Price Of Promiscuity

I wish the price of Promiscuity wasn’t so high.

That’s why masturbation is our last safety rail left.

Plus, your dick never bitches about not filling up your wife’s car because you’re too busy unloading on your phone again.

Miraculously that’s only happened to me once considering my sheer amount of time in the pump and dump position.

Companies would clear themselves of sexual harassment lawsuits on their hands. If they only created a safe space bathroom for jerking it, jerking, jerking it well. So you’re not dragged out the bathroom stall by your legs. As the office security guard croons in his best Tom Petty voice, “You don’t come around here no more.”

I think kids today should be banned from sporting Steph Curry jerseys unless they identify with having to high step over the shit lined streets of San Francisco. Or boast a mother that’s hot enough to win Miss Washington Heights. Who could charge the price of Hamilton tickets in exchange for some high end Chlamydia.

Did you know that that heart shape symbol of love is based off an ancient plant called Silphium used to treat Syphilis and anal warts according to Pliny the Elder. They even used it as a form of birth control. Plus, the heart shape was modeled after the shape of a David’s throbbing buttock.

The seed pods from this miracle STD ointment plant were associated with heart shaped seed pods. That they crushed up and snorted like Ritalin in Ancient Greece.

They even put the pod shape on coins in ancient Greece for Christ’s sake. Anal wart ointment was so money and gender fluid generals knew it. Seriously according to Pliny the Elder, this ground up Roman herb was used to treat warts in the seat. So you bet your ass it cost more than gold. Between a gold bracelet for your wife’s birthday or a frictionless railing from behind, what would you pick, Prick?

If I can avoid any Fungi outgrowth of my anus hole, I’ll do it. I’d wipe my ass with Benjamin’s used as poop paper in a bat cage made in Wuhan used for to launch biochemical warfare if it got the job done.

In summary, Heart shaped seeds that cured the clap is why we celebrate Valentine’s Day today. So, Nero could fiddle in the spa without his anus-hole burning.

To make matters worse, I can’t stare at my daughter’s new Teacup with a heart on it without thinking.

I better start selling her on the upside of Lesbianism.

Matilda, being a lesbian is good. For starters you can’t get Aids. Plus, you can take a licking and keep on ticking.

Price of Promiscuity, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Busty Beauties

My wife works during the weekend as a Lactation consultant, which is why I call her the Boob Doctor.

During the week she works as a nurse in the NICU.

Checking blue faced babies for vital signs.

Which makes me feel like a full-time narcissist because all I check for is for retweets.

So, I’m out in public with my 3 kids during the weekend without her constantly.

Normally, grown men approach me and say, “You’ve got your hands full.”

My standard reply is, “If I get to perform Do It All Dad Does China as a headlining comedian at Radio City one day. Resulting in my wife agreeing to open marriage with Katy Perry. Then, my hands will be full.”

Only once did I hear, “Why Katie Perry?” while getting my wife a strap on with heart size balls for Valentines Day at the local art studio called, Pansexual Hearts Are US.

Why, Katie Perry?

Because you wouldn’t get my Susan Sarandon reference, Millennial Mousketeer.

Why Katie Perry?

Because I’d break Taylor’s Swift’s cervix in 2.

Why Katie Perry?

Because an open relationship with Raquel Welch is more up Tarantino’s ally.

Why Katie Perry?

Because Katie Perry is highly mountable in a pink wig. Which I can wear later, while she mounts me with my regifted Valentine’s Day gift from behind.

Why Katie Perry?

Because my wife is turned on by Orlando Bloom.

And I always wanted a 3 way with a pop star and a pansexual elf who ruined Cameron’s Crowe’s career.

Why Katie Perry?

Because Chelsea Handler is a full-time social justice warrior to downplay her tits sagging popularity.

Why Katie Perry?

Because nobody knows the name of the actress who plays Joan in Mad Men, busty beauties are us.

Why Katie Perry?

Because that chick from 2 broke girls would break my cock from assuming the mere plopping position.

Why Katie Perry?

Because my dick would get lost in porn star Gina Michaels and have to fill out a missing link report.

Why Katie Perry?

Because my wife wears earbuds to bed each night, which exudes less sex appeal than Lobot talking dirty to the central computer in Cloud City during the director’s cut version of Empire Strikes Back.

“I want to break your motherboard in 2. Send me a signal, telling me you want me too. We built cloud city on rock and roll. I’ll show you my central processing unit if you don’t tell Lando about it. Lando can’t light up your circuits like this. You want a nuclear leak that puts Chernobyl to shame, you got it.”

What, Cyborg’s get horny too.

Sex life matters, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth 

Perverted Science

“Does Hollywood’s fetishized push to sexualize a new generation of kids with Instagram-friendly labels such as Trans Centric or Gender Fluid Fickle feel very organic or “child appropriate” to you?” says Joe, a seventeen-year-old debate stud for Richard Pryor High, a new charter school in Peoria, Illinois.

            Unfortunately for his alpha dog debate team peers, including his best bud Paul, Joe was just getting his yak pipes warmed up, adding, “The problem with parents enabling pubescent teen mutilation makeovers in their politicized dash to let their children slash their protracted age of innocence in half, is that it never factors in irretraceable buyer’s remorse once little Joey blooms under his Fruit of the Looms and realizes that he can’t get his grind on with a gal on the dance floor if he wanted to, without feeling a missing link to old school rap in the process.

            “Plus, whatever happened to kids being asexual from age one through eleven, at least?           “Also, for all the scientific worship these days (in place of you know who), where is all the hard evidence of Chaz Bono being a beacon of mental calm since his far-later-in-life transformation into Just One Of The Guys?

            “You know—the same Chaz Bono who doesn’t eat wings at the bar, wishing he was at the MGM Grand in Vegas, instead, to hear Cher belt out ‘If I Can Turn Back Time’ to relieve his severe case of blue balls paralysis, already.”

            Paul finally cuts off his dear debating bud, goes in for the retaliatory attack, and says, “Is this a debate team trial run, or Joe’s personalized open mike to test out more groan-generating trans material for the Montreal Comedy Festival?

            “I get it. Little Boy Blue in the fourth grade at nine years old isn’t expected to declare his major in Gender Studies at Oberlin College, just yet. So why should we expect him to make a life-changing decision such as sexual realignment surgery any sooner than when he turns nineteen? Nineteen is the new fifteen, because that’s when most kids are losing their virginity these days, anyway; especially since swiping for dick picks became the death of small talk on both sides of the glory hole cubby divide.

            “I don’t think the government should be allowed to intervene on their parents’ behalf, though, if they start feeding their nine-year-old effeminate son enough testosterone blockers to turn him into Mayor Pete’s dumpier side-up half.

            “I bet it was Mayor Pete’s idea to parade his hubby around, triple masked in a Winnie-The-Pooh coat—as if catching the China-made virus from a stiff breeze is a bigger concern for him than barebacking in the shower at the local health club on KY Jelly street without flip flops on, for gay pride swinger week.

            “Wait a minute. Now I’m doing trans schtick, too.

            “Look, how can I be transphobic if I’d rather suck off Bruce Jenner with no makeup on, and suck up every last demon drop, than go to the Lego Store with my nephews, again, after the coast is clear, with all our masks securely on, feeling like Michael Jackson on holiday in Bahrain before Magic made HIV disappear?

            “I’m actually turned on immensely by shemales, myself, knowing they typically possess tighter bods than most girls willing to date me.

            “You also know they have no problem swallowing because they have no other use for my love juice. Also, most girls today have blown-up-looking snatches by age sixteen, so I’m not complaining about a tighter hole to not get her pregnant in, either.

            “I’d even go the movies again (assuming they ever reopen) to see a trans remake of Weird Science; except this time, they’d create their dream shemale vision come true all over their shattered visions of rock-solid heterosexuality again.

            “Still, I’m talking about a madeup movie, Perverted Science, where the doll who comes to life is played by a real life, grown trans woman who made an informed, evolved decision because he/she wanted to come in closer contact with her feminine side, and realized along the way how she made a better-looking chick.

            “And if you got it, flaunt it, baby.

            “I tried putting a pink wig on, once, and makeup, after my girlfriend got a strap-on for us to play, with one night. And never in a million years did I think I’d look like such an ugly, homely-looking bitch.

            “Granted, when I played basketball in junior high, I used to run on my tippy toes, looking like I was running in high heels instead of high tops. But this still doesn’t mean that I was a gentle high-stepper of any kind.

            “If LaVar Ball was my substitute coach dad, he’d still bark on the sidelines, yelling, “We’re trying to sell Ballerwear, son, not Jimmy Choos!

            “I think Paul and I should start selling trans jokes to Dave Chappelle, because he can afford to not give a shit. We can’t. Who wants to have that debate, next?

            “White comics can’t get away this material today, ever. Even Aerosmith is getting grief, these days, for their song ‘Dude Looks Like A Lady’, which is ridiculous, because in the song, Steven Tyler takes more than a peak, proclaiming, with surging, mounting lust, ‘Oh, what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, like it, yeah.’

            “So did Richard Pryor, He said it was the best piece of pussy he ever had, so get over it, already.     “Hate speech, not. Maybe I won’t give up on wining a debating scholarship if Chris Rock finances a new college serving as a safe space for politically incorrect material, God forbid.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Flirting Conductor

By forsaking flirting, we’re cheating ourselves of a richer life to tap into for more joy spewing tomorrows. At least, that’s what I’m teaching my son today as we near close to ending his homeschooling apprenticeship, on the importance of flirting power. But why does flirting power matter? Because sometimes, loving the one you’re with isn’t enough. Screw Stephen Stills. Loving the one you’re with is a whole lot easier in 1970 when your able to forsake condoms for silky smooth lining instead of plastic covered seats. At the same time, my son is only 5 and hasn’t started Kindergarten yet. And I haven’t even joked about sending my kid to junior high during the post me to era with a lawyer on his person to hand out pre-poundage consent forms just yet. But I never think it’s early enough to get your kids into flirtation meditation. But what is flirtation meditation exactly? And since when is small talk at the bar considered fantasy material to get off your mind anytime?  Similar to Magic Johnson visualizing what no look passes he’d turn heads with while running the Showtime Lakers at the Forum on the fast break, flirtation meditation also helps you get into the mindset of picturing what scoring and balling means to you, that’s done with the intent of being the main floor general and driving force of your life instead of remaining a starless scrub on the bench who just goes through the motions of life like a passive, beaten down dog who only eats whatever scraps he’s lucky to get thrown his perpetually downer way.

My biggest regret growing up was letting my father bully me into disinviting my dear friend Coop from attending a Motely Crue concert during the Dr. Feelgood Tour because he deemed my new friend Ari a more deserving choice. I don’t remember the reason why pops pulled an Indian Giver move at the last minute, but it might have been because Coop was the fat kid and Ari wasn’t, I don’t know. All I do know, is that I sucked that much more than my dad for not sticking up for my friend by allowing my dad to bully me into bringing my friend Ari to the concert instead.  Another huge regret was letting my father bully me into selling all my basketball rookie cards to use as drinking money in Cancun during Spring Break my senior year in High School, without pushing back at forsaking my age of innocence for pass out money on the Booze Cruise. Understand, collecting basketball cards was a major labor of love for me as a kid, to the point where I somehow was able to amass enough loose change from my father’s change dish to afford almost every rookie card of those who played on the original Dream Team such as Patrick Ewing, Scottie Pippen, Charles Barkley and John Stockton. But dad was paying for my trip to Cancun, so how much leverage did I really have at the time? Could I threaten to burn my Bar Mitzah photo album if I refused? Still, in retrospect, I’m the one responsible for allowing my dad to push me into selling my basketball cards without ever taking the time to question whether passing out on a Booze Cruise off the coast of Cancun was more important than my cherished basketball card collection that gave me prideful ownership of my own.  So, in life, don’t always be so willing to let other’s map out what moves you make. Nobody remembers the King who financed the Columbus expedition into uncharted waters, but history sure as shit remembers who the fuck Christopher Columbus was. Christopher Columbus was the original old g new life commander, and nobody could take that away from thee, who gave birth to the rebranded Indigenous Day, motherfuckers.

So, what does bequeathing any sense of free will over to your dad have to with flirtation power and being a shallow, spineless friend with zero sense of loyalty who’s already moved on to the next best thing have to do with Christopher Columbus discovering the land of Fats Domino, Micky Mantle and John Huges comedies again?  Easy, Christpher Columbus refused to settle for what shit sandwich his superiors insisted he be content eating without ever daring to flirt with major changes of his own making to make on his own, his way, all the way. Sinatra lives before he was born, Challah, thank you very much.

Christopher Columbus flirted with change and made change his booty call, muse and go to top bitch to plow for deeper, unforeseen treasures never dreamed imaginable prior. In short, Columbus allowed himself the freedom to dream of a more adventurous, conquest heavy, freedom favoring life before taking such courageous, corrective action to live in order to avoid a subservient, gun-shy, die a thousand deaths before you die existence. Loving the one you’re with wasn’t enough for Columbus and shouldn’t be enough for you either, unless you’re the type who actually enjoys going on long walks with your significant other 10 years into your relationship already.

Pig Pen, the unofficial leader of the Grateful Dead and honorary member of the Hell’s Angels during the late sixties, who looked like Captain Morgan and the Sons of Anarchy had a baby, knew a thing or 2 about the importance of flirtation power. Pig Pen was also a powerful harpist, soul fused keyboardist and blues rap singer extraordinaire who had a summer fling with the gypsy queen of ramshackle soul Janis Joplin no less. It was 1967 at the Winterland Ballroom in San Franisco, a converted ice rink converted into a jam rock palace paradise, where Dickey Bets from the Allman Brother’s jammed out with Duane Allman with ferocious fluidity into uncharted, previously unexplored horizons as endless odes to spacious, soul piercing blue skies on the Stratocaster prior filled the air, when Jimi and Santana weren’t making endlessly beautifying a plus atmospheric space hurling blues rock of their own.

But on this night, Pig Pen turned on his love light on the crowd when he encouraged the gun-shy Deadhead stoners to snap out of their stoner stuck funk, when he bellowed with big man, flirtation power, “Get your hands out of your pocket, shake your love maker, and find somebody to love, so you won’t go home again lonely tonight. Love the one you’re with, that being yourself for life, by not letting that pretty girl with rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes pass along by without saying more than hi. In other words, get it while you can, you burnout bitches. Janis did. Flirtation power is your hands. So don’t squander it all just to trip face on tour with the band.”

And that’s why Pig Pen badgering his fan base into acting like more cocksure conquistadors for a change is the greatest flirting conductor story ever sold.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Least Favorite Son Test

Tell your mom you got COVID, and you’ll find out where you stand immediately based on lack of meaningful follow-up on your behalf soon after. Wife texted my mother about having to cancel our plans to see them in Florida because I tested positive for COVID after going down on my wife the night prior. And they call us unvaccinated people super spreaders. Perhaps, this was God’s way of saying, I should stick to sucking off the sheer wonderfulness of my comedy records instead, 64 money shots later, throughout the last 6 months alone. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his Stay at Dad Years.

In the end though I was right, all I’ve received from COVID is an itchy esophagus and a blown-out voice stemming from repeatedly telling my wife to take her booster shot talk and shove it up her ass. Now, you can’t even enter Whole Foods if you’re shaking from rage after filling up your car for what it costs to buy an eighth of primo Maui Waui, despite never receiving the heady lift of empowerment in return. But that’s what I get for trying to get inside my wife’s booster laden body, that’s more germ laden than she gives her COVID spewing snatch credit for. What’s the science behind getting COVID from going down on your wife for old time’s sake to make your sex life above average again? Social distancing is useless if you go down on your wife’s immune weakened innards. In the end, all I got from mom was a text that read, Michael? After my mom learned about her 3 grandchildren testing positive for Covid but not showing any symptoms at all. In other words, that’s what my mongoloid moron son deserves for refusing to take his chance with the clot shot, responsible for causing more premature heart attacks than sticker shock at the gas pump these days. But I’m positive mom still thinks remote learning is a justifiable response when she isn’t required to socially distance herself from more fear mongering bullshit on CNN either.

In short, I passed the least favorite son test with flying colors considering my mom’s complete lack of follow up on my behalf like the time I got caught in a snowstorm with her 3 grandchildren when our non-existent four wheel drive almost prevented us from ever getting out of Cold Spring, NY up a snow blanketed hill at all to the point where when we finally did, our last option was to remain stationary in a gas station parking lot and dose for 3 hours before the roads became less icy fixated set. At the time, I’m sure mom just thought, “I just assumed my stay-at-home dad son was staying in as usual. It’s not as if my sheltered bum son could afford to do much else these days but write more jokes on his WordPress blog to keep the encroaching feeling of complète uselessness at bay.

Personally, I wasn’t expecting any meaningful follow up check-up from mom but it’s hard not to contemplate what her response would be if her favorite got COVID out of the blue. Chances are that mom would book a red eye back to NY from Arizona that night and rewrite the will in his favor before takeoff. Memorials will be built in his honor like the one Tiger King made for his boy toy before he blew his brains out because living off free weed, dirt bikes and ass munching alone wasn’t enough to keep him hanging on. It’s not as if he was under contract at Universal like Rock Hudson, either. 50 million records later Jim Morrison’s retired admiral dad finally located in his inner mensch and praised his son’s uncompromising genius for self-expression, only 10 years after the Lizard King slipped into unconsciousness. So, I don’t see mom rushing to make any such proclamations for her Stay At Home Comedian son either. At the same time, I don’t see me scoring a new job as the new Manager of Talent Acquisition at SoundCloud changing her lowly opinion of me this late in the Covid con game either. Maybe, Jimbo should’ve also written, mom isn’t your only friend in the end either, especially when she says, “I take your father’s side”, over her own flesh and blood after you dared to unleash a howlish shriek at Dad for making your April fresh daughter 2 days out of the hospital reek of stale cigarette smoke, smelling worse than Don Draper’s corpse, draped in Aramis. But at least I’ve got my 3 gorgeous seedling kids on my love street to love me 3 times over babe. Mr. Mojo Risin lives, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Love Juice Lore

Sammy Hagar should be the new permanent cover of Men’s Journal Magazine.

Screw Deadpool in Tights, Ryan Reynolds looks like a metrosexual lesbian in comparison these days.

There’s only one way to rock and Sammy Hagar has done it for the past 45 years without losing his rock steady step.

Name another rocker who does so much banging on tour, he runs out of gunk for 3 weeks straight.

Imagine Sammy realizing he’s still out of gunk by week 3.

I don’t know what to tell you baby.

You’ll have to wait another 3 weeks to finish what we started.

Grab a meat ticket and a Cabo Wabo tequila key chain on your way out.

This Senior Frog can’t drive 55.

Love Juice Lore lives, Challah.

Red Rocker rocks on with more Heavy Metal.

This banging, American made Eagle has been in swoopy andale mode for a very, very, long time.

Michael Kornbluth

Good Bite Marks

Year without beer has reconnected me with my man meat in public again.

At the bagel shop this morning, I noticed the sexy, smile faced Latina MILF working there, exuding a deeper, more penetrative fuck me eyes glare than usual. After I’m done ordering, her eyes dance with anticipatory delight and says, “Anything else”, as her panties secrete wannabe good stuff pleasure. And I say, “Yes, a sex life with you in it. I’ll give you a smear you’ll never forget. How else can I burn off these carbs in a NY minute? Let’s give each other every venereal disease together and suck face after reloading on onion and garlic bagels for round 2, before your swelled, spent, torn apart juice box, yells in a heat of drained beyond repair fashion, “No, mas, no mas.” Because Do It All Dad does dent marks good, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Kosher Meat Rules

New Turn-On: Any woman without a mask on in NY state. I don’t care if she’s a tad on the heavy side either. I smiled at this woman at the grocery store with a nose earing without a mask on and it turned on me immensely. When she smiled back, my loins lit up with resurgent joy, wanting to implant them inside her on the spot to return the favor. Later, I got in her check-out line and was beyond tempted to mount her from behind and bury man meat behind her jiggly bum lobes and say, “You know kosher meat rules? Let me prove it to you. We’re upstanding chosen perfectionists for a reason babe. Now, let’s tear those ass cheeks apart like a fresh piece of challah from Zarro’s.”

Today, surging interest in wanting to contaminate another mask-less woman with my super spreader blaster reached new stiffening heights at the local farm Harvest Moon after picking up some fresh farm eggs this morning as I thought, “I wouldn’t take long to spew into her snuggle shine snatch. I know who I’m thinking about tonight, when I resume round 2 with the wife tonight. Beautiful wet lips, tall statuesque frame, medium plumpage on top, huge beamish smile that could suck the fake news hate speech and misinformation about my stately schlong in a NY Minute. Who cares if I have to wear a condom later? She’s sexy enough to blast a flood filled load with by dry humping her with jeans on.

Morning After Pill Pitch: Hey babe, can you buy some morning after pills that have been amassing dust on Meghan Mccain’s dresser drawer since 85 on Ebay? I released a liberal size load in blondie last night, but nothing crazy, something more on par with the incoming Freshman class of Kenyon college. Still, pick up a morning after pill, because I don’t want my kid’s 1st image being daddy in a mask like a fake news surgeon with laughable SAT scores for a 50 percent Heeb despite taking the SAT untimed no less. By the time I finished by MATH section alone, my friends already declared their majors Sophomore year in college at Washington University. But seriously babe, who wants our 4th kid to give us grief for never aborting her when you had the chance? Daughter says, “Mom, why would you think I’d be cool with wearing a mask from Pre-K through college while every foaming Anti-Semite on campus gets their panties in a bunch for Israel still not being pushover putzy despite the UN still trying to push otherwise? Plus, according to New York State’s extra loose law, you had 9 months to terminate your unplanned parenthood accident otherwise.”

It’s hard to act excited for your friends deciding to have kids now. What’s the best thing for these kids to look forward to besides Alex Jones becoming president of the United States under the new burning mask party in my wildest edible powered dreams? Alex Jones hires Joe Rogan as his VP. Putin invites Rogan to watch him train for the Judo Olympics in Moscow. As Secretary of State, Dana White raises money for Israel’s new Iron Dome system through a pay-per-view event match between Jared Kushner and the prime minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau, winner takes all of Canada, loser has to sniff Bull Hurley’s armpits from Over The Top till their last dying breath, despite that being considered a win for win for Trudeau after all, assuming, Obama gets to watch from Gitmo after former CIA chief, converted Muslim John Brennan gets to sniff his old pair of sandy, prayer sandles from Martha’s Vineyard for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

What do John Stewart, Pete Davidson and Ben Stiller have to feel good about at Knicks games these days? One, gave us Trevor Noah who nobody loves. Comedy Central executives felt the same way when they decided to renew his contract for the foreseeable future. Pete Davidson gets to get lost in Kim Kardashian’s puss 4 pushed out kids later, Kayne West included. I’m not calling Kayne immature, but losing Kayne to Pete Davidson, the boy toy rebound king of Staten Island is a weak look. I wouldn’t say Kayne is bound to suicide like Owen Wilson after Kate Hudson dumped him for Dax Sheppard but he’s not boasting about his billion dollar-designer sneaker empire to Dave Chapelle with the same big pimping, in vogue strut of yesteryear before he started wearing those freakish Mike Myers masks post COVID is all I’m saying B. Also, didn’t Ben Stiller sell his soul to pimp for Governor Cuomo while gushing about his handsome mug despite looking like The Thing and Mama Fratelli from the Goonies had a baby? Don’t act like you wrote Zoolander or Tropic Thunder all by yourself either Stiller. But at least you don’t look as wormy, smarmy as Noah Baumbach and Jessie Eisenberg’s cross-pollinated baby come to life out of Joni Mitchell’s fake news good snatch, releasing more pretentious, self-righteous airs of superiority, blowing in the wind.

Michael Kornbluth

Ego Bubbles Popping

Getting turned down for an interview with an ancient bath company in Manhattan sinks your spirits. Granted, it was an in-house recruiter position and I have no experience chasing after boys in Chelsea to play footsie in Barry Diller’s tub whenever David Geffen is in town with Calvin Klein for their annual winter wine wonderland retreat in Stowe, Vermont but still.

Michael Kornbluth

Danish Dicks

Did you know that Scandinavia has the lowest percentage of Aids infections on the planet? So that’s why they’re gay about open borders. They don’t have to hide their Truvada stash in Swiss bank accounts with daddy’s Nazi gold teeth fillings. Viking Raiders did so much fucking and pillaging, they developed an immunity to all forms of STDS since the Ice Age. Smallpox, Polio, and the Plague is what they put in a Long Island Iced Tea to round out the flavor. This year, I’m going to dye my hair blond and crash Halloween parties dressed as a Danish backpacker.

“What do you do?”

“I operate a bug on a stick truck in Denmark. But today I’m a Danish pack packer, so are you ready to mount my dick yet or what?”

Rachel Weinstein from yenta breath country in Long Island, dressed as the Long Island Lolita says, “Why are Scandinavians so happy?”

Danish pack backer says, “Our dicks are proportional to our height, and we can’t fall off bikes. Plus, the top 1 percent of Danes can’t get Aids. So, do you want a piece of my superior ancestry DNA or what? You won’t even have to use free healthcare because I’m STD free.”

Danish dicks live, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth