I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, you just got to love a country whose economy has landed in hell—screw the handbasket—yet has a major political party who just got de-pantsed in the last national election on account of gross ineptitude whilst declaiming that the only way to put this Land for You and Me back on the good foot is a boatload more cuts in commongood taxes for the million-billionaire rich focks whose wives and mistresses spend more in a year on hair spray than the United States of America spends on neighborhood school education; don’t you?
While sinking, if the captain of the Titanic had imagined that if only the ship could strike a second iceberg, then prospects for survival would skyrocket. Yeah, and our current opposition party leadership would’ve nominated this guy for sainthood.
And if you had chosen me for your president rather than our newly elected leader, I would’ve already had arrested every single focking Grand Old Party member of Congress for treason, and “Gitmo” down there Cuban way would now be known as “GOP-mo.”
Anyways, I’m too worked up to whip out a customarily thoughtful essay for you’s this week. Right now I’m headed over to my favorite open-daily 23-hours and 59-minutes restaurant for a relaxing breakfast, since it’s a bit too early for a nice cocktail over by the Uptowner tavern cum charm school. Come along if you want but you leave the tip. Let’s get going.
Bea: Hey there, Artie, nice to see you. What’s your pleasure?
’bout a nice cup of the blackest, thickest and cheapest cup of whatever
you’re calling plain-old American coffee today. And by thickest, I mean
forget the spoon, I want my coffee to come with a garden spade.
Bea: Coming right up, Artie. So what do you hear, what do you know.
Art: I hear that our U.S.A.
champion swimmer Michael Phelps has now added the Acapulco Gold to his
resume. Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” is his new professional
Bea: You don’t say. Artie, you heard yet if our new president got his daughters that new puppy he promised if he got elected?
have not, Bea. And now I’ve got a question for you: Do you have any
idea as to the identity of the first nitwit in history who had the
bright idea of kidnapping an otherwise productive and useful animal
from out of the wild jungle and/or forest and then decided to keep it
in his/her house and call it a “pet,” where its place in the
evolutionary struggle for species survival would be to tear the mailman
a new one if you were a dog, or to crap and vomit all over the lady’s
pair of bedroom slippers if you were a cat, or to stop chirping and
croak in your cage if you were a bird ’cause some numb-nut left a
focking window open?
Bea: Couldn’t tell you, Artie.
Art: You have any pets, Bea?
Bea: Oh lordy, no. With the hours I put in to make ends meet, I wouldn’t have time to take care of a pet. How about you?
got to be jerking my beefaroni, Bea. Animals, they belong either in the
woods or on a menu, but not in my living room going nuts trying to get
at something that rolled or crawled under the sofa. Until they put a
house-pet on the market that can operate a microwave, flush a toilet
and acquire a valid driver’s license, you can focking forget about me
having something with four legs in my dinky apartment besides a coffee
table, I kid you not.
Bea: A pet that would help with the housework instead of add to it would be nice, come to think of it.
betcha, Bea. I read somewheres that some nursing homes were actually
using chimpanzees these days to perform certain simple duties, what
with the benefit of reduced costs to Joe Blow whiny-ass taxpayer.
Bea: Artie, maybe that’s a step in the right direction, don’t you think?
Art: But misdirected, Bea. Chimpanzees are natural born entertainers, not bedpan cleaners. We
got illegal aliens for that duty. I think our circuses and carnivals
could help our economy by hiring more animal acts. I’ll tell you, that
would be the life for me if I were an animal on this planet. Show
business. Plus, as a circus animal you get a little dignity ’cause you
often get to wear a little costume to cover your privates instead of
being embarrassedly buck-naked like some savage in the out-of-doors.
Bea: But aren’t some people against the practice of the circuses putting costumes on animals, Artie?
me a break—they think the animals can do it by themselves? You think
your average black bear can get his little bellboy outfit on all by
himself, plus the roller skates to boot, and still make his entrance
into the center ring on cue? I think not.
Bea: We all can use some help, Artie. I do know that.
bless you, Bea. And if I were a rich guy, I’d sure volunteer to help by
paying even less taxes than I do already. But I’m not a rich guy, so I
got to run. Thanks for the coffee and for letting me bend your ear
there, Bea—utiful. See you next time.
Bea: My pleasure, Artie. Always nice getting talked at by you. Take care. (OK, off to the Uptowner where the show’s about to begin. If I see you there, then you buy me one ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)