Category: books

Lucky Moron

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, culture, entertainment

My son otherwise known as All Metal Baby who plays air guitar with his schmeckle spot, creates a fort out of our sofa cushions.

I say.

Any room in there for me?

I wish there was a shrinking machine around.

Son replies.

You only get one kid life.

How many morons are stuck in your head?

You’re bad at life moron Jewish son.

Be more like Tommy Lee.

Because your love life, is suck, suck, suck.

Don’t you have new jokes to write?

Or do you expect me to write all your material for you?

Shout at Hillary on your podcast for not offering spirit cooking coupons during Restaurant week.

And stop telling everybody how Hillary smiled at me during lunch with mama for restaurant week in Chappaqua.

Hillarry was just getting warmed up for desert.

Ok, that’s your joke, not mine. You’re only a medium suck Lucky Moron.

Lucky Moron love lives, Challah. Thank you very much

Michael Kornbluth

Maui Wowie Mania

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, storytelling, writing

Did you know that Paul McCartney’s most romantic song is about weed? Got to get you into my life, was about running out of weed again. Fuck Linda’s avocado toast. Bean curd wasn’t getting Yellow Submarine finished. The 1st side of the Beatles Record Revolver is a total bummer because Paul’s out of weed again. Why else would they open their 6th album with a song about a tax man when they already had more money than God? Paul was just pissed at his accountant because he refused to write off his extra wide rolling papers as an office expense. He had the same accountant as George Harrison. That’s why Paul told John to let George sing his song Taxman to open Revolver with. Channeling the ebullient joy derived from falling in love with Linda’s tofu scramble was the furthest thing from Paul’s bummer mind at the start of Revolver man. Second song on Revolver, Eleanor Rigby, makes Pet Sounds feel like a feel good movie of the week on the Hallmark Channell or Poison’s greatest hits like Nothing But A Good Time on Prozac. I don’t think the song Eleanor Rigby is a song about all the lonely people and where they all come from. Paul isn’t talking about lonely cat ladies on the Upper West Side. He’s talking about all the friendless potheads who consider pot and rock and roll, their best friends till the very end. Jim Morrison rises again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Finally, on side 2, Paul is popping boners again on the song Gooday Sunshine because his Dealer just delivered him 5 ounces of Maui Wowie to his flat in Notting Hill. And he can tune out Linda’s wailing on about how they don’t dry hump enough trees anymore. Since they stopped touring and shacked up in Abby Road Studios from 1962 to 1970. But at the start of the Revolver on side 2, the entire band were in high spirits again with Linda not around to hock any of her mock meat meat pies. And it was goodbye Linda. Gooday sunshine, especially after John forced Yoko to hand over her last brick hash from Nepal for a merry Christmas and happy new year.

Maui Wowie mania shines on, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

8 Million Butterflies

by doitalldadyear, posted in beauty, blogging, books

It’s your fault if you don’t make Hanukkah more festive than Christmas. I get it. Most likely Jesus himself who celebrated Hanukkah with his apostles, even invented Christmas to make the holiday season feel more festive. When the strongest drink offered was Manischewitz before eggnog was invented. Spinning Beastie Boys records while blaring Intergalactic planetary to honor the Aliens in helping his fellow Hebrews build the Great Pyramids wasn’t a thing yet. Can’t all the Jews, Muslims and Christians unite on the 1st night of Hanukkah on the premise behind Home Depot never being erected in the Israelites’ honor? Growing up, I’d push my dad to honor my mom’s Christian side after she converted. I say, “Dad, mom dumped Jesus to marry into your putzy DNA. The least you can do is let mom throw up a tree. Dad says, “The only time a Jew from the Bronx would get a Christmas Tree is if he planned to convert it into a tricked-out Treehouse and flip it for a profit.”

Finally, one year, my year my dad budges and allows my mom this pathetic, sorry excuse for a bonsai tree relegated to the side patio covered in cobwebs that got less touches than a St. James Bible at a bath house colony in Pronvincetown. But seriously, can’t you see Jesus recognizing the festive limitations of Hannukah after receiving one carved dreidel too many? Jesus says, “Thanks for the Dreidel, Judas. I’m glad that my carpentry session on dreidel building 101 at The 92 Street Y paid off so handsomely. But why don’t we make Channukah a more drawn-out celebration that’s ten times festive by celebrating my birthday for the entire month of December after Hannukah.”

Matthew says, “Yeah, but Jesus wouldn’t Hannukah then be considered a forgettable warm act, that gives you ball balls just thinking about it.  You were born my immaculate conception, right? Yet by the time your 4 brothers James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon were born, the magic was gone baby, baby gone.”

Jesus replies, “Yeah, but I had a vision in desert last night about a future comedian named Billy Crystal bemoaning in his autobiography, Baby Boomer Arrogance Never Dies, about how Jews bend over backwards to adopt Christmas traditions, so they don’t feel so old world clingy Jewy. Nobody cares anymore about the rocking band of Maccabees reclaiming the Great Temple of Solomon because they’re not the polytheistic whores like the rest. Taylor Swift is the number recording artists in the future, and she grew up on a Christmas Tree farm for Christ’s sake.” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles strikes again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Matthew asks, “What’s a Christmas Tree Jesus? “Jesus says, “A camouflaged cross, but it’s going to be tricked out in lights that run on electricity, which will outshine any burn a mile of minute candles on a Menorah.  Any Jewish record executive would jam a pinecone up their ass if they promised Taylor Swift more inclusiveness gayness spirit to be produced on her next Christmas album.

Now, I used to get very tense about the mention of Jesus, but not anymore, since my invention of a new tradition, Jesus Fridays, which allows me to break my Koshertarian diet of the past 2 years and counting. Understand, I’ve been following the Koshertarian Diet for 2 years now. Finally, I’ve allowed myself the inclusion of shellfish for a special occasion because who cares about eating soulless shellfish? Plus, Jesus, the original super Jew rocked the Pescatarian diet. So, if it’s good enough for Jesus, then it’s good enough for me. I also like the idea of acting less like an all-knowing exalted prick. And celebrating Jesus Fridays inspires me to connect with my fellow Gentile like a retired fireman who runs the best deli in Westchester in North White Plains. Outside my new office, after just resurrecting my IT Headhunter Writer career. Where I’m getting paid to creatively sell job opportunities for Software Engineers, digital designers, and Information Technology workers in general, whose job prospects have more legs than Lieutenant Dan. I like Jesus Fridays because it divorces me from perpetuating any messianic complex of my own, which screams, the original version of the Bible is better than second part that I’ve barely dabbled in for the most part. And I’m tired of being that old timer Gen X guy that just bemoans new age Simpsons episodes as woke filler compared to season 1 through 7 without even dabbling in the newer versions to make any ultra judgy informed decisions of my own. Like when I saw Juno, ages ago and got angry about how everyone was hailing the hardcore hilarity of it, when I saw Juno as nothing more than a poor girls’ Jeanne Garafalo. I wrote a blog about the movie being overhyped, yet I told myself afterwards, don’t be a critic, hack breath like the rest. It’s way better to originate, then merely pontificate. So, I wrote mini porn parody that I turned into my 1st screenplay, Juno Does Williamsburg, later named Brooklyn Blogger. Edgeless titles suck pinecone dick, Challah. Thank you very much.

At the same time, I’ve worn Jewish pride on my sleave for the past 5 years and change as host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, responsible for banging out comedy records such as Big Mouth Moses, Koshertarian Offensive, and the Pig-Headed Jew, Challah. Thank you very much. I’ve also written and published The Great American Jew Novel, which Diane Sullivan from the Midwest Book Review described as a “Hilarious exploration of New York Comedy and Culture.” Which proves that my material wasn’t too overtly Jewy pushy annoying for the Heartland’s tastes. And for the past 2 months, I’ve renamed my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, the Shabat Shalom Ramble, in honor of my dad accusing me of never being on point, despite him proclaiming 5 years ago before I launched my podcast, how nobody cares about my political opinions anyway, 45 thousand page views on my Do It All Dad Year blog later.

 Well, I haven’t read the news since Dominion Machines won. And I don’t see Kari Lake recruiting Linda Hamilton as her VP to take down the new Sky Net For good. Plus, how much more can we stomach talk of Alex Jones being bad Santa versus John Fetterman being a burnt out offering of the Democratic party who looks like the Good Will Grinch who showers in Bong Water. So, more than ever 3 million Jews in the US, according to Alexa, which is most likely an inflated claim, like Antifa still being nothing more than an idea in Patton Oswalt graphic novels, about a gang of wannabe Punisher vigilantes, in hoodies, could use some miraculous ways to modernize Hannukah and make it more festive than Christmas than Google ever would. Because I want other Jewish American Dads to derive extended Nachas from pronounced Jewish pride from their offspring when they proclaim to Daddy how they get butterflies in their stomach every day before each night of Hanukah begins, which was the opposite of my experience growing up. Getting a Pinball Machine one tear one year for Hannukah was unbelievable, despite being woken up every night prior to Hannukah because dad couldn’t resist the urge to play with it himself and break it in personally. Which made my younger brother and I believe that Aliens from Space Invaders were raining Gama Rays on top of our house eight nights prior to Hannukah because my dad was making his best Hannukah gift all about his own self-enrichment over ours. Still, my dad was raised an only child, so you can’t blame him for occupying his inner loneliness in his forties the week before Hanukah, because playing Dreidel by himself, gets played out faster than trying jerk off with your left in honor of shortest-lived New Year’s resolution yet. Which only leads to more played out blue ball’s devastation. So, here’s 8 ways to start making Hannukah more festive than Christmas. There are 14 million Jews worldwide. So, if this post goes viral, my Hannukah wish of 8 million butterflies can come true. And you can’t knock the miracle of mitzvah moves, Challah. Thank you very much.

  1. Understand, I haven’t collected paychecks in 8 whole years till this past December after resuming my IT Headhunter Career, where I can drop lines like, “Michael Kornbluth here, Recruiting Manager for Digital Unicorns USA. With a last name like Kornbluth, I specialize in mind control, in Kayne’s mind. So, when my wife tells me, “Don’t get carried away with getting the kids gifts this year for Hannukah.” I fire back with, “New tradition kids, when you get 3 Big Kahuna gifts on the 1st night of Hannukah. You each declare loud and proud, “Hannukah Hatrick, Challah” I add, “So, in this instance, go woke yourself babe, Gentile Grinch.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  2. 2nd way to make Hanukkah more festive is to start the tradition of Hannukah Halloween. And force your son to dress up like Van Halen with a pack of candy cigarettes in hand. Who cares if your mini air guitar appendage looks like an overdose at the limelight waiting to happen. Party Monster spirits live, Challah. Thank you very much.
  3. 3rd way to make Channukah more festive is to play Dreidel for Bitcoin versus more fake news Gelt. But explain the rules in humorous ways. For example, when the dreidel lands on Hey, you sing, “Hey, hey Paula, I want to marry you. Now give me half and full custody of the kids. I don’t want you coughing your natural immunity all our kids anymore, you anti-vaxer piece of shit.” Challah, thank you very much. Shin, means put it in, think Cardi B on a slow Tuesday. Nun, means nothing, goonish. Remember our routine at the Deli Matilda, when you could only put 2 words together? What did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks Daddy? And you’d say,” Bookpus, Boopku. And Gimmel means, give me everything because we control all the blockchain technology, Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole too. Son says, “Samuel, don’t even think of stealing my bitcoin, or I’ll sell your pure blood on the Dark Web along with your vintage Cobra Commander with the blue mask and eyes holes in it that looks like Gung Ho’s bottom bitch in Robot Chicken remake of Pulp Fiction.” 8 million butterflies Challah, thank you very much.
  4. 4th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to play the Adam Sandler Channukah song on Vinyl backwards only to hear the latest and greatest chorus addition, “Linda Sarsour, not a fan.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  5. 5th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to Jewish guilt Software Engineers at Amazon into seriously questioning the state of their moral compass by sending them LinkedIn Inn-Mail messages through LinkedIn Recruiter that read, “Tell Bezos to make the Hebrew Hammer available on Amazon prime already despite Florida and antisemitism being so hot right now.” 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  6. 6th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to sign your kids up for art classes that teach your kids how make masked morons made out of clay for fuck the CDC day. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  7. 7th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas, permit your kids the freedom to pile drive mommy’s white Guido, non-denominational tree while dressed as Mr. Wonderful for Channukah Halloween instead. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  8. 8th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to launch your Burning Mask Party already, for eight glorious nights while throwing some of mama’s Gnomes on top because they look like Santa’s burn out Trust Fund Babies on Social Security. What’s another burnout offering after making Goodwill Grinch Fetterman the new face of the Democratic Party. So, what difference does it make? 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Comedian Medium

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, poetry, writing

Can too much goodness be a career impediment? My 5-Year-Old Son, Chosen Curl’s Was Bound to Woo thinks so. He says, “Daddy, your comedy records are too good like Punchout Poverty and Flipper Bird Baby. I say, “So you think Indy records labels I’ve shared links with like the one Kevin Hart owns are intimidated by my over-the-top towering genius 90 records later compared to their miniscule, pathetically weak punchline offerings in return?” Chosen Curls replies, “Your comedy records are too good moron. Maybe, you should make them half good, half suck, so you don’t come across as completely full of yourself if it half sucks. Rocky didn’t win every round against Apollo, remember?”

For the 1st night of Hanukkah, I got my son some old school WWF wrestling action figures including Mr. Wonderful, Mr. Fuji and Superfly Jimmy Snuka yet what provided him the most joy was the Rocky soundtrack on vinyl. The moment the needle hit wax; Chosen Curls otherwise as known as Hardcore Hunga Rocks began to perform a series of one-armed pushups on the floor because it will, “make him tougher.” The way I allow him to hit me in the face when I box him on my knees on our Rocky rug downstairs with his Everlast gloves as a form of flinch freeing treatment.

Growing up, I didn’t run away from any fist fights, but I did refrain from hurling insults whenever they were thrown my way like accusations of me eating my own jiz at the Nurse’s office, after I admitted to touching myself in there prior like a mongoloid moron, which later inspired an opening scene in my TV Pilot pitched to VH1 Classic Heavy Metal High, when my imaginary guiding star Andrew Dice Clay appears in the Nurse’s Office after I become the last member of my class to get into the puberty party. A puff of smoke clears, Dice flashes the bedazzled Dice Rules Leather jacket and starts clapping, before saying, “Congratulations, you finally achieved blastoff jerkoff.” Dice adds, “Jerking off doesn’t make you a man. It’s how you use your balls that matters most in this world kid.”

It’s hard to feel that you’re being super ballsy recording non-stop comedy records at home for 6 months in a row. Still, my wife threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn’t get a real job already and dared to write any more books before I quadrupled down on my imagination on her dime and wrote 3 more, The Koshertarian Comedians, Waste of Height Really Short Stories and United We Laugh. I prove it every day, Challah. Thank you very much. So, I can’t claim I’m guilty of playing it too safe either, especially after releasing comedy record titles such as Funny Enough Fagala and Pretty Dirty Mind, far from straight, I’m not.

But what’s nagging my psyche today on the Comedian Medium podcast, dead writer ghost talks for you and me, is whether my excessive goodness is being used against me. I want to summon the ghost of William Blake to discuss concepts such as self-sacrifice in contrast to Ayn Rand’s ardent belief in only being able to achieve personal happiness and career fulfillment by not living out the expectations for the sake of others. Charles Bukowski says, “Writers are awful, selfish people, who save the best versions of themselves on the page.” Perhaps, I always viewed my writing as my idealized self, who’s funny, smart, brave, secure, energized, big hearted and borderline poetic as opposed to feeling like a floundering, touchy feely bitch in real life. I think most of my rage issues stem from allowing my brother, parents and old friends to ruin everything for me again and again. Why do they aggravate me so much? Because they’re not good enough, which explains why I seek love from strangers for a living through my books, blogs, comedy records and podcasts episodes involving dead writers who provide more varied company that I crave, who don’t pretend to be my biggest fan or loyalist supporter when they can’t acknowledge a new comedy record posting on LinkedIn to shake up the stagnant, gun-shy boredom in the straight world. How can I honestly claim any enviable connection to old friends, brother or parents, when not once have they asked how’s the comedy career going over the past 5 years since my lucky number 3, Chosen Curls Was Bound to Woo was born?

Fuck their half ass insincerity, fuck their glaring indifference to the greatest funny man hot streak known to mankind. Fuck their belief in thinking I should be grateful for their sloppy second treatment at all. Fuck their claims of good things happening to good people. Tell that to every family forced into bankruptcy after losing their jobs over forced mandates to prevent the common good from catching an itchy esophagus with a 99 percent survival rate.  Fuck my brother for blaming his opioid pill addition on his wife and for my parents buying that bullshit narrative like Big Tech being nothing more than the freedom of speech killing scuzz that they are. Fuck any friend who started ignoring my being because I went into the funny man business on my own and used to support Trumpy Poo on my old Do It All Dad Year Podcast for free. I also don’t buy into this horseshit premise how were supposed to be content with old friends from our past reflecting our less sure, outmoded selves, when we outgrow their measured praise when we get older, especially, when they’ve shown no interest in your new and improved offspring whatsoever after writing the debut comedy hit book, Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story.

At least, he writes really funny jokes. Go fuck yourself, I create a video with my daughter about your younger sister beating cancer and that’s the best you can do to pretend about actually giving a shit about me succeeding in this world with a family of 5 to provide for. It makes me sick to think I wasted any time caring about these friend’s opinions, when none of them haven taken any ballsy chances with their life whatsoever. And you’re going try to demean me and reduce me to some flailing desperate clown in need of your loving laughing approval after God came into my heart, blessing me with 3 Koshertarian comedian loving kids later as I proceed to plow forward with the greatest comedy record streak of all time, with comedy record 74, Too Much Goodness, coming out later tonight. Yeah, you can go fuck yourself to. We weren’t that close to begin with. As usual, I romanticize all relationships way out of proportion and gave you blah brained fucks way too much benefit of the doubt. I’m the good life giver, not you asshole. Edgy energy star, you’re not. Over the top artist, not in your wildest dreams bud.

So, let’s conjure William Blake already before I come across as too jaded bitter for Marc Maron’s taste before his podcast broke big. Yoh, William is anyone out there? What’s your favorite Door’s album? Did your pen pal Thomas Paine have enough common sense to wrap his tool before banging those busty broads in London town after Ben Franklin got 1st dibs on the house for inventing soothing bath salts for herpes? Woh, your ghost spirit looks mighty pissed off Blake. You’re redder in the face than other writer ghosts from podcast episodes past. I love your line, “Exuberance is beauty.” Because it makes my father look like an asshole whenever he tells me to calm down. Plus, my wife freaks out if we’re out in public at a bar due to my tendency to perform in front of crowds like any self-respecting slut in a strait jacket would.”

 Ghost of Willaim Blake screams, “Shut up already. You’re an unholy father, who doesn’t accept Jesus Christ as his lord and savior. Who wrote a blasphemous chapter called Jesus Killer Set in The Great American Jew Novel? Isn’t that correct?”

“I love being quoted by dead writer ghosts I admire almost as much as my son Chosen Curls quoting my comedy records like Pause Daddy, Challah, thank you very much. “

Ghost of William Blake says, “How does The Great American Jew Novel sell more copies than my self-published book of poetry, Songs of Innocence & of Experience? Granted, my book only sold 33 copies but still. I made the Doors. Jim Morrison doesn’t exist without me. You named your son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, whoopty freaking do.”

“So, William come up with a better book title that’s less schizophrenic than Songs of Innocence & Experience and I’ll give a shit about your anemic books sales again. You’re not going to give Walt Whitman sustained stiffage with a horseshit title like is all I’m saying. But thanks for inspiring Jim Morrison William, because I never would’ve created a flow to Kornbluth without naming my son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. Although coming up with my son’s nickname before he was born was twice as thrilling. I say to my wife, “Babe, I got the perfect nickname for Arthur, will call him, Art Show. And his big sister already sweating his latent mojo rising says with rapidly rising trepidation, “No, it’s my show.”

Art show spirit lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Racist Alien Attacks

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, comedy, culture

“Nobody ever wrote the song ‘Waiting for A Fallen Angel Alien Like You’, tweets a frenzied 10-foot-tall alien, RH Negative 5000, from a Mars espresso bar with excellent WiFi as he looks down on Earth with a mix of surging envy and desperate urgency, knowing that if he can’t find a virgin Earthling with RH negative blood to get him pregnant by midnight tonight, then his race of Fallen Angels Aliens from Mars will disintegrate into the cosmos, as would’ve been superangel contenders, forever.

            This secret race of fallen angels on Mars aren’t allowed to abduct and rape any old Earthling into getting them pregnant, either, despite Andy Dick’s repeated offers on dating sites such as Intergalactic Beams Up My Anus Hole.com.            Finding a virgin Earthing with RH negative blood is hard enough, knowing that those creatures are normally emotionally evolved and blessed with superior physical prowess in the sack, compared to their medium-length Earthlings, including stars such as Leonardo DiCaprio, Jim, MOJO Rising, Morrison, and Bob Marley, for starters.

            “Bob Marley banged out twelve kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drain your life shooter dry?  It’s fake news, man,” RH Negative 5000 tweets in a race against time to save his race of fallen angels of imminent ruin. He knows all the weed in the world won’t get Seth Rogan’s kid brother to knock up RH Negative 5000, even though he could transform his body into any dream physique he wanted, despite looking like an erect serpent and guitar god Steve Vai had a baby, when he didn’t have to change his appearance to get a virgin Earthling into sticking it into his alien procreation hole.

            The other problem for RH Negative 5000 is how only ten percent of the Earth’s population was RH Negative. Due the advent of the Internet, dick-pick swiping sites, and online porn, virgins are pickier and more selective than ever before, and I don’t recall ‘alien porn’ being a popular hashtag category on Youporn.com. Nor was Pete Townsend ever caught clicking on Soapy Alien Bottom Boys.com in the name of new song research about a pinball wizard who gets probed by a race of white, pureblood, RH-negative aliens for his out-of-this world, old-school arcade game prowess because playing guitar hero on the XBOX gets played out fast when you can do mind-blowing Pete Townsend solos from Live At Leeds, with five arms doing non-stop windmills out of your ass.

            Little did RH Negative 5000 know that one his followers on Twitter was a nine-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY, who believed in fallen angels; especially since her father was conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on Loose Lipped Lucifer, which kicked him out of heaven to his new liar in the Hollywood Hills behind Bill Cosby’s house, for good.

            Actually, Matilda had just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative. He lived in Boswell, New Mexico (otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings on Earth because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew that Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby—which was cool enough for them, knowing that he played one of their kind in the Doors with such believable, otherworldly authority.

            Now, Matilda was always intrigued by the Twitter handle RH Negative 5000; especially the profile shot of what looked like an extra scaly, greenish guitar god Steve Vai after puking his brains from breaking his one month fast with In and Out Burgers, animal style, in his attempt to pen a sequel to his masterful magnum opus guitar swansong for the ages ‘For The Love Of God’.            Stop letting Twitter teach your kids. Dr. Seuss is racist—he’s not.

            Matilda loved that her father read Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make up his own rhymes if Dr. Seuss got a tad repetitive again (because he’s guilty of peaking early).

            The other night, actually, her Do It All Comedian Dad did some riffing, to her extreme delight, to unearth some comedy gold material after the latest and greatest Dr. Seuss cancellation movement from the side of tolerance, unity, and joy, spreading peace, saying, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist, then: that’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion, yet.”

            What Matilda loved most about her daddy reading her Dr. Seuss books was how he adopted his infectious love of rhyme, always pointing out how Walt Clyde Frazier, NBA broadcaster for the Knicks, was in the fact the slickest tongue-twisting cat of his time.  

            More importantly, Matilda loved how her school was celebrating Dr. Seuss’s birthday this week for national reading appreciation month. He was born in March, like herself, which, in her book, was extra cool.

            This coming Friday was ‘silly switch day’ in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because’ despite having two working parents and being on all the Adderall in the world, she could never find a pair of matching socks for school, ever, which made every day, for her, Mismatched Socks Day.  

            Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her tenth birthday, to use as a humongous open mike to test out her poems because she wanted to become the female Dr. Seuss, with a PHD in Counseling Psychology.             In her final paper, she’d argue how time-release Adderall is actually legalized cocaine, in addition to being a gateway drug to weed and to high-octane IPAs to chill out your aggravated, easily-avoidable added noise, in their minds. She would do this while also making the argument on how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintain these kids’ inner, sparkly essence while helping increase their powers of concentration (in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big-pharma-cranked-out speed, too).

            Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000. So she did.  RH Negative 5000 was already on his 5,000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins for RH Negative, to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive.

            So, in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, he sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico, who are interested in knowing what Fallen Angel Alien Love is?”

            Matilda, being a huge Foreigner fan (because her Daddy pushed the band on her early and often, in his pursuit to be a podcast comedian hero of his own) replies to the DM and says, “I have a Cousin Jonathan, who’s still a virgin at age fifteen. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled him through the ME Too movement, and only sent him packing for junior high with his Kiss backpack, flush with pre-poundage release forms. My cousin Jonathan is also really into Joe Satriani, and played ‘Surfing With An Alien’ for his Bar Mitzvah party from start to finish, so it’s worth a shot. “

            RG 5000 replies, “I have to get pregnant with a virgin Earthling with a RH negative blood, or my fallen angel race will never be given our wings again to swoop down to the Kennedy compound to seduce the next Marilyn Monroe impersonator they hire for another July 4th annual barbeque retreat.           “Marilyn had RH negative blood, which makes sense because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But we’re not too picky, and are used to sloppy seconds on Mars (for the past 5000 years, actually).

            “Also, I have the power to turn into any female form your cousin desires, if he isn’t into having sex with an alien Steve Vai drag queen look-alike.”

            Matilda ponders this big ask request and replies back, “I’ll make the call, but you have to do me a favor first.”

            RG 5000 says, “Whatever you want, just name it.”

            Matilda says, “Abduct Spike Lee and threaten to anally probe him before giving him an intergalactic tossed salad if he doesn’t stick up for Dr. Seuss and buy the movie rights to ‘And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry St’ starring Chazz Palminteri playing some second-generation pizza maker in the early eighties in the Bronx. He gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in the pizzeria on his boombox on Frank Sinatra’s birthday, to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day. Deal?”

            RG 5000 replies, “I better morph into Pam Grier from the seventies, snag Richard Pryor’s old strap-on from eBay, and tap Bill Cosby’s old quaalude dealer in the Hills to make Spike loosen up to the idea before he pens the screenplay ‘Racist Alien Attacks Boy’, instead.

            “I’m in no rush to get canceled and kicked off Twitter before my planet implodes.”

Michael Kornbluth

High Schooler Hoody Problems

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, comedy, storytelling

“Hear my bus coming, Daddy?” asks Art Show USA.

            Do It All Dad says, “Pretty soon, Art Show USA is going to buy this town and put it all in his shoes—that’s what he’s going to do.”

            Art Show USA says, “I know the town of Croton Falls is small, Daddy, but don’t be ridiculous. Plus, I’m going to build my own house in the woods next to another house I’ll build for you one day, so we can be neighbors. Plus, if I put the whole town of Croton Falls in my shoe, everyone will bother me in the woods to pick up their mail, since I’ll have absorbed the post office in my shoe, which defeats the purpose of me living in the woods in the first place, Daddy.

            “Got to go now, or I’ll miss the bus. Love you, Daddy, but only if you keep on rocking the high schooler hoodie look, or I’ll stab you with our sharpest knife for real.”

             Art Show USA whizzes across the street to catch his bus in time in one spark-smooth motion, which his fills his Do It All Dad’s heart with tremendous nachas (which means ‘vicarious joy derived from your kid’ in Yiddish, especially when your 7-year-old son, otherwise known as Number One Capricorn, born on New Year’s Day, becomes more grownz up every day. Yeah, yeah, yeah.).

            Do It All Dad, though, was having reservations about rocking the high schooler hoodie look anymore. It was one he should’ve retired in his thirties, at least, when he used to be a semi-sporadic performing open-miker at the New York Comedy Club in Manhattan, if he could rally enough friends in attendance again.

            Now Do It All Dad was questioning the extent of his maturity, knowing he’d never outgrew his truly tasteless jokes phase. He still puffed the green out of a one-hitter at 44 in a hoody like Sarah Silverman, minus the career.

            Now Do It All Dad still got asked for ID at Target with his three kids whenever he couldn’t resist snagging another six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale for only $9.99 (knowing it’s the pale ale that never gets stale).

            Still, it was impossible for Do It All Dad to stare at his suddenly-grey-specked beard in the mirror at age 44 while still not showing any touches of grey on his chosen curls on top, and think, “You look better than John Oliver, these days but that isn’t saying much.”

            “Now I have to worry about a podcast hosting opportunity slipping away all because I made a joke over our second call about a donkey-shaped pinata with Governor Cuomo’s ugly mug on it (except, instead of candy spilling out when it breaks, piles of pink masks come out, instead, that say “Cuomo Blows,” which got a big, cathartic laugh out of my future potential benefactor, at the time.

            “I’m so tired of acting like some gun-shy stiff out of fear of never getting a job in a post-woke corporate America again, or snagging a comedy manager ever, because I dared to make fun of Obama Be Good for gifting Iran 150 billion for overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal products for the Kardashians.

            “I think my son Art Show likes to see me rock the high schooler hoodie look because it helps ensure I stay young at heart, and don’t lose heart, too, when I can’t even get the Jewish Book Council to review my book, ‘The Great American Jew Novel’ after sharing stellar previous reviews.            It’s because I’m not an atheist has-been like David Cross, who hasn’t made a good W joke in 15 years (or even an edgy insult about Laura Bush, for that matter).

            “At least Hillary had the balls to get rich or die trying, bitch. Deep down, I think my son Art Show wants me to sport the high school hoodie look more than ever to ensure that I keep on rocking in our big-tech-ruining world as a symbol of non-conformist resistance, knowing my comedy career can still take flight if I never lose touch with what make me feel most kickass and in-control alive—which is getting laughs longtime, all the time, with a big-deal-talking, NY-made, ball-busting flourish, all the way.”

            Son Art Show USA enters the bathroom and notices his Do It All Dad, lost in thought, grazing the specs of grey on his beard with the tips of his fingers, and says, “Don’t even think of shaving the beard, Daddy. You’d look weird without one, like when you shaved it to dress up like Stan Smith from American Dad.

            “Remember, dressing up our family, like the Cleveland Show family, was no longer an option because Megyn Kelly already stole our thunder. Plus, Cleveland’s holding up the sign “Build The Pool Fence” for Mimi and Papa to see on Facebook in Arizona would’ve lost his impactful oomph, too.

            “Also, Daddy, I like you with the beard; because without it, you’ll look like a Pre-K schooler in a hoody. So, you won’t be able to boast on stage about the Jews being chosen by God to perfect the human race through your gorgeous sons, who stem from your Do It All Dad Year tree trunk.”

            Do It All Dad hugs his son, Art Show USA, and says, “The beard stays, kiddo. It’s just that the high school hoodie look rubs me the wrong way sometimes, because it reminds me too much of Sarah Silverman—which annoys me, since she came out to Twitter as a social justice warrior to detract from her once-mouthwatering tits’ sagging popularity.”

Michael Kornbluth

Kosher Klaus Sushi

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, culture, fiction

Once upon a time, there was a Kosher sushi chef prodigy, Art Show USA, who opened Kosher Klaus Sushi on Christmas Eve in 1994 before the Internet became mainstream and Asian elite Yelpers went hog wild.  Kosher Klaus Sushi was located in the heart of Scarsdale Village, and earned immediate rave reviews in the Scarsdale Inquirer from local food critic Debbie Wasserman, who described Art Show’s mind-blowing specialty roll creations as, “Orgasmic before they reach the back of your throat good.”  

            What made Art Show unique, outside of his unmatched imaginative heft and juggling sushi knifework at the bar, were his God-given star-powered looks, which commanded legions of groupie Yentas to schlep from the far reaches of Long Island to wait in line in the dead of winter just to catch a glance of the new age pretty boy/badass sushi chef through the window, cranking out one swoon-worthy, inhalatory sushi specialty roll after the next like his signature one, Living On The Edgemont Edge, which had smoked salmon, cream cheese, capers, and caramelized shallots throughout, to inject an extra special loaded lift.   

            Every day, Art Show USA would sharpen his sushi knives together (made from Israeli steel, used in bulletproof vests made for their special force’s unit, Mossad), which would woo with sparkly, dazzling delight as patrons at the Kosher Klaus Sushi Bar gave impromptu standing ovations throughout.  

            Art Show USA was a 6 foot 4, spikey blond-haired, blue-eyed, lean, mean, sushi-slicing machine who made Tom Cruise (from the movie Cocktail) look like a stumpy, homely hobbit hipster hack, in comparison, regardless of whether he kept his rolled-up-sleeve button shirt tucked in or not.   

            But, one day, a bunch of rowdy Irish wiggers entered Kosher Klaus Sushi to track down a hot yenta breath from Syosset, Long Island’s Rachel Weinstein, who rocked swinging booby beauties (36 Ds, to be exact), who was also a solid 5 foot 9, making her mountable from behind, standing up (assuming you weren’t a stumpy Irishman, unlucky in the height department).   

            Rachel was a full-lipped, Sephardic Persian, tan, busty beauty. Even Roger Waters from Pink Floyd would pulverize her fetching snatch until he was comfortably numb.  The leader of the wigger Irish pack was Liam O’Reilly, who sported a Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus (which scared off most, but not Art Show USA).

            Art Show USA got a black belt in judo by the time he was 13, for his Bar Mitzvah. For Art Show’s Bar Mitzvah Party, he played ‘Siamese Dream’ by the Smashing Pumpkins on the guitar with his feet and teeth.  So, Art Show USA never sweated the prospect of losing a fight or a girl to an Irish wigger moron from Long Island, who thought that stamping a permanent Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus was a bright idea, regardless of whether it ensured him a truck driver job for Killan’s Red or not.

            Liam and his crew of Irish wiggers came down from Long Island to start a fight with Art Show USA because they attended the same high school as Rachel Weinstein, and only had eyes for inhaling her whole. Plus, they weren’t enthralled with Rachel wearing an underground-circulated hoodie with a picture of Art Show USA on it, who was sporting an American flag bandana and a Star of David gold necklace around his neck, showcasing well earned, non-banking-job-related bling.  

            Liam cuts the line with his Irish wigger posse and bursts into Kosher Klaus Sushi like Mark Wahlberg on the set of SNL after Andy Samberg did a sketch about Marky Mark talking to farm animals. He bum-rushes the sushi bar and says, “Hey, faggot. I’ll kick your ass right now, to show all your groupies what a pretty boy faggot, gay pussy bitch you are in real life.”

            Art Show ignores Liam’s Alpha Dog attack. Liam jumps over the sushi bar to strike. Art Show does a lookaway kick to the middle of his forehead, which sends Liam flying into the ceiling fan, which knocks him out senseless.

            Art Show USA says, “Alexa, play ‘Jump Around’ by House of Pain.” Kosher Klaus Sushi erupts into an instantaneous jubilee and Jewish pride pounces the air, inspiring Rachel Weinstein to flash her tits at Art Show USA as the entire restaurant throws their gold necklaces (with Stars of David’s on them) in her general direction, in honor of all those sweet, harmless Jewish boys who were never taught to defend themselves like the Hebrew Hammer, Bugsy Siegal, or Art Show USA.

Michael Kornbluth

Stand-Up Staffer

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, books, humor

Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth lived for play dates with her best friend from Columbia Shannon, who turned her on to Shakira despite her Do It All Dad insisting, at first, that “Shakira is a belly-dancing lounge act for Saudi royals on holiday,” only for his daughter to fire back, in her standard hot pitch, effortless fashion, “Actually, Shakira is the most downloaded artist of all time, and those stats don’t lie, Dada.”

             Feeling good about being dejected in the presence of such all-natural sales star ease, Do It All Dad admitted defeat with playful, funny man charm by wrapping up a conversation he regretted getting into (for the most part) by now, saying back, “I wish Mama’s hips had concealed their ever-widening reality, already.”

            Do It All Dad also operated an IT staffing business, Stand Up Staffer, from home, placing front end developers, graphic designers, and now-UX designers throughout the Island of Manhattan. On Stand-Up Staffer’s business card was a long stage hook like the one they would use at the Apollo on Amateur Night; except in this pic, a bearded Millennial Mouseketeer stick figure hipster in glasses is getting hooked off into the loving, saving, life-enriching arms of Stand-Up Staffer.            The slogan for Stand-Up Staffer on the card states, “Been Talent Hooking Since Y2K,” before LinkedIn thought that leadership posts by Marc Cuban would make Jack Welch shake in his penny loafers, made out of Leprechaun gold teeth.

            Do It All Dad was also a part-time, open mike comedian in both LA and Manhattan before Matilda was born, so his daughter, Singing Rose Kornbluth (otherwise known as Grace In Motion) was bound to absorb her father’s always-on, constantly pitching leanings.

            When Matilda was only two, she could only string two words together, so her Do It All Dad would mold around those limitations, understanding the always-relevant adage “less is more,” especially when you’re in the pursuit of hooking a hiring IT Director’s interest in hearing about a hot-to-trot candidate over the phone out of the freaking blue, without making any contact prior or delivering a fumble-free first joke difference-maker, which determines whether you score a semi-respectable set with enough momentous, kickstarting oomph at another open mike in the East Village with five other struggling, aspiring stand-up comics stuck in their heads, rehearsing punch lines bound for comedic glory compared to your hack stabs at being professionally funny for five minutes straight at a time.

            Still, Matilda would always shine in the scripted lines her dad gave Matilda to score laughs with, at two, so she grew up trusting her Do It All Dad’s stand-up sales wisdom even more each day, yeah, yeah, yeah.

            Do It All Dad’s favorite routine at the deli back in the day, when Matilda was only two, was, “Hey, Matilda, what did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks?” And Singing Rose Matilda Kornbluth would take the nookie out of her mouth and say, “Bupkis, Daddy. Bupkis.”  

            When Matilda was five, her Do It All Dad enrolled his five-year-old in acting camp despite prolonged protests from Mama stating, with huffy, annoyed disgust, “But she can’t even read yet.”

            Do It All Dad snaps back with, “We’ll watch Rocky 2 together, for pointers.” Then, the next summer, Matilda co-stared in fifteen or more commercials uploaded on to YouTube for his Standup Staffer business, which later led to her Do It All Dad scoring a retainer staffing fee to place a VP of UX Design for a new food tech startup, FOODIEFRIEDNFORLIFE, based in the NOHO section of Manhattan. It billed itself as a lunch matching service for single working professionals who wanted to network with new business contacts over a shared ribeye for two, knowing that your vegetarian girlfriend never would.

            Plus, you could write off these pricy, big-deal-conjuring lunches as a new business development expense if you worked in B2B sales, account management for Madison Avenue, or as an Associate Editor for a major publishing business to woo literary studs on the rise who weren’t complete social spaz attacks off the page, who exuded more than 0.0 charisma off the page.

            Matilda’s favorite commercial for Standup Staffer included the one called Blonde Power, where she plays a star UX Designer who’s worked for twenty companies in five years, stating, “I fall out of love easily, like Trump.”

            Then, when asked why she decided to dye her hair blonde, Blonde Ambition says, “Guy software engineers prefer blonds, to feel smarter and superior. They’re nerds, remember? Plus, only ugly girls go to coding boot camp.”

            So, Matilda was no stranger to performing and selling as she started the 4th grade, especially knowing that her old-school go-to line (whenever her dear dada used to pick up her from daycare in Scarsdale Village after working for the man Robert Half in Manhattan) was, “Can I get a treat, Daddy? I was fuss-free today—fuss-free.”

             In short, Do It All Dad played a huge role helping transform his daughter into a supremely confident, effortlessly charismatic, logic-loaded, never too overtly wordy, dronish sales machine. As a result, it pissed off Matilda to no end when the Girl Scouts Of America denied her entry after se admitted to marching in the annual Israel Day Parade with her dear dada because it was insensitive to Arab Scouts in their troop (despite their alleged secular, wholesome girl-nextdoor leanings; despite there being a Planned Parenthood abortion referral fee patch in the works since full term abortions in New York State became Kosher in the empire state’s eyes under Governor Cuomo’s all-knowing watch, otherwise known as a cold-blooded Italian Reptilian, inside).

            Matilda fumes to her best friend Shannon over the phone about being denied more primo face time with her friend through the Girl Scouts Of America, saying, “Israel is not the country who fires rockets into their neighbor’s backyards, expecting nothing more than an Edible gift basket in return. Hamas terrorists in charge of their government are supposed to be trusted partners in peace, eight days a week, my chest.”

            Matilda’s also admitting to ‘Dude Looks Like A Lady’ being her most liked song on Spotify didn’t warm her up to the Girl Scouts Of America, either, especially since the Boy Scouts started admitting girl men like Juno into their ranks, too.

            Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth was intent on revenge, now, for being denied more face time with her best friend in the universe, and launches Standup Sitter Club, an accelerated sales camp for kids which unmasks the power of cold calling for those interested in scaling their babysitting business to the next level. 

            Because of that, the head PTA mom calls for a sit down with Stand Up staffer who runs his own IT staffing firm from home, who gave his daughter the idea of recruiting burnt-out goodie-two-shoes from the Girl Scouts Of America in the first place.   Matilda started Cold Calling Camp seminar lectures with lines such as, “Smartphones Don’t Come With Balls To Make Cold Calls For You” and “You spent enough time on your ass doing more remote learning from home. The first rule of the Standup Sitter Club is: no chairs when cold calling.”

            Now the head PTA mom in charge of her local Girl Scouts chapter calls Stand Up Staffer to demand a sit down, threatening to report his daughter to the better business bureau for unfair recruitment practices, since Matilda’s Cold Calling Camp For Kids Camp depleted her group dry by offering commission-heavy rip profits.

            ‘Babysitter’ sounds so passé. Matilda’s stable network of enterprising babysitters were rebranded on LinkedIn as Creative Play Consultants.

            Stand Up Staffer meets the head PTA mom at a local coffee shop and says, “You can’t knock my daughter’s Cold Calling Camp For Kids. The only way to get ahead in life is to cold call yourself into stranger’s hearts.

            I wasn’t introduced to my wife of ten years through a friend. I didn’t swipe her over to my lap at a new cider bar opening in the east village. I didn’t overcome my zero confidence, shyness stutter from a fancy internship connection to the agent training program at the Creative Artists Agency.      I didn’t break through the soul-destroying, mentally crippling door of dependence on my parents to pay rent for my apartment in West Hollywood through being bequeathed some cushy IT Account Manger role to wine and dine IT Directors  who worked for wine distributor behemoth Southern Wine and Spirits, to secure more job orders to fill, without having to throw my balls on the line in the service of winning over the trust of new clients through sheer audacity and relentless, houndish delight while minimizing my sprinklings of spamish overtones until I became more polished inbetween.”

            Stand Up Staffer adds, “More importantly, your daughter Maya is making money at Standup Sitters, earning hefty referral babysitter fees up the wazoo.

            “Also, let’s not depreciate your daughter’s increased ability to listen better due to her hardcore cold calling camp training. That makes it easier for her to bear drawn-out conversations with you with more emotionally present awareness and concern the next time you start moaning on about your immovable belly rolls three kids later; or how life offers rapidly depleted meaning once your daughter outgrows the need for Mama’s nurturing hugs as you pop open another boozy mommy seltzer again, for head-lightening relief.”  

            PTA mom says, “If I can’t knock the cold call, then can I hit you in the face really hard, once? It might turn you on, actually.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Mozzarella Man

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, culture, writing

Pizza isn’t everybody’s favorite food, because the universe loves melted gouda. Nobody today is waiting online to inhale entire pizza pies drenched in smoked cheeses like gouda unless you’re a hardcore Dutch dude from Amsterdam in lower Manhattan on holiday because working Europeans get five weeks of a paid vacation and have nothing better to do than try the new gastropub in town, Crackers and Brews, which offers state-of-the-art mini pizzas on in-housemade crackers, to leave more room inside for the perpetual IPA poundage soon after.

            Mozzarella will always be the most popular cheese in New York, because you’re not melting sharp Vermont cheddar cheese on a Veal Parm hero in NOHO, either. Mozzarella is the king of NY cool dominance. It’s like Laurence Fishburne and Westley Snipes in New Jack, all wrapped up into one.

            “Am I being too talky again, boss?”

            Boss says, “There’s no practicing schtick in the dressed-up mozzarella-hawking game off St. Mark’s Place, especially knowing you can practice your routine at a plethora of open mikes throughout the East Village and Brooklyn, and that ANTIFA hasn’t planned to take over, yet.

            “In your own spare, non-billable time, you can continue to make jack shit, spewing semi-coherent streams of thought that never amount to as much hilarity on mountaintops as you might think.”    Talking Mozzarella Stick says, “Alright, boss, I’ll stick to the script and only ask girls who pass me by, ‘Have you ever been sticked by Big Buster before? Because, you know, I have, but his name was Dave from Long Island, not Big Buster.

            “This reminds me of a fat white rapper who had no role models to emulate, really. Beastie Boys always rocked, skinny jeans dragging off their ankles and shit. Vanilla Ice always opted for the flaptastic, fly guy silk sweats. Anthrax was the backup thrash metal band for Public Enemy on Bring The Noise, and their scrappy and skinny, yet muscular, metal white boys from Queens, the former breeding ground for Dee Sider from Twisted Sister, Nasty Nas, Black Sheep, and Third Bass.

            “I know the list is a greatest hits one that keeps you guessing who’s even bigger on the list, next.

            “Art Garfunkel, the angelic-sounding Jew, and Paul Simon both hail from Queens, which stings the Republican gentile who’s jealous of creatively successful Jews and who didn’t take the Bernie Madoff route. I totally get it.

            “But, to round out the list of all-time great artists from Queens, you also have to include the consistently funny and transcendent Cyndy Lauper while also giving a loving, gushing shoutout in honor of showrunner and comedic writer, ball-busting great Doug Ellen behind Entourage. He made the legendary show on HBO infinitely cooler than Wahlberg’s producer name credits it, on it.     “Doug Ellen is the funnier, cooler version of John Favreau until he started to produce, direct, and write every episode, it seems, for the first season of Mandalorian, asshole.

            “Look, I think John Favreau deserves a shot to reimagine Boba Fett’s backstory for Disney just for teaming up with Vince again on Made, alone. Even more than Richard Linklater, for making Dazed and Confused the pitch-perfect film to come out my senior year in high school among my old school pinko brethren buds of old.

            “But still, asshole, if you’re creatively competitive at all, you know that John Favreau directed Elf, all the Iron Mans, and wasn’t too shabby in Rudy or PCU, either.”

            The big boss in charge of founding and running Mozzarella Man says to his mouthy, unknown, unrepresented wannabe standup comedy star, “If you love John Favreau so much, then write your screenplay about being Vince Vaughn’s non-successful twin brother, because you look like him in a pre-good-living, insomniac fashion; and leave me out of it, already.” 

Michael Kornbluth

Exit Interview Day

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, comedy, humor

Int. Bedroom-Day

Do It All Dad

Matilda, what do angels taste like according to Hillary Hammertime Cankles?

Blood Orange Mimosas or Sponge Cake?

Matilda

Blood Orange Mimosas.

Do It All Dad

What’s the big payoff from following the Koshertarian Diet?

Matilda

Growing closer to God and getting a dynamite book out of it.

Do It All Dad

What does the Koshertarian Diet mean to you?

Matilda

Being serious about pleasing God and following some of his laws for a change.

Do It All Dad

Would you be happier if Daddy became a part-time Pescatarian Comedian instead?

Matilda

Yes, because meat is murder and most meat is meh, unless it’s your Kosher chicken in your Walnut, Pecan pesto.

Do It All Dad

Would you ever take your girlfriends out to a Kosher style deli like Epstein’s when you get older?

Matilda

We’d rather go out for Sushi.

Do It All Dad

Why do think the top literary agent in Israel told me he didn’t see a market for my book, The Koshertarian Comedians, despite praising the wildly funny writing inside?

Matilda

He was lying, it’s too good for him Daddy. It’s unique because of the rare point of view expressed inside. I mean who else compares getting laughs and yummy dances to getting closer to God and your 3 children in the same breath?

Do It All Dad

I’ve raised a hot pitch monster folks. No wonder why you played by the self-appointed 9 year agent in The Great American Jew Novel.

Matilda

I’m 11 now Daddy.

Do It All Dad

I’m aware, resist this child services. What celebrity would you take out for lunch?

Matilda

Martha Stewart, because she has good taste and could tell me the best stuff to order.

Do It All Dad

What special ingredients make a great cook?

Matilda

Love and variety, making things with love and showcasing plenty of a variety like you do in the kitchen and with your all your comedy records Daddy, even less the hardcore hilarious ones.

Do It All Dad

Does eating fried shrimp from Stew Leonard’s make your heart less pure?

Matilda

No, kids shouldn’t be tortured and denied happiness on tap like that.

Do It All Dad

Do you consider cooking a major time suck not worth pursuing?

Matilda

No, I consider it a form of creativity that makes you less dependent.

Do It All Dad

Do Shrimps have souls? Would a shrimp sell it’s a soul to play the guitar like Paul Simon?

Matilda

I don’t know who Paul Simon is. Is he the guitar player for White Lion? But no, I don’t think shrimp have souls like the adorable goat we saw at Stew Leanord’s munching on grass this weekend Daddy.

Do It All Dad

The guitar player for White Lion is Vito Bratta. He inspired my flash fiction story, When the Shredder Frets, about a reclusive hair metal guitar God who used to kiss his guitar more than his ex-wife, forget it. What do your friends at school know about the Koshertarian Diet?

Matilda

Pork is off the list, or should I say a no-go zone in Germany these days Daddy?

Do It All Dad

I’ll write the jokes thanks.

Do It All Dad

Do I resist becoming a part time pescatarian comedian after being a full-time Koshertarian comedian out of fear of being labeled a poser?

Matilda

Yes, but you shouldn’t feel like a poser Daddy. Consider it the second act in your comedic evolution Daddy. And God wants us to be happy, assuming we refrain from eating Kosher slaughtered animals unless you’re feeling completely famished. God wants us to be happy, remember?

Do It All Dad

What sacrificial lamb, meaning, what’s one big thing you’d sacrifice eating by ditching the traditional Koshertarian diet for the Pescatarian one?

Matilda

Brownies, for you, it should be the other kind, Daddy. I’ve heard the jokes on your comedy records. Ziggy Marely, your dad had 7 kids, but I thought ganja drained your ball sack dry. Ziggy says, “Fake news-man.”

Do It All Dad

Are you saying that holiest, most idealized diet is the Pescatarian one after Daddy’s ate strictly Kosher for the past 2 years while writing my book?

Matilda

Yes Daddy, the Pescatarian Diet is the sweet spot in the middle.

Do It All Dad

Looks like we just conducted our exit interview from the Koshertarian diet then.

Matilda

Your blockbuster sequel to The Koshertarian Comedians, will be the The Pescatarian Comedians. Who could resist?

Do It All Dad

Even Hillary can get on board. But I don’t think it’s Kosher to have your spirit cooking dinners and your sponge cake too. Pescatarian Comedians live for now, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth