Talking My Brother Out Of Marriage

Mom thinks I’ve had it easy because I married Natalia at 32 and been an on again, off again, she male house wife since.

But mom pushed marriage on me to conceal my fruitier side.

You already dumped a fiancé once, one week before your wedding.

So following through with marrying your second fiancé in three years, won’t uproot your bad karma contamination, rotting your soul.

Plus, you’re a pagan hedonist worshiper like Bill Maher. So you don’t believe in the holy union of marriage, when you worship your nose candy whims more than blowing your last shot at earning bad karma reversal points in your favor.

1 kid only means, your fiance is for walls after all. She’s a fake news, open borders globalist. Just want to make sure you know what you’re marrying into bro.

And don’t act like you can’t find another girl your age with HPV in New York City before vaccinations went viral.

Don’t be a victim of cyber bullying like Kevin Durant.

All you see on Facebook is friends baby pics, married Baby Boomer selfies and Trump is racist memes because he takes Dennis Rodman’s calls.

What annoys you now, will only get worse.

And then, you stop smoking weed.

And your tolerance for being called edgy because your wife does nothing spectacular to honor your book release becomes dramatically less.

Mom thinks you’re getting married because you don’t want to be alone.

I thought it was because of your incessant need for special attention, based on your driving selfie picks on Facebook alone.

How will you explain your wife’s anxiety disorder to your daughter?

Mommy is like Kevin Love but never got to pick a stronger supporting cast to play with.

Getting married at 39 gives me the sense, if you waited this long, you’re heart was into marriage in the first place like talks of you only having one kid, which sounds twice as ridiculous.

If being a slut in a straight jacket doesn’t sound like a total downer.

Mom thinks your love for Jane can grow like James Earl Jones arranged wife did in Coming To America. But she was Nubian royalty and beamed ivory white teeth compared to Jane.

Do you want the extent of your sex life to be jerk off alone time, after forcing your wife to bed early like Dad?

Granted, Dad never graduated past Topless Tudors on Showtime After Dark but still.

Actually, my world will still revolve around my wife and three kids after you get married and have mom and dad parade you around like their clear favorite no matter what. So what difference does it make?

Michael Kornbluth

Kite Flying Depressing Me

Can’t believe he’s real, especially when I get to see my 1st born son’s heart soar to the heavens, flying his 1st kite all by himself at 4 years old, telling the kite with mixture of boyish bliss and Eagle Scout leader in the making authority, “follow me.”
The penetrative, heart-warming cheer I’m receiving from watching my son in awe, dart his feather feet throughout a gorgeous stretch of wild, emerald, upstate New York, one hour outside of Cooperstown, NY for a wedding getaway hasn’t worn off yet. As my beautiful son whizzes around a gorgeous patch of open meadow, emerald green of endless wonderfulness in rural, river runs through it, Upstate, New York splendor with his darting off to save the day Flash flickering feet. Hoisting the kite up high, high, high, up into the sky, sky, sky, beaming with maximum boyish glee and can’t believe I’m doing it pride of the highest degree.
Understand, my 4-year old son flying his 1st kite was all made possible because of my father in law. He bough the kite as a gift for my son Arthur and showed him how to fly the damn thing because I didn’t know how, nor was I very confident in kite flying assistance being covered under my Triple A plan either.
My son takes another victory lap with the kite, blowing in the wind, with cheeks hurting from his smile stretching from ear to ear, knowing, this new marvelous plaything was going to continue to take his boyish, childhood sense of life being full of endless wonder and heart pulsating beauty higher.

But then, my heart became enshrouded in an overcast cloud of heavy weariness of perpetual letdown disgust, as I came face to face with the realization how I can’t hate my father in law anymore because my perfect dad only sees his grandson once a year because he no longer does the cold. Thanks for obliterating the superior moral high ground I felt in the presence of my father in a law dad, knowing he’s only babysat twice for all 3 kids in eight years or shelled a penny for daycare ever. But he was willing to co-sign on a house loan eventually, so at least this means, he’s willing to believe his daughter’s good for the money, eventually.

 

The other reason kite flying depressing me because it reminded me of how my father choose another indoor summer in AC splendor in Arizona versus flying back east with Mimi to bond and grow closer to his 3 grandchildren more than 10 days in August. This is our family, us versus AC and hellish heat in Arizona, where baby feet on the clean, bright, Spanish pool tile can melt to death.

I didn’t want to be depressed about kite flying forever so I bought my son, a fancier kite, with a Pirate logo on it. Come to think of it, I should fly ISIS flags around my house on Halloween to scare away trick or treaters.

 

So, we take all 3 kids to the local park in the spirit of taking their pubescent puppet strings of imagination higher. I had every intention of assuming the lead yet my handy gentile wife overtook the Kite flying teacher position because her father took her kite flying also as kid in Australia by Mother’s Beach, so I’m thinking she’s made in the shade like any of the Fly Girls hooking up with Damon Wayans at an In Living Color after hours party back in the day. I was mistaken like the time I thought she’d complete a fully formed cartwheel in our background in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Which was aged ago when Lena Dunham had much skinner arms and wasn’t so full herself. The cartwheel attempt was a total horror show. Her legs barely lifted the ground, as she stumbled over the tumbleweeds in complete, dejected, head in the dirt disarray similar to this damn kite. Which my wife couldn’t get off the ground if my book advance money, if I weren’t to self-publish Stay at Home Comedian was riding on it.
Eventually though, the spirit of one-eyed willie graced us enough of a stiff wind to catapult my son’s pirate kite to take flight for more than two seconds without doing an immediate, demoralizing, Kama Kaze conjuring nose dive on the spot, again and again. As the kite took flight, in whirling, shooting spin, my 3 children let out a heart racing, thrill fueled, wahoo, look dada, it’s still flying. Later, I got depressed back home when my wife made it clear she was scarred from the experience because she got winded from all the incessant kite diving versus the desired state of American Beauty, leaves in constant motion above ground flying. I got depressed again, knowing our children’s shrieks of joy for the brief moments of Kite flying hangtime didn’t mean as much to my wife because she made the kite flying a competition between herself and mother nature. Who swatted away her weak ass kite flying ascends with Dikembe Mutombo, finger scolding fervor.

Dad calls the following day. How was kite flying with Arthur? I reply. Boyish Bliss you played no part in Dad, no offense.

The Chinese use kites to measure distances between father and sons. If dad lifts his son’s spirits by taking him kite flying because a growth spurt eluded him despite being 2nd cousins with Yao Ming, they’re tight like Chinese Finger Traps.
Kite Flying is a magical experience as a father because it’s impossible to not get tingly all over when you think of the shrieks of pure hearted, jade free joy emanating from your own flesh and blood as the kite takes flight up high, high, into the sky, sky, sky. In times like this it’s impossible to sigh. Next time, your kids asks for a gift, because they’ve been fuss free and made their bed all week, you’ll know what to buy.
I always hated my mother in-laws excuse for not buying her grandchildren, nice cloth’s or toys because of claims of the short shelf life for their usefulness before they outgrow them. But I’ll never outgrow the divine blessed opportunity to grow closer to my children and get lost in blissed out, high as a kite without the assistance of pharmaceuticals or weed wonder.

 

Reliving my age of innocence with my dreamy children through kite flying fills my bruised, neglected, adolescent heart with renewed promise and hope for brighter, higher tomorrow’s. This lucky old funny man giant, whose gone from Hendrix to Mahler, who lives to fill these kids’ hearts with endless wonder, hellbent on ensuring mama doesn’t bore them to death either, is lonely no more.
The End

By,
Michael Kornbluth

Harvesting My Shadowbanned Parts

Harvesting My Shadowbanned Parts

My 2 books Falling for Fatherhood and Stay At Home Comedian will showcase my bountiful harvest of shadow banned parts flush with comedy gold nuggets and one of a kind heart.

Hear My Rocket Ship Coming 

I hear my rocket ship of glory coming. My podcast, 2 books and promotional reality TV show, Barnstorming Barbershop USA will blow away America with infinite delight. Beams of laughter will light up the cosmos at night.

Pregnant with Possibility Again 

Have I been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot? Does the new Pope provide safe spaces for old guard pedophiles? But at least now, I’ve got 2 books to put me in business as the voice for the do it all dad remote work revolution.

Get Rich Or Die a Salary Stiff

Wyatt Earp said it best. No man became rich being a salary man. Living paycheck to paycheck feeling your fortune is fixed to be another limitless, insufferable dead end.

In The Name Of Live Aborted Ones

I identify with aborted live ones knowing my dad constantly questions how we’re related in person with flippant, let down disgust. Plus he always tells me to calm down, insisting nobody cares about my political opinions.

 

The End

 

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

Effortless Love Trumps All

Daughter asks. Daddy, did mama tell Arthur to say he’s proud of me for getting my white belt in Kung Fu? Little brother Arthur says. No she didn’t. I reply. I’m not surprised. Mama isn’t that sweet.

When my sweeter, funnier, 1st born twin, Singing Rose Matilda Kornbluth, who has my genetic makeup all over her face. Proclaims, daddy, if Uncle John doesn’t show up to your funeral. I’m going to kill him, literally. I have to take some credit for nurturing such a supreme sweet daughter with dark humor maestro leanings of a female Jim Norton in the making.

I’m not dying, in case you’re wondering although as a result of my steady use of concrete comedy language on my 7 about to turn 8 year old daughter, deltoids dawn strong, Matilda, Rambling on Rose Kornbluth is more than familiar with the do or die verbiage embedded within the art of performing stand-up comedy or pitching jokes with the intent of ripping out a lasting stream of laughs long time. For example, when I used to perform open mikes at local townie bars in northern Westchester Country about a couple of years ago on a twice a week basis, I started to develop a hot streak again. Which angered mommy, because whenever I’d come home from an open mike, I’d emerge in our living room victorious. Filling up a room bigger than an IT nerd schlepping back from his Business Analyst job as an overpaid peon at a fabled hedge fund in Westport, CT. Who records all their meetings and encourage employee confrontation to talk out their feelings versus leaking them to CNN.  Then as usual, my opening address to my 2 kids before my lucky number 3 Samuel was born in front of my wife on the couch was: What did daddy do tonight? And my 2 kids yell with effortless giddy delight: Daddy, killed. You bet your tuchus I did. From there, I go into bear hug my 2 biggest fans in the universe since mama started resenting my stay at home, dependent she male comedian status. And she’s fuming, shooting off death stares with her eyes, which scream, you only exist because of me. But I’m glad your 2 kids adore their comedy giant dad for scoring laughs from townies in Northern Westchester Country for free. Those bearhugs from my 2 kids were the best after killing at those open mikes. Which aren’t easy to kill at for the record, no open mikes ever are.

 

What I loved about being immersed in these post kill circles of gene pool love, is how happy my children were for me doing the best version of me, my inner rock star, my rebellious side, with it’s back against the wall. Who still refuses to accept such consistently shitty, bare minimum perceptions from what ex teachers, friends, siblings, parents and wife think I’m truly capable of achieving.  When my 2 kids reply with: Daddy killed. It reconfirms rock solid belief in daddy making it to the big show and being a big deal, comedic heavyweight knockout artist for the laugh starved world at large. Under the April fresh scented embrace of my 2 kids, hugging daddy with all their might, no mountaintop of comedic dominance, feels out of sight.  I’m sure Matilda, felt the same way when she was sandwiched between her 2 baby brothers at her white belt ceremony for Kung Fu, future ruckus rouser, graduation class.

 

Little brother, Chosen Curls, Samuel wraps around her legs behind as if he feared her flying up, up and away like Crouching Tiger, Flying Dragon in her fighter fierce black DOJO attire with her extra long still of the night black, long braided hair looking much more the part than Hillary Swank did in Karate Kid. And to the right of big sister is her loving, adoring, beautifully blond, baby brother, squeezing her tight from the other side with extreme nachas. Nachas is Yiddish for extreme pride fueled joy. Normally it’s a transfer of soul warming, heart tingly, palpable, unshakeable, you can’t take that away from me joy between father and child. But my unusual artist family pushes the boundaries of what constitutes emotive love among blood on blood siblings, which is normally relegated to a constant state of bad mouthing belittlement.

 

The other parents in attendance couldn’t help but vicariously derive good vibration vibes, rolled off our circle of love. Which didn’t require a 3 hour a show by the Dead in the streets of San Francisco or from primo puffs of the Maui Wowie from Jerry’s personal stash either. Nope, this moment was a direct result, of effortless love, because when you really love somebody, you don’t need a big check, for a reason to call once a week. Effortless love is given with flowing grace because it emanates from a heart full of wonderous, age of innocence delight. Effortless love never feels strained or hard sold into because effortless love knows no ego. Effortless love gives the best of your heart’s love for goodness sake.

 

The central, moral governing philosophy of the Jewish faith is the act of Mitzvah, which is performing acts of kindness without any self-serving, reciprocal agenda like Donald Trump working for free as President of the United States on the verge of denuclearizing North Korea.  As opposed to Hillary Hammer Time Cankles selling our Uranium reserves to Russia. With the sole intention to score hefty donations for the Clinton Foundation and lucrative speaking fees by Russian banks, despite Trump claiming she overpaid on her house in the leafy, sedate, confines of  Chappaqua, New York.

 

 

Effortless love is the only real kind of love because it doesn’t expect anything in return. They say charity starts at home. So it brings this do it all dad, tremendous nachas in knowing my family is morphing into a modern day, jade free hearted, Walton’s family, sorry dad. He’ll really be pissed off when I buy his granddaughter her own steed and lavender Lambo for her Bat Mitzvah after Matilda kills with her rendition of November Rain with a 12 piece orchestra backing her up of course.  Like the big Donald says, if you’re going think, think, big. Or even better, “dream bigger” like my Kung Fu fighting daughter says with effortless, whole hearted powered, real faith powered love.

 

Once, in our old one bed room apartment when it was newborn Arthur and Matilda when she was only 3. My wife barges into the bathroom after I puffed a justified, well earned one hitter prior, before running the bubble for Matilda. Only after cold calling my brains all week, for the evil empire Robert half in Manhattan.   This required major ego swallowing, after writing for Vh1 and Vh1 Classic in Manhattan in the past year prior. Wife could smell the natural mystic still lingering in the air despite me blowing it out the window before. Wife says with extreme disgust, “You’re such a stoner” and slams the door, almost breaking off the hinges. Then, sweet, so effortless sweet Matilda declares without even understanding what mommy just said replies: Daddy isn’t a stoner, daddy is a rock star.” I reply: That’s right Matilda. Daddy isn’t a stoner because stoner’s aren’t doers and daddy is a doer. Granted, I haven’t done much of mommy since your baby brother turned our bed into a 24/7 open milk bar but that’s besides the point.

 

Effortless love is the biggest deal imaginable. Effortless love trumps all, especially Hollywood’s fake new cries of unity when all they’ve done for 2 years is attempt to tear this country apart.  Last night, all my mom had to say about the magical white belt ceremony pic was “great pic.” Just for that I’m taking Matilda to the shooting range in Arizona for our next forced arranged visit. I’ll tell her Matilda is up to catching bullets in her teeth now, no thanks to her emotive encouragement along the way. And I’ll throw a MAGA hat on their precious, blatantly favorite grandchild to test the real measure of  loving tolerance. Which fake news hippie baby boomers believe they possess an exclusive clasp on within this country. When in fact it’s the effortless love, non’race baiting, non-baby killing, Trump supporter faithful rallies which encapsulate the demonstration of true effortless love. Which no current Democrat party, can buy, borrow or steal.

Effortless love trumps all but Bill Maher thinks Americans who love President Trump actually give 2 shits about the Oscars since Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein, the past king purveyor of cultivated, high art filmmaking taste was exposed for the rape empowering monster with the rest. But the silver lining in this instance, is that Harvey’s Weinstein’s wife finally ditched the dirt bag. To focus on her lifetime battle with, amnesia.

Did I watch the Oscars? No mom, I’ve got 3 kids and a pitch perfect, bad ass dynamo in the making daughter.  So I don’t have the luxury nor the inclination to develop amnesia for the purposes of propping up my moralist grandstanding, know it all elitist world of infanticide, empowering murdering illegals, treasonous deep state scum and mope maligned media talking heads part in trying to subvert the will of the American people because they voted for baby boomer mom not knowing best.

No, I  didn’t watch the Oscars mom. I don’t need to watch projected ideas of real love from Rape Wood during the Oscars. No I don’t, especially, when I’m in the constant embrace of my love circle supreme in the form of my 3 biggest tiny dancer fans because effortless love trumps all. Effortless love trumps all and it makes this do it all dad feel like the most star powered comedian in the universe.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sperm Implanter or Sperm Terminator?

I have 3 sweet children of mine. But where do we go now, knowing my wife is trying to cut me off from having more? Insisting I yank out my life shooter power for good and abort our be fruitful and multiply mission forever.

 

I’m scared of getting a Vasectomy. I don’t want my ball sack to feel like Edwards Scissorhands face. After he cuts his face from trying to do blow off his iron claws, after polishing off a case of Chateau Margaux with Keith Richards.

 
When your wife forces you to get a Vasectomy, she’s like Ocasio Cortez the bartender. Insisting you’re cut off from more because you’ve already had your full.

 
If you do a Vasectomy search on Google, Planned Parenthood shows up higher than Web MD? Hey ladies, Planned Parenthood doesn’t have enough monopolized power over your Fallopian Tubes already?

 
Me explaining to my son why daddy needs a Vasectomy 3 kids later. I get excited too easily because I didn’t get popular with ladies till after college. I still can’t do a convincing pump fake or make it past 1 Mississippi.

 
If you’re tired of being called a Nazi for supporting President Trump, refrain from mentioning men’s reproductive rights to your wife on your ordained day of rest.

 
Some doctors in the US won’t give you a Vasectomy without your wife’s approval. Does this mean men’s productive rights is a fake news Oxymoron?

 
Hey Doc, tell me if you’ve heard this one before? A Vasectomy screams I’ve got enough knots in my back already from 3 kids. So, one more in my groin won’t make a difference.

 
But 4 kids would really piss my parents off. Then, only seeing their 4 grandchildren 10 days a year would scream, baby boomers don’t suffer so much from family separation anxiety. Emoji’s don’t make up for it.

 
I tell my Aussie wife. Forget the vasectomy, let’s try for another boy. But instead of a hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision, we hire Crocodile Dundee. So, a roomful of Jews can say: Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.

 

But 4 kids would piss me off 4 times as much. Knowing my mother in law would still get me a pair of bargain bin black socks for Christmas. Tired of replying with: Great, now I can postpone laundry for another week.

 

4 kids would really piss my parents off. But we call our baby Samuel baby and I’d like to keep it that way. He’s our lucky number 3 for a reason. They say, the “rich get richer, and the poor get more children.” And Jewish New Yorker’s don’t make convincing Potato Farmers.

 

I can’t complain about a 4th automatic fan of me on the home front. Mama would be overruled by our own Supreme Court Bench on all issues pertaining to Men’s reproductive rights moving forward. Sperm Terminator can wait.

 

The End,
By,
Michael Kornbluth

Why Stay At Home Comedian Sells Huge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

What Happens to Stay At Home Comedian?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

Good Men Project Conversation Starter

You want a conversation nobody is else is having Good Men Project? Fine, if preparing is caring. Why do I have to be called a sexist, for insisting I pack my handsome devil sons pre-poundage release forms for lunch in Junior High babe?

You want a conversation nobody is having Good Men Project? Well for starters, why is every Scary Mommy blog rip off even less funny than the last? I’m not saying woman aren’t funny but forget sleep, tired stabs at humor aren’t ever.

You want a conversation nobody is having Good Men Project? Why is Hillary Hammer Time Cankles still making any most admirable American list? Can we lock up this fake news, polling scam already? She’s less personable than Ann Coulter.

You want a conversation nobody is else is having Good Men Project? I don’t need to see Serena Williams on the cover of GQ for woman of the year. Also, didn’t she finally lose this year? Most dominant woman of the century I can rally behind.

Where was the Klan for 8 years when Obama was President? Under their sheets depressed I guess. Still, I don’t see alt right dudes in polo’s and Tiki torches making Schillinger in OZ shit all over his combat boots either.

You want a conversation nobody is having Good Men Project? Why wasn’t Lena Dunham voted most Admired American before Michelle Obama? Lena had a hit on show on HBO. Michelle hasn’t produced shit for Netflix yet.

Mayor Koch said: “It’s not good for one’s self-respect to be a punching bag.” So when your brother accuses me of being less Jewish than you during Christmas Eve babe. I’m not going to Shadowban myself on the spot.

Letting my Dad off the hook.
Sure, he didn’t play an active role in my pubescent, man molding development. Then again, I didn’t offer him much extracurricular activity to be with involved with on my behalf past Tecmo Bowl either.

Brilliant swinger of the year award idea without me coming off as a complete scumbag. I meet a soccer mom at the playground. I ask her. Want to start a footsie club with me? It’s the perfect petting cheating cover.

Explaining to soccer moms what I do at the playground. I communicate with spirits of famous dead American Dads on the Do The All Dad Year Podcast. Dark comedy dad entertainment for you and me. I need to get out of the house more. I know.

Me explaining what I do after my debut parenting book about being a stay at home dad comedian in the age of meto fake feminists makes me a household American name. Now, I host a family meal review show Crazy Good Dada on Youtube with my star powered 20 month old seed Chef Samuels. Because my daughter thinks we’re primed to make big bucks exploiting his excitable, all american gerber baby, looks for all their worth for our pescatarian diet promoting family at large.

Daddy, what’s an elitist? Defending Obama no matter what. Despite nuke gifting Iran, blaming Benghazi attacks on a Youtube video, illegally spying on Trump and Hillary emailing yoga class coupons to YourmamaObama@gmail.com.

When Lebron loses a close game in LA. I bet Obama copes by tearing through his secret stash of Almond Joys. Hidden behind a box of duct tape from Costco.

6 millions hits later, I learn 420 is Hitlers birthday. I haven’t felt this betrayed since Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

New Rule Bill Maher.
When your mom converts to Judaism because she’s a Godless Chameleon like Hillary. So what difference does it make? She loses all right to bitch about her Jewish son not calling her on Christmas Day.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo

Out of the womb, he rocked a moosed up mohawk, looking like a dreamy cross breed of Vince Neil and Bret Michaels in the making. Who doesn’t require makeup to pull off the Cock Rock Wailer look.

Most babies are born baldies which is gross. Plus, they’re born with indentations on their heads. Looking like they were dropped on an anvil one too many times, because Nurse Jackie got the shakes since running out of Methadone.

My breach, flipper baby was born a day before my mother’s birthday. Finally, my wife had living proof God wasn’t picking on her anymore.

Chosen Curls mounted his high chair in 13 months flat with rock solid drive, like Elle the Body Macpherson double dared him to do it.
Everything about Chosen Curls screams nature boy woo. Like him trying to poke Sleeping Beauty’s eye open with his pee pee on his sister’s Amazon Kindle.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. He stops traffic in Stop and Shops even after their Prime Rib sample station opening.

I almost missed the birth of Chosen Curls because I had to wait 5 hours for my in-laws to arrive. Because my father-in-law let his wife drive and chose to pass on exerting his  manhood in this instance despite his past professions on the phone 5 hours prior about them being “on my side.” My younger brother was planned to babysit my 2 other celestial beams of light once my wife went into labor. After he arrived at our home sweet home, he thought it was a bright idea to ask me to get him stoned off the sticky icky stuff, during his 1st stint babysitting my children ever. So I called an audible and recruited my in-laws to drive down from Delaware to look after the kids instead. After this golden opportunity I gave my younger brother to show he really cared about helping me out in my time of need, went up in smoke.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo . He’s been blessed with the most naturalistic, non-strained smile of all time. As opposed to Leo’s strained one because he’s grinding his teeth from too much sub par blow taking again.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. He waddles with excitable joy across the room like Charlie Chaplain junior after taking a dump in his pants. Without ever loosing his non-predatory charm along the way.

Chosen Curls was born to woo. He throws a powerful, straightforward jab at 20 months old. I’m not calling him the 2nd coming of Adonis Creed but his big brother will be crying No Mas in no time. No offense Art Show but he’ll break you.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. At 20 months old he’s already throwing 5 pound free weights across the room like he was flicking Pistachio Nuts Shells at Andy Dick passed out in the Viper Room 3 hours before New Years Eve.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. As Chef Samuels in our family meal review show, Crazy, Good, Dada. He points at an onion and says, eyes. Or on my smart phone, showing a clip of Chelsea Handler after election night. What difference does it make?

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. When he claps it up to Moth Into Flame by Metallica in the car. He emanates rip roaring, feel good joy. Rock Star Ready’s emotive, clapping antics could go viral alone.

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. When we’re in coffee shops and busty Italian Milfs ask to hold him. I’ll tell him later. You do realize your star power stems from dada’s tree trunk, right?

Chosen Curls was bound to woo. Big sis and big bro are tucked in. I ask. Rock Star Ready, you wanna hear one of Dada’s podcasts in bed? He yells with excitable glee, yeah. My wife won’t even bookmark my blog.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Better Than Loved

What’s better than loved Dada? Being looked up to with your pure good blasting eyes, Female Flash.

My 1st born Singing Rose is my sweeter, funnier, ten times smarter twin. Compared to her 2 brothers, she looks like me the most. Although you’ll never hear Baba give daddy long legs credit for my star making gene power.

I hate hearing. Kids ruined my life. Like you had to decline so many invitations to the Playboy Mansion afterwards. Besides, it’s not my fault your daughter is a blah brained, dimmed projection of your borderline catatonic, lobotomized personality.

Kids ruined your life. Stop acting like your Whiteboard rehash reiterations at the Phoenix Airport Executive Lounge made such riveting lore to begin with.

Kids ruined your life. Yeah, I don’t see your daughter’s 1st grade teacher fantasizing about cloning more versions of your dumpy dour twin during your next parent teacher conference either.

Reality is, my Kettle Bell dense strong, effortless hilarious, daughter, Sweet Clone Matilda. Is an out of this world, life giver, infinite upgrade upper. She’ll take anyone in touch with her orbital spin of supreme loveliness higher.

I got my TV writing at Vh1 Classic in the big city when she was 2. Then, Matilda could only deliver 1 word punchlines for our comedy act at the deli. “Matilda, what did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks?” Daughter says. “Bupkus, daddy, Bupkus!”

Now, my 7 year old daughter is picking out and checking out Ivy and Bean chapter books with her own library card. Because she has to make up for her dad’s reading shortcomings. Whose never read a book of fiction in his life according to her.

I just learned how my dad was the headliner speaker at his best friend’s funeral, not his 1st born daughter. This upset me tremendously. Knowing my own daughter has admitted prior to murdering Uncle John, if he’s a no show at my funeral.

I don’t care what the daughter’s eulogy about her dad was about. A daughter is a dad’s special baby forevermore. Who outshines whatever purported, killer set eulogy you delivered on your best bud’s behalf. No offense Dad.

My parents describing themselves as involved, affectionate grandparents 8 days a year is a prime example of good grandparent derangement syndrome. But their horse shit pool net in place of a fence 8 years later makes up for it.

I’d drop Matilda off at daycare once a week when she was 2. Tear up and say. I have to get more writing done Matilda. Because my mock copywriting ads for Woodford Reserve, “CLASS IN A GLASS”, is no cash crop to bank future earnings on anytime soon.

Better than loved is the never ending hug with your 7 year old daughter at home, prompting her to say “Daddy, I never want this moment to end.” But ease up on my rib cage a bit. Is this what mama means about you being too rough with her?”

Better than loved is your daughter taking one bite of your Burrata bomb, roasted homegrown cherry tomato basil specked, cornmeal meal dusted pizza and saying, “Daddy, I know you really want to be a comedian. But can’t you be a pizza maker in Heaven instead?”

Better than loved is a daughter who makes this do it all dad feel like the luckiest man on earth. For being the sweetest, most emotive, comedy bud giver superior I never had.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth