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Friday, April 15, 2011

Beached Budget Bingo

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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So listen, I tossed Bob Dylan's recent concert in China, along with U.S. Reprehensitive Paul Ryan's bullshit budget proposal for flushing Joe Blow's health care and Medicare down the crapper, into the hopper and out popped the following little story, what the fock:

So this American tourist goes on a trip to China, where he got pretty frisky with the ladies. A week after he came back home to the greatest country on Earth, he awoke one morning to find his manhood privates covered with bright green and purple spots. Perplexed, he went to see his doctor.


The doctor, never having seen such a thing, ordered some tests and told the guy to come back in two days for the results. Two days later he returns and the doctor says, "I've got bad news for you, sir. You've contracted Mongolian VD. It's very rare, almost unheard of here. We know very little about it."


Our randy tourist is a bit relieved and says, "Well, give me a shot, a pill, and fix me up, doc." And the doctor says, "I'm sorry, there's no known cure. We're going to have to amputate." In shock, the guy says, "That can't be focking possible. I need a second opinion!"


So the next day, the guy seeks out a Chinese doctor, figuring it's a disease from his neck of the woods and he should have experience treating it. The Chinese doctor examines him and says, "Ah yes, Mongolian VD. Rare disease." The guy says to the doctor, "I already know that, but what can you do? My American doctor wants to amputate!"


The Chinese doctor shakes his head and laughs: "American doctors always want to operate. Lotta money for them that way. No need to operate."


The guy breathes a sigh of relief, wouldn't you know, as the Chinese doctor continues, "Yes, no need to operate. Wait two weeks and it will fall off all by itself."
Ba-ding!

Anyways, so another election for the state Supreme Court has come and gone and, surprise, surprise, a big ol' bogus bag of Republican votes out there in Honky-sha County was discovered to be uncounted a couple, three days after legal voting was declared finis.

But natch', it's never over 'til the fat lady sings and what Honky-sha's county clerk chose to sing was an aria from Verdi's Rigged-alotto.

Now, I don't want to say that suddenly discovering a boatload of uncounted votes in a GOP Wunderland is on par with discoveries, real or imagined, such as Christopher Columbus finding financing, Livingstone finding the source of the Nile, Stanley finding Livingstone, Pauly Shore finding an audience, Diogenes of Sinope finding an honest man, Taylor Swift finding the pitch, Ryne Duren finding the plate, Thomas Wolfe finding home, Dr. Salk finding the vaccine, Xavier Cugat finding Charo, Stevie Wonder finding Jimmy Hoffa, Will Rogers finding a man he didn't like, any of the Kardashian whores finding a man she didn't like—but I'm thinking it's close, a little too close, I kid you not.

Hey, and speaking of Minister of Crapola Paul Ryan's "Path to Prosperity" budget, apparently if this head-cheese proposal were to see legislative light of day, we'd all be living on Easy Street, 'cause when you eliminate taxes for rich jackasses and any kind of government spending, everybody wins, ain'a? If you're poor, sick and/or elderly, you better start playing the lottery if you expect to have a pot to pee in, focking loser.

And speaking of poor, sick and elderly, I see myself covering that trifecta goddamn soon, you bet. But I'm not worried, no sir, 'cause I'm thinking of cooking up a brand-new religion for the people of the world to rally 'round, and soon I'd be a rich guy who didn't have to pay taxes. I could live with that, you bet.

But I'll tell you's, dreaming up a religion out of the clear thin blue air is no piece of cake, what the fock. First thing with a religion before you can start collecting money is you got to have a handbook that's got all kinds of rules, routines and dogma, not to mention dictums, in it that people need to memorize, 'cause you just can't have people making stuff up as they go along or before you know it they'll be at each other's throat.

And yes, the dictums. You got to have good dictums and they goddamn better be set in stone from the get-go, and you know what? You just don't come up with a bunch of dictums overnight. Dictums are a bitch. I spent all last week considering dictums and I'm still a day late and dollar short on dictums for my religion.

I did come up with three: Good deeds; kind words; let a smile be your umbrella. But if that is to be the holy trinity of my own religion, I may as well consider myself already excommuni-focking-cated. What a world.

Perhaps to perform a miracle would be wise, pronto. And so shall I visit the Uptowner tavern/charm school and change a recently donated Hamilton sawbuck into bourbon. God bless America, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
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