I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I was watching that Grammy music show the other night and I got to ask that if any of you’s got the phone number for Tina Turner’s plastic surgeon, please get in touch with me why don’t you. I’m sure the day will come when I myself wouldn’t mind looking about a hundred years younger. Cripes, when it comes to cosmetic sculpting, her guy has to be the Michelangelo M.D. of “what the fock, how old is she really?” Yeah yeah, Tina may be 68 going on 69 but I’ll tell you it’s a wonder— she’s still got the face of a 68-year-old courtesy of a doctor whose residency had to be performed at Madame Tussaud’s Museum of Wax and Rhinoplasty.

Show biz. What a life.

It was the 50-year anniversary of these Grammy Awards, 50 years spent passing out awards to some of the crappiest, most disposable musical efforts imaginable, with the rare exception here and there. One being back in 1970 when a nomination for “Best Jazz Performance-Small Group or Soloist with Small Group” went to Les McCann and Eddie Harris for their Swiss Movement album sporting the incomparable tune “Compared to What” with the lyrics by Gene McDaniels. In fact, I’ve made it to be the official song for my own campaign for the presidency of these United States, ’cause how the heck could I turn down a 38-year-old jazz tune in this day and age with lyrics like this:

“I love to lie and lie to love
I’m hangin’ on, they push and shove
Possession is the motivation that is hangin’ up the goddamn nation
Looks like we all might end up in a rut—everybody now
Tryin’ to make it real—compared to what?”

“President he’s got his war
Folks don’t know just what it’s for
Nobody gives us rhyme or reason
Have one doubt, they call it treason
We’re chicken feathers, all without one nut— goddamn it
Tryin’ to make it real—compared to what?”

“Church on Sunday, sleep and nod
Tryin’ to duck the wrath of God
Preachers fillin’ us with fright
They all tryin’ to teach us what they think is right
They really got to be some kind of nut—I can’t use it
Tryin’ to make it real—compared to what?”

And, of course:

"Where’s that beat and where’s that money
Where’s my God and where’s my money
Unreal values a crass distortion
Unwed mothers need abortion
Kind of brings to mind ol’ young King Tut—he did it now
Tried to make it real compared to what!”

So there you go, the official song for the presidential compartment of The Art Kumbalek Democracy Express 2008 For Any and All Political Office— Whatever You Got Needs Filling I’ll Fill It ’Cause That’s The Kind Of Guy I Am—Campaign. And yeah, I’m not quite sure what the “King Tut” business at the end of the last stanza is exactly about, but then again, I don’t know what exactly the last goddamn eight years of White House control have been about, so what the fock.

And don’t forget that us Badgers here in America’s Land of the Dairy-Air have got a presidential primary election coming up next Tuesday, Feb. 19. And we all got a choice or two to make no matter which way one’s political butt is situated on the fence post, I kid you not.

Might I suggest that you consider yours truly, Art Kumbalek, as honored recipient of your vote. I won’t be on the ballot that you see my name, no sir. I have no dough for that or much else when it comes to campaigning and getting my message out ’cause it seems I’m short by about a $100-200 million for that. And if I hear one more bullshit-asshole conservative shit-for-shinola Republican bitch about that McCain-Feingold campaign finance bill on account that it dicks with free speech ’cause rich focks can’t then out-spend poor folks in order to get their free message of tyranny disseminated across the nation, I’m leaving this second-rate country and relocating to where they’re all out there a’havin’ fun, in that warm Tahiti sun.

The more dough for free speech it costs for these focksticks to get elected to something somewheres means this for me and you: No speech, none, so shut up ’cause I’m Art kumbalek and I told you so.