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Thursday, Nov. 27, 2008

How ’bout Some Stuffing, Ladies First?

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I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? So listen, I've got bigger fish to fry not to mention turkeys I'd like to behead than to pony up a regular jam-chocked essay for you's this week, I kid you not. Besides, it's been my experience that regular readers aren't up to navigating my little section of this here back page this time of year anyways on account of either being struck down by the dropsies from the too-much holiday feasting or they're busy navigating their way out of county jail due to the aggravated battery charge acquired right before the pumpkin pie was served at the extended-family Thanksgiving get-together. Yeah, I know, sometimes the in-laws really do deserve what's coming to them, civil ordinance be damned, what the fock. So rather than stuff this part-of-a-page with things you really ought to think about, it's more important to me that I haul my sorry ass over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school situated at the corner of Hysteric Center Street & Humboldt, where I hope to leech a ride from one of the fellas with a car for this Saturday the 29th, seeing as how my hot-shot longtime pal Will Durst is scheduled to return home and headline the comedy night down there by Paulo's Pizza on the South Side 'round about 8:30 p.m. (5121 W. Howard Ave. for you's too focking lazy to look at a phone book) where I've been requested to say a few words here and there.


Cripes, 51st & Howard for a guy like me from Downtown who depends on the Milwaukee County Transit System for carriage, I may as well be negotiating passage to Timbuk-focking-tu, you think? And yeah, I've tried calling each and one of my buddies for livery service, but when their phone jingles they know it's either me or a collection agency. They don't answer, so forget about it. That means I've got to confront them with the personal touch over by the tavern, so let's get going. Tag along if you like, but you cover the first round.

Herbie: No kidding. I didn't know it was deer season for the hunters until yesterday I was walking around Downtown and saw some guy had tied and strapped Dan Gadzuric to the fender of his SUV.

Ray: That's got to be embarrassing for the outdoorsman. All that time and effort and all he can score is a 2.3 Buck? What the fock kind of stag trophy is that, ain'a?

Julius: Hey, any you's guys fill out an application for a job with Obama in Washington yet? I hear they're hiring.

Emil: Fock that. Like Artie always says, getting a job is like getting underwear for Christmas. I don't want a crappy job to do; I just want the money-like those horse's-ass insurance investing companies the govern-

ment's going to bail out with free money.

Little Jimmy Iodine: I applied to be in the cabinet for secretary of the ministry. Instead of church on the gosh darn Sunday all the time, I'd make it be on Monday mornings or Tuesday afternoons, so the working man could attend and be compensated on company time instead of his own little precious time when he could otherwise be re-caulking his bathtub or painting the garage for christ sakes.

Ernie: Going to church on company time- that's not a bad idea. I might even go if I knew I was being paid for it.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.

Art: Hey gents. What do you hear, what do you know.

Emil: Jimmy wants to be secretary of the ministry for Obama.

Herbie: And I applied for the position of secretary of state. I believe important for our national security would be that we establish a McDonald's in Kabul, an NFL franchise in Baghdad and a Walt Disney Magic Kingdom in Mecca, no to mention a Chuck E. Cheese in Bangkok 'cause what the fock.

Julius: How 'bout you Artie, you applied for a job with Barack yet?

Art: He really ought to come to me, just out of respect as a fellow presidential competitor, don't you think? As the John C. Breckenridge to his Abraham Lincoln, I would like to think President Obama would feel obligated to offer me a nice ambassadorship. And as long as the position paid more than, say, $25-grand a year, I would accept a piece-of-cake-with-gravy-onit position as royal highness of a foreign land in another country where all you're supposed to do is lead the natives in having a little goddamn respect for the greatest country in the history of the solar system.

Ernie: So, like where exactly would that be, Artie?

Art: I'm thinking, for health reasons, I get posted to F r e n c h Polynesia and base myself out of Ta-fockinghiti, or simply any other wellventilated and ripened part of the world where the indigenous gals of the land maintain a quaintly cavalier if not casual definition of the term "fully clothed." God bless America, ain'a? (It's getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear. Hey, I'll see you's over at the Paulo's Pizza come Saturday to welcome home Mr. Broadway New York City Will Durst but just so you's know, the guy smells funny 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)