Do It All Dad Time

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Flipper Bird Baby

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When The Shredder Frets

Vinnie Boom Boom Burrata kissed his Fender Stratocaster more than his ex-wife. In his ex-wife’s defense, she was a self-conscious kisser on pure MDMA. Plus, nothing made Vinne Boom Boom Burrata smile more inside than making his Fender Stratocaster cry. Big tits get played out on the same wife compared to copping endless slides down your electrified shaft, which Vinnie could make come to life like no other. BB King had Lucille and Vinne Boom Boom Burrata had Amanda, named after his favorite power ballad by Boston who also wrote his 2nd favorite song ever, A Man I’ll Never Be, which reminded him of his dear pop who died in his arms from fucking Gum cancer, despite giving up dip for Big League Chew ages ago.

Vinnie’s Dad, Roberto, hailed from a fine line of guitar makers in San Marzano Italy known for its olive farms and its fertile breeding ground of Ferrari red glimmery tomatoes that were sweet enough to pop in your mouth off the vine as if they were mother earth’s answer to organic nerd dispensers. After getting his strumming finger cut off by a local mob boss Domnick De-Gutter Grasi, for refusing to pay the protection money for his acoustic guitar making store for European royalty with plenty of free time on their hands to strum away the midday nappy booze under the sun. Because of that, Vinnie was forced to leave Italy for America and move in with his older brother in Staten Island who was an Italian Butcher known for his 100 Year Prosciutto curing hall beneath his shop on Arthur Kill Road.

Roberto became known as the 9 fingered butcher of Staten Island, who’d flip off the spoiled mafia offspring 6 degrees separated from the Gotti family whenever they’d drop by the shop expecting non-stop access to his primo aged pork samplings below the store, which sold for thousands per pound on the open market. Still, Roberto never lost his love of guitar creation and swore to God he’d make a Barolo wine red one for his 1st and only son Vitto Boom Boom Burrata to ensure he didn’t let the Italian Mafia kill off his family line’s gift of heart strumming serenades that put our heart’s together with our maker in one seemingly beautiful harmony.

But now Roberto’s only son, Vinnie Boom Boom Burrata, who was his best friend till the end can’t play his cherished Fender Stratocaster without crying his eyes out for his dearly departed Papa. Vinnie quit his band Shredder after they signed a recording contract with a new upstart record label Wailing Wall of Metal Records, based on the operatic, heart tingly instrumental guitar solo song, Roberto’s Son Shreds. Vinnie’s finger tapping work on Roberto’s Son Shreds was described by Guitar World as, “Getting finger blasted by Eddie Van Halen on your wedding night great.”

Little did Vinnie know, his biggest fan was a kid known on YouTube as Hardcore Hunga Rocks, who was considered pound for pound the greatest little drummer pounder prodigy since Buddy Rich headlined his own Bat Mitzvah at 10, like a young Cameron Crowe on the sticks from Almost Famous.

Hardcore Hunga Rocks tracks down his favorite shredder of all time in hopes of joining forces to make the greatest pop rock metal record Boston never made in the home recording studio Vinnie’s father had built for him before he was born to become the shredding beast of the six string that he could never be since pops fell in love with Led Zepplin and Jimmy Page’s masterful slide guitar work on In My Time of Dying.

Hardcore Hunga Rocks knocks on Vinnie’s door with such force, he knocks the entire door off its hinges in the process. Vinnie, a silky, long haired black stallion emerges from his Electric Playland Studio with a cigarette in hand and says, “Who invited you the fuck in?” Hardcore Hunga Rocks springs up from the marble floor and says, “How the fuck can you afford all marble floors? Your record advance from could’ve been that big? Besides, didn’t you have to give that record advance back after you quit the band to take care of your dad?” Vinnie takes a quizzical puff from his Camel Extra wide and says, “Your Hardcore Hunga Rocks. I’ve seen your drum solos on YouTube. I’ve never heard anyone smash the drums with harder edge than you kid. You should call your band Aftershock for Christ’s sake. Hardcore Hunga Rock says, “I’m not in a band, but I would want to form a supergroup with you. If Jack White and his fake news sister can do it, we can to. Make out with your guitar all you want. In fact, I was thinking we can make a video spoof of the November Rain video and have you walk down the aisle with your cherished Fender Stratocaster while doing a remake of the serially underrated cult classic, Till Death To Us Part by White Lion. ” Vinnie says, “Shit that’s my favorite song after A Man I’ll Never Be.” So, you want to join forces to become a super White Lion cover group?” Hardcore Hunga Rocks says, “When the Shredder Frets has a beautiful tonal ring to it already. Weird Al, I fucked him, I can’t take no more. My Dad was a huge Dice fan to.” Vinnie laughs for the 1st time in years as an incredible warm crash of sea calm washes over him and says, “Fuck Boston and Pete Davidson, let’s make Staten Island stand for something stand out special more than Russian gangsters sipping on espresso drinks in 25th Hour. I sold plenty of blow in the eighties, which paid for my marble laden home despite never touching the stuff. Hunter Biden was the gift that kept on giving my freshman year at Georgetown University.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Big Mouth Moses

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Early Hanukkah Gifts Galore

My Daughter receives the book Rebel Girls for Hanukkah. Grandma asks, “Do you know who Hillary is?” Daughter says, ” You mean Hillary Hammer Time Cankles? Yeah, she’s a 2-time loser alcoholic deplorable, living proof that Baby Boomer arrogance never dies, main pusher and financier behind the planted Russian collusion tale with less legs than Lieutenant Dan, the best-selling voodoo doll in Hatti year after year? Bernie Sander’s reason for sticking to bribes under the table and dreaming of a new summer home in Lake Chaplain next time The Dave Mathews band is in town. Hanukkah Challah Day, Challah. Thank you very much.

Sons are better slacker alerts than MMA fighters on the Joe Rogan Podcast. Son asks, “Daddy, why haven’t you gone on the Peloton today? I say, “I got a pinched nerve since Mama threatened to divorce me if I gave you kid’s the common cold through COVID. Son says, “Enough with the excuses daddy, “You’re worse than Hillary.” Hannukah Challah Day, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Hard To Handle Hanukkah

How do you trigger a gym teacher today?

Dress your son up in a Kyrie Irving shirt from the NBA store for Hanukkah.

Maybe now, Coach will remember my kid’s name.

Coach yells.

Get that Kyrie Irving shirt off.

Son says.

Do you need mental health counseling like Ben Simmons?

I think Stephen A lost his mind to.

He thinks Kevin Durant is living out a Greek tragedy.

Teaming up with Chipmunk Chucker in Golden State was so oppressive.

Kyrie Irving betrayed Kevin Durant.

If Fredo and Mike Pence had a baby.

At least Karen’s don’t know who Kyrie Irving is because they never watched ESPN in the 1st place.

Coach cracks.

You’re banned from the NBA.

Son says.

But I’m not Kyrie Irving.

I’m Arthur Kornbluth, remember?

So, you’re just another wise ass Jew like the rest.

Michael Kornbluth

Paranoid For A Reason

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Self-Defense Is Dead

Today, you can’t hit back at claims about the clôt shot being less effective than Russell Westbrook trying to run the Triangle Offense for Phil Jackson Appréciation Month, without your wife ordering you to visit a Hate Speech Therapist. 

Personally, I love to hate. Hate pushes you to find places where your présence is valued and appreciated like at a Trump rally pre-Covid, behind your wife’s back, to make your sex life above average again. Put my man meat in Indiana MILF, I’m ready to play, play.

Hate Speech is a made up term used to silence and cancel anyone who disagrees with the views of Booger Face Behar on the View. Who isn’t pretending to be Tomboy Moses for hag queen reading hour at the 92 St. Y while remagining the 10 commandements for Indegenious People Day. Thou shall not steal the Palestinan’s land and make their désert bloom without the aid of UN funded death tunnels 1st.

Comedy can’t die or America becomes a poor man’s China. I don’t want a see any statues of Lebron in China, do you? Stephon Marbury throw his motorcycle helmet at his statue because he’s no longér the big dog allowed to live past supper in China. Skip Bayless tweets, “Lebron’s statue in China despite never teaming up with Yao Ming’s extended family made with high flying Bat DNA at the Wuhan institute to win a championship in the Chinese Dragon Premier League has to make Steph feel like a Wonton Paper Champion in the People’s Republic’s eyes.

Recently, my great Aunt asks, “Why does your daughter need to know Kung Fu?” I say, “Because the 5 point palm exploding heart technique ain’t nothin to fuck with. Although it didn’t scare Ethan Hawke away from fucking their nanny when Uma played Truth or Footsie with Quentin Tarrantino. Banging your nanny when your wife is on location shooting Kill Bill 1 and 2 while your between Richard Lankletter films is such a Gen X slacker move. You never have to leave the couch.

Comedy is punching above your weight class, assumung the extent of your Netflix comedy special angst doesn’t revolve around why Trans teens today don’t identity as Dave Chappelle fans yet.  He hates how much better Caitlyn Jenner looked on a Wheaties box than his boy Lebron, King Of The Persecution ever did, especially knowing how Bruce Jenner never bent over backwards to suck off commie dick for more benjamins in exchange for Ball Gags Made In China.

Comedy is spitting out the shit sandwich you’re being forced to eat with a smile under this Domestic Terrorist labeling administration such as masked up kids for life like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain, for Sharia Law Lifetime.

Comedy offers a final shot to counter against cascading cunt cowardice. For example, I’m at a nail Salon for a massage to soothe my pinched nerve from sucking up my ego around my wife since the day Democracy died. I almost give my tip to the far bigger backed latino woman with a mask on. She points at her co-worker and says with palpable pissed off malice, “She massaged you, not me.” I could’ve taken it on the chin with a forced smile on my face after this big backed punta bitch tried to frame me as a Pineapple plantation heiress from San Juan in Succession. Instead, I say, “How could I lose my love connection with your better half so fast?” Fine, self-defense is mostly dead, but don’t get soft on me America or you’ll let those who side with ANTIFA in Kenosha squeeze out whatever fight back spirit you have left. And George Washington don’t play that. The Purple heart of Valor is awarded to injury under fire during war. The least you can do is tell your Biden supporter relative left over Thanksgiving, “Insurrection, it was a self guided selfie tour of the Capital Building. Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi would’ve torn up their interniary anyway.”

Michael Kornbluth

Michael Kornbluth