Gum King Of New York

Hop-O-Rama Chew gives you something to chew on besides hopolicious gum in the form of a new expression designed to add a brighter glint to your eye and greater bounce to your step.

Daily Nugget of Wisdom:

Beer Bellies give self-love a bad name.

Hop-O-Rama Swami knows best, Challah, Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Flirting Conductor

By forsaking flirting, we’re cheating ourselves of a richer life to tap into for more joy spewing tomorrows. At least, that’s what I’m teaching my son today as we near close to ending his homeschooling apprenticeship, on the importance of flirting power. But why does flirting power matter? Because sometimes, loving the one you’re with isn’t enough. Screw Stephen Stills. Loving the one you’re with is a whole lot easier in 1970 when your able to forsake condoms for silky smooth lining instead of plastic covered seats. At the same time, my son is only 5 and hasn’t started Kindergarten yet. And I haven’t even joked about sending my kid to junior high during the post me to era with a lawyer on his person to hand out pre-poundage consent forms just yet. But I never think it’s early enough to get your kids into flirtation meditation. But what is flirtation meditation exactly? And since when is small talk at the bar considered fantasy material to get off your mind anytime?  Similar to Magic Johnson visualizing what no look passes he’d turn heads with while running the Showtime Lakers at the Forum on the fast break, flirtation meditation also helps you get into the mindset of picturing what scoring and balling means to you, that’s done with the intent of being the main floor general and driving force of your life instead of remaining a starless scrub on the bench who just goes through the motions of life like a passive, beaten down dog who only eats whatever scraps he’s lucky to get thrown his perpetually downer way.

My biggest regret growing up was letting my father bully me into disinviting my dear friend Coop from attending a Motely Crue concert during the Dr. Feelgood Tour because he deemed my new friend Ari a more deserving choice. I don’t remember the reason why pops pulled an Indian Giver move at the last minute, but it might have been because Coop was the fat kid and Ari wasn’t, I don’t know. All I do know, is that I sucked that much more than my dad for not sticking up for my friend by allowing my dad to bully me into bringing my friend Ari to the concert instead.  Another huge regret was letting my father bully me into selling all my basketball rookie cards to use as drinking money in Cancun during Spring Break my senior year in High School, without pushing back at forsaking my age of innocence for pass out money on the Booze Cruise. Understand, collecting basketball cards was a major labor of love for me as a kid, to the point where I somehow was able to amass enough loose change from my father’s change dish to afford almost every rookie card of those who played on the original Dream Team such as Patrick Ewing, Scottie Pippen, Charles Barkley and John Stockton. But dad was paying for my trip to Cancun, so how much leverage did I really have at the time? Could I threaten to burn my Bar Mitzah photo album if I refused? Still, in retrospect, I’m the one responsible for allowing my dad to push me into selling my basketball cards without ever taking the time to question whether passing out on a Booze Cruise off the coast of Cancun was more important than my cherished basketball card collection that gave me prideful ownership of my own.  So, in life, don’t always be so willing to let other’s map out what moves you make. Nobody remembers the King who financed the Columbus expedition into uncharted waters, but history sure as shit remembers who the fuck Christopher Columbus was. Christopher Columbus was the original old g new life commander, and nobody could take that away from thee, who gave birth to the rebranded Indigenous Day, motherfuckers.

So, what does bequeathing any sense of free will over to your dad have to with flirtation power and being a shallow, spineless friend with zero sense of loyalty who’s already moved on to the next best thing have to do with Christopher Columbus discovering the land of Fats Domino, Micky Mantle and John Huges comedies again?  Easy, Christpher Columbus refused to settle for what shit sandwich his superiors insisted he be content eating without ever daring to flirt with major changes of his own making to make on his own, his way, all the way. Sinatra lives before he was born, Challah, thank you very much.

Christopher Columbus flirted with change and made change his booty call, muse and go to top bitch to plow for deeper, unforeseen treasures never dreamed imaginable prior. In short, Columbus allowed himself the freedom to dream of a more adventurous, conquest heavy, freedom favoring life before taking such courageous, corrective action to live in order to avoid a subservient, gun-shy, die a thousand deaths before you die existence. Loving the one you’re with wasn’t enough for Columbus and shouldn’t be enough for you either, unless you’re the type who actually enjoys going on long walks with your significant other 10 years into your relationship already.

Pig Pen, the unofficial leader of the Grateful Dead and honorary member of the Hell’s Angels during the late sixties, who looked like Captain Morgan and the Sons of Anarchy had a baby, knew a thing or 2 about the importance of flirtation power. Pig Pen was also a powerful harpist, soul fused keyboardist and blues rap singer extraordinaire who had a summer fling with the gypsy queen of ramshackle soul Janis Joplin no less. It was 1967 at the Winterland Ballroom in San Franisco, a converted ice rink converted into a jam rock palace paradise, where Dickey Bets from the Allman Brother’s jammed out with Duane Allman with ferocious fluidity into uncharted, previously unexplored horizons as endless odes to spacious, soul piercing blue skies on the Stratocaster prior filled the air, when Jimi and Santana weren’t making endlessly beautifying a plus atmospheric space hurling blues rock of their own.

But on this night, Pig Pen turned on his love light on the crowd when he encouraged the gun-shy Deadhead stoners to snap out of their stoner stuck funk, when he bellowed with big man, flirtation power, “Get your hands out of your pocket, shake your love maker, and find somebody to love, so you won’t go home again lonely tonight. Love the one you’re with, that being yourself for life, by not letting that pretty girl with rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes pass along by without saying more than hi. In other words, get it while you can, you burnout bitches. Janis did. Flirtation power is your hands. So don’t squander it all just to trip face on tour with the band.”

And that’s why Pig Pen badgering his fan base into acting like more cocksure conquistadors for a change is the greatest flirting conductor story ever sold.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

6 Types of Eggplant Parm

1) Sad, mushy, flavorless, middle-aged malaise.
2) Gross, burnt, disgusting veggies on borderline stale bread.
3) Scary to think someone would willingly buy that shit again.
4) Seething enragement for blowing 10 bucks on rancid breadcrumbs.
5) Complete shocked awe at not completely sucking for a change.
6) Full blown happiness attack because Frank’s Eggplant Parm is the bomb.  

Your kid doesn’t eat dead animals.

Then, take them to Franks for their Eggplant Parm.
And let the fussy free attack ensue.

Frank for President.

Croton Fall’s finest has blessed us with an Eggplant Parm that’s the best of the rest.

And his pizza pies are phenomenal.  Each bite is crackling sweet perfection.  

Garlic Knots will center you again.

And your chakras will no longer feel more clogged than your freshman one hitter.

Let blast off time begin.

Tell Frank, Too Tall Jew sent you, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Dallas Muff On My Mind

I flirt with the Texas pretty manager at a local farm nursery café and say,

“I thought of you last night while watching Rushmore. I didn’t realize the movie was filmed in Dallas. “

Texas pretty manager says, “I actually went to the rival prep school where they filmed it. I say, “I want to shoot my white privilege over your chest so bad right now.” My son thinks you’re solid 7.9 by Dallas Cowboy cheerleader standards. And he’s a tough critic. Can I interest in some Too Tall Jew up in your grassy knoll? Too Tall Jones lives, Challah. We can bang out a new and improved version of Camelot together. We will invent a new sexually charged romance language and jam some sticky Shakespearian juice into the King’s English in the process. Your wholesome, banger pretty looks are all I need to resurrect Latin back from the dead. Carpe these nuts and will make romance languages great again and fuck over those uptight Latin pricks with resounding, stretched out elation.”  Dallas Muff on my mind, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

All Metal Baby

Dear Billy Corgan,

I’m Ric Flair literally, woo. I’m writing a thank you letter like Curious George taught me to do. I want to thank you for bringing NWA wrestling back from the dead. My daddy bought me the NWA All Access Pass for my birthday and I’ve never been happier. I love watching new wrestling matches with daddy. But I want to return the favor and give my daddy some love on his birthday to. I’m his best friend and best friends get each other gifts, right? And he didn’t even get a card from Mimi and Papa this year, so I want to make it up to him in a humongous way. Daddy is a really funny comedian, who’s due to record comedy record 94 this Sunday Less Garbage Lines, yet he’s beginning to feel like an imposter for having no paydays to show for it. He also looks after my older sister Matilda and older brother Arthur. We make a great home team and want nothing more than for daddy’s comedy career to achieve blast off time already. Would you be willing to let my Daddy do five minutes of Nirvana material at Lollapalooza this summer as your opening act? You won’t be disappointed. I’m sending you a demo record he recorded last summer called Burning Mask Party Record. United we laugh, my daddy, proves it every day, yeah, yeah. Daddy is a fan of old school jamming out Chicago to.  I’m guaranteed you’ll be impressed and you better play Rocket if you say yes, or I’ll be pissed Billy. Last, my father is feeling like a mega dumb moron for passing on spending 40 bucks on your debut album Gish, in favor of Deep Purple’s Last Concert in Japan for only 22 bucks on Vinyl instead, which he thought was the deal the century, until he realized soon after that Deep Purple’s Last Concert wasn’t Deep Purple Made in Japan. Don’t get me wrong, Daddy and I are huge David Coverdale fans and adore his live album In Heart of The City that he did with White Snake after he left Deep Purple. Still, I know deep down this mix up brought Daddy down because he loves your band and didn’t buy your album Gish because he was trying to be a frugal pragmatist on his birthday for a change. I hate to end on a down note, but nothing would make daddy happier than get blown away by a sea of laughs this summer in Chicago at Lollapalooza after being stuck like a rat in cage as a Stay-at-Home Shemale Comedian for the past 5 years and counting since I was born, with no grandparents in sight. At the same time, being under house arrest post COVID hasn’t been that much of a radical departure for daddy. Regardless, it’s his time to shine this summer and nothing would make me happier than to see my daddy flying high again.

Your Biggest 5-Year-Old Fan,

Samuel Teddy Kornbluth

P.S. My big sister helped me write this letter. But I can still do more one armed pushed than her. Plus, my big brother did the artwork for Daddy’s record cover Burning Mask Party Record, which is beyond overdue at this point already. Let’s launch a burning mask party on stage together Billy. I know you can do it. Billy Madison lives, Challah, thank you very much. That’s my daddy’s catchphrase by the way.

Dear Samuel Teddy Kornbluth,

I heard your dad’s record Burning Mask Party Record. And you’re correct, it rocks. It would be an honor to help break your father big at Lollapalooza this summer. I can offer him one thousand dollars for five minutes, which should be enough to pay for travel expenses. Although, I see him scoring a recording holding deal after this. Tell your dad that will have a booth set up for him to sell any of his, comedy records and books at the show soon after although I have an idea for a grand entrance that will drive the audience wild for the overall presentation. I’m a big-time wrestling promoter who knows a thing about putting on kick ass show for reason. Stay cool All Metal Baby.

Best Always,

Billy

All Metal Baby descends from a helicopter on a zipline down to the Lollapalooza stage, dressed like Van Halen angel baby from their album 1984 with a cigarette behind his ear. The 500,000 plus crowd goes wild as The Smashing Pumpkins play the intro to Rocket in the background as Billy croons, “Love.” All Metal Baby makes a perfect landing on to the stage from the helicopter. First, he faces the audience and flashes the bird with both middle fingers behind his ears, as if he’s sporting Devil horn middle fingers. Billy Corgan howls, “All Metal Baby in the house, Ronnie James Dio, lives, Challah, thank you very much. Crowd screams with holy shit Joe C lives to, as the crowd roars, “We like to party, rock the party.” Next, All Metal Baby launches into a series of one-armed push-ups while flipping the bird with his remaining free hand. Next, All Metal Baby grabs the cigarette behind his ear, which isn’t a real one but flammable nonetheless, and lights it up before throwing it on top of a pile of masks, which takes this Burning Mask Party that much higher. Then, All Metal Baby hops into a drum set behind his cherished daddy, who always wanted his son to dress up like the Van Halen angel baby for Hanukkah Halloween, so wishes do come true. Then, Do It All Dad launches into his act that was made for these times, starting with, “Nirvana, didn’t kill Hair Metal Aids did, before Magic made HIV disappear.”

The 500,000 plus crowd laughs in one love unison, which screams a Refrigerator Perry touchdown of yesteryear, which is drawn out even longer, after All Metal Baby does a one-handed headstand rim shot on the drums after his daddy’s opening punchline, while sucking on a Scorpion lollipop to boot.

All Metal’s Baby daddy completes his short-lived Nirvana set, made for these times.

I dislike any rock journalist or cultural critic who still lives in Portland, Oregon or in Seattle, Washington, ANTIFA apartheid represent. Especially those intent on selling us why Kurt Cobain was destined to become another rock casualty cliche due to a stomach irritation aggravated from too much soy. But at the height of his popularity, with all the f-you money in the world to avoid touring if he wanted to, after becoming a proud, doting father no less, Kurt Cobain wanted to pull an Ernest Hemingway after his shotgun marriage to Sloppy Seconds Hole? Because Kurt Cobain couldn’t bear the burden of being branded as the voice of Generation X by Tabitha Soren, when Sonic Youth had less brand name recognition on MTV than the Fine Young Cannibals or Midnight Oil throughout the early nineties for that matter?

Kurt Cobain admitted that their records sounded closer to Motley Crue records than punk rock ones, which doesn’t make him sound like the overgrown kid in the Jermey video on the verge off blowing his brains out over his Trapper Keeper in AP Bio either.

And Kurt Cobain killing himself at 27 no less, which is when Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison died from accidental overdoses is too cliche ridden planned for a rock star who raided his dead grandma’s closet for her most unflattering, wool sweater to sport on MTV Unplugged.

In the song In Bloom, Kurt Cobain sneered at meathead jocks with hardcore sardonic disdain, more likely to be first in line to see the Foo Fighters play the first MSG show post pandemic for the privilege of seeing big pharma sell out shill Dave Grohl perform in front of a vaccinated only crowd, to mark another monotone milestone through their edgeless, ever long lives. Yet were supposed to believe Kurt Cobain would give those same homophobe faggots in University of Maryland hats, who like to sing along to his “pretty songs”, the satisfaction of killing off his legacy as being the most kick ass, wildly popular non-conformist artist of his generation by proving to be another unoriginal, poser artist burnout tale of premature, blatantly avoidable ruin on VH1 Behind the Music like the rest. Yeah, and Eddie Vedder met his banger pretty wife at a lesbo coffee shop in Seattle for slam toxic masculinity night.

All I’m saying is that Kurt Cobain was not one to do cliche, outside of doing his best Sid and Nancy impersonation with Courtney Love for a bit. And in the end, his overhyped stomach pains cited as the main driving force behind blowing his brains out after framing his vision of becoming a middle-aged junkie artist like a modern-day William Boroughs to Courtney Love as an easily attainable goal to shoot for, has been blown way out of proportion, like the working effectiveness of COVID 19 vaccination shot, which works less than an Alice and Chains cover band today at BYU, with Mitt Romney in town.

Personally, I love the Courtney Love Hole album, Live Through This, even more than Nevermind, even if ex-boyfriend Billy Corgan penned the lion share of her monster lyrics on it like, “I shit my bed from doing too much H. So, I might as well die in it.” Plus, I can’t hate someone who called Linda Sarsour a fake news feminist who had no business attending the Woman’s March on Washington because of the Palestinian freedom fighter’s support of clitoral mutilation to ensure Muslim housewives receive zero pleasure on earth before being stoned to death for the crime of being spotted in their full-length Burkas in Sex and The City 2. So, if siding with Courtney Love for calling Linda Sarsour a fake feminist, makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with it. Challah, thank you very much.

Truth is, Kurt Cobain wouldn’t be caught dead in Starbucks if his Sonic Youth record collection was riding on it. So, I don’t buy Kurt Cobain feeding into the packaged brand of brooding depressive consumerism by killing himself at the height of his popularity who caused a bigger eruption in Courtney’s Love pants than Eddie Van Halen ever did. Nor do I buy into the forced fed, media manipulated assertion that Kurt Cobain was too much of a gun-shy pussy to persist rocking in a hyper focused Internet world of do or die capitalism Man. A victimized Twitter Twat, he wasn’t it, “Here we are now, entertain us, I feel stupid and contagious because I shared a needle with Magic Johnson’s number one groupie in Seattle. You want a remake of Sleepless in Seattle post Kids you got it.

Last, did you know Kurt Cobain predicted that an outsider who never worked in politics could become President of the United States like Trump one day? Ok, so maybe Kurt Cobain killed himself for a reason, knowing that the eventual advent of social media would unearth the A Plus narcissist in us all. Neither Republicans nor Democrats have a monopoly on messianic right, God does. The sooner were all able to unite around that absolute truth of one love, under one God, who knows above all else, when you’re being an insufferable, know it all twat, on the alleged right side of ethical moralism, the better.

Shit, at least I’m self-aware enough to proclaim Jesus doesn’t want me for a sunbeam yet. But thank God, I still have time to seek absolution for being the biggest prick in the east, since Alec Baldwin admits no fault for acting like an all-over the place Jew since he quit self-medicating by getting loaded. Short lived Nirvana lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

The following day, Rolling Stone Magazine called All Metal Baby the ultimate smash hit at Lollapalooza during the summer of 2022. At the same time, his daddy now nicknamed by Billy Corgan as Killerset Kornbluth wasn’t chopped liver either. And for those about to rock, All Metal Baby salutes you, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Older Than Aids

You want to talk feeling old?
I just met a bartender in Arizona who never heard of Van Halen. I said, “Have you tried Sammy Hagger’s tequila yet? Bet it goes down Van Halen light.” Bartender says, “Who’s Van Halen?” I said, “The reason why I use my son as a mini air guitar appendage.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Zamboni Artist

“No friendship is an accident.”

O. Henry

If a husband googles an ex-girlfriend 3 kids later, does it mean he’s officially divorced from great expectations at home? At the same time, what man isn’t guilty of reflecting fondly on spoiled summers past? Especially, when you’ve had to suck up another frigid east coast winter in the face of permanent career stagnation suckitude again. The same winter and so-called comedy career that felt colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons when you’re not laughing all the way to the bank yet. But at least, Harvey Weinstein’s wife of the past 12 years finally left him, to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. Now, Solomon Kornbluth, a proud stay at home podcast comedian was on thin ice with his wife of 12 years for failing to make any money off his sheets of comedy gold, despite him urging his accountant to write off such an awe inspiring, sparkly array of A plus gemry dissemination on his Do It All Dad time blog and Do It All Dad Time podcast as a generous charitable donation.  What 45-year-old non-industry repped, so called Comedian, Solomon Kornbluth wanted was a win, but not just any win, like getting another comedy record Mega Dumb Daddy reposted on Sound Cloud again by some random, faceless music promo service, but an actual trophy, symbolizing how in this instance Solmon Kornbluth was best of the rest.

Solomon Kornbluth had won some awards in the past, but they weren’t a result of superior mental toughness, sustained physical dominance or a result of outperforming his competition for number 1 champion bragging rights either. Winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleep Away Camp was an incredibly moving moment for Solomon Kornbluth because despite not knowing the full extent of it yet, he was an overly sensitive, lonely, shy, nerve plagued fag, who blew off Canteen mixers with the fellow female camp members to shoot hoop and read his Cracked comics in bed alone instead after cranking one out to freckle face specked Allyssia Rody, a counselor for the female camp who wore University Maryland boxer shorts, creeping up her supple, spry ass as Dice would say back in the day. And her mountainous cleavage formation was a thing of immovable, feast worthy beauty as those gorgeous melons dangled like luscious lobes of mouth drooling inducing perfection. Ok, so maybe Solomon Kornbluth wasn’t 100 percent gay yet, especially knowing how a fellow bunkmate tried to shame him once for owning a jar of Vaseline while having no idea what that meant. Bunkmate Jordan from New Jersey says in a crackling, just a day over puberty voice, “What do you need that Vaseline for Solomon?” And Solomon says, “I don’t know, for an itchy ass. My mom packed it for me.” Bunkmate Jordan laughs in a slightly demented, pseudo bellowing manner and says, “You can’t blame your mom for being a fudge packer dude.”

Later, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast, Solomon Kornbluth would do a routine about Sex-Ed in Sleepaway Camp throughout the late eighties before Magic made HIV disappear. He says, “Do 3rd graders today really need to know about scented lubes after using good old-fashioned Vaseline became passe already? When I was 13-year-olds at Sleepaway Camp, but still not into the puberty party yet, one of my bunkmates gay shamed me for my mom packing me Vaseline yet I still didn’t get gay lube joke connotations used at my expense till watching shemale porn decades later on 3rd Legged Beauties.com, if you really to know. It’s hard to develop any surge of self-esteem at Sleepaway camp, when you’re the 2nd worst athlete there after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck in yenta breath Seinfeld country. Seinfeld otherwise known as the “Joke Doctor”, just auctioned off one of his vintage Porsche’s for Charity. I hope half that half of those proceeds went to Larry’s kids. I also don’t want Seinfeld smirking for at least 5 years till he gives us a semi-credible excuse on being completely oblivious to Bill Cosby’s 4-decade reign of rape throughout fantastic LA, up high in those Hollywood drugging hills. Where were your powers of observation, then, Jerry? Also, why isn’t Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame already?  They were already Hall of Fame bound when I used to collect their cards at camp. Plus, if I took HGH, Testosterone Shots or any form of performing enhancing drugs at Sleep Away Camp, I just would’ve struck out at a more accelerated speed.”

Solomon Kornbluth never got into collecting hockey cards until his friend Jared got him into the NY Rangers in 93, encouraging him to buy all the hocky cards he could so he could snag an Eric Lindros rookie card of his own, bound to be worth big money one day, who was being hyped as the new great one post Gretzky, who had a bigger mark on his back than Trump did after her triggered the Swamp with fits of despair for relegating good old Jeb Bush to another low energy, half wit hack for hire like the rest. Solomon Kornbluth targeted Laura Bush in his debut comedy album Resist This when he said, “Fuck Laura Bush for thinking the world gives a shit about her memoir, Texas Librarians Know Best.” At least, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles was willing to get rich or die trying bitch. And this is an impression of Stevie Nicks backstage at MSG, “Hillary, tell me lies, only sweet little lies. Versus humongous bitter ones, like how you lost to Trump because of Russian collusion, involving fantasy tales of Drago Holograms emerging in your voting booth only to threaten you with impossible to ignore ultimatums like, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.” I thought you lost to Trump because you’re an unhuggable cunt, my bad. You must have deleted that memo to Hillary. And why would Trump hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on him at a hotel in Moscow, when he can hire a bunch of Ivanka look-alikes to do the same thing at his hotel in D.C whenever pussy grabber likes?”

One time Solomon and Jared got caught shoplifting Hocky Cards at Child World, yet the security guard let them off with an ominous warning, when he said, “I’m going let you 2 go, but understand the only reason I caught you 2 was because you came back to steal again and got greedy.”  This damning, ominous indictment of greedy self-serving behavior always stayed with Solomon Kornbluth who obviously didn’t pay homage to the commandment Thou Shall Not Steal one iota for some time after. Even his younger brother shamed him into stop stealing Turkey Jerky at Gelson’s as the ultimate shishy bitch life enhancer back in the day. Little bro says,” “Never steal, it’s wrong bro” And this is years after his younger brother, AKA Sir Snort A Lot, was caught on a security camera stealing thousands from his parents ATM to buy more blow at 13 years old in Washington Heights from Julio Silver Blade The 3, which resulted in his parents shipping him off to boarding school with a bunch Jew picking on Hocky jocks in Avon, CT. So Solomon Kornbluth knew what a steep price his parents had to pay for his younger brother’s crimes of incessant, serially serving selfishness like a pseudo slacker underachiever Hunter in the making, who never had the privilege of being able to collect 52 grand a month from a Ukrainian sports drink company for pushing Borscht as the new Kombucha.  

One day Solomon Kornbluth got burnt out on making the world laugh for free on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast again and went to the local hockey rink for a cheap Happy Hour special and was greeted by an Italian bartender, Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, who’s known to stir memories of ex-girlfriend’s past. Vinnie notices how Solomon Kornbluth is a tad low energy, hunched over his phone without much fiery glint in his eyes. Vinnie says, “Is that IPA stale champ?” Do you want something a tad lighter that’s more poundable like any yenta breath from Long Island on Spring Break?” Solomon Kornbluth laughs and asks, “What’s your story? Bartenders never make me laugh, unless they’re sporting a winter wool hat in summer.” Vinnie says “I’m Vinnie Zamboni the 2rd, my great, great, grandfather invented the Zamboni machine. I do the light shows for the hocky rink. My Zamboni driving days are behind me, cool job though when your 16. I plowed my fair of share of ice queen boxes on top of that puss plower machine. Solomon says, “What type of light shows do you produce? The one at Hayden Planetarium is boring, I felt asleep 2 minutes into it. Daughter woke me with a sharp elbow in my ribs and I yell, “What, God only made Neil Grase Dyson interesting for 2-minute spurts at a time.” Vinnie Zamboni The 2nd laughs and says, “You’re a pretty funny guy yourself. So, what’s bringing you down champ? Solomon Kornbluth says, “Just longing for some fun in the sun again, 2 unplanned kids later. That’s what I get for being a degenerate pothead who keeps on forgetting to ask his girl if she’s on the pill.  What’s bringing me down is realizing how I’m getting bored of my kid’s company and need to get back on stage again. Plus, my pinched nerve in my back is killing me since my wife forced me to see a Hate Speech Therapist since I stopped taking Adderall to focus less on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be after droppings lines such as, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his early thirties wanted kids ever.  I’m doing a Google Search for a chiropractor, and I end up finding my ex in Hawaii who I met when I used to live in Hermosa Beach. How could I ever forget Summer King beyond those Hermosa skies? Then, I googled a comedy festival in Hawaii, but realized it’s been canceled because of this COVID damage done bullshit, so it got me down because I know I can win it. The only awards I ever won was Grooviest my Senior Year in High School and Most Improved Basketball Player at Sleep Away Camp. I was also wined and dined after leading my IT agency sales office in billing one month and got to party it up in the Sunset Room in fantastic LA once but that’s it. my But I want to win that comedy festival and blast off away in my comedy gold mobile wave runner, which nobody will ever be able to take away from me. George Gershwin lives, Challah, thank you very much. If I can’t afford to get my son the SS flag GI-Joe Aircraft Carrier for Hanukkah, at least I can let him ride my comedy gold wave runner mobile. How much would gas cost to ride that wave runner back to New York exactly? I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.”

Vinnie says, “So I produce light shows flush with holograms of hocky legends both dead and new like Bobby Hull, The Mighty Messier, and reenact legendary fights like when Ty Domi fought Bob Probert in 94, when he poses with the belt around his waist, boy were those the days, pre-social media, before you had to hear lines on kids shows about some character being the Lebron James of stem cell research. What the fuck does that even mean? Is he a celeb Scientist that has his own brand of tequila spiked umbilical cord stump smoothies that he sold to Bill Gates for a cool 500 million or what? Can you believe kids today get Beyond Meat tattoos around these parts? I freelance as a Tattoo artist for my brother’s Tat Parlor in Danbury, CT called Body Art USA.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “I’ve been telling my local Pizza owner Frank to make an artichoke slice using an alfredo cream sauce, versus just a boring white slice with flaccid, deathly off-white artichokes on it, that will inspire hipsters from Bushwick to make the schlep down to these parts just to Yelp all about it. Plus, I’m getting pissed about Bill Gate’s equestrian riding daughter already owning half the real estate in North Salem already. So, I love the idea of Frank being able to grab a meatier slice of that synthetic pea protein, beyond meat pie.” Vinnie says, “So whatever happened to your Summer Wind? Solomon says, “She smiled at me one day with her soul blasting eyes that screamed I love you, and for some strange reason, my eyes didn’t love her back. One time she died her blond, when I took her out to meet up with a friend of mine in Nappa and everyone thought she was a high-end prostitute, because she dressed real classy sexy with the tight dress, creeping up her ass. I loved kissing Summer King. We’d do weed shotgun kisses together, which were the best. We made veal piccata while watching the Soprano’s together, drank Pyramid peach beers by Hermosa Beach and nobody sported prettier feet in the sand than Summer King. Vinnie says, “Summer sounds like a real trophy wife material.” Solomon says, “Yeah, she even said, “Why don’t we move to Santa Barbara so I could write books and she could day trade to make us money for the time being. Boy, did I fuck that one up. Vinnie says, “I hate to bring you down more than you already are Champ, but you’re right.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “Summer liked Metallica, Wu Tang, the Soparnos and loved everything about me. She thought I could be a big-time writer just from reading my Friends spec script for Christ’s sake. Vinnie says, “I already told you fucked up bro. I’m known as the ex-girlfriend stirrer but you’re just progressively pissing me off for being such a dumb fuck for expunging her from your life jerkoff. You don’t think I want to kick back in the sand with a hot Asian gal from Hawaii in pebble free Hermosa Beach with a gal named Summer King no less for Christ’s sake” I had to suck up summers in an ocean full of seashells and fucking nets of seaweed in Norwalk, CT for Christ’s sake. Plus, my brother owns this rink and its family tradition to keep it family operated. You’re a little old for it, but do you want a job riding a Zamboni? We’re already running around in circles, so why not take your sad sack sob story around the ice for a couple of laps because you’re bringing me down and enraging me at the same time. I’m paraphrasing but Mark Twain said writers write interesting stories who’ve possessed a series of interesting, varied jobs, so why not a give the Zamboni driver job a shot champ? You obviously have nothing better do with your time on a Sunday, ultra-wise King Solomon you’re not.”

Solomon Kornbluth took the job and smoothed over the rough patches with his wife at home before being promoted to chief Zamboni manager, who worked on his MC skills as the host of a weekly Karaoke night, rocking out renditions of Baba O’Reily with real deal star powered authority. Then, one year later, Solomon Kornbluth got his trophy and won the Aloha Comedy Festival, coming in 1st place and was able to take his wife, and mother of 3 children for endless, killer spins in his new comedy gold mobile for one memory rich victory lap after the next after, delivering a killer set for the ages that started off like this.  

Solomon Kornbluth Kills

It’s hard to keep cool when your kids were forced to wear masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain.

If Michael Jackson were alive today, how would he defend himself against all his Neverland accusers exactly? Would the King of Popping cherries say, “All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’ t buy me love?”

Anyone try Snoop Dog’s new wine?  According to Wine Advocate, it tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.

Actually, gave up drinking beer last summer. It got humiliating spending so much time, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush, littered past, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.

Did you know 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday? After learning this, I felt more betrayed than the time Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

Stopped smoking weed till I discovered weed edibles, which are half CBD because I felt like a total moron trying to answer my daughter’s questions on the pure sticky stuff. Daughter asks, “Daddy if God created the universe, then who created God?  I say, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “Real convincing Daddy. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”

And this is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Time Magazine. Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake news, MAN.”

And if Obama is such a baller, why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?

What if Bob Marley became President of the United States, so Obama didn’t have to? For starters, there’s no more trouble and it’d be a punky reggae party tonight and we’d be jamming in the name of the Lord, not in honor of Allah’s Gangster ruining paradise, especially since the hopeful one rebranded ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more start up friendly in the NY Times.

And ISIS Headhunters aren’t good recruiters. All they do is target other lonely virgins on Face Book Messenger like Good Will Hoodie/AKA Zit Face Zuck, who wish their phones blew up.

But killing the number 2 in charge of ISIS made it easier for ISIS to recruit. Like the head of recruitment for ISIS would ever honor a non-compete agreement with Al-Qaeda.

And why are radical jihadists so into deflowering virgins in Allah’s hymen hacking Paradise? Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already?

Other text in the Koran also promises the duration of sex greatly prolonged and its pleasure enduring. Spoken like a like a true Virgin asshole till the end of time and I feel fine, Challah, thank you very much.

Solomon Kornbluth was later blown up to smithereens on his Comedy Gold Mobile Wave Runner in the Red Sea by Hamas terrorists after headlining a comedy tour there called, “King Solomon Kornbluth Lives”, because a 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking.

Still, what’s better than a 1st place Trophy is a new award in your honor, given every year at the Standin O Laughs Festival in Haifa called the Killer Kornbluth Award, honored to a comic that year, who exhibited fearless, killer shtick till his last dying breath.  

All 3 of Solomon’s killer Koshertarian kids won the Killer Kornbluth Award in their dear dad’s honor soon after. So comedic royalty in the mold of King Solmon Kornbluth did live on through Do It All Dad’s big three after all.

And Solomon Kornbluth had his new Zamboni Artist friend to thank for his victory laps in his Comedy Gold Mobile, taken with his 3 biggest fans in the universe while squeezing on to their dear dada with all their loving might in his custom made, stretched 3-seater Wave Runner. The same team who always stood by his side, especially when his comedy career was ice cold, when mama would threaten to kick him out the house whenever the mood struck, and not even Hamas, despite them trying, could ever that away from thee.  Unplanned favorites rule, proving once again how no friendship is an accident. O. Henry lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Sacred Cow Cooking

Wife had a Hillary Clinton spotting during lunch recently with my son. Wife says, “Hillary was nice. She smiled at baby.” I said, “Of course Hillary smiled at baby. Hillary was getting warmed up for dessert.”

Emotionally Compelling Situation:

A Coroner who gives an honest toxicology report about fake news media manipulation for a change. Let’s call the book, “The Coroner Conspiracy Theorist.” Soon after, the Funeral Director calls in Zombie backup once the Deep State sends in hit men silencers to prevent the COVID clot shot expose otherwise.

Emotionally Compelling Situation part II.

A Supreme Court Justice nominee receives a thank you note from a convicted sex offender for being soft on pedophilia. “Thanks for the Pete Townsend, just doing opposition research defense for a song about the proliferation of kiddie porn today called, “Cherry Picking Private Parts, It’s So Easy, Easy, When Everyone Under 10 Years of Age Is Out to Please Me Baby.”

Emotionally Compelling Situation part III.

A big brother asks for his wedding gift back after his ex-wife already pawned off her engagement ring. Big bro calls, “Hey bro, with my 46th birthday around the corner, I was thinking you could regift my Nintendo wedding gift, especially those added games like Pro Wrestling and Double Dribble knowing how your marriage lasted longer than Knick playoff runs during the Carmelo Anthony era. Who should be the co-spokesperson with Westbrook for Tampax Tampons because name another offensive duo responsible for stopping so much flowage. Little bro asks, “Why would I do that?” I say, “Because it would be a gift for all 3 kids and when you add up their ages 8, 11 and 5 and your 23 gifts behind. And you’ll be off the hook for 23 more years, when they won’t expect you to be another uncle to be uninvolved with anymore.”

Emotionally Compelling Situation Part IIII:

How does an autistic pastry chef/activist/models bring an autistic perspective to the BLM movement? Does he count all the ways BLM leaders burned their credibility through charges of tax evasion while blowtorching tops on rows of Creme Brulees?

Just read about an all-girl Muslim prom in Detroit. So, their prom was like mine, pork free.

Minneapolis Mosques are allowed to blast the call to prayer on outdoor speakers all year around now. I didn’t realize they were struggling to amplify their cries of Islamophobia despite averaging 5 shoutouts a day of Allah Akbar already.

Fuck your Pandemic talk. The real pandemic is the vax shot which depresses your immune system more than entry into the Dallas Buyers Club.

1 kid only means your diaphragm is for walls after all.

Why does Planned Parenthood need a 20 million donation from Jeff Bezos’s ex -wife? Planned Parenthood only made 184 million in revenue after teaming up with Gate’s ex-wife to fight off the surge in global warming by selling their own brand of umbilical chard stump smoothies, while rebranding them as Century Club Elixers in honor of Bill and Fauci. In other words, year of the Four Eyed Snakes, Challah. Cooking Sacred Cows rule. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Comedian Medium

Can too much goodness be a career impediment? My 5-Year-Old Son, Chosen Curls Was Bound to Woo thinks so. He says, “Daddy, your comedy records are too good like Over The Top Disorder, Blast Off Time and Flipper Bird Baby. I say, “So you think Indy records labels I’ve shared links with like the one Kevin Hart owns are intimidated by my over-the-top towering genius 90 records later compared to their miniscule, pathetically weak punchline offerings in return?” Chosen Curls replies, “Your comedy records are too good moron, got it. Maybe, you should make them half good, half suck, so you don’t come across as completely full of yourself if it half sucks. Rocky didn’t win every round against Apollo, remember?”

For the 1st night of Hanukkah, I got my son some old school WWF wrestling action figures including Mr. Wonderful, Mr. Fuji and Superfly Jimmy Snuka yet what provided him the most joy was the Rocky 1 soundtrack on vinyl. The moment the needle hit wax, Chosen Curls otherwise as known as Kung Fu Lightening and Hardcore Hunga Zone began to perform a series of one-armed pushups on the floor because it will “make him tougher.” The way I allow him to hit me in the face when I box him on my knees on our Rocky rug downstairs with his Everlast gloves as a form of flinch freeing treatment, so I don’t remain pushover putzy no more, no more. Aerosmith Rocks lives, Challah, thank you very much.

Growing up, I didn’t back way from any fist fights, but I did refrain from hurling insults whenever they were thrown my way like accusations of me eating my own jiz at the Nurse’s office, after I admitted to touching myself in there prior like a mongoloid moron, which later inspired an opening scene in my TV Pilot pitched to VH1 Classic Heavy Metal High, when my imaginary guiding star Andrew Dice Clay appears in the Nurse’s Office after I become the last member of my class to get into the puberty party. A puff of smoke clears, Dice flashes the bedazzled Dice Rules Leather jacket and starts clapping, before saying, “Congratulations, you finally achieved blastoff jerkoff.” Dice adds, “Jerking off doesn’t make you a man. It’s how you use your balls that matters most in this world kid.”

It’s hard to feel that you’re being super ballsy recording non-stop comedy records at home for 8 months in a row. Still, my wife threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn’t get a real job already and dared to write any more books before I doubled down on my imagination on her dime a bit and wrote The Koshertarian Comedian in addition to Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories. So, I can’t claim how I’m guilty of playing it safe either, especially after releasing comedy record titles such as Funny Enough Fagala, far from straight, I’m not.

But what’s nagging my psyche today on the Comedian Medium podcast, dead writer ghost talk, for you and me, is whether my excessive goodness is being used against me. I want to summon the ghost of William Blake to discuss concepts such as self-sacrifice in contrast to Ayn Rand’s ardent belief in only being able to achieve personal happiness and career fulfillment by not living out the expectations for the sake of others. Charles Bukowski says, “Writers are awful, selfish people, who save the best versions of themselves on the page.” Perhaps, I always viewed my writing as my idealized self, who’s funny, smart, brave, secure, energized, big hearted and borderline poetic as opposed to feeling like a floundering, touchy feely bitch in real life on Adderall or off.  I think most of my rage issues stem from allowing my younger brother, parents and old friends to ruin everything for me again and again. Why do they aggravate me so much? Because they’re not good enough for me anymore, which explains why I seek love from strangers for a living through my books, blogs, comedy records and podcast episodes involving dead writers who provide more varied company that I crave, who don’t pretend to be my biggest fan or loyalist supporter when they can’t even acknowledge a new comedy record posting on LinkedIn to shake up the stagnant, gun-shy boredom in the straight world. Courtney Love lives, Challah. Thank you very much. How can I honestly claim any enviable connection to old friends, a younger brother or parents when not once have they asked how’s the comedy career going over the past 5 years since my lucky number 3, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was born?

Fuck their half ass insincerity. Fuck their glaring indifference to the greatest funny man hot streak known to mankind. Fuck their belief in thinking I should be grateful for their sloppy second treatment at all. Fuck their claims of good things happening to good people. Tell that to every family forced into bankruptcy after losing their jobs over forced mandates to prevent the common good from catching an itchy esophagus. Fuck my brother for blaming his opioid pill addition on his wife and for my parents buying that bullshit narrative like Big Tech being nothing more than freedom of speech killing bastards in bed with ANTIFA whose members resemble a bunch of Punisher vigilante wannabes in hoodies who never outgrew their pyromania phase. Fuck any friend who started ignoring my being because I went into the funny man show business on my own and used to support Trump on my old Do It All Dad Year Podcast for free. And fuck all woman who react with, “Ah”, anytime I write something, sweet and thoughtful in their honor on a LinkedIn messaging board for others to see. It makes me want to gag on a bag full of dicks for opening my beautiful heart soon after. I think my problem is that I’m too big hearted. How do I become less big hearted? Become a more enraged 1st responder whenever a friend takes his sweet ass time to reply with a “thanks bud”, after I text him Good Dad +Good Friend +Good Brother+ Good Husband + Good Jew=100 Percent Mensch proof. Are good people the most generous with their time pleasing others versus themselves? I also don’t buy into this horseshit premise about how were supposed to be content with old friends from our past reflecting our less sure, outmoded selves, when we outgrow their measured praise when we get older, especially, when they’ve shown no interest in your new and improved offspring after writing your well-reviewed book, Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story, no less. At least, he writes really funny jokes. Go fuck yourself, I create a video with my daughter about your younger sister beating cancer and that’s the best you can do to pretend about actually giving a shit about me succeeding in this world with a family of 5 to provide for. It makes me sick to think I wasted any time caring about these friend’s opinions, when none of them haven taken any ballsy chances with their life whatsoever. And you’re going try to demean me and reduce me to some flailing desperate clown in need of your loving laughing approval after God came into my heart, blessing me with 3 Koshertarian comedian kids later as I proceed to plow forward with the greatest comedy record streak of all time, with comedy record 91 Too Much Goodness, coming out later tonight, yeah, you can go fuck yourself to. We weren’t that close to begin with. As usual, I romanticize all relationships way out of proportion and gave you blah brained fucks way too much benefit of the doubt. I’m the good life giver, not you asshole. Edgy energy star, you’re not. Over the top artist, not in your wildest dreams bud. So, let’s conjure William Blake already before I come across as too jaded bitter for Marc Maron’s taste before his podcast broke big.

“Yoh, William is anyone out there? What’s your favorite Door’s album? Did your pen pal Thomas Paine have enough common sense to wrap his tool before banging those busty broads in London town after Ben Franklin got 1st dibs on the house for inventing soothing bath salts for herpes? Wow, your ghost spirit looks mighty pissed off Blake. You’re redder in the face than other writer ghosts from podcast episodes past. I love your line, “Exuberance is beauty.” Because it makes my father look like an asshole whenever he tells me to calm down because if I don’t get giddy about my own brand hardcore hilarity, nobody else will. Plus, my wife freaks out if we’re out in public at a bar due to my tendency to perform in front of crowds like any self-respecting slut in a strait jacket would.” Ghost of Willaim Blake screams, “Shut up already. You’re an unholy father, who doesn’t accept Jesus Christ as his lord and savior, who wrote a blasphemous chapter called Jesus Killer Set in The Great American Jew Novel. Isn’t that correct?”

“I love being quoted by dead writer ghosts I admire almost as much as my son Chosen Curls quoting my comedy records like Not Kosher Baby, Challah, thank you very much. “

Ghost of William Blake says, “How does The Great American Jew Novel sell more copies than my self-published book of poetry, Songs Of Innocence & of Experience? Granted, my book only sold 33 copies but still. I made the Doors. Jim Morrison doesn’t exist without me. You named your son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, whoopty freaking do.”

“You mean The Sun Butter King, AKA, Art Show USA. I almost gave Arthur the middle name Brooks, in honor of comedian Albert Brooks but I didn’t want to give my son the permission to become a Jewish pussy. So, I named him Arthur Morrison Kornbluth instead, which is only fitting because his builder artist mind mojo keeps on rising, rising. I’m not crafting stories in his honor such as The Wishing Well Architect for nothing.  Yeah, so come up with a better book title that’s less schizophrenic than Songs of Innocence & Experience Blake, and I’ll give a shit about your anemic books sales again. You’re not going to give Walt Whitman sustained stiffage with a horseshit title like Songs of Innocence & Experience is all I’m saying. Not that Leaves of Grass is anything to write home about either Blake. Then again, neither of you were blessed with the funny Jew bone. And mine is more well-endowed by my maker than most, Challah, Big Mouth Moses lives. Thank you very much.”

Michael Kornbluth