Tag: career

Not Working LinkedIn 

by doitalldadyear, posted in sales, work, writing

I hate the #OPENTOWORK hashtag badge on LinkedIn.

It feels like white-collar panhandling.

It’s the worst networking innovation since Meetups for out-of-work Cup Scout leaders.

And who chose that puke moss green color?

It’s not an inviting sea foam green or handsome conjuring IVY.

It looks like some target sign that appears in Predator’s headset.

Plus, the dark olive-green badge drains your profile pic of all-electric edge.  

Slap that #OPENTOWORK badge on Gweneth Paltrow’s pic and still evokes stained Avocado pits.

Mug shots offer more color contrast.

It looks like a sign you wear around your head in Game of Thrones while having apple pits thrown at your head. Shame on you, LinkedIn, shame. 

Badges should scream earned respectability like one on a racehorse for winning the Derby.

Does the #OPENTOWORK badge feel like a prominent brand plug to you?

For me, it screams, please wait to swipe past my profile.

Good recruiters don’t need permission to make the 1st move on candidates. They’re not sweating the prospect of being charged with unwanted aggression through LinkedIn Recruiter. 

Also, if the candidate is out of work due to recent layoffs in the tech space, isn’t the #OPENTOWORK badge option rubbing it in?

If my future wife wore an #OPENTONEWLOVE badge on her shirt when I approached her on Barry Diller’s balcony, it would’ve stripped the moment of all spontaneous charged lift.

“Hi, I’m Joshua; I work for CitySearch. I couldn’t help but notice your #OPENTONEWLOVE badge on your shirt. In other words, yes to flirty.”

Yes, to flirty, Challah. Thank you very much.

Your Favorite Headhunter Writer, 

Joshua Kornbluth 

Top 10 New Work Intros

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, poetry, writing
  1. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. Consider me a less annoying matchmaker than Kris Jenner or the sloppy third Kardashian sister.
  2. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m like Match.com without the doctored photo. It’s not how you met but who you meet, that matters, right?
  3. Joshua Kornbluth, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m a professional flirt for a living. Think Vince Vaughn in Swingers minus the SAG card.
  4. Joshua Kornbluth calling. Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m a poor man’s Tony Robbins who doesn’t overcharge for my life coaching expertise.
  5. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I bring dead resumes to life like an EMT worker who moonlights as Dr. Frankenstein on LinkedIn Pulse.
  6. Joshua Kornbluth here, I’m a Recruiter for the Human Edge. I’m not an edgeless putz or else I’d still working for Robert Half.
  7. Joshua Kornbluth here, I’m an IT recruiter who specializes in mind control in Kayne’s mind.
  8. Joshua Kornbluth here. I’m an IT recruiter whose been talent hooking since Y2K. So, I wasn’t born with a vape pen in my mouth yesterday.
  9. Joshua Kornbluth here. Before I launched my IT staffing career. I worked as the number one assistant for Moses. Because I didn’t complain about my developing carpel tunnel after transcribing the Torah into stone.
  10. Hi Mary, Joshua Kornbluth here. I’m an IT Recruiter who wrote The Great American Jew Novel. So, you know I’m not your middle of the road schmuck in a headset either.

Michael Kornbluth

Radioactive Resume Theories

by doitalldadyear, posted in fiction, poetry, writing

Son says, “Daddy, don’t leave me for New Jersey.” I say, “But desperate times call for desperate actions, when you’re 46 years old with a marriage to hold together and have 3 kids to feed after a 9-year vacation from life to work on finding your voice as a Stay At Home She Male Comedian Podcast Host Author Blogger who’s been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot.”

Son says, “Why, can’t you get a job again moron son? And when can we start selling your comedy records this summer? I get to sell Flipper Bird Baby and Not Kosher Baby because I’m on the cover licking Finn’s butt Daddy, deal? But seriously Daddy, do you have 10,000 morons stuck in your head, Ancient Moron?

I say, “I don’t need a resume coach or a climate scientist to tell me why my writing career is colder than Harvey Weinstein’s casting couch at the 4 Seasons. In fact, I’m capable of formulating some radioactive resume theories of my own Scientific American, for starters, 9 Gap Years +No Proof of Vaccination =Twice fucked at getting a job in Mr. Groper’s America Jack.

Others culture clash fit theories that come to mind are. You’re too full of yourself to judge your talent assessment skills objectively. In other words, you’re blinded by narcissistic right, like the rest.

Outsiders don’t see daddy as a real man or as dependable provider of any kind, especially when mama’s smart phone sends her an alert whenever I make another questionable purchase. Mommy calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?”

What else makes my resume lack all form of gravitational pull kid? The glaring expanse of gap years on my resume is bigger than when Sandra Bernhardt says cheese.

HR won’t even download my resume on to their desktops out of fear of it eroding their belief in the common good after learning through one of my podcasts how I’m another domestic terrorist dad who protested against the masking of our children like Michael’s Jackon’s kids on holiday in Bahrain during the July 4th release of my Burning Mask Party Record.

Wendy in HR almost chokes up her Shroom Burger from Shake Shack after reading my desired salary preference of 85K per year when I haven’t had any form of steady taxable income to report since hate speech was invented to silence anyone who questioned whether the Russian collusion tale used to spy on Trump while running for office had less legs than Lieutenant Dan.

Listing Allah as a character reference, only to accuse a prospective employer of being Islamophobic, if they don’t respect my religion of peace knowing my last name is Kornbluth is a new low like Baby Face Omar Gona Work It Out describing the death of Amy Winehouse on the anniversary of her death on Twitter as something happened to a devil horn concealing, beehive sporting, colonial imperialist who exploited the Great Palestinian Song Book for all it was worth.  

It’s hard to engage in foreplay with a new lover of me on the open market as a stay-at-home dad when your wife can’t even get excited about kinky foreplay of any kind anymore because you’re already choking her too hard financially.

Talking about yourself in the 3rd person in your resume bio for a copywriter role in South Carolina is crossing the ego mania gone wild line even in Kenny’s Powers eyes.

Big Bang Theory, Do It All Dad Does Jokes is no Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman regardless of it being gay about celebrating my Do It All Dad Tree Trunk that claims to blow crystal-clear streams of beautiful mind spewing hilarity, come rain or shine. Sinatra lives. Challah, thank you very much.

The universe didn’t take a collective breath after you post on your WordPress blog how Guaranteed Greatness, would be your last comedy you’d give to the deprived masses away for free.

Force feeding schtick on your resume is more off putting than laughing at your own jokes in person or texting one to an employer with an emoji clown horn that follows.

You can’t win over HR by conserving your best work in the service of making MAGA country laugh over us.

So, I’ll rebrand myself as a scene stealing supporting player and aim to win the 6th Man of Year Award like Anthony Mason on the Knicks before you’re good enough to be deemed trade worthy, only to be voted by your news fans and old as a 1st all-time star the following year, which beats wasting away in some dumpy ad agency in Union, New Jersey away from you kid.

Son says, “Does that mean you’re not leaving me for New Jersey?”

I say, “Not unless I’m calling my next comedy record, “Do It All Dad Does Martha Dump Truck. Can I get holla for some Challah?”

Son says, “Thank you very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Be The Boss

by doitalldadyear, posted in family, humor, storytelling

Soy can be good, but sucky soy tastes like flaccid impotence in your mouth.

I pick my son up from martial arts class. Female teacher with a pretty face, and beautiful smile who pulls off the short hair look despite being a tad curvier than most says, “You’ve raised good eggs”, who’s taught all 3 of my kids so far. Later, in the car, I say to my son, “Arthur, can I marry your martial arts instructor?” He says, “Do what you want. Be the boss.” I said, “We need to go into the fortune cookie business ASAP, Kung Fu Lightening.” Challah, thank you very much.

Daughter got upset today because some of her math nerd friends at school got written up in the local newspaper. I try to calm her down and say, “1st, 2 people live in North Salem, so who gives a shit? 2nd, you’ve met one Quant Programmer, you’ve met them all. Plus, Economists are fake news odds makers with zero balls and aren’t getting comped for jack shit in Vegas. Last, my mother got a perfect score on her math SAT, but her judgment sucks because I told her to invest in Google before its IPO was offered to the deplorable masses pre fake news and she blew it. So, like Hillary Hammer Time Cankles says, “What difference does it make?” Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Career Suicide Train

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, books, writing

What’s more depressing? Scheduling a Zoom connection call with a woman who uses terms like “positive energy”? Or to learn she’s booked solid till early February? When you just pitched the possibility of doing craft beer jokes at her brewery in Wildwood, New Jersey and not dying faster than Christopher’s male modeling career after he became a paler junkie than Kate Moss on a model shoot in Iceland.

“Normally Jews aren’t big craft brew beer drinkers, unless they’re degenerate shishy bitch dads like me who describe 21st Amendment’s Watermelon beers as 5 sippers max. That go down easier than your wife on pure MDMA on your birthday after insisting Obama Be Good ordered you to leak it. I actually gave up drinking beer last summer, because I got embarrassed, spending so much time hungover recycling, endless reminders of my lushy littered past, as entire Rocky marathons on AMC passed me by. Has anyone tried Sammy Hagger’s Tequilla yet? I hear it tastes Van Halen light. And Nirvana didn’t kill Hair Metal, Aids did. Before Magic made HIV disappear. Jesus would impress me if he turned bong water into wine that tasted better than Snoop Dog’s new cabernet wine that tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell. It’s hard to get kinky with your wife when you’re a stay-at-home Dad because you’re already choking her too hard financially. And it’s impossible to feel like your own man when you’re a stay-at-home dad whenever your wife’s smart phone sends her an alert after you make another questionable purchase. Wife calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?” Bruce Lee triggers my hyper competitive kids. Daughter says, “Daddy, did Bruce suck at anything?” I said, “Fart control, because Bruce Lee ate too much soy.” The one show Netflix won’t reimagine is Richie Rich unless Juno plays Richie Rich and blows his entire inheritance on financing brewery scholarships at Berkley for advanced chemistry majors who were too young to be influenced by Snoop Dog video promos for Old English, Death’s Row’s go-to ho sprayer of choice. I’d buy an IPA hop bomb made from a black brewer hipster from Northern Liberties in Philly with promised hopes of its special brand of hop juice helping me cure my chronic white man’s disease by injecting the malt, hops concoction with Cardi’s B’s perpetually rising yeast infection. I went to Ithaca college myself, otherwise known as Cornel’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I was in the distinguished school of communications, so I can take bongs hits of extra strong outdoor weed and manage not to stutter every other 2 seconds. Bonding with Ithaca alum in Ithaca hoodies is off the list, because it’s a connection fail every time. I’ll say, “I went to Ithaca.” And they’ll say, “Unless you went to Cornell, I’m not interested in what your limited network on LinkedIn can do for me asshole, so go fuck off 8 days a week buddy because you obviously need an extra day to rest your far from blooming burnout head for thinking I’d care to entertain everything you can’t do to improve my social standing in life already jerkoff.”

Imagine He-Man reimagined as a Mallrat in Kevin’s Smiths next woke reimagined sequel. He-Man says, “I love the smell of Newbury Comics in the morning when Little Nas, Pete Davidson and the Mandalorian actor dominate the social media airwaves with super imposed pushed upon authority. But God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it, which is more than I say for Pete Davidson, the voice of Generation Z, the boy toy rebound king of Staten Island who looks like Annie Liebowitz and Barnie from the Simpsons had a baby going through a goth phase while smitten with Kim Kardashian’s porcupine puss. Social Justic Lawyers are so hot right now. Yesterday, my daughter says, “A girl in my school says, “Fairy Club is only for little girls.” I said, “Fake news, Superman is into fairies now to. Now the man of steel will drain Little Nas’s balls faster than a speeding bullet.” Resist this woke Wolverine, Challah, thank you very much.”

Frank Miller on moderate Islam. Join my army to rape our enemies’ wives is a tad extremist for even devilish white boy limey crusaders as a whole.

David Crosby on finger tapping Joni Mitchell. If I can’t be Eddie Van Halen, at least I can try to cause an eruption in Joni’s droopy dry snatch for old time’s sake.

Imagine Bruce Springsteen inviting Obama to dance on stage with him on Broadway to Dancing in the Dark to prove his soul glow limitations have no bounds.

Tree of Life Rabbi claims he never met Joe Biden after the massacre there. He adds, “Do you really think I’d hang out much at Ben and Jerry’s these days?”

If Hunter Biden was the least favored his son, he’d be stand-up comedy’s answer to Charlie Sheen. January 6th was some armed rebellion to make Joan of Arc shake in her tunic top. The only thing Trump supporters were strapped with were MAGA hats, credit card bills from Walmart and water guns full of discontinued Trump vodka to ease the leftover pain since the day Democracy died. Did I ever tell you about the time my dad lifted the travel ban on my 15-year-old girlfriend for shoplifting a gold-plated coke spoon in France? Of course, my dad can sniff out a pay back opportinity when it presents itself.”

Michael Kornbluth

Always Kosher

by doitalldadyear, posted in celebrity, coaching, comedy

I think it was Socrates or Plato who said, “Happiness is fleeting pleasure.” Fleeting, disappearing pleasure for me is my kids losing interest in hang out time with daddy. This explains why my youngest son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was busy at work drawing pictures of us hanging out together once I started bonding with his big sister over her new favorite show, Never Have I Ever, been a bigger fan of Johny Mac, he’s the narrator than I am now. Fleeting pleasure for Do It All Dad over here, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, recently renamed Pause Daddy Podcast, funny fast stories, for you and me, is me losing interest in earning respectful impressiveness from my 3 adoring Koshertarian Comedian friends.



Now the kids are in a Delaware for the next 3 weeks while I do everything in my power to stop a decade long streak of co-dependent bitchy dependence on my wife and parents since my Stay At Home Comedian Dad journey began. Sure, I got to write some cool host intros for a couple of music video countdown specials that aired on Vh1 and VH1 Classic. Only to make my producer a Bruce Springsteen mix while doing my best to assure him soon after, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you, Boss.”

Jokes aside, I rely on the kindness of others to feed my family, those others being my parents and wife. By feed, I mean those with the means to finance grocery shopping for my 3 Koshertarian comedian friends, that being my 3-fuss free, endlessly glowing, holy light time shining children.

They say man can’t eat live on bread alone. Well Daddy can’t eat the shit sandwich of shame for failing to earn bread for his family of 5 for the past 5 years without wanting the chance to rectify.

But applying for jobs doesn’t guarantee job interviews. Nor do job interviews result in immediate job offers soon after. Despite the Marketing Director at the Chef’s Warehouse nodding with respectful impressment after you referenced your 41 thousand page views on your WordPress blog. Marketing Director adds, “I saw that on your Writer Got Game Resume.” And I’m thinking, “At least, somebody is fucking reading it.”

But how do you cope with your mother resenting you making a yummy pesto mozzarella sandwich on bomb sesame loaf on her dime during her visit back east? How do you black out your mother-in-law calling you “pathetic”? How do you cope with a nurse wife who feels taken advantage of because you’ve been choking her too hard financially?

You become committed to becoming the best Koshertarian worshiping Comedian, who’s ever lived. Granted, Jerry Lewis, ate crab’s benedict, Woody Allen should’ve stuck to just eating Tuna Tartare at Elaine’s. And who gives a shit about what David Steinberg eats or what Paul Reiser orders at Nate and Al’s besides, “How was Hollywood ever mad crazy into you ever, So-So Special Sandwich number 5000?” Fine, Paul Reiser was mildly amusing in Bevery Hills Cop, but Gilbert Gottfrid funny he wasn’t. On the set of Beverly Hills Cop Gilbert Gottfrid says, “Paul, what’s the difference between The Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher and your comedy career? They both blow. Is Helen Hunt cute enough to be reformed Jewish? I can’t tell. If Helen Hunt is as good as it gets, I’m Lenny Bruce’s tailor in comedy heaven. Lenny says, “Easy with the needle Gilbert. You’re shakier than Eugene after cumming to the sound of his cousin’s shitting out Kreplach. And based on Albert Brook’s ballooning girth and highly developed sense of dark humor resulting from his father dying form a heart attack after killing at a roast of Lucile Ball prior, I don’t see the west coast Woody rocking the Koshertarian diet any more than a MAGA hat prop on the set of Curb Your Enthusiasm for episode 7, “Seinfeld Auctions A Porsche For Charity, Hope Half the Proceeds Went To Larry’s Kids.”

Again, how do you cope with being dependent on your wife’s sweat labor on her feet at the NICU while she checks for vital signs on blue faced newborns? When all you do is check for retweets? You shoot for perfect laugh lines on your Do It All Year Blog to recycle on your last and greatest comedy album, Watching Hacks Cry.

“I don’t like Snoop Dog claiming he culturally appropriated Ric Flair, so freely, during his 30 for 30, titled, “You’re A Boy and I’m Not.” Iceberg Slim was Pimp Of The Year for 6 years in a row at least and we got Ric Flair, 16-time World Champion. Don’t get your pigments twisted Dog. If you want to beat the man, don’t get bent over by Suge Knight in the can. No offense Snoop, but you don’t hear Ric Flair yelling, “Dog Fighting, woooh! That’s a MAGA country thing. Don’t be culturally appropriating our shit.” Watching Hacks Cry, Challah, Thank you very much.”

You cope with being a dependent by perfecting perfection in the kitchen with your heavily workshopped pesto ribbon pasta with Kosher air fried chicken thighs and sliced cherry tomatoes on top. And you grow closer to God and your 3 Koshertarian Comedian loving kids through the more “Yummy Dances”, you make. “What the hell is a Yummy Dance?”, my father says. Stop acting like your anything more than sheltered bum, my father adds in my mind. Glad you asked. Yummy Dances are standing ovations, curtain calls and victory laps in your dishes honor all combined into one as your 3 biggest fans in the universe run around the living room through the kitchen yelling, “Best Daddy ever.” That’s a Yummy Dance. It puts you in touch with the divine because God gives kids to only the lonely and this funny man giant is lonely no more. Watching Hacks Cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Yummy Dances are why holiness rocks. Yummy Dances get you addicted to achieving such holy powered highs. But how do you cope with your son wanting to meet your old friends when they can’t be bothered to comment via text or state emotive love online about your 123 comedy records posted on LinkedIn to shake up the corporate controlled thought in the straight world? The same so-called friends of yesteryear who left for you dead. You decide to befriend Sean Lennon by sharing your book Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story or nudge him to check out your comedy record Laugh Yanker Love on SoundCloud, where you showcase some A plus stay at home dad material in his honor. “This is John Lennon 2 days into being a Stay At Home Dad. Choke on a fucking cucumber scone Paul. Even Primal Scream Therapy has its limitations mate. But Kate Spade wins the award for writing the most passive aggressive suicide note for her only daughter to read ever. Note reads, “It’s not your fault, Dad will explain.” Dad explains, “Explain what, how I was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate. The other day my son says, “I prefer vaginas with no hair. I’ve seen mamas before. I add, “Big boobs compliment better.” Soon after, Sean Lennon is financing my recording sessions at Electric Lady Studio’s to release my box set of comedy records before I’m famous that will be 124 in total, titled Totality Of Me or Watching Hacks Cry. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But isn’t holiness being a monk? It’s my year without beer and I’m almost 5 months in. So go woke yourself. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much. Isn’t holiness perfecting perfection? If God represents otherness holiness and the children from Isarael and Forrest Hills Queens are molded in his likeness, then shouldn’t I want to dress up my son like nature boy Ric Flair for Halloween because he already whips out his schmekel spot whenever he likes while I yell in catchphrase bliss, “Not Kosher Baby.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

Mind of a yummy dance works like this. Your goal is similar to getting laughs at the local farm to pick up some fresh eggs, whenever another MILF hits on your youngest son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo again, “Your son has such nice hair. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I’ll say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.” Laughter fills the air. Daddy kills again. So, the goal of a yummy dance similar to scoring another laugh is simple, Respectful Impressiveness, that’s your reward for not making any bread off your creatively jacked dome, relentlessly innovative might and shishy bitch dad leanings just yet. I know this is my 2nd time using the expression respectful impressiveness, but only Shakespeare can invent words like “thoughtless”? While Dice coins expressions such as I’ve got a friend, one of these “Trans-Testicles.” Personally, I’m against Drag Queen reading hour because fluorescent library lights aren’t flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator, no offense. One time my daughter asks, “Daddy was Shakespeare Trans because he dressed like girls in all his plays.” I say, “I don’t know if Shakespeare was Trans. But I think Kevin Spacey is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.” I sampled that joke on the character Billy from Six Feet Under at the local Target in Mount Kisco. The joke got a big laugh from Billy. He even slapped my outstretched hand that I placed there to receive a high five of approval in return. That’s a Yummy Dance. That’s holiness killing hackery. Watching hacks cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Holiness killing hackery is best whenever I receive some help from my Koshertarian Comedian loving friends. I use my 1st born, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, Effortless Magic, AKA, 10 Homer Daily as my creative sounding board for all of my comedy record titles if her 2 younger brothers Art Show USA and Hardcore Hunga Rocks aren’t in the room with her 1st. Matilda says, “I like Year Of Dragon Lungs a bit better than Half Heeb Crazy. Sloppy Second Stories is a good title for your debut collection of flash fiction short stories, but I still love the original title, Waste of Height, Really Short Stories the best.” Art Show USA enters the room and interjects,” Am I going to design your record cover for Greatest One, Daddy? But all your records are great, so isn’t Greatest One, a tad one note redundant for your tastes?” Youngest son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks points an imaginary remote control in my direction and says, “Pause Daddy. I write the jokes for your comedy records, got it, Moron Son.” Daughter adds, “You should do that Greta Thunberg bit on Greatest One daddy where the dad freaks out on “burry brow”, your words not mine, for keeping his twin daughters up with eco-anxiety despite popping melatonin gummies like Nerds at 10 o’clock on school night. Because a doorman can’t keep a typhoon out of their townhouse duplex on the Upper West Side.”

But how do you cope with your kid outgrowing their broken-down rusty bikes on a hot August day while taking them out for a spin? Knowing you can’t afford to replace those bikes anytime soon because you’re so broke, your Hebrew name is under judicial review. You include them in the making magic time in the kitchen by sticking your son on pistachio de-shelling detail before making their farewell pesto bow tie pasta supreme before leaving for Delaware, which was a bust last time, because you decided to get funky fresh and add excessively bitter sages leaves to the basil, pistachio nut mix which was bad idea like Hunter making a crack cocaine in his bungalow at the Chateau Marmont because it forced him to give up blow for blow painting, which is a bigger cock tease than a lap dance with a no touch policy on Kid Rock’s yacht, called Harpooning The Most. You cope with being a dependent dad by savoring the sheer joy in all 3 of your children inhale what’s being hailed as your “best batch yet daddy.” While your youngest one comments in ultra-focused manner, “Too yummy for yummy dance”, before resuming his role as Belushi 2.0 in Koshertarian House. Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But how do you cope with having to dip into your daughter’s Tooth Fairy droppings, that she haphazardly left on the kitchen table before camp that your parents paid for again? So, you could pay for your kid’s slushies at 7/11 without having charge more fun time on the credit card before mommy gets paid again when your cellphone is due to get deactivated the day your family leaves for Delaware? You throw the Rodney Dangerfield No Respect CD on in the car your parents lease to use when they visit only to hear your eldest son says, “Daddy, your comedy records are way better than this.” Daughter adds, “Yeah, Daddy, Rodney just sounds boring depressing here. And his 1st joke was about being on the Tonight Show prior, so Rodney shouldn’t be so unenthralling from the start.” Respectful Impressment lives, Challah. Thank you very much. I add, “Jimmy Fallon’s writers hate him now. Because when Jimmy Fallon tried to rub Trump’s hair off, a real-life skinhead never emerged. But if I’m still not scared of Trump. Then, I’ll never be into my mother as much as Seth Meyer’s. Then again, I’m the sloppy second son for a reason. If Jimmy Kimmel cares so much about the environment, then why is he so wasteful by only using Smart Water for some post show bong hits because his gal pal Jennifer Aniston hooks him up in bulk? At the same time Smart Water adds bounce to your step. All of a sudden, you feel like Jennifer Anniston on the rebound. Our state of the union is like Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least, O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas before Comedy Central executives resigned Trever Noah for the foreseeable future. Hey Trever Noah, Conan Obrien wants his good luck maroon hoodie back from the Harvard Lampoon.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

On the other hand, you might be thinking, “Shouldn’t you only focus on getting a decent paying job in Corporate America? Sure, but like Frank Zappa said, “Magic is what happens between the notes”, and nobody is stopping me from creating more magic time on my time between new job interviews on the horizon come rain or shine. Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.



Well, more yummy dances and random hugs from my son behind can buy me some more holy time to shine.



When your son takes a bit out of your Koshertarian Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce that’s made with a pomegranate glaze and states with divine powered authority, “Always Kosher Daddy.” Holy time shines.

Getting fired up to please your favorite people in the universe is when holy time shines.

A man can’t live on bread alone, but he can by on laughs and yummy dances in between with a little help from his Koshertarian friends.

So, stop thinking children don’t appreciate extra effort.

Stop thinking aiming to please your children through cooking is antiquated fun.

Stop thinking your kids are a less worthy audience to impress.

Stop thinking that doing things for love alone don’t matter.

Stop thinking your life is fantastic without your kids adoring you in it.

Stop thinking kids are an impediment to middle aged fun.

Stop thinking kids don’t sense half-ass love from a mile away.

Stop thinking technology has zapped your kid’s ability to emote in your honor.

Stop thinking you can’t inspire your children to follow your lead, “Always Kosher Daddy.”

Holy shine time is holy bonding time.

And that’s as good as it gets.

Holy Shine Time shines on.

Watching Hacks Cry.

Lennon lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.



Michael Kornbluth

















Holiness Killing Hackery

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, beauty, blogging

I think it was Socrates or Plato who said, “Happiness is fleeting pleasure.” Fleeting, disappearing pleasure for me is my kids losing interest in hang out time with daddy. This explains why my youngest son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was busy at work drawing pictures of us hanging out together once I started bonding with his big sister over her new favorite show, Never Have I Ever, been a bigger fan of Johny Mac, he’s the narrator than I am now. Fleeting pleasure for Do It All Dad over here, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, recently renamed Pause Daddy Podcast, funny fast stories, for you and me, is me losing interest in earning respectful impressiveness from my 3 adoring Koshertarian Comedian friends.



Now the kids are in a Delaware for the next 3 weeks while I do everything in my power to stop a decade long streak of co-dependent bitchy dependence on my wife and parents since my Stay At Home Comedian Dad journey began. Sure, I got to write some cool host intros for a couple of music video countdown specials that aired on Vh1 and VH1 Classic. Only to make my producer a Bruce Springsteen mix while doing my best to assure him soon after, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you, Boss.”

Jokes aside, I rely on the kindness of others to feed my family, those others being my parents and wife. By feed, I mean those with the means to finance grocery shopping for my 3 Koshertarian comedian friends, that being my 3-fuss free, endlessly glowing, holy light time shining children.

They say man can’t eat live on bread alone. Well Daddy can’t eat the shit sandwich of shame for failing to earn bread for his family of 5 for the past 5 years without wanting the chance to rectify.

But applying for jobs doesn’t guarantee job interviews. Nor do job interviews result in immediate job offers soon after. Despite the Marketing Director at the Chef’s Warehouse nodding with respectful impressment after you referenced your 41 thousand page views on your WordPress blog. Marketing Director adds, “I saw that on your Writer Got Game Resume.” And I’m thinking, “At least, somebody is fucking reading it.”

But how do you cope with your mother resenting you making a yummy pesto mozzarella sandwich on bomb sesame loaf on her dime during her visit back east? How do you black out your mother-in-law calling you “pathetic”? How do you cope with a nurse wife who feels taken advantage of because you’ve been choking her too hard financially?

You become committed to becoming the best Koshertarian worshiping Comedian, who’s ever lived. Granted, Jerry Lewis, ate crab’s benedict, Woody Allen should’ve stuck to just eating Tuna Tartare at Elaine’s. And who gives a shit about what David Steinberg eats or what Paul Reiser orders at Nate and Al’s besides, “How was Hollywood ever mad crazy into you ever, So-So Special Sandwich number 5000?” Fine, Paul Reiser was mildly amusing in Bevery Hills Cop, but Gilbert Gottfrid funny he wasn’t. On the set of Beverly Hills Cop Gilbert Gottfrid says, “Paul, what’s the difference between The Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher and your comedy career? They both blow. Is Helen Hunt cute enough to be reformed Jewish? I can’t tell. If Helen Hunt is as good as it gets, I’m Lenny Bruce’s tailor in comedy heaven. Lenny says, “Easy with the needle Gilbert. You’re shakier than Eugene after cumming to the sound of his cousin’s shitting out Kreplach. And based on Albert Brook’s ballooning girth and highly developed sense of dark humor resulting from his father dying form a heart attack after killing at a roast of Lucile Ball prior, I don’t see the west coast Woody rocking the Koshertarian diet any more than a MAGA hat prop on the set of Curb Your Enthusiasm for episode 7, “Seinfeld Auctions A Porsche For Charity, Hope Half the Proceeds Went To Larry’s Kids.”

Again, how do you cope with being dependent on your wife’s sweat labor on her feet at the NICU while she checks for vital signs on blue faced newborns? When all you do is check for retweets? You shoot for perfect laugh lines on your Do It All Year Blog to recycle on your last and greatest comedy album, Watching Hacks Cry.

“I don’t like Snoop Dog claiming he culturally appropriated Ric Flair, so freely, during his 30 for 30, titled, “You’re A Boy and I’m Not.” Iceberg Slim was Pimp Of The Year for 6 years in a row at least and we got Ric Flair, 16-time World Champion. Don’t get your pigments twisted Dog. If you want to beat the man, don’t get bent over by Suge Knight in the can. No offense Snoop, but you don’t hear Ric Flair yelling, “Dog Fighting, woooh! That’s a MAGA country thing. Don’t be culturally appropriating our shit.” Watching Hacks Cry, Challah, Thank you very much.”

You cope with being a dependent by perfecting perfection in the kitchen with your heavily workshopped pesto ribbon pasta with Kosher air fried chicken thighs and sliced cherry tomatoes on top. And you grow closer to God and your 3 Koshertarian Comedian loving kids through the more “Yummy Dances”, you make. “What the hell is a Yummy Dance?”, my father says. Stop acting like your anything more than sheltered bum, my father adds in my mind. Glad you asked. Yummy Dances are standing ovations, curtain calls and victory laps in your dishes honor all combined into one as your 3 biggest fans in the universe run around the living room through the kitchen yelling, “Best Daddy ever.” That’s a Yummy Dance. It puts you in touch with the divine because God gives kids to only the lonely and this funny man giant is lonely no more. Watching Hacks Cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Yummy Dances are why holiness rocks. Yummy Dances get you addicted to achieving such holy powered highs. But how do you cope with your son wanting to meet your old friends when they can’t be bothered to comment via text or state emotive love online about your 123 comedy records posted on LinkedIn to shake up the corporate controlled thought in the straight world? The same so-called friends of yesteryear who left for you dead. You decide to befriend Sean Lennon by sharing your book Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story or nudge him to check out your comedy record Laugh Yanker Love on SoundCloud, where you showcase some A plus stay at home dad material in his honor. “This is John Lennon 2 days into being a Stay At Home Dad. Choke on a fucking cucumber scone Paul. Even Primal Scream Therapy has its limitations mate. But Kate Spade wins the award for writing the most passive aggressive suicide note for her only daughter to read ever. Note reads, “It’s not your fault, Dad will explain.” Dad explains, “Explain what, how I was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate. The other day my son says, “I prefer vaginas with no hair. I’ve seen mamas before. I add, “Big boobs compliment better.” Soon after, Sean Lennon is financing my recording sessions at Electric Lady Studio’s to release my box set of comedy records before I’m famous that will be 124 in total, titled Totality Of Me or Watching Hacks Cry. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But isn’t holiness being a monk? It’s my year without beer and I’m almost 5 months in. So go woke yourself. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much. Isn’t holiness perfecting perfection? If God represents otherness holiness and the children from Isarael and Forrest Hills Queens are molded in his likeness, then shouldn’t I want to dress up my son like nature boy Ric Flair for Halloween because he already whips out his schmekel spot whenever he likes while I yell in catchphrase bliss, “Not Kosher Baby.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

Mind of a yummy dance works like this. Your goal is similar to getting laughs at the local farm to pick up some fresh eggs, whenever another MILF hits on your youngest son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo again, “Your son has such nice hair. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I’ll say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.” Laughter fills the air. Daddy kills again. So, the goal of a yummy dance similar to scoring another laugh is simple, Respectful Impressiveness, that’s your reward for not making any bread off your creatively jacked dome, relentlessly innovative might and shishy bitch dad leanings just yet. I know this is my 2nd time using the expression respectful impressiveness, but only Shakespeare can invent words like “thoughtless”? While Dice coins expressions such as I’ve got a friend, one of these “Trans-Testicles.” Personally, I’m against Drag Queen reading hour because fluorescent library lights aren’t flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator, no offense. One time my daughter asks, “Daddy was Shakespeare Trans because he dressed like girls in all his plays.” I say, “I don’t know if Shakespeare was Trans. But I think Kevin Spacey is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.” I sampled that joke on the character Billy from Six Feet Under at the local Target in Mount Kisco. The joke got a big laugh from Billy. He even slapped my outstretched hand that I placed there to receive a high five of approval in return. That’s a Yummy Dance. That’s holiness killing hackery. Watching hacks cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Holiness killing hackery is best whenever I receive some help from my Koshertarian Comedian loving friends. I use my 1st born, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, Effortless Magic, AKA, 10 Homer Daily as my creative sounding board for all of my comedy record titles if her 2 younger brothers Art Show USA and Hardcore Hunga Rocks aren’t in the room with her 1st. Matilda says, “I like Year Of Dragon Lungs a bit better than Half Heeb Crazy. Sloppy Second Stories is a good title for your debut collection of flash fiction short stories, but I still love the original title, Waste of Height, Really Short Stories the best.” Art Show USA enters the room and interjects,” Am I going to design your record cover for Greatest One, Daddy? But all your records are great, so isn’t Greatest One, a tad one note redundant for your tastes?” Youngest son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks points an imaginary remote control in my direction and says, “Pause Daddy. I write the jokes for your comedy records, got it, Moron Son.” Daughter adds, “You should do that Greta Thunberg bit on Greatest One daddy where the dad freaks out on “burry brow”, your words not mine, for keeping his twin daughters up with eco-anxiety despite popping melatonin gummies like Nerds at 10 o’clock on school night. Because a doorman can’t keep a typhoon out of their townhouse duplex on the Upper West Side.”

But how do you cope with your kid outgrowing their broken-down rusty bikes on a hot August day while taking them out for a spin? Knowing you can’t afford to replace those bikes anytime soon because you’re so broke, your Hebrew name is under judicial review. You include them in the making magic time in the kitchen by sticking your son on pistachio de-shelling detail before making their farewell pesto bow tie pasta supreme before leaving for Delaware, which was a bust last time, because you decided to get funky fresh and add excessively bitter sages leaves to the basil, pistachio nut mix which was bad idea like Hunter making a crack cocaine in his bungalow at the Chateau Marmont because it forced him to give up blow for blow painting, which is a bigger cock tease than a lap dance with a no touch policy on Kid Rock’s yacht, called Harpooning The Most. You cope with being a dependent dad by savoring the sheer joy in all 3 of your children inhale what’s being hailed as your “best batch yet daddy.” While your youngest one comments in ultra-focused manner, “Too yummy for yummy dance”, before resuming his role as Belushi 2.0 in Koshertarian House. Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But how do you cope with having to dip into your daughter’s Tooth Fairy droppings, that she haphazardly left on the kitchen table before camp that your parents paid for again? So, you could pay for your kid’s slushies at 7/11 without having charge more fun time on the credit card before mommy gets paid again when your cellphone is due to get deactivated the day your family leaves for Delaware? You throw the Rodney Dangerfield No Respect CD on in the car your parents lease to use when they visit only to hear your eldest son says, “Daddy, your comedy records are way better than this.” Daughter adds, “Yeah, Daddy, Rodney just sounds boring depressing here. And his 1st joke was about being on the Tonight Show prior, so Rodney shouldn’t be so unenthralling from the start.” Respectful Impressment lives, Challah. Thank you very much. I add, “Jimmy Fallon’s writers hate him now. Because when Jimmy Fallon tried to rub Trump’s hair off, a real-life skinhead never emerged. But if I’m still not scared of Trump. Then, I’ll never be into my mother as much as Seth Meyer’s. Then again, I’m the sloppy second son for a reason. If Jimmy Kimmel cares so much about the environment, then why is he so wasteful by only using Smart Water for some post show bong hits because his gal pal Jennifer Aniston hooks him up in bulk? At the same time Smart Water adds bounce to your step. All of a sudden, you feel like Jennifer Anniston on the rebound. Our state of the union is like Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least, O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas before Comedy Central executives resigned Trever Noah for the foreseeable future. Hey Trever Noah, Conan Obrien wants his good luck maroon hoodie back from the Harvard Lampoon.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

On the other hand, you might be thinking, “Shouldn’t you only focus on getting a decent paying job in Corporate America? Sure, but like Frank Zappa said, “Magic is what happens between the notes”, and nobody is stopping me from creating more magic time on my time between new job interviews on the horizon come rain or shine. Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.



Well, more yummy dances and random hugs from my son behind can buy me some more holy time to shine.



When your son takes a bit out of your Koshertarian Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce that’s made with a pomegranate glaze and states with divine powered authority, “Always Kosher Daddy.” Holy time shines.

Getting fired up to please your favorite people in the universe is when holy time shines.

A man can’t live on bread alone, but he can by on laughs and yummy dances in between with a little help from his Koshertarian friends.

So, stop thinking children don’t appreciate extra effort.

Stop thinking aiming to please your children through cooking is antiquated fun.

Stop thinking your kids are a less worthy audience to impress.

Stop thinking that doing things for love alone don’t matter.

Stop thinking your life is fantastic without your kids adoring you in it.

Stop thinking kids are an impediment to middle aged fun.

Stop thinking kids don’t sense half-ass love from a mile away.

Stop thinking technology has zapped your kid’s ability to emote in your honor.

Stop thinking you can’t inspire your children to follow your lead, “Always Kosher Daddy.”

Holy shine time is holy bonding time.

And that’s as good as it gets.

Holy Shine Time shines on.

Watching Hacks Cry.

Lennon lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.



Michael Kornbluth