Home / Columns / Art for Art's Sake / Hand It Over
Thursday, March 17, 2011

Hand It Over

Google+ Pinterest Print
I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? Yeah yeah, the March madness with another St. focking Patty's Day to drive each and every mature drinkingman from his favorite bar stool for the duration of Thursday, March 17, to be replaced by a teeming horde of youthful O'Knobshines whose only connection to the true Irish is that they won't be going to work in the morning, either.

So the other night I stumbled upon a TV broadcast of the "Rat Pack: Live and Swingin'," recorded 1965. It was on the PBS; which usually stands for Pretty Boring Stuff, but since they were smack-dab in the midst of a fund drive, seems they wanted to jazz up the schedule and offer a little ring-a-ding-ding instead of the usual butler-with-a-butterfly-net-and-tea-cup programming, what the fock.

Which reminded me that it's time for me to announce my Annual Art Kumbalek Donor-dough/Greenback/Pin Money/Cookie Jar/Piggy Bank/Petty Cash/C Note/G Note/Stick 'em Up Money Grab.

And what I mean to ask is for you the reader to fork it over, and I don't want to hear any pissin' and moanin' about the goddamn economy as an excuse as to why you are unable to focking fork it over, thank you very kindly. Excuses are for losers, but if you flip me some dough at any time during my Feather the Nest Week, we can all come out of this as winners, you betcha.

Yeah, I know. Winner? Greasing the palm of some knob in a newspaper would make you, the reader, a winner? Wouldn't "wiener" be more accurate? Could be. Some people are just natural-born wieners no matter what they do or don't do, what the fock. Like this guy I knew who goes to see the doctor. He's got a strawberry jammed up each nostril, a carrot sticking out each ear, and a wiener up his dupa. He says, "Doc, I think there's something wrong with me." Doctor says, "Well sir, just offhand I'd say you weren't eating properly." Ba-ding!

But the future success of this page depends on my ability to convince you readers to pony up and make a special gift. I want you to take a moment and reflect upon all that you derive from perusing my cram-packed essays week after week throughout the year. Reflect upon how much an improved citizen of our country and native of the planet you become each time I explore the meaning of Truth, Justice and The American Way. Reflect upon how much better an understanding of the world around you and of its cultural grab bag you gain when I present you with informational tidbits I've gleaned over the years—such as for vacation, Irish families visit a different bar, and that the reason Disney has not built a park in China has nothing to do with politics but has everything to do with no one's tall enough to go on the rides.

Reflect upon all that and more as you contemplate making a financial contribution that will go directly to increasing the comfortability of my lifestyle, which will translate directly to the ease with which I'm able to slap these important essays together for you's. Ask yourself where else is it you can go but to this half-a-page to get acquainted with such a varied load of stuff, stuff on everything from the Helmholtz Theory of Color Vision to Ted Kluszewski's slugging percentage in 1954? Yeah, the Internet or an old-fashioned library, you might say. But hey, what good is that information if you don't know what I think about it? Abso-focking-lutely nothing.

People in this age and day of the hectic style of fast-paced life don't have the time to think for themselves. Everybody needs a "God's messenger," and I can continue to be yours, with your generous financial support. So right now, how 'bout you take out an envelope and address it this way: 207 E. Buffalo St., Ste. #410, Milwaukee WI, 53202, c/o Art Kumbalek. Then stuff the envelope with a couple, three Jacksons and maybe a Franklin or two, or perhaps a properly endorsed check made out to Art Kumbalek—and don't forget to put a stamp on it, nitwit.

And for the ladies out there, feel free to include a nice snapshot of yourself sporting the deep décolletage. Add a phone number so that if I focking feel like it, I can give you a buzz sometime and thank you personally for the future rendezvous that's sure to come. If you put this in the mail today you'll sleep better tonight, I kid you not,

One last reminder, what the fock: I'm pretty far away from the financial goals needed to support these fine essays. If you've never contributed to anything before, now's the time to get your lazy ass in gear and help me stay on the page. You already know where to send your dough, and listen: I don't have any practical tote bags or useful coffee mugs to send you in return, but I can promise that for the contribution of $50 bucks or more, I'll find something laying around my dinky apartment I don't need anymore that you can have, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.