If my 10-year wedding anniversary celebration was less than lackluster, knowing my Koshtertarian menu options were limited to a fried fish sandwich, then, I’m not going to lose any sleep over my premature celebration of my daughter’s upcoming 10th birthday over some whitefish salad smeared on top of toasty crisp, bagels from nearby Goldberg’s in Katonah, NY this weekend, with my favorite person in the universe, before her 2 younger brothers were born, no offense mom. We had a good run while it lasted, but neither of us can compare the depths of our former love to what our 3 beamish rays of sunshine offer us, who are fuss free 98 percent of time because controlling our kids can make our kids great again, and our kids largely thanks to my Do It All Dad molding, are as good as it gets.
Almost a decade ago, I yelled at my dad for the 1st time ever, with major divine powered, you better respect my life blaster authority feeling, for making my newborn baby girl smell like Don Draper’s corpse if he chose to forsake Lucky Strike’s for Tareyton 100’s, assuming he stayed with the Jewish department store heiress, Rachel Whinestein from Madmen, and got hooked on them one summer in Israel. I’ll also never forget the reaction from my mother, almost a decade ago in our Queens apartment on the outskirts of Astoria, NY, when she calls me after I went totally ballistic on my father for ruining his granddaughter’s April fresh smell out of the womb. Mom says, “I can’t believe you yelled at your father like that. But if I have to choose, I choose your father every time.” Wow, and I thought Gore Vidal had mommy issues. I haven’t thought of this depressingly dreary moment in ages, yet the idea of siding with your legally bound partner in love from the wedding alter, versus your own flesh and blood, unless your own kid, writes obituary headlines for Rolling Stone such as, “Rush Limbaugh Did His Best To Ruin America”, is beyond me. Working for NPR as a curated news opinion blogger is a tad better knowing they’re not afraid to rip the glaring inefficiencies embedded in our US postal service knowing it’s just another glaring extension, of federally run, ruined, overreach. But I thought big government was the answer to all our problems like removal of Holocaust history at Bronx public schools or penalization of high achieving Asian students because black power and self-reliance are outdated concepts such as good, banging intellectual rap or goaltending in Basketball knowing the NBA is going to bend over backwards to let Lebron win more rings than Jordan because it exists now as a safe space for the king of the persecution’s complex’s ego. So what difference does it make? The infinitely funnier Rush Limbaugh lives because I was blessed with the funny Jew bone, holla, thank you very much.
But Rush Limbaugh was a bigoted feminist hater because he insisted the Woman’s March on Washington looked like a whole bunch of Rosie’s sporting a whole lot of chin’s, while thinking, “Talk about stretching your pussy hat supply thin.” Wait a minute, that’s my material on debut comedy record Resist This, except when my mom asked, “Did my beautiful granddaughter Matilda watch the Woman’s March on Washington? I said, “Yeah mom, but only after I insisted, she watch the march on CNN in a full length burka, to see she had nothing to bitch about in comparison. Plus, Matilda is finally learning how to read mom. So, the last thing I need in my life, is her trying to make out one of those protest signs, asking, “Daddy, what’s pa, pa, pussy power? Is that a new show on Amazon prime?”
Well, that was pleasant stroll down memory lane, and I didn’t get to the point, when almost a decade ago, my father says, “I don’t know how we’re related.” And this was after I splurged on white fish salad, bialy’s and Sturgeon from Russ and Daughter’s in honor of their 1st grandchild not smelling like Don Draper’s dead corpse drenched in Aramis just yet.
My daughter, Singing Rose Kornbluth can read my books now such as The Great American Jew Novel where she plays my 9-year-old agent to make my do it all dad year come true but she’s too busy making flashlights from scratch for her science class to put a spotlight on my labors of love just yet. She also loved the White Fish salad, even more than us learning about fancy adjectives to describe it such as delicate, which was a funny adjective choice to use when doing a Mad Libs later that night, based on the subject of George Washington, who wasn’t an easily triggered, Millennial Mouseketeer or critical thought impaired, news idea fed, baby boomer last time I checked either.
If Do It All Dad decides to retire in Florida way down the line, at least now, I know my Do It All Daughter will love me enough to send me care packages from Russ Daughter’s whenever she’s not too busy lighting the universe, with her majestic, awe inspiring touch she has on everybody blessed enough to come in contact with such hilariously sweet poetry in motion. I can’t wait to take her to Tavern On The Green to celebrate me finally getting a lit agent, although according to Soundcloud, I’m huge in Lahore, Pakistan, which is the literary hub of Pakistan. So, retiring to Pakistan, after I cash in from my a plus gem studded, stand up comedy special, Do It All Dad Does Pakistan, could be a hilarious climax to this fairytale father daughter, adventure tale.
Do It All Dad doesn’t do pork, so I’m off to a strong start in city of Lahore, Pakistan, already. Plus, they have nukes, generate 84 billion in GDP, and boast a thriving industry called Lollywood. Do It All Dad Does Lollywood has a better ring than Do It All Dad Does Pakistan actually. It has all the makings of the most hilarious standup concert comedy film ever. Fuck you Eddie. I can rock a King Solomon royal purple jacket to.
What’s my new 10-year plan? Become the king of comedy in Lahore baby. Together, my daughter and I can plug Russ and Daughter’s and make their gift packages flush with white fish salad go viral. Shit, they can even sponsor the stand-up comedy tour and will call it Decade of Decadence, indulging the locals of Lahore with plenty of saggy tits Sarah Silverman jokes to hold them over till Ramadan ends.