Mad Man’s Lament
And I got to tell you, it couldn’t come at a better time. I’ve been experiencing some stiffness if not downright soreness in the skull compartment and before I take the measure of having my head examined, maybe a little time off is what the doctor would’ve ordered anyways, so what the fock.
Besides, I got some off-the-page personal matters that need tending to before they fester into some kind of career-threatening carbuncled calamity. I abso-focking-lutely need to deal with the chaotic morass that is my sock drawer ’cause I’ve just got to believe there has to be at least one sock in there that bears a resemblance to another. I need to check the sofa for loose change. And speaking of morass, I need to renew my subscription to Bend Over Magazine ’cause they’re offering a free Jane Russell Bra Phone if you sign up for two years, I kid you not.
And I got to finish filling out my goddamn tax form, which every year consists of a short note I mail in, and it goes something like this:
Dear Sir or Madam,
Hey, I already paid. The federal tax on cigarettes alone I cough up yearly to you’s ought to be enough to buck-up a bridge or fill a focking pothole somewheres, ain’a?
But thanks for your interest.
As I’ve said maybe in the past, I do believe this Internal Revenue Service tax compact really ought to be made voluntary, like they did with the military service. How ’bout they turn tax-time into a pledge drive, à la National Public Radio. If the citizen chooses to flip the government some dough, he and/or she at least should receive a focking tote bag or coffee mug for making the donation, don’t you think?
And if any high roller chips in big time to the government, say, in appreciation for all the corporate welfare entitlements the Feds provide, the high roller receives, not some crappy-ass tote bag, but the CD boxed set of all the John Philip Sousa marches, as recorded by the U.S. Air Force Band.
Talk about listening pleasure, you betcha. JPS all told wrote 136 marches; or was it he wrote one march one hundred and thirty-focking-six times? I forget. But I do know that a CD collection of the Sousa marches would last me a musical lifetime. I could listen to one of his marches and, what with all those blaring flugelhorns blasting their butts off to kingdom come and back, I’d say it’d be at least a year ’til I was ready to listen to another. One down, only 135 to go, yes sir.
Anyways, before I go, as per my secondary career as media pitchman, I would be utterly derelict in my duty if I forgot to tell you that I expect all of you’s to haul your sorry asses over by the Wisconsin State Fair Park Expo Center on Saturday, April 27, from 2-6pm for the Shepherd Express’ “Stein & Dine Beer, Cheese, and Sausage Festival.” And yes, I’ll sure-as-shootin’ be out there milling around, meeting and greeting, enjoying a fermented beverage or ten, and I’m sure I could force myself to enjoy the pleasant company you would provide, ’cause isn’t that what the good life’s all about?
Hey, you tell me, what the fock, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.