Another Topical Depression
And just who the fock
are “you’s”? Why, you are nothing but a bunch of the best so-called readers who
week after week after week pick up this newspaper and turn to this page even if
you have nothing better to do. And that’s why I need your help.
Why? (Hold on, let me
get the script and I’ll lay my pipe on the line. OK. Here we go.)
“As members of my
reading family, I feel betrothed to grab your ear and tell you that it’s come
to my attention that the out-of-the-focking-pocket costs involved in the
manufacture and producement of my little weekly newspaper article have
skyrocketed like a focking banshee, I kid you not.
“How do I know this?
I’ll tell you. The other evening I happened to stop by the Uptowner
tavern/charm school with my pal Little Jimmy Iodine in tow, so as to enjoy a
nice ice-cold bottled beer and to discuss a range of big-time topics that maybe
I ought to delve into, topics that could wake a sleeping nation, what the fock.
“Well sir, no sooner did
we park our butts stool-side than did I realize I had not enough loose change
to spring for a pack of beer nuts—a
lousy pack of focking beer nuts—let alone a couple cool ones. Seems our meeting
the previous evening to discuss the very same subject at the very same location
had gone the whole nine yards in closing out my personal cash register, and now
I was faced with having to shut down my entire research and development
department. And that’s not all.
“Add this deficit to the
rise in cost of necessary materials—your
coffee, your Old Crow, your cigarettes, lead for my pencil—and I’m thinking I
may have to shut down my whole goddamn operation unless I come up with some
kind of Einstein revenue plan. And the only thing I can think of to stay
in business is to pass my costs on to you’s, the poor pissant consumer.
“Now, the monkey wrench
lodged in the wheel of this scheme is that the Shepherd is a free
focking paper—the choice of
cheapskates and freeloaders the metropolitan area over. No way the price of this
rag can be jacked up any higher than it already is, and I’d think you’d agree,
“So my business plan can only succeed
with the understanding that when you, as a member of my reading family, comes
by a couple, three extra bucks to please take the time to cut a nice check and
send it to this paper, care of me.
“Only with your
generous contribution can I continue to sit on my dupa over by the Uptowner and
muse upon a method with which to battle, for example, the mercenary ways of the
big drug companies, as illustrated by this story:
At a major medical
convention a noted internist arose to announce that he had discovered a new
“What’s it cure?” asked
a member of the audience.
“Nothing we don’t
already have a cure for,” the internist replied.
“Then what’s so
miraculous about it?” someone asked.
The internist said, “A
side effect is short-term memory loss. Several of my patients have paid my bill
three or four times.” Ba-ding!
“With your generous
help, I could continue to muse about a bunch of other stuff, to boot. But
please, no bullshit phone calls promising to pony up the dough at a later date,
like I was born yesterday. And come to think of it, don’t mail me a check
either. For the good of both of us, cash is the way to go. Stuff a couple,
three Jacksons into an envelope (attention: “Art Kumbalek”) and drop it off
here at the office. That way, the tax man will be none the wiser and we screw
the IRS, just like a regular fat-cat big-shot Republican does, what the fock.
“So hey, thanks for your consideration. Next week we’ll return to the usual programming, maybe, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.”