I’m Art Kumbalek and
man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I really ought to declare
one of those socalled disclosures that politicians make when they get the sense
that the shinola is indeed turning to shit. And the disclosure is this: The Art
Kumbalek Democracy Express 2008 For Any and All Political Office hasn’t exactly
lit our city, state, or country on fire the way I figured it kind-of sort-of
would, I kid you not.
For christ sakes, here it is dang near April Fool’s Day of the election year and my name pops up in voter preference polls for this and that about as often as right-hander Nick Neugebauer gets mentioned as the possible No. 5 starter in the rotation for this season’s Milwaukee Brewers, what the fock.
Money. This politics thing, it’s all about money and I don’t have any. What kind of fool am I to think that I can get elected to some kind of office if I don’t have the dough to pay for effective TV commercials that suggest that my opponent is a child-molesting pedophile, or maybe too busy banging the bejesus out of white women at 3 a.m. in the morning to answer what may be an important phone call? Hey, you tell me, and then I’ll tell you that the Art Kumbalek Democracy Express 2008 needs some fiduciary influx and that’s why I can’t write an essay for you’s this week, since I’m headed now over to the Uptowner tavern/charm school situated at the corner by Center & Humboldt, where I’m to meet up with my campaign finance team so’s to finagle higher finance. Tag along if you like, but you cover the first round. Let’s get going.
Little Jimmy Iodine: All I’m saying is it’s a heck of a world when you learn that things you learned in school was a waste of time.
Emil: HEY! Which one of you’s cheap bastards swiped my bar change again?
Herbie: I hear you, Jimmy. when we were kids at Our Lady in Pain that You Kids are Going Straight to Hell But Not Soon Enough the sisters taught that we had nine planets in the solar system, and I’ve lived my life ever since according to those teachings. But the other month or so, the scientists said that Pluto was to the planets like Pete Best was to the Beatles, so forget about it, now there’s only eight planets you got to memorize if you’re a kid in school. So then the other day I read they’re saying that, come to think of it, we actually got 11 planets. What the fock. Now I get the heebie-jeebies to think what else they taught us that turns out to be totally full of crap, ain’a?
Julius: You’s know if these scientists dream up any names for these new planets yet?
Ray: Yeah, and here comes one to orbit now— Planet Peckerwood.
Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey. Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.
Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know. Any of you’s guys figure out how I can raise some dough for my campaign?
Ernie: Maybe you
could make a really good speech, Artie, like Obama did the other day. That might
help with contributions.
Julius: Good idea, Ernie. With Lent and Easter-time fresh on everybody’s minds, maybe in a big speech Artie could point out that it stands to reason that Jesus wasn’t a white guy, like in all the pictures we see of him where he looks more like a roadie fresh-off a 40-day tour with the Allman Brothers band than he does a guy who got born and raised in the Middle East, for christ sakes.
Ernie: Stands to reason that the Jesus had to be a guy of color, just like about 110-focking-percent of everybody else who inhabited his neck of the woods those days, or rather, neck of the desert, if you will.
Ray: Whether he was
white or black or somewhere in between, it still doesn’t change my belief that
if you lead a good ol’ sin-free life here on Earth, you’ll get to spend all
eternity in the company of the Lord. Second prize, well sir, that would be
Emil: Ba-ding! Good one, Ray.
Artie. You can earn some bigtime dough and fight the terrorism at the same time.
What say now that the weather’s getting nicer, all us guys go to
Afghanis-Pakis-stan or where-the-fock and go bag us an Osama been Hidin’? I do
believe that there’s still a $25-50 million bounty on the focker, ain’a? Would
look pretty nice on your campaign resume if I do say so, Artie.
Little Jimmy Iodine: But guys, you just don’t pull off a $25 million job like this without a little planning. “Half-cocked” cannot be a synonym for “modus operandi” when you got to travel a couple, three thousand miles to and fro in order to bring back some knob’s head on a stick.
Ernie: OK. So we wear disguises like Bob Hope and Bing Crosby did in those “Road” pictures. Those guys could get in everywhere.
Art: Yeah, but that was just the magic of Hollywood.
Julius: So? What the
fock do those turbaned troglodytes know from Hollywood? Piece of cake, consider
it “mission accomplished.”
(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.)