Joyous Jiz Jangle

At the supermarket I eye a basket of scrumptious looking tomatoes. So, does the grey-haired Grandma next to me. I say, “They’re feel up worthy. Sophia Loren lives. Wife thinks I’ve got a sexualization problem. I’m a G Rated version of Andrew Dice Clay. Grey haired Grandma continues to laugh long time. Joyous Jiz jangle, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Over Faking Happiness

Fake meat is off the list.

Blame Biden’s handlers and globalist warlords in charge of Dominion software for ruining Impossible Burgers, Gatorade and pools with lifeguards of any kind.

Daddy, what are Beyond Meat sausages made from again?

Genetically modified soy.

Think of air pockets of distress inside John Fetterman’s brain after getting dislodged from an empty tank of Nitrous.

Daddy, I didn’t get that one.

What are Beyond Meat sausages made from again?

Coconut Oil, rice and Mung Bean, which is a plant in the Legume family.

It’s the pea’s gunkier, pilled out brother.

Think of John Fetterman eating the box of Bocca Burgers because they looked more appealing than frost burn soy patties inside, at the time.

The Beyond Meat Sausage I had this morning, just rubbed me the wrong way.

It felt like I was watching the Beyond Mat documentary about WWF wrestling.

Walking away thinking, it’s more fun to pretend it’s real instead of asking Alexa what these beyond meat sausages are made of.

Beet juice adds added coloring, which allows the Impossible burger to bleed, whoopty freaking do.

That’s like learning how Abdulah The Butcher would let faker wrestler bitches uses mock blood made out of ketchup packets because they’re more softcore bitches than the rest.

Being a Hair Metal guy, I guess I’m prone to mock anything remotely alternative to my original love in the 1st place.

Soundgarden was fine, if you’re into songs about black hole suns, over getting wild in the streets over chasing hotties pre-Aids for fun.

I guess, I’m just sick of fake, being served up as an enriching, healthier alternative to the real best thing, Nancy Pelosi’s gallon jugs with Grey Goose on tap included Challah.

Over faking happiness, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Placation Nation

If Kyrie Irving hated Jews so much.

Then, why would he play basketball in Brooklyn?

The only thing Jewier than Brooklyn are fag hags like Lena Dunham.

Who’s the biggest reason why birthrates are an all-time low in New York.

Over the hill hobbit hipster hacks are pulling out early due to excessive meat sweats.

But the Hunchback of Bushwick during Restaurant Week, rocking the arm flapper look on Instagram isn’t helping.

But seriously, if you hate Jews so much, why would play in the Barclay’s Center, when it’s only a 10-minute walk to the heart of Park Slope?

Schillinger from OZ would last long, working as barista in Park Slope, as part of his new worker release program since Ari Emanuel from Endeavor Talent Agency took over for Leo Glynn as the new Warden of Ozwald State penitentiary.

“You know, I’d feel safer if you wore a wool hat in July like the rest.”

“Yeah, I asked for a double macchiato, not burnt espresso with a flaccid facade of foam on top.”

“So, try again. You don’t want to circumcise my happiness again, do you?

Schillinger cracks the coffee cup over the customers face.

And yells.

“Send me back to The Hole Ari.”

“I’d rather lose my mind on my own time.”

“Of course, this sniveling shit took a knee for BLM.”

“He drained them dry till Yom Kippur.”

“I bet Squid and The Whale was read Bi-Curious George growing up while being reared on Lou Reed Records?”

“I’d rather hear BLM do a Ted Talk on how Turbo Tax is some culturally biased shit. Then, serve fancy fagalah coffee drinks to these neutered nincompoops. What, I grew up on the Upper East Side on York, in the heavily German section while it still lasted. Who do you think was chasing Tony Curtis down a fire escape? It wasn’t Kyrie Irving’s grandfather; I’ll tell you that much. That part of Manhattan didn’t reek of shit weed from blunted nation yet either. Fuck this placation nation bullshit, I’m out of here.”

Placation Nation lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Kosher Klaus Sushi

Once upon a time, there was a Kosher sushi chef prodigy, Art Show USA, who opened Kosher Klaus Sushi on Christmas Eve in 1994 before the Internet became mainstream and Asian elite Yelpers went hog wild.  Kosher Klaus Sushi was located in the heart of Scarsdale Village, and earned immediate rave reviews in the Scarsdale Inquirer from local food critic Debbie Wasserman, who described Art Show’s mind-blowing specialty roll creations as, “Orgasmic before they reach the back of your throat good.”  

            What made Art Show unique, outside of his unmatched imaginative heft and juggling sushi knifework at the bar, were his God-given star-powered looks, which commanded legions of groupie Yentas to schlep from the far reaches of Long Island to wait in line in the dead of winter just to catch a glance of the new age pretty boy/badass sushi chef through the window, cranking out one swoon-worthy, inhalatory sushi specialty roll after the next like his signature one, Living On The Edgemont Edge, which had smoked salmon, cream cheese, capers, and caramelized shallots throughout, to inject an extra special loaded lift.   

            Every day, Art Show USA would sharpen his sushi knives together (made from Israeli steel, used in bulletproof vests made for their special force’s unit, Mossad), which would woo with sparkly, dazzling delight as patrons at the Kosher Klaus Sushi Bar gave impromptu standing ovations throughout.  

            Art Show USA was a 6 foot 4, spikey blond-haired, blue-eyed, lean, mean, sushi-slicing machine who made Tom Cruise (from the movie Cocktail) look like a stumpy, homely hobbit hipster hack, in comparison, regardless of whether he kept his rolled-up-sleeve button shirt tucked in or not.   

            But, one day, a bunch of rowdy Irish wiggers entered Kosher Klaus Sushi to track down a hot yenta breath from Syosset, Long Island’s Rachel Weinstein, who rocked swinging booby beauties (36 Ds, to be exact), who was also a solid 5 foot 9, making her mountable from behind, standing up (assuming you weren’t a stumpy Irishman, unlucky in the height department).   

            Rachel was a full-lipped, Sephardic Persian, tan, busty beauty. Even Roger Waters from Pink Floyd would pulverize her fetching snatch until he was comfortably numb.  The leader of the wigger Irish pack was Liam O’Reilly, who sported a Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus (which scared off most, but not Art Show USA).

            Art Show USA got a black belt in judo by the time he was 13, for his Bar Mitzvah. For Art Show’s Bar Mitzvah Party, he played ‘Siamese Dream’ by the Smashing Pumpkins on the guitar with his feet and teeth.  So, Art Show USA never sweated the prospect of losing a fight or a girl to an Irish wigger moron from Long Island, who thought that stamping a permanent Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus was a bright idea, regardless of whether it ensured him a truck driver job for Killan’s Red or not.

            Liam and his crew of Irish wiggers came down from Long Island to start a fight with Art Show USA because they attended the same high school as Rachel Weinstein, and only had eyes for inhaling her whole. Plus, they weren’t enthralled with Rachel wearing an underground-circulated hoodie with a picture of Art Show USA on it, who was sporting an American flag bandana and a Star of David gold necklace around his neck, showcasing well earned, non-banking-job-related bling.  

            Liam cuts the line with his Irish wigger posse and bursts into Kosher Klaus Sushi like Mark Wahlberg on the set of SNL after Andy Samberg did a sketch about Marky Mark talking to farm animals. He bum-rushes the sushi bar and says, “Hey, faggot. I’ll kick your ass right now, to show all your groupies what a pretty boy faggot, gay pussy bitch you are in real life.”

            Art Show ignores Liam’s Alpha Dog attack. Liam jumps over the sushi bar to strike. Art Show does a lookaway kick to the middle of his forehead, which sends Liam flying into the ceiling fan, which knocks him out senseless.

            Art Show USA says, “Alexa, play ‘Jump Around’ by House of Pain.” Kosher Klaus Sushi erupts into an instantaneous jubilee and Jewish pride pounces the air, inspiring Rachel Weinstein to flash her tits at Art Show USA as the entire restaurant throws their gold necklaces (with Stars of David’s on them) in her general direction, in honor of all those sweet, harmless Jewish boys who were never taught to defend themselves like the Hebrew Hammer, Bugsy Siegal, or Art Show USA.

Michael Kornbluth

Tofu The Terrible

Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth was in no singing mood today. Every day, she’d wake up singing, ‘Good Day Sunshine’ by the Beatles even if she had gotten up at the crack of dawn again, or decided to work in Norway away from her mom and dad throughout an entire darkened five-month winter as a 9-year ski model for Northface; knowing that in a post-Corona universe, she was used to doing remote learning away from school, anyway.

            But this drab Thanksgiving morning was different, because she had to act thankful for eating Tofurky Roast again (despite the spirit of Tofu The Terrible terrorizing her dreams since she’d described soy dogs, in her school lunch cafeteria blog, as “Rubber dog link nosh toys.”

            But how could Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth act grateful for eating a Tofurky Roast since her fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Right, made it clear how the Native American indians weren’t responsible for teaching the Pilgrims how to turn soy milk into white blocks of semi-firm bricks of soy, with higher levels of estrogen to feminize John Smith’s sturdy stock of sailors.

            Also, Thanksgiving this year, post-Corona, wasn’t feeling particularly festive, knowing that Matilda was suffering from PTSD from wearing all of those Corona masks to death. Matilda was now having nightmares of being terrorized by the masked man Tofu The Terrible, who ruined every favorite meal she’d dreamed of.

            For example, if Matilda had just won the gold medal in the Hardcore X Games for Equestrian Riders within the Under 10 Years age bracket, having to complete jumps through rings of fire with an occasional baby dragon on her tail, she’d normally celebrate with her best friend Shannon (in her dreams) over their favorite treat of jellybeans at a sleepover party, soon after.

            But now, all that appeared in her dreams were pasty, slimy soybeans in the place of jellybeans, because Tofu The Terrible was punishing her for calling soy dogs, on her cafeteria food blog, “Not good enough to pass for rubber dog toys.” And Matilda hated pet dogs because they ate dog food with minced horsemeat inside.

            Matilda had always been a hardcore vegetarian loyalist, yet she’d greatly offended the spirt of Tofu The Terrible, a ferocious Chinese vegetarian warrior from the Ming Dynasty who even got Genghis Khan into Mapo Tofu over jasmine rice, a fiery dish loaded with super-scary Sichuan spice.

            The smell from the ground-up Sichuan peppercorns would make most grown men cry, making their lips tremble in fear at the prospect of having to try one more bite, knowing that Genghis Khan would be hoarding all the Sake rice wine for any temporary relief for themselves, soon afterwards.

            Matilda was convinced that she’d never enjoy the food she loved in real life again (such as her Dad’s fried Icelandic cod in a barbeque aioli) without tasting anything but mushy dog drool, instead.  

            Now it was time for everyone at the table to give thanks for Thanksgiving. Matilda had been dreading this from the start. She was consumed with nightmarish visions of Tofu The Terrible ruining all her favorite foods in her dreams and in real life, such as her Dad’s star side dish creation, Caramelized Cauliflower Potato Gratin, combining cave-aged gruyere and raclette cheese from the Swiss Alps, which injected the dish with an extra scrumptious, creamy, fresh finish.

            Matilda’s dad, a Stay-At-Home Comedian Author, podcast host, and self-taught semi-gourmand chef, can tell that his daughter was dreading her turn to participate, and says, “Matilda, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is Tofu The Terrible ruining the taste of your jellybeans again?” Matilda perks up, shaken out of her petrified, frozen comatose state, and says, “How did you know about Tofu The Terrible, Daddy?”

             Matilda’s dad says, “I helped you launch your own lunch cafeteria blog on WordPress, remember? Your last piece, Tofu Brownie Blues, was about how Tofu The Terrible threatened to shred everyone’s masks at school, unless the Brownie Girls started selling his special batch of Tofu Brownies at the next school book fair, instead.”

            Matilda says, “Do we have to eat the Tofurky Roast this year?”

            Dad says, “No, try this veggie Barbeque Pita, instead.” Matilda takes a reluctant bite, but is moved by her Dad’s gesture of goodwill. She says, “Yummy, Daddy.”

             Her dad says, “I fried up cubes of semi-firm soy inside that bad boy. The sautéed onions and peppers keep the memories of mushy dog toy food at bay.”

             Tofu The Terrible was dead, in Matilda’s head, and she started singing again while giving thanks and praises at Thanksgiving, singing, “Soy Dogs still suck, Tofu The Terrible too; but you’re no longer so bad, since my Daddy came to my rescue.”

Michael Kornbluth

Trading Birthdays

Nobody wants to be born on January 3rd. At that point, everybody is either partied out or enacting New Year’s resolutions, already. Honestly, by day three of partying in a row, whether you’re just drinking, or doing drugs, combining the two, or you’re just dancing the days away at a five-week rave in Germany; based on pure adrenaline and highly charged sexual vibes alone, you’re still dragging like Hunter Biden on any given Monday, afterwards.

            If God gave you the universe, you morphed into Art Show USA, who was born on New Year’s Day, inspiring his dear dada to call him Number 1 Capricorn. His dear dada didn’t nickname him Number 1 Capricorn to make him an insufferable, know-it-all twat bore, but to praise the almighty, the most-high Hashem, for perfecting human civilization with his beautiful boy, whom he blessed with out-of-this-world good looks, hilarious acting chops, and a beautiful builder’s artistic mind, ripe with unlimited imaginative topping possibility.

            I’m also positive that Art Show USA would make a great-looking brother, like Rick Fox, if he used the blackface filter through Instagram to do so.  Every day, Art Show USA’s best friend, Shawn Wayans-Stein, resented his existence half the time, because he was born on January 3rd and had less birthday rocker-gathering memories than the Elephant Man had bottles thrown at his head for trying to crash games of Spin The Bottle after his black-tie makeover one too many times.

            One day, Art Show USA was having lunch with Shawn at school, and he says, “Why don’t we trade birthdays, Shawn?  I was born on New Year’s Day, as you know, which everyone treats like their own personal birthday celebration, so everyone is in a perpetual state of good cheer until they strike out at midnight in their desperate dash to suck face with the nearest available girl to love.       “So, you won’t feel like a loser benchwarmer scrub in junior high school again. When you’re born on New Year’s Day, everyone is out of the house to celebrate their unique brand of specialness with their planned lifetime partners-in-love, whether it’s done of out of begrudging spite or not.

            “The point is, even if you’re  stuck home alone on New Year’s Eve, have zero friends to party with, and parents who don’t reserve much bonding time with you ever (unless they feel stranded with a pronounced pang of empty loneliness when they retire to Arizona in their more advanced, retired, CNN-consuming years amid so-called Pandemic scares, where fewer people died this year than last), you can still make out with your blown-up balloons with pretty drawn-on faces, and not feel completely deflated for making out with a poor man’s blow up doll.

            “Because, deep down, you know you’re not the only one making an extra effort to reward yourself with some extra good loving on New Year’s Eve (or not).

             “You’re my best friend, and I love celebrating your birthday on January 3rd with just you, like the one year we went duck pinning and had the entire place to ourselves; or the time we had an entire laser tag room to ourselves; or the time we snuck into weird, weak Howard Stern’s floor seats to see the Knicks, because he was still de-bloating at home from eating one too many Turkey Burger salads at Jimmy Kimmel’s house for New Years.        “Still, it feels cooler to be in Manhattan on your birthday than in an abandoned duck pin bowling alley in Danbury, CT, that looks more dated than the low-rent, whiteout paint job on the walls.”

             Shawn says, “I appreciate the gesture, Art Show. I’ve thought about what it would feel like to have myself celebrated on New Year’s Eve instead of on January 3rd, which gives sloppy thirds a bad name. And you’re a good friend for offering to trade birthdays for the year.

            “Now I know why you spent all that time watching those graphic design tutorials on YouTube to make me a fake ID reflecting my New Year’s day birthday, just so I can hear a bouncer at some swanky club in the city look at my ID and say, “Oh, snap—happy birthday, New Year’s boy. Don’t forget to pace yourself. I’d postpone New Year’s resolutions ’till January 2nd, because you’re not sleeping tonight.”

            Art Show says, “I did make you a fake ID for your birthday. I know you don’t drink alcohol like me, but I wanted to give you the feeling of being a Number 1 Capricorn, for a change.”

            Shawn says, “Again, I appreciate the gesture, Art Show, but I actually prefer the celebrities born on January 3rd. Eli Manning was born on January 3rd and he’s a much bigger pimp than Tom Brady. He’s NFL royalty before we awoke in a plagued universe gone wild. Plus, Eli beat Brady in the Super Bowl and prevented his perfect season from happening, due to him asserting his big-time clutch gene.

            “So Brady is married to Gisele—big deal. She’s like 80, in model years. Robert Loggia from Scarface was born on my birthday, who plays Tony’s Jewish mobster boss for a bit. He drops the hilarious line, “Never underestimate the other guy’s greed.”

            Art Show says, “I hear you Shawn. JD Salinger was born on New Year’s Day, like me, and he became a reclusive freak who spent four decades in the New Hampshire wilderness, writing books for himself like a tweaked Holden Caulfield on an endless trust fund funded retreat, with all his time-release Adderall delivered to his doorstep by his various pharmacist groupie fanatics at large.            “So, how much did he relish the company of others on New Year’s Eve? I never really thought about this until now.  J. Edgar Hoover was a glamorized peeping tom, also born on my birthday, New Year’s Day. It’s not as if Mini Me, born on New Year’s Day, who died prematurely in his forties, could boast of a sustainable, long-lasting career with legs after Austin Powers 3.”

            Shawn says, “But we can’t let your killer fake ID go to waste, Art Show. I read about a Beastie Boys cover rap trio group performing at some dive bar on the Lower East Side on New Year’s Eve, this year. Why don’t we go there together and get our bodies moving to some Intergalactic Planetary? We’ll have to fight for room to dance because of the ban on smartphone devices, to make old-school hiphop city life great again.”

            Art Show says, “Didn’t you say the name of this gastro pub on the Lower East Side was called Hip Hops?”

             Shawn says, “You got it, Art Show. With a friend like you in my corner, I’ll always have a bigger hop to my step than the rest.”

Michael Kornbluth

Exit Interview Day

Int. Bedroom-Day

Do It All Dad

Matilda, what do angels taste like according to Hillary Hammertime Cankles?

Blood Orange Mimosas or Sponge Cake?

Matilda

Blood Orange Mimosas.

Do It All Dad

What’s the big payoff from following the Koshertarian Diet?

Matilda

Growing closer to God and getting a dynamite book out of it.

Do It All Dad

What does the Koshertarian Diet mean to you?

Matilda

Being serious about pleasing God and following some of his laws for a change.

Do It All Dad

Would you be happier if Daddy became a part-time Pescatarian Comedian instead?

Matilda

Yes, because meat is murder and most meat is meh, unless it’s your Kosher chicken in your Walnut, Pecan pesto.

Do It All Dad

Would you ever take your girlfriends out to a Kosher style deli like Epstein’s when you get older?

Matilda

We’d rather go out for Sushi.

Do It All Dad

Why do think the top literary agent in Israel told me he didn’t see a market for my book, The Koshertarian Comedians, despite praising the wildly funny writing inside?

Matilda

He was lying, it’s too good for him Daddy. It’s unique because of the rare point of view expressed inside. I mean who else compares getting laughs and yummy dances to getting closer to God and your 3 children in the same breath?

Do It All Dad

I’ve raised a hot pitch monster folks. No wonder why you played by the self-appointed 9 year agent in The Great American Jew Novel.

Matilda

I’m 11 now Daddy.

Do It All Dad

I’m aware, resist this child services. What celebrity would you take out for lunch?

Matilda

Martha Stewart, because she has good taste and could tell me the best stuff to order.

Do It All Dad

What special ingredients make a great cook?

Matilda

Love and variety, making things with love and showcasing plenty of a variety like you do in the kitchen and with your all your comedy records Daddy, even less the hardcore hilarious ones.

Do It All Dad

Does eating fried shrimp from Stew Leonard’s make your heart less pure?

Matilda

No, kids shouldn’t be tortured and denied happiness on tap like that.

Do It All Dad

Do you consider cooking a major time suck not worth pursuing?

Matilda

No, I consider it a form of creativity that makes you less dependent.

Do It All Dad

Do Shrimps have souls? Would a shrimp sell it’s a soul to play the guitar like Paul Simon?

Matilda

I don’t know who Paul Simon is. Is he the guitar player for White Lion? But no, I don’t think shrimp have souls like the adorable goat we saw at Stew Leanord’s munching on grass this weekend Daddy.

Do It All Dad

The guitar player for White Lion is Vito Bratta. He inspired my flash fiction story, When the Shredder Frets, about a reclusive hair metal guitar God who used to kiss his guitar more than his ex-wife, forget it. What do your friends at school know about the Koshertarian Diet?

Matilda

Pork is off the list, or should I say a no-go zone in Germany these days Daddy?

Do It All Dad

I’ll write the jokes thanks.

Do It All Dad

Do I resist becoming a part time pescatarian comedian after being a full-time Koshertarian comedian out of fear of being labeled a poser?

Matilda

Yes, but you shouldn’t feel like a poser Daddy. Consider it the second act in your comedic evolution Daddy. And God wants us to be happy, assuming we refrain from eating Kosher slaughtered animals unless you’re feeling completely famished. God wants us to be happy, remember?

Do It All Dad

What sacrificial lamb, meaning, what’s one big thing you’d sacrifice eating by ditching the traditional Koshertarian diet for the Pescatarian one?

Matilda

Brownies, for you, it should be the other kind, Daddy. I’ve heard the jokes on your comedy records. Ziggy Marely, your dad had 7 kids, but I thought ganja drained your ball sack dry. Ziggy says, “Fake news-man.”

Do It All Dad

Are you saying that holiest, most idealized diet is the Pescatarian one after Daddy’s ate strictly Kosher for the past 2 years while writing my book?

Matilda

Yes Daddy, the Pescatarian Diet is the sweet spot in the middle.

Do It All Dad

Looks like we just conducted our exit interview from the Koshertarian diet then.

Matilda

Your blockbuster sequel to The Koshertarian Comedians, will be the The Pescatarian Comedians. Who could resist?

Do It All Dad

Even Hillary can get on board. But I don’t think it’s Kosher to have your spirit cooking dinners and your sponge cake too. Pescatarian Comedians live for now, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Greatest State Motto Reset Ever

I think it’s time to reset America’s 50 State Mottos to match these progressive minded times, starting with Vermont, “The Green State”, which should be changed to “CBD Oil Only.” Bernie Sanders couldn’t even make Vermont great for Pot Heads on vacation.

Delaware should change it’s motto to, “Your Nazi Gold Is Safe With Us.”

Nebraska, “You’re Fired Bruce. I Will No Longer Call You The Most Boss With Unquestioned Authority. Move To Australia Once The Supreme Court Rules President Trump As The Clear Victor Among The Millions And Millions, Who Weren’t Caught With Their Hands In The Ballot Boxes Stuffing In More Votes For Liver Spot Littered Joe.”

New Hampshire, “Eat More Edibles And Fade Away.”

Kentucky, “United We Stand With Nick Sandman.”

West Virginia, “Alec Baldwin Thinks He’s Better Than You.”

Arkansas, “Hillary Hammer Time Cankles Isn’t Fooling Shit.”

North Dakota, “Liberty And Union Sitting In A Tree, But If BLM Is In Town To Chant Fry Piggy, Piggy, Fry, Chances Are You’re Packing, So You’re Not As Inclined To Flee.”

Massachusetts, “Self Hating Jew Town USA.”

Hawaii, “Fuck Surf music and Mike Love To.”

Alabama, “Where Have You Gone Josh Lucas?”

New Mexico, “Were Good Enough For Val Kilmer.”

South Carolina, “Spanish Moss Rules Everything Around Us.”

Wyoming, “Trigger Free Star County.”

Tennessee, “More Sweet Tea Dear.”

Oregon, “Tracks Of Tear Gas Tears.”

Mississippi, “The Delta Force of Rock.”

Colorado, “I Can’t Breath And This Incredibly Strong Dispensary Grade Weed Isn’t Helping.”

Rhode Island, “BLM is Coming For Our Mansion Museums 1st.”

Pennsylvania, “Amish Lives Matter If You’re Amish.”

Georgia, “Dr. King Was Inspired By Zionist Jews CNN.”

New York, “Not So Jew Friendly Anymore.”

Minnesota , “911 Is A Joke, EY!”

Texas, “Bad Assess For A Reason.”

Oklahoma, “Labor Conquers Watching The Corn Grow with all the Children of the Corn Tweaked Out On Crystal Meth These Days.”

Iowa,  “World Renown Short Story College Workshop.”

Connecticut, “The New, New York.”

South Dakota, “Dead Presidents On My Mind.

Virginia, ” George Washington’s Bitch.”

Kansas, “Danny Manning Could’ve Been The Black Larry Bird.”

Ohio, “Big Ten Beauties On Top Galore.”

New Jersey, “Born In Anthony Bourdain’s Hometown.”

Michigan, “Kid Rock Country.”

North Carolina, “Beauty Queens Bliss.”

Missouri, “Sultry Southern Comfort.”

Louisiana, “Give Me Some, Swamp, Swamp music.”

Montana, “Bigger Than Japan According To Wikepedia”

Illinois  “Birthed The Belushi Brothers.

Idaho “Potato Farmers Slinging Mad Weight To McDonanld’s B.

Washington  “Nirvana For Grunge Music For A While.”

Florida, “Gotta Love It.”

Wisconsin  “Cold Cow Country.”

Maine “Bar Harbor is Our Left Bank Bitches.”

Arizona, “Desert Bliss.”

Nebraska, “You’re Fired Bruce. I Will No Longer Call You The Most Boss With Unquestioned Authority. Move To Australia Once The Supreme Court Rules President Trump As The Clear Victor Among The Millions And Millions, Who Weren’t Caught With Their Hands In The Ballot Boxes Stuffing In More Votes For Liver Spot Littered Joe.”

Indiana, “Larry The Legend Still Lives Here.

Alaska, “Inhaling Salmon Long Time.”

Utah, “Pristine Air.”

Maryland  “Play Me Some Terrapin Station.”

California “Criminally Insane In The Membrane.”

Michal Kornbluth

Reimagining Cuomo Book Titles

Did you know Jared Kushner talked Dad out of Motley Crue playing at his inauguration because he insisted Tommy Lee looked too Alt-Rightish. Later he adds, “And my Hebrew Hammer can’t compete Dad.” Holla, thank you very much.

A leadership book by Cuomo carries less impactful weight than a Stacy Abrams romance novel, especially after she ditches the fat suit for a parachute jumper on casual Friday. Holla, thank you very much.

Knowing how New York State boasted the highest death rate of any US state, largely due to Cuomo’s policy of forcing sick old patients with COVID to shack up with other sick old New Yorkers older than Yiddish, to die, cursing the Italian Reptilian inside against their dying of the light, it’s time to reimagine new book titles for the thug in Armani, don’t you think? If Cuomo’s lucky, he can win another Emmy with a TV show on Netflix in his honor based on these killer, headline hooker titles alone. Let the alt righting book title reimagining being.

  1. That slut Blanch from the Golden Girls was going to die from a urinary track infection anyway. Wait a minute, in Florida she’d still be alive to suck a golf ball through a garden hose for another day, my bad.
  2. Ben Stiller thinks I’d play a convincing mob boss in a remake of the Goonies because I look like Mama Fratelli and the Thing had a baby. Wait a minute, who wrote this shit for me, Joan Rivers. I thought that annoying, Jew bitch was six feet under already for insisting Michelle Obama let it flop around on Ellen like she he don’t care. Joan lives. Holla, thank you very much.
  3. Trump’s shipped in hospital beds were just for show. Who cares if they got less touches than a bible at a bathhouse colony in Provincetown?
  4. I got Chris Rock to do a mask up PSA in my honor despite President Trump helping push prison reform to give his people new leases on life. I just gave BLM more rope to hang themselves with within the court of a public opinion.
  5. I destroyed the greatest city in the world in 14 months flat. What have you done with your life, besides wish the big, bad blond wolf could give me a nipple twister under the comment section on the Gateway Pundit?
  6. Born to Kill like Anthony Gnocchi.
  7. Vince Lombardi Lives
  8. Thugs in Armani Matter
  9. Broadway Blue Balls
  10. Andrew Black Eyes
  11. Destructive Mook Knows Best
  12. No, I Won’t Jump Off My Own Bridge.
  13. Reckless Endangerment Is Good
  14. Hijacking Hydroxychloroquine. Cuomo confiscated the entire supply in NY for his own personal stash and banned Doctors from prescribing it because the Italian Reptilian Inside had a surplus of body bags to fill, never mind.
  15. How to Kill Without Throwing Granny Off The Train
  16. From Good Too Imprisoned for Highly Avoidable Crimes Against Humanity.
  17. The Ponzi Push of Death
  18. The Art of Getting Away With Granny Choking On Her Pasta Fazool, metaphorically speaking.
  19. Too Big for Late Term Abortion
  20. Why I’m Smarter Than Tony Soprano
  21. Eating Meatballs Alone On Death Row
  22. The Hit Man’s Dilemma Around Real Made Men Tough Guys
  23. How to Get Banned From Rao’s For Life
  24. Dysfunctional Democrats Always Win Last

Michael Kornbluth