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Wednesday, Nov. 12, 2008

Quantum of B.S.

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I’m Art Kumbalek and manoh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, seems I was a tad half-assedly premature when last week I declared victory in my valiant campaign for the presidency of these United States. I suppose I could see about a recount, but I just don’t feel like subjecting the nation to that kind of turmoil, I kid you not.

OK, the president-elect has promised change, but his “change” is a weak sister to the change I would’ve ponied-up for you’s as your fearless leader. Tell me how this sounds: the late, great Frankie Yankovic’s “Just Because” as your new national anthem, and clocks are set back one hour each and every day so that Joe the American gets an extra 60 minutes of sleep-in time before he has to get up and out to look for a goddamn job? Yeah, that’s what I thought. And did I mention that Hawaii would become the 49th state ’cause I would kick Alaska out of our federal union? When it comes to crooks and nut-jobs we already got Florida, so what the fock do we need “Seward’s Folly” for? Hey, you tell me.

And then I’ll tell you that I do realize there’s some speculation as to what the future bodes for yours truly, as there always is for any failed hot-shot candidate for high political office. John McCain? That’s easy. Come the expiration of his Senate term, he’s got himself a piece-of-cake gig in La-La Land as everybody’s favorite TV sitcom grumpy-ass neighbor.

For myself, the best I can tell you is “fock if I know.” Yes, I am toying with the notion of firing up The Art Kumbalek Democracy Express 2010 for Governor, Senator and Mayor. I like the idea of downsizing government and if I filled all three of the aforementioned positions, we’d cut the number of bureaucrats feeding off the government trough by two. God bless America.

But what I’d really like to do is pitch in and help out our next administration pronto as top-spook head honcho of the C.I.A. I’ve seen all the James Bond and spy movies and I do believe that’s the life for me. I’m especially enamored with the “getting the girl in the end” part, and if not the end, hell, I’m sure I could work my way around to some other location, what the fock, which reminds me of a little story:

M sends James Bond on a secret mission to heaven. When M doesn’t hear from Bond for over a day, he gets worried and calls up heaven. The Virgin Mary picks up the phone and says “Virgin Mary speaking.” M asks her if Bond has arrived yet. She replies that he hasn’t.

M waits another few hours and calls heaven back. “Virgin Mary speaking,” comes the response. “Is James there yet?” asks M. Again the answer is no. So now M is really worried but he waits for a few more hours and then calls heaven again.

“Hello, Mary speaking…”
Ba-ding!

I would recruit only the most dedicated, the kind of top-secret players who’d leave it all on the field come “game on.” Witness:

The CIA had an opening for an assassin. After all the background checks, interviews and testing were done, three finalists emerged—two men and one woman. For the final test, the CIA agents took one of the men to a large metal door and handed him a gun. “We must know that you will follow instructions no matter what the circumstances. Inside this room you will find your wife sitting in a chair. You have to kill her.”

The first man said, “You can’t be serious. I could never shoot my wife.”

The agents acknowledge that this is not the right man for the job. The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun and went into the room. After nearly five minutes of silence, the man emerged, tears in his eyes and says, “I tried, but I can’t kill my wife.” And an agent replies, “You don’t have what it takes. Take your wife and go home.”

It was the woman’s turn, who was told to kill her husband. She took the gun and entered the room. Shots were heard, one after another, followed by screaming, crashing, loud banging. Then all was quiet. The door opened slowly. There stood the woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow and said, “You fockers didn’t tell me the gun was loaded with blanks; so I had to beat him to death with a curtain rod. Am I hired?”

I’m also a cheerleader for the use of highend techno gadgets so as to spread freedom’s joie de vivre, as illustrated by the following case study:

A rather confident 007 walks into a bar and takes a seat next to a very attractive woman. He gives her a quick glance and casually looks at his watch. The woman notices and slyly inquires, “Is your date running late?” “No,” he replies, “I’m here alone. My research-and-development man has just given me this stateof-the-art watch and I was testing it.” Intrigued, the woman asks, “A st ate- of-t he-art watch? What’s so special about it?”

007 explains, “It uses alpha waves to telepathically talk to me.” She breathlessly wants to know what the watch is telling him now, and he replies, “It says you’re not wearing any panties.” The woman smiles and says, “Well then, it must be broken because I am wearing panties.” 007 taps his watch twice and says, “Damn thing must be an hour fast.”

So for my country, now I go to get in touch with the Obama transition team. I’m guessing when it comes to money, those C.I.A. types are paid a pretty penny you betcha, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.


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