Killing Loudly

New TV pilot concept to develop into a fully developed, plotted out, punched up pilot episode for Scriptapalooza by October 11th.

Maternal Waves: A single dad and father of 3 auditions various tranny nannies as a form of research for his new book Maternal Waves. A modern day novel that examines the driving force behind maternal waves among all sexes, ages and creeds while trying to isolate the type who never experiences that wave of emotion at all.

Every debut rap album is, you might not live till tomorrow. There’s envy at the top. I spit bullet rhymes like a sniper MC. Better vest up cop. And don’t be lazing. I ain’t some fat, washed up ho like Lauryn Hill who you can easily arrest for tax evasion. Everyone knows Lauryn Hill was the weakest link in the Fugees like low grade kine. Today, only Wyclef is the pimping baller MC Hef left from the Fugees on everyone’s mind.

It’s hard not to think Female hairdressers flirt with me through my sons all the time. Whenever I hear lines like, “I didn’t know you had 3 kids. Your seed stock just went sky high in my eyes. And your other son is gorgeous to. Is your tile on LinkedIn Stud Farm Feeder or what? I say, “Let’s not ignore my daughter Matilda over here to, my funnier, far prettier twin, whose DNA is all over her face.”

Best home team ever advice: Daughter says, “Daddy, next time mama pisses you off, pretend your Ned Flanders from the Simpsons. At home wife says, “Why would you use the broom when you can use the vacuum? I say to myself, “Bite your lip if you ever want to cum on your wife and give her another urinary track infection again. Jesus forgives fake news feminists to.”

Signs Double IPA’s from Vermont and balling don’t mix. I never missed this badly ever, let alone 3 times in a row. It was a worse look than Lebron sneaking his own line of tequila into the Suns, Bucks game, with a mask dangling down from his chin. So he could look smart like a fake news plastic surgeon in attendance.

I hate all guitar instructors already after only one lesson. First, my holding technique is derided as weird. I thought guitar instructors took up the guitar because they could never get laid on the strength of their personality alone. But I’m the weirdo for trying to wrap by ET size fingers around a guitar neck while doing my best not to cup the guitar with my left hand which is like trying to jerk off with my left hand for a slower, sack emptying pace.

To make matters worse, my guitar instructor attempts to tune my guitar on my beautiful, blue sky Fender fly Stratocaster that was playing like a Siamese Dream prior, conjuring images of my son’s endlessly beautiful oceanic eyes, before popping not one but 2 of my guitar strings in the process. He was performing a vasectomy on my guitar without my permission, which made my balls feel like Edward Scissorhands face. I go back to the Guitar store and demand, “First, I want you to restring my guitar. Now it sounds like hollowed out version of Michael Lohan after Lindsey Lohan cut off her dad from her joint Amex card account. Second, I want to be comped for the string cheese incident bust my 1st guitar lesson was. Third, I want a new instructor whose not going to spend half the time of my 30 minute guitar lesson ripping the hymen out of my heart by desecrating my ax with his terrorizing, trigger happy fingers again, kapeesh?

Son asks, “Why don’t you want to see the new Space Jam movie daddy?” I say, “Because Lebron’s too much of a poser showoff chicken shit to ever compete in a dunk contest during all star weekend, which makes him a fake news jam hero in my book.

This is my daughter knowing me better than my wife. She says, “Daddy, do you like this Barbie better? She’s the mommy.

Last night, I thought I was snuggling with my wife for 2 minutes max, but it turned out to be my 9 year old daughter. It’s good thing I was wearing shorts and wasn’t getting aroused by my wife’s dressed down nightie prior.

Drop the wife off at work this morning. She says, “60 days free of alcohol feels great.” I said, “You don’t have to look after our 3 kids for a whole Sunday with sporadic thunderstorm forecasts throughout for a 12 hour stretch. I’d walk with an extra spring to my step to like Jennifer Aniston on the rebound to.

Bill Burr wants both sides to stop yelling at each other. We didn’t start the fire Bill. Wannabe punisher vigilantes in hoodies for ANTIFA and Thugs Lives Matter Most did, genius.

After we leave the kids salon, my son asks, “Daddy, why do we tip”” I say, “To let someone know you appreciate a job well done, resulting in spewing glee like at end of a lap dance from any busty vixen in a Russ Meyer movie.” Faster Pussycat Kills lives. Can I get a holla for some noshtastic Challah? Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

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