Tag: basketball

What’s Eating Gilbert  

by doitalldadyear, posted in business, sports, writing

NBA sharpshooter Gilbert Arenas claims nobody will care if Jokic wins an NBA championship.


Isn’t our country plagued with a white supremacy problem?


I thought all Christian conservatives who prefer pristine southern belle puss over stank hole anus holes were deemed worse than Nazi Kraut breaths tweaked on Crystal Meth.


If America does have a white supremacy problem, then shouldn’t the white Serbian nationalist winning an NBA ring be a cause for widespread jubilee?


Jokic’s new celebrity line of Raspberry Vodka from Serbia puts Puff Daddy’s Ciroc out of business.


Proud boys in Denver are sweating proposed rule changes like an extended three-point line less than BLM does getting audited.


Serbian Big Lives Matter gets painted in giant, bold print along Fifth Avenue outside Trump Tower.


Elon Musk blows more government grant money to patent a brain chip based on Jokic’s DNA that’s embedded with a basketball IQ boost guarantee.


Phones at Alt-right dirt rags like Daily Caller ring off the hook with requests for full-page ad spreads by anonymous eugenics enthusiasts to congratulate Jokic for breaking Wilt the Stilt’s triple-double streak with headlines like “Big Dipper Rating Dropping,” “White Men Dominate Again,” “Serbian Legends Live,” “Safe Space For Lebron’s James Ego Is Dead.’


Seattle Supersonics fans from Gen X still into Pearl Jam after they pimped for Hair Plugs Sniffer on the campaign trail throw their decrepit, older than Aids flannel shirts in the air in a deflated state of resignation to acknowledge the new big dog in town while bemoaning, “I know it, King of the Persecution Complex knows it, Eddie Vedder knows it too, in a post-Jordan rules universe, the NBA can’t find a better man.”

Interesting NBA fact, 4-time All-Star Tom Chambers, who scored 20,000 career points, is not in the Basketball Hall of Fame: white privilege my ass.

Caring about whitey again, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Debunking Dunking

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, poetry, writing

George Bush calls Zelensky the Winston Churchill of his day.

Stand up to the Azov Nazi’s in your own country and will talk.

New world order piece of shit, whatever happened to ex-presidents not getting involved in current politics ever? Especially, the only one who allowed 9/11 to happen on his watch while ducking a rip off Berkenstock soon after.

Construction on Obama Be Good’s library was halted because of a noose was found there.

They really want to start a race war, after the Jussie Smollett bust.

It’s bad enough that jail spillage is the motto of do-good Democrats these days.

I have to get hate stares at the Nordstrom Rack for buying some discounted Hot Wheels racetracks with my 3 white privileged cloaked kids. Hate on the FBI for planting the noose in Bubba Wallace’s garage after all lives matter became the new N word. For the past 6 years, I couldn’t buy a job interview if my rich pure blood depended on it. Finally, that changes starting the day after my wife’s birthday next Sunday. So, fuck anybody, who claims systematic racism still exists. Because guaranteed money in the NBA, regardless of injury or a reliable left hook, is so oppressive.

I feel bad for Kyrie Irving. NBA commissioner is forcing him to attend sensitivity training. So, don’t retweet anything Alex Jones ever posted. I don’t recall Alex Jones ever sucking off the alter of Paul Mooney by insisting how everything great originated from Africa only or push conspiracy theories like how Moses, God’s favorite prophet on Ranker, concocted the plan of getting future homies hooked on blunts and forties, so they’d space on how black Israelites were the original chosen people. Who were presented the Torah in full, from Moses on Mount Sani. As if Moses or God for that matter, would’ve gotten a word in. Black Israelites, being the original chosen people just got debunked dunked on yoh. Debunking Dunking, Challah. Thank you very much.

But seriously I feel bad for Kyrie. He’s also being forced to meet with heads of the ADL.

I’d rather play for China and come off the bench for Stephon Marbury.

All the ADL is going to obsess about is Kyrie associating himself with Alex Jones.

ADL fumes.

Alex Jones is Stalin.

Kyrie says.

Has the FBI ever prevented a school shooting from happening?

You’d think their dereliction of duty is what they shoot for in target practice.

Debunking Dunking, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Masturbator Equalizer

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, education, Parenting

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”

Salvador Dali

“Money equals middle finger power”, is what my Dad always told me growing up in our quaint yet artistically loaded Comedy Grant House 50 minutes North of Manhattan within the bucolic, historically tiny village of Croton Falls, famous for being the birthplace of my dear dada’s famous catchphrase, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”, on his Do It All Dad podcast that ultimately got him a recording label deal to produce comedy record 100 Too Tall Jew, on Blessed Records and the rest is comedy gold machine making history. Personally, I preferred the comedy record title, Birds Eye View Bitches, but Daddy thought that it was tad long winded even for Bob Dylan’s tastes. At the Montreal Comedy Festival Daddy got big laughs when he said, ‘”Sorry pops, but when you live in Arizona for a decade and counting and still haven’t visited the Grand Canyon, you’re a fake news hippy. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggest otherwise.

Still, growing up Papa, my grandfather, nicknamed my daddy, Waste of Height because my father is a 6’4 Jewish New Yorker, who’s only highlight when playing Varsity basketball senior year was scoring 10 points against an all-Japanese team, which isn’t hard when the opposing players thought the pick and roll, mean their choice of fish. Now, my dad was being billed by Rolling Stone as Killer Set Kornbluth, while Variety magazine hailed him as the new giant of late night after replacing Bill Maher with a new talk show called Seriously Clowning. So, at this point in his life, my dad had every right to look down on any soul sucker dream detractor who tried to make him feel like a delusional, crazy man narcissist for pursing A plus comedic glory with a middle finger power mansion located at the highest point in Bel Air next to Jerry’s Lewi’s old school crib. So, the shelf life behind papa’s degrading nickname, Waste of Height, in relation to his 1st born blossoming son, no thanks to his encouraged direction had gone sailing, Dean Martin, lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

But daddy is what you would call a late bloomer, who didn’t start tasting big deal success till his late forties, combining that with a sexless marriage, with a man who is far from straight, on top of his mom wanting him to sling other’s people’s garbage instead of his own A plus gemry jokes for a living one day, combined with in-laws who force fed Eucharist on his Jew blood tainted kids behind his back, combined with zero creative collaborators outside of his own children during his 5 year journey into the wilderness while kicking is decade long addiction to Adderall for good, resulted in creating a tsunami of resentment fueled rage that almost burnt out what love spreader light that existed left in my dear dada’s endlessly beautifying, beyond spiritualized projecting soul, before it was too late.  Because of that, Daddy did everything in his power to ensure I established moonbeam blast shot goals early as possible compared to his mother urging her “artist son”, to settle and shoot for shit by chucking the joke writing career all together and become a full-time garbage man like Magic Johnson’s father in Lansing, Michigan. Obviously, Magic Johnson dad’s is a stellar example of being a God loving, do it all dad done good. Still, Magic’s dad also slung other’s people’s trash, so his son wouldn’t have to, similar to Papa schlepping over the George Washington Bridge for 25 years only to get nickeled and dimed by the likes of Potomka Pickles while working as VP of Sales for a plastics and glass company in Union, New Jersey, otherwise known as the Swamp Thing State, so his 1st born wouldn’t have to follow in his steps and blaze a new trail of funny man innovation to derive prideful enrichment of some kind on his own.

But what really pissed off my dad was Papa resisting the notion that I had genius potential in me because his waste of height son was too much a mongoloid moron in his eyes to birth such a star powered, out of this world seedling capable of moving millions with my own powers of imagination, poetic lift and storytelling powered song. Daddy went to Ithaca College, which he derided as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. But he graduated from the distinguished Roy H. Park School of Communications, so he could suck down some bingers of extra strong Tompkin’s country outdoor weed and avoid stuttering every other 2 seconds. I loved the idea of going to Columbia growing up, yet Daddy viewed Manhattan as yesterday’s news and planted the idea of me attending Williams University in Massachusetts instead, because former owner of the Yankees George Steinbrenner, otherwise known as the Boss, was a famous alumnus and larger than life NY bred personalities like George Steinbrenner don’t get any big more time than that. Plus, Daddy loved the standup comedian Jim Norton who claimed Boston woman were the best to slay with. Also, at Uncle John’s wedding, AKA, Sir Snort a Lot, Daddy said, “God gave my younger brother more second shots at respectable redemption than what George Steinbrenner gave Steve Howe”, which got goonish at the time. Plus, I remember my dad driving us to the Manhattan to go skating at 30 Rock once for my birthday and he points out the new Yankee stadium off the Deegan and says, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee Stadium, the house that gentrification built.” I knew all about Reggie Jackson otherwise known as Mr. October, who hit not one but 3 first pitch baseball homers in 1979 to clinch the World Series for the Yankees at the original Yankee stadium, otherwise known as the house, that Ruth built. I also knew that Babe Ruth had the most homers during his day but had the most strike outs to, because there was nothing half ass about the Babe who went down swinging, coming through in the clutch with his back against the wall like the great Messier, Derek Jeter, Andy Petite, Eli Manning and Frank Sinatra all the way. Daddy imparted the lesson of why New Yorker’s have big time egos for a reason. When Daddy actually contemplated moving our family to Texas during year 2 of COVID, I said, “Daddy, how many great comedians are from Texas? Daddy said, “Bill Hicks and Sam Kinson.” I say, “Bill Hicks only made me laugh once. And Sam Kinson had one good comedy album from start to finish that was pure standup without the cheesy Wild Thing cover song on it, that’s it. Now, name me star comedians from New York? Daddy says “Rodney Dangerfield, Andrew Dice Clay, Lenny Bruce, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Greg Giraldo, Joan Rivers, George Carlin. Have I mentioned myself yet? Alright you’re right, Texan comedians suck compared to native New Yorkers, Joe Rogan included.”

For some time, I just wanted to be a singer and write my own songs, singing in pubs like Amy Winehouse without developing the heroin addition, yet my dad insisted I become an A Plus student and accept no other goal acceptable, so he could boast to his new comedy manager and rapper friends in South Africa, where his new record label was located, that his daughter went to Williams College, which rocks the old world King Solmon Royal purple. And my Do It All Dad thought the deep purple look exuded an edgy deep suave vibe similar to Jimmy Hendrix’s head tripping beanbag within the mixing room at Electric Lady Land studios in Manhattan. Daddy also had a black and white picture of famed writer director Bill Wilder in his old office where the famed writer, director of Ace In The Hole and Fortune’s Cookie, was marching in his office with his talking stick of sorts as his famed screenwriter partner Charles Brackett is on the writer’s  couch in letting him go long again, who is another Williams alum that helped co-write Sunset Blvd, which is good work if you can get it.  The other line Daddy would always pound into my cranium growing up was from Stephen Sondheim, which is, “God is in the details”, and the famous Broadway composer lyrist graduated from Williams to, so dumb, dumb burn outs didn’t even bother to apply. Reality is, I almost never got into Williams College nor ended up becoming the female Carl Jung of my day post COVID damage done after graduating Magna Cum Laude after triple majoring in English, Psychology and Philosophy, achieving the trifecta of liberal arts lunacy, I know. But believe it or not, my fate at William’s became sealed, not because of my college essay where I insist Carl Sagen was mothered by a starless atheist cunt who gave Booger face Behar on the View a whiff of semi-respectability in comparison for a change when she asked Don Lemon why he was nothing more than another race war inciting scumbag like Jussie Smollett minus the SAG card after she got red pilled by Russell Brand from turning her on to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast during bi-sexual pride appreciate month, I think. Actually, pursuing the harder, less shit laden path started by Daddy posting an ad on Craig’s List for a jerk buddy in search of more than a friend.  

“Why did I post an ad for a jerk buddy on Craig’s List? Because I thought it was healthy alternative to laughing at my own material on the couch after my daughter was tucked in, before breaking up with my wife off 11 years, again and again”, A 45-Year-Old divorced Comedian says to his chesty, red headed, Psychologist who was an English and Psychology major at Willaims herself. Mara Weitzman, the Psychologist from Williams says, “What if I jerk off your ego instead of some random stranger on Craig’s List, who would give Jim Norton the creeps?” Do It All Dad, now a divorced still struggling comedian, living on the couch of his Film Grip bud in Ridgefield, CT who wants to be the Bill Graham of Death Metal festivals in Upstate New York one day, says, “Does my health insurance cover that added expenditure on my behalf?  Psychologist Mara Weitzman says, “Remember, the time you talked about that 1st hand job you got from Carolyn Verdichio, in Cotswold Park, which you nicknamed Actionless Park in your bit at the Montreal Comedy about how you’re no gentle giant or else why would you insist on staying home to ignore your kid for the privilege of writing more jokes while choking your wife too hard financially, again and again? You described your 1st hand job as a throbbing extension of your brutishly rough personality, to the point where she almost skinned your pussy wrecker rearranger alive, while your jeans kicked wildly in the mud like a hardheaded hog in heat. Well, what if we reenact the moment right now? I played the steel guitar growing up in Plano Texas, so I’ve got stronger hands that most. Let me if see if I can yank out that rough side out of you for good. I’ll even put in a good word for your daughter at the Williams College during admissions season. Do It All Dad drops his pants and says, “I don’t feel like such a self-centric jerkoff anymore. Mara Weitzman, you’re the only masturbator equalizer for me. Now rip off that top and start jerking it like its 1999.  I’ll give those busty beauties a liberal load to boast about it when you pump up my long-term endowment potential to your fellow alum members after I blow you away with a blast of teen spirit of my own. Kurt Cobain lives, Challah. Mara screams in extreme anticipatory ecstasy, “Nirvana, come reign on me.” Minutes later, Psychologist Mara Weitzman buttons up her top and puts her murky stained glasses back on and says, “See you next Tuesday Do It All Dad. Williams College will be lucky to have your daughter attend next fall, if she follows after your money blasting footsteps. Thank you, very, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Big Man Blundering

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, sports, writing

I feel like less of a femboy whenever another’s man’s dog checks me out at the park. I’m normally topless playing basketball by myself. Dog darts in my direction whenever I launch another hook shot. Owner thinks, “That’s not even a real hook shot. Plus, she he doesn’t even go hard to the rack. He looks like the disowned gay palsy Walton if you ask me.”

Big Man Blundering, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

New School Speed

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, fiction, storytelling

Dad says, “I don’t eat steaks anymore.” I reply, “I’ve been burnt out on your burnt steaks before I bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms Dad. And I’m the one who was diagnosed as a learning-disabled learner in High School. Granted, by the time I completed my un-timed SAT, my friends had already declared their majors at Washington University. At the same time, you did nothing to speed the development of my non-existent self-esteem as my basketball coach Dad like LaVar Ball could. He’d throw me house parties at our crib in the 9th grade to help ensure I got to 1st base before my younger brother did. My star substitute coach dad would only invite Stuck Up Jenny from The Block. Two seconds into the party, super sub coach dad barks into her hoop heavy, dangling ear, “The Grape Crush soda bottle, doesn’t spin itself bitch.”

But we can’t be defined by our self-esteem strangled, fight adverse past selves forever. Which is why none of those pinko buds of yesteryear who attended Washington University 23 years ago, will ever come close to producing 111 comedy records in 11 months flat like a Speed Angel out of hell. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his Stay-At-Home Dad Years. And Quicker Dick Wins, comedy record 113, is coming up right up your juice box hole, Challah. Quicker dick wins, Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Perfect Swishes

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, sports, writing

College National Player of the Year or not, Duke grad Danny Ferry being drafted before Shawn Kemp, Glen Rice and Tim Hardaway is some racist ass shit. He was balding in college for Christ’s sake like a senior accountant for Arthur Anderson after they became top auditor shredders for Enron. I also recall Danny Ferry’s vertical jump being whiter than White Man’s Disease. And his last name is fucking Ferry, so what else did you expect flat-footed twinkle toes to achieve in the high-flying NBA post Jordan rules? Plus, I bet Danny Ferry’s singing bonus with Cleavland was more than Scottie Pippen made that year. When Scottie was still being paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. Before MJ was intent on choking out Steve Kerr’s white privilege, for daring to launch an open jumper without a permission note from Michael despite shooting a higher shooting percentage from way downtown than his highness. Even Michael wouldn’t take that bet.

But seriously, what cracker ass GM for the Cleavland Cavaliers thought it was a good look drafting Danny Ferry over Shawn Kemp? Granted, Shawn Kemp was out of high school, but his rippling raw athleticism and ultra-funk filled finishes high above the rim made Clyde Drexler pull out what remaining hair he had. Overnight, he went from Clyde the Glide to Faye Dunaway maudlin nuts in Bonnie and Clyde. Fine, the Cavs had Mark Price already, who looked Michael J Fox and Emilio Estevez had a cross pollinated baby, made in the high hopping hoping institute in Malibu, CA, so they didn’t need Tim Hardaway, who never won a ring in the NBA anyway, despite inspiring Allen Iverson to break more ankles than Meghan Mccain on a booze cruise after going on carb free diet. But you don’t draft Danny Ferry over Glen Rice. He won a national championship at Michigan and was their all-time scorer. Plus, his follow through was smoother than Warren Beatty during his casting couch session with Madonna on the set of Dick Tracy. “Hop on my dick Material Girl. And fuck your demands, I’m only paying you scale.” But Jalen Rose thought Christian Laettner was an overrated pretty boy. Well, some might accuse your boy Chris Webber of the same thing. How many national championships did you win stocking socks? What’s the difference between Jalen Rose and Stephen Jackson? Jalen Rose is smart enough to admit he isn’t educating himself on Hitler into his mid-forties after graduating Michigan University. Perfects Swishes, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Next Level Sketchy

by doitalldadyear, posted in psychology, sports, writing

Why do I feel scuzzy for watching the Malice in the Palace doc on Netflix?

Outside, of realizing that I started chasing laughs 18 years ago on the open mike floor of the Rainbow Room on the Sunset Strip no less and have nothing to show for it outside of a bomb Faconnable leather jacket after getting my TV writing break with Vh1 Classic 7 years ago on America’s Hard 100.

I feel like I debased myself by chucking my moral stance on insisting I tell all modern NBA to go woke itself by listening to my brother’s recommendation to watch it, when he says. “Yoh, bro, the NBA isn’t political, they don’t take the knee anymore.” I say, “They painted Thugs Lives Matter Most on NBA hardwood courts throughout the nation for 2 years straight asshole, after Lebron yelled at his teammates for standing up for the national anthem since the league exists as a safe space for his rapidly punctured ego. I know, guaranteed money in the NBA despite 20 personal days off becoming the new normal these days despite never having to develop a reliable hook shot with your left is so oppressive.”

The fight only happened because a fan chucked a cup of beer on Ron Artest. He was chilling in the scorer’s table in a reclining position. Ron looked like he could use a frosty beverage after his scuffle with Ben Wallace that was a result of his semi-rough foul with 2 minutes left in a game and a 12-point lead in their favor. Fucking Stephen Jackson, the voice of reason, Mr. Ride or Die, I was defending my brother Ron. From what, a noogie headlock in the stands from an out of work mechanic who worked as extra in Gung Ho? Instead of throwing on his thinking cap while educating himself on Hitler after his boy Farrakhan, sprayed Elie Wiesel’s Twitter feed with Termite Emoji from dawn till night.

So, Reggie Miller didn’t win a championship, boo-hoo. Neither did Patrick Ewing and the only other semi-reliable scoring options on that team was a highly streaky, unproven John Starks who wasn’t a high school phenom drafted to play in the pros like the faultless Jermaine Oneil was. Reggie says, “If Jermanine didn’t slip, he would’ve killed that guy he sucker-slide-punched.” Because Jermanie O’Neil was on the right side of justice. That dude who just came off the floor before being sucker slided punched didn’t throw any 1st punches at Jermaine O’Neil. And stop acting like being sprayed with foamy beer is worse than being pelted by batteries by Bleacher Creatures in the old Yankee Stadium, before the house that Gentrification built was built. Well, if Bob Costas called us thugs, they’re really out to get my money. What did Jermaine Oneil want Bob Costas to say instead? Bob Cousey wouldn’t let his daughter date Stephen Jackson if his 6 rings depended on it. Ron Artest let his anxiety about beer pong spillage turn him into a raving, wronged lunatic like the rap video ho that’s get sprayed down with Old E in the video Gin and Juice. Ron Artest attacking fans in attendance is a punk ass, next level sketchy move like Nas and his boys stomping on Little Nas at the Source Awards after party for failing to give him lip service after exploiting his canonized rap name for all it was worth.

So, David Stern, suspended Ron Artest for the season. It forced Ron to dig deep, change his name and win a championship with the Lakers, good. Queensbridge represent. And how dare the original gangster David Stern, who made the NBA what it is today, suspend Stephen Jackson and Jermaine Oneil for 25 games without pay. But Hockey players fight all the time Jermaine. Yeah, amongst themselves. Plus, they don’t manage to slip while punching and they’re on the fucking ice player. And a sucker punch is a low class, next level sketchy behavior, which you’re guilty of Jermaine. You can spin it all you want, but next level sketchy behavior becomes thuggish, when you throw the 1st punch at a fan who comes up to your knee when he’s not looking, when you could’ve killed him if you didn’t slip on Ben Wallace’s headband sweat in the process. If that it isn’t excessively violent, uncalled for, behavior, then I’m just a sheltered suburban white boy who only supports Janice kicking the shit of any soccer mom who encourages her Stepford Wive seed to trip up Bobby’s daughter in the presence of Janice Soprano.

And what documentary is only an hour? It’s my fault for giving the doc a serious, contemplative look as if the unseen camera angle footage was going to reveal who the 3rd gunman was who killed Kennedy. I only wish David Stern was the District Attorney of any Democrat run hellhole these days such as Philly, New York, LA, Seattle, Portland, San Fran, Chicago, that’s closing freaking Starbucks and 7/11’s left and right because they can’t protect their employees from more thuggish attacks because looting Slurpee money is poetic justice. Hurry up and buy that line of bullshit, honky ass motherfuckers. Forget the violent crime committed against Asians on Subways on Fulton Street in Manhattan because Jeremy Lin hogged the bike lane all to himself, which pissed off JR Smith royally back in the day to. I don’t care about the tattoos, or shitty rap music in proliferation today. I just care about normalizing and accepting thuggish behavior, which is uncalled for, encouraged, enabled violence by so called activists that the media today gives a pass to, especially after the past summer of love 2 billion dollars’ worth of damage later, countless lives lost, over bullshit narratives such as Hands Up Don’t Shoot, and Thugs Lives matter most. Without consequence, laws, and rules, thuggish behavior is not only encouraged and accepted but proliferated to the point of complete anarchy, which is why gun violence especially among inner city youth and innocence bystanders is more out of control than Jill Biden’s hair on any given day. Shit, I’d look 24/7 disheveled, frazzled if was on 24/7 pill wet nurse detail for President Poppy Pants.

But Lebron, King of the Persecution complex says, “Boston is the most racist city.” Doesn’t Boston have the most affirmative action programs in place of higher education? Doesn’t Boston have a host successful charter schools in place? Hasn’t Boston completely decriminalized weed? Doesn’t Boston have Pronvincetown nearby, which has been a money in the bank, gay haven for all colors, sizes and shapes of dick since the dawn of time? Who never dared charge James Baldwin for the crime of boring everybody to sleep despite all the poppers in the universe jammed up your rectum to keep you up for more punch free, pontificating prose otherwise? Isn’t Big Papi, being a Dominican Republic legend, revered in Boston? Which makes him black enough to brush up against Joe Biden’s leg hair back in the day in Mr. Groper’s yes. Manny Rameriz, Pedro Martinez all loved playing in such a racist city Lebron. Shit, even Johnny Damon looks borderline Asian. Robert Parish was blacker than Dee Brown’s 45-inch vertical jump. If a black dude played for the Boston Bruins and broke Cam Neely’s single season, Hat Trick record, I’m sure the locals wouldn’t be running him out of town with pitchforks in hand. Nick Dipaolo, standup up great, is always referencing his black comedian friends, total racist I know, for making fun of Seinfeld for being clueless about Cosby being a druggy planting rapist for 4 decades straight. Where were your powers of observation then Jerry? Next level sketchy, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Less Garbage Lines

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, sports, writing

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.

Michael Kornbluth