Blog

Not My Daughter’s Role Model

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
2 time loser, alcoholic deplorable. Who stole China from the White House on her way out the door. Am I close yet?

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
Do you know who Tony Podesta is?
He has enough painting with kids in bondage to make Marilyn Manson blush.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
Rapist enabler, Russian Dossier Financier, best selling Voodoo Doll in Haiti year after year.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
Do you know what spirit cooking is? Hillary’s campaign adviser John Podesta does. What, blame WikiLeaks, not me.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
The real bully who stole the Democratic nomination from fake news socialist Bernie Sanders. I know who Seth Rich was. Do you?

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
I know you can’t name one good thing she accomplished.
And stealing the DNC nomination from Bernie Sanders doesn’t count.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
I don’t look up to cheaters. Ever heard of Jeffrey Epstein? He’s like the Jewish Sandusky. Well, Epstein is tight will Bill alright.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
A slacker Presidential candidate. Who got out hustled, outclassed and out-messaged by Donald J. Trump. Am I close yet?

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
She’d said we’d all hang if Trump wins. But don’t stop believing in impeachment miracles on my behalf.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
The Anti-Christ. Don’t worry, Jesus defeats the Anti-Christ. So, keep the faith in the Jesus comeback story resistor.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
You mean the wicked witch of the east? Who cheated at the debate with Trump by getting the questions in advance.

INT. HOME
Daughter stares at her Chanukah book gift titled Rebel Girls.
Fiance
Do you know who Hillary is?
Daughter
You mean Hillary Hammer Time Cankles?
The treacherous bitch who sold our uranium to Russia.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

1 Kid Only

“Hey bro, I got good news.” Younger brother replies. “What, you’re having another kid? Actually, I’m getting 19 blogs republished on The Good Men Project website. Turns out I’m quite fertile in both departments.”

Poor taste besides my younger brother attempting to shame me into feeling like a Welfare mother derided in a Chris Rock bit. Is my younger brother bitching about catching up with sleep to my wife, after admitting tmi kio me seconds earlier how he just slept 36 hours after partaking in a coked-out bender with his boys. Only after telling me prior, how he’s been taking 100 milligrams of Adderall daily for his new fast food restaurant manager job. Which provides 5 weeks paid vacation. Meanwhile, my saintly wife has to endure this insufferable bitch feast, with her mouth shut because my mom’s in town for our 1 night of forced family Chanukah time together. After she delivered 7 babies the previous night. Who’s also a mother of 3. Who hasn’t had a solid six-hour, uninterrupted stretch of sleep since baby Samuel was born 20 months ago. But keep on talking about how hard you work bro and how much your social life is limited. Keep on bitching about how your work never ends. And how you have to take work home with you now. Performing profit and loss statements on enough Adderall to make Little Woman a spellbinding read.
But you’re totally ready to have 1 kid only. Will mom and dad renege on their promise to give you more money to open a restaurant again if you bang out 1 kid more? But mom offering to help with your precious P&L statements when she’s in town over spending more quality with her 3 grandchildren is priceless.

If you don’t have children, never complain about how little time you have for yourself. Your entire life is dedicated to yourself. Taking 100 milligrams of Adderall means your 100 percent focused on yourself. If I took 100 milligrams of Adderall a day, my kids would never see me again. Because I’d lock them out of my office to read the Bible out loud from start to fish already in one setting. Even then, my focus would be on how much smarter smug superior I felt than Sarah Silverman. Who brags with boorish, too cool for school nonchalance for never cracking it open the Bible to even page 1 in the 1st place. But Sarah Silverman is the more mature minded one than Trump. Knowing she still rips bong hits in a hoodie in her upper forties. And never outgrew her truly tasteless, alternative jokes phase or her relentless belief in impeachment miracles coming true. Being a father of 3, how do I feel about having 1 kid only? Glad you asked. Twitter isn’t until I got my account temporarily locked answering this very same question. So here we go.

1 kid only means you better get the max minutes available on your family phone plan.

1 kid only means, your diaphragm is for walls after all.

1 kid only reveals your inflated sense of entertaining self-worth.

1 kid only tells the world you think 1 kid is mere child’s play. I see other couples come into bars with just one kid. I can handle that and still wake and bake.
1 planned kid only means you’re a bandwagon creationist. You’re not having 1 when you’re behind on paying off your mounting credit card debut.
1 kid only tells the world you’re down with limits to endless kids invading your home.
1 kid only reveals you either A) Were traumatized by an older sibling or B) Never suffered from long enough droughts of loneliness in high school. So, you felt like a dirty old man at 15 with sunglasses on at Child World.
1 kid only means you’re not too keen on reteaching multiplication tables after the 1st run around.
1 kid only means, you’re a self-loathing narcissist.
1 kid only means your heart wasn’t into it in the 1st place.
1 kid only means your kid will turn into self-indulgent, drug crazed hippie. Who declares God is dead on his Senior Yearbook photo under a picture of Nietzsche. He’ll have to cold call for a living before he starts quoting Vince Lombardi.

 

1 kid only tells the world, it’s my life despite not feeling that way anymore.
1 kid only is selfish because you’re making it all about your social life again.
1 kid only tells the world, hit me with your best shot and I’ll sulk away.
1 kid only means you prize your wife’s heavenly snatch more than I do.
1 kid only tells the world, I’m a feminist mom. Who isn’t too keen on further genital mutilation.

1 kid only means you’re really good at projecting cool despite your apparent nap prone anxiety disorder. Mom’s relieved. Now she has a social out to nap with her kids whenever she isn’t the mood to socialize with the world again.

1 kid only means your heart doesn’t break at thought of your only child feeling like an unwelcome, intrusive herpes sore when you’re working at home again.
1 kid only tells the world you don’t sweat the small stuff. When your retired cabin fever parents are only 15 minutes away.

1 kid only tells the world you’re enlightened enough to ensure your only estranged kid won’t end up being the kid in the Jeremy video today.

1 kid only means you’re indifferent to your daughter taking a midnight train to Rape Wood in the still of the night.

1 kid only reveals you’re banking on mom for too much assistance as usual. Last time I checked, TARP money bailed out mom’s employer JP Morgan Chase, not the other way around.
1 kid only reveals if it’s good enough for Hillary. It’s good enough for me.

1 kid only proves your big brother could die tomorrow. And you wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Even if he never bought life insurance for his wife and 3 kids. Before his debut parenting book Stay at Home Comedian, became a NY Times Best Seller despite it being banned for “divisive, hateful content”, from bookstores in San Francisco, Brooklyn and Rape Wood.

The End
By,
Michael Kornbluth

Disorder In The Dollhouse

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to wrap seaweed around Pecker Wood before making his move with Polynesian Barbie.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. I’m getting the Kelly Lebrock one used in Weird Science on E Bay for my own personal stash.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. It’s a good thing, I’m not a black comedian trying to downplay my ties to the hip hop gay mafia.

If my son played with dolls, we’d skip watching Porky’s. Which was an overrated comedy anyway. Then, I’d push 9 to 5 in front of our viewing list. He can do worst than becoming a Dolly Parton impersonator. Whitney Houston not so much.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think great. He’ll save me a fortune on sports camp. Plus, I’ll have extra time to write more best selling books because school plays are an annual production.

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to wrap seaweed around Pecker Wood before making his move with Polynesian Barbie.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Great, now when my dad asks. “What’s Arthur going to eat at the Greek Diner with his friends after the ball game?” I’ll say. “A Turkey melt. Assuming, he’s got some extra wiggle room to slip into his leotards.”

If my son played with dolls, I’d have him own it and dress up as a flaming Human Torch for Halloween. Then again, Mr. Fantastic has a gay fabulous connotation to his name also. But his hot wife Susan Storm is no Liza Minnelli.

If my son played with dolls. I’d think touchdown. Now, I don’t have to talk shop at Pop Warner with other Football dads from New England. I still think Eli is a bigger pimp than Brady. Giselle’s like 80 in model years.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Banging my GI Joe Figures together was way gayer. Especially when I had Gung-Ho manhandle and bitch slap Cobra Commander like he was his gimpy bitch in Pulp Fiction.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think what, a relief. For a moment, I thought he’d be destined for mope maligned misery. And turn into just another ordinary slut in a straight jacket dad like me.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Big deal, playing with a sex doll after he blooms under his fruit of the looms is way more deprived pathetic. Let’s not make my son into a Japanese anime enthusiast just yet.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think, cool. He’ll be super organized and I’ll never have to sweat him dipping into my Adderall prescription. Wait a minute shit, I have to have the Crystal Meth talk with him at 4.

If my son played with dolls, I’d move my family to my wife’s native homeland of Australia. And start getting my son to compete in Iron Man Competitions sooner than later. So he can become the Aussie superior to Bruce Jenner.

If my son played with dolls. I’d join him for some double team action, if he was playing around with his sister’s WWE Divas. Ronda Rousey, I can live without. Later in life, I don’t see my son choking one out on her behalf.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Comedy Control Rules

A light, zero windup smack on the bum only goes so far. After your son bites his big sister. Afterwards, I say. “Arthur, fart in your sister’s face, burp into her armpit, headbutt her Cerebellum but no more biting.” My son’s post traumatic teary whimpers subside.  But this Stay At Home Comedian was just getting warmed up.

Minutes later, my 4 year old son draws inspiration from Jewish pride incarnate, the Hebrew Hammer and draws a Star of David on our bathroom wall upstairs. Mama’s at work at the hospital in case you’re wondering. 1st I scream. “Arthur, are you kidding me?” But then I use comedy to subdue my rage and guard the remainder of our evening from complete disorder in the house. I say “You just wanted to draw Arthur? I thought you were competing for the Maccabi Tagging Olympics.” Of course my 3 kids had no idea what the hell “tagging” meant. But through my use of comedy, I was able to lighten the mood and regain a semblance of control over my red hot, Aries pissed off emotion.

I park outside my son’s school for Pre-K this morning. One of his teachers, Mrs. Russo helps him out of the car. Before she does, Arthur flashes his bouncing, Gimel Robot Dreidel. Mrs. Russo stares at Gimel Robot Dreidel with total bewilderment like she just spotted a Guido in Cancun without a tan-line. Then, Mrs. Russo says. “What’s that? Whatever it is, you can put it in your cubby.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, would she say the same thing, if Arthur brought Jesus Apostle Trading Cards to share? But I didn’t say anything although to calm my anger at Mrs. Russo’s grossed out, perplexment at what Gimel Robot Dreidel represented. I wrote these jokes below.  Making fun of my obvious Jewish paranoia about A) Jewish kids being accused of being greedy Hebrews for expecting too many gifts and B) Jewish parents like me being accused of being too cheap for only getting 8 ho hum gifts. Which combined together, never amount to the majestic might of a BB Gun or Denise Richards in nothing but Polar Bear Fur for Christmas.  In case you’re wondering, we got each of our 3 kids a  big Kahuna deal gifts each. Plus, the other seven gifts for each 3 kids weren’t chopped liver either.

These are a couple of new Hanukah joke lighter uppers, fresh off the press. Aren’t you blessed?

Me instructing my son on how to avoid any anti-Semitic triggered aftermath at school.

When you bring your Gimel Robot Dreidel to Pre-K Arthur. Make sure, when your gentile classmates ask what Gimel means. You don’t say. “Give me all your money because we control all the world banks, even the one in the North Pole.”

For Christmas, I’m not banking on getting more black Champion socks from my mother-in-law. My wife works Christmas Eve. So we won’t spend a white Christmas in Delaware this year. Postage is more expensive than the socks themselves.

As you can see, comedy control rules because it allows anyone the opportunity to rewrite the narrative to their own liking. Comedy control rules because you’re able to capture the cheapness of your mother-in-law and get in the last laugh. If you’re lucky enough to have children, you must always serve lady laugh with your all sarcastic, silly minded, over the top might. Screw other people’s kids. Your own children’s laughs will light up your heart up like no other. When your children laugh. You beam with happiness like when the Stripper in Montreal didn’t charge you for 2 lap dances after you bribed the DJ to play the Allman’s 22 minute Whipping Post from the Fillmore East.

Comedian Victor Borge, said “Laughter is the shortest distance between 2 people.” So if you’re not born naturally hilarious, nobody is, unless you’re Rodney. Force yourself to take an IMPROV class at Second City and get out of your head already. Who cares if you say something stupid or weird? You’re going to tell me bloggers for Buzz Feed reporting on imaginary golden shower parties, still chasing down Russian collusion tales with less legs than Lieutenant Dan, are smarter and more grounded morally than you are? I didn’t think so. That’s like asking if Kevin Hart is funnier than Chris Rock. Did you hear? Kevin Hart withdrew from the Oscars because Obama called Jay Z to tell him Michelle prefers Ellen. I wonder if Chris Rock is pissed at Kevin Hart for never seeking out his hosting advice. Still, Kevin Hart is no Chris Rock. Lady Laugh is love supreme, reign on me.

Jim Morrison said “the media controls the mind.” The beauty of fatherhood fellas is you get to control the mike. You’re the biggest megaphone in the house. So don’t play it safe or defer to your children like know it all hipster hacks from Portland, Maine. Own the room or they’ll own you. Assert your manhood. You’re the star creator and this makes you superior to the mere Hipster cynic critic in us all.  That’s why Adam Sandler needs the host Oscars this year. No other successful comedian has engendered as much bile laced critic jealousy than show me your cock and balls Sandler. Sandler as host equals Oscar gold.  He’s a song and joke guy.  Plus, his 100 million dollars films keep the lights on in Hollywood. So can the Golden Jew add this Oscar hosting feather to his cap already? Adam Sandler can even joke in his Oscars monologue about him hosting the Oscars is his stop looking at me Swan Song. Comedy control rules.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Pride On My Side

“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.”
Marcus Aurelius

Pride has nothing to hide like Kayne’s MAGA hat, Taylor Swift’s lick it up lollipop stick legs or Joe Rogan’s defense of intellectual joke property theft from Carlos Mencia. The only problem I have with pride, is when my pride morphs into full blown conceited vanity. Because it’s never a good look using your IT recruitment agency office to xerox copies of your It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia spec script, “The Gang Gets Outsourced.” No matter how funny or creatively jacked you proclaim it to be. Still, pride prevents mediocrity. And I never would’ve dared to attempt banging out an Always Sunny spec script between IT recruiter staffing agency jobs again. Without pride in my ability to either match the funny in the show or exceed it in my own unique way. Hellbent on proving to myself, I’m not an entitled, delusional hack but a capable funny man scribe slinger on the rise. Who belonged in the WGA in Rape Wood after all.
Without pride, I don’t take the next step and have my friend Jay in LA share my script with Glen Howerton. Who plays Dennis in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. For some reason Dennis wasn’t being invited to Adam Sandler’s basketball games in Malibu or to Gary Shandling’s hoop gatherings with David Duchovny and Greg Kinnear up in the Hollywood Hills just yet. As a result, Dennis from Always Sunny, only 2 seasons back then, ended up playing pickup basketball games with my friend Jay and his younger brother’s Persian friends in the Sinai Temple gym on Wilshire Blvd instead. Believe it or not Dennis went out of his way to kiss my friend Jay’s ass over letting him play in their little horseshit pick-up basketball game. Outside of Jay playing in the Maccabi Games, the Jewish Olympics. Nobody from the Persian nation had game. Scoring employee discounts from working at Armani Exchange the summer after college, doesn’t count. Dennis took the script from my friend Jay but never came back to play ball at Sinai again. My friends back east thought Dennis jacked the episode idea. I was flattered. He didn’t. But without taking pride in my writing, despite my own mother telling me months later, she didn’t respect my decision to pursue a career in comedy. I never would’ve been in striking distance to go for knockout shot.

Without pride, I never would’ve never taken on the open mike at Bar 4 again in Park Slope 3 months after I died on stage there.  Pride motivated me to dig deep, write more jokes, do more mikes and go after the Bocce ball playing hipster hacks in attendance for my triumphant comeback return. It was a packed room and I killed. Killing on stage is still the best feeling in the world, I know.  I  get why Roseanne was ballsy enough to admit killing on Carson was a happier moment than the birth of her own children. After my killer set I pas  a hippie in a Dead Head shirt I chatted with earlier. His eyes dance in dark as he says. “You’re my hero.” At this moment, I assumed I wasn’t the only Dead Head in attendance. Who thought the Indie music rock which infiltrated Brooklyn around 2004 as a whole sounded like hushed, garbled, folk rock for hobbit massage parlors.
I don’t hit on my wife on Barry Diller’s balcony overlooking Central Park without funny man pride on my side. I was doing ad sales for CitySearch and had no business being on Barry Diller’s balcony in the 1st place. Mr. Burns from the Simpsons is based on Barry Diller’s mogul persona, allegedly. Which isn’t the most flattering portrayal of the man who greenlit the Simpsons, Married With Children and In Living Color as the head programming mogul at Fox. Diller also signed Andrew Dice Clay to a 3-picture movie Deal with Fox but had to buy out his contract after all the protesting from woman’s activist groups over the release of Dice’s big movie premiere, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane. Dice just stared as Lady Gaga’s doting, Limo driver dad in a Star is Born. So, he’s no longer such a comic clown monster after all. But by boss at City-Search liked me so he invited me to Barry Diller’s after work party on his balcony 40 stories above Carnegie Hall. At this time, Barry Diller was running IAC, which was a collection of internet companies he purchased such as Citysearch, Expedia and Ask Jeeves which was a poor man’s Google. Despite the rich man’s butler logo branding on it.  When I met my future wife on Barry Diller’s balcony, I was developing my 1st Family Guy spec script. Just to be clear, a spec script, is an unproduced sample episode of your own making, nothing more, nothing less. Spec scripts or TV pilot episodes of your own making are your portfolio samples used in the Biz to help you can an agent and ultimately staffed on a TV show on network or cable TV.

Weeks earlier, before I met Natalia, my future wife, on the balcony of Barry Diller’s Tower of Love on Broadway, I was still dating this older yet petite Pilipino gal. She asks. “What’s going to make you happy?” I reply. “Writing a Family Guy.” Understand, I got a job now doing new business development for Citysearch in Manhattan. Sure, my territory was Philly. They paid for my Amtrak trips, wasn’t complaining. Sure, I was living at home again because I was so broke my Hebrew name was under judicial review. But I could’ve had 5000 grand in the bank and my own studio apartment in the East Village on St. Marks at the time. I still would’ve been miserable because my pride prevented me from mediocrity, from becoming an average nobody. Pride drove me to write a Family Guy spec because it challenged my comedy ego. Similar to when I forced myself to bang out specs for Curb, American Dad, Louie, Eastbound and Down and most recently Silicon Valley.  Pride at this moment in time drove me to will my Family Guy spec into existence despite never even attempting to write a spec for any animated show prior.

 

So, when I met my future wife on Barry Diller’s balcony because she was working an  Executive Assistant for his VP in charge of Mergers and Acquisitions. She told her boss to pass on My Space. I invite my future wife downtown for a drink in Tribeca. Now during our August stroll in downtown Manhattan on Cobblestone streets, I had a Family Guy script in progress to discuss with her. Plus, I was able to emote about how I was finally able to score some laughs at open mikes in Manhattan after bombing for a whole straight year in LA. Without pride in my comedy writing development,  I would’ve had nothing interesting to share with Natalia when we met besides me working on hitting my quota at Citysearch. Without pride, I couldn’t have delivered a B- joke about how Citysearch is the number city guide in Manhattan, primarily used by gay men. To search who in New York City along Christopher Street gives the best facials. My joke writing has evolved since obviously.
Pride has provided me with more life affirming victories than ego deflated injury. Does it suck to get fired in Corporate America? Yes, but you become desensitized the more it happens like being indirectly called a moron for trusting the business instincts of a President working for free. Who revitalized the Wollman Rink in Central Park. Donating its profits to many charities such as the one for  gay men groups during the Aids epidemic in 80’s. When other jealous resistor baby boomers were making a living back then selling jars to Potomka Pickles, no offense Dad.
Roman Emperor philosopher Marcus Aurelius was correct. “The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.” In my case, the him, whose done more harm than good, isn’t pride but my Vanity Vagina. My Vanity Vagina is my spoiled, oversensitive diva inside. Who makes it impossible to hide her disdain for jobs she hates on her face. Vanity Vagina will play the part she’s paid for. But lose her zest for pretending to give a shit 4 months into the job as usual. Before working on her own side projects to prove how much better she is than her current job lot in life like Laura Dern in Mike White’s show Enlightened on HBO. Despite my Vanity Vagina never holding a position of power prior with direct reports in the form of an even assistant to screen my calls either.
Becoming a father of 3, 2 being unplanned has helped keep Vanity Vagina from becoming a self-destructive c word again for the most part. But the thing is, when you become a father of 3 kids,  you become 3 times more sensitive to insults and shows of disrespect. I’ve applied for a wide range of jobs since baby Samuel was born, even dreaded agency IT recruiter positions again. So I could prove to my wife, I’ve got Vanity Vagina under control this time. Still, no interviews since I fucked up the one promising one, I had going with IBM which I created out of nothing.

 

The job wasn’t very defined, it involved digital marketing. It was my understanding, IBM was looking for some much needed edge to make IBM come across as not your dad’s IBM anymore. My expression for the record. So, I sent not just my recruiter there some unasked for jokes but to every head of HR at IBM through email addresses I acquired from Fox Hunter.com. All these jokes got mad love on Twitter by geeks everywhere. I freaked out IBM big time with this unasked for material.  My thinking was too different, too edgy and way too in their face. Vanity Vagina couldn’t understand what was taking IBM so long to schedule a follow up face to face interview after my 1st phone interview went so well. I must have scored at least 12 laugh out louds during my 1 hour phone interview alone. So, I bombarded the entirety of the HR at IBM with the totality of my humor pushed upon material because Vanity Vagina is an oversensitive, career sabotaging bitch. End of story, oh!

 

Kayne West says “The best form of revenge is success.” So if I can manage to go through life before I’m six feet under without reverting into Vanity Vagina again, I can die a resounding success. Knowing, I conquered my main root of bad karma contamination.
Pride is on my side, not Vanity Vagina. Pride is on my side because it takes pleasure in a job well done. It take pleasure in what rave reviews my 3 kids haven gotten so far due to my involved parenting on the stay at home comedian dad front. Pride is on my side because it takes pleasure in weathering 2 winters and 2 summers back to back with no grandparent babysitting assistance whatsoever. Pride is on my side because it helped me produce 57 podcast episodes in a less than a year. Resulting in 70 hours worth of A minus comedy material. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay at home dad years.  On nights mama works at the hospital. Pride is on my side when my baby boy Samuel tucks himself into our bed at night as we listen to my podcast on my smartphone by my bedside.

The End

By,
Michael Kornbluth

Hate Is Good

Life – the way it really is – is a battle not between Bad and Good but between bad and worse. Joseph Brodsky
CEO Apple Tim Cook says “hate and division” have no place on his platform. Because I’m sure if Apple owned LinkedIn, they’d ban all IT recruiter hate speech in a nano- second. Because IOS developers who work for Apple love being hit on by dumb jocks recruiters at work, who played Lacrosse at Penn State. Knowing no noise cancellation headphone phones could ever tune out the muffled, maudlin cry of their scar tissue shrouded teenage hearts.
Hate and division have no place on I-Tune’s Platform. Then, why is Bill Hicks entire stand-up comedy library still available on it? Bill Hicks, the greatest standup of his generation oozed hate because the majority of America didn’t recognize his awesome hilariousness. Only after getting sober and moving to England did Bill Hicks get the extreme praise he deserved. But hatred for being a single, unknown, paid road comic clown who could out funny think George Carlin any day of the week wasn’t bothered by his lack of mainstream success one bit. Bill Hicks was just peachy about David Brenner doing Carson 5 million times from free riff, non-establishment airplane humor compared to his bit on abortion protestors on Letterman. Which never made it past CBS advertisers. Who killed any shot of the bit making Bill Hick’s career come to life on Letterman after all.
Hate is what made Bill Hick’s material great. George Bernard Shaw, Nobel Prize winner for Literature last time I checked, said, “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.” Just to be clear, I don’t toss around the word hate lightly. I explain to my 7-year-old daughter Matilda what hatred means to daddy over breakfast this morning. Because I overshare too much and hold my daughter to a higher social standard than ANTIFA.
I talk to my daughter Matilda and down to her. And do everything in my power to develop Matilda’s own expressive confidence in her own ideas. So, she doesn’t flee for LA at 17 and regress into a Fallen Angel content with finding somebody to just love her body alone because I made her feel her brain was never enough to keep dada’s attention in the 1st place.
As my daughter takes a bite of Stew Leonard’s Chocolate Chip toaster made waffle. I test out my new premise on her.
“Don’t let anyone tell you different Matilda. Hate is good. How else would you know how much you hate Agave Syrup if you never tasted pure Maple Syrup from Vermont?”
She replies. “I agree daddy. Hate is good. Because without hate, I’d never realize how much I love my teachers reading voice over yours. Especially, after you read me direct quotes from boring Nobel Prize winners like Joseph Brodsky. Mrs. Donofrio’s reading is way more interesting because she assumes the personalities of the different characters, she reads to us about. Can you please just read me some of your jokes instead? But spare me more jokes. Where you have to explain what Private Equity, Firms do and who the Illuminati is in order to understand the joke, thanks. But how is hate good again dada? Untangle my brain for me please.

I reply. “Hate is anger, filled annoyance or outright sheer, heart enraging disgust. For example, Daddy learning from mama about Baba picking out only pillows from Pottery Barn for Arthur’s birthday gift registry because they’re the cheapest items on it. And daddy hates it when your younger brother continues to receive second rate gifts on his birthday from Baba. Especially knowing how Arthur was born on New Year’s Day. So, Baba unloads her cheapness into one combined Christmas Birthday Pillow gift for him without losing any sleep over it.
Is hate and division the reason my Do It All Dad Year Podcast never made it on I-Tune’s new and notable Tim? Was I being divisive when I kidded on my podcast about how I took offense to my wife calling me sexist for making fun of Chelsea Clinton? Because she’s not even ugly anymore. Or was I hater for insisting Chelsea Handler is a way bigger Twitter twat than Alyssa Milano. Who became a full-time social justice warrior to deflect attention away from her tits sagging popularity. Joan lives.
Peter Fonda stated fantasies of Baron Trump being raped in a cell on Twitter, yet he never got his account suspended, paging fake news moralist Twitter CEO, Jack Dorsey. So, is it really hate speech to call Peter Fonda a burnout has been? Whose been in permanent meltdown mode since America as a whole decided Baby Boomer Mom, Hillary doesn’t know best. Is it hateful to point out how Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lost touch with the working man by taking 5 times to get her Metro Subway card to work? By the 5th swipe, Hillary gives herself a pep talk. “No more coughing fits of nervousness. Black people are watching. You can do it.”
I know I’m not the only one who hates the moral grandstanding, hypocritical nature of the big three, Apple, Twitter and Facebook in relation to being so called protectors of hate speech. Farrakhan has an app on the I-Tunes store Tim. You know the class act who calls all Jews termites and hailed Hitler as a “great man.” But my dad friendly, Do It All Dad Year podcast is considered hate speech because I claim the Swastika looks like 2 gay Nazi stick figures in a 69 on crystal meth?
I worked as an IT headhunter for the majority of my young adult life. But without hating my parasite existence. Feasting off the brains and more developed, bankable, placement worthy talent of others. I never would’ve latched on to writing as means to achieve independence from such a thankless, time wasting, non-builder existence.
Hate is good because if I didn’t have the experience of trying to launch my own creative tech staffing agency from home after getting fired from Robert Half. I never would’ve realized I hated relinquishing so much control over my destiny to unproven, douchebag tech founders. Who on LinkedIn are only searchable under the name Diesel. Which is more tailor made for standalone placement of a license plate on a tricked-out Honda in Daytona Beach.

Hate is good because it reveals the root of your misery. 9 out of 10 Stay at Home Dads want out of the house if someone look past their gaps of wrath. Because they’ve grown to hate being a dependent, talked down to, house maid bitchy boy. Because no matter how progressive minded, or evolved workings moms proclaim to be. There reaches a resentment point in the relationship. Where the working moms dismiss their stay at home shemale hubs as mere dead weight. Because working moms tire of having to lean in and do all the money making themselves. Plus, the working mom is less risk averse in the bedroom when stay at home dad is choking her too hard financially already.

Hate is good because it forces the stay at home dad to become best friends with self-awareness. Which helps stay at home dad determine a course of action to ensure less of the same old shit. In my case, I’ve decided to write a best-selling parenting book about how Stay at Home Dads get no respect because Rodney Dangerfield would’ve insisted on it. Plus, Rodney didn’t relaunch his standup comedy career and become committed to making a career off his standup till he was 43. At 42, I’ve chosen to innovate or die as a major in my author debut Stay at Home Comedian, Controlling My Kids with Comedy, How 3 Kids Got My Act Together.
Prior, to going all in on his stand-up comedy career, Rodney sold aluminum siding to feed and care for his family. I used to peddle and sell the brain power of IT nerds for a living. Rodney stockpiled jokes in duffle bags during his aluminum siding sales years. Whereas, I stashed my material onto my do it all dad year podcast and now blog. But Rodney needed a home base to test new material after being offered a residency in Vegas. Because Rodney wanted to be an involved, around do it all dad for his daughter in Manhattan.
Rodney didn’t have a real affectionate relationship with his dad. So, he pursed the love from strangers for a living. My dad hasn’t called me on my birthday for 2 years straight. Plus, the last time I celebrated by birthday in Arizona with my parents. My dad’s shoulders collapsed in unison as I went in for a birthday hug. So, I can identify with the caring compulsion to connect, move and entertain strangers with my comedy and writing similar to Rodney. But without hate introducing me to my new pal Mr. Self-Awareness. Resulting from learning how much I hated having an identify defined by making a living off the talent of others as an IT recruiter. I never would’ve been propelled down this path of independence from the man and gone into business for myself as book author on rise, in charge of my own destiny, self-published or not.
Hate is good because it instructs you on what people to avoid, especially your past degenerate, druggy, reckless self. Who paid the price by contracting foot fungus from stepping foot into the showers of LA Fitness in West Hollywood barefoot one too many times.
Hate is good because becoming comfortably numb doesn’t look like an attractive alternative when Pink overdoses from Heroin induced indifference during the rendition of Hey You in Pink Floyd the Wall.
Hate is good because it’s a killer motivator for exacting, follow through, all encompassing revenge in Kill Bill 1 and 2.
Hate is good because it pushes your imagination to produce misery eliminating alternatives such as resisting the desire to ever express a pro Trump sentiment in your household again, especially when your wife’s remaining friends are over.
Hate is good because it forces you to work harder at being more impressive than your edgeless competition. Who uses his wife to punch up his jokes about his proud defense of McDonald’s for him.
Hate is good because it emancipates you from bad habits such as clogging up your brain with too much dull braining resin fumes from your cherished ex one hitter. Because now you care more about being getting high off your kids’ company as a best-selling author instead. Officially, closing the chapter off your IT recruiter past for good. Proving to myself, I’m no longer a mere schmuck in a headset. Which isn’t as bad as unemployed stay at home comedian.

The End,
By,
Michael Kornbluth

Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows

I don’t recall one special birthday as a kid besides my Bar Mitzvah Party. If the Aussie transplant student Joanne Matthews slow danced with me with too much upper body stiffness, then my 13th birthay would’ve been a total bust. Slow dancing with brace face Denna Kleinman was nice and I liker her spunky, not as peppy cute Punk Brewster personality. But she failed to stimulate visions of walking hand and hand along the boardwalk at Rye Playland at night. The way statuesque, fuller lipped, high caste conjuring, big blaster laugh Kajal did.

My son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, AKA Art Show USA, AKA Feather Foot, AKA Number 1 Capricorn, AKA Gimel Be Good, won’t have an issue attracting woman to slow dance with him at Bar Mitzvah Parties or for him. Because my son Arthur already looks like a handsomer, pubescent Leo. At 4 going on five, Art Show USA, number 1 Capricorn who was born on New Years Day, looks like a dreamy pairing of child star Chad Allen from Our House  and a less aw shucks, mop head blondie Ricky Schroder from Silver Spoons. But never coming off overtly preppy stiff either.

Arthur’s also hilarious already. These are his greatest ad lib hits so far. “Cortana, throw yourself out the window.” And “daddy be funnier than Weird Al by Christmas or I’ll kill you with your sharpest knife for real.” This morning, I’m working on a new blog post chapter post and ask him. “Art Show, what do you think of the title, Book Authors Are Fire Proof?”  He says. “Your office is on fire.” And my wife questions my comedic tutelage by exposing my son to an episode of Robot Chicken. Until I realized how Seth Green grew up in Hollywood as a child star. So of course his sense of humor is going to be ten times darker than mine. Assuming he hung out at the Viper Room with River Phoenix 1 more time than I did.

But forget the God given good looks and intrinsic sense of funny man timing, my son Arthur also happens to be the sweetest boy in the world. Who was drawing a picture of me as I picked him up early from Pre-K today. Arthur launches into yummy dances after taking a bite of my blanched broccoli, shitake bake casserole supreme in my honor. Whizzing around the kitchen back into our living room dinning room area. Singing “Best daddy ever, best daddy ever.” Arthur plays so well with his 7 year old big sister Singing Rose Matilda. Besides when Arthur orders his big sister around. Commanding her to put down her Barbies and play Honey wit him. Which is their teacher, pupil imaginary game. Under these circumstances, I’ll control my son with comedy and address his pushy, controlling behavior in a playful yet direct tone. I say,  “Calm down Little Hitler. You have the best sister ever. Because of Matilda your bare minimum grandparents on both sides are rendered 100% useless.” In case you’re wondering, Arthur, doesn’t like it when I call him “Little Hitler.” If he ever really pissed me off, I’d buy him eight MAGA Hats for Chanukah and drop him off in the middle of Prospect Park by himself and go for a run there for old times sake.

I’ll never get over my parents ho hum embrace of Art Show USA’s birth into our family.   The thing is Arthur was born 2 weeks early and my parents were already retired in Scottsdale, Arizona for 5 years already. So on some level, I feel my dad resented Arthur’s birth a tad because it’s not a good look when you only see your not 1 but 2 grandchildren now, only 10 days a year. When you’re both retired in your mid sixties in an Arizona Estate shrine home for themselves. Despite claims of getting it to make it a marquee vacation destination for my family to visit despite their old yenta friends spending way more time than our family has. And despite them buying the home after we already had Matilda and still hadn’t added 2 more children to our Kiss Army family at large.

Don’t get me wrong. My parents worked hard for their Arizona Estate home. Nothing was given to them. I respect their achievement in this respect immensely. Still, this financial, career offshoot accomplishment in a cushy Clinton years economy, pre 911,  doesn’t erase the fact that after my son Arthur was born, I sensed 0.0 rush to book the 1st flight to NY to hug and kiss their grandson.

What was more infuriating was me on the phone with my Dad who was on his way to Vegas after my son Arthur was born. On the phone, I said Dad. “Don’t forget to bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas.” But my dad whose never been a narcissist according to my younger brother. Totally blanked on why he should bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas. So I yell over the phone. “Let me help you dad. Bet on 1 at Roulette because your grandson was born on New Years Day.”

I return to work, cold calling Directors in charge application development as a new business development rep for the IT consulting staffing division of Robert Half at the time. As the day progressed, I become consumed with clench fisting rage over the fact my parents weren’t on a Southwest Flight heading toward Kennedy already because their flight back east was already pre-booked 2 weeks in advance. Later that evening, I told my mom how I felt. Thank God, my mom realized our fledging remnant of a relationship, depended on her booking a flight ASAP to see her grandson back east. Pops didn’t join her. My dad doesn’t do the cold anymore. Now, his favorite pastimes, retired in Scottsdale, Arizona. Are playing tennis with Dr. Ken and jerking off to the Weather Channel, whenever a new winter storm does a bukkake all over the eastern seaboard. Slamming it harder and harder with more flurries of winter blasts, again and again.

Last year a day before Arthur’s 4th birthday my wife still hadn’t contacted Jame’s mom from Pre-K yet to invite them over for Arthur’s birthday. And James was his only main bud there. To say I was infuriated was an understatement but I assumed ownership of the situation. Called Jame’s mom who I chatted it up with numerous times at Arthur’s Pre-K prior. She’s a pretty, striking, tall Croatian. So I got off making her laugh and she got my off the cuff humor which is always nice.  James made it to Arthur’s birthday with his mom, big sister and construction worker Dad. Who made me feel like Rocky staring up at Drago after he kills Apollo. I got every big balloon possible from Party USA. It’s a birthday tradition I established with his big sister Matilda from the start. We don’t have a big home so only inviting James and his family was perfect.  Jame’s big sister really got into me after I told her I hosted a podcast even though I hadn’t recorded an episode yet. I’ve done 57 since our exchange last year in case you’re wondering.

My parents always claimed birthdays were never a big a deal for them. But my children’s birthdays are for me. I tell my kids their birthdays are mine to because all 3 kids of mine have made me born again. All 3 of my kids have blessed me with the divine powered opportunity to relive my age of wonderous innocence but through more mature lives through lens this time around. So I can make sure they suffer less than me. So I can make sure they suffer from less career hampering mistakes than me. So I can make sure they develop richer, more substantial, more long lasting friendships than I have.

All of my kids birthdays also celebrates me becoming a family man, not a degenerate, self serving, show biz slut for hire. I love my children’s birthdays because each was a big deal then and always will be, come rain or shine. Without my children, I don’t do my podcast. I don’t decide to become a best selling book author. We make a great home team and celebrate all our unique brands of specialness all the way.

My children are superior company than most. And if you can’t get excited about the birth of my children, which are in essence sweeter, superior manifestations of me. Then, I think it’s safe to assume, I don’t possess a special place in your heart after all. As long as I’m around, my kids birthdays will never blow.  I’ll always make sure to make them feel like center of my universe and never be afraid to show it. I love my little Kiss Army with all my heart. Fathering my kids good is my starring part.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Book Authors Are Fire Proof

Whenever I’m out with my 3 kids, I’ll always hear. You’ve got your hands full. I reply. If my wife allowed an open marriage with Katy Perry, assuming I became a bestselling author, I’d have my hands full, day and night, night and day.
Trying to start your staffing business from ground zero and provide for your wife and 2 kids as an IT Headhunter while sucking up your ego because you finally got your TV writing break at VH1 Classic 2 months prior is a handful. Especially, when you just traded in your Gene Simmons zip drive used to save your scripts, consisting of Heavy Metal video intros for Chris Jericho to use on America’s Hard 100 for new suits from Men’s Warehouse, which you can’t afford and have to ask your parents money for. Thereby further deepening your parent’s resentment at your prolonged, degenerate dependence on their forced upon financial generosity at 39 with 2 kids under your belt now, paying them the maintenance rental costs on a one-bedroom apartment. Which used to belong to your grandmother before your parents shipped her off to a home in Arizona, dying in her sleep with nothing  but a peaceful gaze according to my father.

Excuse me for questioning the sincerity of my father’s pronouncement. Knowing his self-serving, controlling, bullying approach to my wedding by letting my grandma off the hook by not insisting she attend her own grandson’s wedding. She wasn’t Stephen Hawkins people. Was she bi-polar? Yes, did my dad insist she stop taking her medication because her manic highs became too annoying and inconvenient for him to handle? Yes, so knowing my dad played a domineering, ownership role of his own mother’s emotional well-being despite never earning a PHD in Pharmacology, selling Acid in college doesn’t count. Only to emerge from the experience with your brain intact because you were “smarter” than all the lesser gentile, mush brain counterparts in your fraternity, allegedly.

So, what was my dad’s excuse for not demanding my own grandmother hop in the car for a 2 hour ride up to Woodstock to see her eldest grandson get married? She would’ve been a handful and I’d have to look after her. But according to my younger brother, my father isn’t a narcissist despite his best excuse for not insisting my grandma attend my wedding was because her assumed, mope maligned existence would’ve been a perpetual drag on his own good time. Assuming he’d be hanging out with her at the wedding, reminiscing about how nice it would be if Murray, his dead father, and her 1st husband could be there also because he always loved my friend Newton, who was the Baptized Minister that got us married in the 1st place.

I became close with my dad’s friend from college Newtown Finn when I attended Lake Forest College for my freshman and sophomore year on the North Shore of Illinois. I’d meet him for an occasional beer to discuss a philosophy paper I was working on. For my paper on how the Grateful Dead parking lot scene encapsulated a self-sustaining, yet community driven, capitalist economy at its finest, minus the taxes on what you made by being able to sell grill cheese sandwiches and or glass bowls of your own making. Allowing Dead Head lovers to live out their hippie working dream to the fullest by making money from their own creations and using those profits to follow the Dead-on tour, make new friends, create colorful memories and be liberated from the cubicle chained existence their parents were slaves to because such an option didn’t exist before really. I still haven’t read of any 50’s kids selling their mom’s Betty Crocker cookies outside of Giant Stadium, so they could follow Jan and Dean on the road.

Not once did I think my dad took my feelings under consideration by not insisting my grandma attend my wedding. Did her grandmotherly sense tell her I was out of work again? In the end, did my Grandma blow off my wedding because she thought it was pathetic for a suburban beneficiary of white privilege to be fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot at 34 years old on God green’s earth? In retrospect, my dad letting my grandma off the hook infuriated me more than my grandma not attending my wedding because he possessed the power to make Grandma do the right thing. But instead chose the path of zero hassle for himself, let’s make this weeding all about my wife and I by wearing creamy white at his wedding, insisting we walk him down the aisle, just because we’re cutting them a big, fat wedding check.

I should’ve burned that wedding check on the spot. It would’ve saved plenty of aggravation for all of us in the end. But I didn’t get married to receive a big check from my parents. I got married because I fell in love with a pretty, sweet girl from Australia who became the best friend I never had. Although chances are, I don’t pop the question ever, if my mother doesn’t insist on letting her give me money to buy my live-in girlfriend in Park Slope, Brooklyn at the time, an engagement ring, a pink Safire engagement ring to be exact.

I wanted my own earned staffing commission money from my stint at Adam Jacob Associates to pay for that ring. Never happened that way. The only time I made a commission check big enough for an engagement ring was with the IT staffing firm I worked for next from a big rip, I did with JP Morgan Hedge Fund Services. I asked my mom for the org chart for JP Morgan Hedge Fund Services. Cold called the VP of Technology. Scheduled a face to face meeting in Greenwich, CT. Recruited a .NET Architect off an ad I wrote and posted on Monster.com. Placed him at 135K salary, ripped a 7000-dollar commission check after taxes. And used that money on top of my unemployment checks because I got fired from that recruitment job also to throw myself into my writing, banged out my 30 Rock spec, script, The Kings of Comedy, placed 3 in a national TV writing contest called the Spec Scriptacular and no longer felt like a poser fake news funny jerkoff performing standup comedy at open mikes throughout stroller mom country in Park Slope no more.

But understand, this was 12 years ago, which feels like light years ago 3 kids later. Think about it. Back then, Lena Dunham had much skinnier arms and wasn’t nearly as full of herself. I don’t know about you. But after Trump won. Lena Dunham said she’d move to Canada. So, I prayed for them to build a wall around the strip clubs in Montreal, so Lena Dunham wouldn’t scare away all the clientele. Also, most people don’t know this. But Lena Dunham was Hillary Hammer Time Cankle’s Social Media Community Manager for her 2-time loser campaign for the presidency of the United States of America. Only Lena Dunham could make Hillary less likeable and relatable in one blubbery swoop, but I digress.
To make matters worse at my wedding, my dad insisted on telling all my friends how much my wedding shoes cost, treating me like his faggy, bridezilla underling. Which wasn’t a fair representation of what makes me flaming gay such as my propensity to jerk off my old high school bud to Taste of Amber and Scandal and the Mansion because a friend at camp introduced him to the harmless practice, of mutual tickle jerks under the covers, together. Still, the obvious low point at my wedding was when my Dad told our wedding DJ to turn down the Star Fucking Spangled Banner by Jimi Hendrix from Woodstock. The very Woodstock he attended and bragged about non-stop about attending. Although, he never saw Jimi perform because apparently at that the time, all the hippies starving to death, out of cats to eat with tushy rash rott in addition to images of unreported, drug induced rapes and  toddlers tripping on acid became too much bear. Even for Hunter S. Thompson’s hopped up Gonzo pieces on Nixon and his generations brains being ripped off by a 2 bit, hack con men like CIA Acid stash proliferating Dr. Timothy Leary. Jimi Hendrix had actually unleashed his guitar, carpet bombing, anti-war anthem piece of electric guitar mastery at the Hollywood Bowl before his scene stealing performance at Woodstock post Joe Cocker having performed a stroke in slow motion for Little Help from My Friends. What was my father’s excuse for telling our wedding DJ to turn off Jimi? Because Jimi’s aerial guitar Vietcong bomb drop renditions were too intense for all of his non-serving Jewish friends in attendance to bear. It would be one thing if his Jewish friend Sil from the Bronx served with Ron Kovac or was held captive like McCain and was trigged to jump behind the wet bar for cover. I took personal offense to this asshole, controlling gesture on my dad’s behalf because I controlled the wedding playlist. This was my creation, not his. In case you’re wondering, we closed out the wedding, with Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York and closed with Jay Z’s Empire State of Mind, which just hit. Sorry, Frank, we chose to close our wedding with a more resounding, modern day feeling bang.
If I could do it all over again for my wedding, I would’ve have posted an ad on Craig’s List for a substitute Wise Black Grandma to replace my absentee whiney, Jewish Grandma. The Craig’s List ad would read, “Wise Black Grandma needed for wedding in Woodstock, NY, full expenses paid, Tyler Perry impersonators are welcome. Just understand, we only have 1 black friend attending, so you must be comfortable performing in front of primarily white audiences only.”
So, what does my dad being a controlling, arrogant, baby boomer dick have to do with how book authors are fire proof? They’re related because I tried really hard to make a living in sales similar to my father and it never materialized for me. My dad for very well but his career in packaging sales didn’t take off until his early forties. In fact, my mom saw an ad in the paper for a sales manager job which he applied for and got. In actuality, my dad lied about so-called management experience to get the job and the gamble payed huge dividends for himself in the end. Now, his wife, my mother who worked at JP Morgan Chase as a Loan Officer. Who always made more money than him, was no longer in an exalted, leveraged position to belittle or talk down to her lifetime partner in love like her faggy, you only exist because of me underling any longer.

Knowing my father took a gamble to achieve what success he did as a VP of Sales. Who turned a fledging packaging company into the 90 million in sales machine under his direction. It’s not a complete shock to know my Dad isn’t 100% against me writing a book about working from home and falling for Fatherhood as a stay at home, aspirational do it all dad comedian book author. My dad never articulated what his vision was if he decided to launch his own business. Still, his default response for not following through for whatever vision he possessed was because it was too risky and he had my brother and I to support. On top of having to earn enough money to pay for $20,000 a year property taxes in Westchester Country, only 30 minutes from Manhattan by Metro North I get it.

But I know what I want now more than ever before. I can articulate my dream for myself which serves my own personal ambition and the betterment of my wife and 3 children. And that’s not to just become a published, parenting book author. Fuck that. My dream is to write the funniest, most readable, most moving, Jewish suburban tale of modern-day fatherhood ever made. I’ll be a big fish in my own pond. Who’s my competition, Philp Roth’s son if he has one? Did Saul Bellow bang out any promising upstart, literary off spring capable of producing laugh yankers on the page and off that I don’t know about? The thing is I tried to make it as an IT headhunter yet never became the Rain Maker like my father did. Me, I was much more a trickler.

Still, headhunting made me the man I am today. There’s no way I could endure the heartbreaking isolation and rejection from old school fake news friends and my own parents as a stay at home comedian author/ Podcast Host/Dad Friendly Entertainment Blogger. Without the congealed inner toughness such a thankless, advance attack forward on mentality the new business development form of IT staffing engenders within in you.

I love all my ex-headhunter brethren because they pushed me to become a better version of me. They respected my fearlessness, my developing comedic writing inventiveness. In short, they couldn’t knock my hustle. My old boss Larry, god bless him, would let me take breaks from cold calling IT directors at UBS and beyond to sample new material on my old school band of recruiter brothers in the afternoon to help break up the day. Even my old boss Dan at Robert Half allowed the same after our morning meetings, yet Robert Half is public traded company so that new morning routine got shut down real fast and it wasn’t because I was producing dead air either.

Nobel Prize for Literature winner George Bernard Shaw said, “hell is to drift, and heaven is to steer.” The key for me is picking my 1st big race to win and not being an all over the place Jew for once in my life. I got into standup because an alum from Ithaca told me it would make me a better writer. But I only got into the dream of writing TV scripts for TV after my ex-girlfriend in LA pushed me to start writing specs for Curb which made me fall in the love with the idea of a creative, fun filled alternative to make a living that didn’t require my compulsory need to use my day of atonement for Yom Kippur in Los Angeles. My 1st year as an IT Headhunter, paying my own way in the word, only to focus on reading the Long Beach Business Journal for new company info to sollcit business from before LinkedIn and smart phones emerged. Eliminating the need to stay at work past 7 every night to get more numbers from 411 to cold call the next morning all over again.

Eventually, I wrote for TV, not the way I intended. I thought I’d be writing Family Guy scripts. Instead, I was writing music video intro reads for Iron Maiden for the host of Americas Hard 100, WWE great, Chris Jericho. I’ll take it. My old producer boss Jay Moran introducing me as the Head Writer for the America’s Hard special he was in charge of producing 100 at Viacom corporate in Manhattan, “my city” as Walt Whitman said back in the day was a heavy metal high moment, I’ll cherish forever. But the stakes are way higher now. Now, I have 3 kids compared to only Singing Rose Matilda. And it’d true, “pressure does create diamonds.” Which explains the comedy tear I’ve been on now since getting fired from Robert Half 3 years ago. Every retweet or blog like has been a win, knowing my aim as has always been laugh generation. But now my goals have expanded past mere laugh generation but into more expressive, beauty terrain. Describing how your baby boy’s hand clench against yours makes up for almost 99% of the poor, poor, pitiful pain in your heart. By describing the shrieks of joy my 20-month-old son makes when I give him playful, falling putzy apple tree head butts into his midsection or roll him into a pink Cubano with our overpriced towels from our wedding I get to reconnect with what I want more of in this new big dream of mine. And that’s to be the Golly Blue Giant dream maker at home as a stay at home dad comedian shooting star author on the rise.

Bought my kids a telescope from Goodwill for 28 bucks for the 1st night of Chanukah. And just learned about Blue Giant stars. Basically, they shine brightest because they’re condensed with the most loaded, compact material. And that’s what I’ve poured into my book that you’re reading right now, Stay at Home Comedian. I wouldn’t have been capable of producing this book 4 years ago because I didn’t know what I wanted out of life outside of sticking with my goal of writing for TV and proving to myself I could do it.

As a bestselling author, I become the functional Dead Head I’ve always wanted to become. Making money off my own creations, Assuming ownership of my own ideas.  Profiting off my own self-driven hustle, not out of fear from getting fired for some job I’m just doing to provide breathing room to write jokes to do on stage on the side. That chapter in my life is finished.

God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. As a book author, I’m fire proof because I’ll never act like an entitled dick the majority of the time. As a book author, I’m fire proof because I don’t have the luxury or time to be an aspirational, functional pothead on the side with 3 kids to co-raise and house to co-manage either. As a book author, I’m fire proof because any quotas I set for myself, I’ll exceed because the only thing limiting me from writing my way out of poverty into literary glory is mere time to sit my ass on the chair. I also bought from that 7000-dollar commission check to bang out more free flowing prose on my pleasure machine.

The meaning of Hanukah is dedication. And no miracle of light can happen without the combination of dedication and unwavering faith in your hard work materializing by the grace of divine powered blessing when the all mighty makes the timing right. I just learned about getting 19 blogged chapters of the Stay at Home Comedian republished on the Good Men Project. It’s my time to shine.

Book Author are fire proof unless, my book Stay at Home Comedian doesn’t sell and my wife kicks me out of the house for good. But I’m in the driver seat of a life of my choosing now. I’m writing a bestselling book, Stay at Home Comedian and already have my next 2 follow up books planned. I’m in it to win it as a bestselling parenting book author and face of the new remote good men, dad, remote work revolution. Because at home on the page, I rule my destiny.

My old sales boss at a recruitment agency in Manhattan Beach, said to me. “Michael, you’re very eclectic. I see you as a thoroughbred but in order to become a winner, you have to pick your race. I finally have Terry. Thanks for the words of wisdom and sorry about acting like an entitled, arrogant, NY dick  Doing 0.0 to reverse the perception of my people as a whole, meaning New Yorkers in general, not s much my other people Jews otherwise. Your killer farmer’s son work ethic rubbed on me Terry. Not that I was slacker working for you. Still, you always said. “What do you want your tombstone to say when your time on this earth is complete?”

Finally got the answer Terry. Michael Kornbluth, Author, although knock kneed putz turned Pulitzer prize winner has a nice ring to it also. I know Terry. Focus on winning one race at a time. But I must dream bigger like my daughter says. Most can write a best seller, but it’s the ones who never gave up. Whose will to win reigned supreme such as Charles Bukowski, Rodney Dangerfield and Secretariat, the horse, who became living legends in their time. Just because my ego got tripped up at the starting gate, from being a prematurly branded, learning-disabled slow poke brain student in the 5th grade. Doesn’t mean I can’t launch a comeback around the bend, kick up dirt into my dream detractor faces now behind me with enraged delight and fly past that finish line as a successful, bestselling book author winner. Then, getting my wife a new set of boobs for my birthday will be the most selfless gift ever. Because if my wife forgets to buy me something special after my book Stay At Home Comedian becomes a best seller. She’ll be off the hook. And Katy Perry will have to wait.
By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

Twitter Shadow Banned Test

Whenever I’m out with my 3 kids, I’ll always hear. You’ve got your hands full. I reply. If my wife allowed an open marriage with Katy Perry, assuming I became a best selling author, I’d have my hands full, day and night, night and day.

INT. OFFICE
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
Book Authors are fire proof. Unless your book doesn’t sell and mommy throws you out of the house for good.
Son
Your office is on fire.

Stay At Home Comedian Dad laughs long time.

Getting my wife a new set of boobs for my birthday is a selfless gift. Because if my wife forgets to buy me something special after my book Stay At Home Comedian becomes a best seller. She’ll be off the hook.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

The Meaning of the Hebrew Hammer

Dad texts 9:45 EST. Michael, have the kids call us tomorrow tonight at 6:30 so we can wish them a happy #Chanukah. And I’m thinking, chopped liver gets more respect from gentiles than this.

Call my nurse wife at work at night.

Wife
Is everything OK?
Me
You should defriend whoever gave you this wine for your birthday.
It tastes like Manischewitz and your mom’s cheap shit Prosecco had a baby.

Wife
Why are you drinking my wine?
Me
I just learned the Good Men Project is republishing 19 of pieces before sundown on the 1st night of #Chanukah .
Wife
Guess you deserve it.
Me
Why didn’t you say spoiler alert 1st?

Thanks and Praises Prayer
Lord, thanks for making my daughter Matilda so me oriented sweet. Her hair band holder #Chanukah gift to clip my felt tip pen around my wrist because I had stained my beige Levi jean pockets made me feel I’ve done good.

Thanks and Praises Prayer Part 2
Lord, thanks for the 25 dollar telescope steal of the century at Goodwill. It made the best big kahuna group #Chanukah gift ever. I think my wife wanted to overdose on the vitamins she gave the kids prior.

INT. NORDSTROM
Me
I’d like this Ugg Slipper because the grey one will encourage my wife to wear her black robe with floral print which I can’t stand. When my daughter wears it, I resent my wife for turning me off from my daughter.

INT. HOME
Me
Pete Davidson trending on Twitter again is really testing my commitment to comedy. I never contemplated cheating on comedy until now Matilda. That kid exudes less personable charm than a wax replica of Paul O’Neil.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 1
Andy Dick orders his pet reindeer’s Jew Hater Horn 1 and 2 to impale his Jew Lover dad Santa to death because he worshiped the golden Jew Adam Sandler more because he’s more child friendly than Dick.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 2
Andy Dick, Santa’s Jew hating son, has Santa’s Reindeer kill Santa because he refused to back Mitt Romney’s bid to gut Dreidel World and turn it into an Illuminati looking Nutcracker factory.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth