Little Bear is Roger Waters in the Wall

Bill Maher talking down to a Latino Republican on Real Time.
The wall is more than symbolic Bill. Wait a minute Juan. What do Latino Republicans know about Pink Floyd the Wall? I thought you guys skipped your Santana pothead phase in college all together.

Henry Ford blamed the Jewish German bankers for starting World War 2. He also accepted the Grand Cross of the German Eagle from the Nazi’s just to assuage his feelings for his peace ship conference going nowhere. Some model plan b.

Rep. Rashida Tlaib was just matching Trump’s foul mouthed smack talk. No she wasn’t, because “we’re going to impeach that motherf—er is low IQ, fake news funny. Good to know Kid Rock country is under Sharia law now though.

Schumer insisting Trump is the one throwing a temper tantrum is like Rob Reiner telling the new PLO rep from Michigan to take a chill pill.

Enough with Trump choose fear Pelosi. Trump didn’t fabricate avoidable, rape, assault and murder. But making California a sanctuary for encouraged lawlessness gives you the moral high ground denture breath.

What’s there to be skeptical about? More Americans will die this year from drugs than all the Americans who died from Vietnam. But boomers don’t feel the need to politicize this issue. Despite their kids being druggy dependents for life.

What’s the Democratic’s noble purpose? Ensuring a Park Ranger at Yosemite doesn’t miss another check? Or is it rigging more elections through illegal voting so they can stay in power in longer because they’re power hungry parasites.

We can secure our border by other means. How so Chuck? You got some Iron Man armor to sell Border Patrol? Perhaps, a clone of Green Lantern’s ring to create a green laser fence in place of steel slats. You’re still down with clones? Aren’t you pal?

The worst part about blaming the rise of Trump on Fox News. Is it scoffs at the notion of America voting for a regime change. After Obama castrated our military, declared war on cops, nuke gifted Iran and let heroin spread like wild fire on his watch.

Fact is Democrats will never win another election in this country if they don’t stop treating Fox News like the big bad, wolf. Hannity is a blimpy blowhard in a suit and Tucker is a preppy, grating twerp with good hair. Get over it.

When your parents are cool spending another indoor summer in Arizona away from their 3 grandchildren for 4 years straight. Bordering on almost full blown neglect. It’s safe to say, they’re not suffering from family separation anxiety.

Wife
I love school delays.
Me
Of course you do. Its gives you an out for being in zero rush to read my 2nd piece republished on the Good Men Project this week.

The Mama of Little Bear would love to give him Melotonin
Bear Gummies if she could. So she could squeeze in another steamy romance novel before bed with Fabio as the voice of Smokey Robinson Bear whenever Papa bear’s on a fishing trip in Alaska.

Little Bear is primarily about Little Bear being obsessed about being abandoned by his father. Awake or asleep , he just imagines being reunited with this dad. But kids need mom around more.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

Why Stay At Home Comedian Sells Huge

Half of America’s 64 million branded racists to be exact, will clamor to buy a copy because for 2 years straight they haven’t been hearing this material on Kimmel.

Who doesn’t want to read A plus jokes shadowbanned by Twitter and LinkedIn to reveal what fascist, free speech censoring, fake news morality police overlords Silicon Valley has become.  Since selling their souls to China to play Steve Jobs for a living, minus chummy relationships with Bono.

Because Stay At Home Comedian provides a funny, moving, heartfelt, inspirational tale about rising from slug to stud as the new face of the remote work revolution.

Because most prose essay stylists, Gore Vidal and Anthony Bourdain excluded, suck out loud off the page. And couldn’t ad lib laugh yanker funny if their free nespresso pod deal for life from Harper Collins depended on it. Stay At Home Comedian doesn’t have this issue nor does suffer from self-esteem issues, writing about himself in the 3rd person like a too tall Jew, Rick Henderson in the process.

It sells huge because books on fatherhood suck and mostly boring novels nobody reads anymore anyway.

Its sells huge because in Stay At Home Comedian Joan Rivers lives, by outpunching her prose by loading his paragraphs with more condensed, smart laugh yankers than she ever did in her essay collections like I Hate Everyone and Diary of Mad Diva, no offense.

It sells huge because of the jokes in Stay At Home Comedian have been embraced and loved by Twitter homies and WordPress Peeps already.

Its sells huge because 1st person narratives on fatherhood from a comedian’s perspective haven’t existed prior because the successful ones have been to busy on the road making a living, trying to keep their families together. Being a Stay At Home Comedian/Father of 3 with no grandparent assistance in sight. I haven’t had such freedom or a booking agent, or enough practice stage time to do so.

It sells huge because Whoopie will love my story about Paul Mooney on the View.

It sells huge because the Good Men Project has republished chapters of the book prior solidifying my good man status such as “Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows”, “3 Kids is Brave” and “Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian.” Also the Good Men Project partners with other publishing sites like the Huffington Post so I can’t be perceived as too much of a hateful, divisive monster. Especially after you feel the palpable love and gratitude I express for becoming an unplanned parent in my falling for fatherhood love tale for the ages.

Its sells huge because half of America can’t resist stories of my kids hugging flags and reverse narrative control, describing in full blown comedic detail why Hillary Hammer Time Cankles is not and will never be my daughter’s role model.

It sells huge because I’ve amassed 27 hours of A list standup material in the form of 57 plus podcasts over 1 year alone off the weed. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay at home dads years.

It sells huge because in the age of me to, there’s been no other do it all dad pride incarnate voice, insisting on his 2 sons carrying around pre-poundage release forms once they start junior high.

It sells huge because the brothers love me and I always said, Kayne West knows friendship best.

It sells huge because New Yorkers grow up in melting pots like myself so Stay At Home Comedian can connect, entertain and move almost anybody.

It sells huge because I’m a more literate, hungry, poetic Howard Stern.

It sells huge because my children are superior company than most which is a glorious reflection of my own larger than life personality.

It sells huge no other humor books are funny because the real comedians who get laughs on stage for a living, save their best material for their road act off the page.

It sells huge because the writing in Stay At Home Comedian isn’t edgeless, soft served, musings on parenthood compared to Tina Fey’s Bossypants.

It sells huge because other prose stylist essayists like the late Christopher Hitchens don’t talk about God in the most heart tingly, soul stirring way I do.

It sells huge because I’ll look better than Michael Chabon on the book cover despite my eyes not looking as dreamy, nor be showcasing my chosen curls anymore.

It sells huge because Stay At Home Comedian slapping his bum with a spatula as his 3 kids point up laughing in hysterics is money in the bank, after the reading the caption below, controlling my kids with comedy.

It sells huge because men don’t have any modern day, funny man, American stylists to fill Bourdain’s shoes until now. Fire and Knives published my piece Anthony Bourdain Rips My Frozen Lunch Apart. And empower his voice with even greater, lacerating gusto at my expense.

It sells huge because what else are you getting your dad for Father’s Day next year,  a book by BJ Novak? He’s likeable but nobody loves him. Comedy Central felt the same when they resigned Trevor Noah for the forseeable future.

It sells huge because I’ll go on Seth Meth Meyers only to make fun of him. If you’re not scared of Trump, then, I’m into my mother as much as Seth Meyers.

It sells huge because if Ben Shapiro can make anyone endure his voice past the 2 minute mark, then I’m made in the shade.

It sells huge because old school comedians like Seinfeld will get his wife to promote by book based on the chapter “Shoulder Rides on the Shoulders of Comedy Giants alone.”

Its sells huge because by writing about my 3 pitch perfect, ultra sweet kids I minimize my asshole vibe while still delivering the laughs better than others.

It sells huge because I’m dunking a basketball on the back cover while slamming a Torpedo double IPA beer from Sierra Nevada which is worth the 27 dollar price tag alone.

It sells huge because I’m more loveable and just as biting as Roseanne ever was.

It sells huge because my computer passwords for everything are either best seller or Samuel wins, my lucky number 3. So Stay At Home Comedian, “Controlling My Kids with Comedy” is bound for glory. Freeing me up from a 8-7 job so I can write more best selling books with my lucky 3 Samuel by my side.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

What Happens to Stay At Home Comedian?

He scores a lit agent and a big time publishing deal for his follow up smash hit book, Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian, Family Meals Reviews one rant at a time.

He celebrates by taking his daughter skating in Wollman Rink in Central Park this winter before they nosh on primo high end smoked salmon tea Sandwiches at Tavern on the Green soon after. Giving his daughter a taste of the big time for a change.

He helps co-write a book with the 11 year winner of Shark Tank, Jack Bonneau about financial literacy for aspiring young entrepreneurs deciding to be their own best role models called, Trillionaire Baby. And Betsy Devos makes it mandatory reading for all US high school students graduating the 6th grade.  Opener reads. 7 year old daughter asks me. Daddy, how many zeros are in a trillion? Daddy, do you really have to Google that? Daddy, are you financially illiterate? Is this why you call yourself a degenerate Jew? Dad replies. I did have to partner with a 12 year old with enough profit making prowess and working financial credit to write a book on the subject kiddo.  I only wish my Math SAT scores were sealed like Obama’s college records.

He takes his family to Copenhagen next summer for a book signing tour, becoming the funniest, most outrageous, spokesperson for the wonders of attachment parenting and how working remote in addition to controlling our kids through comedy can make our kids great again.

He buys his son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth his own guitar already and befriends a guitar teacher. And write a book together about the greatest guitar shredder history teacher of all time. Who wants to make guitar shredding pop metal sheik fly high with the angels for old times sake.

He renews his vows to his wife, Natalia Anna Duffy, but writes them on his own this time. Obviously, only being in charge of the wedding playlist 7 years ago was his only capable contribution.

He buys his wife the wedding ring based on his own earnings, not his parents because his wife Natalia, future Boob Doctor, Lactation Consultant for the stars deserves to be showered with love for her endless investment post three children in his funny man writing paying huge dividends already.

He starts hosting his family meal review cooking show Double Talk With Chef Samuels, his Gerber baby incarnate 2 year old son on YouTube, scoring Ninja blender as their 1st major sponsor in the process.

He takes his Do It All Dad Year podcast to new heights by becoming a medium for dead famous dads, conveying their must hear messages, resolving unfinished business for tremendous, hilarious, moving impact.

He writes a thank you letter for every sales manager who ever fired him,

He flies out to LA to celebrate with his best bud Jay, who always believed in him making it, despite coming home from work, watching him tell a bomb show of joke stabs in front of the mirror again and again.

He goes on Tucker Carlson to shower love on Barnes Noble and his publisher Harper Collins for keeping freedom of speech alive and for not shadow banning him yet.

He goes on Howard Stern and makes fun of Howard for paying his writers shit.

He goes on the Joe Rogan Podcast and get’s stoned for old time sake because he’s really earned it this time around.

He appears on InfoWars and says Joan lives after every punchline he delivers.

He appears on the Russell Brand podcast and suggests they do a movie together about getting banned from England and pissing off the royal family royally.

He performs at the White House Correspondents Dinner in 2020 as a 2 time best selling author. And does 20 minutes on Michelle Wolf and Raggedy Ann go to a bar material alone.

He get’s out the house more than usual to take his old friend Chaim out to lunch in Manhattan for encouraging him to do a podcast which lead the launch of his successful author career.

He reconnects with his old high school friend Ari who told him to keep writing on top of saying, you can be great.

He takes out his copywriting teacher at Media Bistro in Manhattan for pushing him to write a pilot for Amazon which lead to his TV writing break at VH1 Classic in Manhattan for America’s Hard 100.

He takes his dad out in Arizona for a round of golf on his dime for a change. Mom asks: Why are you acting like such a big deal all of a sudden son? Stay At Home Comedian replies: You wouldn’t be interested. Mom says: Why not? Stay At Home Comedian responds. Remember, the letter you sent me stating, to never expect you to show any interest in my writing career as an unemployed comedian/father of 3? Silence ensues. Yeah, like I said, you wouldn’t be interested.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

Books on Fatherhood Blow

Not that there’s real stiff competition in this department. A Model World And Other Stories by Michael Chabon, The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky, yeah, I got 3 kids, not finding the time for that slog feast of a read either. I’ll stick to Cliff Notes voted on quotes from GoodReads.com. Thank you very much.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, yeah, I don’t recall blowing though that summer wind reading either. Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev, yeah Bukowski had a hard on for his sparse, bone dry Russian, not me. East of Eden by John Steinbeck, you got my attention. He could write circles around the Russian writer greats with more effortless, charismatic loaded, emotive, this land is your land grace if you ask me. Unto The Sons by Gay Talese isn’t gripping my attention past Gay trying to pull off the Tom Wolfe all white suit past Labor Day. Which is in similar poor taste to me rocking my white polo today in January. Wearing my white privilege on my sleeves. Although chances are, F Scott Fitzgerald never bought a Polo at the outlet store in Lake George either.

Stay At Home Comedian, my book of essays and jokes about fatherhood transforming me into a seriocomic author in the age of meto fake feminists, #shadowbanning and baby boomer grandparent busts is comparable to what?

If Gore Vidal, Tony Robbins and Lenny Bruce had a baby.

Think Saul Bellow if Woody Allen punched up the humor in it and it didn’t sound so sanctimonious, Joseph Heller boorish after a while.

Think Charles Bukowski cross pollinated with Bill Hicks and Rodney Dangerfield and Anthony Bourdain’s non-smack gritty using, 1st narrative, punchy, florid prose. That personality loaded, funny man emotive poetic dynamic throughout my debut parenting book about falling for fatherhood, Stay At Home Comedian is the best of the rest.

 

Think of my book as Stud’s Terkel’s Working for a Stay At Home Comedian/Father of 3.

Think of Tom Papa, Jim Gaffigan, Paul Reiser and Bill Cosby’s books on fatherhood with actual laugh generation, emotive feeling.

Every bio or autobiography I’ve ever read on comedians or writers failed to sing the inspirational, empowerment praise of their children. So my book Stay At Comedian is peerless in this respect, minus Sammy Davis Junior’s book As I Am, where he talks about touring with his father as a vaudeville act as early as 4. I know it’s the other way around but work with me people. In the book, Sammy’s father advice which lead to me writing this profit maker book is this. If you do entertainment without getting paid, then you’re just doing for ego expansion purposes or something like that.

Think my book NYC Lit Agent as a Field of Dreams for a knock kneed putzy Jew who couldn’t dunk a basketball if his life depended on it. So he gave IPA’s up for the winter and did.  A pic of me dunking on the back cover slamming a Torpedo IPA from Sierra Nevada will be worth the 27 dollar price tag alone. Oh yeah, on the cover I’m slamming my bum with a spatula, as my 3 looks kids look up to me in adoring fashion hysterics. Above them is the caption Stay At Home Comedian, Controlling My Kids With Comedy.

Stay At Home Dads getting no respect, Stay At Home Dads hating each other, fatherhood being a do over life improver, kids being better than you, attachment parenting and turning your bed into a 24/7 milk bar is all brand new territory which I mine for comedy gold all the way. Oh yeah, and I’d never hire my goons to punch out Jackie Mason in his hotel room for making fun of Frank, knowing he was probably twice as funny and cutting as Rickles.  Last, I’ve got plenty of Rickles in my writing also. Read Bob Dylan’s Background Check Reveals and tell me different.

The End

 

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bonding Over Fatherhood

Bonding over fatherhood sounds way better than reasons my love story, falling for fatherhood is needed. So here we go Random House, Penguin Books, the one guy who still puts out a new book of poetry a year for the big, bad, Bukowski.

Just to clarify fans, WordPress peeps, new readers, I’m officially done writing my debut parenting humor book Stay At Home Comedian, controlling my kids through comedy. How 3 kids got my act together. I closed my book on fatherhood being a do over life improver of the highest order with: “No, He’s My Daddy.” To celebrate the impending 5th birthday of my son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. Who loves to proclaim with crystal clear jubilee I was born on News Years Day. He’s already to play the kid lead in Kindergarten Cop. I still couldn’t spell Kindergarten without spell checker if my life depended on it. Arthur stayed up to 12:05 AM this year at home with my wife and his big sister Matilda Singing Rose. Baby Samuel crashed on mama’s boob 15 minutes before midnight. Which worked out beautifully because I was able to lunge birthday boy high up in the air at 12AM, point at the TV in Times Square and proclaim: “Everyone there is celebrating your birthday.” Even the Alt Right because your Aryan looks throw them off completely. Not that the Alt Right would usher in the new year, partying in my city, Jew York ever but I digress.

We saw the Harlem Globetrotters earlier in the evening. It was fun but even I can look athletic dunking off a trampoline. Also, when mascots have been dunking off trampolines on a regular basis for half time entertainment since Patrick Ewing lost to Villanova. It loses its luster when sports entertainment professionals like the modern day Globetrotters perform ariel dunks during the actual 2nd half of the game, which isn’t too divorced from standard basketball game playing reality.  Harlem Globetrotters using a trampoline in the game is like the high flying Jimmy Snuka of old at the Westchester Country Center, jumping off the top turnbuckle with a rocket launcher on his back. Or Tito Santana downing Mexican Jumping Beans before whipping Greg the Hammer Valentine into the ropes before launching into blockhead blondie with his infamous flying elbow drop.  Which couldn’t put a dent in a Pinata if his Intercontinental belt for 2 days was riding on it.

Also, at camp when I saw the Harlem Globetrotters, I don’t recall the sports entertainment event being 75% crowd work. If I knew this is what the Harlem Globetrotters act had become, I would’ve saved my family the money and did an open mike in the village for old times sake like the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and get in five minutes of stage time on my own. Assuming, my wife was cool with me leaving her behind with the 3 kids. So, I could come back home 4 hours later. And say to my kids. What did daddy do tonight? In unison, they say, “daddy killed.” Baby says “ball.” From there I go in for an Avalanche hug. My wife hates that. Also ever notice how the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel always has undefined babysitting assistance?

The worst part about New Years this year was hearing about my parents new tradition on New Years Eve over the phone on New Years Day. Which includes writing each other letters, listing the highlights of their year. I wonder if not calling me on my birthday because they we’re in Israel cracked the top ten. I hate how Baby Boomers go out of their way to justify their existence as retirees. Doing their resistor best to act as if their lives are so much more happiness filled, outside of being involved loving grandparents. Especially, when you know hours of CNN listening doesn’t translate into meaningful think tank participation either. Especially, when they’re burnt out on another indoor summer in Arizona, 7 years and counting.  I wonder if one of my parents highlights was Jim Acosta getting his press credentials restored to play activist reporter resister on their behalf. Did you toast in the New Year? My mom asks in typical patronizing fashion.  She’s not really interested but I know my readers are. So what did I do on New Years Eve? I watched Crazy Rich Asians reluctantly with my wife feeling smug superior because I couldn’t write dialogue this boring if I tried. Where’s Bobby Lee from Mad TV when you need him the most? So I slammed a delectable, plumptastic array of American, big deal personality forward IPA’s throughout the night because my winter purfication started today. Because I had some beer leftover yesterday and I thought it would be in my wife’s best debloating interests, to drink the remainder of our high calorie IPA bombs on her behalf.

Enduring my wife’s lambasting me for blowing a fortune on my son’s birthday balloon collection because she questioned whether we had any money for it. Knowing full and well, I was also celebrating me finishing my 1st book ever. Waxing poetic, delivering oversized heart, charm and ample servings of yanker laugh out loud humor in my do it all dad year, bonding over fatherhood book for the ages. My wife’s decision to be mean spirited and petty on the eve of my son’s 5th birthday after she knows full and well, I’m in the submit, score an agent now time, after the Good Men Project will be publishing more of my chapters in the new year was infuriating to the maximum degree to say the least. Do It All Tip” Woman either still believe in you making it happen or don’t. Mine falls into the later camp obviously. It’s a shame, but nothing some more IPA’s couldn’t resolve on my glorious night hoisting my beautiful boy up high, to celebrate the unlimited promise for brighter, more long lasting triumphant tomorrows.

Arthur gave me some real nice punch hugs at the Harlem Globe Trotters show. He appreciated the gesture of Daddy pushing for us to go there.  He got into the dance for YMCA. It was his first grown up, sports event crowd, participation moment. Which put a boyish, 5 year smile imprint on my heart to cherish forevermore. Arthur loves all his balloons. He popped almost every single one by humping them to death.  It remined of when he mounted my wife’s friend in Maine from behind as she showed her downward dog pose. He was 2 then yet he wrapped his arms around her legs in an excitable, get down way unseen before.

Arthur has a new friend from Pre-K named Shawn, who he’s inviting to his follow up friend birthday party in 2 weeks. First, when he told me about his new bud, it sounded like he was saying Fawn.  So I played speech coach and we worked on it together in the car on his way to prek today. “Arthur say, Shawn Kamp, Shawn Wayans, Sean Austin Greene. Arthur, the Harlem Globe Trotters could’ve done a whole lot more of what? And he says “shake and bake, Shawn.” My boy is all grownz up and he’s all grownz up. Without my beard  I still get confused for a pre-bloated Vince Vince Vaughn, pre-insomniac.   So why does the world need my book black editor at large? Who thinks Kayne West is a fearless genius like myself? Because the world needs a book about bonding over fatherhood. Which gives thanks and praises to our children. Who due to the grace of God, have unfurled, the sweetest, funniest, strongest, most giving versions of ourselves. Making us prideful, emoting, do it all dads feel like All Star human beings in this crazy old world for a change.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

Twitter, Google, It’s All Chinese To Me

Old Bud
I dreamed of you owning a vacation home in New Mexico.
Me
Georgia O’Keefe did good work there. Personally, I prefer her labia looking flower paintings because they burst with more eye fucking sensuality.

If the CEO of Google called me at Robert Half, I’d assume he was an H1-B, claim our connection was bad and hang up on him next. Thinking, I’d have an easier time penning a Bollywood musical than making a fee off this guy.

My son tires from over-exposure to my wife like me. He wines. “Why does mommy always have to drop me off at Pre-K?” She does this twice a week max. NPR & Indy Rock drive him nuts strapped into his car seat minus my father figure veto powers in times of war.

Christine Blasey Ford was a runner up for Time Person of the Year. Michelle Obama didn’t even make honorable mention. I think its time for a new publicist.

Why wasn’t Anthony Bourdain Time Person of the Year? He was a writer journalist who died for what he believed in. That’s right, he trolled Hillary on Twitter for taking campaign donations from known rapists like Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein, duh.

And where’s my nomination for Time Person of the Year? Corporate America has insisted on keeping me imprisoned under house arrest as a Stay At Home Comedian/Father of 3 because I’m a pro Trump truther prisoner of political correctness.

Why do my people, elitist Jews hate Trump so much? Either A) They’re hack writers who can’t stand his far greater Twitter following or B) They’re no names Sales Directors. Who might make enough to live in a building Trump owns.

INT. HOME

Wife

You’re hanging out with Dave on Christmas Eve?

Me
I never see him. Plus, he’s listened to 1 more podcast than you have out of 57 so far. Last, I can play socket puppets with the kids with your mom’s gift when I get back. Plus, babe, I’m Jewish. So Mass isn’t a Holiday Event to be checked off in my Outlook Calendar, no offense.

Divorcing my parents was a good deal for them. They pay child support in the form of Pre-K for only 1 out of their 3 grandchildren. Which is cheaper than minimum child support payments in Texas. Plus, they save money on gas because they almost never visit.

Daddy laying his foot down. Get away from my 40 of Grapefruit Seltzer. I’m not drinking IPA’s, wine or bourbon till your birthday kid. It’s all Daddy’s got left. Daddy, what’s a 40? Snoop Dog’s ho sprayer of choice.

All the talking heads on Fox sound the same when defending their belief in God. I’m better off believing. Who else who could’ve created all this majesty? My answer is simple. I believe in God because my 3 kids worship me like the All Mighty himself. Plus, they love to caress my holy, wise beard. And deep down I know God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. Last I’m a true believer because my mother sulks as my 3 kids blanket with me love in her presence and my son hugged me after my dad sulked from me reading my DM from Richard Lewis.

Me

Too bad the Macaroon has peppermint. Peppermint is a total boner killer for me. Although, if I was still single without 3 kids. I’d slam some shots of Black Haus for old school times sake.

A Vasectomy is like playing God or a Bartender who refuses to serve you after you’ve had too many.

A Vasectomy screams I’ve got enough knots in my back already. One more in my groin won’t make much of a difference.

A Vasectomy screams after this, I’m done tying knots with either sex period.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

My Gap Years

“Daddy, what are your Gap Years? I say. “The best times and worst of times.” Daughter replies. “Was the worst time, when Baba called you pathetic? Papa not calling you on your 40th birthday or Mama minimizing your comedy appeal to Baptist fundamentalists on Twitter and WordPress?”

Unlike mothers on maternity leave. I didn’t have a stable career waiting for me to return. So I decided to assume ownership of my writing career and author a book about falling for fatherhood, working remote and controlling my kids through comedy. Which I promote in my Do It All Dad Year Podcast as a means to make our kids great again.  Does controlling our kids through comedy sound too aggressively nationalistic for you? Then, you’re a humorless twat and your dad failed you miserably. Join the club.

I’ll admit. It’s pretty depressing to hear constant updates about how unemployment in America is at a 45 year low. Knowing, I’ve graduated from a top communication school in the country. Written for Viacom twice, had food fiction published in England and amassed more than 5000 connections on LinkedIn from 15 plus years of new business development centric jobs mostly within the IT staffing industry with the Creative Group at Robert Half most recently. I used to get jobs for UX Designers and Social Media Community  at twice their previous salary yet I can’t even score an interview for myself these days. Because gap years aren’t a good look on white privileged men, especially in these times. I don’t care how desperate companies are for qualified help these days. Mom was just in town. She says. I didn’t think Trump would boost the economy. But I read in the NY Times how they’re not even conducting background checks on ex-cons anymore. So why the fuck can’t you get a job again?  I hate to make excuses. So I won’t. But being deemed a bearded stay at home shemale freak of the most deplorable order, especially considering my professed support of President Trump, hasn’t persuaded any Creative Directors to look at my 8 year old copywriting portfolio just yet.

But seriously, during my gap years I’ve learned how much I hate sore losers. Who remain hostage to past slights. Who are total strangers to self-awareness necessary for self-improvement. Like Tony Robbins says, either you A) Play a victim and think poor, poor, pitiful me. Or B) Move forward in life with the attitude of, setbacks are temporary, it doesn’t define me and sometimes the biggest setbacks can serve to be the greatest kick in the butt to kick your real love based career obsession into hyperspeed. Not his exact words but you get the gist. I don’t think Tony Robbins is one to obsess over the exact quoting of others either. Have you seen his doc on Netflix? I thought I dropped F Bombs for emphasis. Now, I’m thinking of the scene from Entourage when Dice scores the pilot with Johnny Drama for Johnny’s Banana’s and says. “Now Johnny, we do the fucking.” Dice still rules.

So being honest with my gap year repellent resume. And considering the fact Charles Bukowski is my role model, being no stranger to his fair share of gaps years between paying factory jobs before getting settled at the Post Office.  I’ve decided to bet it all on the muse and myself. The bullpens of various IT agency sales offices were my post office and now it’s time to put my comedic stamp on the world of parenting books or die a corporate, unoriginal, contented, unimaginative, stiff for hire forever.

Bukowski was correct, writing is the only good fight. And most men are finished at 26 with kids, a mortgage and settled in profession to keep a roof over the head of their family’s American dream. Who must sell their boss on the impression they exist to please them, maximize profit and have their time exploited for all it’s worth. At 42, I’ve survived my pain period of exclusion only to emerge stronger, tougher and funnier than ever. Hellbent on being heard despite Twitter’s attempt to censor my off the cuff personality. But I won’t bitch about it. That’s why I’ve decided to write my book because only my book editor can censor me now. Thinking small never would’ve got me to where am I now. To the point where my younger brothers sulks every holiday, whenever I bring up a story about Paul Mooney telling me “I hear you’re funny” after introducing myself for a callback audition for his sketch comedy show in Harlem.

My gap years has broken my pothead addicted binge mentality for good. My gap years have brought morning prayer into my life. Where I give thanks and praises. Despite me straining to emote about my wife more than I’d like because my gap years have tested her patience in bankrolling my dreams of making it as a writer provider podcaster for our family of 5. I get it.  My gaps years have lead to me getting published again on someplace besides my own blog. Breaking my self-publishing streak, which is a pleasant change of pace. My gap years have shown who my fake news friends are. Who get off from kicking you when you’re down but not out.

My gap years have given birth to a real life practicing pescatarian comedian. My gap years have shown what little regard my younger brother and parents have for do it all dads like myself. Who’ve bet it all on my God given ability to excel in the language art of comedy better than most. My gap years have shown what I’m fighting for is self-respect.  My gap years have shown I’m fighting not for another cubicle job, but for freedom to be a stay at home comedian dad podcast host author bigwig. That my best selling parenting book Stay At Comedian will afford me the opportunity to do.

My gaps years have shown me how I hate those who don’t respect salesmanship, showmanship, the close, our cops, military, law and order and good old fashioned hustle.

My gap years have shown me I hate my liberal secular Jewish brethren who deride President Trump because they’re no name hacks in the bosom of life at large. And not nearly prestigious enough to afford a home in a building President Trump owns or score a retweet if their life depended on it. Let alone, work for free for the betterment and advancement of his fellow Americans.

God bless my gap years. It’s put me in touch with the man I’m destined to be. Not some belittling, critic cynic, mush brained, boring hack who think’s he’s cool because he listens to Rakim. Who thinks drinking Grey Goose bottle service is a pathway to empowered, fun filled enlightenment.

 

No, my gaps years have told me I want to be a book author podcast giant. Who can teach Gen X Dads how to control their kids with comedy. So we can make our kids great again. Who won’t suffer from a psychotic breakdown even as they turn 70 and start cashing in their Social Security Checks.  Who were dumb enough to side with her on the wrong side of history.

My gap years have proved to me I will not be raising whiners, complainers, drug addict dependent, hysterical, brainwashed, flesh obsessed, mock outrage addicted, fake news hypocritical no friends of color losers. No, my gap years have shown me how I’ll succeed in raising strong, self-reliant, drug free, petty free leaders. Who value loyalty, hard work, sacrifice and assuming ownership of their happiness and destiny through following my lead. Refusing to beg for interviews with fake feminist HR Humpback dwellers relegated to dreamless boiler rooms below Penn Station because you triple down on yourself to make a living without their crummy, paltry handouts is a great place to start.

The End,

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disorder In The Dollhouse

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to wrap seaweed around Pecker Wood before making his move on Polynesian Barbie.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. I’m getting the Kelly Lebrock one used in Weird Science on E Bay for my own personal stash.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. It’s a good thing, I’m not a black comedian trying to downplay my ties to the hip hop gay mafia.

If my son played with dolls, we’d skip watching Porky’s. Which was an overrated comedy anyway. Then, I’d push 9 to 5 in front of our viewing list. He can do worst than becoming a Dolly Parton impersonator. Whitney Houston not so much.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think great. He’ll save me a fortune on sports camp. Plus, I’ll have extra time to write more best selling books because school plays are an annual production.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Great, now when my dad asks. “What’s Arthur going to eat at the Greek Diner with his friends after the ball game?” I’ll say. “A Turkey melt. Assuming, he’s got some extra wiggle room to slip into his leotards.”

If my son played with dolls, I’d have him own it and dress up as the flaming Human Torch for Halloween. Then again, Mr. Fantastic has a gay fabulous connotation to his name also. But his hot wife Susan Storm is no Liza Minnelli.

If my son played with dolls. I’d think touchdown. Now, I don’t have to talk shop at Pop Warner with other Football dads from New England. I still think Eli is a bigger pimp than Brady. Giselle’s like 80 in model years.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Banging my GI Joe Figures together was way gayer. Especially when I had Gung-Ho manhandle and bitch slap Cobra Commander like he was his gimpy bitch in Pulp Fiction.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think, what a relief. For a moment, I thought he’d be destined for mope maligned misery. And turn into just another ordinary slut in a straight jacket dad like me.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Big deal, playing with a sex doll after he blooms under his fruit of the looms is way more deprived pathetic. Let’s not make my son into a Japanese anime enthusiast just yet.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think, cool. He’ll be super organized and I’ll never have to sweat him dipping into my Adderall prescription. Wait a minute shit, I have to have the Crystal Meth talk with him at 4.

If my son played with dolls, I’d move my family to my wife’s native homeland of Australia. And start getting my son to compete in Iron Man Competitions sooner than later. So he can become the Aussie superior to Bruce Jenner.

If my son played with dolls. I’d join him for some double team action, if he was playing around with his sister’s WWE Divas. Ronda Rousey, I can live without. Later in life, I don’t see my son choking one out on her behalf.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Hate Is Good

Life – the way it really is – is a battle not between Bad and Good but between bad and worse. Joseph Brodsky
CEO Apple Tim Cook says “hate and division” have no place on his platform. Because I’m sure if Apple owned LinkedIn, they’d ban all IT recruiter hate speech in a nano- second. Because IOS developers who work for Apple love being hit on by dumb jocks recruiters at work, who played Lacrosse at Penn State. Knowing no noise cancellation headphone phones could ever tune out the muffled, maudlin cry of their scar tissue shrouded teenage hearts.
Hate and division have no place on I-Tune’s Platform. Then, why is Bill Hicks entire stand-up comedy library still available on it? Bill Hicks, the greatest standup of his generation oozed hate because the majority of America didn’t recognize his awesome hilariousness. Only after getting sober and moving to England did Bill Hicks get the extreme praise he deserved. But hatred for being a single, unknown, paid road comic clown who could out funny think George Carlin any day of the week wasn’t bothered by his lack of mainstream success one bit. Bill Hicks was just peachy about David Brenner doing Carson 5 million times from free riff, non-establishment airplane humor compared to his bit on abortion protestors on Letterman. Which never made it past CBS advertisers. Who killed any shot of the bit making Bill Hick’s career come to life on Letterman after all.
Hate is what made Bill Hick’s material great. George Bernard Shaw, Nobel Prize winner for Literature last time I checked, said, “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.” Just to be clear, I don’t toss around the word hate lightly. I explain to my 7-year-old daughter Matilda what hatred means to daddy over breakfast this morning. Because I overshare too much and hold my daughter to a higher social standard than ANTIFA.
I talk to my daughter Matilda and down to her. And do everything in my power to develop Matilda’s own expressive confidence in her own ideas. So, she doesn’t flee for LA at 17 and regress into a Fallen Angel content with finding somebody to just love her body alone because I made her feel her brain was never enough to keep dada’s attention in the 1st place.
As my daughter takes a bite of Stew Leonard’s Chocolate Chip toaster made waffle. I test out my new premise on her.
“Don’t let anyone tell you different Matilda. Hate is good. How else would you know how much you hate Agave Syrup if you never tasted pure Maple Syrup from Vermont?”
She replies. “I agree daddy. Hate is good. Because without hate, I’d never realize how much I love my teachers reading voice over yours. Especially, after you read me direct quotes from boring Nobel Prize winners like Joseph Brodsky. Mrs. Donofrio’s reading is way more interesting because she assumes the personalities of the different characters, she reads to us about. Can you please just read me some of your jokes instead? But spare me more jokes. Where you have to explain what Private Equity, Firms do and who the Illuminati is in order to understand the joke, thanks. But how is hate good again dada? Untangle my brain for me please.

I reply. “Hate is anger, filled annoyance or outright sheer, heart enraging disgust. For example, Daddy learning from mama about Baba picking out only pillows from Pottery Barn for Arthur’s birthday gift registry because they’re the cheapest items on it. And daddy hates it when your younger brother continues to receive second rate gifts on his birthday from Baba. Especially knowing how Arthur was born on New Year’s Day. So, Baba unloads her cheapness into one combined Christmas Birthday Pillow gift for him without losing any sleep over it.
Is hate and division the reason my Do It All Dad Year Podcast never made it on I-Tune’s new and notable Tim? Was I being divisive when I kidded on my podcast about how I took offense to my wife calling me sexist for making fun of Chelsea Clinton? Because she’s not even ugly anymore. Or was I hater for insisting Chelsea Handler is a way bigger Twitter twat than Alyssa Milano. Who became a full-time social justice warrior to deflect attention away from her tits sagging popularity. Joan lives.
Peter Fonda stated fantasies of Baron Trump being raped in a cell on Twitter, yet he never got his account suspended, paging fake news moralist Twitter CEO, Jack Dorsey. So, is it really hate speech to call Peter Fonda a burnout has been? Whose been in permanent meltdown mode since America as a whole decided Baby Boomer Mom, Hillary doesn’t know best. Is it hateful to point out how Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lost touch with the working man by taking 5 times to get her Metro Subway card to work? By the 5th swipe, Hillary gives herself a pep talk. “No more coughing fits of nervousness. Black people are watching. You can do it.”
I know I’m not the only one who hates the moral grandstanding, hypocritical nature of the big three, Apple, Twitter and Facebook in relation to being so called protectors of hate speech. Farrakhan has an app on the I-Tunes store Tim. You know the class act who calls all Jews termites and hailed Hitler as a “great man.” But my dad friendly, Do It All Dad Year podcast is considered hate speech because I claim the Swastika looks like 2 gay Nazi stick figures in a 69 on crystal meth?
I worked as an IT headhunter for the majority of my young adult life. But without hating my parasite existence. Feasting off the bankable brain talent of others. I never would’ve latched on to writing scripts, blogs and jokes as a means to achieve independence from such a thankless, time wasting, non-builder existence.

Hate is good because if I didn’t have the experience of trying to launch my own creative tech staffing agency from home after getting fired from Robert Half. I never would’ve realized I hated relinquishing so much control over my destiny to unproven, douchebag tech founders. Who on LinkedIn are only searchable under the name Diesel. Which is more tailor made for standalone placement of a license plate on a tricked-out Honda in Daytona Beach.

Hate is good because it reveals the root of your misery. 9 out of 10 Stay at Home Dads want out of the house if someone looks past their gaps of wrath. Because they’ve grown to hate being a dependent, talked down to, house maid bitchy boy. Because no matter how progressive minded, or evolved workings moms proclaim to be. There reaches a resentment point in the relationship. Where the working moms dismiss their stay at home shemale hubs as mere dead weight. Because working moms tire of having to lean in and do all the money making themselves. Plus, the working mom is less risk averse in the bedroom when stay at home dad is choking her too hard financially already.

Hate is good because it forces the stay at home dad to become best friends with self-awareness. Which helps stay at home dad determine a course of action to ensure less of the same old shit. In my case, I’ve decided to write a best-selling parenting book about how Stay at Home Dads get no respect because Rodney Dangerfield would’ve insisted on it. Plus, Rodney didn’t relaunch his standup comedy career and become committed to making a career off his standup till he was 43. At 42, I’ve chosen to innovate or die as big deal 1st time author through my fatherhood book debut, Stay at Home Comedian, Controlling My Kids with Comedy, How 3 Kids Got My Act Together.
Prior, to going all in on his stand-up comedy career, Rodney sold aluminum siding to feed and care for his family. I used to peddle and sell the brain power of IT nerds for a living. Rodney stockpiled jokes in duffle bags during his aluminum siding sales years. Whereas, I stashed my material onto my do it all dad year podcast and now blog. But Rodney needed a home base to test new material after being offered a residency in Vegas. Because Rodney wanted to be an involved, around do it all dad for his daughter in Manhattan.
Rodney didn’t have a real affectionate relationship with his dad. So, he pursed the love from strangers for a living. My dad hasn’t called me on my birthday for 2 years straight. Plus, the last time I celebrated by birthday in Arizona with my parents. My dad’s shoulders collapsed in unison as I went in for a birthday hug. So, I can identify with the caring compulsion to connect, move and entertain strangers with my comedy and writing similar to Rodney. But without hate introducing me to my new pal Mr. Self-Awareness. Resulting from learning how much I hated having an identify defined by making a living off the talent of others as an IT recruiter. I never would’ve been propelled down this path of independence from the man and gone into business for myself as book author on rise, in charge of my own destiny, self-published or not.

Hate is good because it instructs you on what people to avoid, especially your past degenerate, druggy, reckless self. Who paid the price by contracting foot fungus from stepping foot into the showers of LA Fitness in West Hollywood barefoot one too many times.

Hate is good because becoming comfortably numb doesn’t look like an attractive alternative when Pink overdoses from Heroin induced indifference during the rendition of Hey You in Pink Floyd the Wall.

Hate is good because it’s a killer motivator for exacting, follow through, all encompassing revenge in Kill Bill 1 and 2.

Hate is good because it pushes your imagination to produce misery eliminating alternatives such as resisting the desire to ever express a pro Trump sentiment in your household again. Especially when your wife’s remaining friends are over.

Hate is good because it forces you to work harder at being more impressive than your edgeless competition. Who uses his wife to punch up his jokes about his proud defense of McDonald’s for him.

Hate is good because it emancipates you from bad habits such as clogging up your brain with too much dull braining resin fumes from your cherished ex one hitter. Because now you care more about being getting high off your kids’ company as a best-selling author instead. Officially, closing the chapter off your IT recruiter past for good. Proving to yourself, you’re no longer a mere schmuck in a headset. Which isn’t as bad as unemployed stay at home comedian.

The End,
By,
Michael Kornbluth

Book Authors Are Fire Proof

Whenever I’m out with my 3 kids, I’ll always hear. You’ve got your hands full. I reply. If my wife allowed an open marriage with Katy Perry, assuming I became a bestselling author, I’d have my hands full, day and night, night and day.

 
Trying to start your staffing business from ground zero and provide for your wife and 2 kids as an IT Headhunter while sucking up your ego because you finally got your TV writing break at VH1 Classic 2 months prior is a handful. Especially, when you just traded in your Gene Simmons zip drive used to save your scripts, consisting of Heavy Metal video intros for Chris Jericho to use on America’s Hard 100 for new suits from Men’s Warehouse. Which you can’t afford and have to ask your parents money for. Thereby further deepening your parent’s resentment at your prolonged, degenerate dependence on their forced upon financial generosity at 39 with 2 kids under your belt now. Paying them the maintenance rental costs on a one-bedroom apartment. Which used to belong to your grandmother before your parents shipped her off to a home in Arizona, dying in her sleep with nothing but a peaceful gaze according to my father.

Excuse me for questioning the sincerity of my father’s pronouncement. Knowing his self-serving, controlling, bullying approach to my wedding by letting my grandma off the hook by not insisting she attend her own grandson’s wedding. She wasn’t Stephen Hawkins people. Was she bi-polar? Yes, did my dad insist she stop taking her medication because her manic highs became too annoying and inconvenient for him to handle? Yes, so knowing my dad played a domineering, ownership role of his own mother’s emotional well-being despite never earning a PHD in Pharmacology, selling Acid in college doesn’t count. Only to emerge from the experience with your brain intact because you were “smarter” than all the lesser gentile, mush brain counterparts in your fraternity, allegedly.

So, what was my dad’s excuse for not demanding my own grandmother hop in the car for a 2 hour ride up to Woodstock to see her eldest grandson get married? According to my dad, “she would’ve been a handful and he’d have to look after her.” But according to my younger brother, my father isn’t a narcissist despite his best excuse for not insisting my grandma attend my wedding was because her assumed, mope maligned existence would’ve been a perpetual drag on his own good time. Assuming he’d be hanging out with her at the wedding. Reminiscing about how nice it would be if Murray, his dead father, and her 1st husband could be there also because he always loved my friend Newton. Who was the Baptized Minister that got us married in the 1st place.

I became close with my dad’s friend from college Newtown Finn when I attended Lake Forest College for my freshman and sophomore year on the North Shore of Illinois. I’d meet him for an occasional beer to discuss a philosophy paper I was working on. For my paper on how the Grateful Dead parking lot scene encapsulated a self-sustaining, yet community driven, capitalist economy at its finest, minus the taxes on what you made by being able to sell grill cheese sandwiches or from glass bowls of your own making. Allowing Dead Head lovers to live out their hippie working dream to the fullest. By making money from their own creations. And using those profits to follow the Dead-on tour. Make new friends, create colorful memories and become liberated from the cubicle chained existence their parents were slaves to because such an option didn’t exis prior. I don’t recall reading about any teens in the 1950’s selling their mom’s Betty Crocker cookies outside of Giant Stadiuum. So, they could follow Jan and Dean on the road in my history of rock and roll class at Ithaca College. Otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor.

Not once did I think my dad took my feelings under consideration by not insisting my grandma attend my wedding. Did her grandmotherly sense tell her I was out of work again? In the end, did my Grandma blow off my wedding because she thought it was pathetic for a suburban beneficiary of white privilege to be fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot at 34 years old on God green’s earth?

In retrospect, my dad letting my grandma off the hook infuriated me more than my grandma not attending my wedding because he possessed the power to make Grandma do the right thing. But instead chose the path of zero hassle for himself. Thinking. let’s make this wedding all about my wife and myself. Wearing creamy white at 1st born’s wedding. Insisting we walk him down the aisle, just because we’re cutting them a big, fat wedding check.

I should’ve burned that wedding check on the spot. It would’ve saved plenty of aggravation for all of us in the end. But I didn’t get married to receive a big check from my parents. I got married because I fell in love with a pretty, sweet girl from Australia who became the best friend I never had. Although chances are, I don’t pop the question ever, if my mother doesn’t insist on letting her give me money to buy my live-in girlfriend in Park Slope, Brooklyn at the time, an engagement ring, a pink Safire engagement ring to be exact.

I wanted my own earned staffing commission money from my stint at Adam Jacob Associates to pay for that ring. Never happened that way. The only time I made a commission check big enough for an engagement ring was with the IT staffing firm I worked for next from a big rip, I did with JP Morgan Hedge Fund Services. I asked my mom for the org chart for JP Morgan Hedge Fund Services. Cold called the VP of Technology. Scheduled a face to face meeting in Greenwich, CT. Recruited a .NET Architect off an ad I wrote and posted on Monster.com. Placed him at 135K salary, ripped a 7000-dollar commission check after taxes. And used that money on top of my unemployment checks because I got fired from that recruitment job also to throw myself into my writing. Banged out my 30 Rock spec, script, The Kings of Comedy. Paced 3 in a national TV writing contest called the Spec Scriptacular and no longer felt like a poser fake news funny jerkoff performing standup comedy at open mikes throughout stroller mom country in Park Slope no more.

But understand, this was 12 years ago, which feels like light years ago 3 kids later. Think about it. Back then, Lena Dunham had much skinnier arms and wasn’t nearly as full of herself. I don’t know about you. But after Trump won. Lena Dunham said she’d move to Canada. So, I prayed for them to build a wall around the strip clubs in Montreal, so Lena Dunham wouldn’t scare away all the clientele. Also, most people don’t know this. But Lena Dunham was Hillary Hammer Time Cankle’s Social Media Community Manager for her 2-time loser campaign for the presidency of the United States of America. Only Lena Dunham could make Hillary less likeable and relatable in one blubbery swoop, but I digress.
To make matters worse at my wedding, my dad insisted on telling all my friends how much my wedding shoes cost, treating me like his faggy, bridezilla underling. Which wasn’t a fair representation of what makes me flaming gay such as my propensity to jerk off my old high school bud to Taste of Amber and Scandal and the Mansion because a friend at camp introduced him to the harmless practice, of mutual tickle jerks under the covers, together. Still, the obvious low point at my wedding was when my Dad told our wedding DJ to turn down the Star Fucking Spangled Banner by Jimi Hendrix from Woodstock. The very Woodstock he attended and bragged about non-stop about attending. Although, he never saw Jimi perform because apparently at that the time, all the hippies starving to death, out of cats to eat with tushy rash rott. In addition to images of unreported, drug induced rapes and  toddlers tripping on acid became too much bear. Jimi Hendrix had actually unleashed his guitar, carpet bombing, anti-war anthem piece of electric guitar mastery at the Hollywood Bowl before his scene stealing performance at Woodstock post Joe Cocker having performed a stroke in slow motion for Little Help from My Friends. What was my father’s excuse for telling our wedding DJ to turn off Jimi? Because Jimi’s aerial guitar Vietcong bomb drop renditions were too intense for all of his non-serving Jewish friends in attendance to bear. It would be one thing if his Jewish friend Sil from the Bronx served with Ron Kovac or was held captive like McCain and was trigged to jump behind the wet bar for cover. I took personal offense to this asshole, controlling gesture on my dad’s behalf because I controlled the wedding playlist. This was my creation, not his. In case you’re wondering, we closed out the wedding, with Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York and closed with Jay Z’s Empire State of Mind, which just hit. Sorry, Frank, we chose to close our wedding with a more resounding, modern day feeling bang.
If I could do it all over again for my wedding, I would’ve have posted an ad on Craig’s List for a substitute Wise Black Grandma to replace my absentee whiney, Jewish Grandma. The Craig’s List ad would read, “Wise Black Grandma needed for wedding in Woodstock, NY, full expenses paid, Tyler Perry impersonators are welcome. Just understand, we only have 1 black friend attending, so you must be comfortable performing in front of primarily white audiences only.”
So, what does my dad being a controlling, arrogant, baby boomer dick have to do with how book authors are fire proof? They’re related because I tried really hard to make a living in sales similar to my father and it never materialized for me. My dad did very well but his career in packaging sales didn’t take off until his early forties. In fact, my mom saw an ad in the paper for a sales manager job which he applied for and got. In actuality, my dad lied about so-called management experience to get the job and the gamble payed huge dividends for himself in the end. Now, his wife, my mother who worked at JP Morgan Chase as a Loan Officer. Who always made more money than him, was no longer in an exalted, leveraged position to belittle or talk down to her lifetime partner in love like her faggy, you only exist because of me underling any longer.

Knowing my father took a gamble to achieve what success he did as a VP of Sales. Who turned a fledging packaging company into the 90 million in sales machine under his direction. It’s not a complete shock to know my Dad isn’t 100% against me writing a book about working from home and falling for Fatherhood as a stay at home, aspirational do it all dad comedian book author. My dad never articulated what his vision was if he decided to launch his own business. Still, his default response for not following through for whatever vision he possessed was because it was too risky and he had my brother and I to support. On top of having to earn enough money to pay for $20,000 a year property taxes in Westchester Country, only 30 minutes from Manhattan by Metro North I get it.

But I know what I want more than ever before. I can articulate my dream for myself which serves my own personal ambition and the betterment of my wife and 3 children. And that’s not to just become a published, parenting book author. Fuck that. My dream is to write the funniest, most readable, most moving, Jewish suburban tale of modern-day fatherhood ever made. I’ll be a big fish in my own pond. Who’s my competition, Philp Roth’s son if he has one? Did Saul Bellow bang out any promising upstart, literary off spring capable of producing laugh yankers on the page and off that I don’t know about? The thing is I tried to make it as an IT headhunter yet never became the Rain Maker like my father did. Me, I was much more a trickler.

Still, headhunting made me the man I am today. There’s no way I could endure the heartbreaking isolation and rejection from old school fake news friends and my own parents as a stay at home comedian author/ Podcast Host/Dad Friendly Entertainment Blogger. Without the congealed inner toughness such a thankless, advance attack forward on mentality the new business development form of IT staffing engenders within in you.

I love all my ex-headhunter brethren because they pushed me to become a better version of me. They respected my fearlessness, my developing comedic writing inventiveness. In short, they couldn’t knock my hustle. My old boss Larry, god bless him, would let me take breaks from cold calling IT directors at UBS and beyond to sample new material on my old school band of recruiter brothers in the afternoon to help break up the day. Even my old boss Dan at Robert Half allowed the same after our morning meetings, yet Robert Half is public traded company so that new morning routine got shut down real fast and it wasn’t because I was producing dead air either.

Nobel Prize for Literature winner George Bernard Shaw said, “hell is to drift, and heaven is to steer.” The key for me is picking my 1st big race to win and not being an all over the place Jew for once in my life. I got into standup because an alum from Ithaca told me it would make me a better writer. But I only got into the dream of writing TV scripts for TV after my ex-girlfriend in LA pushed me to start writing specs for Curb which made me fall in the love with the idea of a creative, fun filled alternative to make a living that didn’t require my compulsory need to use my day of atonement for Yom Kippur in Los Angeles. My 1st year as an IT Headhunter, paying my own way in the word, only to focus on reading the Long Beach Business Journal for new company info to sollcit business from before LinkedIn and smart phones emerged. Eliminating the need to stay at work past 7 every night to get more numbers from 411 to cold call the next morning all over again.

Eventually, I wrote for TV, not the way I intended. I thought I’d be writing Family Guy scripts. Instead, I was writing music video intro reads for Iron Maiden for the host of Americas Hard 100, WWE great, Chris Jericho. I’ll take it. My old producer boss Jay Moran introducing me as the Head Writer for the America’s Hard special he was in charge of producing 100 at Viacom corporate in Manhattan, “my city” as Walt Whitman said back in the day was a heavy metal high moment, I’ll cherish forever. But the stakes are way higher now. Now, I have 3 kids compared to only Singing Rose Matilda. And it’d true, “pressure does create diamonds.” Which explains the comedy tear I’ve been on now since getting fired from Robert Half 3 years ago. Every retweet or blog like has been a win, knowing my aim as has always been laugh generation. But now my goals have expanded past mere laugh generation but into more expressive, beauty terrain. Describing how your baby boy’s hand clench against yours makes up for almost 99% of the poor, poor, pitiful pain in your heart. By describing the shrieks of joy my 20-month-old son makes when I give him playful, falling putzy apple tree head butts into his midsection or roll him into a pink Cubano with our overpriced towels from our wedding I get to reconnect with what I want more of in this new big dream of mine. And that’s to be the Golly Blue Giant dream maker at home as a stay at home dad comedian shooting star author on the rise.

Bought my kids a telescope from Goodwill for 28 bucks for the 1st night of Chanukah. And just learned about Blue Giant stars. Basically, they shine brightest because they’re condensed with the most loaded, compact material. And that’s what I’ve poured into my book that you’re reading right now, Stay at Home Comedian. I wouldn’t have been capable of producing this book 4 years ago because I didn’t know what I wanted out of life outside of sticking with my goal of writing for TV and proving to myself I could do it.

As a bestselling author, I become the functional Dead Head I’ve always wanted to become. Making money off my own creations, Assuming ownership of my own ideas.  Profiting off my own self-driven hustle, not out of fear from getting fired for some job I’m just doing to provide breathing room to write jokes to do on stage on the side. That chapter in my life is finished.

God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. As a book author, I’m fire proof because I’ll never act like an entitled dick the majority of the time. As a book author, I’m fire proof because I don’t have the luxury or time to be an aspirational, functional pothead on the side with 3 kids to co-raise and house to co-manage either. As a book author, I’m fire proof because any quotas I set for myself, I’ll exceed because the only thing limiting me from writing my way out of poverty into literary glory is mere time to sit my ass on the chair. I also bought from that 7000-dollar commission check to bang out more free flowing prose on my pleasure machine.

The meaning of Hanukah is dedication. And no miracle of light can happen without the combination of dedication and unwavering faith in your hard work materializing by the grace of divine powered blessing when the all mighty makes the timing right. I just learned about getting 19 blogged chapters of the Stay at Home Comedian republished on the Good Men Project. It’s my time to shine.

Book Author are fire proof unless, my book Stay at Home Comedian doesn’t sell and my wife kicks me out of the house for good. But I’m in the driver seat of a life of my choosing now. I’m writing a bestselling book, Stay at Home Comedian and already have my next 2 follow up books planned. I’m in it to win it as a bestselling parenting book author and face of the new remote good men, dad, remote work revolution. Because at home on the page, I rule my destiny.

My old sales boss at a recruitment agency in Manhattan Beach, said to me. “Michael, you’re very eclectic. I see you as a thoroughbred but in order to become a winner, you have to pick your race. I finally have Terry. Thanks for the words of wisdom and sorry about acting like an entitled, arrogant, NY dick  Doing 0.0 to reverse the perception of my people as a whole, meaning New Yorkers in general. Your killer farmer’s son work ethic rubbed on me Terry. Not that I was slacker working for you. Still, you always said. “What do you want your tombstone to say when your time on this earth is complete?”

Finally got the answer Terry. Michael Kornbluth, Author, although knock kneed putz turned Pulitzer prize winner has a nice ring to it also. I know Terry. Focus on winning one race at a time. But I must dream bigger like my daughter says. Most can write a best seller, but it’s the ones who never gave up. Whose will to win reigned supreme such as Charles Bukowski, Rodney Dangerfield and Secretariat, the horse, who became living legends in their time. Just because my ego got tripped up at the starting gate, from being a prematurly branded, learning-disabled slow poke brain student in the 5th grade. Doesn’t mean I can’t launch a comeback around the bend, kick up dirt into my dream detractor faces now behind me with enraged delight and fly past that finish line as a successful, bestselling book author winner. Then, getting my wife a new set of boobs for my birthday will be the most selfless gift ever. Because if my wife forgets to buy me something special after my book Stay At Home Comedian becomes a best seller. She’ll be off the hook. And Katy Perry will have to wait.
By,

Michael Kornbluth