My Son Is Going To Trade School

I hate run-on sentence critics. It’s not my fault your slow and can’t keep up with my gender fluid flow.

Critical Race Theory is bullshit. Guaranteed money in the NBA, regardless of injury, is so oppressive.

The Muslim Sisterhood in congress don’t have an issue amplifying their voices in America either Jack.

Howard Beal was killed in the movie Network over lousy ratings. CNN’s worst nightmare come true.

British accents are unwelcome intrusive like Boris Johnson’s wife staring in my general direction.

Does Triple AAA offer ANTIFA roadblock assistance because the Proud Boys will do it free of charge?

Night screams mean you care about living. Or else you wouldn’t be afraid of dying before making it.

New York will come back, but everybody has left, except Free Palestine protestors and The Halal Guys.

Forcing kids to wear muzzles is wrong. Boris Johnson’s wife at the G-7 summit, not so much.

Jill Biden is a tacky, small town ho. Biden wears her panty hose when he can’t find his mask.

Masks are the new condoms only because I can’t cum in my wife wearing one either. 

99 percent of people survive COVID yet Fuck Face Fauci, AKA, Dr. Gnocchi pushed endless lockdowns and triple masking of our kids while acting as if COVID depresses your immune system more than entry into the Dallas Buyers Club.

Hydroxychloroquine can increase your survival rate by 200 percent. What’s up with that study Doc?

Still, Dr. Fauci used his power to block the use of it. He’s Dr. Kevorkian in reverse.

Biden is donating thousands of free COVID vaccines to Africa like a poor man’s Bill Gates who can’t code for shit either.

Sanctuary cities is encouraged lawlessness on crack.

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

I’m against unlimited immigration because I’m not a proud member of the rapist enablement party.

If calling Baby Face Omar, a Jihad loving runt cunt, makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with that.

Where were you when Fox stopped counting the ballots? Thanking God JFK didn’t die for nothing. Yeah, me to.

IBM made technology to identify Jews for Nazis. Watson Supercomputer says, “No Sherlock.”

My mom texts me Happy Father’s Day on the wrong day. Her happiness for me knows no bounds.

Boris Johnson’s wife, woof, woof needs water breaks, not my son 2 minutes into basketball practice.

My wife wants me to get COVID to say, “You should’ve worn a mask going down on MAGA mom.”

Trump Won signs at MLB is my new favorite America pastime, after telling Lebron to go woke himself.

The Mueller Report court hearing proved what again? Mueller parts his hair with gritty, elbow grease.

Did Drago pop out of your voting booth and demand, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.”

When the Statue of Liberty went dark. I bet DeBalsio forgot to pay the Con Ed Bill on time again.

I hate the term helping others unless you’re applying for a job that says help wanted.

Maintaining relationships is overrated among those who think Mr. Groper won by a hair alone.

My son is going to trade school to become a landscape artist. Because NYC will have to start from Ground Zero at this rate. Or he could become a furniture designer within his own private studio and avoid charges of sexual harassment because he’ll design his own state of the art safe space for jerking off. Or he could become programmer and work remote unlike those software engineers who were charged with sexual harassment pre-COVID, despite them leaving the impression that they were too busy banging out new code to hit on girls anyway. Plus, I thought only ugly girls went to coding boot camp. Also, don’t programmers wear those yenta breath noise canceling headphones at work for a reason. Last, the typical Pearl script command isn’t, “Massage my carpel tunnel ho.”

My daughter’s 4th grade teacher just made her classroom writer tutor. Parenting matters to.

Michael Kornbluth

The Manhattan Jerkoff Project

If you want to teach your kids about masturbation, send your kids to Dalton prep school for 50 grand a year on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They’re teaching kids about masturbation early as 1st grade, imparting liberty preserving lessons like jerking off being our last safety rail left kids.

The question is, assuming Dad is beneath teaching his kid about the importance of jerking off to avoid disease and charges of rape with due process being deader in our country than Mia Farrow’s judge of character. Where would you prefer your kids to learn about masturbation? At sleepaway camp with your kid’s camp counselor or at school from a professor who teaches porn literacy at Columbia College? Porn literacy, do the parental controls at Dalton prep ensure the porn categories on their laptops are only visible in Latin?   Forcing our kids to read porn categories in Latin, is one way to bring dead languages back to life in no time. It also ensures Dalton kids won’t be accused of Xenophobia for refusing to take a class trip to Vatican because they know what giving communion in the dark means in Latin. The main reason Dalton is teaching kids about masturbation and only allowing them to surf porn written in Latin, is because some catholic donor wants to make their Latin club great again. So his son can sprinkle his debates with more highbrow nicknames than Trump could ever belch out on Twitter like BAT SHIT CRAZY COVIDITUS PELOSI. Holla, thank you very much.

The teacher at Dalton claims the masturbations lessons in the animation video were misinterpreted. Because jerking off videos like Topless Tudors are so ambiguous.

In the masturbation video animated kids discuss how touching themselves, makes it point in the air. “So, Johnny, you ever touch yourself to Dora and feel the need to cover it with multiple backpacks? Holla, thank you very much.

Parents who send their kid to Dalton claim to be enraged over their kids being show masturbation videos in the 1st grade, but they want to remain anonymous, refusing to come out on Tucker Carlson out of fear of being kicked off Facebook or else they’d lose all showing off privileges.

Aren’t the parents who send their kids to Dalton high powered lawyers, hedge fund managers and plastic surgeons for trans teens reared on Lou Reed records, considered less disposable employees than the rest, assuming they shit in MAGA hats on company retreats in the Bahamas? And how does speaking out publicly against Dalton’s teachers sexualizing their kids age of innocence get somebody fired from a hedge fund in Connecticut bringing in 4 billion a year? Does office security yank you out of the executive corporate john, on the top floor, only to sing, “You don’t come around here no more.” Tom Petty lives, holla, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Wheels Of Jew Hate Burning

This is my 9-year-old daughter playing marriage counselor again. Enough daddy, mama got your point mid breath. Holla, thank you very much.

My wife is pushing me to see a therapist for my anger management issues. I suggested primal scream therapy. Wife says, “Don’t you do that on your podcast already?” I say, “How would you know? You’re only 460 episodes behind babe. Never mind your complete lack of interest in the 7 books I’ve written since our lucky number 3 was born. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years.” Holla, thank you very much.  

Wife insists our 3 child Samuel, gets bored whenever he spends too much with her. I always knew he was a quick learner.

My son Samuel was bound to woo. He stops traffic at the Stop and Shop even after the prime rib sample station has closed. Random Italian grandmas consistently bum rush the kid and say, “You’re gorgeous. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” I’ll reply, “If James Woods had this face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”

All my fights with my wife revolve around me not making money off my comedy yet. Since I got kicked off Twitter, I can’t even write off a joke about the Chinese resisting Wuhan lab investigations more than Aquafresh as a charitable donation anymore. Holla, thank you very much.

Imagine John Lennon resenting Paul McCartney for shaming him into becoming a stay-at-home dad against his will. Paul McCartney did write Hey Jude in honor of John Lennon’s neglected son Julian, who Lennon didn’t spend much time with during the rise of Beatlemania.  2 seconds into a leisurely baby stroll through Central Park West with his 2nd kid Sean, John Lennon yells up at the sky, “Choke on a fucking Cucumber Scone Paul.  Playing the role of stay-at-home dad, is no walk in the park mate. Even primal scream therapy has its limitations, like trying to snuggle off bad acid with Yoko whenever Dr. Leary drops by with more CIA made ACID again.” Holla, Thank you very much.

The Left says there is a rise in anti-Semitism and Islamophobia.  Arabs chanting “Hitler was right” and “Allah is great” while beating up pushover Jews in the streets of New York, London, and Los Angeles, with the blunt ends of Palestinian flag poles while the cops do shit to protect them, doesn’t mirror the act of extending an olive branch in the hopes of giving peace another chance either. I don’t see these sparks of divinity inspiring observant Jews to skip Shabbat dinner at home in favor of going to a new oxygen bar opening in Astoria once the mask mandate is cleared in NY either.

Palestinians attacking Jews in the subway, asking random New Yorkers who’s Jewish, so they could beat the shit of them with the ends of Palestinian flag poles doesn’t inspire me to try out that authentic shawarma stand in Astoria, despite the elite Yelper claiming, “It’s worth getting your skull cap crushed into your cranium for it.” The elite yelper throws in a warning advisory label in her review to and says, “Just don’t call random Palestinians attacking Jews in broad daylight, Islamic supremacists, that’s a big no go zone area in Allah’s book. Bill Maher would concur. Because he knows Israel will never achieve a 2-state solution with Palestine if Hamas keeps fucking.” Holla, thank you very much.

I’m afraid to reveal the totality of my Mezuzah necklace on the subways in NY these days. That doesn’t make me Islamophobic. It just means I’m scared of getting pushed on to the subway track and having my white man’s disease preventing me from jumping back up to the subway platform in a NY minute in the nick of time. I can’t even do one legitimate pull up if my Do It All Dad Tree Trunk was riding on it. But I’m supposed to be overly confident in adrenaline alone to catapult me high enough to grab on to the subway platform before pulling myself up to safety like the Jewish Stallone in Cliffhanger? Yeah, and Rashida Talib is the Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart.

Imagine being surrounded by a bunch of crazed Palestinian nationalists on the subway, demanding for you to tell them if you’re Jewish, without having to prove it by whipping out your business card from Goldman Sachs 1st.

Equity research analyst David Rosenbluth from Short Hills, New Jersey tenses immediately and says, “Jewish, no, of course not. Look, under my arm, I still read the New York Times. I don’t even know how many zeros are in a trillion. I count with my fingers for simple arithmetic, which your people invented from what I’ve read in the Atlantic, Mazel Tov. Oh vey! Please don’t kill me. I’ll block Mark Ruffalo on Twitter. Israel is guilty of genocide, not Mao, Stalin or Pol Pot. I voted for Obama twice. I think Farsi is the most beautiful sound in the universe to. And Obama loves Hitler. Obama wishes he was that organized. Gassing all his nuke deal critics would be a gas. Palestinian nationalist says, “You’re too funny for a WASP. Samir, chop his fucking head off. So we can jump for joy like it’s 9/11 again already. And I thought David Lee Roth was a long-winded Jew.”

This is Mark Ruffalo apologizing to Jon Stewart about accusing Israel of genocide. Mark Ruffalo calls. “Hey, Jon, it’s Mark. Sorry about accusing Israel of genocide despite them giving Hamas plenty of advance warning to get their kids the fuck out of dodge before they strike back again and again. Normally, genocidal maniacs like Mao prefer to starve millions to death. And Jews don’t like to blow through money if they can avoid it.” Jon Stewart says, “Don’t sweat it, Mark. I don’t care if you repeat old school Farrakhan talking points like the mulatto version of Public Enemy. Nor do I care if Palestinians get green with envy about the Jews controlling the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole to. I let Trever Noah reveal what partisan hacks my Emmy winning writers have become by siding with ANTIFA and BLM to silence any form of speech that paints them or their enablers in the White House and establishment media as the fascist, racist terrorist enablers that they are, regardless of how much CNN orders Kamal Bell to pontificate otherwise like a schlumpy, unfunny Paul Mooney for hire. I also didn’t press Obama on my show to do a better job of selling his time out deal with Iran, which had less legs than Lieutenant Dan. So, what difference does it make?” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lives. Holla, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Free Fake News Insurrectionists

Waiting for Biden to condemn violent attacks against Jews in the name of Palestinian terrorism. Is like waiting for Jill Biden to give Kwanza shout outs on Twitter, without Kamala Harris accusing of her cultural appropriation 1st. Holla, thank you very much.

The Teddy Roosevelt estate was afraid to accuse DMX of cultural appropriation for reimagining the Rough Rider name while thugging it up for all it was worth, in hit raps songs such as, “Pit Bulls don’t Do Gentrification.” Gentrification you know, liberal talk for less black people. Yesterday, I drive past Yankee Stadium on the Deegan and say to my daughter, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee Stadium, the House That Gentrification Built.” Daughter asks, “What’s gentrification?” I say, “Liberal talk for no plummeting apartment appraisal values since Neil and Bob opened a multi level, gay gastro pub dance club called Hip Hops. Where banging brews and banging buds meet to rum shaker the night away to old school hip hop beats. Holla, thank you very much.

Getting checked out at Kohl’s, worker there says, “Do you have any coupons?” I say, “No, I’m not ready to identify with being a Stay At Home Shemale Comedian just yet. I need to market my book The Koshertarian Comedian in the hope of hunting down any talent agent left capable of locating their ball sack again on my behalf. Kohl worker laughs long time. Thank you very much.

I’m getting copies of new keys. The locksmith asks in apologetic fashion, “If you don’t mind, can I see your ID for the mail key?” I said, “No problem. We already let ISIS vote in our country without ID. So what difference does it make? Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lives holla. Thank you very much. I add, “Why is asking a Latino for ID racist?” Do Latino’s have to pass a new height requirement, I’m not aware about? If I get pissed from someone asking for my ID, it’s at Target whenever I’m buying beer with my 3 kids, which makes me feel like a teen dropout mom from Tallahassee. After getting asked for my ID, I want to change my job title on LinkedIn, To Crystal Meth Homemaker. I need to get over it because a teen dropout mom from Tallahassee is more likely to buy cases of Coors Light instead of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, the pale ale that never get’s stale. Personally, I wish they’d make a Toothpaste that tastes like Coors Light already, so I don’t taste anything afterwards. Holla, thank you very much.

I actually gave up drinking beer last summer. It got embarrassing spending so much time hungover, recycling, empty reminders of my lush littered past, as entire Rock Marathons on AMC passed me by.

Michael Kornbluth

Pitchwoman Of The Year

Aliens are capable of formulating and defending their own critical race theory to. Although a bunch of Think Tank Alien Eggheads from Planet Scrambled Over Easy declared the American Dream dead and it’s entire race plain stupid for thinking otherwise, on both sides of the political divide during it’s annual Brunch Expo address at their annual Northern Lights retreat on Planet Verde, known for its enormous Avocados trees, tricked out converted farmhouse party palaces, enveloped by Hop Farms galore and beautifully manicured baseball diamonds and fields of highly stimulating, brain tickling weed. Even Think Tank Alien Eggheads need to cool off their hyperactive brains with some baseball, buds and brews from time to time.

The Think Tank Alien Eggheads observed how unhinged and excessively biased the US media and Big Tech had become since the New Yorker from Queens exposed them for the feckless, misleading, self-serving, fear mongering, deliberately divisive, commie sell out bastards they’d become.  Close Encounters Of The 3rd Kind”, was voted the number one ranked Sci Fi film for 44 years in a row and counting, according to Egghead Alien Film Review Magazine, which still boasts an incredible print ad sales revenue, because on Planet Scrambled Easy, print is king and considered the most prestigious medium, attracting the universe’s most talented writers knowing they’re willing to pay up to 3 US Dollars per word. Plus, there’s no TV shows made on Planet Scrambled Over Easy except a hugely popular father son alien cooking show, called, Better Than Boobie. On this show, we learn the alien baby is a result of a mixed marriage between an alien and a busty, full lipped, tan Sicilian blooded Italian Barbera Bustiasti, originally hailing from Rochester, NY. On the show, our Stay-At-Home Alien Dad Host, Fried Brains Bourdain, a self-anointed in-house gourmand for the entire Planet Scrambled Over Easy, will ask his part human part alien baby, Chef Samuels what he thinks of his latest and greatest LEO scramble supreme, including, smoked salmon lox, scrambled eggs and sweet, not too bitter caramelized red onions. Normally, Chef Samuels will take a taste and pronounce the dish creation a double fister instead of a yuck yucker. But if baby Chef Samuels is totally enthralled with the dish, he’ll ask his cherished Dada Fried Brains Bourdain, to make the dish for him every day before he whizzes around the rings of Planet Scrambled Over Easy faster than Flash, in a high calorie burning blaze of glory.  

So, the reason Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy was smitten with the movie Close Encounters Of The Third Kind stemmed from the aliens portrayed in it, being musical savant mutes of sorts like Holly Hunter in The Piano. The problem on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, is how their recent open borders policy resulted in a gazillion different languages spoken at once on any given Farmer’s Market enough to make C3po’s language transmitter chip to melt down from an intergalactic mere auditory sensory processing overload. So, the clamor in the streets had reached a fevered pitch, with no universal language in place, capable of instilling a more melodic cadence. And none of the star magazine writers on Planet Scrambled Over Easy were capable of banging out musical showtunes such as West Side Think Tank Alien Stories, because Broadway tunesmith legend Stephen Sondheim declined the invitation to procreate with the alien civilization because he was gayer about the prospect of lunging at Othello backstage in tights, whenever asked to do his best Kevin Spacy impersonation by his cast and crew at Sardis for wrap up show celebrations after hours. Stephen Sondheim gave the anal probe a shot after the Alien Think Tank Leader Gershwin Goo, convinced him they were doing it the name of stool DNA sampling science, in their long, hard, in depth exploration of pinpointing the exact genetic makeup roots responsible for sprouting such mature musical genius out the womb. At 6 Mozart was touring Europe, entertaining French nobles with the nimble quickness of a French Prostitute, who got 2 customers to spew with joy in 1 minute flat each, so she could squeeze in her favorite customer, famed American Jewish writer Henry Miller in one more before closing hours for the road.  

So not only was the roaring decibel of noise on the streets of Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, consisting of every guttural, gross Alien language imaginable, that collectively heard together sounded like the antithesis of French pillow talk in Eric Rohmer films such as Busted Burgundy Girls and Paris Dicks Are Burning. Thereby, making their home planet a highly grating, excessively annoying place to be, but there was also not a singe lone, beautifying voice to even sing their new planet anthem, in an attempt to promote, celebrate and unify the country behind a star beautiful voice in their own native tongue, Hebrew. What, you think the Pyramids and the 1st great temple were built by the Israelites alone? I’ve known Jews who are allergic to Home Depot, who suffer from immediate panic attacks upon entry.

On retreat, The Think Tank Aliens, sucking down endless IPA’s and puffing non-stop high grade green over a killer double header of baseball surrounding the Field Of Dreams Funhouse, a young, rising star egghead about to pitch his famous speedball splinter known to make most fellow Aliens whiff more than Charlie Sheen at an AVN after hours party these days, an idea emerged, “Hey, fellas, instead of blowing up the Planet Earth for our annual 4 of the July Celebration to celebrate our freedom banning the Internet in 2000, because we knew Y2K would serve as a slow acting bomb to blow up earth’s any last remaining capacity for critically thinking, mass produced independent thought ever again, we convince Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth to become our permanent-in-house Planetary Anthem singer. Granted, we have incredible leverage knowing if she refuses, will go head and blow-up Earth for the best fireworks show, we’ve ever seen. Bulldozing a casino is child’s play compared to Planet blasting. Plus, I think the universe is ready for a new earth to emerge again, assuming God’s in the mood o give the human race another shot at redemption or not.”

The Think Tank Aliens of Scrambled Over Easy Planet actually thought of Singing Rose Kornbluth immediately, the moment they coined the idea of establishing a Planetary Anthem in Hebrew, from eavesdropping from space whenever she’d recite the Shabbat prayers over the candles, Challah and wine. To them, Singing Rose Kornbluth was blessed with the most angelic laced, beautifying, spiritually rich, jade free voice of all time, which sounded ten times more soul tantalizing pretty sung in Hebrew, which she’d do in Synagogue, shining through most, whenever the Torah was taken out of the arc for the infamous Shema prayer, “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.” Think Tank Aliens from Scrambled Over Easy Planet are able to eavesdrop into different galaxy systems due to their alien race, being crossbred with Alien Hybrid Elephants reared by Alexander The Great. Alexander The Great would use those elephants to eavesdrop on his enemies or on Cleopatra next time she plotted to roofie him, tie him up and jam some precious gemstone beads up his ass for shits and giggles to see if they came out looser since the last gender neutral interkingdom orgy at her Luxor party palace.

Now, Singing Rose Kornbluth is at home in her bedroom within the hamlet of Croton Falls, NY, 50 minutes north of Manhattan, brushing the mane on her new American Girl horse doll Lavender Love, singing her own made-up tune “Lavender Love has beautiful hair, my brother Arthur better not threaten to turn him into fake news dog chow, if baby Samuel double dares.” Then, the Palomino American Girl Doll horse Lavender Love comes to life and speaks to her from the baseball diamond on the Field Of Dreams Funhouse and says, “Singing Rose Kornbluth, don’t be alarmed. For starters, my voice can’t be any freakier than when you confuse your American Girl Doll Horse for an actual little person on occasion.” Singing Rose Kornbluth say, “Keep talking.”  Think Tank Alien says, “We think your singing voice, especially in Hebrew is the most beautiful, God loving, effortlessly sweet signing voice, we’ve ever heard, without any deep vibrato rumblings which ruin Adele and Demi Lovato’s chances as potential picks for us if you really need to know.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “And who is we exactly.” Think Tank Alien says, “Were Think Tank Aliens from Planet Scrambled Over Easy. Our natural tongue is Hebrew, and we just came up with our 1st ever Planetary Anthem and it needs work, because our alien civilization isn’t musically inclined whatsoever.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “Do all aliens talk through American Girl Horses? I know Aliens were real. Think Tank Alien says, “Singing Rose, we love your voice. God made your supernatural voice for a reason. Still, will be left with no choice but to blow up your planet, if you don’t let us use your gift of creation and singing love songs which touch the inner most sanctum part of the Divine.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “I’ll only help you out if you agree to take over control of our Internet, unleash virus worms to corrode all the software code for Twitter, Facebook and Google and fill in that gaping voice of Internet bandwidth with my father’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast every Friday for another Meandering Shabbat Shalom Special. My daddy is hilarious. He said, Beyonce sat out the national anthem because Demi Lovato sounds like white priveledge version of Alabama Shakes.” Think Tank Alien laughs long time and replies, “We don’t have the Internet on our planet.” Matilda says, “I’ll be your new best friend. And you’ll get one sleepover invite a year, deal? Think Taken Alien says, “Deal.”

1 year later, Singing Rose Kornbluth graced the cover of Time Magazine. On the top, the headline read, Pitchwoman Of The Year, who saved her country’s planet from being wiped off the Solar System for selling the Think Tank Aliens on making her Do It All Dad the most popular, downloadable, highly quotable Podcaster in the universe. So, he could afford the opportunity to shine like the brightest, rising comedy star in the galaxy and drive his family back from the hospital in his new Comedy Gold Porsche SUV with a new baby sister addition in the back, Lavender Love Kornbluth to make his Do It All Dad year mission complete. Now Singing Rose Kornbluth could sing duets with her new baby sister Lavender Love Kornbluth for a double dose of beautiful wonderfulness on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, so she’d never have to feel homesick again.

Michael Kornbluth

The Sales Raise Dinner

6 months after perpetual beat down, heart tissue shredded despair from cold calling IT Directors twice my age at the tender of age of 22 in LA with no promising relief in sight, I was finally able to slam the phone down on the receiver and yell with emphatic, triumphant vibrato, “Deal”, as all my fellow IT agent recruiter sisters and brothers in arms all put down their phones in symbiotic unison and my bum rushed my section of our open office boiler room to give me one kick ass high five after another. Prior, to bawling my eyes out after winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleepaway Camp, it was the happiest, most joy spewing moment of my life. After spending many afternoons at 5:30 PM, crying in the bathroom stall, after being hung up on all day again for 6 months straight, getting my 1st deal under my belt was equivalent to Forrest Gump getting to bang Jenny in her dorm room after her fake news original Blowing In The Wind striptease act. Then again, Hair Metal wasn’t invented yet, so you can’t be too harsh on Jenny for trying to reinvent herself as a hotter, better stacked, Joan Baez cover act in the making either.

Once you did your 1st 3 deals at Remington International, the big machers, meaning all the big-time billing managers would take you out for a fancy sales raise dinner to give you a taste for living the high life again. Steve Winwood lives post Traffic, holla, thank you very much. Understand, the sales raise wasn’t substantial at all and made zero difference after taxes for my biweekly take home paycheck. Granted, I could still afford to pay the rent on my rent-controlled apartment in West Hollywood, see a movie once a week in the Century City Mall and splurge on the Sunday NY Times pre-fake news to get my brain back in working order after puffing the green with my ex or doing E once my dealer in the valley got access to it frequently post Y2K, but that was it. None of us dignified, scrappy, resourceful yet lowly IT agency recruiters in my position made enough money to survive really, because none of us made actual commission on a 20 grand placement there, a 25 grand rip there, but at the time my illustrious sales raise dinner at Morton’s in Beverly, Hills that its, totally made up for it, Dice lives, holla, thank you very much.

The festivities started with a Grey Goose and tonic or 2, before the scallops wrapped in bacon appetizer arrived. Understand, despite growing up in the upper middle class affluent confines of Westchester County, only 50 minutes north of Peter Luger’s in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, I had zero exposure to fancy schmancy steak house appetizers of this holy shit good magnitude. Every bite was perfect. The bacon wrapped around this sumptuous, high end scallop that was never rubbery chewy bland for one second, was bursting with bubbly, over the top crackling, in your face flavor. Outside of my mind melting from relishing such a tubby bitch, fine dining steakhouse appetizer at the same Morton’s in Beverly Hills, which used to be the go-to afterhours Vanity Fair party hot spot after the Academy Awards, it was impossible to not derive a communal sense of shared brotherhood with the older management crew in attendance, who all hailed from back east like myself, living it up like senior agents for freaking CAA for Christ’s sake. Pete Clochaney, the former wrestling stud from upstate in Buffalo, the living legend Michael Burns, from Greenwich, CT, who toured with Dead, bartended at Kelly’s Korner and made us watch Rudy for inspiration one morning before our daily cold calling assault resumed and my direct boss Alex Dubovoy a garbage sons from Brooklyn, done good. I loved how much vicarious pride they derived from me making it to that table with them. For once, I felt I truly earned my keep. They all wore really nice Canali suits who possessed a working knowledge of obscenely expensive brown liquor shots such as Louis the 13th cognac. My head was spinning from being accepted and encouraged to do even better under their sales leadership direction, feeling like a waste of height no more and my succulent, divine blessed, Porterhouse, sorry Kosher God hadn’t even arrived yet.

Outside of savoring every juicy, heaven sent bite, my mind veered toward my Dad for a second, who was a rainmaker himself, helping build a 90-million-dollar packaging busines in Union New Jersey. Still, it drove me nuts at the time, thinking how much my father dropped the ball, never exposing me to any motivational shoot for conquest steak dinner like this, because prior, I was only accustomed to eating the perpetually shitty, anemic, consistently mushy kosher kind. My father grilling what flavor they once possessed didn’t contribute to my complete lack of enjoyment factor from eating trying to act, I was ever into them either.  

Thank you, Lord, for giving me the balls and fortitude to not throw in the towel during my 1st six months on the job as an IT agency recruiter, a long, long, way from home, with no Vince Vaughn pep talks to rouse my depressingly downer weepy spirits at the time either. Becoming an IT Headhunter in LA and paying my own way in this world made me the man I am today. College is so overrated, knowing I was the only putz to graduate from a top communication school back east with a debilitating stutter.  

They say the true definition of failure is giving up on yourself, so by that definition, my stint as an IT Headhunter at Remington International, my 1st real deal professional working white collar job was a smashing success. All those double Turkey Burgers with glops of mayor, fine shredded lettuce, draped in mounds of American Cheese on Santa Monica Blvd. were sublime to, because I earned them from not giving into the fear of failure or more perpetual shot down rejection I endured my 1st six months on the job, which provided the impetus behind the funny man with a plan I am today. Granted, my dear, lovely LA of yesteryear has morphed into a shit show tent city of biblical proportions, yet no politicized COVID lockdowns, bullshit Dominion defamation lawsuits or post woke Twitter twat celeb blather, siding with the Wicked Witch Of The East, Baby Face Omar, King Of the Persecution Complex or Obama Be Good can every take that sales raise dinner away from me.

Michael Kornbluth

The Reference Check Girl

Once upon a time there was a high energy, constantly red in the face, yet easily excitable IT agency recruiter in his early twenties from Long Island, Patrick Dublin, who worked for a small staffing agency above Madison Square Garden called Unicorn Staffers. Unicorn Staffers specialized in recruiting and placing Unicorn UX Designers, who also did the nitty gritty, back and front-end coding, who made billion-dollar apps and various new age tech startups come to life, blessed with visionary founders brilliant enough to avoid sexual harassment charges at work, by creating in-office innovations such as designing a panic free, jerk off safe space bathroom. So, security never had to escort you from the building, legs first from the bathroom stall, only to knock your head against the mildew lined walls one more time, before hearing the Security Guard croon in his best Tom Petty voice, “You don’t come around here no more.”  

Since the era of #METO began, Unicorn Staffing would have to conduct more rigorous background checks with ex-girlfriends for Unicorn star studs they represented, who couldn’t control their urges to whip it out during a Zoom Call, despite the Head of Application Development from South Wales, Australia trying to manage an unwanted sexual harassment claims at work in a post virtual meeting COVID controlled universe gone cagy nuts, by addressing his team of developers and designers with, “Welcome all. Now if everyone is going to feel safe during this Zoom meeting, let’s raise all our hands high, where I can see them. Please, don’t be such a knee jerk reactionary cunt about it, you Jefferey Toobin wannabes at the New Yorker, thanks.”  Sexual harassment was a dirty secret infesting the tech startup world today, even among, the biggest tech company in the world Google, despite most of the employees being too busy banging out to code, to actually hit on girls at work while sporting their yenta noise cancelation headphones in the 1st place. Plus, your typical software command script at Google or elsewhere, wasn’t, “Massage my carpel tunnel, ho.”

Now, Patrick, the IT Recruiter is conducting a background check with a 25-year-old, chesty Digital Marketing Manager Lisa, based on her LinkedIn Profile picture, who used to date his star candidate awaiting a verbal offer of 145K for a new permanent Creative Technologist Director position with a cannabis lifestyle startup Budranker.com, from Oakland, CA, looking to expand its online digital magazine division here in NYC, targeted toward working, functional pothead millennial mousketeers. Patrick, takes a deep breath, loosens his tie a tad and gets ready to call,  Lisa, the Digital Marketing Manager for Hip Hops, a new multi-level old-school hip hop gastropub club in the East Village about the extent of her past relationship with his star candidate, which he’s very proud of connecting with, after LinkedIn banned him from the site for sending too many failed connection requests, before enrolling in a Spam A Lot Less Sales Seminar, offered by a former power ballad songwriter for hire turned Life Career Coach, Michael Rocker. Patrick calls and says, “Hi Lisa, this is Patrick Dublin. I’m an IT Recruiter for Unicorn Staffers, calling you about Max Diesel, whose being considered for a top Creative Technologist Director position for a cannabis startup, Budranker.com. Can I ask you a couple of quick questions about your relationship with Max in the past?”

Lisa says, “Yeah, we only hooked up once after meeting at the Windows Expo in downtown LA. it was right around the time Microsoft and had bought LinkedIn. I was working as a bartender hostess at the event, before I met the CEO of Sierra Nevada at same event, before becoming their Digital Marketing Manager after I started riffing while making some drinks, insisting, Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA blows all other IPA’s out of the water. Then, I crafted their sentimental laced campaign for the 30-year anniversary of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, calling it the pale ale that get’s stale. I conceptualized the guerilla marketing campaign for printing a bunch of bar napkins with love poems on them in honor of 1st loves, my personal favorite being, “I fell in love with you from the start. You’re my favorite valentine etched on my heart. You made love spill out of me like overflowing treasure. The idea of pounding you again, gives me non-stop pleasure. You were my 1st love, when I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew is that were heaven sent. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, You Never Got Over US Did You. So, Max starts flirting with me after I snagged the business card for the CEO of Sierra Nevada and says, “This is my impersonation of merger talk between Dr. Dre and Eminem after Microsoft paid 4.5 billion for LinkedIn, “Hey slim, Microsoft paid 4.5 billion for LinkedIn. Eminem says, “Worrdddddddddd. Linked in lamer than ever yoh.” Personally, Max had me at Hey Slim, because he dropped his voice low enough to pull off a semi-decent Dr. impersonation. Hey, did you know Hitler’s birthday is on 420? Puffing the bong to more Tuff Gong never felt so wrong. I haven’t felt this betrayed since Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.” So, to answer your question, I hooked up with Max on the dance floor sky bar in West Hollywood later that night on the dance floor, but then, Frans Drescher from the Nanny, caught his interest and I never heard from him again. He left me a busines card and said, we should stay in touch through LinkedIn, which I’ve never got over completely, especially knowing how I got interested in hooking up with Max only after he dumped on LinkedIn in the 1st place.”

Patrick finally interrupts Lisa, trying to be diplomatic as possible, afraid of blowing his potential 9 grand commission rip in the making and says, “Well, Max thought enough you to list you as reference for ex-girlfriends to a conduct a background check to assess his sexual harassment factor risk at Budranker.com. Did Max ever touch you on the dance floor too aggressively at the Sky Bar?

Lisa says, “Hell no. I’m the one who shoved his hand up my skirt. I told him my panties were packed in my purse and we could go skinny dipping at this house in the hills, my friend was housesitting for, next to Roman Polanski’s old house, who’s a serially underrated rapist compared to Cosby in my book. I still don’t understand how they pulled the Roseanne show off the air yet have no problem showing adds for Ambien between replays of the Cosby show on syndication on Nick at Night.”

Patrick says, “You’re really funny. What are you doing wasting your time doing Digital Content Marketing for a living?” Lisa says, “I’m too sexy for stand-up Patrick. Sara Silverman and Chelsea Handler 20 years ago were never in my league of looks. Also, I don’t see myself posting endless naked pics of myself like Chelsea Handler with another book in hand to showcase my social justice warrior reading cred to downplay the world from my tit’s sagging popularity in the process either.” Patrick says, “So, if Budranker.com called you tomorrow to ask you if Max was a sexual assault liability in the making, what would your response be exactly? Lisa says, “That all depends on you Patrick. Do you like old school hip hop like most old school wigger Irish dudes from Long Island?” Patrick says, “How do you know I’m from Long Island.” Lisa says, “I already looked you up on LinkedIn. You’re cute. Why don’t we wrap this interview up at Hip Hops later tonight? I crafted the playlist, playing only old school rap myself. It’s flush with songs by Biggie, Nas, even Snoop. Who cares if Snoops brain hovers a notch below Porn Hood Hell?”  My exact measurements are 36d, my pic on the LinkedIn doesn’t give my balling beauties justice.” Patrick thinks to himself, “I better learn how to code for a new tech startup because that safe space room to get my whack on can’t come soon enough.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Stand Up Staffer

Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth lived for playdates with her best friend from Columbia Shannon, who turned her on to Shakira, despite her Do It All Dad insisting at 1st, “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 regrated getting into for the most part by now, saying back, “I wish mama’s hips 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 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 2, she could only string 2 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 intent on delivering a fumble free 1st 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 5 other struggling, aspiring stand-up comics stuck in their heads, rehearing punchlines bound for comedic glory compared to your hack stabs at being professionally funny for 5 minutes straight at a time. Still, Matilda would always shine in the scripted lines her Dad gave Matilda to score laughs with at 2, 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 2 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 5, her Do It All Dad enrolled his 5-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, “Will watch Rocky 2 together for pointers.” Then, the next summer, Matilda co-stared in 15 or more commercials uploaded on to YouTube for his Standup Staffer business, which later lead 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, billing itself as a lunch matching service, for single working professionals, who wanted to network with new business contacts over a shared Rib Eye for 2, knowing 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 Blond Power, where she plays a star UX Designer whose worked for 20 companies in 5 years stating, “I fall out of love easily like Trump.” Then when asked why she decided to dye her hair blond, Blond 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 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 admitting 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 next door 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 the 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 not the country, who fires rocket into their neighbor’s backyard, 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, 8 days a week, my chest.” Matilda 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 to.

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 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 1st 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 1st rule of 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 passe. 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 10 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 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 in between.”

Stand Up Staffer adds, “More importantly, your daughter Maya is making bank 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, making it easier for her to bear drawn out conversations with you with more emotionally presence awareness and concern, next time, you start moaning on about your immovable belly rolls, 3 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