I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I can’t pony up a regular essay for you’s this week on account of two words: Brett focking Favre.

Art: But Hattie, I’m the only one in here.

Hattie: I’ve got eyes, mister. So are you going to play ball, Artie—or do I have to get rough?

Art: Calm down, Hattie. Now I remember why I’m the only one in here. I’ll just have a nice cup of the blackest, thickest and cheapest of whatever it is you’re calling plain old American coffee today, thank you very kindly.

Hattie: Now was that so hard, Artie? And just so you know, I’ll need the tip up front, so there’s no shenanigans.

Art: All right already, Hattie. Here’s a buck. Go get yourself something nice.

Hattie: You’re such a nice boy, Artie. And see? Here’s your coffee, just like I promised. So what do you hear, what do you know, my little Artie.

Art: I know I’m surprised to see you, Hattie. I thought you retired.

Hattie: I did, Artie. But then I got an itch. Art: Yeah, you and Brett Favre. Go figure.

Hattie: Don’t you dare talk about our Brett that way, Artie. I’ll call the police on you.

Art: You got to be jerking my beefaroni, Hattie. Are you a Brett Favre fan?

Hattie: Oh, Artie. Whenever I get an itch, I always imagine he’s the nice, rough and tumble Johnny Reb country-bumpkin to be scratching it. What’s the matter, Artie? You don’t look so good.

Art: Yeah, sometimes I see a picture I’d really rather not see, like Brett Favre throwing interceptions wearing a Houston Texans uniform instead of the Green and Gold.

Hattie: Isn’t that a coincidence you mentioned Texas. Guess where I’m going tomorrow?

Art: Somewhere for observation, I hope.

Hattie: Oh no, Artie. And don’t you smart mouth me. I’m going to Texas, for an extended stay. Do you know anything about Texas, Artie?

Art: Only a couple things I know you’ll never hear a Texan say.

Hattie: Really, Artie. And what’s that?

Art: You’ll never hear a Texan say, “I’ll take Shakespeare for 1,000, Alex,” and you’ll never hear a Texan say, “Hon’, you mail that donation to Greenpeace yet?”

Hattie: Isn’t that fascinating.

Art: So Hattie, what takes you down to the Lone Star state for an extended stay, if you don’t mind me asking?

Hattie: Oh Artie, I’ve met the nicest man who asked me to come visit and stay awhile.

Art: Really, Hattie. How’d you meet this cowboy?

Hattie: He isn’t a cowboy, Artie. He’s a rodeo clown, and during the off-season he works as a nightclub hypnotist when he isn’t in jail. I met him on the Internet.

Art: Hattie, the Internet?

Hattie: You’d be surprised how easy it is to meet nice men that way—especially if a gal fibs a little about her age. Oh Artie, I’m just beside myself, I’m so excited.

Art: Yeah, your clown’s going to be beside himself, too, after he gets a load of you.

Hattie: Oh Artie, that’s so nice of you to say.

Art: Hattie, you didn’t fib too much about your age to this guy, did you?

Hattie: I don’t think so, Artie. But you know get a little dyslexic when it comes to numbers, and when he asked me how old I was, I may have typed in “16.”

Art: Sixteen. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll understand.

Hattie: Of course he’ll understand, Artie. Why wouldn’t he understand—especially after takes a gander at the branding iron with my initials that I’m bringing along.

Art: That’s thoughtful, Hattie. Nothing says “I’m yours” like a hot branding iron applied the bare buttock.

Hattie: I’m one lucky gal, don’t you think, Artie? I feel just like I won the lottery.

Art: Well Hattie, better you won the lot tery than your man. knew this one guy, wife comes rushing through the door one day, she screams, “Honey, pack your clothes! I just won the lottery!” The husband says, “Great. Should pack for the beach for the mountains?” Wife says, “What do care. Just pack and get the hell out!”

Hattie: That’s a nice story, Artie. You’re such good boy.

Art: Well, it’s been a treat, Hattie—you take care of yourself down in Texas, you hear? thanks for the coffee and for bending my ear there, Hattie-licious. See you next time.

Hattie: Oh Artie, you’re a little devil, aren’t you. Take care. (OK, it’s off to the Uptowner. If you see me there, then you buy me one ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)