following:

School days, I believe, are the unhappiest in the whole span of human existence. They are full of dull, unintelligible tasks, new and unpleasant ordinances, brutal violations of common sense and common decency.