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Friday, April 8, 2011

Intelligence Shutdown

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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So let me make one thing perfectly clear, I was thrilled to hear that the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum has opened a Watergate Gallery, you betcha. Seems though that the gallery doesn't maintain regular hours. You have to break in if you want to see it. Ba-ding!

Yes sir, that one never gets old, what the fock. I've never been to a presidential library/museum but I can't imagine they all don't have some kind of souvenir gift shop that the visitor has to pass through so's to get out of the goddamn joint. I'll bet at Nixon's, you can buy a tape recorder that no matter what you record, there's always an 18-minute gap somewheres. Or maybe a souvenir blanket so you can cover-up when you feel the need. For the kids, maybe a little toilet plunger and they can play "plumber" when they get home. And those plungers could be sold right next to the toilet paper with the U.S. Constitution printed on it—"our 37th president wiped his ass with it, and now you can to."


And speaking of wiping your ass with the constitution, how 'bout this Tea Party crowd that would like nothing better than to shut down the government? Hey, have these nutbag assholes purchased a copy where the preamble does not include "promote the general Welfare" not to mention "insure domestic Tranquility"? What the fock, cut spending at a time of high unemployment while reducing taxes to next to zero for your rich-fock benefactors? Are you focking nuts? Hey, you tell me.


And then I'll tell you that I'm feeling like maybe I don't have sufficient lead in the ol' pencil so as to spew an essay all over this page as is my custom from week to week. That is because I feel I just shot my wad in the voting booth, it being Tuesday, April 5 for me.


Because ever since the first Tuesday of November way back in 2000, the fervor of my franchise goes flaccid as soon as I get a ballot in my hands, and I'm a limp noodle the rest of that day gosh darn it. Yes sir, I can't help but reflect back that had a couple, three votes for Ralph "Darth" Nader gone a different way maybe the vote of the majority would've stood up, and George W. would not have been able to use the Nixon U.S. Constitution toilet paper for eight focking years, and I'll bet you a buck two-eighty we still might have a fed budget surplus, like we did when Democrat Wild Bill Clinton left town.


So now I sit here with thumb up dupa and I'm wondering, hey, how many of these essays do I have left in me, anyways? Could it really be some kind of what-you-call finite number, or do I possess the kind of potency to keep pumping these babies out 'til they got to haul me out of here feet first come doomsday? Fock if I know.

All I know is a brief story my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine told me the other day that gave me a case of the heebie-jeebies over the amount of gas I may have left in mine own tank:

So this guy about my age goes to the doctor 'cause he's concerned about the lack of led in his pencil that his wife's been complaining about lately. Doctor gives him one of those turn-your-head-and-cough exams and says to the guy, "Well sir, I've been able to determine that your male member has but twenty-five erections left in it. I suggest you use them wisely."


So the guy gets home and tells the wife what the doctor had to say. "Only twenty-five? Oh my. We better save them for special occasions, like anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's Day. Let's make a list." And the guy says, "Forget about it. I already made a list, and your name's not on it."


Maybe I'm just suffering from post-NCAA Men's College Basketball Tournament letdown syndrome, also known as PNCAAMCBTLS. It's especially tough on me this year 'cause not only didn't my team win, but I got hooked up in one of those heavily wagered bracket pools and I lost my trunks, I kid you not.

But at least we got the Masters Tournament coming up this weekend, ain'a? Yeah, golf on TV. I don't want to say it's like watching paint dry—it's not as engaging—so I'll say it's like listening to paint dry, what the fock.


Oh yeah, we also got another presidential election coming up in about a quick year-and-a-half, and so I'm reminded of a little story:


Karl "Turd Blossom" Rove and Michele Bachmann were walking through the woods when they saw some rabbit shit. Michele says, "Hey, what's that?"


"They're smart pills from God," Karl says. "Eat them and they'll make you smarter." So Michele eats them and says, "Hey, these taste like shit."


And Karl the Boy Genius says, "See? You're getting smarter already."


Ba-ding! 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
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