How do you elevate enthusiasm? Getting paid to give a shit always helps. If my dad could only make money off my comedy, he could become my manager and have a vested interest in emoting and promoting in my honor for a change. Versus acting ho-hum in my presence since I became a Stay-At-Home Comedian, who takes extreme offense at me asking my accountant if I can write off my never-ending joke gem dissemination on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast as a charitable donation. What makes me such a world class enthusiast today outside of yanking off my own material again long time, all the time? Never feeling the need to prove my cultural cool cred by attending Hamilton, which is worse than Obama rapping or pretending to be a world class baller because he rode the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii helps. Hamilton rapping isn’t divisive? But you were separated from 400 Benjamins before dinner, for the priveledge of hearing a play cited by Hillary Hamer Time Cankles at the Democratic National Convention, before she failed to sell 80 million branded racists on why baby boomer mom knows best.
Today, I’m giddy because a new broadcast audio app that allows fans and certain paid commentors to perform live running commentary for various sporting events is offering me an opportunity to shine as their new paid star comedic voice to rant and roll on my 1st love before Motley Crew and AC/DC, the New York Knicks. Actually, haven’t watched a Knicks game since the Knicks traded KP for a box of cotton candy because his Latvian brother agent made Knicks owner James Dolan painfully uncomfortable because he sounds too much like the Russian mob boss in 25th Hour. Prior, I never got over MSG management ordering security to escort Charles Oakley out of the world’s most famous arena for an alleged hate speech violation, despite Trump critics not having that silence treatment to squelch pro Trumpian trash talk just yet. From what I recall, Knicks owner James Owner biggest beef with Charles Oakley besides him openly criticizing many front office moves was an ex-Knicks player of Charle’s Oakley’s magnitude using his carwash owner and private barbeque catering money to pay his own way to floor seats at the Garden, without having to rely on any meager handout greeter jobs from Cardinal Dolan unlike Larry Johnson who had more mouths to feed last the time I checked. Charles Oakley was always stronger at pulling off a convincing head fake from 12 feet out. If Larry Johnson wasn’t such an explosive player in the lane at UNLV and with the Charlotte Hornets soon after, he could’ve developed a more reliable pump fake in the driving lane earlier than later after he developed back issues from throwing it into every groupie south of the mason Dixon line. But the original super Jew Jesus Christ promoted the liberating power of forgiveness. So, I’m ready to give the Knicks another shot of love, which shouldn’t be a stretch, because I’m very confident in my ability to get paid to give a shit about emoting and promoting Knick fan enthusiasm again. Especially knowing how my future investors in me, are budding fans already and I’ve always performed with extra fiery gusto for those who took an effusive interest in my special sparkly brand of me. Plus, the Knicks are stacked with youthful, versatile, ultra-agile talent this year compared to Knicks teams of winter break blur pasts, despite stand out moments such as John Stark’s jack in the box launch stuff over Air Jordan, back when Scottie Pippen rightfully bitched for getting paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. Bernard King huffing and stuffing, going to coast to coast like a bat out of Brooklyn on the A line express to Broadway happened a tad before my prime viewing on MSG time while soaking up the rhyming and styling profiling’s of the coolest, flyest color analyst to ever grace the mic, Walt Clyde the Glide Frazier. Sure, Latrell Sprewell showcasing some sporadic sprouts of spry dashing and dishing quickness in the lane after choking the crusty old white privilege out of PJ Carlesimo when he played for Golden State in a NY minute. Later, inspiring me to coin the New York Knicks Dictionary Modern Edition including such as hardcore hilarious entries such as Spree (V) To Flee from an impending choke hold. Actually, used that 13-year-old punchline in my original cover letter that’s lead to my call back audition on Friday when I’ll be doing a live color cast broadcast for the Knicks versus the never scary Washington Bullets. No longer having to box out Wes Unseld under the boards could carry the masked Atlas on Five Avenue on his shoulders for Christ’s sake.
A new study says, Knicks fans are the most loyal fanbase, especially compared to Brooklyn Nets fans, who most likely never heard of Drazen Petrovic who would’ve manhandled Luka Donic like a 5-star Dallas stripper at Scores on audition night. I’m member of Generation X but have played no role in the garbage heap time suck the Internet has become. My generation has never been able to enjoy sex paranoid free despite Magic making HIV disappear. We’ve also lived through 9/11 in our twenties, multiple recessions going on 3, whose kids are forced to wear masks at school looking like Michael Jackson’s freak kids on holiday in Bahrain. Now, it looks like will pay more for monthly gas heating bills this coming dark winter than the electric bill tab for 311’s hydroponic farm in Santa Cruz for the year. As a result, members of Generation X like our comedy like our coffee, dark and bitter. Any kid today sporting a Steph Curry jersey who’s never stepped over trolly tracks of shit throughout the streets of San Francisco is the apart of the bandwagon generation.
Anyone see the new doc on Dr. Fauci by National Geographic? Did Ken Burns direct it or does he socially distance himself from mass murderers that have nothing to do with murder’s row on Yankee dynasty teams on baseball docs for PBS? Imagine Lou Gehrig breaking his iron man streaking after snagging an itchy esophagus from COVID? Cal Ripken Junior wouldn’t have resembled Bea Arthur Senior on top, grinding out 5000 lifetimes to catch up with his extended playing streak already. Lou Gehrig had 25 bone fractures in his hand by the time he broke the all-time consecutive streak. So, I don’t see him quitting his rigorous playing steak over a severe case of the sniffles. They called him the Iron Horse for a reason, not Leo Epstein from Biloxi Blues.
Daughter had after school Fairy Club today. One her classmates made fun of her for it. She said, “Fairy club is for little girls.” I said, “No it isn’t. Woke Superman is into fairies now to.” Call me old fashioned, but I don’t want Superman speeding toward any hole of desire. He’s freaking Superman. Granted, Lois Lane was a fag hag if there ever was one. Still, aren’t superheroes similar to the Jedi because they reject the life of fleshy pursing passion, even if they’re capable of shooting off loads faster than a speeding bullet on a bullet train to an Octopus anime porn convention in downtown Tokyo, where only the hell hole dammed roam. How would Superman today describe an uncircumcised penis? Would Superman say, “Picture the earthworm from Dune if you’re about to entertain Paulie Pine Nuts at Scores for a Saints of Newark after hours party. Was it me or was the portrayal of a young Tony less arousing than Dr. Melfi in bellbottoms? Also, my friends went to bodegas to get forties of old English, when we were underage. Old E, Snoop Dog’s old school ho sprayer of choice. But for some frigging reason, a young Tony isn’t enterprising enough to score some beer without his connected uncle’s help? Tony couldn’t have scored some malt liquor at a bodega in Newark, who wouldn’t mind poisoning the white boy with more demon drink for a change? I thought Tony was in fucking Mensa. Couldn’t have Tony made his own moonshine like an east coast version of Larry Flynt for Christ’s sake. At the very least, you’d think Tony would dick over some putzy Jew kid with a bag oregano without fearing any major beatdown repercussions. So, he could score enough money to have some wino score a bottle of Night Train. Axl Rose was a crazy hick from Indiana who was capable of enough to hustle for the stuff after being welcome to the Jungle. But the budding young criminal mastermind genius known as Tony Soprano couldn’t break into the football’s captains’ parents liquor cabinet to give Carmela a bada bing to sort of remember after cleaning out all the schnapps already?
I got an update from my oral surgeon on my wisdom teeth just taken out. He says, “I just spoke with your dentist Dr. Silver, and he’s thrilled with progress of your mountain dew mouth now? I say, “It’s a good thing, I didn’t wear my new Kyrie Irving jersey today or else I would’ve fucked up the party for everybody.” Oral surgeon doc laughs long time. Yeah, so back the drama free Knicks. Derick Rose proposed on the Garden Floor, and nobody blew the rape whistle on him in the process. So let’s start promoting and emoting about the new and improved New York Knicks already and focus on our big 4 for now to get my Knicks smack talking mojo working again.
Even my younger brother texted me, “We got Kemba.” And were not Face Timing each other to sleep either ever. “We got Kemba”, is a great line though. It sounds like Knicks management snagged an alpha dog from Dikembe Mutombo’s village, who’s danced, pranced and romanced into our forlorn dreamy hearts before even stepping foot on to the world’s most famous arena that’s bigger, brighter and flat out cooler than Michael Jordan’s Zoom call displays of heart ripping out dominance. Michael Jordan was never deemed threatening enough to be murdered outside of his apartment in the Dakota building, OK. Can you imagine John Lennon doing a fucking Hanes commercial? Like he’d actually reveal his shit stains after trying to snuggle off some CIA strength strong acid with Yoko.
Derrick Rose can still elevate and shove your hate in your face at a breakneck freshman phenom pace. I made a rape whistle joke prior, but he was cleared of all charges and kept by the jurors for autographs soon after. So how creepy of an impression did he make after all? R. Kelly he’s not.
Is a lottery pick done good, which is a rare event for the Knicks franchise like Patrick Ewing ever getting a coaching offer from them. J.J Barrett is a Duke grad stud, who plays in your face de while shooting 40 percent when launching way from downtown three’s. He’s dare I say without being accused as racist, a high IQ player. Meaning, J.J had a much better math SAT score than I ever did to get into the Harvard of the south, Duke, is all I’m saying. And I’m twice as pathetic, because my math SAT score was still abysmal, despite me being a) part Jewish, and b) taking the test untimed, to the point when I was done, my friends had already declaring their major’s sophomore year in college at Washington University.
Just had his second kid, which is a great omen for more auspicious, hooping and swooping to come. He was voted an all-star last year and made Knicks fans believers in hardcore loyalty materializing sometime in our favor eventually again post 1999. Prince lives although Julius Randle has a stronger, fiercer handle than the prolific prince of pop art rock. I don’t care if black entertainer defender extremist Dave Chapelle tells me any different. I love Julius Randle’s smile and resent free chip on his shoulder to prove last year he was no fluke has been never was real deal all-star championship bound caliber player. He’s a less streaky John Starks in the making. Plus, the addition of two franchise player point guards in Kemba and Rose, will create easier buckets for his teammates to create more space than Octomom after push 5000.
Honorable Mention Supreme
Coach Tom Thibodeau
How does any hardcore Knick fan loyalist not love Tom Thibodeau even before he won Coach Of The Year honors last year and ushered the Knick fans back into dreamy fantasy land with greater do-good possibility than ever before man? Fuck Phish New Year’s Eve shows of MSG past. Coach Tom Thibodeau is the Knick fan faithful’s best chance of making that elusive parade down the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway possible while never sweating the possibility of Greek the Freak, dragging his big ass along the court like a Van Gundy off the rack rag doll from the nearby fashion district on 36th and 6th. Tom Thibodeau will ensure the Knicks play hardcore DEFENSE, which always makes your team more competitive than the rest, especially when he’s also giving this new stupendous team of young spry neophytes the green light to drain more balls than Led Zepplin groupies for the directors cut of The Song Remains the Same. Can’t wait to hear the Garden roar of old when Messier, Hogan and Dice were on top. New York needs a winner again. So, I have a good excuse to call pops. Go New York, go.
Trust is earned from sustained excellence such as Leo’s star powered acting performances in any Tarantino film without fail. Trust makes the world go around. Trust went out the window after Liver Spots got sworn in as President of the United States without a peep from the Supreme Court the day after Democracy died. But the Leo Scramble Supreme still reigns supreme and is trustworthy enough to entrust your happiness in him for better days and more hope filled tomorrows, pregnant with superior feel-good possibility. James Brown lives, holla, thank you very much.
Plus, making a LEO, consisting of Lox, Eggs and Onions will always remain an ideal anti-Semitic qualifier gift such as my Great American Jew Novel, knowing this divine blessed delectable breakfast, brunch or dinner worthy delight consists of pricy, cut up, overtly Jewy smoked salmon, caramelized onions and scrambled eggs from local Jewish Farmer legend behemoth, good old Stew Leonard in Connecticut, before the warm, sumptuous, funky fishy ingenious concoction get’s swirled into a bowl with a plop of Cream cheese, which melts easier in a hot bowl of eggs, adding a deeper svelte, thicker tasting dimension of deliciousness, which catapult your burst of feel good joy that much higher, Sly Stone lives, holla, thank you very much.
I hate to get political anymore since thé once boastful construct we the people offered less special value than Prince Harry’s bald spot on the open market or his feel for comedy after dressing up like a Nazi officer for Halloween to get back at mom for looking like an ugly version of E from Entourage, with far less a plus snatch to snag in London town compared to perpetually sunny, twice as smoking hot California girls. Megan Markle doesn’t count, and it’s not because she’s a biracial, royal pain in the ass, holla, thank you very much.
Now, if Prince Harry roasted himself dressed up like a Nazi officer for Halloween, I’d give hardcore Archie some funny man cred, regardless if Ricky Gervais wrote the material for him, who tires of Holocaust films because he’d rather bitch in his latest stand up comedy special about harsh online tweets about his movie career, which never got off the ground, reducing him to be in bed with the Obama’s and Netflix since HBO gave him a nice run while it lasted, now more concerned with unmasking Woody’s go to suck the thumb move, because it, “Calms Dylan down”, despite still showing all of his classic, hilarious films such as Broadway Danny Rose, which technically speaking, came out pre-Soon-Yi. But Louie can’t whip it out in his own dressing room after getting consent from fellow no name lesser female comics in the room without all of his standup comedy specials being taken down in a NY minute from HBO once the full court #meto career work retrospective cancelation began. Have they taken down the Rocky statue in Philly yet because it promotes white supremacy? But back to Ricky Gervais giving Price Harry some primo bashing Nazi material, to at least project the façade of being an ironic detached enjoyer viewer of Jewish humor, such as, “Who would Hitler kill first? A Jewish Albino or a balding ginger with a goatee? And how dumb is the swastika symbol. I don’t care that’s it Hindu, it still looks 2 stick figures doing a sixty-nine on a see saw.”
So back to the Leo Scramble Supreme, my son Samuel Chosen Curls Was Bound Too Woo,.can’t enough of it. He’s 4 by the way. The kid can request for me to play Slippery When Wet by Bon Jovi on Vinyl or in the car through Spotify, can ask daddy to reheat the rest of his Leo Scramble Supreme, yet still can’t go to bed without a nappy, without me dropping his saggy, drenched filled nappy down our stairwell the following morning, only to sing, with unmatched, father son bonding glee, “Big plopping”, Warrant Lives, they sang Big Talking, holla, thank you very much.
Again, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo no longer dumps in his pants and goes to the bathroom for a number 2 with big boy precision. At the same time, one night, as I got ready to read the Guinness Book Of World Records, wanting to kill myself soon after from learning how much money Kevin Hart made last, year, which doesn’t make me a hater, just a bemused, short on laughs spectator. I do love his energy, and don’t think he’s a bad actor, whose gotten better over time, whom I believe, should buy the film rights to convert an autobiography of Wilson Picket to snag him 1 Oscar more than Eddie, who doesn’t have the balls to do a stand up comedy special again for some dumb reason such as not wanting to be deemed a divisive comedian who dared to make fun of Michelle Obama’s new parody remake, playing Tina Turner, titled, “What’s Talent Got To Do With It.” And Wilson Picket sang my favorite lyric, “I found a true love, and I can shout about her, yeah, yeah”, a truer call to action that I give a shit about taking, not uttered on LinkedIn, as never been blasted with such soul man reverberating bravado, holla, thank you very much. Anyway, this meandering piece is what you get when I’m off Adderall and my mother is in town blaming the great state of Texas for having to burn fucking furniture while Liver Spots can’t be bothered to visit or have FEMA offer nothing more than air dropped leftover Spam reserves from World War 2 or some impossible to defrost packets of TANG leftover from our moon landing the sixties before we learned JFK told Frank to not invite Sammy Davis Junior to his inauguration, because becoming a Jew, was a double whammy against him, which he should’ve known would put his desirability factor in extreme Jeopardy with Nazi profiteering Joe Kennedy in control of his son’s balls as a whole, regardless of the war hero “Being the brightest star in the universe for a time”, according to his backstabbed friend, old blue eyes, who didn’t sing New York, New York, until his late 60’s during his more pleasantly content plump years.
Yeah, so back to my son Chosen Curls, I’m getting ready for reading time and about to throw some sweats on for the occasion because I don’t give a shit about looking like a Trophy Dad when mama isn’t home at 9 on a Tuesday and my 4-year-old son barks at me, “Spread your cheeks.” I said, “Where the hell did you learn the expression, “Spread your cheeks”? Are you watching old episodes of OZ on the HBO app when I’m banging out more all-star chapter additions to my collection of short stories, Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories or what?”
So, the LEO Scramble Supreme is the bomb and couldn’t be easier to make, even Hunter Biden can handle making it with the hangover from hell, whose hell raising ways, makes my younger brother come off as a serial underachiever. And if a man is judged by the fruit he enables, and if Liver Spots is a real man of unifying integrity, why wouldn’t Mr. Unity tell his son to cut out creaming into his dead brother’s wife after his cremation ensued? The most amount of loving attention to the Leo Scramble Supreme is paid toward the caramelizing of the onions in butter under a low heat, but make sure to add some extra deepening caramelizing agent at the end, which could be simple as a drop of pristine NY tap water or from bottled Smart Water, which adds an extra spring step to your step, making you feel like Jennifer Aniston on the rebound. After you caramelize the onions, mix them into beat up egg batter mix, with chopped up pieces of smoked salmon before dropping them into a semi hot pan, bubbling with butter yumminess itching to be immersed with such delectable, pristine, bright orange, slivers of smoked salmon but don’t be too aggressive with swirling the eggs into mini circulation motions before they get cooked through enough, before reaching the point of rubbery sucky return. The last step is throwing the LEO Scramble Supreme into a bowl with a pre-plopped mound of cream cheese, which makes swirly stick together as one magic possible and like my son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, you’ll be made in the shade, made in the shade.
New Yorkers are no longer procreating fast enough to replace their dying population. Over the hill hipsters, can’t get it up to pork their girlfriends, because they’re already glued to the couch from another pork induced coma. Lena Dunham clones want to have sex but they’re not hot enough to impregnate by mistake either. Lena’s Dunham’s encouraged flappy look on Instagram isn’t helping. Over the hill hipsters hobbits aren’t getting their girlfriends into the mood for sweet, sticky love either, when their ideal workout is picking up a phone to order more Pork Buns instead. So, ladies, if you want your sweaty sex period with your boyfriend to last more than 2 seconds, than stop mimicking Lena Dunham’s encouraged frumpiness on Instagram. No man, bi, straight or gay, is sweating the prospect of missing out on the opportunity to mount the hunchback of Bushwick, who looks like she just swallowed Hipsterville USA during restaurant week, trust me.
Karl Marx is overrated. Did the DNC ever steal the democratic nomination under his nose?
Do I look like Obama 2.0 to you? I haven’t seen my wife in a bathing suit since 86.
Trump wanted no piece of me on the debate stage. He ducked me like Rocky avoiding fighting Mr. T at the start of Rocky 3 until he taunted him into the ring. Well, 2 can play at that game. Trump has ties to Russia, duh. Name one mail order bride owner who doesn’t it.
Hillary shouldn’t have hired Lena Dunham as her social community manager for her election campaign. Only Lena Dunham could make Hillary less likeable and relatable in one blubbery swoop.