Category: psychology

Year Without Beer Film Premise

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, psychology, writing

I never liked my old drinking buddies enough to seek out their company sober.

I’ve never gotten bombed with new buds in my life come to think of it.

Plus, the one relationship I rekindled that I care most about maintaining is a college bud whose been sober for 15 years.

I still like my gummies, but the idea of meeting up with old drinking buds for drinks offers less appeal than saying grace whenever my mother-in-law launches into a grace at our own Jewish observing house that sports a Big Mouth Moses Nutcracker to freak out fiercely protective gentiles at large in November before expecting a complete monopoly of Christmas decorations for December in full and the following 3 lazy stash away months that follow.

Year Without Beer, is shaping up nicely, my belly too, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Last Licks

by doitalldadyear, posted in family, psychology, relationships

Brother says to my son, “All those guys in the photo are my friends.” I say, “That’s why Uncle Jon blanks on my birthday because he has so many birthdays to remember. Assuming he swore off posting selfies of himself driving on Facebook. A Plus Narcissist lives matter most. Back surgeries from bending over backwards to kiss our own assholes is the family tradition. Who else would birth the expression 100 percent happy than an A plus narcissist like Uncle Jon who makes Hunter Biden look like a slacker underachiever in comparison?” Brother says, “I’m not an A Plus Narcissist.” I say, “You broke off an incoming marriage the weekend before the wedding date, before wrecking another one in a little over a year while somehow managing a way to frame your ex-lovers as the druggy degenerate slave drivers of the relationship, when neither of them did nose candy or heroin pills prior Sir Snort a Lot. Plus, you still think it’s a good look posting driving selfies on Instagram with the asshole filter permanently disabled. So, no offense A plus narcissist, but the point of objective return has passed you by bro. Just regift my Nintendo wedding gift for your 2 nephews in addition to the Pro Wrestling game I got you to overcompensate for you failing to acknowledge their birthdays ever outside of you offering me blow on my son’s birthday 7 years ago and I’ll rebrand you a C plus narcissist, which is very generous on my part. Arthur was born on New Year’s Day. Next year he turns 9, so you’ll still be in a fortunate position to be the 1st person to wish him a happy birthday in the morning because you only hear last call from the bathroom stall. Lighting some fireworks for the kids this past 4th Of July doesn’t compare to the blasts of angelic light they emit from smiling alone, which could light up a youth hostel with no Wi Fi during the next Chinese planted plague, but it’s a soul stirring start. Just stop acting like the poor unfortunate son when mom still breaks out in canker sores on your behalf. So much for being burnt out on last licks, far from fading, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Michael Kornbluth

Sketches Of Ridgefield

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, politics, psychology

The best thing about breastfeeding today is that you can’t blame low supplies on supply chain problems. Plus, you feel much less pain at the pump.

My wife The Boob Doctor, who works as a lactation consultant, sampled a speech on me last night about breastfeeding. When she said, “Were not in the business of starving babies.” I said, “Assuming, those mommies are modeled after Jessica Simpson. I don’t think my mom had one bottle leftover between her.”

Tried to go short shopping at Vans today. A checkered print of red shorts appealed to me, but then I thought, “You have too many grey hairs in your beard to pull of those shorts asshole.”

I’ve lost all patience with my daughter’s friends who don’t acknowledge my presence whenever I pick her up from camp. I say, “If Mazel hates her mom so much, she should stop acting like such a scrunchie face cunt in my presence, no offense.” Later, I try to act nicer and say, “Mazel just morphs into an uppity bitch in my presence when I pick you up from camp because she’s just pissed about having to part with the sweetest friend she doesn’t deserve to have.” Daughter says, “What do you expect Mazel to do in your presence daddy?” I say, “Dictate a thank note into her smartphone in front of me when I pick you up from camp in real time in front of all her counselors about why she’d turn into a Godless cum dumpster without the beautifying, anchoring influence that you bless her life with because you stem from my Do It All Dad Year Tree Trunk for starters. #Hang10Dad. Robert Schimmel lives. Challah, thank you very much.

Did you know that Jeff Bezos dumped his wife for a woman who used to be married to Hall of Fame Tight End Tony Gonzalez? I don’t care how big his dick pics are. Happy denting, AJAX Man.

Then, the lady at the bookstore in Ridgefield, CT finishes laughing and says, “Are you in our system?” And I say, “All of a sudden, I feel like a registered sex offender with Woody Allen’s autobiography in my hand. Did you know that Woody used to keep naked polaroids of a 9-year-old Soon-Yi stuffed into his top sock drawer? The only pic missing from his spank collection was the one of Soon-Yi crying on the cover of Time Life Magazine. I almost forgot, do you also have the book Comedy, Drama by Bob Odenkirk? Personally, my favorite Bob Odenkirk role was him playing Larry Sander’s agent on the Larry Sanders show when he wore his assholishness on a sleave. But it’s impossible to not think of my brother when I repeat the title Comedy, Drama, because he’ll do cocaine and Ambien at the same time. Next level sketchy lives. How indecisive can you be bro? You’re more indecisive than Jared Kushner holding up the salad bar line at the Bellagio. Actually, met Gary Shandling at an art show in Pasadena, when I was catering, working on my smile ready face, because growing up I didn’t have much muscle memory to flex from whatsoever. Gary Shandling said, “Keep writing and you’ll look like me.”

She says, “So did you keep writing?” And I said, “Yeah, I got my TV writing break with Vh1 Classic on America’s Hard 100 that was hosted by WWE star Chris Jericho. He wouldn’t touch the steroid shrinkage joke I wrote for him out of respect for Vince McMahon. He didn’t want to be Owen Hart without a safety net with no harness to pull him back from the point of no return. I’ve also recorded 113 comedy records since. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years. My last comedy record, Crazy Stones after Lapping Losers was made in honor of Oliver Stone’s crazy stones, whose half Jewish by the way. Put another one on that board. You know your dad is a fake news hippie if he vehemently denies the CIA’s role in taking out JFK. Never visiting the Grand Canyon after living in Arizona for 10 years, doesn’t help bolster your case against being a fake news hippie dad, fake news hippie. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggests otherwise. Also, where are all the Philosophy books? Oh, their placed all the way at the bottom here at the bottom of the food chain where all their diplomas belong. I’m in no position to act more evolved secure after graduating from a top communication school with a stutter to become another schmuck in a headset IT recruiter out of college like the rest. I went to Ithaca college in upstate NY, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I could suck down back-to-back to bingers and not manage to stutter every other 2 seconds. Wait a minute, 30 bucks for Bob Odenkirk’s Breaking Balls, you’ve got to me kidding me. I snorted crystal meth thinking it was cocaine once. 5 hours later after one line, I acted like an extra speedy Tony the Tiger, going, “This shit is great.” The come down was far from great. Later, I call the dude who gave me the bump from hell and say, “Dude that was really strong coke. I thought I was going to die in my own arms that night.” He said, “Dude that wasn’t coke, that was crystal meth. I thought you knew the difference.” And I said, “I didn’t realize you were conducting the Pepsi Challenge.” Eighties Don Draper lives if he didn’t die of lung cancer in the eighties. Have I mentioned my push to push my daughter into becoming a lesbian yet? Because she can’t die of Aids or get cervical cancer from HPV if you get the vaccine for it that actually works better than Russell Westbrook running the Triangle offense This way my Lesbian leaning daughter can take a licking and keep on ticking. I don’t have any business cards on me but just ask Alexa to play Michael Kornbluth if I’ve aroused your interesting in wanting to be stuffed with more totality of me.” Challah, thank you very much.

Book Lady says, “Vince Mcmahon is a nice man. One time I went to a restaurant in Darien, CT and he paid for everybody’s dinner.” I said, “He gave a touching homage to Andre The Giant in his doc on HBO, unlike bleeding heart Rob Reiner. Who insisted, Andre the Giant was wasted throughout the entire shooting of Princess of Pride. Great job, ruining any last connection to my age of innocence asshole. Billy Crystal’s ho hum commentary didn’t help, adding, “I couldn’t understand Andre as a one syllable grunt as the Sasquatch in the 6 million Dollar Man.” Fuck you, Billy Crystal. Your face looks like a rotten apple head who identifies as a dried-up Danish with a goatee with all funny man color stripped from your hallowed edgeless core for the past 15 years and counting. Rob Reiner adds, “Andre could barely catch Buttercup descending from the castle because his back muscle was mushier than a plate of brie left in the summer Provence sun. ” Book Lady says, “Keep writing, Totality Of Me, keep writing. Thank you, very, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Buckets Of Challahs

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, politics, psychology

Edgeless comedy blows.

Reason to forsake Adderall. When you take it long enough in a row, it feels like a burnt-out devil is stuck in your head, intent on stealing your time, soul and brain from its intended form forever.

Yesterday, I sensed a lit agent being a smug prick in declining an offer of representation for my book The Koshertarian Comedian. So, I check his Twitter feed, which includes a retweet about Melania failing at defeating cyberbullying with a screen shot of her husband’s suspended account. So, just to fuck with him back, I email, “Fuck your fake news sincerity. Trump won. But keep thinking Mr. Groper got more votes than Trump or Obama Be Good ever did. Which is like claiming DMX gave up weed for catnip during Lent. DMX lives. Yonker’s is getting black as shit up in here Challah, thank you very much.

If you’re still concerned about catching COVID, then just admit your precious vaccine works less than Jared Kushner does on his tan, when he’s got Ivanka to do whenever she talks dirty to him in Mandarin on his birthday again, resuming her role as Christina Tightcoochie, otherwise known as Jewess Who Swallows. 2 seconds later, Jared Kushner blows a follow-up load for 2 minutes straight into her pearly white face and says, The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming. Hide your borscht soup recipe for Passover or we’re screwed Trumpy Goo.” Can I get a holla for some money blasting Challahs? Killer With A Cause, Challah, thank you very much.

The new mayor of NY consulted the mayor of Chicago, lead maker of blood controlling kits in our country, on how to tackle crime better than the cast of 21 Jump Street without Johnny Depp willing to resume his FBI informant role in Donnie Brosco Does BLM Busts The Most for anything less than 50 million in bitcoin and all the cases of Chateau Margaux Keith Richards can drink.

How can the mayor of NY tackle crime better? Why not, condemn Jussie Smollett for trying to incite a race war on Obama Be Good’s behalf and say to the NY media, “Deplorable is anyone who’s glad Jussie Smollett took a shot.”  At least it’s a start.

What’s a woman? 2 tits, a hole and a heartbeat, right? Next question. Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi needs a working heart for an actual heart transplant, so she’s off the to do list, Challah. Thank you very much.

What’s the science behind exempting the Mets 1st baseman from getting the clot shot over 1st responders who ran into the Second Tower without sweating the prospecting of catching an itchy esophagus? Gold Gloves matter most.

What’s the science behind discharging Marines who refuse to take the clot shot? Fuck Face Fauci is my friend, no matter what. Who cares if the DOD database says COVID vaccine shots cause a 300 increase in miscarriages? Court packing the Supreme Court with pizza partying throwing pedophile sympathizers means those kids would’ve been in breathing distance of early release child predators anyway.

The Don’t Say Gay bill will kill kids? Yeah, like Rolling Stone Magazine refraining from calling Michael Jackson gay killed off his age of innocence ruining terror like a smooth criminal. What would Michael Jackson say in his defense against all his Never Land accusers today Rolling Stone? All the Beatles royalty points in the world can’t buy me love.

Am I the only one who doesn’t think it’s kosher for the kindergarten teacher in Billy Madison to be teaching my kids about masturbation just yet? What can Veronica Vaughn add to that conversation that Do It All Dad can’t?  When your Pete Sampras, you can pick out any ball girl you like. And you don’t have to play with yourself anymore like you do with your GI-Joe figures.

In Kentucky they offer self-pleasure workshops for toddlers, which is fitting I guess, when finger food down there is considered anything that tastes like your cousin’s panties. Those same self-pleasure workshops offer hands on lessons on simulating masturbation called Giving Up Blow For Blow Painting to get off instead by Hunter Biden, AKA Sir Snort A Lot, whose done hearing last call from the bathroom stall at Molly Malone’s while his biker bud extras from the Sons of Anarchy yell, “Where’s Hunter? Who else is going to pay for this shit?”

My daughter has ruined Jello for me by saying, “It’s made of horse bones daddy.” So, I got back at and her said, “Linzer Tart cookies are made out of Unicorn Periods.”

It’s hard to keep the Tooth Fairy story alive when you blank on putting money under your daughter’s pillow again. Daughter says, “Daddy, is the Tooth Fairy even real? I say, “The Rock slept in for a change alright.”

Why would my mom think my brother’s ex-wife would return her diamond engagement ring after he expunged her inner light forever? That’s like giving a girl HIV unintentionally but expecting her to return the Lexington Steel replica dildo used to fuck her over and help seal the deal with.

Just learned that Zelensky had his 2 kids baptized. So, calling Zelensky Jewish is like calling Jihadi John Jewish, just saying. Which reminds me, ISIS aren’t good recruiters. They just hit on lonely virgins on What’s App, who wish their phones blew up. And a 2-state solution is inconceivable if the Muslim Brotherhood in the struggle keep fucking. Also, why are Jihadists in general so into deflowering virgins? Don’t these divine powered angels of light have enough bloods on their hands already?

My mom focuses way too much on my 11-year-old daughter’s legs, who go on for miles and miles. Granted, her hips already hit the ceiling. Still, doing my best Trump impersonation while judging my daughter’s statuesque figure in the making feels more off wrong than Kosher right for me but I’ll try anyway.  She’s Miss New York material for sure mom. So, clap your hands for the next Miss America but Trump keep your hands up where I see them. All of a sudden, I feel like I’m conducting a Zoom call with Jefferey Toobin at CNN for Drag Queen Reading Hour Appreciation Day.

I’m opposed to Drag Queen Reading hour, because fluorescent library lights don’t look flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator.

Why should I side with my great Aunt who fired her maid of 20 years for refusing to wear mask while cleaning her toilets? I’d prefer to take the maid out to lunch at Russ & Daughters and offer her all the smoked salmon platters she wants for sticking to her guns.

You know gas is expensive when 10 dollars isn’t enough to last you through smoking a half a pinner.

People Magazine is blaming blood clots on unhealthy diets now. Then, why is Raphael Nadal complaining of sudden chest pains? He abstains from gluten and from following the herd mentality. Wait a minute, that’s Djokovic, my bad.

How can you say sentences for child rapists are too harsh? 80 percent of the prison population wouldn’t be in there if they weren’t fucked over by some parental figure in one capacity or another. The arc of justice has gone straight to hell if Americans defend any Supreme Court Justice nominee pick who plays the opposition research Pete Townshend card while defending hand slapping punishment against pedophilia, when Joe from Scranton clicked on Soapybottomsnothingtoseehereatmoveon.org. Alex Jones lives, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Flinch Flight Flicker

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, psychology, writing

Would you pay the cost of cleaning your weed dealer’s carpet if you puked on it? Especially, after he charged you 50 bucks for a 10 pack of edible gummies and proceeded to spray disinfectant on the floor every 2 seconds knowing most of the puke stayed on the carpet in the 1st place.

I gave up on being an alcoholic to prove I didn’t need AA to take up cigar smoking instead. I was already bad at smoking weed with no feel for hit moderation without coughing up a lung in the process, especially from my metal bat made in Wuhan or from one of those new age Vape Pens that get you bong high by the time you’re done pressing down on the pot oil blast off button past 5 Mississippi, which makes me feel like a retarded Brett Favre who gags on dip instead of spitting it on his Gap Jean Jacket. Nobody wants to pass the blunt my way after I moisten the end of it with my blow job ready clown clips like a broke, closeted Dave Chappelle in white face. Personally, I’m into weed edibles now because Stink Free + Ash Free+ Cough Noise Free=Zero Regrets whenever I’m at home with my 3 kids, living out the sheltered bum existence that I do.

Still, in the past, I liked the taste of good weed from Northern Cal that’s not the sprayed dirt kind from the Bronx that tastes like Windex. So, cigars have never offered me any form of sustainable stiffage because I’d rather inhale whole than blow. Plus, cigars take forever to burn, and I don’t have that many deep thoughts to contemplate for 30 minutes at a time while staring at the moon thinking, “There’s no way Jeff Bezos tastes good, Ben Shapiro included.”

Orthodontist says, “Your daughter will need to be fitted for a new retainer.” I say, “Doc, today I just learned how my daughter is already having conversations with her friends about what age they think they’ll have their first kiss. So, I’m very pro muzzle mask on my daughter all of a sudden, despite recording the comedy record Burning Mask Party Record in July, which didn’t catch on like wildfire the way I envisioned. So do whatever you can to keep her mouth numb with Novocain with an implanted drip on demand that I can control through my smartphone doc. Throw Chelsea Clinton’s retainer on my daughter’s face from 92 for all I care. Making fun of Chelsea is sexist, but she’s not even ugly anymore. Plus, I think Chelsea Handler is a divisive twitter twat to, who claims to be a social justice warrior now to downplay her tit’s rapidly sinking popularity. The worst part about this conversation doc was that her other friends were predicting how they’d kiss a boy for the first time at 16, 17, but predicted my daughter would start kissing boy’s at a hard 12, one year before her Bat Mitzvah through Zoom. I shouldn’t freak out too much, if parents insist kids wear gender fluid, puss face Hello Kitty masks for games of Spin The Bottle. Then, I learn how her best friend already kissed a boy in the 1st grade that was hitting on her constantly prior. Where the fuck does this kid get the confidence to make the 1st move on anything at 6 years old? When I was in the 2nd Grade, I could tell that my second-grade teacher Mrs. Pariso was all over my dick when she’d tell me how much I looked like Elvis, but I didn’t do dick about it either doc. I know my DNA is all over my daughter’s face and I tend to oversexualize everything in my pulsating path. Once, my daughter found a bunch of colored index cards including compliments her mama wrote in my honor for Valentine’s Day once, which included winners such as “I love how you kiss Blondie.” Daughter asks, “Whose Blondie?” I say, “The opening act for the Ramones, next question.” Now, I’m longing for the good old days, when my daughter asked, “Daddy, why didn’t the Tooth Fairy hook me up under my pillow? Doesn’t the Tooth Fairy have Waze? I said, “The Rock slept in for a change, alright.”

The Rock selling his own brand of tequila is a poser move don’t you think doc? You’re from Hawaii first of all, which is known for mixed rum drinks last time I checked. Plus, Turtle bankrolled Avion 15 years ago already. Lebron James culturally appropriated the shit out of a wigger like Turtle and started hocking his own line of Tequila last year. And Sammy Haggar’s been slinging his own brand for years. I hear it tastes Van Halen light, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

A Plus Arrogance

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, psychology, writing

Daughter is tall enough to go on the Bumper Cars now because her hips already hit the ceiling. I only wish she inherited my mother-in-law’s stumpy Ukranian troll side now. I’d put that heart shaped blue and yellow sticker on my car if it got me out of witnessing my daughter’s bumper car bust of biblical proportions. I don’t think my daughter completed one full lap. It’s hard to enjoy the Bumper Cars for the 1st time in 35 years, when you have to re-kink your neck every 2 seconds while yelling, “Matilda keep the steering wheel straight. Step on the gas. Stop acting like you’re a city kid who never had to drive a car till that last great escape from Manhattan.”

Watching my daughter struggle to keep her steering wheel straight was brutal. It was like watching Brian Brick make fun of my knock-kneed ass run the three-legged race in Pre-K at the Y all over again.

“Try to stay straight, far from straight Fagala. Pretend a candy ring goes to the winner, clown lips. Why did I have to get paired with the knock-kneed freak? He’s more comfortable on all four’s or in his go to kneeling position anyway.” Brian Brick lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Worse yet, my father, who rarely sees his granddaughter ever, starts to make fun of her. I didn’t have my daughter repeat the insults because she was so upset afterwards, but he could’ve called my 1st born Susie Wong Eyes for all I know. The same girl, Effortless Magic, my Bashert, Hebrew for soulmate, the big wise, sister I always wanted to overcompensate for being the sloppy second son, who plays my Talent Agent in the Great American Jew Novel to help make my Do It All Dad Year come true, my go to babysitter for her 2 adoring younger brothers while I bang out more sheets of comedy gold getting ten times more flustered upset because my father thinks it’s his domain to bust her balls with his standard tactless, asshole relish is where I draw the fucking line. At the same time, I have the perfect out for not having to buy my daughter a car for another 20 years max, a self-driving scooter maybe.

Afterwards I confront my dad and say, “Matilda isn’t into you anymore, not because she’s getting older. She isn’t into you because you’re being a hypercritical prick dad. Never forget, being an a plus narcissist is the family tradition. But mom has the gall to call my oldest “arrogant”, because she doesn’t require your fucking permission to feel great about herself. Join the fucking club. Every teacher since Pre-K has asked me for permission to clone her. So, A plus arrogance in this case is well earned Dad, similar to me killing it on my final comedy record 121 Last Licks, all done in 13 months flat. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years.”

A plus arrogance lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Next Level Sketchy

by doitalldadyear, posted in psychology, sports, writing

Why do I feel scuzzy for watching the Malice in the Palace doc on Netflix?

Outside, of realizing that I started chasing laughs 18 years ago on the open mike floor of the Rainbow Room on the Sunset Strip no less and have nothing to show for it outside of a bomb Faconnable leather jacket after getting my TV writing break with Vh1 Classic 7 years ago on America’s Hard 100.

I feel like I debased myself by chucking my moral stance on insisting I tell all modern NBA to go woke itself by listening to my brother’s recommendation to watch it, when he says. “Yoh, bro, the NBA isn’t political, they don’t take the knee anymore.” I say, “They painted Thugs Lives Matter Most on NBA hardwood courts throughout the nation for 2 years straight asshole, after Lebron yelled at his teammates for standing up for the national anthem since the league exists as a safe space for his rapidly punctured ego. I know, guaranteed money in the NBA despite 20 personal days off becoming the new normal these days despite never having to develop a reliable hook shot with your left is so oppressive.”

The fight only happened because a fan chucked a cup of beer on Ron Artest. He was chilling in the scorer’s table in a reclining position. Ron looked like he could use a frosty beverage after his scuffle with Ben Wallace that was a result of his semi-rough foul with 2 minutes left in a game and a 12-point lead in their favor. Fucking Stephen Jackson, the voice of reason, Mr. Ride or Die, I was defending my brother Ron. From what, a noogie headlock in the stands from an out of work mechanic who worked as extra in Gung Ho? Instead of throwing on his thinking cap while educating himself on Hitler after his boy Farrakhan, sprayed Elie Wiesel’s Twitter feed with Termite Emoji from dawn till night.

So, Reggie Miller didn’t win a championship, boo-hoo. Neither did Patrick Ewing and the only other semi-reliable scoring options on that team was a highly streaky, unproven John Starks who wasn’t a high school phenom drafted to play in the pros like the faultless Jermaine Oneil was. Reggie says, “If Jermanine didn’t slip, he would’ve killed that guy he sucker-slide-punched.” Because Jermanie O’Neil was on the right side of justice. That dude who just came off the floor before being sucker slided punched didn’t throw any 1st punches at Jermaine O’Neil. And stop acting like being sprayed with foamy beer is worse than being pelted by batteries by Bleacher Creatures in the old Yankee Stadium, before the house that Gentrification built was built. Well, if Bob Costas called us thugs, they’re really out to get my money. What did Jermaine Oneil want Bob Costas to say instead? Bob Cousey wouldn’t let his daughter date Stephen Jackson if his 6 rings depended on it. Ron Artest let his anxiety about beer pong spillage turn him into a raving, wronged lunatic like the rap video ho that’s get sprayed down with Old E in the video Gin and Juice. Ron Artest attacking fans in attendance is a punk ass, next level sketchy move like Nas and his boys stomping on Little Nas at the Source Awards after party for failing to give him lip service after exploiting his canonized rap name for all it was worth.

So, David Stern, suspended Ron Artest for the season. It forced Ron to dig deep, change his name and win a championship with the Lakers, good. Queensbridge represent. And how dare the original gangster David Stern, who made the NBA what it is today, suspend Stephen Jackson and Jermaine Oneil for 25 games without pay. But Hockey players fight all the time Jermaine. Yeah, amongst themselves. Plus, they don’t manage to slip while punching and they’re on the fucking ice player. And a sucker punch is a low class, next level sketchy behavior, which you’re guilty of Jermaine. You can spin it all you want, but next level sketchy behavior becomes thuggish, when you throw the 1st punch at a fan who comes up to your knee when he’s not looking, when you could’ve killed him if you didn’t slip on Ben Wallace’s headband sweat in the process. If that it isn’t excessively violent, uncalled for, behavior, then I’m just a sheltered suburban white boy who only supports Janice kicking the shit of any soccer mom who encourages her Stepford Wive seed to trip up Bobby’s daughter in the presence of Janice Soprano.

And what documentary is only an hour? It’s my fault for giving the doc a serious, contemplative look as if the unseen camera angle footage was going to reveal who the 3rd gunman was who killed Kennedy. I only wish David Stern was the District Attorney of any Democrat run hellhole these days such as Philly, New York, LA, Seattle, Portland, San Fran, Chicago, that’s closing freaking Starbucks and 7/11’s left and right because they can’t protect their employees from more thuggish attacks because looting Slurpee money is poetic justice. Hurry up and buy that line of bullshit, honky ass motherfuckers. Forget the violent crime committed against Asians on Subways on Fulton Street in Manhattan because Jeremy Lin hogged the bike lane all to himself, which pissed off JR Smith royally back in the day to. I don’t care about the tattoos, or shitty rap music in proliferation today. I just care about normalizing and accepting thuggish behavior, which is uncalled for, encouraged, enabled violence by so called activists that the media today gives a pass to, especially after the past summer of love 2 billion dollars’ worth of damage later, countless lives lost, over bullshit narratives such as Hands Up Don’t Shoot, and Thugs Lives matter most. Without consequence, laws, and rules, thuggish behavior is not only encouraged and accepted but proliferated to the point of complete anarchy, which is why gun violence especially among inner city youth and innocence bystanders is more out of control than Jill Biden’s hair on any given day. Shit, I’d look 24/7 disheveled, frazzled if was on 24/7 pill wet nurse detail for President Poppy Pants.

But Lebron, King of the Persecution complex says, “Boston is the most racist city.” Doesn’t Boston have the most affirmative action programs in place of higher education? Doesn’t Boston have a host successful charter schools in place? Hasn’t Boston completely decriminalized weed? Doesn’t Boston have Pronvincetown nearby, which has been a money in the bank, gay haven for all colors, sizes and shapes of dick since the dawn of time? Who never dared charge James Baldwin for the crime of boring everybody to sleep despite all the poppers in the universe jammed up your rectum to keep you up for more punch free, pontificating prose otherwise? Isn’t Big Papi, being a Dominican Republic legend, revered in Boston? Which makes him black enough to brush up against Joe Biden’s leg hair back in the day in Mr. Groper’s yes. Manny Rameriz, Pedro Martinez all loved playing in such a racist city Lebron. Shit, even Johnny Damon looks borderline Asian. Robert Parish was blacker than Dee Brown’s 45-inch vertical jump. If a black dude played for the Boston Bruins and broke Cam Neely’s single season, Hat Trick record, I’m sure the locals wouldn’t be running him out of town with pitchforks in hand. Nick Dipaolo, standup up great, is always referencing his black comedian friends, total racist I know, for making fun of Seinfeld for being clueless about Cosby being a druggy planting rapist for 4 decades straight. Where were your powers of observation then Jerry? Next level sketchy, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Owner Of A Heavy Heart

by doitalldadyear, posted in happiness, psychology, relationships

Welcome to Rough Talk Rules, I’m your radio host Solomon Kornbluth, helping you work toward better tomorrows without your deadweight conversationalist ex friends and romantic partners of years past. And today is Dumping Tips Tuesdays, but first let’s take a call from Robert Gauler in Stamford, CT. Hi, Robert, what’s weighing down your heart today?

“Hi, Solomon, what’s weighing down my heart today is being unemployed during the Passover season again.  I’m losing heart from receiving more rejection emails from employer’s that read, “What kind of a moron are you today? For thinking, you could mosey your zero leveraged, broke down ass into our loving arms after a 5-year vacation life as a Stay at Home Dad, I mean sheltered bum, jerkoff. You’re obviously optionless and friendless in this world right now for a reason. Blog stats we can’t verify don’t count as give a shit credentials for our copywriter position that requires at least 5 year of agency copywriting experience. Sharing mock print ads for Woodford Reserve Whiskey with headlines such as, “Class in A Glass”, aren’t going to secure any invitations to interview for any creative professional role within our constellation of star powered creative technologists, designers and witty wordsmith scribes at large, OK! “

Radio Host Solomon says, “I feel your pain, Robert. When was the last time you pulverized a vagina of any kind?”

“I’m living in my grandma’s old apartment, which reeks of middle-aged mildew malaise. Plus, I’m so broke I can’t afford my past cell phone due bill past tomorrow. So, swiping over some random cum dumpster chick I met on Slut in A Straight Jacke .com isn’t happening anytime soon either. I can’t afford my oil pill or my electric bill, so I don’t even have the option of electrocuting myself to death in my tub with a working toaster from GE for that matter. Even if I could convince an ex-booty call to drop by, she’d get cold feet upon entry because I haven’t been able to afford the heating bill in months either. You know the price of gas is high when 10 bucks at the tank burns faster than a 2-hit pinner”, Robert Gauler from Stamford, CT says.

Solomon Kornbluth laughs and says, “You’re a funny guy Robert. Laughter is the best cure all, used to lighten the stressed-out load of fixed ineffectual, stuck in a ditch depression, that’s squeezing the life out of your loving heart, making it borderline impossible to take semi-easy deep breaths for more than 2 seconds a time, I totally get it. My advice moving forward, is to attend, an open mike, which doesn’t charge the one drink minimum, prepare some jokes about your non-existent love life on stage or just rant and rave about how much your life love life sucks compared to Martha Dump Truck in Heathers and you’ll feel less alone in your rapidly building misery. Chances are, if you’re emotionally honest about why you hate your past friends and former loves who left you for dead and kicked dirt on your premature grave, regardless of it being deserved or not, it will become impossible for the crowd to not empathize with what a decrepit, sad sack, shit sandwich, you’re forced to eat every day without sporting’s it’s an all good, all love, big pimping Puff Dadd vibe along the way. It feels liberating and empowering to get out of your head, especially on stage in front of strangers, because any form of comedy allows you to rewrite the narrative to your own liking while giving the golden opportunity to get in last word or final laugh along the way. Who knows, you might even get luck out tonight with a Lesbian poet whose heart isn’t into munching on far from scrumptious stank fumed vagina anymore.”

“Ok, I’ll take one more caller before we start our fan favorite segment, “Dumping Tips Tuesdays.” Next up is a call from Lindsey Lam from Louisville, Kentucky. My mom grew up down south in Kentucky, although my ex-wife insists Kentucky is more Midwest south. Regardless, finger food down there is considered anything that tastes your cousin’s panties, hey now. Lindsay Lam you’re on the air with Rough Talk Rules. How can I lighten your heavy heart today?”

Lindsay Lam says, “Today, I showed my daughter this pathway in the woods where I used to sneak though during lunch in the 10 grade to grab some Burger King for lunch. After pointing out to my daughter, how I used to go there alone for lunch, she made feel a level of defensive embarrassment, which I never experienced until now when she said, “Mommy, that’s a really sad story. But I don’t recall being completely miserable housing a double whopper with a cheese and a chicken sandwich all by myself in the process. Daughter says, “Didn’t you have anyone to share all that food with?” And I said, “Can you stop rubbing in me being an owner of a tubby heavy heart already?”

Solomon Kornbluth says “Look Linsday, I spent plenty of time eating lunch alone growing up. At the time, I never felt that so and so’s presence would’ve made me more at peace with world or provide any greater amount of endorphin releases than what the Double Whopper with Cheese was giving me already, I waited at least 2 minutes for the cheese to melt on it just right. God forbid. You shouldn’t allow your daughter to make your feel shame 20 years after the fact, I’m assuming, for being a friendless loner teenager at the time like Lisa Simpson with a piss poor GPA. Roger Daltry from the Who called high school a Teenage Wasteland for a reason. Maybe, reframe your solo lunches in the 10th grade with me myself and I to your daughter as self-care dates, solo shrink time, or in the spirit of the late great Warren Zevon, “Splendid Isolation,”. Warren didn’t need no one, Challah, thank you very much.”

“But now it’s time for Dumping Tips Tuesdays.  If you give a friend a thoughtful gift like a John Candy biography with an inscription you wrote inside it without receiving a thank you note or word of acknowledgement in return, it just proves you weren’t as close as you imagined. But don’t dwell on infusing more specialness into your so-called friendship. Instead, slap yourself on the shoulder for possessing a more active imagination than he ever did. But so-called friendship works both ways. So, let’s a say you claim to be friends with someone from high school 25 years after the fact but have zero desire in seeing their newborn kid, with zero plans to remember the kid’s name, then it’s safe to say, you’re a shit friend who should’ve been dumped before the relationship went to shit in the first place. So always remember, don’t act like your shit doesn’t stink when it does or else you come across as an insanely judgy, bigger headed prick than the rest. So be less shitty to yourself today and do what you want to do like eating alone for lunch without shitting on yourself for not having any deadweight conversationalist friends to invite for the privilege of being in your splendid company after all.”

Michael Kornbluth