North Dakota was only the state in the country which enjoyed full employment, and Do It All Dad wanted in. North Dakota was also the least visited state in the nation, yet Do It All Dad was used to seeing his parents only twice a year, and also was accustomed to not seeing any of his former friends since his three fuss-free children were born, failing the friendship litmus test every time.
So, the isolating nature of North Dakota didn’t bother him one bit; especially knowing how much Do It All Dad hated to navigate around lost-in-time tourist hicks in Times Square pre-Covid, on his way to work, when he used take the subway there for his IT Recruiter job in Midtown East for a living.
But the majority of the jobs in North Dakota were within the farming and energy industry, which Do It All Dad had no experience with, whatsoever. Granted, his mom grew up in Kentucky and had an Uncle Jim, who owned a farm and who even wore overalls to his Grandpa’s funeral, because that’s how he rolled.
And Do It All Dad would have a bit in his old act about how Kentucky gal Ashley Judd wasn’t an actual victim of rape. He’d say, “Ooh, she refused to watch Harvey Weinstein shower himself down at his five-star suite in the Four Seasons. At the same time, Ashley Judd had plenty of experience judging fat pigs at the county fair.”
Still, Do It All Dad wasn’t expecting to be a working headliner comedian at the non-existent comedy clubs in downtown Fargo, North Dakota. Microsoft had 100,000 employees based in North Dakota, yet Do It All Dad was no fan of Bill Gates’s dad being the head of Planned Parenthood, either. Its founder was intent on carrying out Hitler’s eugenics solution one fetus flicker (mostly of color) at a time.
North Dakota was also voted the least female-friendly environment because it had less abortion clinics than oxygen bars for the Persian Iranians to act urban sheik smug in. They were like tanner, humorless Whitney Cumming clones in those Hollywood Hills, and were too uptight for Do It All Dad’s tastes, whose blah-brained personality offered him nil.
Do It All Dad had an old headhunter boss who hailed from a prestigious farming family in North Dakota, who drilled into his cranium the do-or-die mantra “innovate or die.”
Innovate, he must, because Do It All Dad had to invent a new job title besides Stay At Home Comedian. Do It All Dad just wanted to write more books from home and cook more yummy dance meals for his family, but needed a paying job of some sort to finance finishing his next book in progress, The Koshertarian Diet, so his wife wouldn’t bust his balls about it.
Plus, Do It All Dad had no desire to uproot his family and move closer to his in-laws in Delaware, whose state motto should be changed to, “Your Nazi Gold Is Safe With Us.”
Do It All Dad was also working on a new short story collection, Waste Of Height, which forced him to be tad less political and overtly sexual in his writing, for a change. Still, as famous English novelist Virginia Woolf once said, “A woman must have a room of her own, and money to write fiction.”
Now, Do It All Dad, being a stay-at-home shemale rocker mom, of sorts, could identify with this stone cold sober truism, even more than being a shishy bitch who would get dressed up on Shabbat Friday nights to stay in with his three kids while his wife went back to work at the hospital in the NICU to check on the vital signs of blue-faced babies.
This made Do It All Dad feel like an insufferable narcissist, at times, because all he checked for was for retweets, before he got banned from Twitter from calling Governor Cuomo a Blanch-killing, cold-blooded, Italian Reptilian inside.
Now Do It All Dad couldn’t even justify his IPA intake after a Peloton ride anymore, because his family was barely affording the monthly payments on their mortgage, and nothing had changed too much since he’d started chasing down open mikes throughout Southern California fifteen years ago after getting the laugh chaser bug, which no amount of widespread bombing or marital bliss disintegration or threat of complete financial ruin could cure.
Also, Do It All Dad’s office was in his bedroom, which a recent jilted audiobook reviewer derided as “tiny and cramped” (based on the lack of reverberating echo in his chapter reading for “The Last Temptation of Adderall,” I assume). Do It All Dad had given up hope on securing a lit agent to take a chance on an eccentric Jewish comedian satirist/reinvented literary novelist who used his books for extra-long stand-up comedy monologues. He couldn’t afford to do open mikes throughout Manhattan, because he couldn’t justify the 40-dollar Metronorth train fare to wail with his arms on stage for the pleasure of trying to entertain the two millennial musketeers in the audience with such a jade-free, joyous, giving heart anymore.
Now Do It All Dad didn’t desperately seek strangers’ funny/many approval as much on stage, since he launched his successful podcast and blog three years ago (which, for him ,was the greatest open mike on earth). But it pained Do It All Dad to still not be in a position to buy his son, Art Show USA, the GI Joe SS Flagg Aircraft Carrier for his son’s seventh birthday, snowboard lessons, a vintage pair of Freezie Freakies on eBay with the Thundercats on it, or anything but more copies of his impossible-to-find books on Amazon.
Reality is, Art Show USA provided book cover color consultation on all four of Do It All Dad’s books. Art Show USA adored his Do It All Dad books so much, he took a screensaver picture for his remote learning school-issued computer, holding all four of his dear dada’s books closely to his heart, exuding a beamish prideful spark which shined inside and out.
Seven years on this earth after Art Show USA was born, Do It All Dad needed to fight harder than ever to keep his elusive dreams of comedic literary superstardom alive. Do It All Dad’s son loved his Dad’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast, too, and he didn’t want his dear dad to perform more sheets of comedy gold on it without having to worry about Mom threatening to kick him out the house again because of his lack of money-generating power (for the past five years and counting).
So, Do It All Dad got an idea while making lunch for his son one day—The Sun Butter Challenge. What if Do It All Dad went into business with his gorgeous son, who could smile on cue without breaking into hives in the process, and Daddy became his agent, booking him as the new face for Sun Butter Gold Foods, located in Sunflower Country, Bismarck, North Dakota? This could lead to Do It All Dad snagging enough loot to buy his family the Porsche Comedy Gold Mobile; a new lake house summer home in Lake George, NY for his son’s GJ Joe SS Flagg; and enough money to finance writing more books without ever having to bite his tongue while being offered a career consultation email from LinkedIn, considering the gaps of wrath on his resume, ever again.
Do It All Dad’s son, Art Show USA, possessed the sunbeam smile. Few other kids could match with such a star-powered gleaming light. So, if Do It All Dad couldn’t get a job interview for a junior copywriter position at, let’s say, Sun Gold Foods in Bismarck, North Dakota, then Do It All Dad could create a job for himself as his son’s personal manager, calling himself on LinkedIn the Sun Gold Hunter. He can finally capitalize in a big way, cashing in all of his new business development, cold calling-centric, IT headhunter background in both in LA and Manhattan (where he slaved weekends away when he wasn’t trying to write new scripts or jokes, researching new IT Directors or Chief Marketing Officers to cold call the following week, again and again).
Do It All Dad was old school and had no problem coldcalling men and woman in places of authority who controlled staffing budgets, in a NY minute. Plus, Do It All Dad took perverse pleasure working around HR, who tended to ruin the love connection potential between a hurting hiring manager and a staffing solution specialist Headhunter to the rescue, like Do IT All Dad always fashioned himself to be.
Do It All Dad also learned, from his headhunting days, how passion is always picked up over the phone. So, Do It All Dad would have no problem conveying to the head of Sun Butter Gold Products in Bismarck, North Dakota, what a gross disservice to mankind they’d be doing by refraining from making his American-made beautiful boy, Art Show USA, the permanent franchise face of Sun Gold Food Products moving forward, which would double their annual sales from 4 million to 8 million in the first week alone, guaranteed.
Now Do It All Dad is pitching his son as the new face for Sun Butter with the Chief Marketing Officer through Zoom. Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer, looks confused.
Do It All Dad says, “You look confused, Cheryl. I want my son to star in The Sun Butter Challenge Campaign across America, similar to what they did with the Pepsi Challenge, back in the day, when kids had stronger immunities to bullying (Kurt Cobain excluded. Kurt Cobain longed to retreat into his pre-fame bubble without having to rummage through his grandma’s closet for another ugly lime sweater to wear at the MTV Music Awards—I get it).”
Cheryl, the CMO for Sun Butter Gold Products, says, “So, where’s Art Show USA? How do you expect me to hire you two as a package deal to do the creative performing in these Sun Butter Challenge campaigns, without me seeing, the sun butter smile to light up a thousand suns? The same smile which will double our sales in a year, according to your fuzzy math estimates. I know you still have to count with your fingers for simple arithmetic (which I read in one of your blog posts, in case you think we just ignored the totality of your digital fingerprint on the Internet all together because your son is the star smile attraction we’re really after, if you really need to know.”
Do It All Dad says, “Art Show, come into Dada’s office for a minute.”
Art Show says, “You mean, your bedroom, Dada?”
Do It All Dad says, “Thanks for reminding me, and for destroying what little sales leverage I have left, without you flashing your smile through Zoom for the Sun King Maker to see.”
Art Show hops onto his dear dada’s lap, and smiles. Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer, says, “Wow, your Dada isn’t another full-of-shit New Yorker, after all. Are you ready to be a star, kiddo?”
Art Show USA says, “Just give my Dada ten percent of everything I make, for a finder’s fee, and give him final cut approval on all commercials and print campaigns starring my Sun Butter Smile, and you got yourself a deal. Can I go back to building my Harry Potter Astronomy Tower, now?” Dear Dada starts singing with an extra rollicking, jubilant heart, “Sun Butter King’s stock is rising, rising.” Next, Do It All Dad adds, “King Arthur—my kid eclipses his star power, which is limited to Disney fable books that nobody reads anymore—oh, I can’t take no more.”
Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer, says, “Would you mind if we put sunflowers in your son’s hair? The LBGT community will lick it up, lick it up, oh, oh, oh! Do you think you’re the only Kiss fan who resents how Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’ was the death blow shot heard around the world’ that killed off carefree hair metal pop rock forever?”