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Thursday, Jan. 26, 2012

No Dry Zone

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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So listen, can't deliver the palaver this week on how the brainwashed Tea Party/Republican uber-faithful constitute a zombie horde hell-bent on devouring truth, justice and the American way, no sir.

Instead, I'd rather tell you that I'm temporarily feeling pretty good on account of how the other night I was out taking a stroll through my neighborhood and boy-oh, did I ever pick up a nice Norway pine, fully loaded and practically cherry. Even had a couple of strands of tinsel on her here and there, I kid you not. And talk about a price, how do you beat Jack squat? You cannot. No one trumps Jack squat, I don't care who you are.

And I'll remind you the reason I was out tree shopping the other evening is that I never, ever celebrate Christmas until 'round about the third weekend of your January. And the fact that a lot of expert astronomers have done some heavy-duty figuring to figure that the birthday of Jesus would actually have to be in January somewheres is only a small part of the “why” I delay the decking of my halls 'til now.


No sir, the main reason is that when it comes to Christmas I always ask myself, hey, what's the rush? Don't go off like some kind of cotton focking pricking half-cocked fruitcake at the crack of December. If you keep your holiday pants on for a little longer, you'll find the stores empty, shelves stacked and prices slashed. I just don't see who can afford not to take advantage of these bargains and shopping convenience in these fiscally troubled times, what the fock.


And now, during this, the alternate-reality holiday season, I should suggest that some of us here in the Corn Cow Cheese State better keep at least one eye on our drinking-and-driving law, ain'a? Sure as shootin', more and more people are getting pulled over by the law on suspicion of exceeding the lush limit than they did years ago.

And here's a little tip for those who may be new to the trial and tribulation of being stopped by an eagle-eyed traffic officer, especially some of you's young people: Two things right off the bat that you never, ever want to ask suspicious law enforcement are, “Could you hold my beer while I find my license?” and “Hey officer, is that a nightstick or are you just glad to see me?”

No sir, when you've been drinking you should not get behind the wheel. And you should not get in front of a wheel either 'cause if you're focking plastered, you are roadkill, mister. The best place to be if you're going to be putting on the binge is within the friendly confines of your own abode—alone. Makes sense, don't it? Just set up an ashtray, sit wherever the fock you want, no unsolicited bonehead conversations. Hell, the only jag-off you might encounter is yourself, and you know how to deal with that knobshine—have another cocktail, ain'a?


But still there may be something you want to consider, and that is the issue of personal safety. Sure, you're all warm and fuzzy having swigs in your digs, so what the fock's to fear? Listen, that's exactly the question craggy Bill Holden, star of Bridge on the River Kwai, Sunset Boulevard and Damien—Omen II, might have asked himself one evening in 1981 during a solitary booze bacchanal right before he either tripped on a cord, or perhaps a dog squeaky, and cracked his head wide open on an end table. That's right, a guy can go from Old Grand Dad to “found dead” at the snap of a finger, you bet.


So what to do? Some of you's may recall that a handful of years ago, I came up with the design for what I call the Art Kumbalek Drinking Helmet, a protective device to promote home-drinking safety. Remember? This baby was to be made of the same stuff they make the “black box” on airplanes out of. Indestructible. The helmet would have an infrared bubble-visor for better night vision in case the home-drinker was too hammered to reconnoiter the light switches. And yes, it would have one of those back-up horns to warn any animate object in the vicinity to get out of the way 'cause this guy's focking loaded; and yes, I wanted Congress to make mandatory for all adult Americans the wearing from dusk to dawn of this safety.

Now, finally, I've got the prototype ready, and guess what? The only way I can figure to make a buck from the Drinking Helmet would be to cold-call telemarket the damn thing, and what with this national Do-Not-Call legislation, I'm out of business before I can even get in, and the safety of a drinking nation remains at risk.


Once again government regulation squashes the small businessman with no Internet savvy. Fock. I need a drink, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.