The Best of All Impossible Worlds
And I’d just like to say to any of you’s out there who actually had the cotton-focking-picking time to pencil down a vote in the way more than 100 goddamn categories, that I sincerely hope you become eligible for parole soon, and that you are then granted the privilege to use your time more wisely as a productive member of society, god bless.
I cannot imagine any guy or gal not behind bars having the time to dick around with the big, honking ballot that this newspaper wanted you to fill out a couple, three weeks back that has resulted in the galore issue you are by now sick and tired of reading. I salute you convicts who had the patience to go the whole nine yards with the voting in every category—yeah, as if you had something better to do besides spit on a guard or bugger the new guy, ain’a? And yes, I feel your disappointment that when you looked under “Goods & Services” or what-the-fock, there was no choice for “Best Place to Serve a Sentence.”
So, before I personally dive into this paper’s “Best Of” section to see how many awards I won, I got to tell you’s that I noticed our president recently hacked a round of golf on the very same course featured in the so-called classic comedy Caddyshack (W.C. Fields’ The Golf Specialist, now that’s a classic) and I was reminded of a little story:
This guy had a debilitating cheddar cheese-grating accident, and his “manhood” got mangled and torn from his body, for which he got a nice settlement from the insurance company. So he goes to see his doctor who assures him that Obamacare and modern medicine could give him back his manhood, and that the cost would be $3,500 for a “small,” $6,500 for “medium,” and $14,000 for “large.” The guy was sure he’d want a medium or large, but the doctor urged him to talk it over with his wife before he made any decision.
So the guy calls the wife on the phone and explained the options. The doctor came back into the room, and found the man looking like he just shanked one into the woods 45-yards out. Doctor says, “Well sir, what have you and the wife decided?” And the guy says, “She’d rather use the money to remodel the kitchen.” Ba-ding!
And speaking of golf:
So this old guy who comes home from a round of golf? The wife asks him how it went and he says, “Well, I was hitting the ball pretty well, but my eyesight’s gotten so bad I couldn’t see where the ball went.” The wife says, “Of course, dear. You’re 75-years-old. Why don’t you take my brother along next time?” The old guy says, “Yeah, but he’s 85 and doesn’t play golf anymore.” But the wife says her brother’s still got perfect eyesight, blah-blah, that he could at least watch the ball for the husband, blah-blah.
So the next day the two old guys hit the golf course. The husband tees off and the ball disappears down the fairway. The old-fart husband asks, “Did you see it?” And the older-fart brother says he sure did. “Well, where’s it at?” the husband wants to know. Brother says, “I forgot.” Ba-ding!
And speaking of husbands and wives:
Husband and wife have a big argument on the day of their 25th-wedding anniversary. Husband yells, “When you die, I’m getting you a headstone that reads, ‘Here Lies My Wife—Cold As Ever’” Wife says, “Fock you. When you die I’m getting you a headstone that reads, ‘Here Lies My Husband—Stiff At Last.’”
Anyways, I got to go and hightail it over by this Harley-Davidson Museum for this newspaper’s hullabaloo shindig where they hand out all the “Best Of” awards and I sure as heck do not care to miss any I got coming to me. So, one more story:
Three guys sit at the tavern talking—a doctor, a lawyer, a biker. The doctor takes a sip of his martini and says, “Tomorrow is my 25th wedding anniversary. I got my wife a diamond ring and a new Mercedes. I figure that if she doesn’t like the diamond ring, she’ll at least like the Mercedes and know that I love her.”
Lawyer says, “On my last anniversary, I got my wife a string of pearls and a trip to the Bahamas. I figured if she didn’t like the pearls, she’d at least like the trip and know that I love her.”
The biker orders another ice-cold Pabst Blue Ribbon and says, “Well sirs, for my anniversary I got my old lady a brand-new Harley T-shirt and a vibrator. I figured if she didn’t like the T-shirt, she could go fock herself.”
Ba-ding! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.