Roasting ANTIFA Again

How do Antifa foot soldiers for the DNC show love for Mom on Mother’s Day?

Take out the trash and move out of the house for good.

Yesterday I told my son. “Freedom of speech has its limitations. For example, you can get arrested for yelling fire in a crowded theater.”

Son says, “What if there’s only one person in the theater?”

I finish laughing and say, “And that one person is Christopher Wray in the FBI screening room jerking off with a handful of Paul Mitchell Mousse doing his best Beavis and Butthead impersonation yelling, “Fire, fire” while watching a mockumentary about ANTIFA written by Stephen King and Patton Oswalt called Fire Childs Gone Wild. Now that’s an idea.”

Fire Childs Gone Wild, Challah, thank you very much.

But diversity is our strength.

Or the latest hurler for Antifa wouldn’t require Tommy John Surgery next time he hurls a concrete milkshake at a journalist with a byline in the National Review.

Fire Childs Gone Wild, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

When America Winces

At a parent-teacher conference for my son’s Kindergarten class, his Spanish Teacher implores us to bring Spanish to our home. I raise my hand and ask, “Isn’t one home invasion enough?” 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Self-Defense is deader than Kyle Rittenhouse’s prospects during pledge week at the University of Arizona. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I wish toothpaste tasted more like Bud Light. So, I wouldn’t taste anything afterwards except Kid’s Rocks spurned tears. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Now Kid Rock can’t play beer pong with groupies on Spring Break in Daytona Beach without his gag reflex kicking in, to the image of a Dylan Hepburn finger popping American Badass from behind to Devil Without Cause?

When American winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

10.8 million Tik Tock followers are ten times platinum. So, I’d lose my zest for pounding Bud Light on the front leg of my F Hair Plugs Sniffer Tour, Born free, my balls.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I’m guilty of wincing after asking Alexa how many followers Dylan Hepburn Mulvaney has on Tik Tok before
finishing that joke. 

I didn’t wince because Dylan Mulvaney is trans. I winced because she’s hackier than John Mullaney’s act in Jerry Seinfeld’s Bar Mitzvah suit. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I also winced at the thought of how Dylan is the best American-made Trans talent Tik Tok offers these days. Our Chinese Overlords wouldn’t consider Dylan Hepburn Lady Boy gold material of any kind, especially since the price of the US dollar is more depressed than Trumpy Poo’s tits knowing that Operation Death Speed continues to cause more cases of cardiac arrest than torn condoms on Bill Maher’s party bus tour of Rio De Janeiro during Marti Gras, sponsored by Third Legged 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I bet Dylan Mulvaney isn’t even real, just a CIA-made, augmented reality version of what a trans influencer spokesperson for Bud Light would look like based on John Mulaney’s stool sample alone.

How is Dylan’s sex appeal alone generating 10 million followers on Tik Tok? It sounds more prosperous than John Mulaney selling out Madison Garden because he had the balls to after Seinfeld for a change. Cosby was a rapist for 4 decades in a row. Where happened to your powers of observation then Jerry?

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

Click Farms in India wince at padding Dylan’s numbers more than they did for the creep Swede in Succession.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth 




AI Roasted

Does AI have a hand in roasting coffee beans at Stumptown Coffee Roasters in Portlandia yet?

All hand roasted means is small batch stoner slow anyway.

AI writes tasting notes twice as fast too.

I’m not in love with the new espresso blend that combines beans from the Congo and Ghana nicknamed Musk & Gates Guinea Pigs.

I’m detecting notes of Lithium iron overload unlike the past Turbo Charged Brain Blend, that was dark and fruity like Little Nas on Fire Island.

AI Roasted, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Headstart on Cancer

Do I immerse myself in comedy to avoid real emotional honesty Lord?

Am I fixated on getting the most mileage about of my funny side because getting laughs makes me feel most alive?

Can I ever overcome the thrill of scoring more crying emojis from friends old new after sharing my latest and greatest bits, fresh off the press, which make feel the most blessed?

Do I care about earning recognition points in the world of fiction or just care about getting paid to be professional joke killer on stage around the world?

If I hate the art of stand-up comedy so much or being around other people so much, according to my wife, then why would I dedicate the totality of my focus, brain power and time toward the art of laugh yanking entertainment, 142 comedy records later?

Do I love the art of standup comedy because it fulfills my needs to shred and feel like a rock star without having to master the art of playing my Fender Stratocaster ever?

Lord, when I prayed in Synagogue last Saturday, asking for the opportunity for my father to see me as a success before he dies? Was I talking about being a working standup comedian away my kids 300 days a year, a well-paid podcast host comedian or as a working TV writer who writes books on the side with no time to see his kids whatsoever?

Don’t you think the main conflict in my book of short fiction, Waste Of Height Really Short Stories is the urge to finance my return to the stand up comedy yet but can’t just yet?

I have all these jokes and want to capitalize on them so badly Lord.

Am I being a lazy brain for not wanting to write these short new stories that I have great log lines for?

Why do I just want to write jokes and killer job descriptions for startup clients to put Stand Up Staffer in business?

How can I survive the charges of softness by dad Lord?

Is digging ditches going to provide the dream life for my kids?

I’ve got specs of grey at 47, which are signs of wisdom right?

I don’t want to be married to any script anymore Lord.

I don’t want to hide behind a computer anymore Lord.

I want to kill on the Coliseum floor.

I want to get paid to kill.

I’m tired of hearing nobody reads anymore.

I’m tired of hearing get focused by dad.

But deep down, Lord, I know I must pick a race to finish 1st in at 47 already.

The kids want me to perform standup comedy again.

Once I start collecting unemployment, I could start doing that again.

I need think big, show conviction and reach out to big shot performers like Toby Keith who I admire and share my comedy records with.

My big ask is asking for a booker referral of any kind.

I need to be booked for shows.

I have 6 months left on a car lease that I’m not even paying for.

I need to cash in on my white privilege already.

This guy on LinkedIn who I admire says write stories that matter.

Well, my jokes matter too. They’re truth bombs specials, made especially for these times.

The hardcore hilarious of them is beyond debunkable.

I need to become a sales machine.

Either I’m selling jokes on stage or during the day selling my headhunter writing services as Stand Up Staffer, Creative Tech Recruiter Extraordinaire.

I’m tired of spending money on writing contests only to lose again.

I should’ve won the at Press 53 contest for short fiction, I was only competing against 250 writers for Christ’s sake.

I want to get a talent manger or lit agent to get me a book deal after seeing my talent for being the quickest punchline blaster in the US.  

Donald Trump’s father said, “No man ever became rich from sitting behind a desk.”

I’m tired of repeating myself Lord.

I hate to abandon goals for writing contests, like the Big Break One for Gum King Of New York.

But I’d rather write that script at my own speed this year or enact that business idea for Hop-O-Rama Chew with somebody more than just an imaginary friend courtesy of Final Draft.

I need to get on other people’s podcasts.

I don’t want to be a crying mess on birthday again like I was this year, Lord.

I heard from an old friend on my birthday, who said, “May you always kill on stage.” He tells me to sent audition tapes to Fox.

I know that my true friends still want me to succeed on stage.

They know I was made for it.

I want to please them.

I love them.

I want to please my kids.

My daughter says, “Daddy, do whatever you do be happy, just get me the mansion in North Salem that I desire.”

But I got to get of the house to make contacts and make that happen.

I’m talking circles.

This was supposed to be a story for a short fiction contest about getting head start on cancer, but it is.

Cancer can be waiting around the corner.

My dad might have lung cancer.

He has a biopsy next week.

This had supposed me to a chance to tell him, I’m gay about laugh yankage and I’m finally going for it all the way and that writing books, blogs and doing more comedy records and podcasts isn’t enough to keep my fighting spirit alive with the Gods of comedy anymore.

If I was making money off it, I don’t think so, not anymore.

I crave applause, I crave respect.

I have to finance my dreams my way, Stand Up Staffer is here to say.

It’s the only way I can finance a trip to France for my daughter’s 13th birthday, the big bash in her honor, and I’ll feel like a big macher for once in my life.

And I’ll have you to thank for giving me the strength and courage to take on the world despite feeling like a designated slow poke in elementary school.,

I’m going for it but got to be Standup Staffer Hero first, and doubts remaining of my willingness to what it takes to make this reality happen is beyond debunkable.

Thanks for the fighter’s chance to prove my worthiness and for the head start on cancer, being a late bloomer and all Lord, very, very much.

Head-Start on Cancer, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Stage Names for Only Fans

Michael Flamer

Michael Rocker

Michael Lifer

Killerset Kornbluth

Michael Spewer

Off The List Kornbluth

Unfocused Kornbluth

Bud Man Kornbluth

Loudman Disease Kornbluth

Sustained Stiffage Kornbluth

Half Heeb Crazy Kornbluth

Edgeless Comedy Blows Kornbluth

Joshua Higher

Heavenly Toppers Kornbluth

Adderall Conqueror Kornbluth

Year Without Edibles Kornbluth

Far From Korny Kornbluth

Laugh Yanker Kornbluth, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Losing Passions

Why can’t you criticize Billy Crystal without being deemed a bad Jew?

Just because he plays a curmudgeonly asshole comedian in Mr. Saturday Night?

Despite Jewish law prohibiting you from working during the Sabbath during your ordained day of rest?

If you want to get rid of your kids, start reading The Webster All-In-One Dictionary and Thesaurus 15 minutes before their school bus arrives.

Suddenly, I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea.

You want to make the earth move.

Start reading your kids, The Webster All In One Dictionary and Thesaurus.

My kids sprinted for the door like a bat made in Wuhan with Racoon rape rabies was on their tail.

They parted with their Nintendo Switches faster than Juno sliced off her tits.

One night, my youngest son asks, “Daddy, who’s Moses? I say, “A stuttering Jew who came through.”

Another night, my wife said, “The Bible is meant to be interpreted as Metaphorical.” I say, “Then, why are you being anal about ass play again?”

I devised a new tradition for Hannukah to instill Jewish pride among my kids called Hannukah Hat-Trick.

When you get 3 gifts for one night of Channukah, it doesn’t matter if they’re all big Kahuna gifts; you yell, “Hannukah Hat-Trick, Challah. Thank you very much.”

My wife expressed concern about my new tradition because I’m still so broke my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.

My wife says, “Don’t get crazy with the gifts this year.” I say, “Whatever, Gentile Grinch.”

Losing passions, Challah. Thank you very much.

One year for Christmas, my in-laws got my daughter a toy chest with no toys in it.

I told my daughter.

Don’t worry, Matilda.

We have eight thousand Hannukah gifts to fill it up with.

But Billy Crystal doesn’t think Hannukah is a sexy holiday.

What’s sexy about Christmas, Billy?

Doesn’t it celebrate a virgin birth through immaculate conception?

The only thing getting fisted over Christmas is a breast-heavy Turkey.

We’re sexualizing religious holidays now.

Look, I lived in West Hollywood for three years.

Plus, I did a comedy record called Funny Enough Fagala, which means ass on fire in Yiddish.

But I’m not fretting about the absence of sexy in Hannukah like I did when living in Park Slope.

Which famed writer Norman Mailer once called “The most secure place on earth for pampered Jewish pussies to live.”

Hannukah isn’t sexy, Billy.

Unless I got enough gunk left to pump on Gina Gershon’s tits after eight miraculous hump-heavy nights, I agree, Billy.

But I’m not bending over backward to dump my Jewish identity for a Christmas Tree to feel less overtly Jewy pushy annoying around Gentiles during the holiday season.

Besides, when Gentiles see a Christmas Tree, they see a Christmas Tree.

When Jews see a Christmas Tree, they see a Camouflaged Cross.

Growing up, my dad said, “Son, Jews don’t buy Christmas Trees. Unless the plan is to convert it into a Treehouse and flip it for a profit.”

I just learned that Moses sought God’s advice after his daily power hike at the top of Mount Sinai, only for God to whip out his ten commandments on the spot. And demand, “Complain about getting Carpel Tunnel while transcribing these commandments into stone despite you being a little rusty on Hebrew. And I’ll hire your assistant Joshua to finish you off and the job for you, Kapeesh.” 

That must have been a shocker.

Moses wanted advice on marrying outside the tribe without being condemned as a polytheistic whore.

Are you going to tell me Moses never developed a surging stiffy at the sight of Prince Hakeem’s bathers in ancient Babylonian Times 6 degrees separated from Cleopatra’s burning bush?

After Alexander bursts through his lamb skin condoms giving her every STD in the book, including Homio Erectus of The Pelvis Bone.

Self-hating Jews, half-Heeb crazy or not, who bend over backwards to adopt Christmas Traditions to fit in, are gay. 

That’s like changing your Alexa voice from the dronish, deeper baritone monotone of Scarlett Johanson’s voice between estrogen throat blocker treatments in exchange for Julie Andrews.

In Billy Crystal’s Autobiography, “Jewish Yuck,” he also says, “There is a reason Norman Rockwell never painted a Jewish family dinner.” Because nobody could ever sit still from complaining with their arms too much. Or was it because Aunt Hilda’s armpit stains after working the double at Ratner’s were too off-putting for William Randolph Hearst’s readers? There is a reason Norman Rockwell never painted a Jewish family dinner. Maybe, because he’d never be fucking invited.

Didn’t Norman Rockwell paint pictures of roasting Yamaka’s over an open fire on Easter to add color to his dry-as-toast company chatter?

Good ham this year Julie. You showed those Lubavitch Jews what they’re missing for sticking with God’s old-school commandments over our do-over book, according to John the Baptist. Who’s John the Baptist again? And did he start housing pulled pork sandwiches once his boy Jesus declared all pork products Kosher? I wonder what lead Jesus to give his dad the giant the f you rebuke on that law. Did his friends goad him into doing it? Jesus, how much fucking Falafel can one man eat without turning into a moderate Muslim homemaker, assuming you go easy on the chili paste. Those pomegranate molasses Koshertarian Wings are a bit fruity-forward for my tastes. And I don’t want to give our less tolerant Muslim neighbors any freaky Fagala ideas. Jesus says, “But Muslims don’t eat pork, Joseph.”

Joseph says, “Yeah, but that’s just because Islam is culturally appropriating the shit out of Judaism. I’m supposed to believe their great Muhammad, their Islamic Moses, ascended to Heaven on a winged donkey from Mount Sinai only after Muhamad made Jihad, child sex trafficking, and rape Kosher in Allah’s gangster paradise.

But I’m supposed to believe Jesus, who was celebrating Passover during his Last Supper, decided to break free from dietary Kosher restrictions out of the blue, all of a sudden, just because the Romans opened up a Stromboli stand in the old city to test the faith of those true believers who later got tortured to death during the Inquisition for refusing to partake in Tapas served with acorn-fed prosciutto. The Spanish Jewish Prisoner moans, “How much per pound? Way too pricy; Kosher Salami poached in Christian baby blood is my cup of tea. Jews aren’t known for being real heavy drinkers, either. Who has room for heavy Spanish Reds after another spirit cooking dinner at Hillary’s palace? Hillary Hammer Time Cankles strikes biblical lore with relentless precision.

Losing passions, Challah. Thank you very much.

How do I feel about joining a Jewish Synagogue today?

Lukewarm, only to learn that an orthodox Rabbi at a nearby Synagogue in Yorktown Heights quotes form the same NPR news feed my wife subscribes to.

What’s it like being married to an atheist gentile?

Annoying, especially when your wife throws a toy train at your head after you nudge her to tell her parents that we’ve had Hebrew naming ceremonies for all three of our kids already.

I try to empathize.

Babe, I love anyone who loves God, who doesn’t want to kill me for being half Heeb crazy.

The only difference between Gentiles and Jews is that the chosen people don’t buy into Jesus being the Messiah.

A rotating door of Karen types yelling at me to wear a damn mask at the Kosher Butcher doesn’t sound like peace on earth.

Wear the damn mask.

Suck the hate speech out of my chosen schlong first, Karen.

Pretend NPR ordered you to leak it.

What’s it like raising Jewish kids without sending them to Hebrew School?

Easy, we do Shabbat prayers every Friday night.

I’ve involved them in my comedy act while writing the book The Koshertarian Comedians.

And laugh hysterically at the sight of my son Chosen Curls giving a flying elbow drop on top of our Christmas Tree that Mama bought against our wishes again.

Plus, I experience zero regrets whenever I yell at my wife for decorating our house with non-denominational Gnomes for three months leading up to December again.

I hate Gnomes.

They look like Santa’s cut-off Trust Fund Babies on Social Security.

What’s it like having dinner with my in-laws over Grace?

A time to channel my inner Kid Rock, as I say, Amen, I say Amen while being a sneaky Heeb about it because they have no idea I’m imitating Kid Rock on Rock and Roll Jesus. 

Once, my daughter admitted to lip-syncing Grace after my mother-in-law forced my 3 Jew blood-tainted kids to receive Eucharist, a Ukrainian communion without my approval.

But right now, you’re thinking.

But Zelensky is Jewish.

He had his two kids baptized.

So that’s like saying Jihadi John is Jewish.

Don’t Jihadists ever tire of pubescent dent-free trim?

Don’t they have enough blood on their hands already?

What was it like growing up with a Southern mother who converted to Judaism?

Weird, especially the time when she’d reveal her southern belle side.

Mom says, “Kentucky is known for horses and pretty women.

I say, Mom, keep your sundress on. Before you tell me, Dad is bigger than Man-O-War.

The number of Jews is declining because so many are assimilating or pulling out early from excessive meat sweats.

Michael Douglas wants to connect other Jews to faith.

Maybe, start with condemning Rabbis who use COVID, Trumpism, and the Holocaust in the same sentence over the High Holy days and will talk.

Trump was the best friend Israel ever had.

And Israel discarded him like trash in exchange for Hair Plugs Sniffer.

Who only cares about brownie sniff-offs, arming a nuclear Iran again, punishing MAGA country for electing Trumpy Poo Tits twice, and depressing the US Dollar more than Zelensky’s coke dealer since he declined his Dark Money Discover Card.

Maybe, have a Rabbi who admits to his congregation.

Obama’s the one in love with Hitler.

Obama wished he was that organized.

Exterminating any big-mouth Jewish critic who dares to criticize his thug’s lives matter most rhetoric and nuke gifting to deal to Iran would be a gas.

Losing Passions, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Samuel The Prophet

With all that relief money in the world, you’d Zelensky could spring for a new shirt. Now I know why they call them Army Fatigues. 

What is Louie guilty of besides failure of imagination? 

Especially on his shirts sold during his Apology Tour, which said nothing but “Sorry” on them.                                                                                                                                           

I wouldn’t beat around the bush and be more offensively apologetic with my T-Shirt design ideas. 

I’d unload with something that sticks to the ribs like “Sticky Life,” “Got Wipes,” “Hornier Around Hacks,” “Get A Grip You No Name Bitch” or “Coming In A Green Room Near You Minneapolis.” The Muslim call to prayer on state-of-the-art Bose speakers in the Town Square always gets me in the mood before another killer set. 

Lazy Man Sex Lives, Challah. 

Thank you very much.

Charlie Day from Always Sunny talks about his old NYC apartment during his Today Show interview. 

At least he had an apartment in Manhattan. 

Who paid his deposit and 1st month’s rent?

Did the Gang Go to Plumbing School? 

Hey D, you wear the damn mask. But suck the hate speech out of my super soaker 1st.

Pretend Obama ordered you to leak it. 

Has the Always Sunny crew done the episode, The Gang Goes Election Fraud, yet?

Or did lawyers representing Dominion issues a gag order on that pitch after they scrubbed their profiles clean after the stolen election on LinkedIn? 

Have they done an episode called The Gang Get’s Vaccinated yet? 

And get Andrew Cuomo to play the fake news mayor of Philly when Chris Rock was pimping the vaccine that gives you blood clots on TV; that worked less than Russell Westbrook running the Triangle Offense. 

Remember when Cuomo was considered a fawned-over sex symbol who pushed his clot shots harder than his gender-fluid pink ziti recipes on Pinterest? 

Despite Cuomo looking like the Thing and Mama Fratelli had a baby. 

Cuomo getting paid to write a book on leadership is like Hitler writing a book on Anger Management, Woody Allen writing a book on hands-off parenting, or Kevin Durant getting picked to a Ted Talk on how to block out the sound of Cyberbullying.

I don’t know what’s weirder. 

My Dad asking me how work was going on my Birthday, when deep down, he knows I just got fired. 

Or my mom, playing hot potato with her smartphone with my dad before he finally got on the phone to pseudo-sing me Happy Birthday. 

It was a stutter step move because he started singing solo, but you can tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

He mustered to belt out a raspy, gutted, Happy Birthhole Day, in a half-hearted manner. 

For comedic purposes, I remained silent after he barely got out Happy Birthole Day, which shook him out of his comfort zone, which was already nonexistent. 

My Dad suddenly has a mini-heart attack on the spot after realizing he isn’t equipped with the voice or drive to sing me Happy Birthday in full without my mother chiming in to lead the way. 

Dad says in an incredibly awkward, stilted way, “I was singing you Happy Birthday.” 

I reply. 

I heard Dad. 

I remained quiet to see if you’d commit to singing multiple choruses in a row. 

But don’t worry; I wasn’t holding my breath. 

Since you wrote me off in your heart for supporting Trump on my Podcast for free before he let the Dominion Machines kill Democracy under his Operation Death Speed plugging watch.

Comedians hate it when common folk disrespect laugh yanker giants. 

For example, I’m in the Post Office and ask if that Stamp on display was of Redd Foxx. 

The Post Office Worker laughed off my inquiry with huffy, patronizing disgust. 

So, I fire back with, “He used to sell weed with Malcolm X. He opened his comedy club in Hollywood as Rodney Dangerfield did on the Upper East Side, close to Scores. 

I’m saying that without Redd Foxx, Eddie Murphy isn’t banging out 12 kids without batting an eye after getting paid 20 million for the Vampire of Brooklyn. 

I bumped into my younger brother’s ex-girlfriend, whom he’s banging again but chose to pass on initiating a conversation. 

What was going to be my icebreaker? 

Banging you when I had the chance would’ve been gross because that would be like getting HPV from my brother. 

So, how do you feel about your brother logging more face time with your one kid versus my 3? 

You should’ve seen how my mom’s face lit up when she showed me a pic of your kids on her smartphone. 

You’d think Biden, AKA Hair Plugs Sniffer, beat Trump and Cancer on the same day without having to nuke Sloan Kettering Chemo Ward for refusing to sell their radiation reserves to Ukraine to keep Putin on his toes. 

Stephen A Smith doesn’t like to be challenged by Jewish New Yorkers who are more intelligent than him. 

Or else he’d still be doing 1st take with Max Kellerman. 

Who’s more inclined than Skip Bayless to call out bullshit. The next time another pro Athlete like Deshaun Jackson goes on record about educating themselves on Hitler. 

Who’s more included in calling out bullshit? The next major black entertainer, like Kayne or Kyrie Irving, plays the Black Israelite card to deflect charges of anti-Semitism. 

You can’t be anti-Semitic if you’re a Black Israelite. 

Yeah, and I’m sure your DNA shows up on King David’s, Shaka Zulu. 

Always trust your instincts. 

I wrote in my notebook, avoid wife on your Birthday. 

But what I do, is share my beers with her when I’ve denied myself all year during my year without beer. 

I got 47 handpicked to represent my circle of life for my birthday bash occasion. 

Only to blow off my plan to play hooky with my son and have lunch at the Oyster Bar in Manhattan. 

Later that day, my son quoted the movie Copland and said, “Daddy, I gave you a chance, and you blew it.” 

At the same time, a moment like this lessens the sting of regret. 

I hate New York more than ever since ANTIFA and BLM were deemed righteous upholders of law and order. 

Yeah, and Turbo Tax is culturally biased software. 

And ANTIFA aren’t a bunch of Punisher Vigilante wannabes who never outgrew their pyro phase. 

Diversity is our strength. 

Is that why those crazy white boy meth heads in ANTIFA require Tommy John Surgery every time they hurl a concrete milkshake at a gay Vietnamese journalist with a byline with the National Review? 

If Miles Davis’s lonesome trumpet voice sounds like a floating ice burg, then Joe Biden whispering to a girl scout, “Suck my tongue, before the Dalia Lama asks you do it assuming we pump you full of puberty blockers and get you a hair cut at Short Cuts, then his voice sounds like a snoozy poltergeist. 

The morning before, I get fired from my IT Headhunter job,

My son says, “Keep your sleeves rolled up so you get fired and find a job that pays you more money.” 

Samuel the Prophet was correct in his vision. 

I got fired later that morning. 

On my way out, I said, “Trump won, and I’m clot-shot free. At least my heart isn’t a ticking time bomb waiting to happen.” 

Samuel the Prophet lives, Challah.

Thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth