Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I’ll be lying low come this Earth Day (which for you’s may already have come and gone)—not that I’d do much celebrating of the day even if I were to be at the top of my game, no sir. As always, I won’t celebrate until they make Earth Day the kind of official holiday for which you get a paid eight-hours-off from your crappy job so’s you can go visit relatives and drink their beer all day, what the fock.
But for those of you who out of respect for the day will refuse to dine on a barnyard animal, let me inform you of a meatless alternative that ought to satisfy the entire family.
Art’s Delicious Homemade Peanut Butter Sandwiches
1. Buy a loaf of white bread. (All sandwiches are best made with white bread. Sure, go ahead, make a sandwich with a non-white bread but I’ll tell you this, it’s no kind of sandwich I’d ever serve or eat.)
2. Yank out two pieces from the loaf.
3. Make sure you got some kind of peanut butter you keep in a cabinet and not in the goddamn refrigerator ’cause that refrigerated kind is pure hell to smear on when you’re working with white bread. OK, now spread a hunk of the peanut butter onto your two slabs of bread and don’t take all day.
4. Put the two pieces of bread together (when properly prepared, the sides with the peanut butter on them ought to face each other) and go turn on the TV.
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5. Voilà! You got yourself some bon focking appétit in under 60 seconds, Jack. You’re welcome.
Anyways, I was perusing the news the other day and here’s a headline I certainly did not need to see: “NASA chief scientist: ‘Indications’ of alien life by 2025.” Focking swell. In the story, the scientist says, “I think we’re going to have strong indications of life beyond Earth within a decade… We know where to look. We know how to look… It’s definitely not an if, it’s a when.” Again, focking swell.
I remember a TV show a while back on the Discovery Channel where the eminent rocket-scientist Stephen Hawking—a brainiac bon vivant whose résumé includes every goddamn thing with the exception of a guest spot on “Dancing With the Stars”—declared that intelligent life from other cosmos could be, well, dangerous. Hey, no shit, Sherlock.
He said visitors to our fair planet from outer space could be “nomads, looking to conquer and colonize.” Yikes! And I agree—not just “conquer and colonize,” but how ’bout these technologically advanced aliens might hail from a resource-depleted corner of a solar system and so they’re out looking for new nutrient food sources.
Could we, the sapien race of human beings, become the chickens who be sliced, diced, chopped, seasoned and fried to be served on a fast-food sandwich to 12-foot aliens who sport bald, large-cranium brains the size of elite university-library globes of the planet Earth?
You betcha, we can. And all I can say is it’s time to be no longer simply Native Americans, Native Mexicans, Africans, Euro-focking-peans, Muslimites, native blah-blah and blah-blah. Time to be Native Earthlings ’cause those alien extraterrestrials from the planet You Are Focked Up the Ass, Earthling Losers may be due any day now and the first thing they want to do is reach up and tear our livers right clean out of our assholes, besides screw our Earthling women three-ways sideways ’til Sunday. Our history as a planet ought to Amen that notion, ain’a?
What a world, what a universe. Reminds me of a little story:
Some years ago, a film crew was on location deep in the desert. One day an old Native American what-they-used-to-call Indian went up to the director and said, “Tomorrow, rain.” The next day it rained. A week later, the Indian went up to the director and said, “Tomorrow, storm.” The next day there was a hailstorm.
“This Indian is incredible,” the director said. He told his personal assistant to hire the Indian to predict the weather. But then, after several successful predictions, the wise Native American was not seen for weeks. Finally, the director sent for him, and when he appeared, the director asked, “I have to shoot a big scene tomorrow, and I need your native expertise. What will the weather be like?” The Indian shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know,” he said. “Radio broke.”
And there we go. Please remain at ease. There’s nothing us Homo sapiens can’t do, or can’t kill, these days, aliens be damned. The wonder of it all, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
