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 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 super angel 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 those creatures are normally emotionally evolved, 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 12 kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drains 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, knowing 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 his alien, procreation hole.

The other problem being for RH Negative 5000, is how only 10 percent of the earth population was RH Negative, and 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 , pure blood, RH negative aliens, for his out this world, old school arcade game prowess because playing Guitar Hero on the XBOX get’s played out fast, when you can do mind blowing, Pete Townsend solo’s 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 9-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY who believed in fallen angels, especially since her father was a conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on the 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 just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative blood, who lived in Boswell, New Mexico, otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings, on earth, because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby, which was cool enough for them, knowing he played one of their kind in the Doors with such as 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 her father reading Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make 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 cancelation movement from the side of tolerance, unity and joy spreading peace and says, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist then, it’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.”

What Matilda love 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 at her school, who was born in March like herself, which in her book was extra cool. This coming Friday, it was silly switch day in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because despite having 2 working parents 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 Sock Day.  

Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her 10th 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 arguing, how time release Adderall is legalized cocaine in addition to being a gateway drug to weed to high octane IPA’s to chill out your aggravated, easily avoidable added noise in their mind. While also making the argument how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintains these kid’s inner, sparky essence while helping increase their powers of concentration in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big pharma cranked out speed to.

Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000, so she did.  RH Negative 5000 already on his 5000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins with RH Negative to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive. So in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico 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 whose still a virgin at 15. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled through the ME To 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 RG 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 R negative blood, which makes sense, because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But were 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 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 1st.” R5 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 who gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in pizzeria on his boom box on Frank Sinatra’s birthday to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day, deal?”

RJ 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 just yet.

The End

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 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 super angel 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 those creatures are normally emotionally evolved, 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 12 kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drains 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, knowing 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 his alien, procreation hole.

The other problem being for RH Negative 5000, is how only 10 percent of the earth population was RH Negative, and 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 , pure blood, RH negative aliens, for his out this world, old school arcade game prowess because playing Guitar Hero on the XBOX get’s played out fast, when you can do mind blowing, Pete Townsend solo’s 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 9-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY who believed in fallen angels, especially since her father was a conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on the 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 just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative blood, who lived in Boswell, New Mexico, otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings, on earth, because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby, which was cool enough for them, knowing he played one of their kind in the Doors with such as 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 her father reading Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make 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 cancelation movement from the side of tolerance, unity and joy spreading peace and says, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist then, it’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.”

What Matilda love 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 at her school, who was born in March like herself, which in her book was extra cool. This coming Friday, it was silly switch day in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because despite having 2 working parents 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 Sock Day.  

Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her 10th 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 arguing, how time release Adderall is legalized cocaine in addition to being a gateway drug to weed to high octane IPA’s to chill out your aggravated, easily avoidable added noise in their mind. While also making the argument how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintains these kid’s inner, sparky essence while helping increase their powers of concentration in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big pharma cranked out speed to.

Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000, so she did.  RH Negative 5000 already on his 5000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins with RH Negative to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive. So in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico 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 whose still a virgin at 15. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled through the ME To 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 RG 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 R negative blood, which makes sense, because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But were 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 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 1st.” R5 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 who gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in pizzeria on his boom box on Frank Sinatra’s birthday to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day, deal?”

RJ 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 just yet.

The End

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 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 super angel 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 those creatures are normally emotionally evolved, 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 12 kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drains 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, knowing 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 his alien, procreation hole.

The other problem being for RH Negative 5000, is how only 10 percent of the earth population was RH Negative, and 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 , pure blood, RH negative aliens, for his out this world, old school arcade game prowess because playing Guitar Hero on the XBOX get’s played out fast, when you can do mind blowing, Pete Townsend solo’s 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 9-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY who believed in fallen angels, especially since her father was a conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on the 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 just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative blood, who lived in Boswell, New Mexico, otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings, on earth, because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby, which was cool enough for them, knowing he played one of their kind in the Doors with such as 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 her father reading Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make 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 cancelation movement from the side of tolerance, unity and joy spreading peace and says, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist then, it’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.”

What Matilda love 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 at her school, who was born in March like herself, which in her book was extra cool. This coming Friday, it was silly switch day in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because despite having 2 working parents 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 Sock Day.  

Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her 10th 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 arguing, how time release Adderall is legalized cocaine in addition to being a gateway drug to weed to high octane IPA’s to chill out your aggravated, easily avoidable added noise in their mind. While also making the argument how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintains these kid’s inner, sparky essence while helping increase their powers of concentration in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big pharma cranked out speed to.

Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000, so she did.  RH Negative 5000 already on his 5000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins with RH Negative to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive. So in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico 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 whose still a virgin at 15. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled through the ME To 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 RG 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 R negative blood, which makes sense, because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But were 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 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 1st.” R5 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 who gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in pizzeria on his boom box on Frank Sinatra’s birthday to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day, deal?”

RJ 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 just yet.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

The Jolt Felt Around The World

It was 1986, Metroid came out on the original Nintendo, which had a female protagonist alien destroyer who reveals her bushy Red Sonia hair at the end after tossing off her futuristic, intergalactic helmet with bad ass, nonchalant, superhero flourish, as if Molly Ringwald and Stan Lee had a dreamy comic book baby creation come to life.  Matilda, Singing Rose Kornbluth was in the 4th grade, spending more time now star gazing with her new telescope she got for Hanukkah than playing Metroid because she saw how tweaky, sketchy her younger brother got once he got addicted to winning Metroid before his big sister did. Her younger brother Arthur, would now sneak downstairs to the basement to pound his secret stash of later discontinued Jolt cola, which was the equivalent of 6 cups of coffee, resulting in him becoming the most sleep deprived 1st grader since Sam Kinson hooked up Drew Barrymore with his coke dealer at the Comedy Store. But her younger brother didn’t finish off all of his Jolt stash in the garage because Matilda had snagged the rest to stay up for Haley’s Comet, which she couldn’t afford to miss, because she had to write a paper about it for class. Actually, Matilda’s 4th grade teacher, Mrs. McCracken, gave her a permission to stay up late for Haley’s Comet by any means necessary, saying, “Isaac Newton wasn’t sent to jail for proving the earth was round, for her to punk out and be a lazy brain, Goody Tushu square.”

Now, Matilda is pounding more Jolt and noshing on some leftover Milky Way’s from Halloween she discovered hidden in the garage, eagerly awaiting to spot the world’s most famous comet blaze across the sky, knowing she won’t be able to see it again till 2061. By then, Matilda saw herself as a retired, famous Astrophysicist who would eventually go viral, despite the Internet not being invented yet, when she tells Carl Sagen on Real Time With Bill Maher her big bang theory, which was, “His mother was an atheist cunt to.”

Matilda realizes she’s out of Jolt and in a frenzied spurt, darts downstairs to grab one more Jolt despite in her inner square telling her she was getting more into the tweaky sugar rush high than catching a twice in a lifetime event, if you’re lucky, knowing it was still 1986 and Wonder Bread still ruled everything around us, before Benjamin’s become common vernacular after Puff helped Bigg blow bigger up than you know what. Meanwhile, Matilda’s younger brother Arthur was on his final stage of finally winning Metroid downstairs in the TV room, with his eyes two feet from the TV as he sits Indian style in sweats and his NY Giant Mark Bavaro Rambo shirt from Big League Threads. As Matilda zooms down the stairs, she spots Arthur still up playing Metroid. Normally, Arthur would be oblivious to all other action around him while playing Metroid, especially in his pursuit to finally the win the game before his big sister, yet unfortunately, she inherited her dear Dada’s clunky, heavy feet, which made it impossible to ever stay out late past curfew when she got older, especially knowing the creaky, old wooden, colonial steps weren’t helping her stomping trail of sound subside anytime soon either.

Arthur turns his head and spots Matilda and yells, “You didn’t see me. Don’t tell Dad. I’ll tell him you drank Jolt on a school night to.” Matilda says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Arthur. I’m not Matilda, you’re just hallucinating from major sleep deprivation.  I’m actually surprised you’re not partially blind like Hon Solo after Leia unfreezes him from Carbonite in Jabba’s place actually.” Arthur adds, “Don’t BS me Tilda. Wait a minute, I didn’t press the reset button to pause it.” Now, Arthur’s Metroid character gets his marrow sucked to death from a giant green forcefield enclosing, brain eating Alien bug. Arthur freaks out as expected, yelling, “I got killed Tilda. I’ve never been this close to winning. I’m to get you back for this. Can your telescope fly out the window? Let’s find out.”

Matilda says, “Don’t even think about it touching Arthur, I haven’t even seen Haley’s Comet yet. Matilda and Arthur bolt upstairs to his big sister’s room to wrestle control over the telescope, waking up her dad in the process. They barely squeeze in through her bedroom door together, almost becoming crazy glued together like a pair of tweaked Siamese twins. As they finally push loose through the door, they trip over each landing on top of her red, waxy bean bag with discarded Milk Way wrappers on it. Dad comes in and says, “What’s all this commotion about? And why is everyone still up? Haley’s Comet just flew by 5 minutes ago. The show’s over baby.” Matilda has Arthur in a headlock on the bean bag while giving him a brain drilling noogie, look ups to her Dad and asks in a perplexed, enraged disgust, “Why didn’t you grab me for Haley’s Comet Dad?’ Dad says, “But then I’d miss it. Plus, these telescopes don’t grown on trees. Besides, you get to grow up with Alf. He’ll provide you all the comic relief you’ll need. “

The End

Michael Kornbluth

The Jolt Felt Around The World

It was 1986, Metroid came out on the original Nintendo, which had a female protagonist alien destroyer who reveals her bushy Red Sonia hair at the end after tossing off her futuristic, intergalactic helmet with bad ass, nonchalant, superhero flourish, as if Molly Ringwald and Stan Lee had a dreamy comic book baby creation come to life.  Matilda, Singing Rose Kornbluth was in the 4th grade, spending more time now star gazing with her new telescope she got for Hanukkah than playing Metroid because she saw how tweaky, sketchy her younger brother got once he got addicted to winning Metroid before his big sister did. Her younger brother Arthur, would now sneak downstairs to the basement to pound his secret stash of later discontinued Jolt cola, which was the equivalent of 6 cups of coffee, resulting in him becoming the most sleep deprived 1st grader since Sam Kinson hooked up Drew Barrymore with his coke dealer at the Comedy Store. But her younger brother didn’t finish off all of his Jolt stash in the garage because Matilda had snagged the rest to stay up for Haley’s Comet, which she couldn’t afford to miss, because she had to write a paper about it for class. Actually, Matilda’s 4th grade teacher, Mrs. McCracken, gave her a permission to stay up late for Haley’s Comet by any means necessary, saying, “Isaac Newton wasn’t sent to jail for proving the earth was round, for her to punk out and be a lazy brain, Goody Tushu square.”

Now, Matilda is pounding more Jolt and noshing on some leftover Milky Way’s from Halloween she discovered hidden in the garage, eagerly awaiting to spot the world’s most famous comet blaze across the sky, knowing she won’t be able to see it again till 2061. By then, Matilda saw herself as a retired, famous Astrophysicist who would eventually go viral, despite the Internet not being invented yet, when she tells Carl Sagen on Real Time With Bill Maher her big bang theory, which was, “His mother was an atheist cunt to.”

Matilda realizes she’s out of Jolt and in a frenzied spurt, darts downstairs to grab one more Jolt despite in her inner square telling her she was getting more into the tweaky sugar rush high than catching a twice in a lifetime event, if you’re lucky, knowing it was still 1986 and Wonder Bread still ruled everything around us, before Benjamin’s become common vernacular after Puff helped Bigg blow bigger up than you know what. Meanwhile, Matilda’s younger brother Arthur was on his final stage of finally winning Metroid downstairs in the TV room, with his eyes two feet from the TV as he sits Indian style in sweats and his NY Giant Mark Bavaro Rambo shirt from Big League Threads. As Matilda zooms down the stairs, she spots Arthur still up playing Metroid. Normally, Arthur would be oblivious to all other action around him while playing Metroid, especially in his pursuit to finally the win the game before his big sister, yet unfortunately, she inherited her dear Dada’s clunky, heavy feet, which made it impossible to ever stay out late past curfew when she got older, especially knowing the creaky, old wooden, colonial steps weren’t helping her stomping trail of sound subside anytime soon either.

Arthur turns his head and spots Matilda and yells, “You didn’t see me. Don’t tell Dad. I’ll tell him you drank Jolt on a school night to.” Matilda says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Arthur. I’m not Matilda, you’re just hallucinating from major sleep deprivation.  I’m actually surprised you’re not partially blind like Hon Solo after Leia unfreezes him from Carbonite in Jabba’s place actually.” Arthur adds, “Don’t BS me Tilda. Wait a minute, I didn’t press the reset button to pause it.” Now, Arthur’s Metroid character gets his marrow sucked to death from a giant green forcefield enclosing, brain eating Alien bug. Arthur freaks out as expected, yelling, “I got killed Tilda. I’ve never been this close to winning. I’m to get you back for this. Can your telescope fly out the window? Let’s find out.”

Matilda says, “Don’t even think about it touching Arthur, I haven’t even seen Haley’s Comet yet. Matilda and Arthur bolt upstairs to his big sister’s room to wrestle control over the telescope, waking up her dad in the process. They barely squeeze in through her bedroom door together, almost becoming crazy glued together like a pair of tweaked Siamese twins. As they finally push loose through the door, they trip over each landing on top of her red, waxy bean bag with discarded Milk Way wrappers on it. Dad comes in and says, “What’s all this commotion about? And why is everyone still up? Haley’s Comet just flew by 5 minutes ago. The show’s over baby.” Matilda has Arthur in a headlock on the bean bag while giving him a brain drilling noogie, look ups to her Dad and asks in a perplexed, enraged disgust, “Why didn’t you grab me for Haley’s Comet Dad?’ Dad says, “But then I’d miss it. Plus, these telescopes don’t grown on trees. Besides, you get to grow up with Alf. He’ll provide you all the comic relief you’ll need. “

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Mr. San Diego

Grilled fish tacos are lame, especially the ones from Baja Fresh, a popular health-conscious LA fast food chain, where your sense of charming individuality and personalized edge flat line to death and die. Are grilled fish tacos healthier than battered fried ones? Did Tony Gwynn strike out less than a teen George Brett at Daytona Beach on Spring Break?  Also, did the 8-time batting champion, who batted .391 in 94, who hit .412 against the equally nerdy Greg Maddox in the post season, ever leave the impression, he’d spray even more doubles all over Petco Stadium if he went on a diet with Kirby Puckett and only ate In and Out Burgers ATKINS style, using lettuce as buns instead?  If you’ve never made your own homemade Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter Baja Fish Tacos or never sampled the all-star goods from San Diego founded, famed fast food Tex-Mex chain Rubio’s, to inhale their battered fish burrito in 7 bites max, then your life sucks more than the snotty clogged Lupus from the Bad News Bear, before he snags a high fly ball over right field and chants with sudden clear voiced, take no shit bravado, “Just wait till next year”, before pouring beer on Miguel who looks like the uncoordinated Latino Tony Gwyn in the making.

Now, I’ve fried up Icelandic Cod using the standard, eggs, flour and panko breadcrumbs, or from using homemade discarded breadcrumbs ones, blah, blah, blah, yet all those crispy exteriors, even the non-blotchy, all covering coating jobs were flimsier than Wade Boggs power numbers against Roger Clemens during batting practice compared to my Lagunitas infused beer battered one. Regardless, if Nolan Ryan drank the cocksure Roger Clemens under the table the previous night and beat his ass in darts with overpowering, clutch precision, only to throw the upstart hothead into a crippling headlock for trying to call fake news bullseyes one too many times over a high stakes game of darts during All-Star weekend in Houston, when Robert Redford was deemed young enough to play the Natural because the casting director wanted a more stoic, wooden version of Kevin Costner if possible.

Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter slams all other breaded exterior concoctions out of the park by providing far superior crunch, snap and pop like Barry Bonds on the HGH, before his balls become the size of gumballs, better suited for the kid in the Bazooka Joe comic strips back in the day. Still, the added juicy, crackling oomph my Lagunitas IPA beer batter, mixed with rice flour, flour and baking powder required more rounded out flavor to make this Baja fish taco, the go to hot dog substitute to snag at the ballgame in Petco Field where the San Diego Padres play because HGH alone wasn’t responsible for Barry Bond’s breaking, Hammering Hank’s homerun record, knowing if I took steroids at sleepaway camp, I just would’ve struck at a more accelerated speed. If you’re going to make a consistently clutch, hit heavy Baja fish taco from home, you must add more boogie down balance and funky snap by rounding out the lineup  with a homemade pickled, purple cabbage slaw with jalapenos and Mexican oregano in addition to spreading the mini warmed flour tortilla with plenty of sumptuous, chipotle adobe mayo crema love, lined with plenty of chili powdered, in your face, spiky kick like the edge of Ty Cobb’s extra sparkly cleats up your ass, as he flew home like a bat out of hell in another blaze of natural born killer glory.

The Baja Fish tacos were a real hit with my kids, earning plenty of, “delicious nods”, so much so that I decided to make it a double header and serve them on back-to-back to nights this past weekend, doing my best hit heavy, consistently clutch, Mr. Sand Diego impression with endless joy spewing, Spring Training is almost here cheer.  For back-to-back nights, in our humble east coast Abode, Tony Gwynn, Mr. San Diego, the 1st ballot hall of famer, who would’ve most likely hit 400 or higher similar to Ted Williams during the abbreviated 94 strike seasoned lived again, especially knowing he didn’t become so pleasantly plump like fellow high average hitting sluggers such as John Kruck in the 90’s from sticking to protein shakes and black bean soup for after double header game feasts to. Even Don Mattingly, Mr. Neat, would’ve gotten his mustache and pristine pinstripes drenched in the crema from these Big Ups Batter Up Beer Battered Baja Fish Tacos, to eat his little hometown blues away, especially after the 94-strike season killed his shot at playing for the Yankees in the World Series, only to rip the ball off its seams into his favorite go to right field pocket in the House That Ruth Built, to make his own childhood Natural fantasy come true to.

Michael Kornbluth

Perverted Science

“Does Hollywood’s fetishized push to sexualize a new generation of kids with Instagram friendly labels such as Trans Centric or Gender Fluid Fickle, feel very organic or “child appropriate” to you, says Joe, a 17-year-old debate stud for Richard Pryor High, a new charter school in Peoria, Illinois. Unfortunately for his alpha dog debate team peers, including his best bud Paul, Joe was just getting his yak pipes warmed up, adding, “The problem with parents enabling pubescent teen mutilation makeovers, in their politicized dash to let their children slash their protracted age of innocence in half, is that it never factors in irretractable buyer’s remorse, once little Joey blooms under his Fruit of the Looms, realizing, he can’t get his grind on with a gal on the dancefloor if he wanted to, without feeling a missing link to old school rap in the process. Plus, whatever happened to kids being asexual from 1 through 11 at least? Also, for all the scientific worship these days in place of you know who, where is all the hard evidence of Chaz Bono being a beacon of mental calm  since his far later in life transformation into Just One Of The Guys? You know, the same Chaz Bono who doesn’t eat wings at the bar, wishing he was at The MGM Grand in Vegas instead, to hear Cher belt out If I Can Turn Back Time to relieve his severe case of blue balls paralysis already.

Paul finally cuts off his dear debating bud and goes in for the retaliatory attack and says, “Is this a debate team trial run or Joe’s personalized open mike to test out more groan generating trans material for the Montreal Comedy Festival? I get it, Little Boy Blue in the 4th grade at 9 years old isn’t expected to declare his major in Gender Studies at Oberlin College just yet. So why should we expect him to make a life changing decision such as sexual realignment surgery any sooner than when he turns 19? 19 is the new 15 because that’s when most kids are losing their virginity these days anyway, especially since swiping for dick picks became the death of small talk on both sides of the glory hole cubby divide. I don’t think the government should be allowed to intervene on their parent’s behalf though, if they start feeding their 9-year-old effeminate son enough testosterone blockers to turn him into Mayor Pete’s dumpier, side up half. I bet it was Mayor Pete’s idea to parade his hubby around triple masked in a Winnie The Poo coat, as if catching the China made virus from a stiff breeze is a bigger concern for him than barebacking in the shower at the local health club on KY jelly street without flip flops on for gay pride swinger week. Wait a minute, now I’m doing Trans schtick to. Look, how can I be transphobic if I’d rather suck off Bruce Jenner with no makeup on and suck up every last demon drop, than go to the Lego Store with my nephews again, after the coast was clear, with all our masks secure on, feeling like Michael Jackson on holiday in Bahrain, before Magic made HIV disappear? I’m actually turned on immensely  by she males myself, knowing they typically possess tighter bods than most girls willing to date me. You also know, they know have no problem swallowing because they have no other use for my love juice. Also, most girls today have blown up looking snatches by 16, so I’m not complaining about a tighter hole to not get her pregnant in either. I’d even go the movies again, assuming they ever reopen to see a trans remake of Weird Science, except this time they’d create their dream Shemale vision come true all over their shattered visions of rock-solid heterosexuality ever again. Still, I’m a talking about a made up movie, Perverted Science, where the doll who comes to life is played by a real life, grown Trans woman, who made an informed, evolved decision because he she wanted to come in closer contact with her feminine side, and realized along the way how she made a better-looking chick. And if you got it, flaunt it baby. I tried putting a pink wig on once and make up after my girlfriend got a strap on for us to play with one night and never in a million years, did I think I’d look like such an ugly, homely looking bitch. Granted, when I played basketball in junior high, I used to run on my tippy toes, looking like I was running in high heels instead of high tops. But this still doesn’t mean, I was a gentle high stepper of any kind. If LaVar Ball was my substitute coach dad, he’d still bark on the sidelines, yelling, “Were trying to sell Ballerwear son, not Jimmy Choo’s. I think Paul and I should start selling Trans jokes to Dave Chappelle because he can afford to not give a shit, we can’t. Who wants to have that debate next? White comics can’t get away this material tóday ever. Even Aerosmith is getting grief these days for their song Dude Looks Like A Lady, which is ridiculous because in the song Steven Tyler takes more than a peak, proclaiming with surging, mounting, lust, “Oh, what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, like it yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, he said it was the best piece of pussy he ever had, so get over it already. Hate speech, not. Maybe, I won’t give up on wining a debating scholarship if Chris Rock finances a new college serving as a safe space for politically incorrect material, God forbid.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Perverted Science

“Does Hollywood’s push to sexualize kids with Instagram friendly labels such as Trans Centric or Gender Fluid Fickle, feel very organic or dare I say, “child appropriate”, says Joe, a 17-year-old Independent identifying debate stud for Richard Pryor High, a new charter school in Peoria, Illinois. Unfortunately for his alpha dog debate team peers, including his best bud, Paul, he was just getting warmed up, adding, “The problem with parents enabling pubescent teen mutilation makeovers, in their politicized dash to let their children slash their protracted age of innocence in half, is that it never factors in irretractable buyer’s remorse, once little Joey blooms under his Fruit of the Looms, realizing, he can’t get his grind on with a gal on the dancefloor if he wanted to, without feeling a missing link to old school rap in the process. Plus, whatever happened to kids being asexual from 1 through 11 at least? Also, for all the scientific worship these days in place of you know who, where is all the hard evidence of Chaz Bono being a beacon of mental calm  since his far later in life transformation into Just One Of The Guys? You know, the same Chaz Bono who doesn’t eat wings at the bar, wishing he was at The MGM Grand in Vegas instead, to hear Cher belt out If I Can Turn Back Time to relieve his severe case of blue balls paralysis already.

Paul finally cuts off his dear debating bud and goes in for the retaliatory attack and says, “Is this a debate team trial run or Joe’s personalized open mike to test out more groan generating trans material for the Montreal Comedy Festival? I get it, Little Boy Blue in the 4th grade at 9 years old isn’t expected to declare his major in Gender Studies at Oberlin College just yet. So why should we expect him to make a life changing decision such as sexual realignment surgery any sooner than when he turns 19? 19 is the new 15 because that’s when most kids are losing their virginity these days anyway, especially since swiping for dick picks became the death of small talk on both sides of the glory hole cubby divide. I don’t think the government should be allowed to intervene on their parent’s behalf though, if they start feeding their 9-year-old effeminate son enough testosterone blockers to turn him into Mayor Pete’s dumpier, side up half. I bet it was Mayor Pete’s idea to parade his hubby around triple masked in a Winnie The Poo coat, as if catching the China made virus from a stiff breeze is a bigger concern for him than barebacking in the shower at the local health club on KY jelly street without flip flops on for gay pride swinger week. Wait a minute, now I’m doing Trans schtick to. Look, how can I be transphobic if I’d rather suck off Bruce Jenner with no makeup on and suck up every last demon drop, than go to the Lego Store with my nephews again, after the coast was clear, with all our masks secure on, feeling like Michael Jackson on holiday in Bahrain, before Magic made HIV disappear? I’m actually turned on immensely  by she males myself, knowing they typically possess tighter bods than most girls willing to date me. You also know, they know have no problem swallowing because they have no other use for my love juice. Also, most girls today have blown up looking snatches by 16, so I’m not complaining about a tighter hole to not get her pregnant in either. I’d even go the movies again, assuming they ever reopen to see a trans remake of Weird Science, except this time they’d create their dream Shemale vision come true all over their shattered visions of rock-solid heterosexuality ever again. Still, I’m a talking about a made up movie, Perverted Science, where the doll who comes to life is played by a real life, grown Trans woman, who made an informed, evolved decision because he she wanted to come in closer contact with her feminine side, and realized along the way how she made a better-looking chick. And if you got it, flaunt it baby. I tried putting a pink wig on once and make up after my girlfriend got a strap on for us to play with one night and never in a million years, did I think I’d look like such an ugly, homely looking bitch. Granted, when I played basketball in junior high, I used to run on my tippy toes, looking like I was running in high heels instead of high tops. But this still doesn’t mean, I was a gentle high stepper of any kind. If LaVar Ball was my substitute coach dad, he’d still bark on the sidelines, yelling, “Were trying to sell Ballerwear son, not Jimmy Choo’s. I think Paul and I should start selling Trans jokes to Dave Chappelle because he can afford to not give a shit, we can’t. Who wants to have that debate next? White comics can’t get away this material tóday ever. Even Aerosmith is getting grief these days for their song Dude Looks Like A Lady, which is ridiculous because in the song Steven Tyler takes more than a peak, proclaiming with surging, mounting, lust, “Oh, what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, like it yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, he said it was the best piece of pussy he ever had, so get over it already. Hate speech, not. Maybe, I won’t give up on wining a debating scholarship if Chris Rock finances a new college serving as a safe space for politically incorrect material, God forbid.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

The Never-Ending Prick


“Does cocaine make you a manipulative prick or were you one to begin with, without any added stimulative effort”, asks Co-Op Board Member Number One with stone cold detachment, a 50 something well dressed CFO who never met a Brooks Brothers striped shirt he didn’t like. The Manipulative Prick wiggles in his wobbly wicker chair and swallows a big gulp of saliva to extract some last second drips from the blast of cocaine he did moments prior, in his Tudor style apartment within the river town of Dobbs Ferry, NY, about 30 minutes north of his old school buying spot in Washington Heights from Julio Silverbade, the 3rd, before his co-op eviction trial began.

The Manipulative Prick otherwise known as Sir Snort A Lot, loved doing cocaine, mainly on the weekends though, when he wasn’t working. So what harm was there in that, besides his addiction to speed spilling into other spheres of his life such as rapidly fading domestic bliss, after getting married to a nurse who was growing tired fast of his liar, liar, nose on fire routine to. Last month, when the newlyweds received their 1st of many more noise complaints to come, the manipulative prick, a 40-year-old phone sales rep Verizon says, “Relax babe, our neighbor, the retired accountant, complains about our alarm clock being too aggressively loud for his taste. But he’s just lonely and miserable since his wife died and is redirecting his rage at the world at me, because his life sucks compared to mine, that’s all. Wife Kate, a 35-year-old, one time divorced pretty yet worn-down looking ER nurse says with weary disgust, “You’re a 40-year-old cokehead who sells smartphones for a living, which sell themselves. Plus, he has one full set of a hair more than you do. So, what is he so jealous about exactly, your tar stains on your 2 front teeth? Is he jealous about how your best friends are druggy, alcoholic degenerates like yourself who make more money and are more career secure?  You think he longs for lustful urges to get pegged by trannies at 4am in the morning because he can’t ejaculate into his wife’s fairly tight, doody free snatch? Or is the accountant jealous about how you still have to call up mommy and daddy for help with the rent because your money management skills are so piss poor for a Jewish cokehead, your Hebrew name is under judicial review? Maybe, he’s jealous about you being a no-show Uncle, whose more likely to remember the spread on the Giants game from 5 years ago today, than your brother’s kids’ birthdays, despite one of them being born on News Years Day, moron.”

Now the Manipulative Prick starts to defend himself against charges of being an annoying, loudmouth, serially selfish, ungrateful, spoiled rotten neighbor, who deserves to stay in his humble one-bedroom apartment in Dobbs Ferry for another day and says, “First off, I take incredible offense, being labeled as a manipulative prick of any kind.” Then, a freak of nature happens, as a bulge in his pants emerges, which concerns him immediately, because normally anal stimulation is needed on coke to get him erect with aroused interest at all these days.”

The Manipulative Prick looks down at his swelled bulge, smiles amusingly at it and continues his customary bullshit artist ways, insisting, “Stop treating me like Bernie Madoff. I’m not screwing anyone out of money here.” This time, the Manipulative Prick’s prick makes a near deafening sound out of the freaking blue, by smashing up against the table he’s sitting behind for his eviction trial, sounding like battering ram just made full blown contact against it. Now, the Co-Op Board Member Number One snaps out of his ice-cold veneer and says, “Causing more noise commotion, during your eviction notice hearing already. You really do know how to make a sustained shitty impression. Is your middle name automatic fuck up, or what?” Now, the Manipulative Prick starts getting a rapid surge of heart palpitations, especially after glancing down to his lap at his middle appendage, noticing how it now resembles the hammer of Thor.

Co-Op Board Member 2, a wrinkly, diminutive yet feisty, retired realtor chimes in and says, “How are we supposed to believe you’ll become an oasis of calm or an embodiment of measured normalcy, compared to all our other 50 plus and over tenets when you can’t even sit still and remain commotion free during your final eviction notice hearing? Just try not to be so out of control, boozy, drugged out loud when consequences for your got to have satisfaction up my nose, whenever I want behavior have never been greater.”

The Manipulative Prick takes a sip of water on the table in front of him, the same aftershock table that shook all the cobweb corners lose in the room prior in addition to the realtor’s wig and says, “All I do on the weekends is smoke weed and watch Giant games alone when my wife works the weekend shit, especially since COVID hit these days. I don’t even see my friends to do coke anymore, especially since I got into weed oils, which don’t stink up the hallways nearly half as much actually.”

Now, a humongous dick blasts through the Manipulative Prick’s pants, blasting straight through the art deco tin ceiling, through a fancy schmancy chandelier, while looking more like the worm giant from Dune as all the Co-Op Board members duck for cover under their judgement table, as shards of glass fly across the room in every conceivable direction. Co-Op Board Member number 2 squatting underneath the table for cover with a look of abject, confused bewildered terror on her face screams, “What the fuck is that? The Never-Ending Prick.

The End  

Michael Kornbluth

The Neverending Prick


“Does cocaine make you a manipulative prick or were you one to begin with, without any added stimulative effort”, asks Co-Op Board Member Number One with stone cold detachment, a 50 something well dressed CFO who never met a Brooks Brothers striped shirt he didn’t like. The Manipulative Prick wiggles in his wobbly wicker chair and swallows a big gulp of saliva to extract some last second drips from the blast of cocaine he did moments prior, in his Tudor style apartment within the river town of Dobbs Ferry, NY, about 30 minutes north of his old school buying spot in Washington Heights from Julio Silverbade, the 3rd, before his co-op eviction trial began.

The Manipulative Prick otherwise known as Sir Snort A Lot, loved doing cocaine, mainly on the weekends though, when he wasn’t working. So what harm was there in that, besides his addiction to speed spilling into other spheres of his life such as rapidly fading domestic bliss, after getting married to a nurse who was growing tired fast of his liar, liar, nose on fire routine to. Last month, when the newlyweds received their 1st of many more noise complaints to come, the manipulative prick, a 40-year-old phone sales rep Verizon says, “Relax babe, our neighbor, the retired accountant, complains about our alarm clock being too aggressively loud for his taste. But he’s just lonely and miserable since his wife died and is redirecting his rage at the world at me, because his life sucks compared to mine, that’s all. Wife Kate, a 35-year-old, one time divorced pretty yet worn-down looking ER nurse says with weary disgust, “You’re a 40-year-old cokehead who sells smartphones for a living, which sell themselves. Plus, he has one full set of a hair more than you do. So, what is he so jealous about exactly, your tar stains on your 2 front teeth? Is he jealous about how your best friends are druggy, alcoholic degenerates like yourself who make more money and are more career secure?  You think he longs for lustful urges to get pegged by trannies at 4am in the morning because he can’t ejaculate into his wife’s fairly tight, doody free snatch? Or is the accountant jealous about how you still have to call up mommy and daddy for help with the rent because your money management skills are so piss poor for a Jewish cokehead, your Hebrew name is under judicial review? Maybe, he’s jealous about you being a no-show Uncle, whose more likely to remember the spread on the Giants game from 5 years ago today, than your brother’s kids’ birthdays, despite one of them being born on News Years Day, moron.”

Now the Manipulative Prick starts to defend himself against charges of being an annoying, loudmouth, serially selfish, ungrateful, spoiled rotten neighbor, who deserves to stay in his humble one-bedroom apartment in Dobbs Ferry for another day and says, “First off, I take incredible offense, being labeled as a manipulative prick of any kind.” Then, a freak of nature happens, as a bulge in his pants emerges, which concerns him immediately, because normally anal stimulation is needed on coke to get him erect with aroused interest at all these days.”

The Manipulative Prick looks down at his swelled bulge, smiles amusingly at it and continues his customary bullshit artist ways, insisting, “Stop treating me like Bernie Madoff. I’m not screwing anyone out of money here.” This time, the Manipulative Prick’s prick makes a near deafening sound out of the freaking blue, by smashing up against the table he’s sitting behind for his eviction trial, sounding like battering ram just made full blown contact against it. Now, the Co-Op Board Member Number One snaps out of his ice-cold veneer and says, “Causing more noise commotion, during your eviction notice hearing already. You really do know how to make a sustained shitty impression. Is your middle name automatic fuck up, or what?” Now, the Manipulative Prick starts getting a rapid surge of heart palpitations, especially after glancing down to his lap at his middle appendage, noticing how it now resembles the hammer of Thor.

Co-Op Board Member 2, a wrinkly, diminutive yet feisty, retired realtor chimes in and says, “How are we supposed to believe you’ll become an oasis of calm or an embodiment of measured normalcy, compared to all our other 50 plus and over tenets when you can’t even sit still and remain commotion free during your final eviction notice hearing? Just try not to be so out of control, boozy, drugged out loud when consequences for your got to have satisfaction up my nose, whenever I want behavior have never been greater.”

The Manipulative Prick takes a sip of water on the table in front of him, the same aftershock table that shook all the cobweb corners lose in the room prior in addition to the realtor’s wig and says, “All I do on the weekends is smoke weed and watch Giant games alone when my wife works the weekend shit, especially since COVID hit these days. I don’t even see my friends to do coke anymore, especially since I got into weed oils, which don’t stink up the hallways nearly half as much actually.”

Now, a humongous dick blasts through the Manipulative Prick’s pants, blasting straight through the art deco tin ceiling, through a fancy schmancy chandelier, while looking more like the worm giant from Dune as all the Co-Op Board members duck for cover under their judgement table, as shards of glass fly across the room in every conceivable direction. Co-Op Board Member number 2 squatting underneath the table for cover with a look of abject, confused bewildered terror on her face screams, “What the fuck is that? The Neverending prick.

The End  

Michael Kornbluth