Friday, September 29, 2017

Ha-Ha! I Outsmarted DMV

I finally got my '18 sticker for my truck's license plate.  I turned it upside down and applied it.  Now I'm good till 2081.

Four for Fridays!

Good morning I am so sorry this is being posted late. Yes it was a late night with the Packers and Bears game. They had a ran delay to make the game and hour longer and less sleep for the fans. Here are your questions.

1) Are you ready for the cold weather?

2) Have you seen the color of the leaves changing?

3) If you go out to see the leaves change how far do you travel?

4) Are you prepared for the nasty S word?

I hope everyone enjoys the nice weather this weekend!

"Reefpoint Brew House co-owner suggests killing kneeling NFL players in Facebook comment"

From the Journal Times:

WTF do the flag and national anthem have to do with football?

I think you need a Valium if you suggest killing the players of any game because they "disrespect" our flag.  How about killing restaurant owners over shitty food?

Read more:

"How to Name Your Dog"

From the Journal Times:

"You researched breeds and mixes, considered age, gender and types of fur, and now you've picked the perfect dog. Now how do you pick a name? There are so many different options out there, and the task can be daunting. Here's a step by step guide to choosing a name for your new beloved family member. Don't forget to reward your new pooch with treats!"

Read more:

The Journal Times publishes a guide to dog-naming containing 9 steps.  Nine steps to naming an animal!  This must be close to rocket science.

Open Blog - Friday

I'm not sure if coffee or a sugary, carbonated beverage with caffeine is stronger in that department.  It all makes me go, "WEEEEEE!"

Thursday, September 28, 2017

"Hugh Hefner, Founder Of Playboy, Is Dead At 91 | TODAY"

When I was in college, I tried writing short stories for Playboy. They were paying up to $3,000 per story. I never got anything published.

I also read that there were bowls of Viagra available at Playboy parties.

Alltime10s Thursdays

Open Blog - Thursday

Don't run out of gas.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

"Intoxicated Moments in History - Nazis on Drugs"

Dear Madame Zoltar

Hello, my buttercups!  How are you?  Isn't this weather something?  What did we do to deserve such fair weather?  Someone must have been very good.  I know it wasn't me.  But I'll take it, thank you.  The sun is shining, the birds are squawking, and the kids are screaming.  Everything is right in the world.

Huh!  Our beloved Green Bay Packers won only in overtime last Sunday.  They better beef up their game.  Tomorrow night they host the hated Chicago Bears at 8:30 pm.  This will be a match to remember.  The only cute bears are cubs.  Get 'em, Packers.

Here's this weel'sd standings in the Irregular Football League:

They don't look much different from last week.  Mr. OrbsCorbs is in the basement where he belongs and I'm nipping at first place's heels. 

It appears that the city is going to go through with both the events center and Machinery Row.  What the hell is the matter with people?  Go visit the central city and then tell me there aren't better things to spend our money on.  Most importantly, the voters DON'T WANT either of these projects.  We would much rather see some of our roads fixed up.  And some more felons thrown in jail.  And maybe even get back a streetlight or two.  What is this death wish that Racine has?  I thought that after cutting off the head of the snake (lying John), it would die.  But, no, the powers that be are forging ahead.  I wonder what it's like to piss away millions of dollars that aren't yours?  How can people of good conscience throw away our city's future?

And then there's the Foxconn-job being laid on our doorsteps.  If we allow this monster in, we'll be paying and paying ad infinitum.  Foxconn must have done their homework well.  They realized that Racine is a relatively stupid city that doesn't know where all its money goes.  We're the perfect candidate for their monkey shines.  They'll milk us dry.

That's it, my beauties.  I have lots to do today.

Get out and enjoy this weather.  Soon enough, we'll see the s-word.  No, no, no.
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Open Blog - Wednesday

No shit, Sherlock.

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

"Red Glare"

From the Shepherd Express

playright,art kumbalek,pulitzer prize  By Art Kumbalek  2 hours ago

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh man manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, having survived our unwelcome rerun of a summertime, lo, these hubbub dog days of September, I decided I ought to do some exercising of what-you-call First Amendment rights and free speechifying (although I’d rather get paid); and so I wrote a play, what the fock.

And what I wrote is not your usual theater play with a gang of thespians crying up a forsoothing storm for a couple, three hours ’til the crows come home to roast, no sir. It’s not one of those plays where the actors, when they hit the stage, instead of wondering “To be, or not to be?” ought to wonder “Where the fock is everybody?” And that’s a question I can answer: Everybody is elsewhere ’cause all these plays charge too focking much to see, last too focking long and never have as many laughs and gorgeous focking dames as they ought to, so’s to keep those turnstiles humming a $nappy tune.

My play runs about a good 10 minutes, so you’re in and out of the theater before you even know it. And if you have kids, you wouldn’t have to add the expense of a babysitter—you could easily be back home before the katzenjammers had a chance to be abducted or light the house on fire and still have had an enjoyable theatrical experience, no focking sweat.

What follows is my play on the page for you’s to take a gander at, and yes, Pulitzer Prizes welcome. Break a leg.

The Focking Playboy of the Western (and Eastern) World, Waiting for Deliverance
(Setting: Art Kumbalek’s penthouse living room with fully stocked bar—and none of that fake stage-prop crap neither, capiche? Art’s reclined on battleship-sized sofa, having a cocktail, smoking a cigarette, talking on the phone. Art K. must appear as himself—no focking actors, please.)>

Art: Yeah, large, everything on it ’cept nothing that’s even close to being a vegetable. The only vegetable I want connected to this pizza is the guy who delivers it, and if there’s even so much as one anchovy, I’ll come down there and personally focking kill you myself. You got that?

(Enter Lola, abso-focking-lutely knockout swanky gorgeous dame. She sits on the sofa and plants one heck of a juicy smacker on Art’s lips that lasts for about 10% of the show’s running time)

Art: (Rising) Holy moley, you busy after the show?

Lola: I just don’t know, Artie. There’s so much trouble in the world today. Everywhere I go, there’s people with no money, full of hopelessness, full of hate…

Art: Sounds like you’re hanging with the wrong crowd.

Lola: You know what I mean, Artie. (Lola rises, puts her arms around Art and draws him close) I see people homeless, hungry…

Art: (Shakes cocktail glass) And thirsty.

Lola: (Whispering into Art’s ear) What’ll it be?

Art: I was having Manhattans, but now I’m thinking Sloe Screw.

Lola: (Draws Art even closer) Can I make it straight up?

Art: You always do, baby.
Lola: (Goes to bar to fix drink) So Artie, what do you want to do for dinner tonight?

Art: (Reclines on sofa) I thought we’d hang around here tonight, have some drinks, a few laughs; so I called for a pizza.

Lola: (Returns with drink, and plants juicy smacker on Art—even longer than the first one) When’s it coming?

Art: Any second, and if it doesn’t, no tip, or maybe I’ll kill him. What time does your husband need you back?

Lola: Soon. The nurse called in sick, so I’ve got to give him his medication. (Phone rings) I’ll get it. Hello? What? Who is this? (Hangs up)

Art: Who was that?

Lola: (Hysterical) I don’t know. They just said they were coming right over. And they were going to kill you.

Art: (Grabs Lola) Don’t sweat it, baby. The play’s almost over, then we can be alone. (Banging at door, Art rises)

Lola: Don’t get it, darling.

Art: Why the fock not?

Lola: That knock symbolizes one of two things: Our pizza or your death. If it’s our pizza, OK, I’ll only have one slice. I’m watching my figure.

Art: So am I, doll. Believe me you.

Lola: But if that knocker means your death, it’s my death, too, for I could never live without you, or without me. Behind the door, noisy but unknown, that knowledge must always remain so, noisy but unknown, for us to exist, ignorant angels bathed in bliss we are.

Art: Whatever you say, baby. Let’s fool around. (More knocking. Lola pushes Art down on sofa. And Art and the free-spirited gal Art chose to cast for the role of Lola get down to some really serious focking business, I kid you not, as lights fade)
There you go, 10 minutes or so of show, about as much time as it took to write, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.

Open Blog - Tuesday

That all looks delicious; even the leaves.

Monday, September 25, 2017

"Dream rental turns into house of horror for woman conned by bogus landlord"

From JSOnline:

"When Alishia Evans rented a home on the 5700 block of N. 81st St. in Milwaukee, it seemed like a dream come true — a good neighborhood, affordable rent and ample living space.

"The dream, however, turned into a nightmare a few days after moving in, when Evans, her fiance and her 12-year-old daughter were ordered out of the house at gunpoint by Milwaukee police.

"That is when Evans learned that the man who said he was the landlord actually had no connection to the house and no right to rent it and collect $2,000 from Evans and her fiance, Levon Osuji.

"'He was so believable,' Evans said of the man who showed the house, gave the couple the keys and took their money orders.

"Evans, 31, and Osuji, 25, went from renting a three-bedroom northwest side home to finding their belongings tossed onto the curb and eventually being forced to sleep in a Nissan Sentra. Their tale involves a con man, the Milwaukee Police Department,  a property manager and her client, Freddie Mac — the giant quasi-government agency that buys billions of dollars in mortgages from lenders."

Years ago, I watched the Cook County Sheriff's office evict the tenant below us.  Just like here, they  threw his belongings all over the place.  They would lay out a sheet, put belongings on it, and then drag it outside.

Two Hours of Stupid Assholes

Open Blog - Monday

You can't be blamed for what you do when you're asleep, right?