The Joy Of Killing

Roseanne Barr was ballsy enough to admit, killing on Carson, brought her more joy than the birth of her own children. Those balls were nowhere to be seen when she blamed Ambien for tweets about Obama’s live in Arabian horse whisperer Valerie Jarrett, the pusher and main author of Iran’s nuke gifting deal, but nobody’s perfect. Everybody in the room laughing from something you meant to be funny is perfect, especially on stage, because the more laughs, the merrier. When you get a laugh on stage it fills the room whole, as the walls pulsate with life, like it does during the midnight hour, when the totality of groupie love your way comes tumbling down. Finally, the struggling open mike comedian on stage feels like he possesses a fighter’s chance at being an American Comedian Hero, whose got stars in his eyes. But when you’re a father of three and host the Do It All Dad Year Podcast from home, dad friendly entertainment for you and me, entertaining a bunch of millennial mouseketeers in the lower east side for old time sake, is no longer such a doable situation, when you’re a fifty minute train ride from the city, which costs 40 dollars alone before paying subway fare and the one drink minimum to preform, which still isn’t chump change and I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review. So you take your act on the road to local haunts with your almost 3-year-old baby Chosen Curls while your other 2 kid are in school and sample your material at the local deli, farm and wine shop instead.

Shakespeare says the, “World is your stage.” So don’t let your limited social circumstances dictate when you can practice and perform your elevator pitch, commercial audition lines or new jokes fresh off the press, aren’t you blessed, on the world at large.

The Internet is a giant open mike to test out your ideas. After the birth of my 1st daughter, I developed my storytelling ability using Yelp, calling myself Michael the Emotor Kornbluth for a reason. Because being just another whiny, critic, would’ve made me just another ordinary, gun shy, non-creative, unwilling to create something for the world of lasting value to be criticized or celebrated, but something special enough to be put into the world, you thought would be deprived without.

Since I’ve become a father of 3 and went into business for myself, hellbent on becoming a best selling book author and stay at home comedian with a CD flush with my greatest hits from my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, my 3 pitch perfect kids, have been the audience I’ve had the most experience impressing with my comedic mojo on the rise and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because they’ve gotten to see Dad kill outside the house at Stop and Shop, or in a diner in Vermont on summer vacation, the green state, more like CBD Oil only, without fail, proving, Do It All Dad is bound for comedic glory. Refusing to wallow in pity, for not being a big time earner from becoming such a monster punchline machine yet.

Still, my 3 kids see the joy I derive and give from killing complete strangers by yanking out laughs long time, out in the real world, not hiding behind some computer screen or within the snuggle safe spaces confines of some anonymous message board at home.

My kids know what makes me feel alive so well, my daughter will say, “Daddy, we love it when you kill at the deli, but no jokes this time because I’m starving to death. And you tend to get carried away and slow the flow of commerce there, especially at TD Bank. Can I borrow your phone and give you the light next time you go over your grace period allowed for new jokes at places of business as usual, so you don’t get banished from the Comedy Cellar again for going over your allotted time by 5 hours again?”

My main parenting philosophy is raise leaders instead of followers, creators instead of critics, doers instead of talkers, culture makers instead of passive, cloud surfing consumers. The best way to ensure this dynamic is to show your children how nothing beats self-determination and your resolution to succeed on your terms, not defined by your quota issuing parasitical Recruitment Manager at Robert Half. Because true joy, emanates from doing what you’re passionate about, and that’s getting laughs for me, intentional or not. They say. But dude, they were laughing at you, not with you. Yeah, I think I’d know the difference asshole. But I appreciate your feeble attempt at tripping up my surging Mojo again dude. I’ve very fond of the word MOJO obviously and you wonder why I named my son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. I considered Brooks as a middle name after Albert Brooks, but I didn’t want to give my son the permission to be a Jewish pussy either.

Killing with audiences at TD Bank or on stage in front of a smattering of starter comics at the Eastville Comedy Club screams touchdown. You do your best to ride the wave of laughter, from producing more roof raising laughs next, again and again, because laughs are the wind beneath a comedian’s wings, who makes no conquest feel out of sight, making you feel a tad tougher, funnier and more hardcore than the rest. Who triple downed on your unique brand of you, so you can buy a dream upgrade home in Ridgefield, CT and build your field of dreams in the form of a NY flavored, Larry Bird, inspired, basketball court, in your backyard because you’ve got 4 acres to spare. Never wanting your kids to ever leave home and have the party come to our house. And have their friends sleep outside among the stars, excluding Do It All Dad, because he finally can afford a king size bed inside to bang out another killer addition to the Kornbluth family. Because pure joy for me are new child additions to our family, knowing they’ve all become automatic fans of me because I make them feel like the center of my universe, instead of the reverse. And when I say I love you to my kids, it doesn’t sound manufactured hoarse or forced like I’m trying to salvage a loveless relationship to avoid a divorce.

Michael Kornbluth

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