Tag: college

Follow The Vaccine Body Count

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, beauty, entertainment

If Obama could ball. Then, why did he ride the bench at an all Asian private school in Hawaii?

I wanted to marry my wife in her native homeland of Australia. Mom says, “Australia is a long flight from New York. And your father doesn’t love you that much.”

Later, I console my wife and say, “Assuming we have a boy one day, we can hire Crocodile Dundee for the circumcision. Just so we can hear a room full of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”

US troops are being denied earned leave without getting their vaccination 1st. On the upside, less Navy servicemen will get pricked by the barebacking ghost of Allen Ginsburg during Fleet Week. Holla, thank you very much.



The Indian Health Ambassador and former comedian gets his COVID vaccine live on TV to show everyone how safe it is and dies 2 days later. I hope the former comic is reincarnated as anal warts inside Dr. Fauci’s hell hole colon.

The Indian comedian should’ve stuck to killing with arranged marriage material instead. Former Indian comedian says, “It’s easier to get your wife into anal if you’re pushed into marrying one caste beneath you. Holla, thank you very much.”

Dr. Cole says we’ve seen more deaths from the COVID shot than all vaccines in the last 20 years combined, adding, “Morally just Wuhan Lab assistants have longer shelf lives after interview spots with Tucker Carlson.”

Dr. Cole, another outspoken critic about the ineffective practice of lockdowns also says since the dawn of man, “We’ve never quarantined the well.” Adding, “Look how well Dave Chapelle turned out after his walkabout sabbatical in Africa, using only bush dirt weed to fight off killer Mosquitos the size of Aids quilt blankets.”

Vaccinated people still wearing a mask is like Cookie forcing Magic to wear a rubber whenever they snuggle up to The Inside Guys on TNT.

The Sopranos finale would be better if Meadow got to play the prosecutor in the George Floyd case and in her closing statement state, “How did all lives matter become the new n word?” Holla, thank you very much.”

2 female college students got kicked out of Amherst College for not wearing a mask from a photograph taken on campus. When did liberal art colleges become no go zone areas for Muslim housewife property during Ramadan?

Bartender looks at my wife’s credit card during our sweaty sex period before we got married and says, “Duffy, like me.” I reply, “Why don’t you 2 open a bar together and live happily after?” Holla, thank you very much. 

I’m so tired of hearing the NY is coming back pitch. These days, Jews feel less welcome in New York City than critical BLM theories.

Michelle Obama says, “You want to hang out with us. Get your vaccine, gardeners from Honduras excluded. Just don’t Instagram any of Obama’s pot plants Pancho, got it. He likes to puff with Malia and her friends during summer break to feel like a fake news bi-racial Bob Marley.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Masturbation Equalizer

by doitalldadyear, posted in beauty, blogging, fiction

The Masturbation Equalizer

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”

Salvador Dali

“Money equals middle finger power”, is what my Dad always told me growing up in our quaint yet artistically loaded Comedy Grant House 50 minutes North of Manhattan within the bucolic, historically tiny village of Croton Falls, famous for being the birthplace of my dear dada’s famous catchphrase, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”, on his Do It All Dad podcast that ultimately got him a recording label deal to produce comedy record 100 Too Tall Jew, on Blessed Records and the rest is comedy gold machine making history. Personally, I preferred the comedy record title, Birds Eye View Bitches, but Daddy thought that it was tad long winded even for Bob Dylan’s tastes. At the Montreal Comedy Festival Daddy got big laughs when he said, ‘”Sorry pops, but when you live in Arizona for a decade and counting and still haven’t visited the Grand Canyon, you’re a fake news hippy. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggest otherwise.

Still, growing up Papa, my grandfather, nicknamed my daddy, Waste of Height because my father is a 6’4 Jewish New Yorker, who’s only highlight when playing Varsity basketball senior year was scoring 10 points against an all-Japanese team, which isn’t hard when the opposing players thought the pick and roll, mean their choice of fish. Now, my dad was being billed by Rolling Stone as Killer Set Kornbluth, while Variety magazine hailed him as the new giant of late night after replacing Bill Maher with a new talk show called Seriously Clowning. So, at this point in his life, my dad had every right to look down on any soul sucker dream detractor who tried to make him feel like a delusional, crazy man narcissist for pursing A plus comedic glory with a middle finger power mansion located at the highest point in Bel Air next to Jerry’s Lewi’s old school crib. So, the shelf life behind papa’s degrading nickname, Waste of Height, in relation to his 1st born blossoming son, no thanks to his encouraged direction had gone sailing, Dean Martin, lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

But daddy is what you would call a late bloomer, who didn’t start tasting big deal success till his late forties, combining that with a sexless marriage, with a man who is far from straight, on top of his mom wanting him to sling other’s people’s garbage instead of his own A plus gemry jokes for a living one day, combined with in-laws who force fed Eucharist on his Jew blood tainted kids behind his back, combined with zero creative collaborators outside of his own children during his 5 year journey into the wilderness while kicking is decade long addiction to Adderall for good, resulted in creating a tsunami of resentment fueled rage that almost burnt out what love spreader light that existed left in my dear dada’s endlessly beautifying, beyond spiritualized projecting soul, before it was too late.  Because of that, Daddy did everything in his power to ensure I established moonbeam blast shot goals early as possible compared to his mother urging her “artist son”, to settle and shoot for shit by chucking the joke writing career all together and become a full-time garbage man like Magic Johnson’s father in Lansing, Michigan. Obviously, Magic Johnson dad’s is a stellar example of being a God loving, do it all dad done good. Still, Magic’s dad also slung other’s people’s trash, so his son wouldn’t have to, similar to Papa schlepping over the George Washington Bridge for 25 years only to get nickeled and dimed by the likes of Potomka Pickles while working as VP of Sales for a plastics and glass company in Union, New Jersey, otherwise known as the Swamp Thing State, so his 1st born wouldn’t have to follow in his steps and blaze a new trail of funny man innovation to derive prideful enrichment of some kind on his own.

But what really pissed off my dad was Papa resisting the notion that I had genius potential in me because his waste of height son was too much a mongoloid moron in his eyes to birth such a star powered, out of this world seedling capable of moving millions with my own powers of imagination, poetic lift and storytelling powered song. Daddy went to Ithaca College, which he derided as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. But he graduated from the distinguished Roy H. Park School of Communications, so he could suck down some bingers of extra strong Tompkin’s country outdoor weed and avoid stuttering every other 2 seconds. I loved the idea of going to Columbia growing up, yet Daddy viewed Manhattan as yesterday’s news and planted the idea of me attending Williams University in Massachusetts instead, because former owner of the Yankees George Steinbrenner, otherwise known as the Boss, was a famous alumnus and larger than life NY bred personalities like George Steinbrenner don’t get any big more time than that. Plus, Daddy loved the standup comedian Jim Norton who claimed Boston woman were the best to slay with. Also, at Uncle John’s wedding, AKA, Sir Snort a Lot, Daddy said, “God gave my younger brother more second shots at respectable redemption than what George Steinbrenner gave Steve Howe”, which got goonish at the time. Plus, I remember my dad driving us to the Manhattan to go skating at 30 Rock once for my birthday and he points out the new Yankee stadium off the Deegan and says, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee Stadium, the house that gentrification built.” I knew all about Reggie Jackson otherwise known as Mr. October, who hit not one but 3 first pitch baseball homers in 1979 to clinch the World Series for the Yankees at the original Yankee stadium, otherwise known as the house, that Ruth built. I also knew that Babe Ruth had the most homers during his day but had the most strike outs to, because there was nothing half ass about the Babe who went down swinging, coming through in the clutch with his back against the wall like the great Messier, Derek Jeter, Andy Petite, Eli Manning and Frank Sinatra all the way. Daddy imparted the lesson of why New Yorker’s have big time egos for a reason. When Daddy actually contemplated moving our family to Texas during year 2 of COVID, I said, “Daddy, how many great comedians are from Texas? Daddy said, “Bill Hicks and Sam Kinson.” I say, “Bill Hicks only made me laugh once. And Sam Kinson had one good comedy album from start to finish that was pure standup without the cheesy Wild Thing cover song on it, that’s it. Now, name me star comedians from New York? Daddy says “Rodney Dangerfield, Andrew Dice Clay, Lenny Bruce, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Greg Giraldo, Joan Rivers, George Carlin. Have I mentioned myself yet? Alright you’re right, Texan comedians suck compared to native New Yorkers, Joe Rogan included.”

For some time, I just wanted to be a singer and write my own songs, singing in pubs like Amy Winehouse without developing the heroin addition, yet my dad insisted I become an A Plus student and accept no other goal acceptable, so he could boast to his new comedy manager and rapper friends in South Africa, where his new record label was located, that his daughter went to Williams College, which rocks the old world King Solmon Royal purple. And my Do It All Dad thought the deep purple look exuded an edgy deep suave vibe similar to Jimmy Hendrix’s head tripping beanbag within the mixing room at Electric Lady Land studios in Manhattan. Daddy also had a black and white picture of famed writer director Bill Wilder in his old office where the famed writer, director of Ace In The Hole and Fortune’s Cookie, was marching in his office with his talking stick of sorts as his famed screenwriter partner Charles Brackett is on the writer’s  couch in letting him go long again, who is another Williams alum that helped co-write Sunset Blvd, which is good work if you can get it.  The other line Daddy would always pound into my cranium growing up was from Stephen Sondheim, which is, “God is in the details”, and the famous Broadway composer lyrist graduated from Williams to, so dumb, dumb burn outs didn’t even bother to apply. Reality is, I almost never got into Williams College nor ended up becoming the female Carl Jung of my day post COVID damage done after graduating Magna Cum Laude after triple majoring in English, Psychology and Philosophy, achieving the trifecta of liberal arts lunacy, I know. But believe it or not, my fate at William’s became sealed, not because of my college essay where I insist Carl Sagen was mothered by a starless atheist cunt who gave Booger face Behar on the View a whiff of semi-respectability in comparison for a change when she asked Don Lemon why he was nothing more than another race war inciting scumbag like Jussie Smollett minus the SAG card after she got red pilled by Russell Brand from turning her on to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast during bi-sexual pride appreciate month, I think. Actually, pursuing the harder, less shit laden path started by Daddy posting an ad on Craig’s List for a jerk buddy in search of more than a friend.  

“Why did I post an ad for a jerk buddy on Craig’s List? Because I thought it was healthy alternative to laughing at my own material on the couch after my daughter was tucked in, before breaking up with my wife off 11 years, again and again”, A 45-Year-Old divorced Comedian says to his chesty, red headed, Psychologist who was an English and Psychology major at Willaims herself. Mara Weitzman, the Psychologist from Williams says, “What if I jerk off your ego instead of some random stranger on Craig’s List, who would give Jim Norton the creeps?” Do It All Dad, now a divorced still struggling comedian, living on the couch of his Film Grip bud in Ridgefield, CT who wants to be the Bill Graham of Death Metal festivals in Upstate New York one day, says, “Does my health insurance cover that added expenditure on my behalf?  Psychologist Mara Weitzman says, “Remember, the time you talked about that 1st hand job you got from Carolyn Verdichio, in Cotswold Park, which you nicknamed Actionless Park in your bit at the Montreal Comedy about how you’re no gentle giant or else why would you insist on staying home to ignore your kid for the privilege of writing more jokes while choking your wife too hard financially, again and again? You described your 1st hand job as a throbbing extension of your brutishly rough personality, to the point where she almost skinned your pussy wrecker rearranger alive, while your jeans kicked wildly in the mud like a hardheaded hog in heat. Well, what if we reenact the moment right now? I played the steel guitar growing up in Plano Texas, so I’ve got stronger hands that most. Let me if see if I can yank out that rough side out of you for good. I’ll even put in a good word for your daughter at the Williams College during admissions season. Do It All Dad drops his pants and says, “I don’t feel like such a self-centric jerkoff anymore. Mara Weitzman, you’re the only masturbator equalizer for me. Now rip off that top and start jerking it like its 1999.  I’ll give those busty beauties a liberal load to boast about it when you pump up my long-term endowment potential to your fellow alum members after I blow you away with a blast of teen spirit of my own. Kurt Cobain lives, Challah. Mara screams in extreme anticipatory ecstasy, “Nirvana, come reign on me.” Minutes later, Psychologist Mara Weitzman buttons up her top and puts her murky stained glasses back on and says, “See you next Tuesday Do It All Dad. Williams College will be lucky to have your daughter attend next fall, if she follows after your money blasting footsteps. Thank you, very, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Mastercard CFO Says

by doitalldadyear, posted in culture, humor, writing

Mastercard CFO isn’t worried about a recession. Because their only interest is getting you into deeper debt, shit head stains on society.

CFO explains to Bloomberg.

Ban fertilizer in Canada.

I don’t give a shit.

Food shortages and increased production costs for Farmers are cash cows for us.

MasterCard rules your life now.

Just when you think, you’re out of debt, because Mr. Groper promised to pay off your college degree from the University of Phoenix. Mastercard keeps pulling you back in.

Emit bitch all you want on your WordPress blog.

We suffer from net zero guilt, you peon putzes.

That’s why you’re eating a face of full of manure like Biff from Back to Future, and we’re not.

So, relax kids, Millennial Mouseketeers are dying in their sleep from the clot shots.

But for now, they’ve got Mastercard.

Remember more shots means less living.

But at least you got your vaccine passport stamped one more time to visit Copenhagen.

Apply for a Mastercard today.

More living equals less limits.

Like you were going to blow your bonus money on a self-driving scooter that hits get away rape speed while driving through a no-go zone in Denmark.

AI saves the day. Your clit won’t be hacked into shawarma shreds in Copenhagen in August, priceless.

Michael Kornbluth

Flipper Bird Baby

by doitalldadyear, posted in celebrity, poetry, sex

HBO taking down Louie CK’s comedy specials was some knee jerk reactionary bullshit. But it’s kosher to keep Woody Allen’s movies up on HBO Max, despite most of those films coming out pre-Soon Yi. Before Woody’s new favorite hobby after stashing baseball cards in shoe boxes became stuffing his top sock drawer with naked Polaroid pics of a 9-year-old naked Soon-Yi to tap for future script generation ideas about an older than dirt creep who bangs a girl with barley forming breast dots called, Crimes Misdemeanors, The Early Years. At the same time, the only pic pissing from Woody’s far from mint, stuck together collection of Polaroid pics of Soon-Yi was the one of her crying naked on the cover of Time Life Magazine.

Has BLM taken the Rocky statue down yet because it promotes White Supremacy?

What is Louie really guilty of besides failure of imagination?

5 women accused Louie of jerking off in their presence after bestowing them green light power like they packed real industry heat as if they became mini-Penny Marshall directors who got final cut on her film Awakenings after a League of Their Own, which had to have been a real heady rush for these wet behind the ears, aspiring comedians to experience at the time.

Louie selling shirts on his website that say “Sorry” on it, is smile inducing 1st idea funny. Other ideas more on brand would’ve been, “Sticky Life”, “Bathhouse Louie”, “Lazy Man Sex”, “Standing Ovations Aren’t Enough”, “Full Of Yucks,” “Get A Grip No-Name Bitch, ” “Got Wipes?” “Whack Attack”, “Dirtier, The Better”, “Visual Aids Lover”, “Hornier Around Hacks”, “Seed Spiller Supreme” or “Coming on a Green Room Near You Indianaoplis.”

Bet it was hard for the college tour guide to keep a straight face when he spotted Louie in the crowd with his daughter after binging on the Soprano’s the previous night with his hockey buds at Boston University whose cousins with Ted Nugent, who grew up idolizing Dennis Leary under a hardcore Republican household in Minnesota.

Holy Shit, it’s Louie CK everybody. Nice shades Louie. The only thing missing from your creep ensemble is a trench coat and Sarah Silverman’s hoodie to wipe up with.

In case you’re wondering, Boston University is contemplating the inclusion of a safe space jerk off wing called, Lonely Heart Louie Lane”, which should take off in Silcon Alley, so you’re not yanked out of the office bathroom stall by office security crooning, “You don’t come around here no more.”

Louie’s here’s with his daughter. Personally, I’d push her to become a Lesbian because you can’t get Aids from munching on middle of the road Sashimi. Louie feels me. The dark prince of humor knows you can’t die from Aids when you’re lesbian because the flip side of being a Lesbian lover licker receiver is you can take a licking and keep on ticking. Don Draper, I fucked him oh. I can’t take no more.

Remember when Louie compared Trump to Hitler after Eminem did. But when Trump bought Mar-a -Lago he lifted the lifetime ban on Jewish membership, Slim on Facts Shady.

My favorite Louie episode was when Louie went on a college tour with his daughter Meadow and choked one out to an episode of the Soprano’s when Janice drills Ralphie in his ass with a vibrator during his reloading down time from whacking strippers to death.

Hey Louie, shouldn’t your daughter pursue a BFA in comedic arts at nearby Emerson university. On Daddy Deplorable Dady you can perform this Shakespeare piece I’ve been developing with my daughter. That’s right Louie doesn’t possess a fucking monopoly on edgy father daughter conversational fueled comedy in relation to gender fluid comedy either. I keep it simple and tell my daughter, transgender is gay in woman’s clothing. Daughter asks, “Does that mean Shakespeare was gay because he dressed like a woman in all his plays.” I said, “That’s just because Shakespeare looked prettier than but-her-face English wenches with ugly moles on their face. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy is gay about lunging at Othello backstage in tights. And I if see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter one more time, I’m going to break my Chic-Filet strike for good. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Plus, feeling shafted shouldn’t be a new shock to your system anymore either. This is Jefferey Tambour blasting his fellow Trans Co-star for pissing on the toilet seat in his trailer bathroom again. Real lady like, now get out of my trailer, you butchy bitch, hey now. Why are trans activists getting their panties in a bunch over the song Dude Looks Like a Lady Again?” In the song Steven Tyler takes more than a glancing stiffening peek, before proclaiming with surging mounting lust, “Oh what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get it over it already. Richard Pryor said it was the best piece of pussy, Bill Maher never had. Which reminds me, I just bumped into Michelle Obama’s Book Reach Higher at the Target dumper bargain bin and thought, “Reach Higher, Bill Maher, just got a stiffy. I can’t take no more, Dice lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Or did you call Trump the Anti-Christ Louie? Regardless, you’re the lying sack of shit for pretending to feel sorry about jerking off in presence of lesser female comedians after receiving their permission to throw on Sarah Silverman’s crusty old hoodie to get you in the mood for old time’s sake. The only thing you’re sorry about is pretending to care that your vote for Joe Biden mattered because you know that Biden pretending to get more votes than your boy Obama is like pretending DMX gave up weed for Catnip for Lent. Trump Hitler rhetoric got you too pumped-up Louie. Sequels never live up to the original. Maybe, Biden’s the Anti-Christ instead Louie. At the same time Christian right nation, in the Bible part 2 Jesus returns from Heaven to defeat the Anti-Christ. So have some faith in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you people?

Louie doesn’t feel sorry about jerking off in front of no name female comics. I wouldn’t either personally after getting their permission. Just own it and admit to feeling bad about his money shots in the green room costing him so much green.

What was Louie’s opener used to get consent before getting his yank on around these adoring female comics again? I’m too cheap for a massage parlor. Plus, I’m a dad. So, I can only get into the older happy enders, knowing they weren’t yanked off the boat yesterday. Don’t stare at my red pubes too intensely or you’ll get blinded with rage for not taking your father’s advice, when he pushed you to become a dental hygienist instead. I won’t jerk you around. Jerking off in the bathroom cramps my style. If I did my laugh yanker sets sitting on my ass like Paul Mooney I might be acting differently. You think Obama’s drones blasted with such Lasik type precision. To put you more at ease, would it help if I told you that Mr. Wonderful, Obama, ordered me to leak it. They don’t call me Bathhouse Louie for nothing, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

NYU Students Enter Planned Parenthood

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, comedy, travel

Did you know they have a Planned Parenthood in the middle of NYU? I thought sticking with fellatio, the morning after pill or anal alternatives 101 wasn’t beyond Freshman comprehension. So much for NYU raising the standards of admission since Debra Messing got into Tisch and came out a bloated douche has-been for hire.

Michael Kornbluth