Hot For Funnier Teachers

Anyone in your life who refuses to encourage your gift, which makes you feel most special, offering your greatest opportunity for greatness, is a miserable, jealous prick inside, whose the actual one suffering from delusions of grandeur.

If you don’t set high standards of success for yourself, nobody else will, unless you’re able to be blessed by some guiding stars in your life, who make an extra effort to show a personalized interest in your previous latent gifts, come to life. My original guiding star was Judy Cook, who ran an Alternative School I was in for junior and senior year in high school, focusing on academic freedom, intellectual curiosity, classroom participation and not the mere recitation of boring facts to repeat on Jeopardy to feel more sophisticated and deeper than you actually are in real life.

Kids are motivated to please funnier teachers. I know I have. My first funny teacher with Mr. Button in the 9th grade who used to make fun of a girl in our class from Albania about her pet goat back in Albania or how his martial art skills developed in Vietnam could kill anyone in our class with the side of his hand. I wasn’t magically smarter in the 9th grade, but I started to ace all of my World History tests for Mr. Button because his humor humanized him and made him sound more conversational and come off more interesting with real life experience in the jungles of Vietnam, dodging falling trees and passed around peace pipes spiked with PCP. The only AP class I ever took was for 10th grade history thanks to the humorous, personalized styling’s of Mr. Button. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one smitten with Mr. Button’s matter of fact, earthy infused, off the cuff asides of his time in the shit, over in Vietnam, knowing he bedded a couple of his students back in the day, which I learned way after the fact, after bumping into an high school alum way older than me on a bar on Melrose, in 2002, the Snake Pit to be exact. The only place in LA where actual foot traffic exists, at least back then before tent cities emerged even within the deeper confines of Woodland Hills, but I digress.

I had a PR Teacher in college, who was a sassy, chesty, southern gal, who reminded me of a more mountable, dolled up Kathy Bates, before revealing her mountain of muff on About Schmidt. Blanking on the the teacher’s name, but she was cool in my book and was refreshingly honest, which is a necessary element for anybody to be considered funny, instead of a drone bore like the rest. In class, she said in so many words, those who excel in PR, are master bullshit artists or something like that. This teacher mailed me my final paper for PR 101, with an A Plus on it, my 2nd ever, only after getting one for my Sociology of Deviance Paper, based on the book Outsiders, stating all Jazz musicians were stoners because it brought them joy. I interspersed this truism by interviewing everyone in my dorm about why they smoke pot or don’t. Granted, having a budding interest in the subject matter itself strengthens your desire to know the subject cold, but I had scored some A’s in the Sociology of Deviance class, prior, so I’m convinced I performed stronger than usual for that professor, because he motivated me to set a higher bar of accomplishment for myself and I didn’t want to let him down for making feel like a semi-smart winner on the rise for a change. He also showed us a Clint Eastwood’s film about Charlie Parker, Bird in class, which was also super cool in my book, similar to when my old IT staffing agency recruiter boss Michael Burns from Greenwich, CT had the entire boiler room team skip the morning meeting involving how to overcome dreaded HR push obstacles in favor of watching the movie Rudy from start to finish. Burns was the best. He’d literally force me to stand up and kick my chair to the side whenever I sounded deader than dirt on the phone. Burns would also pepper morning meetings with classic lines like, “Just because I’m direct, doesn’t mean I’ m a bad guy. I used to follow the Grateful Dead on tour for Christ sake.” He also shamed my immediate nerd boss for admitting to like Hugh Grant romantic comedies. Plus, he rocked a Canali suit well, but it was Burn’s conversational, humorous laced, outside the box personality, who I made laugh also, which I appreciated the most. It killed me when I stopped doing deals after the dot.com crash and I was no longer a superstar in his eyes anymore.

I took a stand up comedy class through the Gotham Comedy Club in Manhattan. My teacher Jim Mendrinos, a comic who used to open for Bill Hicks and Sam Kinison, let me open our class show, which was a tremendous vote of confidence, knowing he thought I was talented enough to get the laugh party started. The only substantial laugh I got was from an ad lib, making fun of how I was acting scared of the mike wire like it was a snake come to life. Still, I was relaxed on stage and delivered my punchlines with confidence and style. Famous writer Gore Vidal said, “Style is knowing what you want to say, and saying without giving a damn.” So if I was to summarize what’s made me hot for teachers of my past, who helped inform my style of teaching my children today, it wasn’t only their use of humor in the form of brutal honesty, which I loved so much, but also, them being just plain cool for never being robotic, never boring me to death with same old same old and for inspiring me to please teachers I’d want to have actual beer with unlike 99 percent of the bartenders or teachers I’ve ever met. We especially love those in our lives who make the extra effort to connect with us, although being a bawdy, chesty accentuated, southern stylish woman bad ass PR spinster turned college professor doesn’t hurt their powers of engagement either.

Michael Kornbluth

The Liberal Hack Professor

Joy is teaching your kids well and assuming ownership of their education from home because you can’t rely on college professors today to prepare your kids for the real world. Where cushy concepts such as tenure, aren’t available to the majority of Americans working in Corporate America, or in the non-profit sector, doing fundraising for social justice docs on team Obama for Netflix either.

What makes me an expert on homeschooling, outside of my unofficial doctorate in comedy control and artificial feelings of accomplishment infused from raising my 3 kids on Adderall on and off for the past 8 years and growing? First, my daughter’s 2nd grade teacher told me she wanted to clone my daughter for future classes with my permission. 2nd, the same 2nd Grade Teacher was so impressed by my inspired, engaging reading from the Book of Bad Manners for parent reading day, she declared in front of the whole class, “You should be hosting your own kid’s show already.” Fine, I added the already. 3rd, I’m a subject matter expert on modern parenting, because the Good Men Project has published not one but 23 of my essays, from my family debut parenting books, Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story and Do It All Dad Does Jokes. My Do It All Dad Year Podcast has also produced 152 episodes and my debut stand up comedy record, recorded, from home, Resist This, distills it’s greatest hits for you and me. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay at home dad years. Can I get a holla for nothing but more A plus gemry, fresh off the press, aren’t you blessed challah? This is the smack rich, Ted Talk you get, when you get into old school Kayne West records on Vinyl at home, a decade after they were released.

Today, I purchased College Drop Out, by Kayne West, responsible, for introducing Kayne West as the top MC to beat, who didn’t sound like a Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul on Ambien. I love Kayne West for calling out his supposed friend Jay Z for taking his sweet ass time to visit his new-born child, North, don’t know if the meeting ever happened, but good guy Big Jay failed the friendship litmus test, big time, and Kanye West, let him know it boy. Good for Kayne, because if a supposed friend can’t get excited enough to race over to your pad, to embrace a new and improved version of you, then, you’re off the real friends list.

I also went to the Microsoft store today to get a Micro UBS chord to charge my kids Rock Solo Tzumi and had the exact opposite experience from my Kayne spiel at New Bury Comics prior. One moment, I’m bonding with a cool, brother with well-proportioned dreads, at New Bury Comics, about feeling like a total loser, for only discovering Kayne’s West’s earlier work much after my in the club, grinding on the dance floor at China Club years. Moments later, I’m at the Microsoft Store and sample some material. I say, “This is my impersonation of merger talk between Dr. Dre and Eminem. “Hey Slim, Microsoft paid 4.5 billion dollars for LinkedIn. Worrrrrrrrd. LinkedIn is lamer than ever yoh.” The wordddddddddd, got a big time laugh, yet the LinkedIn topper line, died because his manager, got up in his face for encouraging my laugh yankage in the first place. But my 3-year-old son, saw me in action, going for the kill, and that’s what matters. Showing my kid in the real world, your entire life is a cold call and sometimes you need to tone down your expressive comedic genius, knowing most places of business, don’t possess the 2 drink minimum to loosen up the just got off work, stuck in meetings all day crowd.

3 kids later, I’ve learned, kids want to do whatever the adults are doing. It doesn’t mean they don’t play after doing their homework, cheer for snow days and bring on the ruckus whenever I blast Alice Cooper’s Schools Out for Summer on Alice Cooper’s Greatest Hits on Vinyl. Elected is an overlooked, unfamiliar gem, any Do It All Dad should play for their kids tonight. Elected was John Lennon’s favorite song, according to Alice in his autobiography, describing the most perfect rock career ever to include Alice eventually marrying the love of his life, a super hot rocker mama, who got him sober, helping turn him into a scratch golfer, who let’s Johnny Depp play in a band with him to feed off his larger than life rock star stature, where the great Groucho Mark even compared his stage show to vintage vaudeville from back in the day, pre fake news and Fox airings of 21 Jump Street. Side note, I’m scared about getting a Vasectomy because I don’t want my ball sack to feel like Edward Scissorhands face. In the song, Elected by Alice Cooper, he sings, “I wanted to be elected, respected.” If this mantra doesn’t encapsulate the American mindset of willing your own special brand of success into reality, refusing to play the poor, poor pitiful me, victim card, I don’t know what does.

Is college today really worth the crap shoot? Knowing my kids will be forced to defend Israel’s right to defend itself from rocket fire into their backyard. Insisting Israel do more than send Hamas Edible Gifts baskets in return and a thank you note written in Farsi. College can be a great experience, meeting people you never would’ve met otherwise like my Hawaiian roommate who attended same private school in Hawaii as Obama on the Big Island, inspiring this joke gem for the ages. If Obama was such a baller in Basketball, then why did he ride the bench at an all Asian private school in Hawaii? College inspired me to make a New Years Resolution to save up enough money so I could make it down to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. At least now, I can teach my kids, 3 days in Mardi Gras is the kiss of death, meaning Hurricanes, Space Cakes and Hand Grenades ensured my brain never returned to it’s so, so smart, original state to start the semester.

When I attended college at Lake Forrest College on the North Shore of Illinois in Vince Vaughn country, I learned the concept of a thesis statement but still lacked the creative confidence to support my powers of insight with momentous examples to back up my stated main idea assertion with funny, soul man, pronounced gusto, just yet. Today, I can’t even imagine the thought police restrictions at college, if I insisted on calling Higher Learning a weak, overrated sequel to Boyz in The Hood for Philosophy and Film 101. So when I say, do it all dads home school, I mean, expose your kids to the influences who inspired your mirage milkshake of creativity like Cracked Magazine, old school Adam Sandler films, Illmatic, Beastie Boys, Guns and Roses, Ford Fairlane, Back to School, Arilss, the Larry Sanders Show, etc. Parenthood has taught me kids will act like actual mini grown ups and develop expressive confidence in their own ideas, assuming you don’t talk down to them like a perpetual jerkoff moron, waste of breathes.

I used to read my kids Charles Bukowski poems until I learned he kept a highlighted copy of Mein Kemph under his bed growing up during his ultra pro, nationalist German phase. At the time, I’m thinking, Bukowski is the real world grinder, they can learn from, who didn’t hit his writing stride till his mid forties after working in the Post Office forever and so what if my 2 boys, AKA, stud alerts on the loose, grow up with a heightened appreciation of curvy, sculpted woman in high heels, stumbling on their door, in the middle of the night, back in the summer of 62, I think. I have no idea.

What I do know is my 3 year old son, loves to start the car by himself, play his new Kayne West record by himself, set the whiffle ball on the tee by himself and break the eggs for a our smoked salmon scramble this morning by himself, until I had to take over, with his proud dad, overlooking his fiercely, combative independent steak, on the rise, all made by possible by me homeschooling my son on the importance of assuming ownership of your life education by doing versus, talking about it or listening to some professor at Princeton University give a lecture on how technology is racist. Knowing the same person has never made a cold call in their life or ever had to apply for a Recruiter agency job on a culturally biased job site like jobs you never thought you’d apply for.com, after you parents blew 100 grand on your Bachelors Degree for a degree in communications from Ithaca College, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. Cornell alum, take this line too literally, uttering, “You’re not retarded.” Thank God my old school humor is intact after all these years. If kids’ today, were only reared on Andrew Dice Clay Records, they wouldn’t be such temperamental, humorless, nervous wrecks today, oh, I can’t take no more. So, I tell my kids everything I know about life, the good the bad and the ugly, so they get addicted to winning and competition bringing the best out of them sooner than later, because Do It Al Dads home school boyyyyyyyyyy!

Michael Kornbluth

Do It All Dad Talk

Children are for family upgrades.

God only gives unplanned kids, to only the lonely. And this funny man giant is lonely no more.

Funnier Dad, happier baby. You want a photo off old man?

My daughter Singing Rose is the best bud Sarah Silverman never had. After taking one bite into Do It All Dad’s home made Burrata bomb pizza made with cherry roasted tomatoes from our garden, she says in the kindest, most heaven sent tone imaginable, “Daddy, I know you really want to be comedian but can’t you be a pizza maker in Heaven instead?”

Controlling our kids with comedy can make our kids great again. My 3 fuss free kids the majority of the time, are living proof of it.

My 1st son Art Show USA, already passed his class clown test before entering Kindergarten, yelling at our hard to hear voice powered speaker Assistant with extreme disgust, “Cortana, throw yourself out the window already.”

My son Chosen Curls was bound to woo. Random grandmothers at the Stop and Shop insist he’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle when he get’s older. My reply? If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.

Having a 3rd kid shows who passes the friendship litmus test or not.

Generous pours of love in the form of nice bourbon to usher in the birth of your lucky number three is one to savor and cherish because it acknowledges the fact how nothing beats a newborn dad kind of love.

Becoming a Do It All Dad doesn’t mean your childless younger brother will become less serially selfish. Who still makes Hunter Biden feel like an underachiever.

GenX parents understand Baby Boomer arrogance never dies.

Breast feeding is responsible for my 3 kids angelic complexions. Daycare kids are pasty, all looking like they took a load to the face with an Elmer’s Glue Gun.

Grandparent bad manners, is them missing out on the best of your kids, while waiting at home for more breaking news on blue balls Mueller reports and fake news impeachment witch hunts with less legs than Lieutenant Dan.

Kids are human sponges of emotion. If you feel enraged at your wife for treating you like a starless, over the hill, neutered hipster dad, they get upset but not in an understated, passive aggressive, ironic detached way.

If Do It All Dad feels extreme joy for getting his debut album Resist This on I-Tunes, his 3 kids take your post giddyness higher, by quoting your own material, hollering in pitch perfect unison, “Can I get a holla, for some Challah?

God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. Obviously, God never had the same confidence in Pete Davidson, the rebound boy toy king of Generation Z.

Facebook has made out of state Baby Boomers comfortably numb as virtual grandparents from afar.

You don’t need to spend a mini fortune on personal trainers when you have children. I’ll say to my daughter, “Matilda, daddy hasn’t had a beer in 9 days.” Her reply? Real impressive Dada, you’ve never even made it to double digits.” Or I’ll say to my son, “Dada didn’t run on the treadmill because I strained my calf muscle on it again. His response, “Enough with the excuses Dada. You’re worse than Hillary.”

Why are my kids so behaved in public? I don’t stand down and let them run wild like ANTIFA for starters.

Making your kids understand being an asshole to their siblings is unacceptable behavior, which won’t go unpunished, highlights when they’ve crossed line from harmless rambunctious jostling, to hurtful, physically assaultive, over the top prickishness.

One must remember kids repeat curse words you emphasize to point out bad behavior to be discouraged. So use funnier alternatives than asshole like Tuchus Hole or my new personal favorite anus hole, just so you can hear your lucky number 3, about to become 3 next month, repeat after Do It All Dad, “Don’t be an anus hole, Dada.”

Use Your Kids like Open Mikes

God gave men kids to provide social variety away from mama. So don’t be a lazy brain and half ass your attempt at winning your kid’s hearts with watching more Man City on the Teli around your kids or grandchildren because you’re such an informed, evolved history buff, especially when your kids are hard core American Dad Enthusiasts, if Child Services forced them to take a lie detector test, after Do It All Dad in Divorce Court, insists on fighting for 50 percent custody, after proclaiming in court defending himself like Lenny Bruce without the career, proclaiming, “American Dad is educational. How else will my children know W, married a librarian from Texas, who married into the Illuminati. Who still acts better than other first ladies like Melania or Hillary Hammer Time Cankles? At least Hillary tried to get rich or die trying bitch.

I read an article on Fatherly.com claiming Dads, normally not too involved, during their marriage, become more involved Dads with their kids after they get divorced because the wife is no longer facilitating the conversation at the dinner table. Personally, I’ve never had this problem, because I’m the loudmouth New Yorker, not her, who’s louder than Busta Rhymes at a midnight showing of Higher Learning. The Yankees win a playoff game last year. The next morning, I tell my daughter, “The Yankees won. ” She replies, “I heard.” You’re the reason New York City and all of Northern Westchester never sleeps. I’ll always cherish my sleepy father in law’s embrace my bombastic, ultra-chatty personality during my 1st sit down dinner with my girlfriend, now wife and a married couple I haven’t seen since. Halfway into me scoring a steady stream of laugh yanks from this married couple, my father in law blurts with annoyed disgust, “He talks more than the other one.” Meaning, the borderline mute finance my wife was planned to marry before we met, which I was never aware of till way after the fact for what’s worth. I don’t want prospective employers to think I’m a Mute Man Marriage Wrecker. “He talks more than the other one.” Translation, I live in Delaware away from Jew York for a reason. Give me an H1-B developer to conduct code review with, who needs subtitles in order to be understood, over having to spend one more sec around the charming New York Jew, whose making my lack of stage presence in comparison, become more pronounced depressing by the second. So much for my one meeting with my mental health specialist, resolving any latent anger resentment issues remaining.

The reality is, if I wasn’t a talker, none of my kids would’ve have recognized my voice out of the womb, and that would’ve been tragic for my children, when even mommy, admits the following about our lucky number three, “Baby Samuel gets bored when he spends too much time with me. ” Always knew the kid was the quick leaner. Can I get a holla for a big time raise the roof, the best is yet come, Challah? First time I came up with that expression to use on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, my wife, huffs with extreme displeasure at the dinner table, insisting I was being 2 years into open mike stand-up comedy obscure, by trying to dumb dad shame me in front our 3 kids, stating, “What does that even mean? Can I get a holla for some Challah? It means can I get some props for a money, mo bread making line, babe.” My 3 kids didn’t have to understand the symbolic or literal extrapolated definition of my new rock-solid gold A Plus catchphrase in the making, because kids respond more to pumped up silly, than jaded, lifeless, droll troll verbosity.

One time, I gave my son a gentle hip toss on top of our bed, forgetting Art Show possess a bouncy ball spine, which sent Feather Foot flying off the bed inches away from smashing his head into the dresser from the sheer powerful bounce off the bed. Earlier tonight, he came into say hello when I was writing and I asked him he he wanted an elevator lift drop, but before lifting him up high , I give a voice to his own internal thoughts and say, “Daddy, don’t get carried away, with your elevator lift drop, I still have a bouncy ball stuck in my spine remember?” And my pitch perfect son laughs long time again. But if I wasn’t constantly talking around my son inside the womb and out, or using humor to help diffuse potentially traumatic, accidental dramatic situations, my children would suffer from anxiety like Kevin Love, despite him being NBA royalty, banging everything that moved at UCLA I’m assuming, owning an NBA ring, and never shamed for forgetting Lebron’s elaborate, inner sanctum, safe space, frat boy conjuring hand slap dances on the TNT.

Do you need to be a laugh hog in order to be a good parent? No, but you better recognize the importance of bringing the funny old man, or else, your kids will tune into mama, like the dronish, Scarlett Johansson in the movie Divorced, and she never struck me as a lightening rod of electric conversational might, AI, enhanced in her, in Her or if she’s the beneficiary of a Woody Allen punched up personality during his Scarlet Johansson phase or not. What was Woody’s new film supposed to be about again? Let me guess, some old creep who bangs a teenager again, called, Crimes and Misdemeanors, the Early Years. He took Kodak pictures of Sun Yee, only to stuff them in his top sock drawer, for safe keeping. The only thing missing was an old copy of Sun Yee on the cover of Time Life Magazine.

Does Soon Yee even have vocal cords? So, what’s my point? Boring kids is bad parenting. And F empathy, just be funnier old man. Your kids or grandkids fading interest in your company depends on it. Use your kids as open mikes, take creative chances, add levity to the situation instead of freaking out in disproportion to your kid spilling a drink at the dinner table. In Iran, they throw gays off roof tops after castration, so I’d say, we let our kid’s off light because the Media will be freaking out regardless anyway. Because our kids learn to laugh at our mistakes, in addition to American comedy exceptionalism, not on Al Jazeera or detected on Late Night with Stephen Colbert these days, whose command of funny these days, is like the state of our union, shaky.

I don’t want to be best supporting dad. That’s like winning best side bitch. Dads today are expected to do more than just get their wives pregnant every other 2 years, planned or not. So, try bossing through clowning around your kids more. It works, and don’t overuse your yelling voice or your kid won’t be able to distinguish you from CNN. Act like you’re genuinely excited to make your children happy, relying own your personality and imagination, instead of outsourcing their children’s entertainment to Baby Yoda and the mope maligned, Millennial Mouseketeer Darth Vader, the most petulant, annoying, grandson addition to an ex iconic franchise, I could give to BB 8 shits about.

Boring kids is bad parenting. You act like you want nothing to do with your only divorced daughter. You want to act like date night every Friday night is so much important than making sure she’s dealing with her new half baby brother, removing any remaining spotlight in her honor away from her, with your new wife, fine. No wonder I can feel the embedded jealousy, as I lift my son for an ariel double decker knee nosh sandwich for the road.

Social Justice is Dad proving he’s got the tools necessary to outshine scary mommy on the big stage, if he cares about about being more than mama’s side bitch underling forever. I’m very proud of raising kids who respect and recognize funny. There’s actual hope Do It All Dad Nation, for you to reclaim your status as the leading in-house star attraction of your house. It’s our last safe space for politically incorrect humor. Be a family man clown hero for your kids. Do you want your best friend to be the final speaker for your eulogy? I’d rather have my 1st born daughter, close the ceremony and own the room and start with, “Thanks for the laughs Daddy. Good luck trying to tune out my Dad out now God. You thought Joan Rivers sounds like a loudmouth on the rag. I just hope daddy opens with proven material and doesn’t wing it, unless he wants the challenge of coming back to life after dying the moment, he broke on through to the other side, where only the lady laugh lover clowns roam.”

Michael Kornbluth

You’re Funnier Than Your Kid’s Kindle

My 2-year-old daughter bites my wife’s nipple hard. Then, my wife engages in a lengthy wind up that feels like 10 Mississippi, before giving our daughter, a gentle yet firm enough slap on the cheek, to ensure she never dares to chomp off her nipple again with such booby milk ravished fury. It worked, my wind-up slap on her younger brother’s bum once because he was ranting and raving about going to day care for Pre-K after he hits his baby brother away for trying to console him, didn’t. Maybe, I’m just making up the part about his baby brother trying to console him, so Child Services doesn’t come knocking on my door before I complete this post. Regardless, the cold wall of isolation erected between my 4- year-old son, during our car ride to Pre-K that day, chilled to me the core, especially after my pitch perfect boy, proclaims, “I’m never talking to you ever again.” My future happiness started to escape me like the leaf in American Beauty. Then, my old school Improv acting skills, honed from UCB and Second City 101 kicked into high gear, after the sensation of repelling the room’s interest in caring about whether I’m funny for one more second, before I started to hit my own bum while driving my son to Pre-K school. I blurt, “Hey, Arthur, next time I get angry, I’ll start hitting my own bum.” At this point, I’m hitting my bum with real menacing fury and I won my son’s love back. Thank God, so it’s not too late for you either.

Here are some other pearls of comedic wisdom to control your kids better with comedy. You’re welcome.

Comedy Control Rules

Do Mad Libs because you invent new expressions like dead weight conversationalists to describe Turtle from Entourage next time, he opens his trimmed mouth about the perpetually cursed Knicks on First Take.

15 words to encapsulate my story about how controlling our kids with comedy can make our kids great again.

Relaxed, loose, tingly, silly, high, bombastic, hilarious, alive, excitement, pride, respect, electric, love, God, family, blood, bonding, laughter.

Darker the Better

Read your kids Shel Silverstein poems plenty and they won’t become such easily triggered, nervous wrecks at the sight of a MAGA hat, I promise you.

Other Comedy Control Rules

Kids like it your when you urge them to stop trying to smash your family jewels into Fuji Dust.

Baby loves it when I play Baby Back Harmonia Rib on his rib, because it makes him laugh out loud, with spastic delight long time.

Use nicknames to cultivate a culture of fun at home without any malicious, self-esteem hindering overtones like Waste of Height.

Own the Kiddy Table and make up silly words when you can. Dr. Seuss peaked early. You don’t have to.

God loveth a cheerful giver, who hits their kids with over the top act out buffoonery. Mimicking their ridiculous behavior works like a charm every time as a reflection of how cray, cray, they’re behaving, works like a charm every time.

Never Underestimate the Laugh Power of Surprise

Falling putzy apple tree, two, no four, no infinity times three. Before dropping your head into your kid’s midsection will yank laughs out long time.

You’re funnier than your kids Kindle, start acting like it.

At home with our kids, prize funny over money.

And always remember, funnier Dad, happier baby. You want a photo off old man? I didn’t think so.

Michael Kornbluth