Birth of an American Dad

Once upon an asshole my dad used to be an asshole. Never to me personally. Outside the 1 time he pointed out how the penne vodka at Pizza and Brew was made with prosciutto ends after I only gave his green goddess essence Broccoli Penne Vodka a 9.

Dada added. Daddy isn’t a pescatarian. But when I cook for our family I am. So, excluding prosciutto ends to my penne vodka means I don’t have as much flavor flavorings working in my favor. Obviously, dada was a being a mini asshole oversharing with me like he tended to do back in the day.

In retrospect, Dada, should’ve just accepted my 9 rating of his penne vodka with blanched Broccoli green goddess essence and moved on with his life. Instead, of throwing the chef at Pizza Brew under the bus as we’re waiting outside our home sweet home. Hearing my bus coming.

Dada always waited for me by the bus, when we used to live in the beautiful hamlet of Croton Falls, NY. Right, off Route 22. You can drive on Route 22 throughout every bucolic hamlet from NY all the way up to Vermont into fake news socialist Bernie Sanders country.

I won’t apologize for making fun of Bernie Sanders. He didn’t make America great again. Plus, when we took a family spring break trip to Norway. Dada came back from a bar sampling some local Norwegian brew and was told by a bartender Bernie neve even stepped foot in the country for their annual smoked fish smear convention. Tremendous tap water, in the city of Bergen by the way. So, the beer quality was naturally Ithaca is gorgeous Ithaca Flower tap fantastic according to daddy.

Did you know only 2% of American children call their fathers daddy? We never had a normal American family. Mommy being from Australia originally and daddy being a stay at home comedian dad/native New Yorker from the rough section of Scarsdale, NY. That’s a joke obviously. All the Jewish kids who went to daddy’s Hebrew school were real pussies according to Daddy.

Daddy attended Edgemont High School. Which is right next door to suburban Scarsdale, NY. His friends braved going to Movieland to watch movies like New Jack City during the height of the Albanian Guido revolution. So, my daddy and his friends had pseudo tough guy bragging rights through osmosis in comparison.

You’re probably wondering, why I’m tossing around words like asshole and real pussies so loosely being a 27-year-old nationally syndicated comic strip illustrator and co-creator of Hear My Bus Coming. A comic strip that gave Dilbert creator Scott Adams, heart palpitations because it’s gotten so popular, daddy told President Trump to unfollow the creator of Dilbert, Scott Adams on Twitter. Because he’s an unfunny, low octane personality in comparison. Trump laughed. And unfollowed Scott Adams the next day, no questions asked.

Daddy predicted Ivanka would be president after Trump was done making ball busting without the hysterical, falling apart at the seam’s overtones great again. Daddy killed at the White House Correspondents Dinner. Still getting laughs out of making fun of Hillary Hammer Time Cankles. And her deleted emails about the yoga class coupons from Lulu Lemon and those others detailing funeral arrangements in case Chelsea’s Clinton’s fiancé increased his asking price at the last sec.

Yeah, so back to my liberal use of cursing. Understand, I only curse for emphasis the way daddy always did. Before his Do It All Dad Year Podcast blew up, got Gibson Guitar as a big time sponsor in addition to Lulu Lemon and an Israeli tech start up providing social media monitoring alerts for the FBI and NSA to thwart the surge of hate formation surging in the forms of all white nationalist, Neo Nazi Groups and of course radical Islam groups not too fond of our people either. At least, Farrakhan is having his wormy eyes being eaten by real life termites six feet under as we speak.

Farrakhan called Hitler a great man when he was alive. Not a great artist though obviously. Do you see Picasso ideating the swastika? When Daddy performed at the White House Correspondents Dinner, Dada said the swastika look like 2 stick figures doing a sixty on a see saw on Crystal Meth. Daddy is very funny. I couldn’t have done our nationally syndicated comic strip Hear My Bus Coming without his punchy might. Then again, daddy would also be screwed without my artist drawing supreme abilities. His handwriting till this day. No matter how hard he’s tried to improve still looks like Jared Leto with the shakes using a pen crazed glued to his stump arm in Requiem for a Dream.

Growing up, daddy always told us how heroin destroyed all the creative greats like Jerry Garcia and how it also led to premature deaths of other artistic giant personal favorites of his such as Janis Joplin and John Coltrane, Belushi included. Daddy showed me and my 2 brothers the movie Requiem for a Dream once a month from 10 through 17. Only to read us the druggy, brain raping destroyage tales from Allen Ginsburg’s landmark poem Howl for a night cap to nail his overkill message home. It worked. God bless daddy for not holding back in that instance time and time again.

So, I wasn’t a planned baby. Mommy was pregnant with me when she got married to daddy but barely showed. Technically, speaking I already traveled overseas to Australia for their honeymoon when I was only 180 days old. Customs in Australia thought mama was a Drug Mule. Patted her down and everything. Which I took personal offense to at the time. Daddy looked nothing like Leo from Beach back then. Especially since Leo’s looks took a nose dive off a cliff after draining his face dry from way too much booze fueled nose candy plagued nights according to daddy. Only hearing last call from the bathroom stall.

Daddy started his Do It All Dad Year Podcast to celebrate other do it all dads living the new remote work American dream. Which would make the focus less ego centric and help minimize his assholishness. It did. Daddy’s much smarter than Papa and Mimi ever gave him credit for. Before he became so big time with my assistance of course. Now, they can’t help but kiss his bum more than Uncle John’s. Not that Uncle John gave daddy much steep competition anymore in comparison. Still Uncle John made out alright. Becoming the VP of Expansion Sales for Shake Shack. Lots of expensing on the corporate account. Uncle John still doesn’t know the difference between a White Burgundy or a Polly Fume Sauvignon Blanc. But he never had dad’s flamboyant, shisshy bitch tastes or style either.

My baby brother Arthur is a world-famous architect who just built the 1st space model design for Trump Tower on Mars. Our youngest brother Samuel, AKA Chef Samuels continues to expand his restaurant empire of old school hip hop themed Pescatarian Gastro Pubs. With actual dance floors to get jiggy with it on called Hip Hops. Daddy gets 10 percent of the revenue for naming rights alone. Daddy always said headline hooker creation was one his few fortes.

Oh, and Mommy eventually got her PHD in Lactation and became an internationally acclaimed bestselling writer, with her book the Boob Doctor. Daddy got 10 percent of her book sales royalties based on his naming creation ability yet again. What, I never said, Dad overcame his assholishness altogether.

For my dad’s follow up book to the Stay at Home Comedian, Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian. The book cover says. Pescatarian Diet + Heaps of Funny Equals 1 happy family. And my family is living proof of it. It’s a tremendous honor to receive the Mark Twain prize for humor and for once my daddy let me do all the talking myself. All it took was winning the Mark Twain prize to shut the asshole up. Love you daddy. You became a stand-up mensch after all. I always knew you had it in you. Now give me another never ending hug. I never want this moment to end either.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

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