Dumb Drunk Daddy

I say, “Matilda, tell me about the Bath Bomb mama got you last night for
Hanukkah. She says, “It’s almond winter mint.” I say, “Sounds like a coffee drink
Michelle Obama strong armed Starbucks to make for Kwanza.”

I support defunding the United Nations. They only exist to give Hamas a veneer
of diplomatic stature like Kamala Harris in a Burka made from Ann Taylor.

The Left today has less use for proud practicing Jews than abortion on
demand because nobody would get smoochy with Booger Face Behar disciples without
a nappy mask on to puke up their pro-Antifa innards 1st.

Leftist Jews today reject everything today Jewish. Why else would they rush to
tat up their arms to rock the Lena Dunham arm flapper look for all it’s worth?
And you wonder why New York birth rates have sunk into China rat ruining
earth.

Mocking full of themselves, fully vaccinated dicks from my Generation X, who got an itchy esophagus from COVID, who still think Mr. Groper won by a hair, who had no problem with the Democrats using mail in voting to jack an election to hide their crimes
against humanity is more than kosher in my book.

They moan, “I can’t believe I got COVID. I’m vaccinated for Christ’s sake.
But you’re still the Mongoloid Moron for trusting your natural immunity over
Dr. Gnocchi, Obama Be Good and Nancy Denture Breath Pelos, who have less use
for lockdown-imposed rules than consciousness clearing confession.”

More pretentious moans of despair continue.

“How could I get COVID after being fully vaccinated?”

“Because you’re a glamorized lab rat, immune to self-corrective inspection like
your baby boomer resister parents, because insufferable, wholly destructive, baby
boomer arrogance never dies. And you’re the delusional, a plus narcissist who
thinks the real America kicked off Twitter already, gives a flying shit about your opinion’s inflated sense of self-worth since you’ve done dick to speak out against censorship and
silencing of any pro-self-defense sentiment since your jerkoff media pretended, they acted in good faith by calling a child rapist released from the loony bin in Kenosha as a peaceful, victimized protestor who only punctured his victim’s age of innocence with guided meditation music on Amazon music, indefensible pricks.”

Kurt Vonnegut was right; the US media is the one to blame for dividing everyone
into either a liberal or a conservative. Why can’t someone just launch a Burning
Mask Party already? That’s right, the black men have been wearing a mask for
years according to Dave Chappelle. Yeah, Kamala, the Ugandan Giant wore one in character from 84 to 86, but that’s it. We all know Kamala Harris was a useless cackling
whore before she was assigned border visitation duty to see if the Donkey show is
keeping the dreamer alive in us all. Unmasking Kayne as an opportunistic showboat
fame whore didn’t require a tremendous leap of faith either.  So, Drake accused the infallible Kayne West of writing strictly secular rap music these days. Fucking own it Kayne. Don’t sling me shit like how Bound 2 You, was secular music, when you banged Kim on the sink, while getting some gunk on her mink. Unless you’re framing Kim Kardashian in
your eyes as top of the Porcupine Persian Puss chain, who could turn
your prick into wine to pour over Taylor Swift’s country ass white dress at the
MTV music awards because only Beyonce can get away with wearing ray of light white
after Labor Day in St. Barts.

I can’t wait to give up all forms of overpriced wine and IPAs for the year.
So, I could feel like a bless bloated, blowhard hobbit hipster straining to
give any bangable woman sustained stiffage based on their Grateful Dead and Company
shirts and Dancing Bear masks since everyday became mask up Sharia Law appreciation
day.  Without those freedom loving deplorable Dead Heads making a peep about the fascist Democrats hacks in charge of these draconian policies otherwise. What a depressingly dreary, fake news patriots unmasking it’s been. But Hillary doesn’t have evil energy like Trump, Carlos Santana? But Hillary is the best-selling voodoo doll in Haiti, year after year. Plus, I don’t need to drop acid in this instance, to see who’s full of shit Carlos.

Did you know you can reverse all form of brain damage impairment by refraining from alcohol for one whole year? You experience improved memory and better
executive reasoning for a degenerate Jew like myself, with a long, shameful
history of alcoholic bumps into furniture in the middle of the night after
pissing himself while passed out in his daughter’s bedroom prior because he
possesses no feel for measured pounding pace of Kentucky bourbon on the 1st night of Hanukkah, that he’s only been planning for all year, whatsoever.

87,000 people die each year from Alcohol overdosing. I must have 87,000
lives then. Because I’ve drank enough bourbon one winter in my parent’s attic
with my wife to make Charles Bukowski feel like a lightweight pussy poet,
guilty of excessive hyperbole like Hitler’s claim to be Marc Chagall in the
making despite never leaving you with a magical dreamy, impressionistic
impression.

Hanukkah Challah Day Joke:

A Cardinal’s finishing line on altar boys next in line.

“It’s all holy meat juice to you kid.”

Lenny Bruce Lives.

Hannukah Challah Day, Challah.

My brother’s response to this joke was a plug for an old school Public Enemy
video. He says, “Despite your political affiliation. I know you can still appreciate
some old school hip hop.” I say, “Why, because Public Enemy predates the
Thugs Lives Matters Most protests during last year’s Summer of Love? I should still
love Public Enemy because the Jewish Forward insists on framing Professor Griff
as a “victim”, whose career was gunned down by the Jewish Mafia over his comments
about all the Jews controlling the slave trade at the height of Public Enemy’s
popularity despite Jews heading up the Holocaust being banned from land ownership
in Europe while being stripped of any incentive to love thyself as thy neighbor,
when you’re surrounded by nations of mini-Hitler’s mouseketeers.  Why would I listen to Public Enemy after my best friend’s mother claimed I looked like Elvis growing up as a kid? It feels good to be compared to rock royalty while your best friend’s mom drools at the prospect of unleashing your hound dog side inside of her for some totally worth it rib rattling, jail house bound rock of her own. Professor Griff is a fucking moron. Calling Jill
Biden, Dr. Biden, doesn’t make her any less of a lying, trashy, small-town ho, who
never met a brush she liked for Scarecrow Appreciation Month. Professor Griff
accused the Jews of controlling the entire drug trade to Rolling Stone. I’m positive
Frank Lucas would have an issue with that white supremacist blanketed assertion.
If you saw the movie American Gangster, you know Denzel’s character believes, “Whatever those dumb mooks can do to poison my community, I can do better. Just wait until the Saints of Newark comes out motherfucker.”

How does Farrakhan celebrate Holocaust Remembrance Day? Spray Jard Kushner’s
Twitter feed with nothing but termite emoji’s, from dawn till night, but throw
in the hashtag, but Natalie Portman is alright.

New theory behind my compressed nerve: Losing my nerve to offend LinkedIn by
posting more comedy records bound to keep me out of Corporate America forever.

Future father wisdom 1st time Dads can look forward to on text conversation threads from their friends in the same boat already.

Increased wiggle room can be a deflating experience.

Unlike Glue Guns, your sweaty sex period won’t stick.

No looking back once mama’s semi-tight snatch of yesteryear tears apart at
the seams.

You won’t know whether you’re floating in space or landing on an aircraft carrier
museum strip in Chelsea Piers, unable to achieve blast off without fantasizing about
new Bermuda Triangle’s to have your super soaker disappear in.

Give hell hole sex a chance, for a tighter topping experience all around.

2 kids later, Goose would rather spike Wilson half naked around other sweaty
slick Top Gun gunners, instead of taking another nosedive headfirst into Meg Ryan’s
sunny shine snatch. Because sex with Meg Ryan after 2 kids resembles playing musical
triangles in the high school band as you flail your metal rod stick against Tom
Hank’s romantic movie library collection stuffed inside.

Before you know it, your 10-year-old daughter gets breast buds. And you get
mad at your wife yelling, “Why haven’t yours sprouted yet.”

But you can’t get mad at your wife for transforming a gingerbread house into
a tricked -out Hanukkah blue one with a Star of David out front for the 3rd
night of Hanukkah. The only thing missing on front door was a sign that said, “No
Liberal Jews allowed, who think Farrakhan’s admirers in Public Enemy are held back
from demonizing Jews any more than Deshawn Jackson only needing to be properly reeducated on Hitler.  You know, Obama’s most admired leader according to the Source Magazine. Obama would give Hitler 5 mics if he could. I’m not even exaggerating. Obama’s the one who loves Hitler. Obama wishes he was that organized. Mass extermination, of all his nosy pestering journalist critics, who dared to criticize his billion-dollar nuke time out deal with Iran would be a gas. Dumb Drunk Daddy, no more, no more. Aerosmith lives, Hanukah Challah Day, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Fuck Lisa Simpson

Why doesn’t Global Warming concern me Lisa Simpson? Because Al Gore’s speaking career has cooled considerably. Plus, last winter, was colder than Harvey Weinstein’s casting couch at The Four Seasons.

Imagine Trumpy Poo debating Lisa Simpson on the huge benefits of fracking. Trumpy Poo says, “Fracking reduces our Co2 emissions Lisa. Ivanka has brains and a smoking hot bod, but you’ll be lucky if Millhouse converts to Buddhism for you, Thelonious Monk. Or do identify more with being the bleached version of Cornell West Spike Top? Stop being so fearful about fracking Lisa. Mass consumption of Mountain Dew in Springfield alone, will make up for the low birth rates in no time. Lisa Simpson says with flabbergasted disgust, “Does fracking really reduce our Carbon emissions? So even Neil Young is full of shit now? Trumpy Poo replies, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint, since he dumped his wife for Daryl Hannah because he’s going through a post midlife never banged a Mermaid crisis. So, that much you share in common babe.” Lisa barely musters an audible, “But Bernie.” Trumpy Poo goes in for the final kill shot and says, “Blow your Bernie wind farm talk out of your ass Lisa. When Bernie Sanders was hot, he couldn’t even get recreational weed legalized in Vermont. At this point, Vermont should change their state motto from The Green State to CBD Oil Only. Bernie Sanders couldn’t even make Vermont great for potheads on vacation. And the only waters rising in Martha’s Vinyard are from Obama’s bong water, for some much-needed chill out time after his daughter Malia freaks out at the dinner table over Thanksgiving and says, “Dad, why did you let me intern for Miramax again? “Obama says, “Because back then, it looked good on you resume. Plus, Michelle was your chaperone there on the set of Girls on HBO. And that fat Jew couldn’t pin down Michelle if he tried.”

Michael Kornbluth

Dream Self-Defense Loophole

What could you say in the media’s defense for trying to outlaw self-defense while pushing to make Kyle Rittenhouse their foamed over sacrificial lamb in the process?

Let mob rule. But if Kyle Rittenhouse was Elliot Page, formerly known as Juno, the media would lionize this Eagle Scout, Sharp Shooter, as America’s Toxic Tomboy Avenger. Who’s the only one allowed to shoot ANTIFA’s diplomatic immunity up their ass by claiming they were begging for it and kept coming back for more.

The Toxic Tomboy Avenger could get away with jamming a plunger up the Black Panther’s ass for shits and giggles if she he wanted to. The following the day the NY Times prints thèse headlines: Plunging Is The New Gerbiling.” “Give Forced Sodomy A Chance.” “Shitting Out Homophobia One Plunger At A Time.” “Flabbergasted Or Bug In Your Ass Free?”

Black Panther eventually acts in self-defense and swats the plunger up Toxic Tomboy’s Avenger’s ass before choking his attacker out with Diane Keaton’s tie from Annie Hall. Black Panter turns Kyle Rittenhouse white after the gay mafia bought off jury declares him guilty of premediated murder and aggressively active assault on an androgynous actor’s anus hole, formerly known as Juno in Dave Chappelle’s wildest pot powered dream.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

White Privilege Lasagna

Lasagna, I don’t care who makes it, is normally a soupy saucy, droopy, ricotta plopped, dumpy looking mess. For a native New Yorker like myself, I always saw Lasagna as a tourist trap order like peep shows in Times Square in the seventies or apartment rebates in Manhattan today, offering zero deposit and the 1st 2 months free, since the greatest city in the world turned into an office space ghost town. Also, if I have to hear one more story about some NY transplant renting out a million-dollar mansion in South Carolina to conduct Zoom meetings in splendid, far more spacious isolation, I’m going to drive our family SUV off the cliffs of chained, middle class fixed insanity.  

Lasagna isn’t the most versatile dish to serve after winter either. I’d rather blow my calorie intake on hop forward pilsners and 4 sipper watermelon beers from 21st Amendment from San Fran during the heat of the night this coming summer than get weighed down by a dish full of heavy melted cheese best suited for a shittier Godfather remake in the making. And how exciting is the standard ground meat stuffing offered in most Lasagnas? If I weren’t eating Kosher now, I’d prefer a bomb meatball parm hero from Carmines off Broadway, over their ground meat crumbled lasagna any day of the week because you’re getting far heartier, tastier, meatier loving bites. I also write a gay food blog for closeted married men with kids called, “Meatier, The Better.”

My wife made lasagna in the past with tofu stuffing inside, which is as arousing as it sounds. Tofu has no place in Lasagna. It’s more out of place than a Guido with a tan line in South Beach on Spring Break, holla, thank you very much. Outside of dumping on the totality of what this fabled, old school Italian dinnertime dish classic has to offer, I’m going to spotlight a superior alternative that I learned to make from the domesticated goddess of home hearth enhancement Martha Stewart, The White Privilege Mexican Lasagna.

You know your White Privilege Mexican Lasagna is a hit, when even your normally snooty, compliment free mother-in-law feels compelled to compliment it 2 bites in, uttering, “This is very good. You’re making my daughter look like a slacker lazy brain in the kitchen. She’d thrown in the towel 50 rolled perogies in for our next Uki church bake sale guaranteed.”

I’ve futzed with the Martha Stewart recipe over the years, yet my strongest batch of White Privilege Mexican Lasagna used white corn tortillas versus the standard corn tortillas, which tend to lean more toward the grating side in comparison like COVID Loonies who insist on wearing their masks in the car versus others willing to pull it down on the elevator alone to suck their thumb for added comfort.  

You sauté the black beans, red onions, and jalapenos in vegetable oil 1st, before spreading them into the casserole dish with layered mini flying saucers of white corn tortillas, layered, with shredded pepper jack cheese and Monterey in addition to homemade salsa made from cherry tomatoes, 4 jalapenos at least, cilantro, red onion, and plenty of lime. I’d buy two batches of cherry tomatoes for the salsa topping to maximize maximum spreadage like Katy Perry hoisting up her pushup bra equipped with multiple party screamer kazoos attached on the tips. Also, use 2 rectangles of Monterey and Pepper Jack from the Cabot cheese company or else it will taste like a cheeseless White Privilege Mexican Lasagna. You might well add some tofu inside and commit an Asian on white priveledge Mexican Lasagna hate crime in the process.

My 7-year-old son asked for 3rds, which was unprecedented like George Lopez doing 5 minutes of straight of stand up without spicing his set with some Spanish in between to keep it cornier yet earthier real Holmes.  White Privilege Mexican Lasagna won’t stop Asian hate yet the more we embrace culturally rich cuisines outside of our preconceived prejudices, the less clannish will act at home and out.  Last, beating up on Chinese Grandma isn’t a good look thug lives matter. JR Smith doesn’t even find the act cute. But at least JR Smith has an NBA ring and earned the right to party topless in Vegas for 3 days straight. At the same time, nobody thinks picking on Asian granny requires courage of any kind and nobody is ever confusing your disgraced nuts as Thinking Balls to devise your new 5-year masked mugger plan with. You’re offended? Good, go woke yourself to. That’s the way the Fortune Cookie crumbles.

Michael Kornbluth

Shell Shocked Snappy

Wine Coolers, Jello Shots and reluctant repeat sips from your 1st can of Budweiser help melt teen shyness away. But pet Snapping Turtles aren’t 9th graders in junior high, who haven’t got into the puberty party yet either. At this point, Matilda a 12-year-old entrepreneur and inventor of a suction sticking party ball strobe light machine called Party Magic, was willing to blow some of her Kickstarter startup money on a Past Life Regression consultation with an Animal Communicator at a nearby Crystal Shop in Ridgefield, CT to get her new pet Snapping Turtle Snappy to come out of his shell already because changing his name from Waxy to Snappy wasn’t helping. More than anything, Matilda wanted to boogie board in Australia, her mama’s home country, along Mother’s Beach, 30 minutes north of Melbourne for her parents 10 year anniversary yet she didn’t feel safe in those Jelly Fish infested waters without a trustworthy, Snapping Turtle to ward off attacks by her side, knowing their preference for scarfing up electric, purple haze stingers.

The 70 something, bushy haired, frumpy, shawl strangled, Sedona sun wrinkled transplant, Animal Communicator, Talks With Toads, lounged out in her cubby size room office within a crystal shop in nearby Ridgefield, CT, and takes of her bi focal glasses to examine Snappy The Turtle more closely. Who Matilda reveals hiding in her old beat up backpack, knowing his tendency to fart uncontrollably, especially around strangers, which she considered a reason for why Snappy The Turtle’s head was hid in perpetual shame so often.  Talks With Toads says, “Matilda, over the phone you said, Snappy won’t come out of his shell around strangers.” Matilda says, “I’ve offered him Lobster Rolls from Stew Leonard’s, smoked Nova from Russ and Daughters, bought him the Tony Robbins audiobook boxset, which wasn’t cheap either, so I’m running out of options hêre. Our first Kornbluth family vacation to Australia is tomorrow and I don’t know what to do, because Snappy is my 2nd line of defense against all those Jelly Fish in Australia after the Jelly Fish nets which aren’t even available in the beaches in Bondi, and that’s where all the serious boogie board action happens anyway. My parents wanted to get married in Australia, where my mom is from originally yet my Grandma shot it down. She calls my dad and says, “Australia is a long trip from New York Scoops and your dad doesn’t love you that much.” Then, my dad made a compromise with my mom and says, “If we have boy one day, will hire Crocodile Dundee for the circumcision, just to hear a room of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”

Talks With Toads spits out a deep, weighty laugh, opening up her throat chakra more than any downward dog pose ever could and says, “Does Snappy ever come out of his shell around your daddy or does he get intimidated by larger-than-life comedians to? I saw his performance at the Montreal Comedy Festival on YouTube and coughed up a lung in he process. He made such a strong, funny man impression the last time your family dropped by the crystal shop. And I don’t care for most stand-up comedy these days. Plus, how creepy is the comic Anthony Jeselnik, knowing that he considers psychic surveys on how many missing children they’ve seen through their Carrot Cards as being the height of God loving hilarity today?” Matilda says, “In Anthony Jeselnik’s defense, God commands his chosen people to forsake the counsel of psychics in Deuteronomy, but my dad told me is was Kosher to make an exception in Snappy The Turtle’s defense.”

Talks With Toads does her best to shrug off a smart-ass Jewess rubbing God’s law in her face with such effortless fluency and decides to plow forward with her Past Life Regression reading for Snappy The Turtle, so she can get back to watching some bestiality horse on man porn on her lunch break, which now can’t come soon enough. Talks With Toads grabs a sapphire crystal from a cramped, unorganized drawer, representing the entire kitchen sink of healing, past life reading gemstones known to mankind and places it on Snappy The Turtle’s shell. Talks With Toads says, “I see a Deadhead at Giant Stadium in a Soup Truck RV called Terrapin Soup, blowing high grade, 75 dollar an eighth weed into Snappy The Turtle’s face again and again as the live version of Scarlet Begonia’s from Cornell 77 blasts on the tape deck in the background. I stopped going to shows after I stopped smoking weed myself.”

Matilda says, “After my 2nd birthday, my Dad took me to a Dead Show in Bethel Woods, in upstate New York. I pointed at a dinged up looking Deadhead sucking down a Nitrous balloon and said, “Birthday.” And my dad says, “No, Burn Out Day.” Talks With Toads unleashes another full throaty laugh again and says, “Wait a minute. No, he can’t be.” Matilda’s interest in Talks With Toad’s Past Life Regression Reading has reached peak interest and says, “What do you see now? Is the Deadhead owner feeding Snappy The Turtle’s head with a sheet of acid or what?” Talks With Toads takes a deep breath, doing her best to conceal her startled state as she pulls back her long, tangly grey hair and utters in a whispery, barely audible tone, “The Deadhead owner is serving Snappy The Turtle’s family for dinner.”

Matilda jumps out of her chair in a bewildered state of dígust and yells, “I thought Deadheads ate Grilleđ Cheese Sandwiches after Dead shows when they got the munchies.” Talks With Toads says, “Munchies don’t happen when you’re on 4 tabs of acid dear. Hold on, I see a line of Deadheads around the parking lot in Giant Stadium waiting for this Terrapin Turtle Soup Truck to serve bowls of Turtle Soup to cure more endless bad trips on Hêrculean amounts of acid. The Merry Pranksters used to spike garbage cans full of fruit punch with Acid during 3-hour Dead jam sessions back in the day before you tripped over shit throughout the Cable Car lined streets of San Francisco. Eventually, the college dropout hippies who weren’t banking on replacing Santana anytime soon, became howling, starved lunatics, left with no other choice but to eat stray cats behind the dumpster at Mu Shu York’s. Soon after, a famed chef from New Orleans, Gumbo Greg, who went on to become the executive chef at the Philly Club for years before opening his own restaurant in North Beach, Chowder Panisse, gave Jerry Garcia the idea of serving one of his freaked out tripping groupies some Turtle Soup in their house on Haight Ashbury to cure her bad trip, after doing the same for Dr. John during Jazz Fest once after he crawled himself up into ball on stage, thinking, he’d turned into psychedelic, night tripping crawfish. Crawfish, you know Shrimp with more personality, similar to John Mayer teaming up with Grateful Dead and Company, injecting scruffy smooth with a dose of much needed personality.” Snappy The Turtle finally snaps out of his shell and yells, “Thanks for the flashback bitch.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth