Tag: crypto

Legends of the Small

by doitalldadyear, posted in business, sports, writing

Nolan Ryan, the most consistently dominant pitcher in MLB history, otherwise known as The Ryan Express or Big Tex, depending on whether he was barebacking a barely broken-in Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, pitched seven no-hitters, which is three more than his idol Sandy Kofax did. Unlike Sandy Kofax, I don’t think Big Tex skipped any prime rib dinners throughout his 27-year playing career, even when George W. Bush tried to talk him into taking media pitching lessons from Dick Cheney, which is a yucky conversation for anybody to stomach. An overly anxious young W tries to break the ice with Big Tex in the locker room after the reporters for the Texas Bugle have left. “When the Rangers don’t make it to the World Series this year, just blame it on Tanner from the Bad News Bears, who planted choking anthrax in the old Astrodome for shits and giggles.”

What else did I learn about Big Tex in the documentary Facing Ryan?

Nolan Ryan’s wife is prettier than the Texas sprawl sky.

Nolan’s Ryan wife of 56 years, Ruth Ryan, is too pretty to cheat on ever.

Ruth Ryan is a prettier, tanner version of Debbie Harry in her prime.

Plus, Ruth Ryan raised three good-looking, rock-solid kids in Texas, where third-term abortions are considered too late, unlike in New York state.


George W. Bush is still a twitchy bitch in an armchair.


George W. Bush, former Managing Director of the Texas Rangers, still sounds like Dick Cheney is nudging him to play the constipated version of Dirty Harry while grunting in the distance, “More twang, Mr. President, more twang.”

Big Tex and Little W Bush don’t mix.


It’s like Beto interviewing MMA fighters over Joe Rogan.


But seriously, Big Tex and Little Bush don’t belong in the same documentary together.

One is in the Headlock Hall of Fame.


The other is in the President Hall of Shame, for giving us 9/11, the surveillance state, and Obama Be Meh, which sent race relations back farther than banning the dunk or bringing back no sneaker policies to the China Club during the summer of 89 when Air Jordan’s flew off the shelves in a NY minute.


Peaceful protestors from January 6th, have gag orders on them while still in jail with no transparent trial ahead. Yet I’m supposed to be pleased with W getting to provide color commentary on a documentary about Nolan Ryan while getting to feed off his sterling integrity as a competitor and Texan legend who has nothing in common with this stumpy piece of shit? And you’re straining for star power voltage, when you’re calling W’s people for an appearance on the doc about Nolan Ryan for Amazon Prime. George W. Bush attended Greenwich Country Day in Greenwich, CT and went to an elite boarding school in Mass soon after before going to Yale. The only thing less Texan than W’s upbringing is Southern Republicans getting their panties in a bunch over the Dixie Chicks. Papa Bush worked for the CIA under Hoover when Kennedy got killed because of his plans to dismantle the Deep State and “Scatter them to the wind.” But I’m supposed to trust the morally bankrupt leadership of the Washington elite after letting four sketchy Arabs take flight lessons in Florida before 9/11 without batting an eye? And Ellen isn’t a sell-out new world order hack breath for hire, who’s only friends with W because she’s pro-bush all the way.

If the Hit King, AKA Charlie Hustle, can’t get voted in Cooperstown because of his gambling problem. Then, I want W banned from documentaries about the creation of great family men like Big Tex. Who didn’t authorize the murdering of our troops and own citizens while pressuring Collin Powell to push the weapons of mass destruction lie with less legs than Lieutenant Dan. Or else the 23 Emmy awards the Daily Show won were for nothing. Legends of the Small live; Challah, thank you very much.


Michael Kornbluth

Chosen Clutch Ones

by doitalldadyear, posted in business, entertainment, sports

I love my new Air Jordans. They’re called 6 Rings. Lebron calls them. Wind beneath my Arch Angel Wings. What? According to Snopes Knows Best, Arch Angels are the second lowest rank of angels, after MJ, Larry Bird, and Magic. You don’t believe me, King of the Persecution Complex? Snopes Knows Best is a well-regarded fact-checking website, according to MAGA-hating Alexa. Snopes Knows Best debunks urban legends like you being the one most like Michael. Dunking at your son’s high school basketball games during warm-ups isn’t equal to Nate the Great skying over Dwight Howard in a Superman cape champ.

Stop pouting, King. I know you want to call Jokic a white Serbian nationalist worse than calling Anthony Davis softer than the Grand Dragon’s new pillowcase thread count after getting a gift certificate for his birthday on Overstock.com.

Jokic taunting you in your dreams as the fake news chosen one who just got swept in the Western Conference Finals is a terrifying thought to contemplate in a post-thug’s lives matters most universe; I get it.

But if you’re serious about getting bumped up to Jesus Shuttlesworth’s status in He Got Game. Then, rely on something other than a Hall of Fame sharpshooter to bail you out for the NBA finals game. Instead, win three more rings to be spoken in the same breath as Choke Free Jordan, champ. But oddsmakers leftover from Tony Soprano’s crew, since Jimmy the Greek’s extended family went into the Gender Fluid Greek Spa tour business, are betting against you flying high among choke-free angels of yesteryear like Mike if you think teaming up with your son Brony Bonbons from Bel Air will get the job done. Didn’t his school Sierra Canyon High School, lose to Harvard West Lake, where Jason Segel from How I Met Your Mother used to be considered a low post-threat?

Larry Bird beat Magic on a team that had Worthy and Kareem on it with a broken back. Magic Johnson never took flopping lessons from Lena Dunham, rocking the arm flapper look on Instagram, while getting into character for the Hunchback of Bushwick during Restaurant Week.

Higher ranking angels like MJ, Bird, and Magic were consistently choke-free, which you can’t claim based on your shooting percentages in 4th quarter games against the white Serbian nationalist alone.

Make HIV disappear like Magic without access to his top-secret Truvada stash and you’ll achieve higher ranking angel status in my book, United We Laugh, I prove it every day.

Chosen Clutch Ones live, Challah thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth

Roasting ANTIFA Again

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, politics, writing

How do Antifa foot soldiers for the DNC show love for Mom on Mother’s Day?


Take out the trash and move out of the house for good.


Yesterday I told my son. “Freedom of speech has its limitations. For example, you can get arrested for yelling fire in a crowded theater.”


Son says, “What if there’s only one person in the theater?”


I finish laughing and say, “And that one person is Christopher Wray in the FBI screening room jerking off with a handful of Paul Mitchell Mousse doing his best Beavis and Butthead impersonation yelling, “Fire, fire” while watching a mockumentary about ANTIFA written by Stephen King and Patton Oswalt called Fire Childs Gone Wild. Now that’s an idea.”


Fire Childs Gone Wild, Challah, thank you very much.


But diversity is our strength.


Or the latest hurler for Antifa wouldn’t require Tommy John Surgery next time he hurls a concrete milkshake at a journalist with a byline in the National Review.


Fire Childs Gone Wild, Challah, thank you very much.


Michael Kornbluth

When America Winces

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, politics, storytelling

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When American winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth 

 

 

 

When America Winces

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

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When American winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much.

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

When America winces, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth 

AI Roasted

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, writing

Does AI have a hand in roasting coffee beans at Stumptown Coffee Roasters in Portlandia yet?

All hand roasted means is small batch stoner slow anyway.


AI writes tasting notes twice as fast too.

I’m not in love with the new espresso blend that combines beans from the Congo and Ghana nicknamed Musk & Gates Guinea Pigs.

I’m detecting notes of Lithium iron overload unlike the past Turbo Charged Brain Blend, that was dark and fruity like Little Nas on Fire Island.

AI Roasted, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Classroom Reader Fantasy

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, family, writing

Comedians take advantage of stage time whenever it’s available.


It doesn’t matter if you shamelessly plug 3 of your self-published books in front of Kindergarteners during your role as a Classroom Reader.


It’s also fun to freak your kids’ teachers out with a little comedic misdirection during your presentation.


I open with.


What are you kids interested in hearing today?


Then I start whipping out my well-reviewed, self-published book gems one by one out of my grey designer backpack from the Nordstrom Rack.


Because I must stay in character as a shishy stay-at-home shemale comedian.


Who’s dying to get laughs in person versus laughing at my jokes later from Shabbat Shalom Ramble while housing a half bottle of Don Julio while freaking out my daughter’s friends during his 1st sleepover at our house in the process.


My textbook presentation on comedic misdirection went like this.


I say.

Do you want to hear Do It All Dad Does Jokes, Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story, or the Great American Jew Novel? Sike. Today, I will be reading you a G-rated book called Book Of Bad Banners instead. Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman will not tickle your fancy just yet. For the record, that joke was your teacher only.


And my son’s two teachers continued to laugh long time that was the equivalent of lock jaw love in my eyes.

Classroom Reader Fantasy, Challah. Thank you very much.


I wanted to add, “Who’s in favor of Dragon Queens reading stories to Kindergarteners?”


Drag Queens reading Bi-Curious George to a bunch of sexually confused Hipster spawn reared on Lou Reed records is scary because Fluorescent Library lights don’t look flattering on anybody, especially on a vampy, poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator.


And how are puberty blockers even a thing today, kids?


When I was a pubescent teen, puberty couldn’t come soon enough, especially after my younger brother hit puberty and banged the three hottest girls in his class, whom I tried to jerk off to at the time but couldn’t, which made me feel like a big brother bust. Think Eddy Curry on the Knicks with a shitter hook shot.


One year, my mother got me a book called the 12 Stages of Puberty for Hannukah, which was humiliating because my younger brother had already bloomed under the Fruit of the Looms.

I say.


Mom, why would you get me this book besides my younger brother?

Jonathan can play himself whenever he wants.


Mom says.


But you do that all the time already with your GI-Joe Figures.


Classroom Reader Fantasy, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Michael Kornbluth