Selectively Suspicious

Harboring more screenplay fantasies is off the list.

Halfway into Tarantino’s book Cinema Speculation, Tarantino pauses to point out what a foaming racist Dinero’s character is in Taxi Driver, before he started popping off at the mouth on the View, looking like Betsy Ross falling apart at the seams.

If Travis Bickle was such a lone nut racist, then why stop halfway with the Mohawk Quentin?

Doesn’t Travis invite a black chick out for a date who works in a porn theater in Times Square?

“So, if your Great, Great Grandmother was good enough for Thomas Jefferson. I wouldn’t mind pursing happiness through titty blasting bliss with you sis.”

In the book, Tarantino even goes out of his way to tell us how Harvey Keitel couldn’t find a white pimp throughout New York City to study under, yet Travis Bickle doesn’t hesitate to blow away this wannabe wigger. It’s not as if Travis Bickle gets cold feet at the last second and thinks, “Wiil this kill be applied to my quota when I apply for the Grand Dragon’s new opening in Hell’s Kitchen next month? That’s being advertised in the back pages of the Village Voice under the classified section ad for Ethnic Cleanser Cleaners needed, that reads, “Colorblind Vigilantes and Shaft wannabes aren’t allowed.”

Travis Bickle even admits to taking black riders in his taxi, while most of his fellow taxi drivers don’t.

And don’t you think Taxi Drivers of all colors have earned the right to be selectively racist? Meaning taxi drivers of all creeds, are allowed to be more selectively suspicious than others.

“Wow, this is a pretty big tip. I don’t do drug run drop offs for Frank Lucas, just because I’m dropping you off in Harlem dude. I actually prefer the bigger hipped sisters. What, only Lou Reed gets to cruise for some brown sugar around these parts like a Midnight Cowboy from Long Island.”

Just because Travis Bickle shoots a black guy robbing a liquor store, I wouldn’t call him the second coming of Ed Buck. You know, piece of shit, Democratic fundraiser who’d cruise for black homeless dudes in West Hollywood only to drug them to death with Crystal Meth while trying to get some drugged out love in the process, forget about it.

Countless lives lost, 2 billion dollars of damage later, post summer of love, in honor of George Floyd Appreciation Century. God forbid you be selectively suspicious of those who shout racist. When they don’t charge elitist white cucks in positions of power in the media and big tech and government for being selectively racist when they broadly brush MAGA country as a whole as racist, mongoloid morons who refused to get blood clots from vax shots that work less than Russel Westbrook running the Triangle Offense.

I’ll reserve the right to be selectively suspicious of more woke tard bullshit, whenever I want Quentin thanks. Like how on Joe Rogan, you played dumb about your film patron Harvey being a serial rapist. Look, I get it, Quentin, Disney wasn’t financing your next project. But at least, fess up and say, “I wanted to make more films and looked the other way. And close with a hard-hitting slashing joke.

“But at least Harvey’s wife finally left him after 12 years, to focus on her lifetime battle with Amnesia.”

Selectively Suspicious, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Big Pharma Blues

1st word today kids.

Corrupt, something that rots from within.

Think of ancient hipster hacks like Patrick the musician.

Who thinks blowing off mama’s birthday early for band practice in his late forties is a jealous inducing hook.

Who thinks doing Enya cover songs on riverboats along the Hudson makes us in touch with the beautifying divine and dream alive hip hearts in us all.

Who thinks being in a band with a bunch of pharma tech developers and designers gives him the anti-authortorian edge to break on through to the cover of Rolling Stone in the sixties in no time. Then again, Steph Curry is on the cover of Rolling Stone these days, which is less rollicking than a young Cameron Crow being on the cover of Rolling Stone.

If you had a conflict with what drugs you were pimping big pharma websites for, you’d quite your job.

Yeah, and Dice would go soft on Neil Young on his podcast.

You ever want choke Joni Mitchell with one of her hippie haggard shawls to shut up long face Horse tooth for good?

Leaving your wife who survived cancer for Daryl Hannah is in poor taste, don’t you think Young? You going through a post midlife never banged a mermaid crisis or what?

You were scared during the height of Covid, Young? Didn’t you used to share heroin needles with Harvey Millk? You were scared of getting an itchy esphogus from Covid Young? I’ve been puffing Marbalo Reds since my twenties and my lungs feel great, since my bud Ari Shaffir turned me on to edibles and the weed pen; but you get the gist.

Not one big pharma company has spoken out against the clot shot.

Not one big pharma company has condemned the pushing of opiods in our coutry that have killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking it with Lena Dunham on Instagram.

Not one big pharma company has come to the defense of Eric Clapton confessing to experiencing temporary paralysis in his playing arm strung by the All Mighty by taking the Covid vax shot.

Not one big pharma company has commented on Justin Bieber’s frozen face or Katy Perry’s droopy eye twitch in Vegas or how the craziest thing about soccer is how my fellow Ameeicans still expect me to give a shit about soccer, World Cup or not.

The LA, Philly title game was the craziest thing that ever happened in soccer. I thought midfielders dropping dead midfield at a hard 30 from blood clot induced cardiac arrest through the operation death speed did the trick, my bad.

Flourish, to kick ass and take names, think Kari Lake once she teams up with Linda Hamilton and takes down The Dominion Machines, that being the new Skynet for good.

Fluky, think any hired hack replacement on Comedy Cental to replace Trevor Noah on the Daily Show, assuming he remains Bruce Springsteen’s gimpy bitch message boy for life. Insisting how all his blue collar fans 3 decades ago were n bomb dropping hicks, who only tolerated Clarence Clemon’s operatic, spine tingly sax work on Jungleland because jungle is in it and the song is West Side Story meets American Me meets New Jack City.

Just don’t call voter ID fair and inclusive. How else are you going to tell MS13 apart with all that shit on their face?

Practicing conflict resolution.

Samuel, don’t hit your brother in the spine when he’s not looking or you’ll paralyze him like Van Damne’s brother get’s paralyzed by the braided pony punk in Kickbocker. And when your paralyzed from the waist down, you can’t derive any prolonged merriment from futzing around with your schmeckel spot anymore. If you’re lucky your brother would feel a whiff of butt wind after going butt liquid in his pants but that’s it. You don’t want you brother in a wheelchair because he intentionally scared you in the morning by pretending to be a raccoon on the loose again, do you? Last, stuffing you in the trash and duck taping you in there with raccoons and your butt liquid nappies would be times worse, don’t you think?

Son says, “Stop stealing my butt wind, butt liquid jokes, Moron Jewish Son. Eat my butt rice, Challah. Thank you very much. And Patrick’s son is more boring than Patrick. Is that why you accuse his mother of micro dosing to make her kid more interesting because he takes after the father?

Big Pharma blues, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Headhunter Writer

Your LinkedIn connects are very sexy. I plan on pumping the Fin Tech ones for all their worth, assuming there’s any money left.

So my LinkedIn bio is written in the 3rd person like Kenny Powers. All men can’t be created equal, Challah. Thank you very much.

You have to check out the pilot for Tulsa King, Sly Stallone at 75 is better than ever in it. His performance makes up for sneaking Mel Gibson into Expendables 3. And for chucking more mango gummies at his suckalicious wife on a lazy Sunday afternoon in Beverly Hills.

“Hey Model Tits, it’s not about how hard you get hit, its about how much you can take and keep moving forward away from the gummy edibles store on Rodeo Drive that only sells high end Hawaiian, that’s how winning is done. You know the new edible store on Rodeo called, Sticky Icky Rich Bitch. That has a paywall made out of JR Smith’s abs in your wildest pot powered dreams. How can you expect our model daughters to follow your lead if you have less munchie control than JR Smith? The Cavs banned Blunted from conducting anymore topless interviews after games because he was high enough already. Glad we had this chat. Now let’s pose for a pic on Instagram holding hands, pretending I never chucked mango gummies at your head like your the second coming of Rebel Wilson before giving Harry Styles some pegtastic love from behind during Coachella. What, that fat bitch had to shred her fat suit one way or another.”

Hitting with my best shots, Pat Benatar lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Marketing Manifesto Pitch

November 15th, 2022 

Dear Lindsey Smith, 

I want you to represent my book, The Koshertarian Comedians, which tells the inspirational tale of a Stay-At-Home Podcast Comedian who cleans up his act a bit during his year without beer while inspiring his wife and 3 kids to give the Koshertarian Diet a chance. Being married to a punk rocker, who’s also fan of voice driven narratives with some edge, I see no reason why you wouldn’t want to inhale the book whole from start to finish. I shed light on gender issues such as whether Stay at Home Dads can survive disdainful ridicule in between landing their next job eventually. They can’t. Although you’re able to ease the pain of scornful, degrative neglect in between with a little help from your Koshertarian comedian friends. How do I accomplish this miraculous feat exactly? Through earning more respectful impressiveness from the more laughs and yummy dance meal creations I make. All while growing closer to God and my 3 kids in the process for trusting in my God given powers of pleasure making dissemination. 

You’re an ideal audience for The Koshertarian Comedians considering your interests lifestyle, self-help, current events and pop culture references, which my Gen X target audience will understand. I also see you minting a publishing deal for The Koshertarian Comedians because it’s a self-help book about the self-empowering nature of creativity that instills pride of ownership. While also giving you the freedom to improve and perfect, whenever you’re making things with love, even if you’re not getting paid for it yet. Another important message imparted in The Koshertarian Comedians is the importance of not blaming the audience if your joke is a yuck yucker or if your latest dish creation bust is a suck, sucker, which is an important to message to impart among the younger, blame ready generation today.

I close The Koshertarian Comedians with a chapter called Exit Interview Day, which is my daughter’s exit interview from eating a strictly Koshertarian diet at home. Here, I lay the groundwork for a killer sequel, called The Pescatarian Comedians, where I declare to my daughter during our exit interview day, “If soulless shellfish was good enough for Jesus, the original super Jew, then it’s good enough for me.” 

Amazon has no books that are even close to being remotely interesting under the Koshertarian or Pescatarian realm, especially through a highly humorous family man lens. You can change that by selling a book James Beard and Anthony Bourdain wanted to read but never could. 

I’ve produced 136 comedy records over the past 14 months such as Brisket Mom Beater, Not Kosher Baby and the Liverpool Lip. The sales potential for these records sold in the form of audiobooks or E-Books, especially throughout overseas markets such as England, Canada, Australia, India and Israel are enormous. I also wouldn’t mind launching a new podcast platform with me as host called Do It All Coach Dads, which could provide the killer filler for our next best seller together. You can negotiate the digital rights with Spotify in between. 

We could also sell a pilot to HBO for The Pescatarian Comedians, delivering bits of food history, bit by bit involving my star seedlings, myself and other promising actors both old and new. Think Drunk History with a foodie minded twist.

Last, I also have 2 other books to secure six figure deals for, Waste of Height Really Short Stories and United We Laugh, all great titles I know. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his Stay-at-Home Dad Years. 

I resume my IT Headhunter career next Monday to finance self-publishing these book gems if I can’t find a lit agent willing to embrace the wild man leanings of the funniest Koshertarian Comedian who’s ever lived before the new year, God forbid. Because Florida and Anti-Semitism are so hot right now. 

Assuming, I haven’t turned you off with my supreme arrogance, thanks for giving The Koshertarian Comedians a chance.

Sincerely,

Michael Kornbluth

A Plus Alter Ego

Free Kathy Griffin.

Pass the barf bag, Trans Chucky Nation.

I wouldn’t fuck Trans Chucky with Chaz Bono’s Mr. Potato Head appendage.

Twitter is Brooke Shields.

Kathy Griffin wants to be her fawned over bestie so bad.

But Brooke Shields never gave Trans Chucky the time of day anyway.

Not even Bravo wants to be followed by Kathy Griffin on Twitter.

Andy Cohen bemoans.

Go back to the Luna Lounge and reenact the time Joan Rivers called you a no talent never was bitch to your face. At least Chelsea Handler knows how to tell a joke. Since she became a social justice warrior to downplay her tits sagging popularity. All you do Kathy is use your hands on stage like Archie in drag at a Trump rally on Fox News.

Andy Cohen adds.

Is Jill Biden our 1st scarecrow lady? Oh yeah, I went there, I’m a gay Jew, I got diplomatic immunity bitches. Suck on it and weep Chappelle and friends. But Elon Musk banning impersonations is gayer than Aaron Carter dying with Monkey Pox from Dr. Gnocchi’s man-made Aids monkey.

Elon Musk wants nothing to do with Zit Face Zuck.

So, he’s outlawing impersonations or anything creepily resembling his meta verse bust.

It’s also not hard to impersonate Elon Musk.

Just look deep in thought about defending Joe Rogan’s defense of joke integrity, skip tanning and leave bronzing to Trumpy Tits.

I love Elon Musk exerting technical power over d list hack celebrities.

For him, desktop support is kicking his feet up on a bust of Walt Disney’s head on top of his new ice tomb desk for Christmas.

Howard Stern fears a second Civil War if Hershall Walker wins.

You’d think core exercises on the Pelton App with Ashton Kutcher would make you less of a pussy Howard.

Placate to your Pedo Joe fan base left, so you’re not disinvited from any more 2 bite chicken parm dinners at Jimmy Kimmel’s house.

Attended an Owl demonstration at a local farm. Guide described pigeons as slow. I said, “So stool pigeons are the John Fetterman’s of the animal kingdom in hoodies.”

Later, we dissected an owl pellet for bones and found nothing. I say, “It’s like high school all over again babe, I’m bone free.”

My daughter just got a water bottle from Lulu Lemon and is ecstatic. She acts as if she was water bottle shamed at school prior. “

Mean Girl says, “Target water bottles are so deplorably depressing don’t you think? You’re better off just reusing the same bottle of Coconut water and refilling it with regular tap water instead”.

Attended a Bar Mitzvah in New Jersey. The female Rabbi was such a hack. Female Rabbi spent every 2 seconds talking about climate change and there not being an earth left. And how her side preserves while other one destroys. Canter interjects to point out how the climate activist Rabbi is from California. And I’m thinking, it shows. Surprised, she didn’t plug Nancy Pelosi’s jugs as taps of divinity, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles would love to go motorboating with.

Will be relaunching my IT staffing career soon under my alter ego, Joshua Kornbluth, which I have no problem with. I have enough egos to go around. A Plus Alter Egos Rule, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Placation Nation

If Kyrie Irving hated Jews so much.

Then, why would he play basketball in Brooklyn?

The only thing Jewier than Brooklyn are fag hags like Lena Dunham.

Who’s the biggest reason why birthrates are an all-time low in New York.

Over the hill hobbit hipster hacks are pulling out early due to excessive meat sweats.

But the Hunchback of Bushwick during Restaurant Week, rocking the arm flapper look on Instagram isn’t helping.

But seriously, if you hate Jews so much, why would play in the Barclay’s Center, when it’s only a 10-minute walk to the heart of Park Slope?

Schillinger from OZ would last long, working as barista in Park Slope, as part of his new worker release program since Ari Emanuel from Endeavor Talent Agency took over for Leo Glynn as the new Warden of Ozwald State penitentiary.

“You know, I’d feel safer if you wore a wool hat in July like the rest.”

“Yeah, I asked for a double macchiato, not burnt espresso with a flaccid facade of foam on top.”

“So, try again. You don’t want to circumcise my happiness again, do you?

Schillinger cracks the coffee cup over the customers face.

And yells.

“Send me back to The Hole Ari.”

“I’d rather lose my mind on my own time.”

“Of course, this sniveling shit took a knee for BLM.”

“He drained them dry till Yom Kippur.”

“I bet Squid and The Whale was read Bi-Curious George growing up while being reared on Lou Reed Records?”

“I’d rather hear BLM do a Ted Talk on how Turbo Tax is some culturally biased shit. Then, serve fancy fagalah coffee drinks to these neutered nincompoops. What, I grew up on the Upper East Side on York, in the heavily German section while it still lasted. Who do you think was chasing Tony Curtis down a fire escape? It wasn’t Kyrie Irving’s grandfather; I’ll tell you that much. That part of Manhattan didn’t reek of shit weed from blunted nation yet either. Fuck this placation nation bullshit, I’m out of here.”

Placation Nation lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Pitchwoman Of The Year

Aliens are capable of formulating and defending their own critical race theory, too. A bunch of Think Tank Alien Eggheads from Planet Scrambled Over Easy declared the American Dream dead and its entire race plain stupid for thinking otherwise, on both sides of the political divide, during its annual Brunch Expo address at their annual Northern Lights retreat on Planet Verde. It was known for its enormous avocado trees, tricked-out converted farmhouse party palaces, and was enveloped by hop farms galore and beautifully manicured baseball diamonds and fields of highly stimulating, brain-tickling weed.

            Even Think Tank Alien Eggheads need to cool off their hyperactive brains with some baseball, buds, and brews, from time to time.

            The Think Tank Alien Eggheads observed how unhinged and excessively biased the US media and Big Tech had become since the New Yorker from Queens exposed them for the feckless, misleading, self-serving, fear-mongering, deliberately divisive, commie sell out bastards they’d become.  

            Close Encounters Of The Third Kind was voted the number one-ranked sci-fi film for forty-four years in a row and counting, according to Egghead Alien Film Review Magazine, which still boasts an incredible print ad sales revenue because, on Planet Scrambled Easy, print is king and is considered the most prestigious medium, attracting the universe’s most talented writers, knowing they’re willing to pay up to three US dollars per word.

            There are no TV shows made on Planet Scrambled Over Easy except a hugely popular father/son alien cooking show called ‘Better Than Boobie.’ On this show, we learn the alien baby is a result of a mixed marriage between an alien and a busty, full-lipped, tan, Sicilian-blooded Italian, Barbera Bustiasti, originally hailing from Rochester, NY.

            On the show, our Stay-At-Home Alien Dad Host, Fried Brains Bourdain, a self-anointed in-house gourmand for the entire Planet Scrambled Over Easy, will ask his part-human, part-alien baby, Chef Samuels, what he thinks of his latest and greatest LEO Scramble Supreme, including smoked salmon lox, scrambled eggs, and sweet, not-too-bitter caramelized red onions.

            Normally, Chef Samuels will take a taste and pronounce the dish creation a double-fister instead of a yuck-yucker. But if baby Chef Samuels is totally enthralled with the dish, he’ll ask his cherished dada, Fried Brains Bourdain, to make the dish for him every day before he whizzes around the rings of Planet Scrambled Over Easy faster than Flash, in a high-calorie burning blaze of glory.  

            So, the reason Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy was smitten with the movie Close Encounters Of The Third Kind stemmed from the aliens portrayed in it being musical savant mutes, of sorts, like Holly Hunter in The Piano.

            The problem, on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, is how their recent open borders policy resulted in a gazillion different languages spoken at once at any given Farmer’s Market—enough to make C3Po’s language transmitter chip melt down from an intergalactic auditory sensory processing overload. So, the clamor in the streets had reached a fevered pitch, with no universal language in place capable of instilling a more melodic cadence.           And none of the star magazine writers on Planet Scrambled Over Easy were capable of banging out musical showtunes (such as West Side Think Tank Alien Stories), because Broadway tunesmith legend Stephen Sondheim declined the invitation to procreate with the alien civilization (because he was gayer about the prospect of lunging at the Othello backstage in tights, whenever asked to do his best Kevin Spacy impersonation by his cast and crew at Sardis for wrapup show celebrations, after hours.

            Stephen Sondheim gave the anal probe a shot after the Alien Think Tank Leader, Gershwin Goo, convinced him they were doing it the name of stool DNA sampling science in their long, hard, in-depth exploration pinpointing the exact genetic makeup roots responsible for sprouting such a mature musical genius out the womb.

            At six, Mozart was touring Europe, entertaining French nobles with the nimble quickness of a French prostitute who got two customers to spew with joy in one minute flat, each, so she could squeeze in her favorite customer, famed American Jewish writer Henry Miller, in one more, before closing hours, for the road.  

            So, not only was the roaring decibel of noise on the streets of Scrambled Eggs Over Easy consisting of every guttural, gross alien language imaginable, that collectively heard together sounded like the antithesis of French pillow talk in Eric Rohmer films such as Busted Burgundy Girls and Paris Dicks Are Burning, thereby making their home planet a highly grating, excessively annoying place to be; but there was also not a singe lone, beautifying voice to even sing their new planet anthem in an attempt to promote, celebrate, and unify the country behind a star’s beautiful voice in their own native tongue, Hebrew.

            What, you think the pyramids and the first great temple were built by the Israelites alone? I’ve known Jews who are allergic to Home Depot, who suffer from immediate panic attacks upon entry.

            On retreat, The Think Tank Aliens sucking down endless IPAs and puffing non-stop high-grade green over a killer double header of baseball surrounding the Field Of Dreams Funhouse, with a young, rising star egghead about to pitch his famous speedball splinter known to make most fellow aliens whiff more than Charlie Sheen at an AVN afterhours party, these days.

            An idea emerged. “Hey, fellas, instead of blowing up Planet Earth for our annual Fourth of July Celebration (to celebrate our freedom of banning the Internet in 2000, because we knew Y2K would serve as a slow-acting bomb to blow up Earth’s any last remaining capacity for critically thinking, mass-produced independent thought ever again), we convince Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth to become our permanent-in-house Planetary Anthem singer?

            “Granted, we have incredible leverage, knowing that if she refuses, we’ll go head and blow up the Earth for the best fireworks show we’ve ever seen. Bulldozing a casino is child’s play compared to planet blasting. Plus, I think the universe is ready for a new Earth to emerge, again (assuming God’s in the mood to give the human race another shot at redemption).”

            The Think Tank Aliens of Scrambled Over Easy Planet actually thought of Singing Rose Kornbluth immediately, the moment they coined the idea of establishing a Planetary Anthem in Hebrew, from eavesdropping from space whenever she’d recite the Shabbat prayers over the candles, challah, and wine.

            To them, Singing Rose Kornbluth was blessed with the most angelic-laced, beautifying, spiritually rich, jade-free voice of all time. It sounded ten times more soul-tantalizingly pretty sung in Hebrew, which she’d do in Synagogue, shining through the most whenever the Torah was taken out of the arc for the infamous Shema prayer “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”

            The Think Tank Aliens from Scrambled Over Easy Planet are able to eavesdrop into different galaxy systems due to their alien race being crossbred with Alien Hybrid Elephants reared by Alexander The Great. Alexander The Great would use those elephants to eavesdrop on his enemies or on Cleopatra the next time she plotted to roofie him, tie him up, and jam some precious gemstone beads up his ass for shits and giggles, to see if they came out looser since the last gender-neutral interkingdom orgy at her Luxor party palace.

            Now, Singing Rose Kornbluth is at home in her bedroom within the hamlet of Croton Falls, NY, fifty minutes north of Manhattan, brushing the mane on her new American Girl horse doll Lavender Love and singing her own made-up tune: “Lavender Love has beautiful hair, my brother Arthur better not threaten to turn him into fake news dog chow, if baby Samuel double dares.”      Then the Palomino American Girl Doll horse Lavender Love comes to life and speaks to her from the baseball diamond on the Field Of Dreams Funhouse, and says, “Singing Rose Kornbluth, don’t be alarmed. For starters, my voice can’t be any freakier than when you confuse your American Girl Doll Horse for an actual little person, on occasion.”

            Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “Keep talking.”          Think Tank Alien says, “We think your singing voice, especially in Hebrew, is the most beautiful, God-loving, effortlessly sweet signing voice we’ve ever heard, without any deep vibrato rumblings (which ruin Adele and Demi Lovato’s chances as potential picks for us, if you really need to know).”     Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “And who is “we,” exactly?”

            Think Tank Alien says, “We’re Think Tank Aliens from Planet Scrambled Over Easy. Our natural tongue is Hebrew, and we just came up with our first-ever Planetary Anthem, and it needs work, because our alien civilization isn’t musically inclined whatsoever.”

            Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “Do all aliens talk through American Girl Horses? I knew Aliens were real.”

             Think Tank Alien says, “Singing Rose, we love your voice. God made your supernatural voice for a reason. Still, we will be left with no choice but to blow up your planet, if you don’t let us use your gift of creation and singing love songs which touch the innermost sanctum part of the Divine.”

            Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “I’ll only help you out if you agree to take over control of our Internet, unleash virus worms to corrode all the software code for Twitter, Facebook and Google, and fill in that gaping voice of Internet bandwidth with my father’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast every Friday for another Meandering Shabbat Shalom Special.

            “My daddy is hilarious. He said, ‘Beyonce sat out the national anthem because Demi Lovato sounds like a white privilege version of Alabama Shakes.’”

            Think Tank Alien laughs a long time and replies, “We don’t have the Internet on our planet.”            Matilda says, “I’ll be your new best friend. And you’ll get one sleepover invite a year, deal? Think Taken Alien says, “Deal.”

            One year later, Singing Rose Kornbluth graced the cover of Time Magazine. On the top, the headline read ‘Pitchwoman Of The Year.’ She saved her country’s planet from being wiped off the solar system map for selling the Think Tank Aliens on making her Do It All Dad the most popular, downloadable, highly quotable podcaster in the universe.

            So, he could afford the opportunity to shine like the brightest rising comedy star in the galaxy and drive his family back from the hospital in his new Comedy Gold Porsche SUV with a new baby sister addition in the back, Lavender Love Kornbluth, to make his Do It All Dad year mission complete.

            Now Singing Rose Kornbluth could sing duets with her new baby sister, Lavender Love Kornbluth, for a double dose of beautiful wonderfulness on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, so she’d never have to feel homesick again.

Michael Kornbluth

The Metal Edge

The mother responsible for her son’s developing a near crippling neck condition that required corrective surgery at age two, called Torticollis (where the neck muscles contract, causing the head to twist to one side, as a result of too much newborn plopping time alone in the crib), summoned the gall to ask her son, who’s about to turn 50 years old in his new Victorian mansion home outside of Saratoga, NY, lounging on a monied polo lounge green Adirondack chair overlooking Lake George, “Why would you push your son into fencing?”

            The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Because the sport of fencing needs a metal edge. And your grandson, ‘Headbangers Baller’, is just the kid to do it. Plus, Christian Knights slayed the Jews and Muslims for centuries because they didn’t wear crosses around their necks.

            “So, it’s time to rock those Limey bastards on their ass like they just got hit by an American made twister from Kansas City in the shape of Charlie Parker, with the colossus wind power to match.  

            “Bruce Dickenson, the lead singer of Iron Maiden, is a championship fencer, yet his nerdy-hued Dungeons and Dragons stylings are no match more for my son’s budding Headbanger Baller Edge.

            “I want my son to be the most famous American fencer who ever lived, who graces the cover of Rolling Stone and Sports Illustrated all at the same time. I envision my son becoming the dreamy child offshoot of John Belushi, Charles Bukowski, and Slash, all wrapped into one.

            “He’ll shred every fencer record to pieces and will tear more than his share of hymens in the process. Assuming he identifies with highly addictive heterosexuality puss-plowing play.

            “Force=Mass x Acceleration and becoming a world class championship shredder will make my son an indomitable force within the business world when he opens his own hair metal shredder fencing line (which will be recession-proof, because we’re all going to be stuck wearing nappies on our face in a post-COVID universe gone wild ’till our last dying breaths, anyway).”

            The Torticollis Survivor Son adds, “Fencing will be more popular in the US than basketball and baseball combined after Headbanger Baller Kornbluth adds windmill celebration dances with his fencing sword, throwing all that old-school fencing decorum bullshit out the window.

            “Plus, he’ll be loaded from commercial endorsements from the Guitar Store, Bose, Spandex R Us, and you name it, so he could afford to pay any fines for inappropriate, hotdogging behavior whenever the flamboyant showboating moods strikes again.  

            “Dana White will be inspired to go into the fencing business and make Headbanger Baller Kornbluth the face behind his new billion-dollar behemoth franchise, transforming Octagon rings into enormous steel cage fencing matches instead.            “Instead of having Michael Buffer in a tux before fencing matches, booming “Let’s get ready to rumble,” Dana White will find the new Cherry Pie girl to announce, “Let the shredding begin” while ‘Kickstart My Heart’ by Motely Crue blares on the state-of-the-art surroundsound speaker system that gives the steel cage tremors of impending despair.

            “I’d push my son into becoming a WWE Wrestler for a living, yet there will never be another Andrew the Giant; nor is he third-generation wrestling royalty like the Rock, nor has a Canadian hockey player dad like Chris Jericho.

            “So, why not become a big fish in far smaller pond, while making the most humongous splash possible?

            “He also plays with collection of lightsabers now, more than he does with his cherished wrestling figures, and he owns the original rubber dog toy-size Hulk Hogan and Ricky The Dragon Steamboat (among many others the with vintage WWF wrestling ring I got off Ebay, to match).        “Kayne West is worth six billion, mostly from his fashion line of sneakers that sell for one grand and upwards; yet there’s no limited, in-demand fashion line for the flamboyant hair metal shredder in us all.

            “I envision a flashing middle F-You finger logo that sports the inscription of a Kosher Chalef butcher knife on it that says, “Live To Shred,” to slap on his own line of silver spaceman sneakers and ripped jeans and shorts (obviously in every color imaginable except Slayer Reign In Blood Red).  

            “He’ll have his own line of studded belts, necklaces, metal cowboy hats, and tank tops to show off to his legions of groupies and adoring young male fans how his own line of core exercise workout videos involving jumping off box jumps through rings of fire as ‘Moth Into Flame’ by Metallica plays at full blast is responsible for his shredded physique, once he steps into something more comfortable for post-fencing fight interviews.          “I want to feed my son’s love for speed. I want my son to maximize his inherent shredding edge like Buckethead, Randy Rhodes, and Steve Vai for love-of-God, kickass metal guitar solos and for his metal-loving American Dad, who pushed him to shred for bread.

            “On a less poetic, baser level, I want my son to be an all-American athlete who gets a fencing scholarship for being the most rollicking, flamboyant, fencing front man of all time while making the sport less overtly nerdy in the process.    “I want him to be loved and feared like Sonny in the Bronx Tale’s mom. I want colleges to recruit him in junior high for fencing scholarships so he can become a Headbanger Baller in life, instead of being a desperate flailing hounder. That’s why I’m pushing my son into fencing, Mom.”

            Mom says, “Your father thinks a team sport would be better for our grandson; like football, for instance.

            The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “We’ll be sticking with Nerf football in yard, Ma. I also don’t like to take advice from fake news hippies like Dad, Mom—no offense. You’ve lived in Arizona for nine years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon once, yet. Case closed.

            “AlsoDad pushing eventual Pee Wee Football on his grandson is another example of him trying to make me bow down to his authoritative opinion, which makes me think he’s the one with brain trauma from feeding his head with too much acid at Woodstock.

            “Because, if I bowed down to this belabored, weak-ass pitch command request, I would’ve shied away from doing political material during my speech at my younger brother’s wedding, when I said to his old pal from boarding school, “Cam from Canada, make yourself at home and hit somebody so Jim Carrey can paint you as an alt-right goon on the loose in Charlottesville, with a tiki torch in hand, looking like an angry rejected extra from the Sears Catalog in ’89.

            “And that material killed at the Montreal Comedy Festival in 2022, which got me the agent who got me my movie deal for Back To Hebrew School, which bought this Victorian mansion, wave runners for all three of my kids, and my speedboat, Slashing Thunder.”

            Mom says, “Why do you hate me so much?”            Son says, “Mom, I just hated how you always tried to shred my ego to pieces and cut me down to size in my divine-powered pursuit to become a world-famous comedian author/light spreader shredder, who lives to bang out more sheets of electric-fueled comedy gold.

            “I hate your arrogance for thinking you get to tell me how to raise my kids; because they’re my kids, not yours. Especially after your lack of physical play with me as an infant resulted in my Torticollis-correcting surgery, from being left to smoosh my face into the crib out of place for serially unhealthy, prolonged periods of time.

            “I hated the way you always tried to make me feel like I was a crazy moron for trusting my instincts and for pursuing the work I was good at, which made me feel the most kickass, happy, and alive.”

            Mom says, “I still think fencing is a dumb idea. I bet they only offer two fencing scholarships a year, max.”  

            Headbanger Baller won the Olympic Gold in Fencing three times in a row, shredding every fencing record of the past. Dana White expanded his business empire to include MMA with fencing swords, now, in steel cage Octagons with no protective gear required, although Headbanger Baller preferred to show off his shredding edge in the ring, sporting various items from his billion-dollar fashion line of ripped jean shorts, tank tops, and speed metal belts with his signature middle finger logo that sported a ring with a Kosher Chalef butcher knife inscription on it that says, “Live To Shred.”

            Shredding rocks, especially when you shred perceptions of what you’re capable of achieving in this world, whether it’s through individual accomplishment or through coaching your speed-addicted seed or not. Shredders soar. Shredders fly high with the angels like ‘Three Guitar Attack’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd on Free Bird.

            Shredders makes us feel most alive, for doing the rocking out for us. Shredders inspire us to unleash our own solo edge. Shredders make us feel most alive because they put us in touch with our Sunset Strip-strutting, Headbanger Baller inside.

Michael Kornbluth

Pause Daddy

“Welcome to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast: What Gen X Dads understand; Dad-friendly entertainment for you and me. I’m your host, Michael Kornbluth.

            Controlling our kids with comedy can make them great again. My three fuss-free kids (most of the time) are living proof of this.

            I’ve been a Stay-At-Home Comedian on and off for a decade, now, although my dad is more old-school and prefers the expression ‘sheltered bum.’ Whenever I’m out with my three kids without their mommy, I hear, “You’ve got your hands full.”             I’ll say, “If any of my books ever become bestsellers and my wife agrees to an open marriage with Susan Sarandon, then my hands will be full.”

            I stopped smoking weed until I thought my daughter was asleep, already, because I felt like a moron answering her super-deep questions about the sticky icky stuff after I thought she was asleep.   She’d ask, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God?”

            I said, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.”

            Daughter says, “Real convincing, Dad. Thanks for making me an atheist at age four.”

            Michael Kornbluth, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast and proud father of the three most hilariously sweet, snuggle-shine bundles of sunshine known to mankind, adds, “Today, on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, we have a guest. Which is a rare occasion since the launch of my podcast four years ago, in my pursuit to become the paid star voice behind remote work revolution, before China could hog up all the credit for forcing corporate America to adjust to a remote work way of life to please our commie-controlled corporate masters till our last dying breath.

            “During my pilot episode, I interviewed a UX designer who worked for Apple. I know you’re bored out of your mind already (unless he was Steve Jobs, pumped for the casual grandma-jeans look for all it was worth). My standup performer instinct constantly interjected the moment I sensed my guest lose the audience. This happened automatically, whenever I allowed him to drone out another colorless, brain-reaching, screeching halt reply, so I swore off ever doing another interview on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast ever again.

            “Especially knowing that Do It All Dads who want to work from home based on free will alone, in the impassioned pursuit to make their kids the center of the universe instead of the reverse, don’t grow on freaking Bonsai trees, either.

            “But I decided to make an exception for our, guest Richard Lankfear from Plano, Texas, who is a retired drug counselor and the author of a new book called Addiction, a mind-expanding warning of drug abuse symptoms guide so parents can see if their kids are a frantic manifestation of their crazy hick degenerate gene, with zero concept of moderation in real time or not.

            “Raising drug-free children is important to me because being a druggy dependent is the opposite of feeling free. (Cream lives; holla thank you very much.)

             How can our kids get excited about the pursuit of happiness at home or at school if they are getting high off their loved ones, or from a job well done that isn’t enough (at least until their mid-twenties)?

            “Richard enacts tremendous good from his lifetime service as a drug counselor by making a drug abuse warning guide for parents today who are unaware of what constitutes drug-forming behavior under their allegedly emotionally-present watch.

            “The chilling, sobering stats in the book, such as fentanyl being 100 times more powerful than morphine, speak for themselves, and need to be illuminated with unflinching detail, knowing that either blissful ignorance, dismissive sugarcoating, or mere whitewashing of the opioid epidemic throughout the US as being a mere “white trash ” problem can become the worst fatal mistake a parent today can make.

            “This is especially true knowing how Chinese-made fentanyl, snuck in through our Mexican border, has killed more crackers in this country than Lena Dunham kicking it with Taylor Swift on Instagram.

            “The recurring theme in Richard’s book The Addicted Child is parents becoming reactive firefighters multiple rehab stints later, versus the ideal of becoming proactive troubleshooters before such residual damage has been done, which some families never truly recover from.

            “This book will help more families spot drug habit-forming warning signs by offering actionable insight to prevent their kids from facing such a life-crippling fate. More importantly, the vast breakdown of all types of drug abuse included in the book will give parents the confidence and sense of surging urgency to have the “drugs will kill your brain cells” talk with their kids and their still-developing minds, before those rapidly-deepening drug-forming habits become that much harder to break.”

            Richard, on the side of the Skype podcast interview, is red and flustered in the face, flabbergasted over how the Do It All Dad Year Podcast has made zero effort to give his guest a smidgen of breathing room to promote his book seven minutes into the broadcast, already.

            If only had Richard known of Do It All Dad’s code work trick which his three kids used whenever he went on one of his impassioned rants in one seamless endless breath, with zero auditory relief in sight as his kids long forgot what cool interesting idea, or question, they were to express!         It which was this: “Pause Daddy.” As they pointed an imaginary remote directly at him, they’d say, “Pause Daddy” with warm-hearted smiling-stretchy cheer because it was funny and it actually shut their dad the fuck up for change, whether he was on Adderall or off. 

            Stay At Home Comedian rolls on, adding, “Let’s focus on our guest, now, Richard, who didn’t spend any quality time emoting about the all-star book review I just read for you on Amazon about his book The Addicted Child (which was more than generous, considering what a snooze the book was, as a whole).

            “So, Richard, I just read another book by Lou Gramm, the former leader/signer/howler legend from Foreigner who’s known for co-writing and belting out endless classic rock staple hits such as ‘Juke Box Hero’, ‘Double Vision’, and ‘Long, Long, Long Way From Home’ (being my personal favorites among the pack).

            “In his highly readable book, in comparison to yours, he talks about getting sober and the growing frustration of not even being able to partake in lighting a doobie after killing at freaking Solider Field, on the tour party bus soon afterwards, when everybody else from the band is now in their early forties (they still are).

            “Like the roadie guy says in the movie Rockstar with Mark Wahlberg, “Don’t be half-ass about it. Live out the rock star dream for those who can’t. Or something close to that. 

            “Also, there’s a standup comedian who’s no longer with us; the late great Greg Geraldo, who said that drug use should be encouraged when in your forties more so than your twenties; especially when you learn, during a parent teacher conference, “That your son is a half a ‘tard.”

            “So, my question for Richard is, “What’s an acceptable form of addiction in your book?”    Richard says, “I wish I had a stage light to shine on you a thousand runon sentences ago.”             The Do It All Dad Year Podcast host fires back with, “So, all the Irish thugs who used to beat up nice Jewish kids in the Bronx, calling them Christ Killers and blah, blah…are they what you’d call a special kid of drunk prick later in life, or do you think the concept of a so-called happy drunk doesn’t apply to any Irish alcoholics because their rosy noses give the impression they’re really just more superficially cheery on the surface than the rest?

            “And if the Irish are the best drunk poets, then whatever happened to the Irish Beastie Boys in the Jump Around video?

            “Don’t get me wrong; I don’t thinking being a drunk prick is a strictly an Irish disease. For me, I think a fellow member of my tribe, Michel Rappaport, still sounds like he’s auditioning for the role of Wigger Number Three asshole In the Jump Around video.”

              Richard says, “Are you going to ask any of the questions I gave you?”

            The Do It All Dad Year Podcast Host Michael replies, “Why are parents so afraid to have honest conversations about drugs through their record collections with their kids, Richard? What makes these parents so apprehensive as to point out the dangers of doing shitty Chinese-made coke with Hunter Biden, only hearing the last call from the bathroom stall?

            “Do you feel that sketchy degenerate behavior is born, enabled, or all the above?

            “In the movie Requiem for a Dream, Jared Leto is missing a freaking arm at the end, which is a powerful cautionary message to nail home, on par with reading your kids Allen Ginsburg’s Howl the next time they claim to not scare easily. It describes all the beautiful angels of the light’s mind ravaged by drugs, reducing them to eating stray cats throughout the streets of San Francisco.

            “Why didn’t you share such hardcore scare tactics tips in your book, for parents to use on their kids, so they wouldn’t have to spend a mini-ortune, and take out a new home equity loan on the house to afford your overrated counseling services?”

            Now all of Michael’s three kids come bursting in the room to give their dear Dada a hug after coming back from school, anxious to tell him about their day. In unison, they all point an imaginary remote at their Stay-At-Home Comedian Dad and say, “Pause Daddy.”

            Richard throws up his hands in defeated disgust on the Skype window screen and yells, “That’s it! ‘Pause Daddy’ are the magic words to shut this loudmouth, obnoxious Jew up, already.”   Stay At Home Comedian Dad replies, “When your opinions are deemed worthy enough to interrupt my killer flow, I’ll let you know, jerkoff.            “Never forget controlling our kids with comedy can make them great again. My three fuss-free kids, 95 percent of the time, living proof of it.”

Michael Kornbluth

Racist Alien Attacks

“Nobody ever wrote the song ‘Waiting for A Fallen Angel Alien Like You’, tweets a frenzied 10-foot-tall alien, RH Negative 5000, from a Mars espresso bar with excellent WiFi as he looks down on Earth with a mix of surging envy and desperate urgency, knowing that if he can’t find a virgin Earthling with RH negative blood to get him pregnant by midnight tonight, then his race of Fallen Angels Aliens from Mars will disintegrate into the cosmos, as would’ve been superangel contenders, forever.

            This secret race of fallen angels on Mars aren’t allowed to abduct and rape any old Earthling into getting them pregnant, either, despite Andy Dick’s repeated offers on dating sites such as Intergalactic Beams Up My Anus Hole.com.            Finding a virgin Earthing with RH negative blood is hard enough, knowing that those creatures are normally emotionally evolved and blessed with superior physical prowess in the sack, compared to their medium-length Earthlings, including stars such as Leonardo DiCaprio, Jim, MOJO Rising, Morrison, and Bob Marley, for starters.

            “Bob Marley banged out twelve kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drain your life shooter dry?  It’s fake news, man,” RH Negative 5000 tweets in a race against time to save his race of fallen angels of imminent ruin. He knows all the weed in the world won’t get Seth Rogan’s kid brother to knock up RH Negative 5000, even though he could transform his body into any dream physique he wanted, despite looking like an erect serpent and guitar god Steve Vai had a baby, when he didn’t have to change his appearance to get a virgin Earthling into sticking it into his alien procreation hole.

            The other problem for RH Negative 5000 is how only ten percent of the Earth’s population was RH Negative. Due the advent of the Internet, dick-pick swiping sites, and online porn, virgins are pickier and more selective than ever before, and I don’t recall ‘alien porn’ being a popular hashtag category on Youporn.com. Nor was Pete Townsend ever caught clicking on Soapy Alien Bottom Boys.com in the name of new song research about a pinball wizard who gets probed by a race of white, pureblood, RH-negative aliens for his out-of-this world, old-school arcade game prowess because playing guitar hero on the XBOX gets played out fast when you can do mind-blowing Pete Townsend solos from Live At Leeds, with five arms doing non-stop windmills out of your ass.

            Little did RH Negative 5000 know that one his followers on Twitter was a nine-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY, who believed in fallen angels; especially since her father was conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on Loose Lipped Lucifer, which kicked him out of heaven to his new liar in the Hollywood Hills behind Bill Cosby’s house, for good.

            Actually, Matilda had just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative. He lived in Boswell, New Mexico (otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings on Earth because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew that Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby—which was cool enough for them, knowing that he played one of their kind in the Doors with such believable, otherworldly authority.

            Now, Matilda was always intrigued by the Twitter handle RH Negative 5000; especially the profile shot of what looked like an extra scaly, greenish guitar god Steve Vai after puking his brains from breaking his one month fast with In and Out Burgers, animal style, in his attempt to pen a sequel to his masterful magnum opus guitar swansong for the ages ‘For The Love Of God’.            Stop letting Twitter teach your kids. Dr. Seuss is racist—he’s not.

            Matilda loved that her father read Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make up his own rhymes if Dr. Seuss got a tad repetitive again (because he’s guilty of peaking early).

            The other night, actually, her Do It All Comedian Dad did some riffing, to her extreme delight, to unearth some comedy gold material after the latest and greatest Dr. Seuss cancellation movement from the side of tolerance, unity, and joy, spreading peace, saying, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist, then: that’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion, yet.”

            What Matilda loved most about her daddy reading her Dr. Seuss books was how he adopted his infectious love of rhyme, always pointing out how Walt Clyde Frazier, NBA broadcaster for the Knicks, was in the fact the slickest tongue-twisting cat of his time.  

            More importantly, Matilda loved how her school was celebrating Dr. Seuss’s birthday this week for national reading appreciation month. He was born in March, like herself, which, in her book, was extra cool.

            This coming Friday was ‘silly switch day’ in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because’ despite having two working parents and being on all the Adderall in the world, she could never find a pair of matching socks for school, ever, which made every day, for her, Mismatched Socks Day.  

            Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her tenth birthday, to use as a humongous open mike to test out her poems because she wanted to become the female Dr. Seuss, with a PHD in Counseling Psychology.             In her final paper, she’d argue how time-release Adderall is actually legalized cocaine, in addition to being a gateway drug to weed and to high-octane IPAs to chill out your aggravated, easily-avoidable added noise, in their minds. She would do this while also making the argument on how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintain these kids’ inner, sparkly essence while helping increase their powers of concentration (in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big-pharma-cranked-out speed, too).

            Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000. So she did.  RH Negative 5000 was already on his 5,000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins for RH Negative, to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive.

            So, in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, he sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico, who are interested in knowing what Fallen Angel Alien Love is?”

            Matilda, being a huge Foreigner fan (because her Daddy pushed the band on her early and often, in his pursuit to be a podcast comedian hero of his own) replies to the DM and says, “I have a Cousin Jonathan, who’s still a virgin at age fifteen. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled him through the ME Too movement, and only sent him packing for junior high with his Kiss backpack, flush with pre-poundage release forms. My cousin Jonathan is also really into Joe Satriani, and played ‘Surfing With An Alien’ for his Bar Mitzvah party from start to finish, so it’s worth a shot. “

            RG 5000 replies, “I have to get pregnant with a virgin Earthling with a RH negative blood, or my fallen angel race will never be given our wings again to swoop down to the Kennedy compound to seduce the next Marilyn Monroe impersonator they hire for another July 4th annual barbeque retreat.           “Marilyn had RH negative blood, which makes sense because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But we’re not too picky, and are used to sloppy seconds on Mars (for the past 5000 years, actually).

            “Also, I have the power to turn into any female form your cousin desires, if he isn’t into having sex with an alien Steve Vai drag queen look-alike.”

            Matilda ponders this big ask request and replies back, “I’ll make the call, but you have to do me a favor first.”

            RG 5000 says, “Whatever you want, just name it.”

            Matilda says, “Abduct Spike Lee and threaten to anally probe him before giving him an intergalactic tossed salad if he doesn’t stick up for Dr. Seuss and buy the movie rights to ‘And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry St’ starring Chazz Palminteri playing some second-generation pizza maker in the early eighties in the Bronx. He gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in the pizzeria on his boombox on Frank Sinatra’s birthday, to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day. Deal?”

            RG 5000 replies, “I better morph into Pam Grier from the seventies, snag Richard Pryor’s old strap-on from eBay, and tap Bill Cosby’s old quaalude dealer in the Hills to make Spike loosen up to the idea before he pens the screenplay ‘Racist Alien Attacks Boy’, instead.

            “I’m in no rush to get canceled and kicked off Twitter before my planet implodes.”

Michael Kornbluth