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Wednesday, Aug. 26, 2009

Injurious Basturd

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I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, oh yeah, such no time for me to whip out an essay for you’s about why Green Bay Packer fans ought to show up at Lambeau Field on Sunday, Nov. 1, with unconcealed bazookas strapped to their fat-ass Cheesehead Dairyland hip. No sir, that’s ’cause I got to go meet with mine own political campaign brain trust over by the Uptowner tavern/charm school situated at the corner of Hysteric Center Street & Humboldt—where today is always at least a day before tomorrow, and yesterday may gosh darn well be today—and hobnob the brainstorm of the 2010 Art Kumbalek Democracy Express for Governor of the greatest Midwestern state east of Minne-focking-sota and north of Illinois.Come along if you like, but you buy the first round. Let’s get going, what the fock.

Julius: All I’m saying is that the mayor should demand a rematch, only this time he’s the one who gets to use the tire iron.

Herbie: Not a bad idea, Juley. To paraphrase “he whose name shall not be spoken in Packerland,” “true” fight fans would understand. And I ask you, what fight fan wouldn’t love a rematch when there’s so clearly a hero character and a villain character?

Ernie: You betcha, and have it at the ballpark and call it the “Thriller Out at Miller”—a charity fund-raiser and all proceeds go to some downand-out operation that can’t find a pot to pee in, like the Milwaukee Public Schools.

Emil: Jeez, look who just come through the door—Ray, and he don’t look so good.

Little Jimmy Iodine: Tire-tread marks on a guy’s forehead is never a good sign. Hey Ray, you OK?

Ray: You’s got the number for 911? Anybody? I think I just got hit by a bus or something.

Julius: Tough luck, but before you go to the hospital and then declare bankruptcy again ’cause you don’t have the health insurance, I’d like that five bucks you owe me.

Ernie: So Minnesota’s known as the Land of 10,000 Lakes, ain’a?

Herbie: Used to be. Now it’s the Land of 10,000 Lakes and One focking Leaker.

Emil: What the fock, which one of you’s bastards swiped my bar change again?

Ernie: Their state bird is the Common Loon and wouldn’t you know, now they got one playing quarterback for their professional football team.

Ray: Here’s that dough I owe you, Juley.

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

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

Little Jimmy: I heard Ernie say the Vikings have a loon to play quarterback for them this year.

Julius: Hey Artie, here’s a story you might want to put into the little article you write for that socialist newspaper the hippies like:

So this teacher asks her young students up there in Eden Prairie, Minnesota, if they’re Vikings fans. All of the hands go up except for one kid. Teacher says, “OK, Bobby. What team are you a fan of?”

And Bobby says, “The Packers, duhh!” And the teacher asks why that would be so. Bobby says, “My parents are both Packers fans, so I’m a Packers fan too.” The teacher says, “That’s not a very good answer, Bobby. For example, if your parents were both morons, would you be a moron too?” Bobby says, “No ma’am, that would make me a Vikings fan!”

Art: Thanks, Julius. I’ll pass that on to our sports department.

Little Jimmy: Everything always sounds better when it’s spoken in italics, ain’a? It’s like the difference between French and German. Translate this: “My multi-billionaire Uncle George died from a goddamn heart attack and all he left me was his piss-ass yellow pencil box.” I’ll bet you a buck two-eighty that in French, it would sound like you were on the receiving end of an oiled backrub happy-ending blowjob from Brigitte Bardot; and in German it would sound like orders for a thorough rectal exam fist-fully executed mach schnell by glassy-eyed Heinrich focking Himmler—Seek, Pile! ain’a?

Ernie: And don’t forget that the state song of Minne-focking-sota is a little ditty called “Hail Minnesota.” And if they don’t have a state prayer, it ought to be “Hail Mary,” the same one us Packer fans always muttered as we dropped to our knees late in an important game: “Hail Mary, full of grace, please don’t let that ass-hat Brett Favre desperately pass into full-blanket coverage again, goddamn it. Amen.”

Julius: Up there by Minnesota, that’s all Lutheran, ain’a? I don’t think those heathens know from a nice prayer like us Catholics down here do. But I tell you this, if they are football fans of a Viking persuasion, by Week Four of this NFL season with BF as their QB, they are going to have a list of grievances so long as to make Martin Luther look like a lazy candy-ass quitter, I kid you not. (Oh brother, it’s getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)