Do It All Dad unmasks a pretty dirty mind. #ComedyRecord97PretttyDirtyMind
I flirt with the Texas pretty manager at a local farm nursery café and say,
“I thought of you last night while watching Rushmore. I didn’t realize the movie was filmed in Dallas. “
Texas pretty manager says, “I actually went to the rival prep school where they filmed it. I say, “I want to shoot my white privilege over your chest so bad right now.” My son thinks you’re solid 7.9 by Dallas Cowboy cheerleader standards. And he’s a tough critic. Can I interest in some Too Tall Jew up in your grassy knoll? Too Tall Jones lives, Challah. We can bang out a new and improved version of Camelot together. We will invent a new sexually charged romance language and jam some sticky Shakespearian juice into the King’s English in the process. Your wholesome, banger pretty looks are all I need to resurrect Latin back from the dead. Carpe these nuts and will make romance languages great again and fuck over those uptight Latin pricks with resounding, stretched out elation.” Dallas Muff on my mind, Challah. Thank you very much.
Stay At Home Comedian gets good bite marks.
It’s hard to feel bad for Alec Baldwin when his only deeply felt take away from killing a cinematographer on a film he was producing is victimized aggravation for costing him work. Alec Baldwin calls his agent at CAA, “What do you mean Tarantino doesn’t want me to play a young Victor Vega in Reservoir Dogs Without Remorse? Isn’t there a statue of Woody Allen in Spain still standing? Can’t Woody write me a star vehicle where I play Javier Bardem’s chef Dad who butchers the Spanish language after becoming reunited with my pig son in The Mighty Punta Bitch Dad? Isn’t Marty sick of working with Leo yet? Can’t he jam me into a script with Dinero despite that dumb mook on the View these days looking like Betsy Ross falling apart at the seams? Would Seth Rogan be willing to work with me? I can play a recovering alcoholic who becomes a famed pitch person on the QVC for a new brand of gum to wane your addiction off highly boozy IPA’s, called, Hop-O-Rama Chew. But he gets fired from that job because he shoots off at the mouth too much on air about how craft beer enthusiasts in Brooklyn look like special needs hobbits who should be eligible for 3rd term abortions in New York State. I’ll even do voiceover for Kevin Smith in his woke reimagination of She-He Man. I could play the alt right Skeletor with a MAGA hat on top of my purple hoody like the Grand Dragon of disinformation regarding the downside of pubescent genital mutilation despite Billy regretting his decision after mounting a fat assed Latino girl at the China Club on his 18th birthday, after realizing his missing link to banging old school hip-hop beats of yesteryear when Rum Shaker broke big, is gone baby gone.” Challah, thank you very much.
Do It All Dad, a self-described Stay at Home She-Male Comedian performs another killerset in his bedroom office on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast, titled, Pissy Life Hack Tips.
“My quest is to make my son a shallow sleeper, so he won’t piss his bed anymore from being such a deep-thinking sleeper. I’ll stop talking to him like he’s a Talmudic scholar for hire. “Rabbi Samuel, is it better to be loved by your kids or by strangers on stage every night at the Comedy Cellar, getting your funny man freak on for a living?” Son says, “Get a life ancient moron and figure it out yourself already. I’m still only 5 years old, remember?”
“But seriously, is deprogramming deepness considered a legitimate pissy life hack tip that’s a shortcut to improved parental happiness if forcing your kid to wear a nappy to bed is no longer a drawn-out tug of free will anymore? Reality is, my son only pisses his bed at night. So, my pissy life problems have to be a result of my son being too much of a deep sleeper. You might think I’m being a tad melodramatic for yuck, yucks sake, but having to duck under your kids bunk bed to make his bed again after washing his soaked Star Wars sheets and bedcovers is enough to push any man to the dark side. So if I want to avoid stripping my son’s wet sheets off his bed again like he’s a young Corey Feldman who’s been the hitting bottle too hard with Sam Kinson backstage at the Comedy Store again, why don’t I shame bribe him, by insisting we can’t watch Spaceballs ever again unless he comes out as Farm Boy from Princess Bride for Halloween, except whenever a homeowner giving candy asks, “Who are you dressed as for Halloween?” Samuel must say, “Piss Bucket Boy from History of The World”, before flashing his plastic pumpkin candy holder that’s packed with PJ Mask nappies to the rim.
At first, I thought banning my wife from giving our son Melatonin gummies would prevent him from falling into deeper states of extended sleep while contemplating who would win in a street fight, Rudy or Rocky, if Bruce Lee trained Rudy first. My son’s still wetting himself like I did after waterboarding myself as a 12-year-old kid from trying to jerkoff but only succeeding in hosing myself down with a golden shower after Emanuel After Dark on Showtime because I hadn’t gotten into the puberty pool party yet. So, to avoid becoming my son’s permanent wet nurse like Jill Biden on demand, I’m going to groom a shallow beauty, so he won’t get lost in deep enough focused thought on ways to bitch slap the future 5th grader who dares to spoil his sister with Starbucks gift cards on Valentine’s Day without taking the time for a midnight bathroom break who identifies with Fatal Attraction Astronauts from NASA.
Instead of watching documentaries on Andre the Giant, which focus on Andre’s excessive drinking problem to drown out the pain of being treated like a regrettable freak of nature in airports like the man who dresses like Meghan McCain in drag for Teacher Appreciation Month to read, “Divine Gives Bi-Curious Geroge a Banana in His Tail Pipe.” Will binge on Keeping Up with The Sloppy Third Kardashian Sister, since Kim backed out to focus full time on studying for her bar exam because Social Justice Lawyers are so hot right now.
I’ll insist my son doesn’t flip on his hoodie to hide his chosen curls at the grocery store anymore to avoid more grown Italian MILFS hitting on him with lines like, “When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” Only for me to say, “No offense lady, but if James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”
I can buy my son a Waterbed for his birthday to avoid more weighty deep thoughts. So instead of meditating on the rapidly encroachment of irreversible death like Hemingway does in Old Man and The Sea, my son can dream about the glory days of Boogie Nights Porn pre-VHS tape, before tatted up white girls cranked up on Crystal meth ruined the golden age of muff diving forever. Back when the mountain muff on the MILF from Scandal in the Mansion on the big screen looked like stacks of Brillo pads resting on top of a busted Slinky.
I could also deprogram deepness my forcing my son to sleep every night in a Tanning Bed. And instead of reading him poetry at night from Charles Bukowski about the serial bitterness and predictably dronish, small soul producing dullness swallowing up our empty, consumerist controlled lives, while sloppy drunk hookers come knocking down on his door in broken high heels at 2 o clock in the morning, will start rehearsing his Trump impersonation for Halloween. But not just any old impression of Trump, but an impression of Trumpy Poo after he tests HIV positive, after the Deep State pricked him with the same dirty needle used to take out Easy E to prevent him from running again. “Who are you for Halloween?” Son says, “Little Man Trump who just tested HIV positive because Melania slept with Magic to get me back for the Stormy Daniels fiasco. Do I have HIV? Yes, but my t-cell count numbers, have never been stronger.”
But I like talking to my 5-year-old son like he’s my Talmudic joke whisperer manager. Son says, “Daddy, stop being an ancient moron. When are you going to record comedy record 96 already? After that, you’ll only have 4 more to reach 100. Rodney Dangerfield never did that. Even Papa would have to respect that. Johnny Cash told his daughter Roseanne Cash she had to learn to play 100 selected songs before she could set out to become a master working solo artist, remember moron son? I still like the title Genius on Tap for your next comedy record. Think good and will be good like Rebbe Schneerson said. You’re always a genius just Jack Kerouac told himself remember mega dumb son? Besides. I own you and you ain’t poop without me. So, finish strong like Stallone does in Over-the-Top Daddy, none of this meet halfway crap, go for it all the way. Fight the good fight, achieve perfect laughter with the Gods, loneliness is a gift, to test your will to prove how much you really want it. What, you’ve been reading me quotes from Bukowski on Goodreads since I was 2. So, get a lit agent to read your entire manuscript for Waste of Height, Really Short Stories already. Then, we can afford that Comedy Gold Mobile and go on a book signing tour together, but never forget, more jokes for me, are more jokes for your comedy records, got it. I can wear my Muscle Beach shirt when you do a book signing in Venice, despite you naming Arthur, Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. I’m still really pissed at you for that by the way. But I get all the Black Sabbath records and get to watch Fist of the North Star with you, do Mad Libs with you, play blackjack with my Freddy Kruger cards and watch Japanese death matches on YouTube with Terry Funk with at you home whenever we hang out, before I start Kindergarten next year, which evens out the suck. Hey Daddy, ever think I may pee in my bed because playing with Freddy Kruger cards would scare the piss out of any little dreamer at night whenever those images of a burnt serial killer come to life?” And I say, “Thank God somebody in this relationship is playing with a full deck.”
Challah, thank you very much.
Dear Laura Cohen,
The Crypto Kid is a running news column that brings the crypto mythology to life for jaded Gen X Parents who don’t want to miss out on the next best thing. With talk of the Fed issuing their own version of bitcoin called Fedcoin, I can’t think of a better time to demystify the world of Crypto through conversations about its new world vernacular with experts and my 3 kids soon after to ensure they don’t remain financially illiterate like their daddy into his mid-forties who has to Google how many zeros are in a trillion for Christ’s sake.
Not every member of the tribe has a head for numbers. So, I see your readers embracing the good-hearted nature behind The Crypto Kid, who will breakdown the Crypto vernacular that’s flush with ultra-colorful terms begging to be extrapolated for some comedy gold such as Depth Chart, Low Ranked Traders, Buy Wall, Oracles and Digital Wallets consisting of digital coins like a Toca Boca game come to life.
The Crypto Kid is an overgrown man child who uses conversations with experts in crypto such as Cathie Wood, Chief Investment Officer at Ark Invest who says, “Bitcoin, is a bigger idea than Apple”, to make the world of crypto investing less sketchy scary fringe than it’s portrayed to be.
I’ve amassed 6000 plus connections on LinkedIn from my time working as an agency IT headhunter in LA and Manhattan, especially within the world of open-sourced based software engineering, fintech and blockchain. So, I’ll have no problem generating meaningful yet fun conversations among all the star actors within the world of crypto who give it a good name. Because we’re all not greedy, soulless, predatory parasites like Bernie Madoff either.
Who can defeat the rise of Anti-Semitism today, among those today who are still educating themselves on Hitler, who claim the Jews control the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole to? The Crypto Kid will, shooting down negative stereotypes about the new age digital gold rush, which can usher in more means of personal empowerment, financial liberation and social good than bashing David Mamet’s followers on Twitter ever could.
The knock against Crypto is that’s its investors are anonymous, and you can’t dox them or freeze their bank accounts for donating money to an unemployed comedian trying to fundraise his standup comedy tour by selling bumper stickers through his Go Fund Me page such as COVID Damage Done.
So let’s prove how forward thinking the Jewish Forward is by letting The Crypto Kid fire away at all the bitcoin and crypto detracting critics in his opening column, Show Me The Dark Money, which takes on persistent claims of Crypto investing struggling to reach mainstream respectability because it’s still considered too alt-right leaning for their taste, despite Larry David having no problem shilling for those terrorist funding insurrectionists during Super Bowl Weekend.
Last, The Crypto Kid is a member of Generation X who’s endured the era of Aids, COVID, 9/11 and multiple recessions, now going on 3. As a result, The Crypto Kid prefers his comedy like his coffee, dark and bitter. So, who’s better qualified to examine the 2 trillion-dollar crypto market cap today with such skeptical, leering eyes who also recognizes how the technology employed and embraced now on a worldwide basis was invented as a hedge against another one world bank-controlled implosion that happened in 2008? Some experts say Crypto is a safer investment than gold and bonds while others consider it a safe haven against inflation, which peaks semi-sustained stiffage on my behalf. What about you?
Ultimately, The Crypto Kid will make the world of crypto investing appear less fringe scary as it continues to veer closer to the mainstream. Whatever Reese Witherspoon can do to make Americans less gun shy about investing in Crypto, I can do better. Like the late great Joan Rivers used to say, “Can we talk?” I’m looking forward to your reply.
Dear Michael Kornbluth,
Fuck off, no mask MAGA head.
What’s up with black guys sporting masks outside of Whole Foods in Scottsdale, Arizona?
Yolanda yells, “Wear the damn mask.”
Black guy says, “Are black Karens in Arizona even a thing?”
Yolanda yells back, “I used to live in Ridgefield, CT, motherfucker”
Challah, thank you very much.
Fuck Jerry West for crying about his depiction in Showtime on HBO.
Your life hasn’t been blessed enough Jerry?
Deep down, what he really hates is how it reminds everyone how he made it to the NBA finals 10 times and only won once while having Elgin Baylor and Wilt Chamberlin on his side. That’s a worst losing percentage than Hillary, every time she nominates herself for Woman of The Year despite it being the drunken druid edition or not.
And fuck Kareem for bitching about his sour puss depiction in Showtime on HBO. Airplane Cameo or not, Kareem is less likeable than Hillary Hammer Time Cankles on the rag out of Chardonay again with Whole Foods closed for Easter. At least, Hillary pretends to smile for the cameras despite the umbilical cord smoothie ripping apart her innards during a slow DNC fundraising month.
And fuck Magic for going on talk shows, bragging about not bothering to see the Showtime Lakers show on HBO as if it’s beneath him like wearing condoms since he made HIV disappear. But Magic had no problem taking a smile happy pic with the Governor of California, Gavin Getko at the Rams playoff game. Despite the sunshine scurrying state descending into a sprawling tent city sponsored by REI. But seriously, why does Magic sweat the prospect of watching the show about his showtime Lakers on HBO so much? You’d think the big cliff hanger was finding the cookie jar where Cookie hides Magic’s HIV pill suppressor stash if he’s caught scoring his brown sugar fix outside his Bel Air estate again.
And fuck Will Ferrell for ending his lifetime friendship with Adam McKay because he casted John C. Reily to play Dr. Buss over the dad in the Lego Movie. Dr. Buss was a major pussy hound in real life, which I don’t see Will Ferrell pulling off as well after seeing a pic of his wife once. And I thought Boris Johson’s wife, required a mask on at all times, woof, woof. Shit, Dr. Buss used to share girls with Magic. But Will Ferrell won’t share a bungalow editing suite with Adam McKay anymore because he cut his precious ego in 2, boo-hoo.
And what’s up with black guys tagging buildings with Swastika’s in Manhattan these days? Adolph Eichman could never leap a building in a single bound, like Nate the Great. Assuming, that building was a tall stiff in the post season like Dwight Howard.
But seriously, black guys tagging buildings with Swatika’s in Manhattan makes no sense. Are these brothers still educating themselves on Hitler? Let me drop some knowledge bombs. The founder of Planned Parenthood, a major eugenics enthusiast, was Hitler’s divine inspiration to launch his master extermination party in the 1st place genius. And Five Percenters weren’t escaping Hitler’s final cut from his dream team Aryan squad, regardless of your God blessed killer flow on 36 Chambers, Wu Tang, Wu Tang, Challah. Thank you very much.
Plus, Nick Cannon, hip hop royalty, I think, has singled out Planned Parenthood on 97.1 with Funk Master Flex for killing off more future high risers than white man’s disease and smokable cocaine, otherwise known as crack, most likely developed by a Nazi Scientist for the Deep State, as a part of their own final solution to ensure the poor don’t get on up to jack shit. That 2-state Kill “Em All solution, Metallica lives, being kill off poor blacks with crack and poor whites with meth. And if that doesn’t get the job done. Unleash the MAGA bat from Wuhan to finish off the rest. Challah, thank you very much.
But seriously, black guys tagging buildings in Manhattan with Swastikas is beyond ass backwards. That’s like Cardi B pretending her chicken nugget stuffed snatch is superior tasting to slurping German resiling all up in Hedi Klum’s innards to break your fast for Yom Kippur.
Imagine Guardian Angel Curtis Silwa catching a black dude tag another building with a swastika in Manhattan while trying to drop knowledge about what the swastika really means.
Curtis Silwa says, “Look, Curtis Blow, did you know the swastika was a Hindu symbol originally?”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “What the fuck is a Hindu symbol?”
Curtis Silwa says, “Just think elephants with more dicks coming out it it’s ears than Cardi B on a slow Tuesday. Personally, I always thought the Swastika looked like 2 stick figures doing a 69 on crystal meth.”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “You better back the fuck up fast, I ain’t no faggot. And what kind of fruity cap are you wearing anyway?”
Curtis Silva says,” It’s a beret. My father was a Green Beret in World 2, who was a Nazi destroyer in real life unlike those tweaked out wannabe punisher vigilantes in hoodies in ANTIFA. So, when you put a swastika on a building in Jew York, it offends the memory of my pops Curtis Blow.”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “Why the fuck do you keep on calling me Curtis Blow?”
Curtis Silva says, “Curtis Blow was the 1st rapper to sign with a major record label from the Bronx, the birth of hip hop and condescending Jews, who expect immediate fawned upon service and guaranteed discounts on Mozzarella sticks while trying to impress his grandchildren at another mediocre restaurant in Scottsdale, Arizona, during Happy Hour.”
Fake News Curtis Blow laughs and says, “I don’t know what condescending means. But I can see how were more on the same team than apart.”
Curtis Silva extends his hand out and say, “Don’t keep me hanging, give me some love.”
Fake News Curtis Blow obliges and gives the legendary founding member of the Guardian Angels a semi firm, warm high five in return.
Curtis Silva says, “Look, if you really want to do some next level tagging shit, I’d start making your own logos, which aren’t culturally appropriated from Hindu Swami’s, English punk rockers and tweaked out Nazi’s, who make Hunter Biden come off a serial slack underachiever in comparison, Kapeesh.”
Less garbage lines, Challah.
Thank you very much.
Year without beer is off to a strong start. Contemplated drinking cider during Passover, but then I resisted the urge knowing I’m still allowed by Jewish law to drink semi-affordable Pinot from the Central Coast in California without giving in to the need of being a fruitier lush about it.
My son made me a paper airplane that looked like a Boeing 757, which included a flying banner on the back, attached with Scotch tape that said, “Happy Birthday”, on it. Lesson learned here is never underestimate the power of Jewish guilt, after I insisted, he’d make me a more creatively jacked birthday card than what he gave my father in Arizona over Spring Break, which was in the shape of Tennis Racket, which wasn’t chopped liver light either.
Daughter made me a birthday card with a Bevery Goldberg inspired bedazzled chain on it, only for the card to open like a fancy fanned out envelope with a hand drawn pic of a scrumptious, ultra-pink cupcake inside with a message inside that read, “Your sweeter than this.” So, I can’t be too bitter about my younger brother refusing to acknowledge my birthday again, knowing my own mother over Spring Break prior, insisted, I don’t make a “big deal” out of my birthday.” Because I’m the sloppy second son for a reason, Challah. Thank you very much.
The most annoying thing before my birthday outside of my mom essentially saying, don’t expect your dad to sing you happy birthday over the phone with me with any semblance of big deal love is here to stay feeling, regardless of you making it as a writer comedian or not. Was an old college bud texting me a Happy Easter shout out followed by an Easter bunny emoji/Happy Passover Michael and family. Did he confuse me for an atheist cunt Jew, who has less use for upholding Jewish tradition than decorating his home with Gnomes for Christmas, who look like Santa’s cut off trust fund babies living off Social Security? I don’t get it. Oh yeah, even Atheist cunts who still watch CNN have less respect for Jewish pride than election integrity laws requiring photo ID.
Year without beer so far has been far merrier than you’d think, cheers! But Atheist cunts who act insincere peppy about the resurrection of Jesus Christ can go woke themselves long time. Challah, thank you very much.
If I was hung like a moose like Teddy Rosevelt, I’d feel superior to Woodrow Wilson’s WASPY wire frame and gun-shy pebble nuts to.
Manhattan museums are off the list.
The Met still requires a Monet mask upon entry.
You’d think the Met was converted into a French Brothel to keep the donations coming, after the new Henry Miller exhibit hit, Brushing Up On STDS.
Challah, thank you very much.