Tag: comedy

Hell’s Gate Lives

by doitalldadyear, posted in Parenting, politics, storytelling

According to the Koran, Buraq is the winged horse that flew the honorable prophet Muhammad into Heaven after ascending past the steps of Mount Sinai. Did the ghost of Moses give the winged horse a lift on his magic carpet, signed by the Steve Miller Band?

In Farsi, Buraq also means “blessed”, with conquering the curse of white man’s disease, which is why Obama is a fake news blessed one, because I’ve never seen him slam anything, except alt-right dirt rags like Breitbart, that dared to point out how his social security card is from Connecticut, which is whiter than White Man’s Disease.

When Obama talks about race, everything changes. Then, why hasn’t Obama Be Good talked Netflix into making a black remake of Caddyshack yet? Biden plays the Van Wilder of Lifeguards. Hunter plays the burnout Groundskeeper who has found Zen in blow painting. Obama snorts up Chevy’s stash of white privilege and writes it off as a master’s estate tax. The My Pillow guy plays Rodney because Jackie Mason is too overtly annoying Jewy for Obama’s tastes. The My Pillow guy dies after Obama orders John Fetterman to smother him out with an oversized hoodie in exchange for a free Slurpee card from 711 for life. The movie ends with Obama running a go-cart over John Kerry’s bare feet on the back nine, playing golf with Matthew McConaughey. Obama yells, “I know; watch the pedicure, man. John is playing footsie with Saudi royals since his wife cut his weekly allowance in half for losing a kite surfing match to Fetterman; the only thing that moves slower than Fetterman is John Durham. So, I was born in Hell’s Gate in Keyna; what will you do about it America? MAGA country is dumb for thinking Bruce Springsteen will ever stop kissing my ass. But in Kenya, they know better than my kiss ass team at MSNBC. Gates tried putting me on a 500-dollar bill in Kenya, but the government declined. I’m so not money, and my fellow Kenyans know it.”

Hell’s Gate lives with a swingers twist, challah, thank you very much.

What’s the least politically incorrect reply to learning that someone you knew was friends with a pedophile?

Don’t act so surprised. Isn’t he a registered Democrat?

Who supports illegal entry no matter the cost.

And supporting open borders is supporting getaway rape speed, andele, andele, arriba, arriba.

Hair Plugs Sniffer in the White House is the demented, perverted umpire waiving all of MS-13 to steal home.

Only Frank Drummond from Police Squad would call them safe in an attempt to save the Queen.


But the Old G Queen is deader than claims of Prince Harry trying to kill himself over mental health issues.

Scruffy Archie hasn’t shaved in years.

Hell’s Gates lives, Challah, thank you very much.


Michael Kornbluth

When America Winces

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, politics, storytelling

At a parent-teacher conference for my son’s Kindergarten class, his Spanish Teacher implores us to bring Spanish to our home. I raise my hand and ask, “Isn’t one home invasion enough?” 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Self-Defense is deader than Kyle Rittenhouse’s prospects during pledge week at the University of Arizona. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I wish toothpaste tasted more like Bud Light. So, I wouldn’t taste anything afterwards except Kid’s Rocks spurned tears. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Now Kid Rock can’t play beer pong with groupies on Spring Break in Daytona Beach without his gag reflex kicking in, to the image of a Dylan Hepburn finger popping American Badass from behind to Devil Without Cause?

When American winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

10.8 million Tik Tock followers are ten times platinum. So, I’d lose my zest for pounding Bud Light on the front leg of my F Hair Plugs Sniffer Tour, Born free, my balls.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I’m guilty of wincing after asking Alexa how many followers Dylan Hepburn Mulvaney has on Tik Tok before
finishing that joke. 

I didn’t wince because Dylan Mulvaney is trans. I winced because she’s hackier than John Mullaney’s act in Jerry Seinfeld’s Bar Mitzvah suit. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I also winced at the thought of how Dylan is the best American-made Trans talent Tik Tok offers these days. Our Chinese Overlords wouldn’t consider Dylan Hepburn Lady Boy gold material of any kind, especially since the price of the US dollar is more depressed than Trumpy Poo’s tits knowing that Operation Death Speed continues to cause more cases of cardiac arrest than torn condoms on Bill Maher’s party bus tour of Rio De Janeiro during Marti Gras, sponsored by Third Legged Beauties.com. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I bet Dylan Mulvaney isn’t even real, just a CIA-made, augmented reality version of what a trans influencer spokesperson for Bud Light would look like based on John Mulaney’s stool sample alone.

How is Dylan’s sex appeal alone generating 10 million followers on Tik Tok? It sounds more prosperous than John Mulaney selling out Madison Garden because he had the balls to after Seinfeld for a change. Cosby was a rapist for 4 decades in a row. Where happened to your powers of observation then Jerry?

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

Click Farms in India wince at padding Dylan’s numbers more than they did for the creep Swede in Succession.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth 

 

 

 

When America Winces

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, entertainment, humor, politics

At a parent-teacher conference for my son’s Kindergarten class, his Spanish Teacher implores us to bring Spanish to our home. I raise my hand and ask, “Isn’t one home invasion enough?” 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Self-Defense is deader than Kyle Rittenhouse’s prospects during pledge week at the University of Arizona. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I wish toothpaste tasted more like Bud Light. So, I wouldn’t taste anything afterward except Kid’s Rocks spurned tears. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Now Kid Rock can’t play beer pong with groupies on Spring Break in Daytona Beach without his gag reflex kicking in to the image of a Dylan Hepburn finger popping American Badass from behind to Devil Without Cause?

When American winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

10.8 million Tik Tock followers are ten times platinum. So, I’d lose my zest for pounding Bud Light on the front leg of my F Hair Plugs Sniffer Tour, Born free, my balls.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I’m guilty of wincing after asking Alexa how many followers Dylan Hepburn Mulvaney has on Tik Tok before finishing that joke. 

I didn’t wince because Dylan Mulvaney is trans. I winced because she’s hackier than John Mullaney’s act in Jerry Seinfeld’s Bar Mitzvah suit. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

I also winced at the thought of how Dylan is the best American-made Trans talent Tik Tok offers these days. Our Chinese Overlords wouldn’t consider Dyland Hepurn Lady Boy gold material of any kind, especially since the price of the US dollar is more depressed than Trumpy Poo’s tits knowing that Operation Death Speed continues to cause more cases of cardiac arrest than torn condoms on Bill Maher’s party bus tour of Rio De Janeiro during Marti Gras, sponsored by Third Legged Beauties.com. 

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

I bet Dylan Mulvaney isn’t even real, just a CIA-made, augmented reality version of what a trans influencer spokesperson for Bud Light would look like based on John Mulaney’s stool sample alone.

How Dylan’s sex appeal alone is generate 10 million followers on Tik Tok? It sounds more prosperous than John Mulaney selling out Madison Garden because he had the balls to after Seinfeld for a change. Cosby was rapist for 4 decades in a row. What happened to your powers of observation then Jerry?

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

Click Farms in India wince at padding Dylan’s numbers more than they did for the creep Swede in Succession.

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth 

Unplanned Fatherhood Yucks

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, entertainment, family

What’s the best thing about unplanned fatherhood, 3 kids later?

Drinking alone is no longer an issue.

I gave up drinking beer last summer during my year without beer. Because beer bellies give self love a bad name

Plus, it was humiliating to spend so much time in front of my kids, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my hopoliscous past as entire Rocky marathons on AMC passed me by.

I quit edibles too because they’d kick in after I thought my daughter was asleep already.

And whatever buzzy calm I felt went poof once my daughter would ask, “What do you do after tucking me in?” Finally, I snap and say, “I squeeze in 2 minutes of me too time alright.”

When my daughter was younger she’d ask hard questions to amswer after the edibles kicked in when I thought she was asleep already. She’d ask, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God?” The best I could come up with was, “God went back in a time machine made by Elon Musk.” Daughter says, “Do more edibles Daddy. But thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”

Did I mention how my 11 year old daughter has breat buds now? According to my wife, she’s the last person in class to get them. So I say, “Then, why haven’t yours sprouted yet?”

Now I’m going to do an impersonation of my daughter in fight prevention mode again. Pause Daddy, my mama got your point mid breath.

Unplanned fatherhood yucks, challah. Thank you very much.

I also quit taking adderall after writing like a Jewish angel on it for the past 12 years in my mind.

I quit adderall so I’d focus less on how ahead of the curve annoyomg my wife can be, especially after threatening to kick me out of the house if I gave our kids, the common cold through Covid. An itchy esophagus matters too.

All time most annoying line is, “I’ve sacrificed.” She acts like an aspiring comedian in his late thirties into third legged beauties.com wanted kids ever. The 0 percent waist fast doesn’t hurt.

Unplanned Fatherhood yucks, Challah, thank you very much.

And if hospitals were so overwhelmed at the height of Covid, how did Nurses have so much free time on their hands to work on their elaborate Tik Tok dance routines for their new Chinese master overlords to spy on from afar.

I calls my 2 sons Stud Alerts on the loose. I won’t send them to junior high unless they have a lawyer by their side at all times to hand out pre-poundage consent forms. They might be gayer than I am. One time, my youngest son asked his older brother to sit on his penis and I say, “Not Kosher baby, but that is a rock solid line to use on a busty vixen in a Russ Meyer remake of Busty Beauties or Topless Tudors.”

But my oldest son is the best slacker alert ever. He’ll say, “Daddy, no box jumps today.” I say, “I got food poisoning from the Halal Guys, long Covid and Aids through Zoom with Andy Dick.” And slacker alert son will fire back with, “Enough with the excuses daddy. You’re worse than Hillary.”

Unplanned fatherhood yucks, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Headstart on Cancer

by doitalldadyear, posted in Parenting, poetry, writing

Do I immerse myself in comedy to avoid real emotional honesty Lord?

Am I fixated on getting the most mileage about of my funny side because getting laughs makes me feel most alive?

Can I ever overcome the thrill of scoring more crying emojis from friends old new after sharing my latest and greatest bits, fresh off the press, which make feel the most blessed?

Do I care about earning recognition points in the world of fiction or just care about getting paid to be professional joke killer on stage around the world?

If I hate the art of stand-up comedy so much or being around other people so much, according to my wife, then why would I dedicate the totality of my focus, brain power and time toward the art of laugh yanking entertainment, 142 comedy records later?

Do I love the art of standup comedy because it fulfills my needs to shred and feel like a rock star without having to master the art of playing my Fender Stratocaster ever?

Lord, when I prayed in Synagogue last Saturday, asking for the opportunity for my father to see me as a success before he dies? Was I talking about being a working standup comedian away my kids 300 days a year, a well-paid podcast host comedian or as a working TV writer who writes books on the side with no time to see his kids whatsoever?

Don’t you think the main conflict in my book of short fiction, Waste Of Height Really Short Stories is the urge to finance my return to the stand up comedy yet but can’t just yet?

I have all these jokes and want to capitalize on them so badly Lord.

Am I being a lazy brain for not wanting to write these short new stories that I have great log lines for?

Why do I just want to write jokes and killer job descriptions for startup clients to put Stand Up Staffer in business?

How can I survive the charges of softness by dad Lord?

Is digging ditches going to provide the dream life for my kids?

I’ve got specs of grey at 47, which are signs of wisdom right?

I don’t want to be married to any script anymore Lord.

I don’t want to hide behind a computer anymore Lord.

I want to kill on the Coliseum floor.

I want to get paid to kill.

I’m tired of hearing nobody reads anymore.

I’m tired of hearing get focused by dad.

But deep down, Lord, I know I must pick a race to finish 1st in at 47 already.

The kids want me to perform standup comedy again.

Once I start collecting unemployment, I could start doing that again.

I need think big, show conviction and reach out to big shot performers like Toby Keith who I admire and share my comedy records with.

My big ask is asking for a booker referral of any kind.

I need to be booked for shows.

I have 6 months left on a car lease that I’m not even paying for.

I need to cash in on my white privilege already.

This guy on LinkedIn who I admire says write stories that matter.

Well, my jokes matter too. They’re truth bombs specials, made especially for these times.

The hardcore hilarious of them is beyond debunkable.

I need to become a sales machine.

Either I’m selling jokes on stage or during the day selling my headhunter writing services as Stand Up Staffer, Creative Tech Recruiter Extraordinaire.

I’m tired of spending money on writing contests only to lose again.

I should’ve won the at Press 53 contest for short fiction, I was only competing against 250 writers for Christ’s sake.

I want to get a talent manger or lit agent to get me a book deal after seeing my talent for being the quickest punchline blaster in the US.  

Donald Trump’s father said, “No man ever became rich from sitting behind a desk.”

I’m tired of repeating myself Lord.

I hate to abandon goals for writing contests, like the Big Break One for Gum King Of New York.

But I’d rather write that script at my own speed this year or enact that business idea for Hop-O-Rama Chew with somebody more than just an imaginary friend courtesy of Final Draft.

I need to get on other people’s podcasts.

I don’t want to be a crying mess on birthday again like I was this year, Lord.

I heard from an old friend on my birthday, who said, “May you always kill on stage.” He tells me to sent audition tapes to Fox.

I know that my true friends still want me to succeed on stage.

They know I was made for it.

I want to please them.

I love them.

I want to please my kids.

My daughter says, “Daddy, do whatever you do be happy, just get me the mansion in North Salem that I desire.”

But I got to get of the house to make contacts and make that happen.

I’m talking circles.

This was supposed to be a story for a short fiction contest about getting head start on cancer, but it is.

Cancer can be waiting around the corner.

My dad might have lung cancer.

He has a biopsy next week.

This had supposed me to a chance to tell him, I’m gay about laugh yankage and I’m finally going for it all the way and that writing books, blogs and doing more comedy records and podcasts isn’t enough to keep my fighting spirit alive with the Gods of comedy anymore.

If I was making money off it, I don’t think so, not anymore.

I crave applause, I crave respect.

I have to finance my dreams my way, Stand Up Staffer is here to say.

It’s the only way I can finance a trip to France for my daughter’s 13th birthday, the big bash in her honor, and I’ll feel like a big macher for once in my life.

And I’ll have you to thank for giving me the strength and courage to take on the world despite feeling like a designated slow poke in elementary school.,

I’m going for it but got to be Standup Staffer Hero first, and doubts remaining of my willingness to what it takes to make this reality happen is beyond debunkable.

Thanks for the fighter’s chance to prove my worthiness and for the head start on cancer, being a late bloomer and all Lord, very, very much.

Head-Start on Cancer, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Stage Names for Only Fans

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, storytelling, writing

Michael Flamer

Michael Rocker

Michael Lifer

Killerset Kornbluth

Michael Spewer

Off The List Kornbluth

Unfocused Kornbluth

Bud Man Kornbluth

Loudman Disease Kornbluth

Sustained Stiffage Kornbluth

Half Heeb Crazy Kornbluth

Edgeless Comedy Blows Kornbluth

Joshua Higher

Heavenly Toppers Kornbluth

Adderall Conqueror Kornbluth

Year Without Edibles Kornbluth

Far From Korny Kornbluth

Laugh Yanker Kornbluth, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth