Death Of A Bose Salesman

Once upon a time, there was Sales Rep for Bose who suffered from Loud Man’s Disease.  He loved blasting The Who, Led Zeppelin and AC/DC at work in the listening booth before he turned borderline deaf. Now, all Michael the Sales Rep from Bose hears is AC/DC’s song ‘Hells Bells’.     Michael Yeller always believed that louder is better until now, because he was longer able to sing ‘Search and Destroy’ by Iggy Pop and the Stooges at the local Karaoke bar in White Plains, NY after work with his boss.   

            Growing up, Michael only wanted to play air guitar like the great metal shredders on the walls of his childhood room, which included pictures Mick Mars from Motley Crew, the Freddy Kruger of shredding; the steel guitar-slaying Gypsy Road howler Tom Kiefer from Cinderella; and the Tasmanian Devil of pretty good metal pop, CC Deville, from Poison.

            Later, Michael tried to learn the guitar after his parents got him an acoustic one for Hannukah, but he’d already started smoking weed by junior year in high school, so the hand dexterity and hours of practice necessary to assume any semblance of functional playing mastery over the guitar were out of his self-imposed reach.

            After college, Michael tried to make a living as an IT Headhunter in LA, but IT directors half his age didn’t appreciate being hounded by a such a loudmouth New Yorker, who had less voice control than Busta Rhymes at a midnight showing of Higher Learning.

            Also, everyone in LA is very cagy, accustomed to time alone in their cars and airy, open rooftop hotel bars and nondescript, low-key bars on random, zero-foot traffic streets; unaccustomed to Vince Vaughn clones from Swingers from New York like Michael, who was actually told to hush while on a date to see Eric Clapton at the Hollywood Bowl, once.

            Eventually, Michael moved back to NY, did digital ad sales for Citysearch, and started to try open mike stand-up comedy. When working for Citysearch, he’d say, on stage, “Citysearch is a city guide used mostly by gay men to find who gives the best facial.”

            But Michael struggled to unleash his inner rockstar on stage, because if his first joke bombed, he could never win the audience back, which stripped him of the confidence to riff and piggyback off the waves of laughter, opting to go into any newly-inspired direction of hilarity he chooses.  

            At the Christmas party for Citysearch, Michael sang his best rendition of ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ yet, which he had perfected over the years. The high-end 15-year Macallan scotch helped. Still, he got fired the next day for getting blackout drunk and dry humping the coat check girl on the dance floor to ‘Oh What A Feeling’.

            Knowing that Michael couldn’t pay rent through playing air guitar renditions of ‘Fallen Angel’ in Times Square, or make any money at stand-up comedy in NYC because he had to actually invite his friends to get performing time at the NY Comedy Club at all, he decided to find a job where his loud man disease could be neutralized—where it wouldn’t become such a career-hindering liability.

            He got a job in the suburbs at The Westchester Mall in White Plains, NY, selling state-of-the-art stereo equipment for Bose.    Michael’s boss gave him some leeway and allowed him to tell some jokes, because he knew the stand-up comedy bug wasn’t out of his system altogether. Michael would be selling noise cancellation headphones (“Yenta Silencers” is what he’d call them, specifically, before trying new bits on random customers such as, “Did you know that Google fired twenty-five software engineers for sexual harassment? But, software engineers are too busy banging out code to hit on girls at work. Plus, if you’re a software engineer at Google, your typical Pearl command script isn’t “Massage my carpel tunnel, ho.”).

            But one day, during a demo presentation for AC/DC’s ‘Back In Black’ on surround sound in the primo listening sampling room at work, Michael lost his ability to hear fully, now only hearing the death knell church bell clang to ‘Hells Bells’. Was God punishing Michael for his Loud Man’s Disease, forever? How could Michael ever sing Karaoke again, now losing all semblance of voice control whatsoever?

            Michael was a really a good sales rep for Bose, but the reality is, the speakers sold themselves. Michael’s boss and favorite Karaoke partner let him keep his job at Bose, but got him off the sales floor to work as a blogger for their digital marketing team instead, allowing him to rant and rave about all the loudest and proudest, most badass metal rock records of all time (which are only accentuated on Bose’s premium blast speakers, naturally).

            Michael would fire off blog record recommendations for albums by The Who, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, and Van Halen with divine-powered authority. He’d pound the keyboard nonstop all day long, which was sweet music to his boss’s ears, knowing that his employee and friend Michael could channel his love of fast, loud, kickass metal like a Bat Out Of Hell, which sent his heart soaring, flying high again.

            In the end, Michael couldn’t sell Bose speakers on the main sales floor anymore, but he was still able to sell his love of loud metal music through his blogs, and also had the kickass, momentous clang of Hell’s Bells playing in his head, for company. And Michael didn’t need Meatloaf to tell him that two out of three ain’t bad.

Michael Kornbluth

The Dishonorable Front

Best way for Obama’s half-brother to downplay his Terrorist ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. Ditch the Islamic head cap for a MAGA hat during a Facebook livestream on the 4th of July, while blasting the Kayne West portion of Black Republicans in the background. Before wishing Soccer Mom Nation, a Happy 4th, immune from low-income housing from radicalized Sunni refuges from Somalia like Minnesota did for congressional rep Baby Face Omar gonna work it out. Then, Malik, no I wasn’t the swing forward star from St. Johns, Obama, says, “Kenyan lives don’t matter, unless you’re Barack Obama, Christians decapitated by ISIS excluded. But you got to give Barack props for rebranding ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times during March Madness. That’s an Obama accomplishment for you Tucker, that boasts thousands of likes under the Muslim Brotherhood fan page on LinkedIn. And if my half-brother is such a baller at basketball Tucker, then why did Barack ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?”

You ever get a LinkedIn connection request from an impossible to annunciate Arabic name which you’re only uncomfortable with because their profile shot is a headless one?

You don’t want to be accused of Islamophobia, so you’re forced to feel like an asshole for questioning whether this a warning shot from the Muslim Brotherhood for spreading disinformation on your WordPress comedy blog about Public Enemy and The Bomb Squad being bigger Elvis haters than lovers of Farrakhan’s use of poetry slam intended rhyme.

“I’m not an anti-Semite. I’m anti-Termite”, is an ok turn of phrase to try out at an oxygen bar open mike in the valley within the stench laden bowls of North Hollywood. But it’s no, “Emancipate our minds from mental slavery.” Or the demonic Jew in charge of CNN will praise ANTIFA for their unheralded bravery. Farrakhan isn’t my number one pick for prophets above Bob Marley on Ranker is all I’m saying.  Although I’m positive Snoop Dog would disagree, despite Wine Spectator claiming, “Snoops’ Cabernet tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.”

Did you know Hitler was born on the pot smoking holiday 4/20? I haven’t felt this duped by the satanic Jews in charge of green lighting Cheech and Chong films since they allowed Sly Stallone to sneak Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

Has Don Lemon interviewed Ziggy Marley on 420 yet to discuss the plunging birthrates in NYC because of Lena Dunham’s encouraged arm fat flapper look on Instagram? Don Lemon asks, “How did your dad have so many kids Ziggy? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marley says with an extra lit powered grin, “Fake News Man.”

Michael Kornbluth

Reimagining Old Testament God

The UN just passed a resolution to deny all Jewish ancestry connection to Temple Mount by calling it Haram esh-Sharif, which in Arabic means, “King Solomon didn’t build shit”, despite remnants of the Western Wall still standing. And there being archeological evidence of lamb skin condoms buried deep under the 1st Temple used by King Solomon with the Queen of Sheeba, so he could last longer, the next time she flashed her bushy legs under the influence of some primo Ethiopian weed, which was never confused with dirt sprayed week from the Boogie down Bronx that tastes like Windex.

Antisemitism and Florida are so hot right now.

What would you consider more suicidal behavior? Accusing the founding father of Islam of cultural appropriation on the BBC for hijacking the great Mosque of Mecca, despite Abraham and Ishmael building it. Or becoming known as a Dome of Rock Truther Blogger Comedian on Real Time with Bill Maher to take heat off Salman Rushdie by comparing the UN’s attempt to rebrand the Temple Mount as a Muslim only holy site to Mr. Roger’s Land of Neighborhood Make Believe. Dome of Rock Truther Blogger Comedian reveals his last words on Real Time with Ball Maher, ” A 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking Bill. The Dome of Rock is also a 3-minute walk from the Western Wall. So, claiming ancestral connection to the original resting place that housed the 1st great Temple of Solomon is a stretch Bill, like Hillary claiming all of her destroyed emails under subpoena were yoga related while the rest detailed funeral arrangements in the woods if Chelsea’s finance decided to increase his asking price at the last sec. I also don’t recall Drago popping out of my voting booth, only to threaten me with real life hate speech such as, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you. Russian Collusion isn’t why Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lost to Trump. Hillary lost, because she’s an unhuggable cunt, who failed to sell 70 million branded racists on why Baby Boomer Mom knows best. Baby Boomer Arrogance never dies. I’m still waiting for that bumper sticker Bill. But Trump has ties to Russia, no shit, what mail order bride owner doesn’t it? Cut me off any time before the Muslim Brotherhood does Bill.”

Bill Maher says, “You’re growing on me like Dexter on Showtime although I don’t see you getting renewed for 7 more seasons. I wouldn’t want to be your neighbor in Vencie, California, late at night, knowing how many hired loons are available to cancel you prematurely from breathing since my cherished southern California of yesterday became a giant Tent City sponsored by REI.”

Suicidal Comedian throws in some final last words, “But Bill, I forgot to promote my new comedy record, “Not Kosher Baby.” The original record cover picture concept was my 4-Year-Old-Son going in to lick Finn’s butt from the new woke Star Wars franchise. My son does share my DNA, so he’s bound to take a dip into the dark side eventually. My son being pictured licking Finn’s butt was my son’s idea actually. I don’t want you to think I’m grooming future fluffers for the Rebellion. Son even said, “Finn being a black guy makes it funnier.” I said, “I agree. Licking the Asian girl’s butt who plays the Rebel Mechanic wouldn’t work because I don’t see her being popular enough of a character to warrant a giant doll size action figure on her behalf either. Although the last image we settled on for the record cover was my son blocking his face with an old school Playboy magazine while holding up a Playmate centerfold from the 2nd do over Suzanne Somers issue that I got myself for Hanukkah for a Do It All Dad treat. Next to my son in this pic is his new Teddy Bear, who’s sporting an orange foam roller between his legs. In the end, my son and I decided to use the Teddy Bear foam roller hardon pic instead of the one catching my son in the middle of licking Finn’s butt. Between pictures, my son knocks over the orange foam roller with the Playboy magazine and I make him laugh longtime when I said, “You knocked over his penis.” But yeah, so we went with the orange foam roller boner pic, because we didn’t want the butt licking one to give the Podesta brother’s any funny ideas. And don’t act coy Bill. Google Tony Podesta artwork. There’s enough pedo installation artwork on those fundraising walls for the DNC to make Marilyn Manson blush. At the same time Bill, going with the record cover of my gorgeous son licking Finn’s butt for my 45th Comedy Record this year alone, Not Kosher Baby is innocuous behavior, compared to sicko states like California forcing kids to take COVID vaccine shots to attend Kindergarten like they’re grown-up Billy Madison’s who are wastes of life to begin with. The only long-term side-effects these vaccines offer is a false sense of security or a fake news return to normalcy because they work less than Hunter does on his Blow Painting since he gave up doing blow in townie bars in Wilmington, Delaware the night before Thanksgiving, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall. And China loves open borders Joe, because Chinese made fentanyl smuggled across our southern border has killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking with Lena Dunham on Instagram. Pregnant moms getting stabbed are causing an increase in stillbirth babies. Vaccinated mothers are giving birth to kids with cardiac problems out of the womb. Grown healthy dads at 42 have been reported to drop dead of heart attacks on the vaccination room floors seconds later. But I’m supposed to trust Dr. Fauci who’s suppressed effective early-stage treatments like hydroxychloroquine to treat an itchy esophagus for anyone under 70, who never condemned Cuomo for forcing elderly homes to house infected COVID patients after Trump shipped in hospital beds for needed spacing, that got less touches than a Bible at Barry’s favorite bathhouse colony in Provincetown. But my mom wants me to get stabbed with the vax before visiting her and my dad in Arizona for Christmas before threatening to issue the take-away invite. Mom tries to pre-close me on the phone with, “I don’t ask much of you.” And I’m thinking, “Experimenting with the most dangerous vaccine of all time, which a preponderance of PHD’s have resisted taking, so you can steal my free mind and warrior soul away is a pretty big ask mom. Your side already stole an election and got away with it. All of this drawn out COVID theater way past its expiration date, where all the evolved ones pretend to care about the health of their neighbor when most diehard leftists want all Trump voters dead already is a serially unfunny comedy, that’s offering no comedic relief in sight. Unless Mike Dikta becomes the new president of the CDC and calls masks a worst prevent defense than pissing off Walter Payton by calling him a pretty boy in headbands. I know you don’t have kids Bill. But I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to see their kids masked up off the bus looking like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain. But the masks work. Woke bloke please. Masks work less than Melo running the Triangle Offense. Why hasn’t Melo become the spokesperson for Tampax Tampons yet? Name another NBA lifer responsible for stopping so much flowage. And doctors who refuse to treat unvaccinated patients aren’t doctors anymore. They’re wannabe George Clooney’s in stethoscopes who belong in Straight Jackets for acting like COVID depresses your immune system more than backend entry into the Dallas Buyer’s Club. Last, I don’t like interfaith families Bill. Not that my wife gives me a choice in the matter. The only thing I hate more than my kids being used as extras like the kids from Pink Floyd the Wall to feed the media manipulated narrative behind vaccinated lives mattering the most, are fucking Gnomes Bill. Gnomes look like Santa’s stoner slacker offspring in Succession. I had to give up taking edibles before I thought my daughter was asleep already because I’d feel like a mongoloid moron trying to answer her super deep questions on the stuff. She’d ask, “So daddy, if God created the universe. Then, who created God. I said, “God went back in time in a Time Machine, made my Elon Musk.” Daughter says, “That’s a real convincing explanation Daddy. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

Michael Kornbluth

Animated Daddy

You think my son sounds like a cartoon because of his high-pitched voice? I bet he’s still prettier to look at than your daughter if she takes after you. Then again, should I really be upset at your charge of my son not sounding Trans baritone enough for your liking? The kid’s only 7. At least, he has a beautiful mind to convey, you get tense at Lena Dunham jokes because your excessive preponderance of gums takes up your entire face when you talk, which would make anyone feel like an undesirable fatty inside. But if you’re trying to imply that my son sounds like a fairy pin up girl for Disney Kids in the making, I’m glad. At least, he’ll never feel that his free will is being guilted or shamed into pumping your wench laden box on your birthday again. Instead, he’ll be building resorts in Key West to avoid fag hag turning wenches like yourself with divine powered authority as he continues build new towers of love, way up high, high, into the sky, sky. Because the Sun Butter King will be free of nagging, blast off time inhibiting energy as his mo money minting mojo keeps on rising, rising. Arthur Morrison Kornbluth shines again. Suck on it on longtime hacky hag, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth