In honor of Veterans Day, I schooled my kids on why Generation Z sucks compared to Nazi killers and the likes of Jesse Owens, who ran Hitler’s master race theory into the ground, without breaking a sweat over their triggered feelings of inferiority in the process, despite those ultra-efficient, Type A Aryan’s running like cranked up speed demons as if their state supplied crystal meth for Octoberfest was riding on it.
I add, “Millennial Mousketeers aren’t any better because half of them thought Trump was either the Anti-Christ or Hitler. First, sequels never live up to the original. Last, in the Bible part 2, Jesus kills the anti-Christ like a bearded Kyle Rittenhouse. So have some faith in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you people? If you still think Trumpy Poo is the Anti-Christ instead of the most popular replacement president of all time, Mr. Groper. Whose campaign rallies barely filled out Ariel’s clam shell bra. If Biden got the most votes off all time, Michelle Obama regretted pissing on the ceiling fan in the Lincoln bedroom minute before Trump’s inauguration. Hours later Trump gets a peed on for real this time from above, and says, “Melania, is this Michelle meant when she-hulk said, “When they go low, we aim high”.
Daughter replies, “You could’ve just asked Alexa to play God Bless the USA by Lee Greenwood on Veterans Day but God blessed you with the funny Jew bone for a reason Daddy.” USA, USA, USA!
The new Alec Baldwin excuse for fatal misdirection.
“I’m an all over all the place Jew since I quit self-medicating by getting loaded.”
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer a guy, I heard. But Trump is Hitler 2.0. Relax Alec, sequels never live up to the original. Although Biden, AKA, Mr. Groper, demanding jab stabs among all federal workers, involving our military and all 1st responder emergency workers while exempting member of congress from taking it like horse face AOC, like anyone would knock up that blabber mouth twat on purpose, has managed to sexually assault the shit out our Lady Liberty with greater frothy ferocity than R. Kelly ever did to his leashed bitches under house arrest, in sweet home Chicago. Oh, yeah, Michelle Obama said, “It’s racist, if you flee from the south side of the Chicago. As if the south side of Chicago, the leader maker of bleeding controlling kits in the country, is only one crepe food truck away from gentrification. Gentrification, you know liberal talk for less mouthy Cardi B’s, and more juice bars to load up on Vitamin D, since finding any access to hydroxychloroquine is harder than finding a film blogger on the Rotten Tomatoes who called the Irishman, “Underrated.”
The most feeble reply imaginable is if you ask somebody if they think Joe Biden actually won fair and square. Their upper lips furls into a frenzied despair, doing it’s best to keep the stream of ultra hesitant um’s from spilling out as their souls drops 5 stories closer to liar, liar, pants on fire hell. If Biden got more votes than even Obama Be Good, despite his campaign rallies being so tiny, they couldn’t even fill out the Little Mermaids’ miniscule clam shell bras. Then, Michelle Obama regretted pissing on the ceiling fan in the Lincoln Bedroom moments before Trump got inaugurated. Later, Trump takes a tour of the Lincoln Bedroom and get’s peed on for real this time and comments to Melania, “Is this what Michelle meant, when she-hulk said, when they go low, we aim high?” Can I get a holla for some Challah? Joan lives. Thank you very much.
Mr. Groper says, “I drove through the border a decade ago because Hunter needed a designated driver for his 40th birthday bash. After Jill said blow, Hunter snorted the cake. I had Corn Pop rub my leg hair for good luck, because you don’t want to get caught by the Mexican police smuggling drugs across the border in a polo while sporting your white privilege on your sleeve. Or else the Mexican cartel controlled police will jam your white privilege up your Colo faster than Hunter can clean out the drinking bar on the Amtrak Acela on enough crank to make Charlie Sheen come off as the slacker punk in comparison, man.”
Trust is earned from sustained excellence such as Leo’s star powered acting performances in any Tarantino film without fail. Trust makes the world go around. Trust went out the window after Liver Spots got sworn in as President of the United States without a peep from the Supreme Court the day after Democracy died. But the Leo Scramble Supreme still reigns supreme and is trustworthy enough to entrust your happiness in him for better days and more hope filled tomorrows, pregnant with superior feel-good possibility. James Brown lives, holla, thank you very much.
Plus, making a LEO, consisting of Lox, Eggs and Onions will always remain an ideal anti-Semitic qualifier gift such as my Great American Jew Novel, knowing this divine blessed delectable breakfast, brunch or dinner worthy delight consists of pricy, cut up, overtly Jewy smoked salmon, caramelized onions and scrambled eggs from local Jewish Farmer legend behemoth, good old Stew Leonard in Connecticut, before the warm, sumptuous, funky fishy ingenious concoction get’s swirled into a bowl with a plop of Cream cheese, which melts easier in a hot bowl of eggs, adding a deeper svelte, thicker tasting dimension of deliciousness, which catapult your burst of feel good joy that much higher, Sly Stone lives, holla, thank you very much.
I hate to get political anymore since thé once boastful construct we the people offered less special value than Prince Harry’s bald spot on the open market or his feel for comedy after dressing up like a Nazi officer for Halloween to get back at mom for looking like an ugly version of E from Entourage, with far less a plus snatch to snag in London town compared to perpetually sunny, twice as smoking hot California girls. Megan Markle doesn’t count, and it’s not because she’s a biracial, royal pain in the ass, holla, thank you very much.
Now, if Prince Harry roasted himself dressed up like a Nazi officer for Halloween, I’d give hardcore Archie some funny man cred, regardless if Ricky Gervais wrote the material for him, who tires of Holocaust films because he’d rather bitch in his latest stand up comedy special about harsh online tweets about his movie career, which never got off the ground, reducing him to be in bed with the Obama’s and Netflix since HBO gave him a nice run while it lasted, now more concerned with unmasking Woody’s go to suck the thumb move, because it, “Calms Dylan down”, despite still showing all of his classic, hilarious films such as Broadway Danny Rose, which technically speaking, came out pre-Soon-Yi. But Louie can’t whip it out in his own dressing room after getting consent from fellow no name lesser female comics in the room without all of his standup comedy specials being taken down in a NY minute from HBO once the full court #meto career work retrospective cancelation began. Have they taken down the Rocky statue in Philly yet because it promotes white supremacy? But back to Ricky Gervais giving Price Harry some primo bashing Nazi material, to at least project the façade of being an ironic detached enjoyer viewer of Jewish humor, such as, “Who would Hitler kill first? A Jewish Albino or a balding ginger with a goatee? And how dumb is the swastika symbol. I don’t care that’s it Hindu, it still looks 2 stick figures doing a sixty-nine on a see saw.”
So back to the Leo Scramble Supreme, my son Samuel Chosen Curls Was Bound Too Woo,.can’t enough of it. He’s 4 by the way. The kid can request for me to play Slippery When Wet by Bon Jovi on Vinyl or in the car through Spotify, can ask daddy to reheat the rest of his Leo Scramble Supreme, yet still can’t go to bed without a nappy, without me dropping his saggy, drenched filled nappy down our stairwell the following morning, only to sing, with unmatched, father son bonding glee, “Big plopping”, Warrant Lives, they sang Big Talking, holla, thank you very much.
Again, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo no longer dumps in his pants and goes to the bathroom for a number 2 with big boy precision. At the same time, one night, as I got ready to read the Guinness Book Of World Records, wanting to kill myself soon after from learning how much money Kevin Hart made last, year, which doesn’t make me a hater, just a bemused, short on laughs spectator. I do love his energy, and don’t think he’s a bad actor, whose gotten better over time, whom I believe, should buy the film rights to convert an autobiography of Wilson Picket to snag him 1 Oscar more than Eddie, who doesn’t have the balls to do a stand up comedy special again for some dumb reason such as not wanting to be deemed a divisive comedian who dared to make fun of Michelle Obama’s new parody remake, playing Tina Turner, titled, “What’s Talent Got To Do With It.” And Wilson Picket sang my favorite lyric, “I found a true love, and I can shout about her, yeah, yeah”, a truer call to action that I give a shit about taking, not uttered on LinkedIn, as never been blasted with such soul man reverberating bravado, holla, thank you very much. Anyway, this meandering piece is what you get when I’m off Adderall and my mother is in town blaming the great state of Texas for having to burn fucking furniture while Liver Spots can’t be bothered to visit or have FEMA offer nothing more than air dropped leftover Spam reserves from World War 2 or some impossible to defrost packets of TANG leftover from our moon landing the sixties before we learned JFK told Frank to not invite Sammy Davis Junior to his inauguration, because becoming a Jew, was a double whammy against him, which he should’ve known would put his desirability factor in extreme Jeopardy with Nazi profiteering Joe Kennedy in control of his son’s balls as a whole, regardless of the war hero “Being the brightest star in the universe for a time”, according to his backstabbed friend, old blue eyes, who didn’t sing New York, New York, until his late 60’s during his more pleasantly content plump years.
Yeah, so back to my son Chosen Curls, I’m getting ready for reading time and about to throw some sweats on for the occasion because I don’t give a shit about looking like a Trophy Dad when mama isn’t home at 9 on a Tuesday and my 4-year-old son barks at me, “Spread your cheeks.” I said, “Where the hell did you learn the expression, “Spread your cheeks”? Are you watching old episodes of OZ on the HBO app when I’m banging out more all-star chapter additions to my collection of short stories, Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories or what?”
So, the LEO Scramble Supreme is the bomb and couldn’t be easier to make, even Hunter Biden can handle making it with the hangover from hell, whose hell raising ways, makes my younger brother come off as a serial underachiever. And if a man is judged by the fruit he enables, and if Liver Spots is a real man of unifying integrity, why wouldn’t Mr. Unity tell his son to cut out creaming into his dead brother’s wife after his cremation ensued? The most amount of loving attention to the Leo Scramble Supreme is paid toward the caramelizing of the onions in butter under a low heat, but make sure to add some extra deepening caramelizing agent at the end, which could be simple as a drop of pristine NY tap water or from bottled Smart Water, which adds an extra spring step to your step, making you feel like Jennifer Aniston on the rebound. After you caramelize the onions, mix them into beat up egg batter mix, with chopped up pieces of smoked salmon before dropping them into a semi hot pan, bubbling with butter yumminess itching to be immersed with such delectable, pristine, bright orange, slivers of smoked salmon but don’t be too aggressive with swirling the eggs into mini circulation motions before they get cooked through enough, before reaching the point of rubbery sucky return. The last step is throwing the LEO Scramble Supreme into a bowl with a pre-plopped mound of cream cheese, which makes swirly stick together as one magic possible and like my son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, you’ll be made in the shade, made in the shade.
The Black Supremacist Court
The Hunchback of Open Borders Fame
Willie Brown Put Gunk In Her Hair
Make Scowling Great Again
Hamilton Is Worse Than Obama Rapping
Smiling In Seattle
Why doesn’t Biden just let Kamala Harris run for President instead? Because Vice Presidents lives never matter, especially when they remain discarded vice presidential nominees among the dustbins of US elections past, because scowling doesn’t count as charisma. Plus, middle class black America has a low tolerance for another fake news biracial hopeful one after Obama did less for black people than BLM protests have done for NBA ratings on TNT.