I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I’m a bit blue this week what with hearing the news that the guy inside the robot suit on TV’s gritty ground-breaking series from the ’60s, “Lost In Space,” has lost his power pack for good, no changes. Yes, Bob May has expired so as to join the great Isaac Asimov in the Sky, and robotic acting on network TV will never be the same, at least until you hook up your new digital converter box. Then you’ll be able to see it every night of the week, same as it ever was, what the fock.
So no essay this week for you ’cause I’m too depressed. The only thing to do for me is hook up with my fellas over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school situated at the corner of Hysteric Center Street & Humboldt so as to make plans for our annual gala Presidents’ Day costume party. This year, I might go as our playboy president, John F. Kennedy, and ask for a nice sponge bath from one of the lady bartenders. On the other hand, maybe I’ll be Andrew Jackson and challenge a loudmouth asshole at the bar to a duel. Come along if you’d like, but you buy the first round. Let’s get going.
Emil: Hey, fock you, too. Accident or not, all I’m saying is if they could arrest those snowmobilers
for running over a bunch of deer Up North, why shouldn’t they arrest
that airline pilot for colliding with a flock of geese that caused the
plane to crash on the New York river the other week?
Julius: Let’s
think about this. Maybe those goose were violating what-they-call the
international air space, and after 9-11 would it be any wonder that Al
focking Qaeda might’ve jerryrigged these goddamn birds so’s when they
flew over our eastern seaboard, tiny nuclear bombs would descend like
crap through a goose?
Little Jimmy Iodine: The common
goose craps like there’s no tomorrow, so you’re talking a lot of
devastation there. And don’t forget these geese can be mean birds. I
think they’re pissed that so many of our new suburbs and golf courses
now occupy what used to be their resting homelands.
Herbie: I have faith that our new administration can handle any terrorist threat, be it from animal, mineral or vegetable.
Ray: I
heard the new president’s closing the Guantanamo prison ’cause we’re
not the kind of country that runs an anti-human-rights shop. But if I
were president, the Focks News Nutwork would’ve been first on my
cease-and-desist list, ain’a?
Herbie: But
I’m worried about the health of the new president. I was watching that
inauguration the other week on TV. I saw him walk into the chamber
where they had the luncheon and he’s strolling the tables and shaking
hands to beat the band with every Tom, Dick and Dickless sitting around
ready to strap on the fancy-ass feedbag. Focking swell.
Little Jimmy Iodine: And this at the height of the cold and flu season.
Herbie: Exactly
my point. And they had a shot of Al Gore talking to somebody and he
coughed into his left hand and then clasped them together. Then shortly
later, they gave the benediction and the president sat down at the head
table without running to the can so’s to wash his hands first. What
the fock, he’s going to catch a cold from the inauguration and the last
president to do that as far as I know was William Henry Harrison back
in 1841, who croaked 30 days later from pneumonia. All I can say about
that is praise the lord we’ve got a vice president who speaks the
English language, as opposed to the heartbeat-away tongue-tied moron we
would’ve had if the Republicans stole yet another national election.
God bless America.
Julius: Talk
about health, I don’t know if Barack and the Mrs. enjoys the theater or
not, but given his big boner for all things Abe Lincoln, I hope he
restricts his nights out to going to the movies, what the fock.
Little Jimmy: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.
Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know.
Ernie: Any you’s guys hear what happened to Leo Brznzskiwiczsky?
Ray: Let me guess—somebody spelled his name correctly?
Julius: Cripes, I haven’t seen that guy since his wife disappeared couple, three years ago.
Ernie: Leo
finally found a lady friend he liked and he told me it got pretty
serious to where he was staying by her place a lot. So one night after
some hootchie-cootchie, Leo wants a cigarette but he couldn’t find his
lighter. He asks this gal if hers were handy, and she says no but maybe
there’s some matches in the bedside-table drawer.
Julius: You’re talking in italics, Ernie. Are you all right?
Ernie: So
Leo opens the drawer and there’s a box of matches sitting on top of a
framed picture of some guy. He grabs the photo and says, “Who the fock
is this? Your husband? You seeing another guy?” Leo’s gal starts
rubbing her hand up and down his leg, nibbles on his ear lobe and says,
“No silly, don’t get all worried. That’s me, before the operation.”
Ray: No
way. You got to be jerking my beefaroni.
(Oh, brother. It’s getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)
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