Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, since it’s that time of the end-of-the-year when I got a boatload of vacation time up the jock that if not used pronto will turn into a lump of shinola come New Year’s, I figure to take a day off right here, right now; and there’ll be no chock-jammed essay for you’s this week, what the fock.
It’s off to The Uptowner tavern/charm school for me, where today is always at least a day before tomorrow, and yesterday may damn well be today. Tag along if you like, but you buy the first round. Let’s get going.
Lem: Hey dere, Artie. Artie Kumbalek. What’s your pleasure, dere?
Art: Lem? Lem focking Radke. Haven’t seen you since hell froze over. I thought you were up in Crivitz always this time of year. What, taking a break from the taxidermy racket to help out behind the bar here?
Lem: You got that right dere, Artie. The taxidermy; she’s a little slow this time of year for me—mostly house pets. Not much money in stuffing the house pet dere, Artie.
Art: Is that so, Lem?
Lem: Darn tootin’, Artie. And the customer who brings me the house pet is always so sad, I can’t bring myself to charge them for the job. Especially when the deceased is deceased dere—accidentally.
Art: Accidentally.
Lem: Those are the toughest jobs for the taxidermist. For example dere, Artie: Do you know what I get when somebody’s parakeet meets a lawn mower?
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Art: Couldn’t tell you, Lem.
Lem: Shredded tweet.
Art: Shredded tweet?
Lem: Shredded tweet. That’s a good one dere, ain’a Artie? A little taxidermy humor. You see, you got your blades whirling on the mower, so when little Peety flies into…
Art: I get the picture, Lem.
Lem: OK then dere, Artie. So’s what’ll you be having dere I can brings you dere, mister?
Art: How ’bout a nice big-ol’ bourbon Manhattan, Lem. Heavy on the bourbon, one cube if you want to get fancy, no garnish, and keep the vermouth as an afterthought, say ’til tomorrow.
Lem: Can do. So dere, Artie, what do you hear, what do you know.
Art: I know that the last time I saw you, Lem, you were talking about getting into a medical school and studying the plastic surgery so you could do the ladies breast enlargement procedures.
Lem: That’s right dere, Artie. I’d like to do more with my life to help the mankind.
Art: So you get accepted at any of these doctor schools yet?
Lem: Not technically, Artie. Some of these places look down at the taxidermist. They say that the experience with the stuffing of various game fish and game fowl is not enough to automatically qualify you for surgical school.
Art: Go figure, ain’a? But god bless you, Lem. A guy’s got to have a dream. Listen, when you get to be a big-time plastic surgeon, I got a little story you can share with the other doctors when you guys are all in the john, scrubbing up for the surgery:
So there’s this woman, she celebrates her 50th birthday, and boom! She has a heart attack and gets taken to the hospital. She’s on the operating table and has a near-death experience. She sees God and asks, “Is my time up?” And the Lord says, “No siree, ma’am. You have another 40 years, 2 months and 8 days to live.”
So the woman recovers and decides to stay in the hospital and have a facelift, nose job, liposuction, tummy tuck—the whole nine yards. She even had someone come in and change her hair color. She figures since she has so much more time to live, she’s going to make the most of it.
Lem: You betcha, dere. Go for the gusto, ain’a Artie?
Art: Fockin’-A, Lem. Anyways, after her last operation, she gets released from the hospital, and while she’s crossing the street on her way home—boom! Again. She gets run over by an ambulance, wouldn’t you know.
So she’s in front of God and she says, “Listen jerkwad, I thought you said I had another 40 years; so how come you didn’t pull me from out of the path of that ambulance?” And the Lord says, “Yeah, that’s a problem. Sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” Ba-ding!
Lem: That’s a good one, Artie. Now I got one for you’s: What’s the difference between snow men and snow gals?
Art: Oh, brother.
Lem: Snow balls. How about that dere, Artie, and how ’bout another cocktail? I’ll join you. To the holidays, dere.
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Art: To the holidays, Lem. Come hell or high water, or both.
(Hey, I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)
