Tag: creativenonfiction

Baffling Ranker

by doitalldadyear, posted in fiction, storytelling, writing

Ranker lists are always disappointing because I can never find what I need.

Hottest pregnant naked celebs on Ranker, nothing.

All I got was a list of actresses who filmed while pregnant.

At this point, Jennifer Garner is just one endlessly menopausal pitchperson for the Lifetime Channel as far I’m concerned.

Like I give a shit about user reviews of movies with actresses who were pregnant while filming. That’s like giving a shit about the most cost-effective morning after pill once that becomes banned faster than Henry Miller’s new art exhibit in Waco, Texas, Brushing Up on STDs, Hashtag: Paris Dicks Are Burning.

I want a pregnant naked celeb to watch my thigh spreader grow at the sight of their bare feet at the coffee shop. Thinking, “Pregnant woman can’t enough of double stuffed fillings, right?” “Let me bang your future albatross free.” “I’m sensing a growth spurt coming on.” “Walk out the nots on my back you front heavy bitch.” “Squat on my life blaster, so I can split your cervix in 2. You’re hot enough to get knocked up by mistake again on a semi-regular basis, minus the enhanced, chewtastic tits or not.” Slut in a Strait Jacket baffling Ranker again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Pregnant naked celebs, normally means some celeb no longer in their prime banging years, cupping their tits. Granted, I have more free time on my hands than most.

But Jessica Simpsons boasts the sexiest pregnant naked pic of the pack. Her olive oil skin is smoother than Dane Cook’s crowd work with busty teenage girls from Boston at MSG bursting at the seams. You girls like Candy Crush? I love Candy Crush. I want to shoot a love burst between your sun burnt tits so badly right now. Does that kind of rhyme? I don’t care. I just want to chew up your tits and blow them out again till they explode in my face. Don’t act like you can’t stomach this material, you Candy Crush sluts. I squeeze into these ripped jeans easier than your hollering hymen in the presence of my Bubble-Licious balls. Tea party for 2 Bitch. What only, Jim Norton gets to wear his inner pervert on a sleave? What a gyp. I’m not even supposed to be performing standup comedy anymore after banging Jessica Simpson in Employee Of The Month. I crushed her pink-a-licious pussy so good, it fell off into her Daisy Dukes in her trailer soon after.

I get most horny around clothed pregnant woman the most, with Connecticut License Plates. Fuck the Mile High Club, I want to get into The Stepford Wives new mommy swinger club to keep alive the possibility of more toppable tomorrows, with an expecting mommy who has bigger tits than my wife before she had a soulless Zygote brewing inside her belly. Fuck fucking a Trans girl with 0.0 body fat around the mid-section, I want a 3-month pregnant mom from Darien, CT on my Hannukah to do list this year. Wife asks, “What do you want for Hanukkah this year?”

“The chance to cheat on you with a pregnant mom from Connecticut to keep alive the possibility of more toppable tomorrows like Dane Cook saving one last candy crush blast for Jessica Simpson during the film wrap party for Employee of the Month. Clean up in Aisle 2, sexual napalm, blew my banana rammer to pieces.

Demi Moore started the pregnant naked selfie wave pre-smart phone on the cover of Vanity Fair, yet I don’t remember her sporting such a saggy ass. I just remember being thrilled to get a sight of some side boob because online porn at your fingertips didn’t exist yet before a bunch of tweaked, tatted out girls on Crystal Meth ruined the golden age of muff diving porn forever. Mountains Of Muff being a personal VHS staple after Scandalous Snatch Mansion, and Gargantuan Gaping Pussy Girls back in the day. Plus, when I saw Demi Moore standing online for a movie at the Century City Mall in LA after college, she lost all her curves or maybe had them airbrushed on to appear womanly in Vanity Fair because in person she looked like an emaciated boy ghost, who could be best described as Tommy Lee’s more effeminate, less banger pretty sister. Too fast for love, I think not. Baffling Ranker again, Challah. Thank you very much. Trump wanted to have Motley Crue play at his inauguration, yet his son-in-law Jared Kushner cock blocked it. He said, Tommy Lee looks too alt-rightish and my Hebrew Hammer can’t compete Dad.”

If I were to pinpoint my surging reinterest in wanting to bang a pregnant woman again, it was at the supermarket recently, when this blond with a so-so face and I’m being generous in glasses no less, was gyrating her bicycle pants bum in my general direction while exposing her 5-month pregnancy bump. Who in my head was screaming, “You couldn’t knock me up if you tried bitch, but who’s going to stop you from trying, besides your good guy conscious that feels guilty about doing what you want to do, despite your youngest son, constantly proclaiming, “Do what you want, you’re the boss.”

“So be the boss of my box, Hugo Hungtree The Third. My husband won’t mind. He likes to share pineapple scented snatch. He’s really into air fresheners since he inherited his father’s chain of carwashes throughout Carol Gables. So come on stud, your air of superiority awaits you under my suckalicious skin Do It All Dad.”

Florida, gotta love it, Baffling Ranker again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Female Maccabe Power

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, faith, family

Amazon sucks. You can’t find the Hebrew Hammer on Amazon Prime, but Mein Kamph is available on your Kindle, which is 725 pages of hate speech in a row.

Practicing kindness at Banana Republic.

Do you know where that sweater was made?

It says on the tag.

You’re making it hard for me to practice kindness babe.

Do you sell ball gags made in China to?

I want my daughter to run for class president under the new Burning Mask Party.

Name a kinder act to usher in more smile rich tomorrows besides the FCC pulling the broadcast license for The View?

As your next class president, I will host our school’s 1st ever Burning Mask Party.

Pinko baby boomers burned bras, we burn masks.

You support masks mandates at school baby boomer grandma.

Too bad they don’t provide immunity from Mr. Groper sniffing your granddaughter like ground up Ritalin.

Boomer grandparents think the CDC, the WHO and Dr. Gnocchi know best.

What’s new? Baby Boomer Arrogance never dies.

Meanwhile, more kids died in South Central this year from Vape Pens than those who who called out sick from an itchy esophagus.

You want to talk child safety? Then, why are drug cartels allowed to push fentanyl through our southern border freely? Which has killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking with Lena Dunham on Instagram.



And the FBI can’t accuse us of being domestic terrorists.

Because we don’t pledge our allegiance to ANTIFA.

Ok, bad example.

I forgot.

ANTIFA are burn victims, who never outgrew their pyro phase in elementary school.

Plastic masks will take 450 years to decompose and completely disappear from our environment? Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi continues to defy the odds unfortunately.

We shouldn’t be forced to wear these masks anymore like Michael’s Jackson’s kids on holiday in Baharain.

Kindness is believing someone gives a shit about putting an end to this never-ending shit show.

And that person is me.

No more masks.

They’ll budge.

Our teacher’s cushy pensions are riding on it.

Joan of Arc wouldn’t put up this shit.

And neither should you.

I’m your Maccabee.

Matilda Rose Kornbluth.

The mask burning party revolution starts today.

Happy Hanukkah Challah Day!

Last, new rule as class president.

If you get to sing Merry Christmas for 2 months in a row and light up trees on the last night of Hanukkah.

Then, I’m allowed to wish you a Happy Hanukkah Holla Day till the new year.

Because the Jew controlled Media have less use for Hanukkah Holiday Cheer than Chris Cuomo’s role as big brother’s Love Line Coach Consigliere.

Michael Kornbluth

Root Down Mixes Rule

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, books, entertainment

3 months into our relationship, girlfriend now wife says, “I won’t covert to Judaism.”

I said, “Fine, but if I forget to ask if you’re the pill because I’m stoned again. I want to raise our kids Jewish.”

She says, “Only if we raise them pescatarian”, which includes a vegetarian based diet with fish like crawfish, which is shrimp with more personality.

I said, “Why not? Jesus was the original super Jew, deal. He worked as a freelance fisherman when his carpentry business for giant crosses hadn’t caught on like wildfire yet.”

Now, we rock the Koshertarian Diet at home, and I perform Shabbat prayers by throwing in an occasional, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”

Granted, my gentile wife can’t fight the urge to inject our house with Christmas forced cheer through tainting our Jewish home during Hanukkah with Oreo Candy Canes, Gnomes and paint your own Gingerbread homes from Michaels. Because Catholic High School girls are more colorful holiday celebrators than their ho hum waspy counterparts.

But you know your wife doesn’t think Jews are the root of all evil if she tricks out the Gingerbread house with a Star of David on top.

I told our kids the Gingerbread House converted.

Daughter asks, “What does converted means?”

I said, “Kicking it Old School Testament style.”



Beastie Boys live, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth





Cutting Gems

by doitalldadyear, posted in blogging, entertainment, writing

Do you think blind men get the Beer Goggles? Does the Seeing Eye Dog offer a 2nd opinion? Pass Stevie. You can feel her face, but I can smell her snatch, Woof, Woof.

So far, my claim to fame was a TV appearance on the show Blind Date. All I got out of it was a free meal and herpes. Our 1st date activity was getting her mountain of muff waxed at a salon. Which she definitely grew out for the occasion. Because her Buffalo Bush was so big, it looked like a stack of Brillo pads on top of a busted slinky.

Living in Queens got scary during a game of basketball with my brother once, after 5 black dudes show up in the same outfit, cornrows, cutoff jeans and wife beaters, looking like they got dressed up for Coolio Appreciation Day. Then, the leader of the Gangster Paradise coalition yells, “Yoh, blacks versus whites.” Next, I whisper to my brother, “Yikes, this basketball court just turned into a prison yard scene real fast. We better start looking around for some Neo-Nazi’s to protect us. We didn’t watch every single episode of OZ for nothing.”

I have 3 kids because I never mastered the art of the pump fake. All my father ever taught me was a half ass formed hook shot. Growing up, he’d call me a waste of height. Because the highlight of my basketball career was scoring 10 points against an all-Japanese team. They thought the pick and roll meant their choice of fish. Every time I drove to hoop, their players ran away scared like movie extras in a Godzilla film, except instead of saying, “Godzilla”, they’d say, “Hugh Grant on stilts.” More jokes Gen X Dads understand, Challah, thank you very much.

And if Obama’s so good at basketball, then, why did he ride the bench at all Asian private school in Hawaii? No offense Yao Ming, you CCP sellout piece of shit.

I decided to make 2022 my Year Without Beer because last summer it got embarrassing, spending so much time hungover, recycling, empty reminders of my lush- littered past, as entire Rocky marathon on AMC passed me by.

I also quit taking Adderall so I could stop focusing on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be. Wife says, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his late twenties while living in Queens wanted kids ever”

This is an impression of my daughter playing marriage counselor again. Pause daddy, mama got your point midbreath.

My daughter made me quit taking edibles because I felt like a total moron trying to answer her questions that were keeping her up after they kicked in, after I thought she was asleep already. Daughter asks, “Daddy, if God created the Universe, then who created God?” Eventually, I come up with, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made my Elon Musk” Daughter says, “Do more edibles Daddy. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

I call her youngest brother, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo because Italian grandma’s hit on him at DeCicco’s and Sons. One of them said, “When you get older, you’re going to have 3 girlfriends to juggle. I said, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”

When I’m out with my 3 kids, I hear, “You’ve got your hands full.” And I’ll say, “If I ever get to perform More Sheets of Comedy Gold at Radio City Music Hall one day, resulting in my wife agreeing to open marriage with Katy Perry. Then, my hands will be full.

I forgot; this is an impression of Ziggy Marley being interviewed by High Times magazine. Ziggy, your dad had 7 kids. Doesn’t excessive ganja used drained your life blaster dry? And Ziggy Marley says, “Fake news, man.”

Which reminds, me, at this point, Vermont should change their state motto from the Green State, to CBD Oil Only. Bernie Sanders couldn’t even make Vermont great for Pot Heads on vacation.

Hillary Hammer Time Cankles failed to sell 74 million branded racists on why Baby Boomer Mom knows best. Still, Huma Licker Breath still pushes a Russian collusion tale with less legs than Lieutenant Dan, despite there being no records of any Drago Holograms in your voting booth going, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.”

I thought Hillary lost the election because she’s an unhuggable cunt, my bad.

She must have had her minions destroy that memo to.

Sons make great slacker prevention coaches. Son says, “Daddy, why haven’t you gone on the Pelton today? White Pelton privilege represent. I say, “No Peloton ride today kid. I got long COVID from the vaccine shot that depresses my immune system more than entry into the Dallas Buyers Club. You know, the same vaccine that works less than Russell Westbrook running the Triangle Offense. So after getting long COVID, I got food poisoning from the Hallal Guys before Andy Dick gave me full blown Aids through Zoom. And my slacker prevention coach son says, “Enough with the excuses daddy. You’re worse than Hillary.”

I think Obama loves Hitler the most. The boogie boarder Kenyan wished he was that organized. Exterminating anyone who criticized his nuke gifting deal to Iran would be a gas.

Obama Be Good did rebrand, ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times. That’s an Obama accomplishment for you. Besides gifting Iran 150 billion in unmarked bills for the creation of overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less dependent on the sale of hair removal cream for the Kardashians.

I don’t think Bruce Jenner was asexual when he was married. But I’m positive he stayed harder, longer after her convinced Kris Jenner to cut her shorter, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio.

Kris Jenner hates it when Bruce Jenner does more interviews on Ellen because it detracts from her tits sagging popularity. And stop saying Queens is hot, it’s not. Queens, compared to Manhattan and Brooklyn is the sloppy 3rd Kardashian sister. You know OJ’s daughter, who’s easy to pound at 3 in the morning like a Lamb Gyro in Astoria.

But the sloppy 3rd Kardashian sister doesn’t even call Catilyn Jenner on Father’s Day anymore. Still, if I was making 75 grand, every time I posted a new pic of my buns in Lulu Lemon sweats at Porcupine Puss Fit, I wouldn’t be in any rush to dial up pops either.

I miss Trump’s relentless optimism and over the top salesmanship. If he got HIV tomorrow because the Deep State ordered Dr. Gnocchi to prick him with the dirty needle used to take out Easy E, Trump would tweet on Truth Social the next morning, “Do I have HIV yes, but my T-Cell Count numbers have never been stronger.”

If Groping Biden, AKA, the Icky Shuffle got more votes than Obama Be Meh ever did. Then DMX gave up weed for catnip. Then, Michelle, What’s Talent Got To Do With It, Turner, regretted pissing on the ceiling fan before Trump got sworn in as President. Only for The Donald to comment to Melania later that evening after getting pissed on for real this time from above in the Lincoln Bedroom, “Is this what Tina Turner 2.0 meant, when She- Hulk said, “When they go low, we aim high.”

Cutting Gems, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Sketches Of Ridgefield

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, fiction, writing

The best thing about breastfeeding today is that you can’t blame low supplies on supply chain problems. Plus, you feel much less pain at the pump.

My wife The Boob Doctor, who works as a lactation consultant, sampled a speech on me last night about breastfeeding. When she said, “Were not in the business of starving babies.” I said, “Assuming, those mommies are modeled after Jessica Simpson. I don’t think my mom had one bottle leftover between her.”

Tried to go short shopping at Vans today. A checkered print of red shorts appealed to me, but then I thought, “You have too many grey hairs in your beard to pull of those shorts asshole.”

I’ve lost all patience with my daughter’s friends who don’t acknowledge my presence whenever I pick her up from camp. I say, “If Mazel hates her mom so much, she should stop acting like such a scrunchie face cunt in my presence, no offense.” Later, I try to act nicer and say, “Mazel just morphs into an uppity bitch in my presence when I pick you up from camp because she’s just pissed about having to part with the sweetest friend she doesn’t deserve to have.” Daughter says, “What do you expect Mazel to do in your presence daddy?” I say, “Dictate a thank note into her smartphone in front of me when I pick you up from camp in real time in front of all her counselors about why she’d turn into a Godless cum dumpster without the beautifying, anchoring influence that you bless her life with because you stem from my Do It All Dad Year Tree Trunk for starters, HASHTAG: Hang10Dad. Robert Schimmel lives, Challah! Thank you very much.

Did you know that Jeff Bezos dumped his wife for a woman who used to be married to Hall of Fame Tight End Tony Gonzalez? I don’t care how big his dick pics are. Happy denting, AJAX Man.

Then, the lady at the bookstore in Ridgefield, CT finishes laughing and says, “Are you in our system?” And I say, “All of a sudden, I feel like a registered sex offender with Woody Allen’s autobiography in my hand. Did you know that Woody used to keep naked polaroids of a 9-year-old Soon-Yi stuffed into his top sock drawer? The only pic missing from his spank collection was the one of Soon-Yi crying on the cover of Time Life Magazine. I almost forgot, do you also have the book Comedy, Drama by Bob Odenkirk? Personally, my favorite Bob Odenkirk role was him playing Larry Sander’s agent on the Larry Sanders show when he wore his assholishness on a sleave. But it’s impossible to not think of my brother when I repeat the title Comedy, Drama, because he’ll do cocaine and Ambien at the same time. Next level sketchy lives. How indecisive can you be bro? You’re more indecisive than Jared Kushner holding up the salad bar line at the Bellagio. Actually, met Gary Shandling at an art show in Pasadena, when I was catering, working on my smile ready face, because growing up I didn’t have much muscle memory to flex from whatsoever. Gary Shandling said, “Keep writing and you’ll look like me.”

She says, “So did you keep writing?” And I said, “Yeah, I got my TV writing break with Vh1 Classic on America’s Hard 100 that was hosted by WWE star Chris Jericho. He wouldn’t touch the steroid shrinkage joke I wrote for him out of respect for Vince McMahon. He didn’t want to be Owen Hart without a safety net with no harness to pull him back from the point of no return. I’ve also recorded 113 comedy records since. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years. My last comedy record, Crazy Stones after Lapping Losers was made in honor of Oliver Stone’s crazy stones, whose half Jewish by the way. Put another one on that board. You know your dad is a fake news hippie if he vehemently denies the CIA’s role in taking out JFK. Never visiting the Grand Canyon after living in Arizona for 10 years, doesn’t help bolster your case against being a fake news hippie dad, fake news hippie. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggests otherwise. Also, where are all the Philosophy books? Oh, their placed all the way at the bottom here at the bottom of the food chain where all their diplomas belong. I’m in no position to act more evolved secure after graduating from a top communication school with a stutter to become another schmuck in a headset IT recruiter out of college like the rest. I went to Ithaca college in upstate NY, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I could suck down back-to-back to bingers and not manage to stutter every other 2 seconds. Wait a minute, 30 bucks for Bob Odenkirk’s Breaking Balls, you’ve got to me kidding me. I snorted crystal meth thinking it was cocaine once. 5 hours later after one line, I acted like an extra speedy Tony the Tiger, going, “This shit is great.” The come down was far from great. Later, I call the dude who gave me the bump from hell and say, “Dude that was really strong coke. I thought I was going to die in my own arms that night.” He said, “Dude that wasn’t coke, that was crystal meth. I thought you knew the difference.” And I said, “I didn’t realize you were conducting the Pepsi Challenge.” Eighties Don Draper lives if he didn’t die of lung cancer in the eighties. Have I mentioned my push to push my daughter into becoming a lesbian yet? Because she can’t die of Aids or get cervical cancer from HPV if you get the vaccine for it that actually works more than Russell Westbrook running the Triangle Offense. This way my Lesbian leaning daughter can take a licking and keep on ticking. I don’t have any business cards on me but just ask Alexa to play Michael Kornbluth if I’ve aroused your interesting in wanting to be stuffed with more totality of me.” Challah, thank you very much.

Book Lady says, “Vince Mcmahon is a nice man. One time I went to a restaurant in Darien, CT and he paid for everybody’s dinner.” I said, “He gave a touching homage to Andre The Giant in his doc on HBO, unlike bleeding heart Rob Reiner. Who insisted, Andre the Giant was wasted throughout the entire shooting of Princess of Pride. Great job, ruining any last connection to my age of innocence asshole. Billy Crystal’s ho hum commentary didn’t help, adding, “I couldn’t understand Andre as a one syllable grunt as the Sasquatch in the 6 million Dollar Man.” Fuck you, Billy Crystal. Your face looks like a rotten apple head who identifies as a dried-up Danish with a goatee with all funny man color stripped from your hallowed edgeless core for the past 15 years and counting. Rob Reiner adds, “Andre could barely catch Buttercup descending from the castle because his back muscle was mushier than a plate of brie left in the summer Provence sun. ” Book Lady says, “Keep writing, Totality Of Me, keep writing. Thank you, very, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Nothing Shitty

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, fiction, poetry

I’m paying our Septic bill in person and say, “If somebody doesn’t pay, you really have them held over a barrel.” 85-year-old Bird laughs and says, “You couldn’t pay me enough to change Biden’s drawers.” I say, “You’re not an opportunistic, perv enabling, small town ho, who outwore the usefulness of her fishnet stockings during her cradle robbing babysitting years. I call this administration the never-ending shit show since the day Democracy died. Anyone who supports, apologizes or enables this shit show of an administration is shit in my book United We Laugh.”

Old Bird says, “I agree, and I would know about never-ending shit shows since my father started this septic tank business in 1922. In fact, my entire life has been shit.”

I say, “Either something in life is great, medium suck or shit.” She says, “There’s nothing shitty about you kid.” And I love that eulogy ghost writer business idea champ.” I add, “Yeah, my new pitch to Funeral Directors is, “Do you employ eulogy ghost writers for hire? Because our religious leaders have failed us post COVID damage done, and our loved ones deserve better send offs than this shit. And if I hear one more Rabbi during the High Holy Days use Holocaust and COVID in the same sentence. You’ll see more body bags than ever, during a Hell in The Cell match between The Undertaker and Triple H.” Old Bird laughs long time.

United we laugh, I prove it every day. What’s my mantra for a winning life in America? Nothing shitty and don’t be a half ass putz like Hair Plugs Sniffer playing President on the fake news White House set. And let’s contemplate God powered light through my 5-Year-old son strumming my Fender Stratocaster, singing, “I tried, I lied, I died. Now, I’m in Heaven with Daddy, the end.” I just quoted my son verbatim; did I mention that he’s 5? Like father like son, nothing shitty, from our gene pool today, Challah. Thank you very much.

And this is me making an honest attempt to reconnect with my dad who grew up on the streets of the Bronx.

“Hey Dad, did you know that Edgar Allen Poe used to live in the Bronx near Fordham? Dad says, “How much money did he make off his writing?” I say, “He could afford to drink himself to death. But he was also the 1st well known American writer to a earn a living through writing alone Dad. You were editor of your school newspaper when you attended Clinton in the Bronx. I’m sure you can appreciate that feat.” Dad says, “His prose was weak and maudlin tone was excessively weary.”

I add, “He wrote humor tales to.” Dad says, “I’m sure the gentile from Boston was a barrel of laughs. Edgar Allen Poe wrote humor tales, use that in your act or podcast or whatever you do anymore because that shit is hilarious. You can’t write NOTHING that shitty. Nothing shitty, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

High On Holiness

by doitalldadyear, posted in faith, family, fiction

I think it was Socrates or Plato who said, “Happiness is fleeting pleasure.” Fleeting, disappearing pleasure for me is my kids losing interest in hang out time with daddy. This explains why my youngest son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was busy at work drawing pictures of us hanging out together once I started bonding with his big sister over her new favorite show, Never Have I Ever, been a bigger fan of Johny Mac, he’s the narrator than I am now. Fleeting pleasure for Do It All Dad over here, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, recently renamed Pause Daddy Podcast, funny fast stories, for you and me, is me losing interest in earning respectful impressiveness from my 3 adoring Koshertarian Comedian friends.



Now the kids are in a Delaware for the next 3 weeks while I do everything in my power to stop a decade long streak of co-dependent bitchy dependence on my wife and parents since my Stay At Home Comedian Dad journey began. Sure, I got to write some cool host intros for a couple of music video countdown specials that aired on Vh1 and VH1 Classic. Only to make my producer a Bruce Springsteen mix while doing my best to assure him soon after, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you, Boss.”

Jokes aside, I rely on the kindness of others to feed my family, those others being my parents and wife. By feed, I mean those with the means to finance grocery shopping for my 3 Koshertarian comedian friends, that being my 3-fuss free, endlessly glowing, holy light time shining children.

They say man can’t eat live on bread alone. Well Daddy can’t eat the shit sandwich of shame for failing to earn bread for his family of 5 for the past 5 years without wanting the chance to rectify.

But applying for jobs doesn’t guarantee job interviews. Nor do job interviews result in immediate job offers soon after. Despite the Marketing Director at the Chef’s Warehouse nodding with respectful impressment after you referenced your 41 thousand page views on your WordPress blog. Marketing Director adds, “I saw that on your Writer Got Game Resume.” And I’m thinking, “At least, somebody is fucking reading it.”

But how do you cope with your mother resenting you making a yummy pesto mozzarella sandwich on bomb sesame loaf on her dime during her visit back east? How do you black out your mother-in-law calling you “pathetic”? How do you cope with a nurse wife who feels taken advantage of because you’ve been choking her too hard financially?

You become committed to becoming the best Koshertarian worshiping Comedian, who’s ever lived. Granted, Jerry Lewis, ate crab’s benedict, Woody Allen should’ve stuck to just eating Tuna Tartare at Elaine’s. And who gives a shit about what David Steinberg eats or what Paul Reiser orders at Nate and Al’s besides, “How was Hollywood ever mad crazy into you ever, So-So Special Sandwich number 5000?” Fine, Paul Reiser was mildly amusing in Bevery Hills Cop, but Gilbert Gottfrid funny he wasn’t. On the set of Beverly Hills Cop Gilbert Gottfrid says, “Paul, what’s the difference between The Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher and your comedy career? They both blow. Is Helen Hunt cute enough to be reformed Jewish? I can’t tell. If Helen Hunt is as good as it gets, I’m Lenny Bruce’s tailor in comedy heaven. Lenny says, “Easy with the needle Gilbert. You’re shakier than Eugene after cumming to the sound of his cousin’s shitting out Kreplach. And based on Albert Brook’s ballooning girth and highly developed sense of dark humor resulting from his father dying form a heart attack after killing at a roast of Lucile Ball prior, I don’t see the west coast Woody rocking the Koshertarian diet any more than a MAGA hat prop on the set of Curb Your Enthusiasm for episode 7, “Seinfeld Auctions A Porsche For Charity, Hope Half the Proceeds Went To Larry’s Kids.”

Again, how do you cope with being dependent on your wife’s sweat labor on her feet at the NICU while she checks for vital signs on blue faced newborns? When all you do is check for retweets? You shoot for perfect laugh lines on your Do It All Year Blog to recycle on your last and greatest comedy album, Watching Hacks Cry.

“I don’t like Snoop Dog claiming he culturally appropriated Ric Flair, so freely, during his 30 for 30, titled, “You’re A Boy and I’m Not.” Iceberg Slim was Pimp Of The Year for 6 years in a row at least and we got Ric Flair, 16-time World Champion. Don’t get your pigments twisted Dog. If you want to beat the man, don’t get bent over by Suge Knight in the can. No offense Snoop, but you don’t hear Ric Flair yelling, “Dog Fighting, woooh! That’s a MAGA country thing. Don’t be culturally appropriating our shit.” Watching Hacks Cry, Challah, Thank you very much.”

You cope with being a dependent by perfecting perfection in the kitchen with your heavily workshopped pesto ribbon pasta with Kosher air fried chicken thighs and sliced cherry tomatoes on top. And you grow closer to God and your 3 Koshertarian Comedian loving kids through the more “Yummy Dances”, you make. “What the hell is a Yummy Dance?”, my father says. Stop acting like your anything more than sheltered bum, my father adds in my mind. Glad you asked. Yummy Dances are standing ovations, curtain calls and victory laps in your dishes honor all combined into one as your 3 biggest fans in the universe run around the living room through the kitchen yelling, “Best Daddy ever.” That’s a Yummy Dance. It puts you in touch with the divine because God gives kids to only the lonely and this funny man giant is lonely no more. Watching Hacks Cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Yummy Dances are why holiness rocks. Yummy Dances get you addicted to achieving such holy powered highs. But how do you cope with your son wanting to meet your old friends when they can’t be bothered to comment via text or state emotive love online about your 123 comedy records posted on LinkedIn to shake up the corporate controlled thought in the straight world? The same so-called friends of yesteryear who left for you dead. You decide to befriend Sean Lennon by sharing your book Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story or nudge him to check out your comedy record Laugh Yanker Love on SoundCloud, where you showcase some A plus stay at home dad material in his honor. “This is John Lennon 2 days into being a Stay At Home Dad. Choke on a fucking cucumber scone Paul. Even Primal Scream Therapy has its limitations mate. But Kate Spade wins the award for writing the most passive aggressive suicide note for her only daughter to read ever. Note reads, “It’s not your fault, Dad will explain.” Dad explains, “Explain what, how I was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate. The other day my son says, “I prefer vaginas with no hair. I’ve seen mamas before. I add, “Big boobs compliment better.” Soon after, Sean Lennon is financing my recording sessions at Electric Lady Studio’s to release my box set of comedy records before I’m famous that will be 124 in total, titled Totality Of Me or Watching Hacks Cry. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But isn’t holiness being a monk? It’s my year without beer and I’m almost 5 months in. So go woke yourself. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much. Isn’t holiness perfecting perfection? If God represents otherness holiness and the children from Isarael and Forrest Hills Queens are molded in his likeness, then shouldn’t I want to dress up my son like nature boy Ric Flair for Halloween because he already whips out his schmekel spot whenever he likes while I yell in catchphrase bliss, “Not Kosher Baby.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

Mind of a yummy dance works like this. Your goal is similar to getting laughs at the local farm to pick up some fresh eggs, whenever another MILF hits on your youngest son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo again, “Your son has such nice hair. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I’ll say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.” Laughter fills the air. Daddy kills again. So, the goal of a yummy dance similar to scoring another laugh is simple, Respectful Impressiveness, that’s your reward for not making any bread off your creatively jacked dome, relentlessly innovative might and shishy bitch dad leanings just yet. I know this is my 2nd time using the expression respectful impressiveness, but only Shakespeare can invent words like “thoughtless”? While Dice coins expressions such as I’ve got a friend, one of these “Trans-Testicles.” Personally, I’m against Drag Queen reading hour because fluorescent library lights aren’t flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator, no offense. One time my daughter asks, “Daddy was Shakespeare Trans because he dressed like girls in all his plays.” I say, “I don’t know if Shakespeare was Trans. But I think Kevin Spacey is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.” I sampled that joke on the character Billy from Six Feet Under at the local Target in Mount Kisco. The joke got a big laugh from Billy. He even slapped my outstretched hand that I placed there to receive a high five of approval in return. That’s a Yummy Dance. That’s holiness killing hackery. Watching hacks cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Holiness killing hackery is best whenever I receive some help from my Koshertarian Comedian loving friends. I use my 1st born, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, Effortless Magic, AKA, 10 Homer Daily as my creative sounding board for all of my comedy record titles if her 2 younger brothers Art Show USA and Hardcore Hunga Rocks aren’t in the room with her 1st. Matilda says, “I like Year Of Dragon Lungs a bit better than Half Heeb Crazy. Sloppy Second Stories is a good title for your debut collection of flash fiction short stories, but I still love the original title, Waste of Height, Really Short Stories the best.” Art Show USA enters the room and interjects,” Am I going to design your record cover for Greatest One, Daddy? But all your records are great, so isn’t Greatest One, a tad one note redundant for your tastes?” Youngest son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks points an imaginary remote control in my direction and says, “Pause Daddy. I write the jokes for your comedy records, got it, Moron Son.” Daughter adds, “You should do that Greta Thunberg bit on Greatest One daddy where the dad freaks out on “burry brow”, your words not mine, for keeping his twin daughters up with eco-anxiety despite popping melatonin gummies like Nerds at 10 o’clock on school night. Because a doorman can’t keep a typhoon out of their townhouse duplex on the Upper West Side.”

But how do you cope with your kid outgrowing their broken-down rusty bikes on a hot August day while taking them out for a spin? Knowing you can’t afford to replace those bikes anytime soon because you’re so broke, your Hebrew name is under judicial review. You include them in the making magic time in the kitchen by sticking your son on pistachio de-shelling detail before making their farewell pesto bow tie pasta supreme before leaving for Delaware, which was a bust last time, because you decided to get funky fresh and add excessively bitter sages leaves to the basil, pistachio nut mix which was bad idea like Hunter making a crack cocaine in his bungalow at the Chateau Marmont because it forced him to give up blow for blow painting, which is a bigger cock tease than a lap dance with a no touch policy on Kid Rock’s yacht, called Harpooning The Most. You cope with being a dependent dad by savoring the sheer joy in all 3 of your children inhale what’s being hailed as your “best batch yet daddy.” While your youngest one comments in ultra-focused manner, “Too yummy for yummy dance”, before resuming his role as Belushi 2.0 in Koshertarian House. Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But how do you cope with having to dip into your daughter’s Tooth Fairy droppings, that she haphazardly left on the kitchen table before camp that your parents paid for again? So, you could pay for your kid’s slushies at 7/11 without having charge more fun time on the credit card before mommy gets paid again when your cellphone is due to get deactivated the day your family leaves for Delaware? You throw the Rodney Dangerfield No Respect CD on in the car your parents lease to use when they visit only to hear your eldest son says, “Daddy, your comedy records are way better than this.” Daughter adds, “Yeah, Daddy, Rodney just sounds boring depressing here. And his 1st joke was about being on the Tonight Show prior, so Rodney shouldn’t be so unenthralling from the start.” Respectful Impressment lives, Challah. Thank you very much. I add, “Jimmy Fallon’s writers hate him now. Because when Jimmy Fallon tried to rub Trump’s hair off, a real-life skinhead never emerged. But if I’m still not scared of Trump. Then, I’ll never be into my mother as much as Seth Meyer’s. Then again, I’m the sloppy second son for a reason. If Jimmy Kimmel cares so much about the environment, then why is he so wasteful by only using Smart Water for some post show bong hits because his gal pal Jennifer Aniston hooks him up in bulk? At the same time Smart Water adds bounce to your step. All of a sudden, you feel like Jennifer Anniston on the rebound. Our state of the union is like Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least, O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas before Comedy Central executives resigned Trever Noah for the foreseeable future. Hey Trever Noah, Conan Obrien wants his good luck maroon hoodie back from the Harvard Lampoon.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

On the other hand, you might be thinking, “Shouldn’t you only focus on getting a decent paying job in Corporate America? Sure, but like Frank Zappa said, “Magic is what happens between the notes”, and nobody is stopping me from creating more magic time on my time between new job interviews on the horizon come rain or shine. Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.



Well, more yummy dances and random hugs from my son behind can buy me some more holy time to shine.



When your son takes a bit out of your Koshertarian Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce that’s made with a pomegranate glaze and states with divine powered authority, “Always Kosher Daddy.” Holy time shines.

Getting fired up to please your favorite people in the universe is when holy time shines.

A man can’t live on bread alone, but he can by on laughs and yummy dances in between with a little help from his Koshertarian friends.

So, stop thinking children don’t appreciate extra effort.

Stop thinking aiming to please your children through cooking is antiquated fun.

Stop thinking your kids are a less worthy audience to impress.

Stop thinking that doing things for love alone don’t matter.

Stop thinking your life is fantastic without your kids adoring you in it.

Stop thinking kids are an impediment to middle aged fun.

Stop thinking kids don’t sense half-ass love from a mile away.

Stop thinking technology has zapped your kid’s ability to emote in your honor.

Stop thinking you can’t inspire your children to follow your lead, “Always Kosher Daddy.”

Holy shine time is holy bonding time.

And that’s as good as it gets.

Holy Shine Time shines on.

Watching Hacks Cry.

Lennon lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.



Michael Kornbluth

















The Zamboni Artist

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, faith, writing

“No friendship is an accident.”

O. Henry

If a husband googles an ex-girlfriend 3 kids later, does it mean he’s officially divorced from great expectations at home? At the same time, what man isn’t guilty of reflecting fondly on spoiled summers past? Especially, when you’ve had to suck up another frigid east coast winter in the face of permanent career stagnation suckitude again. The same winter and so-called comedy career that felt colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons when you’re not laughing all the way to the bank yet. But at least, Harvey Weinstein’s wife of the past 12 years finally left him, to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. Now, Solomon Kornbluth, a proud stay at home podcast comedian was on thin ice with his wife of 12 years for failing to make any money off his sheets of comedy gold, despite him urging his accountant to write off such an awe inspiring, sparkly array of A plus gemry dissemination on his Do It All Dad time blog and Do It All Dad Time podcast as a generous charitable donation.  What 45-year-old non-industry repped, so called Comedian, Solomon Kornbluth wanted was a win, but not just any win, like getting another comedy record Mega Dumb Daddy reposted on Sound Cloud again by some random, faceless music promo service, but an actual trophy, symbolizing how in this instance Solmon Kornbluth was best of the rest.

Solomon Kornbluth had won some awards in the past, but they weren’t a result of superior mental toughness, sustained physical dominance or a result of outperforming his competition for number 1 champion bragging rights either. Winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleep Away Camp was an incredibly moving moment for Solomon Kornbluth because despite not knowing the full extent of it yet, he was an overly sensitive, lonely, shy, nerve plagued fag, who blew off Canteen mixers with the fellow female camp members to shoot hoop and read his Cracked comics in bed alone instead after cranking one out to freckle face specked Allyssia Rody, a counselor for the female camp who wore University Maryland boxer shorts, creeping up her supple, spry ass as Dice would say back in the day. And her mountainous cleavage formation was a thing of immovable, feast worthy beauty as those gorgeous melons dangled like luscious lobes of mouth drooling inducing perfection. Ok, so maybe Solomon Kornbluth wasn’t 100 percent gay yet, especially knowing how a fellow bunkmate tried to shame him once for owning a jar of Vaseline while having no idea what that meant. Bunkmate Jordan from New Jersey says in a crackling, just a day over puberty voice, “What do you need that Vaseline for Solomon?” And Solomon says, “I don’t know, for an itchy ass. My mom packed it for me.” Bunkmate Jordan laughs in a slightly demented, pseudo bellowing manner and says, “You can’t blame your mom for being a fudge packer dude.”

Later, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast, Solomon Kornbluth would do a routine about Sex-Ed in Sleepaway Camp throughout the late eighties before Magic made HIV disappear. He says, “Do 3rd graders today really need to know about scented lubes after using good old-fashioned Vaseline became passe already? When I was 13-year-olds at Sleepaway Camp, but still not into the puberty party yet, one of my bunkmates gay shamed me for my mom packing me Vaseline yet I still didn’t get gay lube joke connotations used at my expense till watching shemale porn decades later on 3rd Legged Beauties.com, if you really to know. It’s hard to develop any surge of self-esteem at Sleepaway camp, when you’re the 2nd worst athlete there after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck in yenta breath Seinfeld country. Seinfeld otherwise known as the “Joke Doctor”, just auctioned off one of his vintage Porsche’s for Charity. I hope half that half of those proceeds went to Larry’s kids. I also don’t want Seinfeld smirking for at least 5 years till he gives us a semi-credible excuse on being completely oblivious to Bill Cosby’s 4-decade reign of rape throughout fantastic LA, up high in those Hollywood drugging hills. Where were your powers of observation, then, Jerry? Also, why isn’t Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame already?  They were already Hall of Fame bound when I used to collect their cards at camp. Plus, if I took HGH, Testosterone Shots or any form of performing enhancing drugs at Sleep Away Camp, I just would’ve struck out at a more accelerated speed.”

Solomon Kornbluth never got into collecting hockey cards until his friend Jared got him into the NY Rangers in 93, encouraging him to buy all the hocky cards he could so he could snag an Eric Lindros rookie card of his own, bound to be worth big money one day, who was being hyped as the new great one post Gretzky, who had a bigger mark on his back than Trump did after her triggered the Swamp with fits of despair for relegating good old Jeb Bush to another low energy, half wit hack for hire like the rest. Solomon Kornbluth targeted Laura Bush in his debut comedy album Resist This when he said, “Fuck Laura Bush for thinking the world gives a shit about her memoir, Texas Librarians Know Best.” At least, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles was willing to get rich or die trying bitch. And this is an impression of Stevie Nicks backstage at MSG, “Hillary, tell me lies, only sweet little lies. Versus humongous bitter ones, like how you lost to Trump because of Russian collusion, involving fantasy tales of Drago Holograms emerging in your voting booth only to threaten you with impossible to ignore ultimatums like, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.” I thought you lost to Trump because you’re an unhuggable cunt, my bad. You must have deleted that memo to Hillary. And why would Trump hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on him at a hotel in Moscow, when he can hire a bunch of Ivanka look-alikes to do the same thing at his hotel in D.C whenever pussy grabber likes?”

One time Solomon and Jared got caught shoplifting Hocky Cards at Child World, yet the security guard let them off with an ominous warning, when he said, “I’m going let you 2 go, but understand the only reason I caught you 2 was because you came back to steal again and got greedy.”  This damning, ominous indictment of greedy self-serving behavior always stayed with Solomon Kornbluth who obviously didn’t pay homage to the commandment Thou Shall Not Steal one iota for some time after. Even his younger brother shamed him into stop stealing Turkey Jerky at Gelson’s as the ultimate shishy bitch life enhancer back in the day. Little bro says,” “Never steal, it’s wrong bro” And this is years after his younger brother, AKA Sir Snort A Lot, was caught on a security camera stealing thousands from his parents ATM to buy more blow at 13 years old in Washington Heights from Julio Silver Blade The 3, which resulted in his parents shipping him off to boarding school with a bunch Jew picking on Hocky jocks in Avon, CT. So Solomon Kornbluth knew what a steep price his parents had to pay for his younger brother’s crimes of incessant, serially serving selfishness like a pseudo slacker underachiever Hunter in the making, who never had the privilege of being able to collect 52 grand a month from a Ukrainian sports drink company for pushing Borscht as the new Kombucha.  

One day Solomon Kornbluth got burnt out on making the world laugh for free on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast again and went to the local hockey rink for a cheap Happy Hour special and was greeted by an Italian bartender, Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, who’s known to stir memories of ex-girlfriend’s past. Vinnie notices how Solomon Kornbluth is a tad low energy, hunched over his phone without much fiery glint in his eyes. Vinnie says, “Is that IPA stale champ?” Do you want something a tad lighter that’s more poundable like any yenta breath from Long Island on Spring Break?” Solomon Kornbluth laughs and asks, “What’s your story? Bartenders never make me laugh, unless they’re sporting a winter wool hat in summer.” Vinnie says “I’m Vinnie Zamboni the 2rd, my great, great, grandfather invented the Zamboni machine. I do the light shows for the hocky rink. My Zamboni driving days are behind me, cool job though when your 16. I plowed my fair of share of ice queen boxes on top of that puss plower machine. Solomon says, “What type of light shows do you produce? The one at Hayden Planetarium is boring, I felt asleep 2 minutes into it. Daughter woke me with a sharp elbow in my ribs and I yell, “What, God only made Neil Grase Dyson interesting for 2-minute spurts at a time.” Vinnie Zamboni The 2nd laughs and says, “You’re a pretty funny guy yourself. So, what’s bringing you down champ? Solomon Kornbluth says, “Just longing for some fun in the sun again, 2 unplanned kids later. That’s what I get for being a degenerate pothead who keeps on forgetting to ask his girl if she’s on the pill.  What’s bringing me down is realizing how I’m getting bored of my kid’s company and need to get back on stage again. Plus, my pinched nerve in my back is killing me since my wife forced me to see a Hate Speech Therapist since I stopped taking Adderall to focus less on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be after droppings lines such as, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his early thirties wanted kids ever.  I’m doing a Google Search for a chiropractor, and I end up finding my ex in Hawaii who I met when I used to live in Hermosa Beach. How could I ever forget Summer King beyond those Hermosa skies? Then, I googled a comedy festival in Hawaii, but realized it’s been canceled because of this COVID damage done bullshit, so it got me down because I know I can win it. The only awards I ever won was Grooviest my Senior Year in High School and Most Improved Basketball Player at Sleep Away Camp. I was also wined and dined after leading my IT agency sales office in billing one month and got to party it up in the Sunset Room in fantastic LA once but that’s it. my But I want to win that comedy festival and blast off away in my comedy gold mobile wave runner, which nobody will ever be able to take away from me. George Gershwin lives, Challah, thank you very much. If I can’t afford to get my son the SS flag GI-Joe Aircraft Carrier for Hanukkah, at least I can let him ride my comedy gold wave runner mobile. How much would gas cost to ride that wave runner back to New York exactly? I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.”

Vinnie says, “So I produce light shows flush with holograms of hocky legends both dead and new like Bobby Hull, The Mighty Messier, and reenact legendary fights like when Ty Domi fought Bob Probert in 94, when he poses with the belt around his waist, boy were those the days, pre-social media, before you had to hear lines on kids shows about some character being the Lebron James of stem cell research. What the fuck does that even mean? Is he a celeb Scientist that has his own brand of tequila spiked umbilical cord stump smoothies that he sold to Bill Gates for a cool 500 million or what? Can you believe kids today get Beyond Meat tattoos around these parts? I freelance as a Tattoo artist for my brother’s Tat Parlor in Danbury, CT called Body Art USA.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “I’ve been telling my local Pizza owner Frank to make an artichoke slice using an alfredo cream sauce, versus just a boring white slice with flaccid, deathly off-white artichokes on it, that will inspire hipsters from Bushwick to make the schlep down to these parts just to Yelp all about it. Plus, I’m getting pissed about Bill Gate’s equestrian riding daughter already owning half the real estate in North Salem already. So, I love the idea of Frank being able to grab a meatier slice of that synthetic pea protein, beyond meat pie.” Vinnie says, “So whatever happened to your Summer Wind? Solomon says, “She smiled at me one day with her soul blasting eyes that screamed I love you, and for some strange reason, my eyes didn’t love her back. One time she died her blond, when I took her out to meet up with a friend of mine in Nappa and everyone thought she was a high-end prostitute, because she dressed real classy sexy with the tight dress, creeping up her ass. I loved kissing Summer King. We’d do weed shotgun kisses together, which were the best. We made veal piccata while watching the Soprano’s together, drank Pyramid peach beers by Hermosa Beach and nobody sported prettier feet in the sand than Summer King. Vinnie says, “Summer sounds like a real trophy wife material.” Solomon says, “Yeah, she even said, “Why don’t we move to Santa Barbara so I could write books and she could day trade to make us money for the time being. Boy, did I fuck that one up. Vinnie says, “I hate to bring you down more than you already are Champ, but you’re right.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “Summer liked Metallica, Wu Tang, the Soparnos and loved everything about me. She thought I could be a big-time writer just from reading my Friends spec script for Christ’s sake. Vinnie says, “I already told you fucked up bro. I’m known as the ex-girlfriend stirrer but you’re just progressively pissing me off for being such a dumb fuck for expunging her from your life jerkoff. You don’t think I want to kick back in the sand with a hot Asian gal from Hawaii in pebble free Hermosa Beach with a gal named Summer King no less for Christ’s sake” I had to suck up summers in an ocean full of seashells and fucking nets of seaweed in Norwalk, CT for Christ’s sake. Plus, my brother owns this rink and its family tradition to keep it family operated. You’re a little old for it, but do you want a job riding a Zamboni? We’re already running around in circles, so why not take your sad sack sob story around the ice for a couple of laps because you’re bringing me down and enraging me at the same time. I’m paraphrasing but Mark Twain said writers write interesting stories who’ve possessed a series of interesting, varied jobs, so why not a give the Zamboni driver job a shot champ? You obviously have nothing better do with your time on a Sunday, ultra-wise King Solomon you’re not.”

Solomon Kornbluth took the job and smoothed over the rough patches with his wife at home before being promoted to chief Zamboni manager, who worked on his MC skills as the host of a weekly Karaoke night, rocking out renditions of Baba O’Reily with real deal star powered authority. Then, one year later, Solomon Kornbluth got his trophy and won the Aloha Comedy Festival, coming in 1st place and was able to take his wife, and mother of 3 children for endless, killer spins in his new comedy gold mobile for one memory rich victory lap after the next after, delivering a killer set for the ages that started off like this.  

Solomon Kornbluth Kills

It’s hard to keep cool when your kids were forced to wear masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain.

If Michael Jackson were alive today, how would he defend himself against all his Neverland accusers exactly? Would the King of Popping cherries say, “All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’ t buy me love?”

Anyone try Snoop Dog’s new wine?  According to Wine Advocate, it tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.

Actually, gave up drinking beer last summer. It got humiliating spending so much time, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush, littered past, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.

Did you know 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday? After learning this, I felt more betrayed than the time Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

Stopped smoking weed till I discovered weed edibles, which are half CBD because I felt like a total moron trying to answer my daughter’s questions on the pure sticky stuff. Daughter asks, “Daddy if God created the universe, then who created God?  I say, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “Real convincing Daddy. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”

And this is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Time Magazine. Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake news, MAN.”

And if Obama is such a baller, why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?

What if Bob Marley became President of the United States, so Obama didn’t have to? For starters, there’s no more trouble and it’d be a punky reggae party tonight and we’d be jamming in the name of the Lord, not in honor of Allah’s Gangster ruining paradise, especially since the hopeful one rebranded ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more start up friendly in the NY Times.

And ISIS Headhunters aren’t good recruiters. All they do is target other lonely virgins on Face Book Messenger like Good Will Hoodie/AKA Zit Face Zuck, who wish their phones blew up.

But killing the number 2 in charge of ISIS made it easier for ISIS to recruit. Like the head of recruitment for ISIS would ever honor a non-compete agreement with Al-Qaeda.

And why are radical jihadists so into deflowering virgins in Allah’s hymen hacking Paradise? Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already?

Other text in the Koran also promises the duration of sex greatly prolonged and its pleasure enduring. Spoken like a like a true Virgin asshole till the end of time and I feel fine, Challah, thank you very much.

Solomon Kornbluth was later blown up to smithereens on his Comedy Gold Mobile Wave Runner in the Red Sea by Hamas terrorists after headlining a comedy tour there called, “King Solomon Kornbluth Lives”, because a 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking.

Still, what’s better than a 1st place Trophy is a new award in your honor, given every year at the Standin O Laughs Festival in Haifa called the Killer Kornbluth Award, honored to a comic that year, who exhibited fearless, killer shtick till his last dying breath.  

All 3 of Solomon’s killer Koshertarian kids won the Killer Kornbluth Award in their dear dad’s honor soon after. So comedic royalty in the mold of King Solmon Kornbluth did live on through Do It All Dad’s big three after all.

And Solomon Kornbluth had his new Zamboni Artist friend to thank for his victory laps in his Comedy Gold Mobile, taken with his 3 biggest fans in the universe while squeezing on to their dear dada with all their loving might in his custom made, stretched 3-seater Wave Runner. The same team who always stood by his side, especially when his comedy career was ice cold, when mama would threaten to kick him out the house whenever the mood struck, and not even Hamas, despite them trying, could ever that away from thee.  Unplanned favorites rule, proving once again how no friendship is an accident. O. Henry lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth