Lifeguards Triggering

Biden has ruined lifeguards for me. Add going out to Ice Cream with my kids without thinking of him crapping in his nappy mask again because Jill won’t let him wear her pantyhose around his face instead because she hasn’t owned any since Ann Taylor rung the bell at the NY Stock Exchange in the summer of 89.

Mr. Groper has also ruined reading alt right branded website articles about Americans trusting the media less than the integrity in our Supreme Court since they let Democracy die under their BLM bust and move watch.

Refusing to judge on Election Fraud, the Supreme Court has helped ANTIFA light up the record books for doing nothing to stop them extending the longest pyromania stretch into adulthood ever recorded, post ISIS and the Crusades.

But seriously, Biden has made it impossible for me to even try to warm up to another dopy, smug, yet blank brained lifeguard ever again. Who’s whiter than James Corden after Brian May jams a carrot up his ass for Karaoke Carpool for Bottom Girls love to be pegged by anything sharp and pointy, veggies included or else you can’t have your pudding, you tubby, slovenly sell out establishment bitch.

Michael Kornbluth

Moving On Out To Russia

I’m moving on out to Russia. You don’t have to worry about Global Warming blather from the local news. Putin defending the use of fracking wouldn’t cause a pussy riot online either. Putin trolls Greta Thunberg and tweets, @GreatThunberg, Fracking actually reduces CO2 emissions. Furry Brow tweets back, “So Neil Young is full of shit now?” Putin showcases a flash of Trumpian wit and fires back with “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint. So that much, you share in common babe. Why doesn’t Global Warming scare me Greta? Because Al Gore’s speaker has considerably cooled.”

Russians can still take a joke. Trump has ties to Russia. Duh, what mail order bride owner doesn’t? Plus, like the great Russian novelists such as Fyodor Dostoevsky, I prefer my comedy like my coffee, dark and bitter.

Also, you know BLM wouldn’t be allowed to harass patrons dining al fresco in St. Petersburg while slurping up some more Caviar soup. Putin’s so tough, he could snap your neck by just staring at it topless on a horse in the country.

Like Honest Abe said, “I’d rather live in Russia than in a place that lives under the pretense of loving liberty”, the way America does today. But Biden wants our family members and neighbors to rat out Trump supporters over white supremacist concerns because we don’t live by the creed, In Fuck Face Fauci We Trust. Nor are we inclined to believe in objective science anymore, after learning how every past prominent scientist in this country decried the Wuhan lab leak has a conspiracy theory because they didn’t want to be branded as a fake news white supremacist like the rest.

Putin actually said the name of the unarmed, American veteran Ashley Babbitt who was shot in cold blood in the Capital Building after the Stop The Steal Rally, which is more than Trumpy Poo ever mustered the courage to do.

Putin poisons his political opponents. Well, that’s better than pushing a non FDA approved vaccine on your Trump hater supporters that’s leading to more complications than election fraud audit reveals in the great free state of Arizona.

Putin poisons his political opponents. Like doxing ICE agents, immigrants from El Salvador who speak to the NY Times about MS-13, or any moms on Facebook who dare to criticize critical race theory as race divisive bullshit is any different?

Putin poisons his political opponents. Big deal, the blowhard dullard hack would’ve gotten liver cancer at some point anyway. I bet you Putin doesn’t have a fuck up druggie son who creamed in his dead brother’s wife seconds after the cremation ensued. Plus, Putin would never allow the drug cartels from Mexico or communist killers from China to push more Fentanyl through our southern border, that’s killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking it with Lena Dunham on Instagram.

Russian journalists today know more about nationalistic pride than terrorist siding pieces of shit liars at the NY times. Who shamelessly pushed golden showers tales about Trump and Russian hookers with less legs than Lieutenant Dan. Plus, no Russian Journalist would ever be dumb enough to believe Trump hired a couple of Russian Hookers to pee on each other at his hotel room in St. Petersburg because he’s a notorious Germaphobe. Especially knowing how Trump could hire a bunch of Ivanka lookalikes to pee on each other at his Trump International Hotel in Washington D.C, whenever he likes. I’m also positive Melania can talk dirty to him in Slovenian whenever, wherever, wearing nothing but a mink hat from Spies Like Us.

Hate filled leftist retards don’t exist in Russia and would never feel morally exalted over anybody by breathlessly slinging endless bullshit enshrouded lies about election interference by the Russians, that made Drago pop out of various voting booths in predominately blue states, issuing life or death ultimatums such as, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you. If you die, it’s your fault for not believing in Holograms.”

Russia would never allow the construction of a George Floyd statue to prove thug lives matter. Especially when 2 billion dollars worth of property damage, and thousands of businesses destroyed for 6 months straight was designed to scare the Supreme Court to ever rule in the favor of law and order ever again.

Last, Billy Joel is the 1st to crowd surf at a concert in Russia before Eddie Vedder ever did. I’m not saying you can’t find a better country than Russia. But America is light years from acheiving Nirvana ever again. Wake me whenever this neverending shit show ends.

Michael Kornbluth

In & Out Of God

I’m reading my rave review for The Great American Jew Novel to my father from the Midwest Book Review, proving how the book wasn’t too overtly Jewy for the American heartland’s tastes. Soon after, my dad blurts out, “Always knew you can do it.” Just kidding, instead he blurts out, “Eating Kosher outside the home to is very extreme. You’ll never be Orthodox Jewish, you know.” I say, “Because I’m a fancy Faggallah, who owns more pairs of designer sneakers than I’m comfortable admitting. But I bought all of them at the Nordstrom Rack in White Plains, NY, so that must earn me some humble man props within the hardcore Chabad houses in Crown Heights, don’t you think so pops? Pre-Covid, I also never have sex with my wife on the rag, nor got up for mere plowing of her box for Torah commanded business sake every Friday night, after sundown for Shabbat, so I share that much more in common with the hardcore Hasidic, Orthodox Jews than you think Dad. Actually, I identify more with the Hasidic woman homemakers than Orthodox Jews who break down the Talmud every day, arguing for why Madonna’s blown-up camel toe is largely a result of Dennis Rodman occupying her ever expanding territory longer than most.”  

Understand, I’m in Scottsdale, Arizona over Christmas Break and famished, yet pretty burnt out on Fish Fillet’s from McDonald’s and I wasn’t feeling a fried fish burrito from Mexican fast food chain Rubio’s just yet. I already done my research on Yelp and found a couple of Kosher haunts nearby I hadn’t tired yet. One place turned out to be a purely vegetarian haunt, which I should’ve realized this from the parking lot, as I spotted an anemic, Zoe Kravitz clone on the outside patio, sucking down another American Spirit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then, I track down a Kosher food truck, which was closed, next to a Jewish community center in Scottsdale, Arizona yet I felt like another wandering, starved, direction challenged Jew lost in the desert again, without any imminent relief for hunger pangs in sight. Then, I thought, In and Out is close by. I’ll write off breaking my extreme commitment to upholding the Koshterian Diet because I’m writing a book on the subject, and everybody breaks their diet at some point, right? I don’t want to come across as an all-knowing exalted, funny man Jew, who isn’t a slave to his inhalatory, animalistic leanings from time to time. So, I wait on the line at In and Out off of Frank Lloyd Wright Boulevard and think, “This MILF is so hot. I don’t care if she has 6 million kids. I’d like to inhale her animal style on the spot.” Then, my double, double, cheeseburger, animal style arrives, and I decide tear into it, with zero reservation like the 1st time Jared Kushner went down on Ivanka because his rose water infused lunch didn’t fill him up less than he anticipated. I didn’t enjoyed one nosh of it. The Ivanka Trump of cheeseburger, cheeseburger, it wasn’t. Afterwards, as I receive a Hannukah pedicure away from my 3 kids back east in splendid isolation, I thought, “Are you in and out of God, or what?”

Later, during my trip, my father issued an ultimatum, declaring, by my parents beautifully tilled, well-earned Arizona Estate home while I became at one with the pool and God’s beautiful, imbibed universe, by emphatically stating, “I can make a better burger than In and Out.” So, I put my father to the test, took a pleasant schlep to East Phoenix to a place called the Imperial Kosher Market to pick up some premium ground Kosher meat in the hopes of my dad not burning out the inherent laden flavor again and succeed he did, despite the Imperial Kosher market looking more run down disheveled than Matthew Perry on the set of Celebrity Rehab.  I roasted some diced up cherry tomatoes, hand bathed in cold press, Virgin Olive oil, fresh ground pepper, Kosher salt and chopped Mexican oregano from my mother’s Cactus rich garden to throw on top of the bomb burger, which insulated the burger with a rich shield, of sweet sultriness, which drowned out any glaring, dark black char marks on these heaven-sent burgers, enjoyed inside after watching the sunset over the beautiful desert bloom sun. I also saluted some baby bella mushrooms, some sweet Vidalia onions with a sherry wine finish, which took this in and out of God lead family burger creation so much higher, making feel more than alright, in my parent’s home sweet, Kosher virtual home.

Michael Kornbluth

Hot For Hummus

Hummus is Chickpeas are great in Arabic. It’s the most popular dish in the Middle East among Egyptians, Jordanians, and Israeli offshoots of the Zohan tribe, 7 degrees separated from the golden Jew Adam Sandler. Actual unity is getting your Hummus resistor Jewish father from the Bronx to follow your 3 Koshertarian diet embracing children by joining the party to try your homemade Hummus made in his Arizona estate home for a pre-nosh nibble snack on top of toasted pita triangles with some diced up cherry tomatoes, fresh scattered parsley and vibrant looking, just grated carrots on top. I’m not betting the farm on my father to try my workshopped, perfected homemade Hummus over Thanksgiving break but as my father likes to rightfully point out, I don’t own a farm let alone a John Deer lawnmower or the personal property big enough to justify the expense because I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under judicial review.   Everyone can unify behind the depressingly dreary premise of a degenerate Jew like myself not being financially secure in life yet, who uses his fingers for basic arithmetic like a retarded version Dustin Hoffman at the Blackjack table at Talking Stick Casino.

Growing up in elementary school, all my Loan Officer mother ever made me was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, which didn’t help my blobby physique one bit at the time. Still, I never complained or requested anything different, urging my mother to make me Bento box lunches with Power Rangers stickers on the outside, with Cucumber and cream cheese Koshertarian rolls wrapped in seaweed and sticky rice within. Also, as a kid, I always preferred sesame bagels, for my egg and cheeses at the local Greek dinner, inhaling 2 in one sitting, after a night of drinking, with my old school high school buds, which is why my father called me the” human shovel” for a reason. So, I don’t need to be a math savant like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man to realize my love of nut based spreads like peanut butter would eventually lead to my developed steamy love for Tahani flavor in Hummus, which is where the oily, creamy, pulverized sesame seed spewing essence derives from. Hummus is basically, the more versatile, infinitely less tubby version of peanut butter, which also packs leaner blasts of less sticky mouth protein. So of course, I’m hot for hummus but only after I stared making my homemade versions to spice up my kid’s lunches, so I didn’t burn them out on peanut butter, ruining their capacity to ever savor a Reese Pieces Butter Cup, made at all the specialty chocolate chops like in Ridgefield CT again, which is an American shishy bitch rite as it gets.

If you never tried hummus, the famed sesame paste can be a turnoff, if you never sampled the primo goods before. On the surface, some store-bought hummus or homemade hummus can look like a sad plop mound of dried out earwax. That’s why you must add color and a dash of sophistication to your presentation. Pine nuts, who needs them. Chopped hardboiled eggs, gross, too overtly Israeli for my taste sorry. Pesto on top of hummus, is a blatantly unnecessary, awful idea, knowing Hummus when made right, requires no parm cheese garlic infusion to make it more swoon worthy than it already is. For me, I dress up my Hummus triangle creations with a menage a trois of radiant, lick it up color such as hot to trot, Little Red Corvette, cherry tomatoes and Arizona wild, desert bloom orange specked shredded carrots or some Polo Lounge conjuring green in the form of thick strands of Jalapeno on top to keep it extra steamy in the process.  

Just like it any relationship, you have to spice things up, incorporating needed color and variety to keep things interesting or you’ll lose sustained stiffage, which is the perpetual state of arousal necessary for any relationship to get excited for toppable tomorrows. The same rule applies to homemade loving infused creations versus the mass produced, manufactured kind, which lacks the length and depth of personalized pop compared to the real thing.  So invest in a Cuisinart to blend your Goya Chickpeas, add some store bought Tahini from your local Kosher butcher, add a garlic bulb or 2, throw in a generous heaping of sea, Himalayan, or Kosher salt, I don’t give a shit, before pouring in a steady steam of medium grade Olive oil, as the hummus magic swirls into scrumptious loving perfection before constructing your pita triangle pizzas with the steamy garnishes I mentioned prior and call it a day.  At the very least, your kids will love you more putting in the extra effort to tantalize and awaken their tastebuds to newer, fresher, yummier possibilities than ever before. Plus, your kids won’t become instantly tubby and resent your existence for it later. Last, your wife tasting like hummus won’t lure you into sucking face with her on the spot, but you’ll take whatever justified outs a 10-year marriage can give you.

Michael Kornbluth

Arizona Dreaming

Arizona Feds seized 45,000 Fentanyl pills at the border. It wasn’t the spring-cleaning Obama was hoping for. For Halloween, I dressed my family as the one from American Dad. I posted a picture of us on Facebook for my parents to see in Arizona, which said: Build The Pool Fence. We almost dressed as The Cleveland Show fam but Megyn Kelly stole our thunder.

Michael Kornbluth