Avenging Ghosters

I’m loving my monogamous relationship with sobriety. Straying from sobriety will only make me feel like a dirtier Jew than usual like going to the massage parlor on occasion, regardless of my conscious feeling squeaky clean soon afterwards, knowing how my grizzled Reflexology Therapist wasn’t yanked off the boat yesterday.

If I go to an AA meeting in the future, I’m going to introduce myself as a Scumbag Strayer Slayer, which sounds less defeatist depressing than, “Hi, my name is Michael Kornbluth and I’m a degenerate Jew alcoholic who has to use his fingers to figure out simple arithmetic. Daughter says, “Daddy, how many zeros are in a billion? Daddy, did you really have to ask Alexa for that? Doesn’t this disqualify me from getting Bat Mitzvahed? Are you financially illiterate daddy? I’m wondering if your Hebrew name, Money Bags Mordecai is under Judicial Review.”

Scumbag Strayer Slayer slays on, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

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