by Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I’ve been pissing away a lot of time lately trying to figure the answer to what you could call a biological question; although, some might consider it a religious question, or perhaps even philosophical, what the fock.The question is this: If man evolved from monkeys and apes, why do we still have monkeys and apes?
The most thoughtful answer I can conjure as to why we still have monkeys and apes is that what and/or whom could the Republicans possibly rely on to constitute the so-called base of their focked-up anti-human party? Ba-ding!
Anyways, it’s come to my attention that there’s only a couple, three weeks remaining on Lent’s penitential calendar before the big Easter Sunday shebang, and as a longtime Catholic of the lapsed order I have yet to decide what I ought to give up and forego for the Lenten season—until right now. The best I can come up with at this rather late date is to faithfully give up and fast from the luxury of completing this goddamn essay, praise the lord. Done and done.
Yes sir, I’m praying that such a pious lack of effort on my part might even be good enough to knock off a couple, three hundred years from the holy ghastly total purgatory time I’m sure I’m sentenced to serve ’til I get sprung to heaven where I just might check into filling out an angel application, what the fock.
I’ll tell you what sucks, though, and that would be our Catholic prisoners locked up in the hoosegow for this-and-that during their stay on our earthly Earth. Imagine you finally served your time and get released from the big house and you’re walking across the street to enjoy your first ice-cold bottled beer in twenty-focking-five years and you get hit by a bus. Next thing you know, you wake up in purgatory where you’re scheduled to spend the next 3,000 years with nothing to wear but a soiled pair of BVDs chock-full of hot coals whilst getting bare-backed whipped 24/7. Yeah, that would blow big time, ain’a?
So before I go, it occurs to me that you’s may have some kids and/or grandkids coming by your place on the Easter Sunday. And these katzenjammers may wonder why the fock they’ve got to go searching for baskets and/or eggs instead of simply being handed the booty. Well, here’s the story you can pass over to them, in case you’ve forgotten. It may be in the Bible, although I can’t say for sure since I never ever did get all the way through that so-called good book:
After the Roman soldiers took Christ off the cross, they chose a couple flunkies to guard the cave where they’d put the body. Well sir, these two goofballs got good and bored from guarding a dead guy so they went into town to enjoy a couple, three cocktails. The next morning, they made a routine check of the cave and the first thing they said was, “Jesus H. Christ! This cave’s empty,” not realizing that by this time Jesus had been resurrected up to heaven. They thought somebody had snatched the body and hid it somewheres else, but they couldn’t very well ask other soldiers to help ’cause they knew they were in hot water.
So they asked a bunch of kids who were hanging around to help search. Natch’, they didn’t find the Lord but the kids got a big charge from all the excitement anyways. The next year on the same day, the parents sent the kids out to look for Jesus again, if only to embarrass the Romans for losing or misplacing such a hot-shot like Christ. The years came and went and eventually parents decided to hide little candies and eggs around the town to find ’cause they thought it would be more fun for the kids than looking for a dead body.
Okey-doke. If the kids were bored with that story, they might more enjoy the following:
Br’er Bear and the Easter Bunny were taking a dump in the woods. Br’er Bear looked over to the Easter Bunny and asked: “Mr. Easter Bunny, do you ever have a problem with poop sticking to your fur?” And the Easter Bunny replied: “Why no, Br’er Bear, I most certainly do not.” So Br’er Bear wiped his gargantuan ass with the Easter Bunny, and all was right in the world. Ba-ding!
In conclusion, I say screw these religious holidays and religions with their hand in your pockets all the time. A Trinity? Fock. I got your “Trinity” right here: Good deeds, kind words and let a smile be your umbrella. Hallelujah jubilee, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.