Tag: copywriting

Qatar Rocks

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, poetry, writing

Can I move to Qatar? You don’t have to worry about getting your Android phone rammed up your anus hole outside of Grand Central at 2 in the morning. Then again, it’s my year without beer, so I wouldn’t be in a desperate dash to catch the last train heading back to Westchester.

Thug Lives Matter Most knocks out the lushy, disgruntled ad executive for Ogilvy and Mather with just one viscous right hook to the ground. Ad Executive crunched up on the sidewalk in noggin swelling agony says, “I can hook you up with a SAG card you know. Our biggest account is Optimum. All you need is proof of vaccination, and I’ll hook you up with commercial work for them. J.B. Smoove makes Tracy Morgan sound like Sidney Poitier.”

Thug Lives Matter kicks his teeth into the pavement and says, “Fuck Optimum, they won’t let me watch individual Knicks games on NBA TV in Yorktown Heights unless I subscribe to Optimum or get MSG through Direct TV. And I only do the Cloud motherfucker. Kayne for President, you media hording heeb. And fuck your Truvada commercials on Hulu. I don’t want to see that whack ass gay shit while babysitting my sister’s son during commercial breaks after Lego Masters. With no bail laws you can’t be in jail long enough to get HIV induced hemorrhaging now. It doesn’t matter if I sell dimes or bricks of H. “

So, you can’t tongue some random bloke’s balls during a match between Mexico and Poland during the World Cup. Aren’t those games standing room only anyway? Plus, what self-respecting gay guy would book a trip to Qatar after watching the Sex In The City movie, blotchy old hags on the rag with nothing else better to do since the United Arab Emirates and China bought up all the primo posh real estate left in Manhattan that’s skunk weed smell proof. Outside of those apartheid imperialists in charge of Israel, isn’t being gay the number one cause of death in the Middle East after suicide bombing and heart attacks from rock throwing paralysis after getting booster shots in exchange for more nudie pics of Jennifer Love Hewitt in the dressing room lot for Disney Kids coupled with Brittney Spears sandy clean snatch. Singing summer loving, having a blast till his good rock throwing arm goes limp from the clot shot and has to switch jerking with his left, assuming he’s got any juice left or decides to become a kite surf instructor for John Kerry and his new world order friends to pump that family fortune for all its worth.

Michael Kornbluth

Radioactive Resume Theories

by doitalldadyear, posted in fiction, poetry, writing

Son says, “Daddy, don’t leave me for New Jersey.” I say, “But desperate times call for desperate actions, when you’re 46 years old with a marriage to hold together and have 3 kids to feed after a 9-year vacation from life to work on finding your voice as a Stay At Home She Male Comedian Podcast Host Author Blogger who’s been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot.”

Son says, “Why, can’t you get a job again moron son? And when can we start selling your comedy records this summer? I get to sell Flipper Bird Baby and Not Kosher Baby because I’m on the cover licking Finn’s butt Daddy, deal? But seriously Daddy, do you have 10,000 morons stuck in your head, Ancient Moron?

I say, “I don’t need a resume coach or a climate scientist to tell me why my writing career is colder than Harvey Weinstein’s casting couch at the 4 Seasons. In fact, I’m capable of formulating some radioactive resume theories of my own Scientific American, for starters, 9 Gap Years +No Proof of Vaccination =Twice fucked at getting a job in Mr. Groper’s America Jack.

Others culture clash fit theories that come to mind are. You’re too full of yourself to judge your talent assessment skills objectively. In other words, you’re blinded by narcissistic right, like the rest.

Outsiders don’t see daddy as a real man or as dependable provider of any kind, especially when mama’s smart phone sends her an alert whenever I make another questionable purchase. Mommy calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?”

What else makes my resume lack all form of gravitational pull kid? The glaring expanse of gap years on my resume is bigger than when Sandra Bernhardt says cheese.

HR won’t even download my resume on to their desktops out of fear of it eroding their belief in the common good after learning through one of my podcasts how I’m another domestic terrorist dad who protested against the masking of our children like Michael’s Jackon’s kids on holiday in Bahrain during the July 4th release of my Burning Mask Party Record.

Wendy in HR almost chokes up her Shroom Burger from Shake Shack after reading my desired salary preference of 85K per year when I haven’t had any form of steady taxable income to report since hate speech was invented to silence anyone who questioned whether the Russian collusion tale used to spy on Trump while running for office had less legs than Lieutenant Dan.

Listing Allah as a character reference, only to accuse a prospective employer of being Islamophobic, if they don’t respect my religion of peace knowing my last name is Kornbluth is a new low like Baby Face Omar Gona Work It Out describing the death of Amy Winehouse on the anniversary of her death on Twitter as something happened to a devil horn concealing, beehive sporting, colonial imperialist who exploited the Great Palestinian Song Book for all it was worth.  

It’s hard to engage in foreplay with a new lover of me on the open market as a stay-at-home dad when your wife can’t even get excited about kinky foreplay of any kind anymore because you’re already choking her too hard financially.

Talking about yourself in the 3rd person in your resume bio for a copywriter role in South Carolina is crossing the ego mania gone wild line even in Kenny’s Powers eyes.

Big Bang Theory, Do It All Dad Does Jokes is no Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman regardless of it being gay about celebrating my Do It All Dad Tree Trunk that claims to blow crystal-clear streams of beautiful mind spewing hilarity, come rain or shine. Sinatra lives. Challah, thank you very much.

The universe didn’t take a collective breath after you post on your WordPress blog how Guaranteed Greatness, would be your last comedy you’d give to the deprived masses away for free.

Force feeding schtick on your resume is more off putting than laughing at your own jokes in person or texting one to an employer with an emoji clown horn that follows.

You can’t win over HR by conserving your best work in the service of making MAGA country laugh over us.

So, I’ll rebrand myself as a scene stealing supporting player and aim to win the 6th Man of Year Award like Anthony Mason on the Knicks before you’re good enough to be deemed trade worthy, only to be voted by your news fans and old as a 1st all-time star the following year, which beats wasting away in some dumpy ad agency in Union, New Jersey away from you kid.

Son says, “Does that mean you’re not leaving me for New Jersey?”

I say, “Not unless I’m calling my next comedy record, “Do It All Dad Does Martha Dump Truck. Can I get holla for some Challah?”

Son says, “Thank you very much.”

Michael Kornbluth