ART FOR ART'S SAKE
From The City That Always Sweeps BY ART KUMBALEK
I
’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? And cripes, can’t hardly believe it’s now the month of July 2022 already. Yeah, July, named after the Roman emperor guy Julius Caesar, to be placed as the seventh month on such-a-thing as the Julian and Gregorian calendars (don’t know if “July” made it to the ancient Roman hot-girl swimsuit calendar, I’ll check on that ’cause that’s what journalists these days do—check on stuff, what the fock). So, yeah, big-shot Caesar got a whole month on our year-after-year calendar named after him in the 44 BCE, and in a brief time afterwards in that same year, got shivved and carved by blade to death by governmental representative-hot shots upon the Roman Senate floor. That had to hurt, I don’t care who you were. Anyways, because it is that time of year, seems to me that the only thing people read are the directions on a can of bug spray. So what the fock, I’m declaring my independence from delivering a regular essay this month so as to dip into Artie’s Joke Satchel ’cause in the course of the oppressive and depressing human events these days, we could all use a smile, chuckle or laugh, ain’a? Let’s get to dipping, shall we?
death, so the family sent for his pastor. As the pastor stood beside the bed, Jerry’s frail condition grew worse, and he motioned desperately for something to write on. The pastor lovingly handed him a pen and piece of paper, and Jerry used his last ounce of strength to quickly scribble a note and then died. The pastor thought it best not to look at the note just then, so he slipped it into his jacket pocket. Several days later, at the funeral, the pastor delivered the eulogy and realized he was wearing the same jacket he’d worn the day Jerry died. “You know, Jerry handed me a note just before he passed,” the pastor said to the assembled. “I haven’t read it, but knowing Jerry, I would believe surely that it would contain a word of inspiration—a word of inspiration for us all.” The pastor reached into his pocket, unfolded Jerry’s note and read aloud, “Help me! You’re standing on my oxygen tube, jackass!” Ba-ding!
How ’bout this one? A chicken and an egg are lying in bed. The chicken is smoking a cigarette with a satisfied smile on its face while the egg is frowning and seemingly very frustrated. The egg says icily, “Well! I guess that settles THAT question, ain’a?” Ba-ding!
How ’bout a family outing? So this guy takes his young son to see the dinosaurs at the museum. They were looking at some old bones and the boy asked a passing security guard if he had any idea how old the bones were. The guard said, “Those bones are 70 million, four years, and six months old.” The boy was impressed. He said, “How the heck do you know their age so exactly?” And the guard says, “You see, the dinosaur bones were 70 million years old when I started working here, and that was four and a half years ago.” Ba-ding!
How’s your health care situation? This guy named Jerry was in the hospital, near
And speaking of young sons: So there’s this gal who enjoys a gentleman’s compa-
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ny while her husband’s away at work. One day the husband comes home unexpectedly, wouldn’t you know, so she quickly hides her gentleman caller in the bedroom closet, not realizing that her 9-year-old son had already been camped out in the closet during the boudoir proceedings. The boy says, “Dark in here.” The man says, “Yes, it is.” Boy says: “I have a baseball.” Man says: “That’s nice.” Boy: “Want to buy it?” Man: “No thanks.” Boy: “My dad’s outside.” Man: “OK, how much?” Boy: “$250.” A few weeks later, it so happens that the boy and his mom’s gentleman again find themselves together in the closet. The boy says, “Dark in here.” The man says, “Yes, it is.” Boy says: “I have a baseball glove.” Man says: “Let’s cut to the chase. How much?” Boy: “$750.” Man: “Fine.” Now it came to pass that a few days later the father asks his young son if he’d like to grab his ball and glove, go outside and play catch. The boy, of course, says he can’t because he’s sold them. The father asks for how much and the boy replies, “$1,000.” The father admonishes the lad that it’s sinful to overcharge his friends in the way that he did and that, as a consequence, he would take the boy to church to confess his transgression. And so they go to St. Stanislaus and the boy enters the confessional. Boy says, “Dark in here.” Priest says, “Listen, don’t start up with that shit again.” Baring-a-ding-ding! Okey-doke, hope you had/have a frothful Fourth ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
Photo by Perseomed/Getty Images.
