Stay At Home Comedian channels his inner Thomas Paine.
Stay At Home Comedian flips of the new kings of comedy.
Hardcore Hunga stories rock.
Today, you can’t hit back at claims about the clôt shot being less effective than Russell Westbrook trying to run the Triangle Offense for Phil Jackson Appréciation Month, without your wife ordering you to visit a Hate Speech Therapist.
Personally, I love to hate. Hate pushes you to find places where your présence is valued and appreciated like at a Trump rally pre-Covid, behind your wife’s back, to make your sex life above average again. Put my man meat in Indiana MILF, I’m ready to play, play.
Hate Speech is a made up term used to silence and cancel anyone who disagrees with the views of Booger Face Behar on the View. Who isn’t pretending to be Tomboy Moses for hag queen reading hour at the 92 St. Y while remagining the 10 commandements for Indegenious People Day. Thou shall not steal the Palestinan’s land and make their désert bloom without the aid of UN funded death tunnels 1st.
Comedy can’t die or America becomes a poor man’s China. I don’t want a see any statues of Lebron in China, do you? Stephon Marbury throw his motorcycle helmet at his statue because he’s no longér the big dog allowed to live past supper in China. Skip Bayless tweets, “Lebron’s statue in China despite never teaming up with Yao Ming’s extended family made with high flying Bat DNA at the Wuhan institute to win a championship in the Chinese Dragon Premier League has to make Steph feel like a Wonton Paper Champion in the People’s Republic’s eyes.
Recently, my great Aunt asks, “Why does your daughter need to know Kung Fu?” I say, “Because the 5 point palm exploding heart technique ain’t nothin to fuck with. Although it didn’t scare Ethan Hawke away from fucking their nanny when Uma played Truth or Footsie with Quentin Tarrantino. Banging your nanny when your wife is on location shooting Kill Bill 1 and 2 while your between Richard Lankletter films is such a Gen X slacker move. You never have to leave the couch.
Comedy is punching above your weight class, assumung the extent of your Netflix comedy special angst doesn’t revolve around why Trans teens today don’t identity as Dave Chappelle fans yet. He hates how much better Caitlyn Jenner looked on a Wheaties box than his boy Lebron, King Of The Persecution ever did, especially knowing how Bruce Jenner never bent over backwards to suck off commie dick for more benjamins in exchange for Ball Gags Made In China.
Comedy is spitting out the shit sandwich you’re being forced to eat with a smile under this Domestic Terrorist labeling administration such as masked up kids for life like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain, for Sharia Law Lifetime.
Comedy offers a final shot to counter against cascading cunt cowardice. For example, I’m at a nail Salon for a massage to soothe my pinched nerve from sucking up my ego around my wife since the day Democracy died. I almost give my tip to the far bigger backed latino woman with a mask on. She points at her co-worker and says with palpable pissed off malice, “She massaged you, not me.” I could’ve taken it on the chin with a forced smile on my face after this big backed punta bitch tried to frame me as a Pineapple plantation heiress from San Juan in Succession. Instead, I say, “How could I lose my love connection with your better half so fast?” Fine, self-defense is mostly dead, but don’t get soft on me America or you’ll let those who side with ANTIFA in Kenosha squeeze out whatever fight back spirit you have left. And George Washington don’t play that. The Purple heart of Valor is awarded to injury under fire during war. The least you can do is tell your Biden supporter relative left over Thanksgiving, “Insurrection, it was a self guided selfie tour of the Capital Building. Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi would’ve torn up their interniary anyway.”
Do It All Dad, now 45 and still an unemployed stay at home comedian who just recorded his 45th comedy record to mark every year on this earth, for an eventual box set release on his 46th birthday on April 18th, Totality Of Me. Still Do It All Dad was getting perpetually downer weepy inside whenever his ebullient, radiantly fun, non-stop hilarious, rollicking son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, would ask him in another innocuous inquisitive, I wanna know manner, “How old are you moron?” Do It All Dad would constantly get snipply, prickly about it, and snap back with heart punctuated disgust for not being a highly employable, in demand comedian writer star yet and bluster out, “45 kiddo, stop reminding me already. At least Marvin Gaye implanted his fair share of sexual healing, by the time his cross dressing father shot him with at 45 with a Colt 45.”
Do It All Dad is in the process of posting comedy record 45, Reclusive Rocker Shreds on to his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, Dad friendly entertainment for you and me, while his son finishes watching The Last Jedi, where the reclusive Luke comes back to fight Darth Vader’s mope maligned millennial mouseketeer grandson by not fighting at all like a less fancy, flat footed Obi One. When the far from centered in real life, easily Trump triggered Mark Hamill espouses another deadweight conversationalist TomTom shit line to Kylo, “Strike me down in anger and I’ll always be with you. Just like your father.” In other words, there’s actually a huge upside in letting you kill me without having to break a sweat. Because A) You don’t have to humiliate me like an out of shape Tyson against Buster Douglass. Who couldn’t be bothered to find a Kettlebell to work on my core to escape an encroaching Sarlacc on Tatooine as a throwback return to some hardcore revisionist Jedi training of yesteryear. Plus B) By letting you strike me down Kylo Ren, I’ll always be lurking inside your good side conscious, when the opportunity comes to save Rey and make peace with killing off the coolest Dad imaginable. Who made the Kesel run faster than my space Kliff bars went through Yoda’s stench swampy colon on your loner Dagobah system that made Charles Bukowski come off as less cagy earthy for a a change. Also what kind of name is Kylo Ren exactly? Kylo Ren sounds like an edgeless jerkoff who rebrands himself as a Creative Technologist on LinkedIn. Who’s 2 galaxies removed from the Crimson Guard Twins in GI Joe who are trust fund terrorist babies cloaked in white priveledge. Who burn their modeling money from Ralph Lauren at the track and on extra gummy horses like AOC’s future failed run for Senate of New York after Schumer dies of soul disintegration ruin for paying off the Pope to give his blessing to Pooping Biden’s sham schlock presidency. Only for his fake news holiness to later downplay Biden’s pant soiling incident prior to meeting him by poo pooing on reporters at Brietbart who remarked about the Commander In Chief losing all control off his bowel moments knowing he was bound to drop a number 2 like a confetti mess storm down on Broadway, because he’s full of enough shit already. Later, his Holiness tweets, “Cut out the crap, President Biden didn’t poop his pants before meeting me. Doesn’t President Biden have enough face nappies to wipe up with at his disposal without having to make an elaborate pant change in the 1st place? Plus, good old Joe isn’t Catholic in name only. Modern day Catholics are cool with abortion, hell hole damned, open borders encouraged, roughhouse sex and demonizing ICE agents rounding up divine sparks of rapist light because Homeland Security is so weapons of mass destruction pass already, America.”
So after Luke’s weathered yet recharged soul becomes released by the lightsaber sword, disappears among the cosmos in a galaxy far, far away, Do It All Dad’s son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo says, “Daddy, I don’t want to die”, like a pubescent Steppenwolf whose been exposed to one too many Ingmar Bergman films already. Do It All Dad says, “Samuel, your nickname is Chosen Curls Was Bound to Woo, not Chosen Curls Was Bound To Fret and pull out his hair out from the bleak prospect of soul destroyer death for anyone responsible for hiring pool time entertainment at the Podesta’s house during upcoming donation season. Look kiddo, the best way to cope with the finality of death or a lifetime of suffering, regret or resentment stemming from alleged loving loyal ones in your life perpetually shitting on your dreams of attaining career fulfillment or financial gain from your imaginative produced artist works in this lifetime God forbid, is through feasting off laugh energy healing, which can help soothe over any fucked over feeling. Trust me, I know from personal experience. That’s why for my final 46th comedy record as a final killer addition to my comedy box set Totality of Me, we’re going to call it Do It All Dad Does Death, which gives me an excuse to bomb with fake news killer punchlines on occasion and cop-out over the mental exerted toil to get the record in fighting shape like Luke does against Kylo Ren. Who cares if any one of my breakup lines with life are laugh out loud funny or not, when breathing ends? Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo laughs and says, ” When Breathing Ends, is funny daddy. More jokes for you, is more jokes for me to put on your comedy records. Do It All Dad laughs, beaming and says, “Never forget Samuel, a joke a day, keeps insanity at bay, chosen one. For example, calling Dr. Fauci America’s doctor is like calling America’s Front Line Doctor’s China’s team, Challah. Thank you very much.”
Mr. Groper says, “I drove through the border a decade ago because Hunter needed a designated driver for his 40th birthday bash. After Jill said blow, Hunter snorted the cake. I had Corn Pop rub my leg hair for good luck, because you don’t want to get caught by the Mexican police smuggling drugs across the border in a polo while sporting your white privilege on your sleeve. Or else the Mexican cartel controlled police will jam your white privilege up your Colo faster than Hunter can clean out the drinking bar on the Amtrak Acela on enough crank to make Charlie Sheen come off as the slacker punk in comparison, man.”