Captain Pricks

You never truly outgrow getting paranoid about rock concert harassment for packing weed man. It’s much simpler taking only one edible in the parking lot prior to spice up a Bjork concert with your wife in London that she booked an entire trip around despite you protesting to see the Shrieking Seals on the Isle of Wight instead.

Recently, went to a Grateful Dead cover band show in Portchester at the Capital Theatre in New York and planned my alibi in advance if Security asked about the edible I was packing. Because I needed extra reserves if I got stuck talking to any name-dropping Deadheads who always act like they’re on a 1st name basis with the band. Bobby has his own brand of Kombucha now called Mayer Monk Street, I think. Phil is modeling for Korean vogue since he gave up drinking. Jerry did so much smack in 86, even Lou Reed would call him Captain Pricks.”

So as expected, I get patted down aggressively by security, regretting my decision to get dressed up for the occasion. Personally, I would’ve preferred a hard dick squeeze versus him patting my baggie in my pants with only one measly edible in it, so I could barely feel a thing. Security has me whip it out and I say, “It’s Melatonin.” Security says, “That’s not Melatonin. Besides, you don’t have to worry about that in New York anymore.” And I say, “Then why are you trying to give me a fake news panic attack? Shouldn’t you be asking me if I prefer Indica vs. Sativa as a form practice for your day job at the cannabis dispensary if you’re such a subject matter expert already? Not that I’d ever schlep over the Andrew Cuomo, no I won’t jump off my own bridge for some more edibles in the Swamp Thing state, stink a lot Jersey, represent, but you get the gist. Captain Pricks, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Chosen Curls Kills

My son hasn’t ruined my life. But he did ruin veggie cream cheese for me. He says, “I don’t like Salad Cheese. Who wants salad in their cheese? I’ll chew on a baby carrot if I’m in the mood for a little nosh. But you can take your overpriced veggie cream cheese, shine it up real nice and jam it up your anus hole daddy. Smoked salmon or white fish on a pumpernickel bagel, moron son. Have I told you that your bad at life yet? Do you think Uncle John would like that material for your final comedy record this time, Family Funny Rules, Daddy? How does Uncle Jon have a harder stomach than you Daddy? Who does planks on heroin? And why did Uncle Jon flinch when you ordered me to punch him in the stomach again on July 4th? You let me hit you in the face with my boxing gloves as a form of flinch freeing treatment all the time. I thought boarding school made him tough. If he started out as a punk, he came out a 100 percent bitch. What’s my follow up punch? Please, after one gut punch alone, Uncle Jon lost all appetite for my triple decker sandwich.”

Family Funny Rules, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Mo Money Blues

I think Elmo getting the clot shot on Seaseme Street is a good thing. He’s the most expendable charachter anyway like John Rambo minus the headband.

You know the Democratic party has lost it’s It Girl status when Illan Omar gets booed off the stage during a Somalian Independence Day celebration in Minnesota. It’s like Josh Harnett getting booed off a military base in Somalia during a USO tour, honoring the 25th anniversary of Black Hawk Down.

“Go back home to Iowa you mopy has-been bitch. You give one hit wonders a bad name. Your career is on a no fly-list for a reason. Top Gun in 96, my balls. You make the Marvelous Ms. Masel a less annoying, Jew bitch in comparison despite being a smug catonic drone who’s about as original as Keith Ellison’s Borders Are Bullshit Ti-Shirts.”

Baby Face Omar got mo money blues, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth


Genius On Tap

Elon Musk and the Pope enter a Genius Bar. Pope says, “I think the term ghosting is gay even for my tastes. Because what ghosting really means is, choke on a bag full of dicks and die for all I care. So prove to me that you still care about getting off my infallible ego and promise me you won’t tolerate any hate speech about the Catholic Church under my watch being nothing more than a witness protection program for pedophiles once you take over Twitter Musk.”

Musk says, “I know your holiness, whenever Cardinal O’Conner swears off alter boy fucking, the pinkolicious demon in the kid’s Tinker Toy sized hole keeps pulling him back in. Just don’t sell me on any farmland in South Dakota used by Gates and friends to turn our country into Placenta Plantation that sells placenta stump smoothies instead of formula because of neverending supply chain issues that are dragging longer than Hunter after another July 4th holiday weekend. So any Tuesday on his calander before Hunter gave up blow for blow painting, really. Smartest guy Mr. Groper knows, I heard your holiness. I’d call Biden full of shit but you knew that already. Personally, I wouldv’e dropped off my lap top from hell made in Wuhan at an actual genius Apple store in Philly. And asked Alexa for a reminder to pick it up, sometime before the big guy ran for President from home versus letting tratior linked evidence gather more dust than Joy Behar’s box of morning after pills from 2002 as an April Fool’s gift from Whoopie. “

Genuis On Tap, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

American History F

I don’t even bother hiding my disgust with those still in masks at the grocery store anymore, after all the Covid vax damage done that’s caused more pre-mature cases of Cardiac Arrest than ripped triple wrapped condoms during Bill Maher’s last leg of his stand up comedy tour in Brazil, sponsored by Third Legged Because nothing screams indepedence from religious persecution by a one world order crown on the other side of the Atlantic than wearing an American flag designed mask during July 4th weekend at the deli counter section of DeCicco & Sons. That’s only a 3rd generation Italian American business that wouldn’t have been possible if Columbus didn’t resist Queen Isabella’s request to socially distance himself from going around the world 4 times over in search of more silky smooth lining to destroy without the aid of his small pox carrying, compass compromised dick. American History F, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Pre-Game Fireworks

Groping Biden creeping on Megan Rapinoe in the fake news Oval office set. Forget Liz Cheney, unlike her father Dick, I aim to please. The boogie boarding Kenyan draped my chiseled pecs with the Presdential Medal Of Freedom. Michelle didn’t approve but Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou never had a 3 way with Cab Calloway. So fuck What’s Talent Got To Do With It Turner 2.0. Jonas Salk gave the polio vaccine away for free. So why don’t you cut the dike act out and take a knee for your country. What, you don’t think Camel Toe Harris had an experimental phase in in college? She didn’t come out as Pearl Necklace Harris over night. So are you going to hook up the big guy with some lock jaw love or not? I’m only giving you this medal, so you don’t kick around anymore conspiracy theories on Fox Sports about how soccer players are dropping faster than Kamala Harris’s kick the can clit on holiday in St. Barts. Fauci, you know Dr. Gnocchi, got this medal for keeping Magic Johnson’s secret stash of AZT drugs under wraps before it made all traces of HIV in his system dissappear. Why else would Magic play nice and pose with Meteosexual Getko at the Rams game since he turned California into a sunshine scurrying tent city, sponsered by REI? Now start rubbing your butch cut against my leg hairs, I like that or you don’t care about black people like fake news fro Kaepernick. You don’t think he sports a fake news fro fish breath? Have you ever seen a bi racial afro that large before? Slash tried growing his fro out but it was a total flop. Comedy record 113, Lapping Losers, coming right up, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Genius On Tap

Soundtrack king Kenny Loggins says, “To feel is to communicate your spirit with God.” Wife says, “Your spirit has an oversharing problem with God.”

Biden, I mean Mr. Groper, says, “Children belong to their teachers.” I thought child wives was a Muslim thing, my bad. Challah, thank you very much.

If you care enough to shave your legs, you’re a woman in my book, Barenaked Ladies Are Us. It’s a self-care book about pampering your feminine side without being a fugly feminist twat about it. Challah, thank you very much.

Explain to me the need to wear a mask at Madeline Albright’s funeral. Isn’t Secret Service detail protection for life enough? Esecially when all in attendance are guilty of perpetuating the big lie of COVID infection being worse than entry in the Dallas Buyer’s Club.

Why is the ACLU fretting about Elon Musk running the show at Twitter now? They’ll still ignore the fact that White Supremacists in Fred Perry Shirts with Tiki Torches in hand aren’t the nationalist supremacist types responsible for Florida and Anti-Semitism being so hot right now. Shit, when was the last time you heard a Proud Boy admit he was still educating himself on Hitler after retweeting more libel bullshit from Farrakhan about alien controlled bloodsucking cockroaches controlling the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole to? I thought it was Baby Face Omar who celebrated the anniversary of Amy Winehouse’s death by describing it on Twitter as “something happened”, to a beehive sporting, devil horn hiding, parasitical Jew bitch, who exploited the Great Palestinian Songbook for all it was worth. Genius on tap, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Pissy Life Hack Tips

Do It All Dad, a self-described Stay at Home She-Male Comedian performs another killerset in his bedroom office on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast, titled, Pissy Life Hack Tips.

“My quest is to make my son a shallow sleeper, so he won’t piss his bed anymore from being such a deep-thinking sleeper. I’ll stop talking to him like he’s a Talmudic scholar for hire. “Rabbi Samuel, is it better to be loved by your kids or by strangers on stage every night at the Comedy Cellar, getting your funny man freak on for a living?” Son says, “Get a life ancient moron and figure it out yourself already. I’m still only 5 years old, remember?”

“But seriously, is deprogramming deepness considered a legitimate pissy life hack tip that’s a shortcut to improved parental happiness if forcing your kid to wear a nappy to bed is no longer a drawn-out tug of free will anymore?  Reality is, my son only pisses his bed at night. So, my pissy life problems have to be a result of my son being too much of a deep sleeper.  You might think I’m being a tad melodramatic for yuck, yucks sake, but having to duck under your kids bunk bed to make his bed again after washing his soaked Star Wars sheets and bedcovers is enough to push any man to the dark side. So if I want to avoid stripping my son’s wet sheets off his bed again like he’s a young Corey Feldman who’s been the hitting bottle too hard with Sam Kinson backstage at the Comedy Store again, why don’t I shame bribe him, by insisting we can’t watch Spaceballs ever again unless he comes out as Farm Boy from Princess Bride for Halloween, except whenever a homeowner giving candy asks, “Who are you dressed as for Halloween?” Samuel must say, “Piss Bucket Boy from History of The World”, before flashing his plastic pumpkin candy holder that’s packed with PJ Mask nappies to the rim.

At first, I thought banning my wife from giving our son Melatonin gummies would prevent him from falling into deeper states of extended sleep while contemplating who would win in a street fight, Rudy or Rocky, if Bruce Lee trained Rudy first. My son’s still wetting himself like I did after waterboarding myself as a 12-year-old kid from trying to jerkoff but only succeeding in hosing myself down with a golden shower after Emanuel After Dark on Showtime because I hadn’t gotten into the puberty pool party yet.  So, to avoid becoming my son’s permanent wet nurse like Jill Biden on demand, I’m going to groom a shallow beauty, so he won’t get lost in deep enough focused thought on ways to bitch slap the future 5th grader who dares to spoil his sister with Starbucks gift cards on Valentine’s Day without taking the time for a midnight bathroom break who identifies with Fatal Attraction Astronauts from NASA.

Instead of watching documentaries on Andre the Giant, which focus on Andre’s excessive drinking problem to drown out the pain of being treated like a regrettable freak of nature in airports like the man who dresses like Meghan McCain in drag for Teacher Appreciation Month to read, “Divine Gives Bi-Curious Geroge a Banana in His Tail Pipe.” Will binge on Keeping Up with The Sloppy Third Kardashian Sister, since Kim backed out to focus full time on studying for her bar exam because Social Justice Lawyers are so hot right now.  

I’ll insist my son doesn’t flip on his hoodie to hide his chosen curls at the grocery store anymore to avoid more grown Italian MILFS hitting on him with lines like, “When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” Only for me to say, “No offense lady, but if James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”

I can buy my son a Waterbed for his birthday to avoid more weighty deep thoughts. So instead of meditating on the rapidly encroachment of irreversible death like Hemingway does in Old Man and The Sea, my son can dream about the glory days of Boogie Nights Porn pre-VHS tape, before tatted up white girls cranked up on Crystal meth ruined the golden age of muff diving forever. Back when the mountain muff on the MILF from Scandal in the Mansion on the big screen looked like stacks of Brillo pads resting on top of a busted Slinky.

I could also deprogram deepness my forcing my son to sleep every night in a Tanning Bed. And instead of reading him poetry at night from Charles Bukowski about the serial bitterness and predictably dronish, small soul producing dullness swallowing up our empty, consumerist controlled lives, while sloppy drunk hookers come knocking down on his door in broken high heels at 2 o clock in the morning, will start rehearsing his Trump impersonation for Halloween. But not just any old impression of Trump, but an impression of Trumpy Poo after he tests HIV positive, after the Deep State pricked him with the same dirty needle used to take out Easy E to prevent him from running again. “Who are you for Halloween?” Son says, “Little Man Trump who just tested HIV positive because Melania slept with Magic to get me back for the Stormy Daniels fiasco. Do I have HIV?  Yes, but my t-cell count numbers, have never been stronger.”

But I like talking to my 5-year-old son like he’s my Talmudic joke whisperer manager. Son says, “Daddy, stop being an ancient moron. When are you going to record comedy record 96 already? After that, you’ll only have 4 more to reach 100. Rodney Dangerfield never did that. Even Papa would have to respect that. Johnny Cash told his daughter Roseanne Cash she had to learn to play 100 selected songs before she could set out to become a master working solo artist, remember moron son? I still like the title Genius on Tap for your next comedy record. Think good and will be good like Rebbe Schneerson said. You’re always a genius just Jack Kerouac told himself remember mega dumb son? Besides. I own you and you ain’t poop without me. So, finish strong like Stallone does in Over-the-Top Daddy, none of this meet halfway crap, go for it all the way. Fight the good fight, achieve perfect laughter with the Gods, loneliness is a gift, to test your will to prove how much you really want it. What, you’ve been reading me quotes from Bukowski on Goodreads since I was 2. So, get a lit agent to read your entire manuscript for Waste of Height, Really Short Stories already.  Then, we can afford that Comedy Gold Mobile and go on a book signing tour together, but never forget, more jokes for me, are more jokes for your comedy records, got it.  I can wear my Muscle Beach shirt when you do a book signing in Venice, despite you naming Arthur, Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. I’m still really pissed at you for that by the way. But I get all the Black Sabbath records and get to watch Fist of the North Star with you, do Mad Libs with you, play blackjack with my Freddy Kruger cards and watch Japanese death matches on YouTube with Terry Funk with at you home whenever we hang out, before I start Kindergarten next year, which evens out the suck. Hey Daddy, ever think I may pee in my bed because playing with Freddy Kruger cards would scare the piss out of any little dreamer at night whenever those images of a burnt serial killer come to life?” And I say, “Thank God somebody in this relationship is playing with a full deck.”

Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth