Party Animal DNA

This is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by a reporter for High Times for their 420 issue.  “Ziggy, your dad had 12 kids. But the Crazy Baldheads taught us Ganja destroyed our life shooter’s fire power for good.” Ziggy Marley replies, “Fake News man.”

Joakim Noah just admitted on a radio show the reason he sucked up the joint as a Knick was because he was constantly lit. His exact words were “Athletics and partying don’t go hand and hand.”  3 kids later, I know for a fact hangovers and kids don’t mix. But can middle age usher in a gentler, less destructive form of partying for working parents? Similar to what Bukowski pulled off during his late in life, married, prostitute free San Pedro years.

Is addiction to partying nature based or more an offshoot of normalized enabler nurturing ? Or does addiction to partying really come down to disposable income, free time and making the choice to live it up like Lizard King? Distorting all windows of perception like any shot still fitting into your leather pants again after exchanging your acid only Atkins diet for cases of beer and whiskey shakes, rattling  bones.

Legendary Stand Up Comedian Doug Stanhope says AA is great for the stories. Plus, he refers to all addiction as a “controlled decision.” So according to Doug Stanhope my younger brother choses to be a sketchy speed freak, regardless of what collateral damage it’s caused to his ex fiancé’s bank account and my parents in the past.

Once, an old fake news friend asks me. “What’s the difference between 1 kid versus 3?” I say. “Drinking alone is no longer an issue. Plus, having 3 kids versus 1 is a headier rush of coolness empowerment because each kid of  mine has become an automatic, unabashed fan of me. The rub is making sure they continue to admire and look up to me past their 1st love, gaga phase.” How will I ensure this love connection lasts post puberty? By raising my kids drug free by becoming drug free to. And stop doing all drugs. At least around them or never be on them in their presence ever period.

 

The best teacher is doing, not preaching. I’m almost there. Pothead daddy is dead. So is bourbon in the house ever dad because if I have it, I drink it at night in generous, you’d  think I’m on an eight ball of blow pours. Plus, my cherished Kentucky Bourbons and spicy Rye Whiskies aged me 1000 years in a day when I thought I could pull off the William Faulkner, writer sophisticate lifestyle on it. “Knowledge is power” kids.

 

Doug Stanhope can say addiction boils down to choice, not genetics. But this argument still doesn’t disguise the fact that some of us hailing from a long line of party animals lack self-regulated cut off point capabilities, especially those who have crazy hick, party animal DNA embedded in their liver spotted family tree.  I have a high tolerance for booze and beer in general. My younger brother not so much, yet he’s a lifelong enthusiast of the nose candy. So he’ll end up drinking way more than his normal brain can compute off it. Which is a recipe for disaster, especially when you add dad’s Ambian into the mix.  Never got that move. Could my younger brother be anymore of a degenerate, crazy hick, indecisive Jew? Do you want to be up or go to sleep? Make your mind up already, my chest.  Like I said, some posses greater control over their party animal DNA than others.

I still take Adderall, but I only take 1 time release a pill a day and nothing else these days. I know the Bible says sometimes we judge what we’re most guilty of.  But I never stole money from my parents’ ATM machine for cocaine runs to Washington Heights either. My own cousin who turned his life around, as a tax accountant, used to be a homeless crackhead. He’s a smart kid also. Will always love my cousin with all my heart. He truly turned his life around. Couldn’t be happier for him. Still, at one point, his pangs of addiction were so deep, he took my grandmother to the ATM when she had Alzheimer’s. I don’t know what’s lower, him doing this or me sharing the story to the Internet at large. Obviously, it’s not me bringing up the story again because in order to raise a drug free family, my 3 kids need to know that A) It’s never to late for redemption and to turn your life around and B) Party Animal DNA, especially, from Mimi’s crazy hick southern side, has a killer appetite for destruction lurking from within.

My kids already know about drinking and driving, heroin, pills, cocaine overdoses and how they’re all illegal. Plus, they fully know real jail is hell on earth and they’ll all be eaten up alive in there. I didn’t watch every single episode of OZ for nothing. So when it comes down to taking it or leaving it, they must leave it. It’s also easier said than done. They say evil happens in the place of idleness. That’s why I’m pushing my 3 kids into sports, theatre, art, creation, all forms of competition, both creative and physical. So, they don’t have the free time available to indulge in being a blah brained, empty souled consumerist like I was growing up.

 

I don’t want my kids to be playing catch up in life like me at 42. The rich get richer, and the poorer pothead, feels poorer the more he puffs one hitters into his early forties because ripping hits from an expensive glass bubbler is deemed too wasteful for his weed, spendthrift addiction.  I tell my kids, nothing will get them higher than winning and creating something new. For me it’s writing new jokes and writing new pieces, or performing on stage to kill but life is so much more than that. My view is limited to show business, but life is your stage like Shakespeare says, so either you want to shine like Denzel as Othello on Broadway or fade into the sunset like a has been, never great in the 1st place Andy Dick.  Plus, partying doesn’t solve your financial problems. It only creates more. Just ask Jimmy Leyritz on the New York Yankees how his life materialized. After his legend cementing homerun against Atlanta in 96. When we were down 6 runs to win Game 6 away from home. Before winning the World Series in the boogie down Bronx against the dominant, unhittable Maddox in game 7 for it all.

Reality is, I don’t even remember one funny line I uttered from all my Christmas Breaks I drank away with my buds from high school. I do remember one local townie, telling me.  “You should run for politics office one day.” Have no idea where that came from. Still, I always viewed his kind reach out of him as meaning, you got a brain, save some  brain cells for the greater good. Plus, you’re destroying your looks with this stuff kid.

In the end, we’re judged by what fruit we bear in the form of our kids. And I refuse to raise victim card playing drug addicts, fuck that. Party animal friends fade kid.  Miserable pricks, love to feel better about themselves around other struggling pricks. Partying can motivate kids, but partying doesn’t have to involve drugs and alcohol. You want to celebrate your wins. Go out dancing, Ice Skating, Duck Pinning. Sushi Dinners conquest feasts await. Knick games at MSG and seeing Ziggy Marley live in Central Park. Getting high on the music and on the company of those you love. Inhaling nothing but positive vibrations, blowing through the air.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

The Productive Stoner

I always wanted to be a functional pothead. But I had to stop trying 3 kids later.  I gave it my best shot. Don’t think I’m quitter.

7 years ago, my wife barges into our 1 bedroom apartment bathroom on a Friday night in a whirlwind of presumptive disgust because I was enjoying myself a tad too much as our 3 year old splashed in the bubble. And sang with me as we crooned with soul stirring,  shimmering glee to Bob Marley’s evil spirit conquering Duppy Conqueror. Understand, I puffed a one hitter in the bathroom with the window open before I got my daughter situated in there which got me feeling extra loose. Now, my wife barges through the bathroom door unannounced. Shoots off a final judgement hate stare in my direction and says with frothy, damnation dispiritedness. “You’re such a stoner.” Before slamming the bathroom door coming off the hinges.  Next my 4 year old daughter, Matilda, Singing Rose Kornbluth says. “Daddy, you’re not a stoner. You’re a rock star.” I say. “You’re right, Matilda. Because stoners aren’t doers and daddy is a doer. Granted, I haven’t done mommy since her birthday last year but that’s besides the point.”

So do I still smoke some weed? Squeeze in a puff of Florida Crippy’s for old times sake to celebrate writing the 1st draft of a new TV pilot like I did for my past creations including Don’t Laugh I Live Newark, Mr. Right and Mike Mates? I’m strong at banging out headline hookers I know. But no, I haven’t smoked the scrumptious, crystal specked green supreme goodness in 4 months now I think. Could be longer. So much for my short-term memory bouncing back with palpable, reverberating vengeance since my past podcast goodbye to my pothead plagued past in Episode 43 My Weed Exit Interview, on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast. I had my daughter do the intro for it. “Funnier, dad, happier baby, and I’m living proof of it. Can I get a Challah for some Challah?”

Ok, so back to the million dollar question, what drove me to take a permanent vacation from what I perceived as my best bud till my daughter Matilda was born? For starters, 3 kids later, I could no longer afford to feel like a bigger moron than I already feel around my comedic genius daughter. She’s a math nerd also which is a tad annoying. It got to the point, where I was disgusted at my belabored, ad lib replies to her super deep, out of nowhere questions about God.  My daughter asks. “So Daddy, if God created the Universe, then who created God?” I say. “God, went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.” Daughter says. “Real convincing Dada. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.” The joke doesn’t work as good if she says 6.

When you stop smoking weed after you’ve been a Stoner for 2 decades in a row, you start remembering your dreams because they’re so vivid crazy homes. You think you’ve been blackout drunk your entire waking life prior. What I’ve noticed in these dreams is old buds resurface. Who I’d either get stoned with or drunk with. But any semblance of a sturdier, brotherly bond past getting fucked up together, disintegrates under the unflinching, murky, glare of my dream undertow. Where old buds appear emotionless within the shadowy corners of my subconscious, REM catching up mind man.

I also compared my joke retweet stats on Twitter when I took an extended break on weed prior to my podcast Weed Exit Interview episode and was disgusted at the sobering statistical illumination revelation. I banged out almost ten times as many jokes off the weed than on it. Plus, my jokes on weed in comparison sounded like the dull minded, dim witted, dead brained drippings of a mentally strained douche-bag.

 

Trump has produced around 38,000 tweets compared to my 40,000 plus from my past. Proving native New Yorker’s hailing from Queens don’t have a hard time expressing themselves or ever run out of colorful things to say. At the same time, this doesn’t mean I’ve had burnout induced moments in my 20’s and 30’s when I was an awful communicative stoner, which haunt me till this day.

Once, I was cold calling a VP of Engineering as an IT Recruiter, doing new business development in Manhattan for a staffing company in One Penn Plaza right above MSG. And I could barely state my own full name clearly and at this point I only had 36 years of practice. “Hi, my name is Michael Kornbababluth, from Adam Jacobs & Associates. “Struggling with your own name I see” the VP of Engineering said with relished glee.

My own father stopped smoking weed after he met my mom in college. It was a deal breaker for her. Once, I recall watching the Knicks my Senior Year in High School when I started smoking plenty of weed after school from the Bronx, the cheap, sprayed kind that tastes like Windex. So I’m watching the game with my dad and out of nowhere my dad says with all knowing, dour disdain, “You’re not speaking well.” Translation, you’re smoking too much weed and you’re a learning disabled kid who didn’t crack a 1000 on his SAT’s. You’re not Bob Dylan, moron.

I always wanted to be a functional pothead. Getting my TV writing gig at VH1 Classic for Americas Hard 100, which was 12 years in the making felt great. Especially after I rose to the occasion and proved to myself I could get a high stakes writing job done well with all eyez on me pressure. I got stoned solo to celebrate in Manhattan off my prized one hitter and took a soulful, money, money, cocksure stroll from Times Square to my favorite craft brew bar in Manhattan on 10th Avenue to extend my feel good party in my honor. But then, I’m at the bar, being non-predatory flirty, feeling like a married slut in a straight jacket. Acting nervous around woman at the bar because I feel guilty about being free of my 3 year old girl for once and that was before my other 2 kids were born.

I continued to get high off the extra good green after becoming a dad because it still brought me pleasure and it helped my brain chill at night when I’d squeeze in a hit away from kids after dinner around 7. I’d love listening to the Grateful Dead, Europe 72 on it or Hair Metal ballads by Warrant, especially while reading new jokes of mine which come alive off the page a bit more on it. Plus, my evening reading performances for my kids in bed were more spontaneous fun for both the kids and me. Reality is though, weed is a poor man’s substitute for the American Hustler search and destroy, kill um all mentality  I needed to embody to become a major comedy success in this universe and continued weed use burns out my full throttle flame of creativity before I can take it even higher. I justified my weed use for long because I’d use the weed as a reward for getting a new script or blog done, but that’s a limited way of thinking, especially knowing, how I’m scheduling myself to be less productive the day after I get blazed.

My wife’s worse nightmare was me being stoned at night once she was in labor with our 3 child Samuel Teddy.  The birth of Samuel pushed me past my obsession with fulfilling all my self-serving needs. 14 months later I became determined to love myself better and be the healthier, wiser, friskier, funnier Dad provider my family of 5 needed me to be. Now, I’m pushing myself to maximize my time on this earth to make it as a writer on the rise after all. One my 3 kids can be proud of past their adoration of dad because they’re not teenagers in love with anyone else but me yet.

My book Stay At Home Comedian is a love letter about how my 3 kids finally got my act together. It’s a self-improvement story about how my 3 kids inspired me to replace bad habits with good habits. It’s a humor book about parenting, modern fatherhood and controlling my kids through comedy as a stay at home comedian podcast host blogger who works from home  It’s a memoir about my unusual artist family and how my kids have made me a better friend, husband, patriot, writer, leader and comedian.  Last night, my daughter asks. “Are you getting close to finishing your humor book on fatherhood, Stay At Home Comedian yet daddy? When you start selling copies of it through Amazon Kindle and at Barnes and Noble, I can call you a real artist because real art sells, right Dada?” I say. “I liked it better when you called me a rock star instead. Richard Belzer called all comedians frustrated rock stars at heart.”

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

Best Bud Sarah Silverman Never Had

You know God loves you when your kids play with your fungus covered feet. Seeing past your impurities. My 2 boys know to wear new flip flops every time they step foot in the men’s showers at LA Fitness in West Hollywood.

My 1st dad moment was yelling at my wife for tramp stamping my 5 year old daughter with fake tattoos seconds before our 1st Winter Ball Dance together. I yell. Take them off. My daughters adds. Yeah, now I can’t be buried in a fake Jewish Cemetery.

My 2nd dad moment was saying no fairy wings on Matilda after my wife’s best friend gave them to her for Christmas. Matilda looks like an overdose at the Lime Light waiting to happen. Especially, at the rate she pounds seltzer at home these days.

Dads are stronger cheerleaders than moms. My wife says it’s because we live in a Patriarchal society. I say. I thought it was because our kids cared more about my opinions. Plus, growing up don’t act like you cared more about impressing your knife chucking mother babe.

I still struggle with saying patriarchal society without stuttering it out. I’m convinced Virginia Wolf willed the word into popular culture so men would sound dumber Jersey like than usual.

Sarah Silverman doesn’t think the President is mature yet still takes bong hits in a hoodie way past 40. Plus, I don’t recall Sarah Silverman outgrowing her truly tasteless, alternative jokes phase either.

Life Is Worth Losing is worth revisiting for hard core George Carlin fans. Carlin is sober and sharper than ever. Plus, darker is funnier and George Carlin achieves stand-up nirvana on this HBO special with The Suicide Guy. He really was the best. Plus, George Carlin’s rape jokes were vastly superior to Sarah and felt far less forced rapey.

Opening line for my new book chapter “Puff, Puff, Pass”, about passing on being a pothead, only 3 kids later. I always wanted to be a functional pothead.

Option 2 for an opening line for my new book chapter “Puff, Puff, Pass”, about passing on being a pothead, only 3 kids later. Weed was my best bud till I had Matilda.

My 7-Year-Old Daughter on Adam Levine. He sounds like he stole Michael Jackson’s voice. In case you’re wondering, we were listening to the song Gotten on Slash’s debut album, Slash. You’re welcome. Fergie, Chris Cornell, Kid Rock all shine on it.

George Soros calling Roger Waters.

George Soros
Can you supply the caravan with free I Phones with 1 song on it each?
Roger Waters
Tear down the wall, got it.
I’m only doing this because you know how awful Israelis are to Palestinians.

Dad
Day 5, free from beer Matilda. It will sound weird when I say day 28.

Daughter

I know.  You’ve never even made it to double digits.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

Declaration of Drug Dependence

Wine makes you sleepy.
Beer makes you fat.
Whiskey makes you old.
Weed makes you stupid.
Adderall makes you tenser edgy.
Finish blogging your book, lose 10 pounds this winter & guilt your wife into doing the same. Celebrate dunking out.
The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my readers. Creed 2 is a must see film if celebrating Fake News Fro ruined football isn’t your thing today either.  I love you all.

 

New Jokes instead of my New Parenting Book Chapter

My impersonation of Megan Kelly’s apology.

I thought Dead Presidents was an underrated Hughes Brothers flick. And black Shawn was super cute funny in Rescue Me. 450 years after his haunting thug life portrayal in Menace.

Also, Megyn Kelly wearing black face on the Today Show is like Whoopie wearing all white after labor day on the View.

Stand Up Dad Philosopher
Helicopter parents fucked up their kids. Raising the rod didn’t turn out so well for Michael Jackson. My parenting philosophy, controlling your kids with comedy is the sweet spot in the middle. Trump’s kids never passed out at Lollapalooza.

Dad, Jesus, the original super Jew, rocked the Pescatarian diet. And now I do to. My Jewish dad from the Bronx shrieks. Hammer another stent in me while you’re at it son.

Int. Stop and Shop
Cashier
What type of onion is this? We have so many.
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
Just a yellow onion. No matter what onion you cut with your eyes on it. You’ll end up crying like Seth Myers on election night.

What’s this I hear about a suspicious package near Hillary’s House? Did Bill sport wood after Hillary Hammer Time Cankles slipped into something more comfortable like her triple X Spanx gift before Christmas?

Why hasn’t Jimmy Carter gotten a bomb scare yet on his home on the range? Or John Kerry on his Kite Surfing Rental Island in Bora, Bora? Does Woodrow Wilson have a monument we don’t know about?

Dinero got a suspicious package now? Like what, a screenplay by Martin Scorsese Leo passed on for a change?

Is it hate speech to call the MAGA Bomber an overrated prop comedian? Carlos Mencia wouldn’t steal shit from this guy. Is all I’m saying.

So the dude who got 90 Mill from Google who created the Android was found guilty of “coercing” his mistress into giving him fellatio against her will because he ate a pork bowl minus the diced pineapple? I’m not having ownership issues with my Android yet.

In the last 2 years 48 people have been terminated at Google for sexual harassment. Are Google Headhunters only targeting graphic designers from FSU now over Spring Break? I don’t get it.

Dad texts. I expected you to call us on Sunday per our conversation. My reply. Natalia was working all weekend. And I was busy with deplorable babysitter detail. It made me laugh.

Memo to low emotional IQ NY Times participating novelists.

Your dream ending to the Mueller investigation is Trump getting iced by the Secret Service? Despite Trump having his own private security. What hack writer retreat from Vermont did you crawl out from under?

Your dream ending to the Mueller investigation is Trump getting iced by the Secret Service? Did you come up with that all by yourself? Or is Ken Follet your new dream whisperer?

Int. Bar
Gene
What do you think of most comedians?
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
Most of them are fat losers. Possessing 0.0 gravitas on the stage and off.

Gene laughs long time.

Do It All Dad Advice
Daddy, I don’t know how to open the pineapple juice can. Ask Ryan to do it at lunch like this. Hey, Ryan I got something for you to open for me. That came out all wrong. Figure it yourself.

My 7 year old daughter taunting me on the basketball court.
You have 0.0 lift on your jump shot Dada. I think your spirit animal is a cursed unicorn with white man’s disease.

My daughters rehash of her school’s playground announcement during recess. Blah, Blah, it’s very dangerous. Blah, blah, it’s very dangerous. And we only had 10 minutes left to put ourselves in harms way.

Where do Guidance Counselors get the balls calling themselves Guidance Counselors? Because when they look in the mirror every morning. I’m sure they see a Shaman in white man starched clothing.

Chelsea Clinton told the Westchester County News. That she’d consider running for office 1 day if a spot opened up. There are a lot of problems dug in that desert, I mean woods, woods.

Do It All Dad Gripe:
Pre-K teacher says. You can’t pack nuts for Arthur. 1 of his classmates has a nut allergy. I say. Look, Mrs. Russo, I’m not nuts over Vegans either. But feeding my kid Cool Ranch Doritos isn’t doing my son any favors either.

Me flirting with a heavy set Italian bartender who I’m trying to get myself up for banging in my mind. She says I love the Zucchini sticks. They’re homemade. I say. If I make them, my kitchen counter will look like the makeup room at John Water’s house.

I still don’t believe Caitlyn Jenner was asexual when married to Kris Jenner. Although, I’m sure it was easier to stay aroused longer after she cut her short to look more like a dolled up Ralph Machio.

New Family Tradition
Telling my mom she’s isn’t welcome to celebrate Hanukkah with my family this year when she’s in town visiting. And blaming Roger Waters and the Fake News Media for of course helping build the wall.

Baby boy is taking a legendary nap now. Hey, Arthur, why did you have daddy turn down Green Day when Mrs. Russo picked you from the car for Pre-K? You’re loud enough as it is Dada. My nickname for you is always loud, remember?

Padma Lakshi acting like an authority on comedy. Is like Tom Colichio acting like an authority on comedy. Or Heidi Klum’s bodyguard boyfriend. Whose stiffer than Kevin Costner in the Untouchables.

Apparently, Padma Lakshi knows a gazillion other comics funnier than Louie CK off the top of her head. No love for Larry David after he hooked up her ex with a cameo on Curb? Which made Rushdie a tad personable for a change.

I wonder if Manhattan Lawyer wives ever bust their husbands balls saying. You’re such a no name loser. Why isn’t anyone ever defending your honor on Twitter?

Being married to Chrissy Telgen must be more annoying than being married to Ed Burns. You’re a writer, director of Irish American descent. Who never wrote a part for Collin Quinn out of fear of being upstaged. We get it.

Also, Megyn Kelly wearing black face on the Today Show is like Whoopie wearing all white after labor day on the View.

Int. Bar
Gene
How do you make a living?
Stay At Home Comedian
My wife works as a nurse.
Gene laughs.

Gene
I hope you appreciate her supporting your dream.
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
But she isn’t making her Black Range Rover dream come true Gene.
I am.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Fatherhood is a Childhood Do Over Improver

I hate to make being a father of 3 all about myself. Meanwhile, the only available book at Barnes and Noble under the Parenting section for dads include: The Expectant Father, The Ultimate Guide For Dads-To-Be. So good luck gleaming any words of wisdom on how fatherhood grants you the gift of reliving your age of innocence for the benefit of your 3 children through more mature, lived through, less shy slouched, shaky lens. In an edgeless, humorless book about a fake news dad who’s  not even a dad yet I’m assuming.

The title Expectant Father is a dead giveaway on this dad knowing jack shit about being a dad yet. So from where I stand his 9 months, Hugh Grant inspired book, only proports to be about how the remainder of his wife’s pregnant life is dealing with his wife’s feelings regarding him drinking around her because he still can. Though it’s not encouraged, regardless of the husband being denied boom, boom time as a form of punishment for it. Which as a penalizing loss, loses less luster in your loins unless you’re eyeing other pregnant woman who aren’t your wife on the subway or maybe that was just me.

Allow me to indulge in a tad perverse, poignant old school obsessional point of mine for  1 more second here. Pregnant woman’ complexions are never better. Most pregnant woman are quite glow filled, celestial beauties in my book. I’m not saying I jerked it to Demi Moore on the cover of Vogue back in the day. But fully dressed pregnant woman on the Lex line. Still dressed to impress for work at Goldman Sachs.  With their added brazier bustage. On top of their luscious, healthy locks of yankable hair only added to the allure of this sexy Italian gal. Who laughed at all my ad libs during our natural birthing class is all I’m trying to say.

Especially, when I learned in our class how our late sixty year old, varicose vein heavy, birth instructor revealed 5 classes in how she never gave birth before. My reply in class? Wait a second. So you’re teaching a birth on natural child birth but never had a baby before? That’s like me paying 600 bucks to Perez Hilton. If I ever wanted to learn how to unhook a bra. The class was 8 years ago for what’s it worth.

The Expectant Father book might as well be renamed Slut in a Straight Jacket about now. And I know I’m not only 1. Or else I wouldn’t be in the exalted position to bang out my comedic parenting book masterpiece the Stay At Home Comedian “Controlling My Kids Through Comedy”? With neither sets of grandparents to lend a helping around.  Choosing Skyping their sister for 5 hours a time, and more tax reveal fake news money shot reveals on Maddow. But I digress, I confess.

Yeah, so back to original topics almost 500 words later. I’m no longer on Adderall. I promise. Fatherhood really is a childhood do over improver and in my case times 3. Because I have 3 children. This is the extent of mathematical structured language in my writing I assure you. In High School, my parents got a bumper sticker for my mom’s Acura which said “My son sucks at standardized tests.” Despite private tutors and help from Princeton Review.  So much for the aura of Rhode Scholar ex-Knick Bill Bradley  rubbing off on my son through a whiff of vibrational, reverberating Osmosis. My Dad fumes like a poor man’s Phil Jackson. Gnashing off the wet end of this Tareyton 100’s in his ashy chair in TV room at home with my brother and I present as the Knicks sucked the joint again.

Worst cigarette ever by the way Tareyton 100’s. For Chanukah 1 year I got my dad a raft from Marlboro for all the Marlboro miles I accumulated from him steering me away from such a rancid, cigarette creation known as Tareyton 100’s in the 1st place.

I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore in case you were wondering. Which is more than I can say for my Dad and younger brother. They also don’t wear seat belts either. Nor do they see themselves as narcissists despite my younger brother being the guy who poses selfies of himself driving on Instagram and Facebook. Sorry, dude, you’ve zoomed past the point of objective return dude.  Plus, my father’s death wish isn’t to die in his tomato garden as his grandchildren zip around singing Here Comes the Sun. It’s dropping dead on the tennis court from playing tennis in the dead of August. Content blowing off his 3 grandchildren for another summer of scorched love in Scottsdale, Arizona, for 7 years running and counting. No wonder why my dad questions whether how we’re related in the 1st place.

So fatherhood is a childhood do over improver. Because your dad’s, boorish, arrogant, bullying assholish vibe is 3000 miles away in Scottsdale, Arizona for starters. 2nd, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because your young brother there isn’t there to make you feel like a perpetual loser around his chesty Israeli girlfriend in your parents house until you eventually hook up with a couple of Israeli girls during your Masada teen tour in summer of 93. When I’d whack it till my fingers bled. It was the summer of Fah, Foolin with my hand.  When I wasn’t wearing out my Pyromania Def Leppard tape on my Sony Walkman at the time.

3rd, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you don’t have to receive a book for Hanukkah from your mother called the “12 Stages of Puberty” at 15. Knowing, your younger brother already hit puberty at 13 and banged the 3 hottest girls in his class. That you tried to jerk off to at the time but couldn’t. Which made you feel like a real big brother bust. Think Eddie Curry from the Knicks with an even shittier, hook shot.

After receiving the puberty book, I declare. Great gift mom, the “12 Stages Of Puberty.”  Can’t to wait to reconfirm how behind schedule I already am. What’s the chapter called on losing my virginity? Let me guess. Deep Impact? Also, mom why would you give me this book in front of my younger brother? Knowing he can play with himself whenever he wants? Mom replies. But you do that all the time upstairs with your GI-Joe figures. Well past the recommended playing age listed on each new half naked GJ-Joe purchase for you to bang together late into the evening. But you don’t hear a peep out of me? Do you?

4th, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you’re able to coach your son in all forms of athletics and prove to label limiting grandpa. Your son will be more than a decent athlete. Whose Ninja conjuring quickness has already earned him the nickname Feather Foot for a reason.

5th fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you’re able to give your dad heart palpitations for a change whenever he graces you with his presence from Arizona once a year because he can’t handle the east coast chill anymore. Now, his favorite activities during the winter in Arizona are playing tennis of course and jerking off the weather channel. No bullshit. His tennis instructor to me. My dad’s forehand has never been stronger.

Yeah, so back to the heart palpitations. Meaning, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because I’m able to make my father feel like an inferior manly molder of men compared to me because I have my 6 year old daughter doing Kettle Bell Cow Girl swings with a 5 pound weight in his presence. Also, earning her nickname Deltoids Dawn due to her Kettle  Bell dense strong meat free, hulking physique so far. My daughter can beat me up in a year easy, especially since I got her enrolled in Kung Fu so she can bring out the ruckus if necessary. Point being, my father watches my 1st born,  6 year old Deltoids Dawn swinging the Kettle Bell Around like it’s a freaking rag doll as my Dad cramps up inside thinking. If I pushed weight training on my 1st born at such an early age, he could’ve saved me a fortune and at least secured a half ride to Iona College and live at home to save on room and board.

5th reason, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you get to vicariously live through your daughter’s glowing in person teacher reviews in your honor.  Which reflect quite well on this Do It All Dad’s handy work from the start. For example, my daughter’s 1st grade teacher emotes. I love your daughter Matilda. She’s the perfect student.  I wish I can clone more of her. Later on in the evening. I say to my daughter. Mrs. Farney gave you nothing but the highest marks but I’m most proud of you Matilda for being commended most for your perseverance. Daughter asks. What’s perseverance Dada? Doing what you have to do, even if it’s only once a year on her birthday.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy’s Day Off From Adderall

4AM, I get up without the assistance of my steady speedy companion demon for the past 7 years and counting. Hop in the shower for a mixture of hot and cold to jumpstart my brain into working order. Because if lifestyle business 4 hour workweek guru Tim Ferriss can do it. I can do it better. I couldn’t be so Long Island long in the tooth boring if I tired. Cold/hot shower at 4AM in the morning or not.

Although I’ll give credit where credit is due. Like Kettle Bell core strong Tim Ferriss promotes. All you need 1st thing in the morning is minimal weight exercise to get into Eye of the Tiger, energy boost mode real fast. After the shower, I did my 5 pound, girly weight deltoid focused arm, outstretched raises on both sides. Because my handwriting still looks like chicken scratch at 42. And knowing my creative non-fiction book on modern parenting book, The Stay At Home Comedian, “Controlling My Kids With Comedy” will be a monster success.  I’ll have to expect to give out my autograph at various book signings in conjunction with my stand-up comedy tour, Barnstorming Barber Shop USA. It will make a solid reality TV, promotional fare for the book far more  than me promoting the book on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast which is shadow banned up the wazoo.

Yeah, so I must continue to think big and get my shoulders stronger because according to the handwriting gurus on the Internet fluent in linguistic drawing arts. Including old school Hebrew Bible scripture, tagging in bold bubble gum letters on Subways and Chinese Calligraphy in Ivanka’s Trump’s daughter private elementary school yearbook.

My handwriting looks like disheveled, cracked to piece bits of my brain drippings on drugs because I was never instructed by 12 plus English teachers throughout elementary school and high school to write with my shoulders and not with my cramped, jammed, nervous wreck imbibed fingers. Glad I got to give some semblance of comedic justification for going off on my point for doing girly weight deltoid reasons lifts in the morning. In order to sustain your sagging interest in reading any more about how raising my 3 kids on speed as  Stay At Comedian Dad. Finally, resulted in a moment of Zen during Daddy’s day off from Adderall in the 1st place.

For starters, I was never diagnosed as ADD as a kid. I blatantly lied to a doctor at my wife’s old hospital to score a prescription. Do I have excess energy compared to your average Swiss banker at UBS Asset Wealth Management in Jersey City? Obviously, but that’s like asking a Swiss banker at UBS Asset Wealth Management to pick a side when Israel plays Germany next in the World Cup. Knowing how much gold cap fillings of my Polish exterminated cousins he’s got riding on Merkel’s new compassionate Germany murdering Israel in any 1st round elimination contest. But I digress.

Ok, so I’ve got a mild form of ADD but was never technically prescribed for it. So I self-medicated in college and snorted a boatload of Ritalin to write papers for my PR writing course to tremendous acclaim. At the distinguished Roy H Park School of Communications at Ithaca College. Otherwise know as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. But I was in the communications program which I worked hard to get into after becoming a useless Pothead at Lake Forest College for 2 years prior. Was a pretty  nasty, alcoholic there if I’m going to be brutally honest about my time there. We are talking about a kid who went to Mardi Gras Sophomore year whose brain took a full 2 semesters to recover.

1 time in college I hooked up with the most homely, trollish looking girl imaginable. Next morning, I wake up in her bed. Thinking, I have no idea what her name is. Then, my bright idea occurred. Freshman dorms still have names of the students pasted on their doors. We walk to cafeteria the next morning. She asks. Do you remember my name? Of course I do Jane. She’s my roommate but nice try though.

The thing is when you become a reluctant, unplanned Stay At Comedian Dad father of 1. You become obsessed with filling your available free time with incredible lofty surges of super busy meaning. Like what I’m doing right now with the rat, a tat, tat bang on the keyboard. Sounding busier than I actually am in real life right now.

After my daughter was born I got my TV writing break 2 years later with VH1 Classic for America’s Hard 100. Writing all the music video intros for WWE great and heavy metal crooner front man of the band Fozzy, Chris Jericho.  I made this break happen through a combination of sheer hard work, relenting belief in my expressive might and divine intervention, It occurred 12 years after I banged out my 1st spec script Passion of Smendell for Curb Your Enthusiasm living in Sherman Oaks at a time. Ending up hitting on a busty Chinese American porn star at the local valley bakery was a welcome morning surprise.

For my TV writing job with VH1 Classic, I did the job on Adderall. The hardcore speed metal edge nature to the countdown justified my continued use in my eyes. Celebrated by smoking weed, naturally. Felt great to know I could write for TV under a high pressured deadline situation for real. Still, I must admit, writing the hundreds of music video intros for Chris Jericho for America’s Hard 100, including my most momentous meaty one for Bon Jovi’s Living in on a Prayer felt like a form of cheating. Which has never sat well with me. Nonetheless, I’ve also subscribed to the theory being performance enhancing drugs are no substitute for being big time clutch. For example, if I took performance enhancing drugs at sleep away camp as a kid. I’d just strike out at a more accelerated speed.

Chris Rock, ranked number 3 by Comedy Central as the 3rd greatest stand up comic of all time admits. If I could take a pill that made me write films like Woody Allen, I’d take it.  Got to love ballsy honest Rock here. Meanwhile, for me I wouldn’t go out of my way to suck off the aura of Woody Allen so much anymore. Especially, after learning he used to stash photos of a pubescent Soon-Yi from old covers of Time Life Magazine in his top sock drawer. To tap for mere screenplay ideation formation inspiration I’m sure. Which reminds me, have you seen the last Woody Allen film? About an older guy who wants to bang an underage girl. It’s a prequel called Crimes and Misdemeanors,  “The Early Years.”

So you have 2 kids, and work in recruitment again for Robert Half in Manhattan because your wife will divorce you if don’t do something but write more jokes on Twitter and more specs and pilot scripts securing 0.0 TV Lit representation in NYC. Regardless of you being a Recommended Writer on TV writer.com for your 30 Rock spec you wrote ages when used to live in Park Slope together or not. Back when Lena Dunham had far skinnier arms and wasn’t so full of herself.

You try to manufacture enough rah, rah, cold calling spirt without Adderall on the behalf of backend PHP developers. After already securing your TV Writing break with Viacom in Manhattan and got to pitch your own Pilot Heavy Metal High to the EVP of VH1 which lead nowhere. Despite the rave reviews your pitch in person received, despite zero talent representation being there to make the meeting happen. My producer Jay Moran and I made this meeting happen.  At the very least, I thought I’d parlay my video countdown host intro writing resume with VH1 Classic. Who hired me to write another 1 for VH1’s Music Independence Day soon after would’ve translated to me at least snagging a staff blogging job with fucking MTV’s Guy Code. Or was it called Dax Sheppard’s secret handshake?

Whatever, my point being here folks. When you become addicted to the speed demon freight train freak Adderall. There’s always an excuse to take it. Especially when it makes cleaning up your kids toys, making their lunches and organizing their books more fun charged loaded activities. Especially, after already a pounding a French Press of dark roast coffee to your head before your wife is up. As I’m sure you can tell. I like my coffee like my comedy, dark and bitter.  Although, now I’m feeling the opposite is true off the Adderall, especially on daddy’s recent day off from Adderall at home with my 20 month old son, Samuel, AKA Chosen Curls/Gorilla Grip/ Chef Samuels.

We made Hummus and homemade ranch dressing together yesterday during daddy’s day off from Adderall. On top of boiling, chopping and seasoning a head Cauliflower later used to  make Cauliflower Cheese Steak Patties.  Take that Ferriss, the one married to Sara Jessica snot to. There’s no steak in the Cauliflower Cheese Steak Patties by the way. Still, calling them lump Cauliflower tits felt a tad too cheesy for my taste. You want a pun off old man?

On Daddy’s day off from Adderall, I had also banged off some jokes about coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids between 5AM to 6AM before constructing my kids smoke salmon sandwiches later. So now, 12:15 eases on in and I decide to throw on Ferris Bueller’s on a Monday afternoon. Which easily could’ve been my traditional lunch break time when I worked for Robert Half in Manhattan. Except now, I don’t have to run into a cramped coffee shop in Midtown to get my write on during my 1 free ordained hour a day to express the true me.

12:30 rolls around. Ferris has got Sloan out of school already. And my gorgeous, happy wavy baby is falling all over me on the couch.  And for once, I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt from being in the moment and fully enjoying time alone with my pitch perfect son, my lucky number 3. Samuel dangles off my knee. Before I go in for a harmonica rib nosh as Ferris zips around Chicago being a total, pushy, entitled dick around Cameron as usual.

Life does move pretty fast, especially on Adderall. If you don’t stop to take it in the pure good once and a while. You’ll become a burnout, frazzled has been never was, failure of a father. Who refused to get high off the pure love of his children for a change.  I ‘ll drink a Midwestern made tall boy Pap’s Blue Ribbon to that later tonight. I didn’t say I turned into a complete monk over here. Especially, in this case. Because daddy’s day off from Adderall was a profound one. Vince Neil sang it best. It’s time for change. Nothing stays the same.  Jennifer Grey was probably on Adderall when she ended up fucking up her past personality flush face for life.  Goodbye speed demon demigod Adderall. Have fun cranking out more dronage out of precious, heartbroken Taylor Swift.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth