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 17-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 irretractable buyer’s remorse, once little Joey blooms under his Fruit of the Looms, realizing, he can’t get his grind on with a gal on the dancefloor if he wanted to, without feeling a missing link to old school rap in the process. Plus, whatever happened to kids being asexual from 1 through 11 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 and 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 4th grade at 9 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 19? 19 is the new 15 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 parent’s behalf though, if they start feeding their 9-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 Poo 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 to. 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 was clear, with all our masks secure on, feeling like Michael Jackson on holiday in Bahrain, before Magic made HIV disappear? I’m actually turned on immensely  by she males myself, knowing they typically possess tighter bods than most girls willing to date me. You also know, they know have no problem swallowing because they have no other use for my love juice. Also, most girls today have blown up looking snatches by 16, 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 ever again. Still, I’m a talking about a made up 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 make up 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, 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, “Were trying to sell Ballerwear son, not Jimmy Choo’s. 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 tóday 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.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Loud Man’s Disease

How loud was Do It All Dad? For starters, when seeing Aerosmith live in Las Vegas 2 summers ago with close seats to the stage before a mask muzzle was designed to kill freedom of speech forever, his incessant hollering and wooing, made lead singer Steven Tyler, shoot off retaliatory hate stares of disgust in his direction which screamed, “Somebody shut this loudmouth Jew up already. This is my showcase career retrospective, not his. I didn’t blow millions on blow and almost derail my stadium selling out career in the seventies to have this big-headed putz project louder than me without a microphone, Joe Perry and a state-of-the-art sound system working in his magnifying favor either.”

There was also the time Do It All Dad saw Dice in a casino in Arizona with his younger brother, only for the Dice Man to single out the loudmouth Jew and yell with exasperated force, “You’re an asshole”, and all he was doing was laughing longtime all the time prior while sporadically yelling, “Dice Lives, holla, thank very much.” Dice was so flummoxed by Do It All Dad’s laugh throaty roar, he beelined into his nursey rhymes prematurely way ahead of schedule to get the fuck out of dodge at a hard 45 minutes into his set.

Then, there was the time when Do It All Dad saw Bon Jovi at Mohegan Sun with his daughter Matilda, fairly up in the nose bleed seats this time behind the stage, yet his bombastic, rocket fueled voice, still managed to get under Zebra print’s skin, as the old school long cowboy from Jersey, projected a damning you ain’t shit thousand-yard stare toward Mr. Loud Man’s Disease general direction, as he sang along with rock star blasting authority, “Bad Medicine is all I need.”  

Do It All Dad didn’t only piss off living legendary comedians and hall of fame rock star front men with surefire, unintentional precision. His omnipresent Loud Man’s Disease enraged his normally English dour, future father-in-law over a dinner at his home in Delaware only 2 minutes after grace, compelling him to bark out in depleted, drained already disgust, “He’s more talkative than the other one.” The other one being the gentile mute from Indiana, his daughter was engaged to before his daughter found her real deal partner in love this time, at least for the time being.

The major issue now was Do It All Dad’s loud man disease causing his son Art Show USA to develop all-consuming migraine headaches, leading his son to sport a permanent PMS face, until he started to take up mainlining extra strength Tylenol again. And Do It All Dad’s son was tough. How tough you ask? Well, when Art Show USA required stiches for tripping on top of an empty IPA glass on the ground and had to wait 1000 lifetimes in the emergency room so the other doctors could serve all the 1st in line dreamers in attendance, the doc gave Do It All Dad 2 options, “Either A) Authorize the doc using an anesthesia which would take 20 minutes to kick in, or B) To stich up his son the spot as his gaping gash continued to open wider than Octomom after push 5000. Do It All Dad chose B, only for the doctor to say, “Your kid is tough.” Do It All Dad inquires, “Indulge me doc, how tough?” Doc says, “One time there was this black kid from Brooklyn.” Do It All Dad says, “Sold already Doc. Thanks for giving my son tough guy bragging rights for me to derive vicarious pride from till my last dying breath.”

But how was Do It All Dad going to solve his Loud Man’s Disease exactly? Would triple masking even get the job done, after getting his tonsils taken out for an extra safe precaution to? Would Do It All Dad become a eunuch monk, despite already feeling this way at times from being a Stay-At-Home Dad, bitchy underling until his comedy writing career achieved blast off already? Would Do It All Dad seek out a Voodoo Doctor in Washington Heights to cure his Loud Man’s Disease by changing his pigmentation to ESL Asian?

What could Do It All Dad do to prevent his son from receiving any more debilitating headaches in his presence again? Finally, Do It All Dad devised a cure all solution. He’d buy his son a pair of Bose noise canceling headphones to wear in his presence and teach him fucking sign language. Because native New Yorkers were made to be heard.

The End

Michael Kornbluth