Up for Grabs

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Photo illustration by Dave Zylstra

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I’m a guy of a certain age with ears wide open who would really appreciate to hear some good news, like I won a million bucks in the mega-fock lottery and I didn’t even buy a bullshit ticket. News like that could go a long way, lo, these polarized times, what the fork.

So listen, the other day, Oct. 1 to be factual, I was wont to flip the page of my kitchen-wall calendar (Strumpets of the South Seas) ’cause that’s the kind of guy I am—organized, punctual, a seeker of useful information like which is the correct goddamn month of the year currently underfoot.

My calendar informed me that we had entered the bittersweet month of Foctober. I took a quick perusal of the noted dates to remind myself whether there were any big-time holidays where everyone gets the day off so’s they can visit relatives and drink their beer all day long. The answer was “no sir.” But I did discover that this year “Columbus Day” fell on Monday, Oct. 9, and my head began to spin.

Hold on, we still got a Columbus Day? I thought a tribute to that jagwagon had gone the way like the statue on the village green of Gen. Robert E. Jefferson Stonewall Beauregard Johnny Reb Davis Lee. 

Isn’t this now to be known only as Indigenous Peoples’ Day, or at least Discovery Day by now? Yeah yeah, Cristoforo Colombo “discovered” the New World whilst sailing the ocean blue, but personally, I wish he’d discovered a cure for the common cold. 

The New World, jeez louise. Sounds like one of those fancy theme parks, ain’a? And what a roller coaster—but it only goes down, down and down these days, what the fock.

Allow me to repeat: Down, down and down. We’ve got a deranged ignorant-bully Orange Circus Peanut who so far has racked up 91 felony counts and could quite likely grift his fat ass back to the Oval Office from where he will declare that 99-year-old former president Jimmy Carter should be hung from the highest rafter, or at least tarred-and-feathered and run out of his peanut Georgia town, because he was Democrat.

Down, down and down. You notice what’s happening to the historic glaciers in Switzerland? I’ll tell you’s, they’re melting like the ice in the cocktail you left on the table last night as you were swept away by a pass-out episode. That can’t be good, I kid you not.

And now I hear the U.S. House of Reprehensitives is bereft an official speaker. I know that any Tom, Dick and Dickless can be Speaker of the House, provided they get the necessary votes. You don’t need to be an elected “official” to nail the job. So I blew the inches-thick dust off my résumé and sent it pronto to D.C. somewheres. Cripes, I’ve had experience speaking, sometimes even by request, not to mention I could really use a paying gig these days, jeez louise.

I hear the position is up for grabs, and speaking of “up for grabs,” the first thing I’d do as speaker is invite Rep. Lauren Boebert from the Rocky Mountain state to a theatrical presentation—maybe Aladdin, what with the magic lamp rubbing and all—so’s to reach across the aisle but good, you think?

Anyways, I’ve gotten the message from a couple, three readers that there have not been enough joke-jokes gracing this page of late, boo-hoo.

So, what the fock. Given these grim and dim times we got going on, not to mention that Groucho’s B-day this past Oct. 2 would’ve been his 133rd, what say we dip into Art’s Gag Bag and you’s can quit your complaining. Let’s go:

A woman runs to her house, throws open the door and jubilantly shouts, “Honey, pack your bags! I won the lottery!”

The husband says, “I can’t believe it! That’s great! Should I pack for the ocean, or should I pack for the mountains?”

She says, “I don’t care where you go. Just pack and get the hell out.” Ba-ding!

How ’bout a little income tax story:

A man called in for an audit by the IRS asked his accountant for advice on what to wear. “Wear your worst clothing and an old pair of shoes. Let them think you are a pauper,” the accountant said. Then he asked his lawyer the same question but got the opposite advice: “Don’t let them intimidate you. Wear your best suit and an expensive tie.” Confused, the man went to his rabbi of course, who would surely know the correct answer. He told him of the conflicting advice and asked for guidance.

“Let me tell you a story,” the rabbi replied. “A woman, about to be married, asked her mother what to wear on her wedding night. Her mother advised, ‘Wear a heavy, long, flannel nightgown that goes right up to your neck and wool socks.’ But when the woman asked her best friend, she heard the opposite: ‘Wear your sexiest negligee, with a V-neck right down to your navel.’”

The man did not understand: “But Rabbi, what does all this have to do with my problem with the IRS?” And the rabbi said, “It doesn’t matter what you wear. Either way, you’re going to get screwed.” Ba-ding!

On the road:

A guy is driving through the city and his car is weaving all over the road for christ sakes. Cop pulls him over and says, “So mister, where are you coming from?” The tipsy driver says he’s on his way home from the tavern. The officer says, “Looks to me like you’ve had more than a couple, three, ain’a?” And the drunk says, “Well sir, I did all right for myself, thanks for asking.”

“Did you know,” the cop says, “that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?” And the drunk says, “Praise the lord! For a minute there, I thought I’d gone deaf.”Ba-ding!

Okey-doke. Had enough? Yeah, me too, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.