The Mask Shaming Inquisition

It’s impossible to act pleased whenever my wife takes pictures of our 3 kids wearing masks when it’s not Halloween; in a post woke, China placating universe gone wild. In these moments, I become what I detest the most, a triggered snowflake, yelling out to my daughter Matilda, “Smile, you can be America’s Top Belly Dancer now and wear a mask wherever, whenever you like, assuming you train hard enough on your core to become a Peloton instructor in junior high. Because at that point the entire restaurant industry will have been dead for a decade already. So, all the bankable babysitting money will be kaput by then to. You’ll have zero clubs to rave in fairy wing looking like an overdose at the Limelight waiting to happen. Smile, Matilda, you’re going to be America’s Next Top Belly Dancer, assuming you put your mask on between meals to avoid snacking and socially distance yourself from carbs.

Who are these kids that love to wear Covid masks? Do they identify as moderate Muslim housewives on Casual Friday? How do I get my kids used to wearing masks? I host burning mask parties.

The only way a Feminist can get you to eat her pussy is by forcing you to wear a pussy hat mask on in public. Do these altruist mask monitors who yell at strangers to wear a mask outside on the street, offer junkies clean needles to shoot up with at the local dose off wall park bench in downtown Portlandia?  Are these mask crusaders at large on triple condom wrap detail, next time Charlie Sheen rolls the dice in Vegas at an AVN wrap up party and forgets again how only Magic can make HIV disappear?  

Only 6 percent of Covid linked deaths are by Covid alone. So can we unmask this pandemic sham by getting Rudy Giuliani to grill some Medical Examiner under oath for making every Death Certificate list Covid as the final main cause, instead of China?  Giuliani says, “Let me guess.  You took one look at your last corpse and said, “He stinks like Walmart in August. I’ll dump in the Covid death pool with the rest.”  

Wear a mask. Only if you suck off my super soaker for a super spreader deluxe. Pretend Obama ordered you to leak it.

In Hatti, they’re too poor to lockdown their mud mask resort economy. As a result, only 19 out of a million Hattians have gotten Covid.  Wyclef could shake off the rust and clean up on New Year’s Eve in 2020 there. Wyclef does a remix cover by REM and sings, “It’s the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine about my solo career post Fugees, which didn’t include jail time for tax evasion because I don’t view the IRS as the Jew devil spawn like Lauryn Hill, which is fake news man.”  

The CEO of Costco says, “Safety is worth the inconvenience”, of wearing a mask to buy more paper towels. Smile America, Alex Jones isn’t so nutty after all.

Michael Kornbluth

Back To Hebrew School

Selling my 3 kids on Conservative Hebrew School today is a hard sell because they’ve grown up in the era of cloud-powered, commercial-free TV shows, where a drag on their time is the Internet going out again, prompting my kids to bemoan in collective unison, “Gevalt”, as if they just realized their egg and cheese order from the deli was served on a drab regular roll versus the expected, not supposed to specified for, standard Kaiser Roll instead. Once, my 5-year old son grew frustrated with our voice-powered assistant Cortona, not recognizing the Johnny Cash song he requested, “I’ve Been Everywhere”, to be exact, prompting him to yell with surging palpable, huffy disgust, “Cortona, you’re useless. Throw yourself out the window already.”

In order to draw attention away from all the various screen distractions which exist today, Conservative Hebrew Schools in America need a disruptive restructuring of their teaching style, which doesn’t sound so old world, Charlie Rose dronish. If they stand a shot at making the study of Torah, a wondrous, awe-inspiring, less obligatory, steady slog of mote memorization for sheer studying stake.  I propose the use of comedy, to achieve this purpose of making Hebrew School greater than any Simpsons on-demand episode on Hulu could ever offer.

Famous humorist Victor Borge said, “Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.” So I recommend Hebrew School teachers at Conservative Synagogues to start using comedy as an engagement tool to turn their students on to learning about all of our big deal biblical Jewish figures through using Internet speak like leading a classroom discussion on the best Jewish Prophets on Ranker for starters.  This past Saturday for my own version of Hebrew School, I got my son excited to learn more about his Hebrew name Jeremiah, by emphasizing the fact how Jeremiah is considered one of the major prophets in the Bible, which perked his interested immediately by just emphasizing the word, major. Especially, after pointing out how the Bible has minor prophets to, which are closer to supporting characters like Rob Schneider who serves the useful purpose of making Adam Sandler look like a major leading star in comparison, despite his perfected schlump star look.

I couldn’t even tell you the name of one of my Hebrew School Teachers at our Reformed Synagogue growing up, which is a shame like not learning in US History in the 8th grade how IBM developed technology that made it easier for the Nazi’s to identify European Jewry. Right now, IBM’s Watson Supercomputer is thinking, “No shit Sherlock.”

The only thing memorable about my reformed Hebrew School experience growing up was my friends from our school district in Edgemont, NY district feeling a tad tougher than the suburban softer Scarsdale kids in our class, because they’d throw endless streams of candy Nerds at Danny Farber from Scarsdale while never fearing any form of hardcore retaliation in return. The other way to make time pass by in Hebrew School was my friend Ari and I upstaging one another by writing new obscure Heavy Metal band names on our denim three ring year binders of yesteryear such as Danzig, Man O War and Overkill.

I’ve always been committed to raising my kids Jewish to ensure my cousins didn’t get exterminated in the Holocaust for nothing. I want my kids to live out dreams they never could as proud and loud, unapologetic Jews all the way. I refuse to be another slacker assimilator and allow the spirit of Judaism to die out in my family on my watch, in my quest to become more mensch like than the rest.

So, I’m assuming ownership of my kid’s conservative Hebrew school education this year during the year of Corona by relearning Hebrew while teaching my kids the holy language of kings for the 1st time in the process. I plan on making the teaching of Hebrew to my kids interesting and more stimulating than my Reformed Hebrew School past by tapping into my funny Jew bone and putting my imaginative powers to work by crafting short stories about made-up historical characters based on all the Hebrew letters such as Gimmel Be The Good. Gimmel Be Good being the nice Jewish boy who invented the dreidel gambling game to distract the Romans from their forbidden Torah studies during the hardcore Hellenization of Israel at the time.

When my 3 pitch-perfect, angelic, blemish-free children repeat the prayers in Hebrew for Shabbat after me, it brings tingles of unbridled joy down my spine. Because in this special glowed, light-filled moment, we become at one with the divine, which makes our sweet Jewish home, truly shine.

Michael Kornbluth

Kosher Klaus Sushi

Once upon a time there was a Kosher sushi chef prodigy Art Show USA who opened Kosher Klaus Sushi on Christmas Eve in 1994 before the Internet became mainstream and Asian elite Yelpers went hog wild.  Kosher Klaus Sushi was located in the heart of Scarsdale Village, which earned immediate rave reviews in the Scarsdale Inquirer from local food critic Debbie Wasserman, who described Art Show’s mind blowing specialty roll creations as “Orgasmic before they reach the back of your throat good.”  What made Art Show unique outside of his unmatched imaginative heft and juggling sushi knife work at the bar were his God given star powered looks, which commanded legions of groupie Yentas to schlep from the far reaches of Long Island to wait on line in the dead of winter to just catch a glance of the new age pretty boy bad ass Sushi Chef through the window, cranking out one swoon worthy, inhalatory Sushi specialty roll after the next, like his signature one, Living On The Edgemont Edge, which had smoked salmon, Cream Cheese, capers and caramelized shallots throughout to inject an extra special loaded lift.   

Every day, Art Show USA would sharpen his Sushi Knives together made from Israeli steel used in bullet proof vests made for their special force’s unit Mossad, which would woo, with sparkly, dazzling delight as patrons at the Kosher Klaus Sushi Bar gave impromptu standing ovations throughout.  Art Show USA was a 6 foot 4, spikey blond haired, blue eyed, lean, mean, Sushi slicing machine, who made Tom Cruise from the movie Cocktail look like a stumpy, homely hobbit hipster hack, in comparison, regardless if he kept his rolled up sleave button shirt, tucked in or not.   But one day, a bunch of rowdy Irish wiggers, entered Kosher Klaus Sushi to track down a hot yenta breath from Syosset, Long Island Rachel Weinstein, who rocked swinging, booby beauties, 36 D’s to be exact, who was also a solid 5 foot 9, making her mountable from behind standing up, assuming you weren’t a stumpy Irishman, unlucky in the height department.   Rachel was full lipped, Sephardic Persian tan busty beauty, even Roger Waters from Pink Floyd would pulverize her fetching snatch until he was comfortably numb.  The leader of the wigger Irish pack was Liam O’Reilly who sported a Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus, which scared off most, but not Art Show USA. Art Show USA was a black belt in Judo by the time he was 13 for his Bar Mitzvah. For Art Show’s Bar Mitzvah Party, he played Siamese Dream by the Smashing Pumpkins on the guitar with his feet and teeth.  So Art Show USA was never sweating the prospect of losing a fight or a girl to an Irish wigger moron from Long Island, who thought stamping a permanent Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus was a bright idea, regardless if it ensured him a truck driver job for Killan’s Red or not.

Liam and his crew of Irish wiggers came down from Long Island to start a fight with Art Show USA because they attended the same high school as Rachel Weinstein and only had eyes for inhaling her whole. Plus, they weren’t enthralled with the Rachel wearing an underground, circulated hoodie with a picture of Art Show USA on it, sporting an American flag bandana and star of David gold necklace around his neck, showcasing well earned, non-banking job related bling.  

Liam cuts the line with his Irish wigger posse and bursts into Kosher Klaus Sushi like Mark Wahlberg on the set of SNL after Andy Samberg did a sketch about Marky Mark talking to farm animals. Liam bum-rushes the sushi bar and says, “Hey, faggot. I’ll kick your ass right now, to show all your groupies what a pretty boy faggot, gay pussy bitch you are in real life.” Art Show ignores Liam’s Alpha Dog attack. Liam jumps over the sushi bar to strike. Art Show does a look away kick to middle of his forehead, which sends Liam flying into the ceiling fan, which knocks him out senseless. Art Show USA says, “Alexa, play Jump Around by House of Pain.” Kosher Klaus Sushi erupts into instantaneous jubilee, Jewish pride pounces the air, inspiring Rachel Weinstein to flash her tits at Art Show USA as the entire restaurant throws their gold necklaces with Stars of David’s on it in her general direction, in honor of all those sweet, harmless Jewish boys who were never taught to defend themselves like the Hebrew Hammer, Bugsy Siegal or Art Show USA.

The End

Hot For Hummus

Hummus is Chickpeas are great in Arabic. It’s the most popular dish in the Middle East among Egyptians, Jordanians, and Israeli offshoots of the Zohan tribe, 7 degrees separated from the golden Jew Adam Sandler. Actual unity is getting your Hummus resistor Jewish father from the Bronx to follow your 3 Koshertarian diet embracing children by joining the party to try your homemade Hummus made in his Arizona estate home for a pre-nosh nibble snack on top of toasted pita triangles with some diced up cherry tomatoes, fresh scattered parsley and vibrant looking, just grated carrots on top. I’m not betting the farm on my father to try my workshopped, perfected homemade Hummus over Thanksgiving break but as my father likes to rightfully point out, I don’t own a farm let alone a John Deer lawnmower or the personal property big enough to justify the expense because I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under judicial review.   Everyone can unify behind the depressingly dreary premise of a degenerate Jew like myself not being financially secure in life yet, who uses his fingers for basic arithmetic like a retarded version Dustin Hoffman at the Blackjack table at Talking Stick Casino.

Growing up in elementary school, all my Loan Officer mother ever made me was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, which didn’t help my blobby physique one bit at the time. Still, I never complained or requested anything different, urging my mother to make me Bento box lunches with Power Rangers stickers on the outside, with Cucumber and cream cheese Koshertarian rolls wrapped in seaweed and sticky rice within. Also, as a kid, I always preferred sesame bagels, for my egg and cheeses at the local Greek dinner, inhaling 2 in one sitting, after a night of drinking, with my old school high school buds, which is why my father called me the” human shovel” for a reason. So, I don’t need to be a math savant like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man to realize my love of nut based spreads like peanut butter would eventually lead to my developed steamy love for Tahani flavor in Hummus, which is where the oily, creamy, pulverized sesame seed spewing essence derives from. Hummus is basically, the more versatile, infinitely less tubby version of peanut butter, which also packs leaner blasts of less sticky mouth protein. So of course, I’m hot for hummus but only after I stared making my homemade versions to spice up my kid’s lunches, so I didn’t burn them out on peanut butter, ruining their capacity to ever savor a Reese Pieces Butter Cup, made at all the specialty chocolate chops like in Ridgefield CT again, which is an American shishy bitch rite as it gets.

If you never tried hummus, the famed sesame paste can be a turnoff, if you never sampled the primo goods before. On the surface, some store-bought hummus or homemade hummus can look like a sad plop mound of dried out earwax. That’s why you must add color and a dash of sophistication to your presentation. Pine nuts, who needs them. Chopped hardboiled eggs, gross, too overtly Israeli for my taste sorry. Pesto on top of hummus, is a blatantly unnecessary, awful idea, knowing Hummus when made right, requires no parm cheese garlic infusion to make it more swoon worthy than it already is. For me, I dress up my Hummus triangle creations with a menage a trois of radiant, lick it up color such as hot to trot, Little Red Corvette, cherry tomatoes and Arizona wild, desert bloom orange specked shredded carrots or some Polo Lounge conjuring green in the form of thick strands of Jalapeno on top to keep it extra steamy in the process.  

Just like it any relationship, you have to spice things up, incorporating needed color and variety to keep things interesting or you’ll lose sustained stiffage, which is the perpetual state of arousal necessary for any relationship to get excited for toppable tomorrows. The same rule applies to homemade loving infused creations versus the mass produced, manufactured kind, which lacks the length and depth of personalized pop compared to the real thing.  So invest in a Cuisinart to blend your Goya Chickpeas, add some store bought Tahini from your local Kosher butcher, add a garlic bulb or 2, throw in a generous heaping of sea, Himalayan, or Kosher salt, I don’t give a shit, before pouring in a steady steam of medium grade Olive oil, as the hummus magic swirls into scrumptious loving perfection before constructing your pita triangle pizzas with the steamy garnishes I mentioned prior and call it a day.  At the very least, your kids will love you more putting in the extra effort to tantalize and awaken their tastebuds to newer, fresher, yummier possibilities than ever before. Plus, your kids won’t become instantly tubby and resent your existence for it later. Last, your wife tasting like hummus won’t lure you into sucking face with her on the spot, but you’ll take whatever justified outs a 10-year marriage can give you.

Michael Kornbluth

Chicken Cutlet Hunters

The Chicken Cutlet from the Edgemont Deli on Central Avenue next to Danny’s Cycle in southern Westchester County, 30 minutes north of Manhattan was always the best.  My old school dear friend Ari, now a Kidney doctor who part owns his own practice in CT, a graduate of Washington University, no dummy, would agree with me, we became fixated on hunting down the perfect chicken cutlet sandwich ever since. I remember inhaling down this chicken cutlet thinking, I was in the presence of greatness, just based on the crispy enough, herbed spice breading on it alone. Back then, I didn’t know the difference between sage or rosemary. I wasn’t aware of how cilantro was used as an herb in salsa. Shit, an underclassman fooled me into buying oregano for weed senior year in high school, so I wasn’t obsessing over the herb installation componentry embedded my bomb chicken cutlet from the Edgemont Deli at the time, that wasn’t Calista Flockhart skinny but more Jo plump like from Facts of Life, which gave you something more excitable to chomp into again and again. The perfectly shredded lettuce, semi-thin, actual fleshy red tomato on top,  nestled between the banging Kaiser roll, which was never drowning for dear life in an amorphous plop of mayo goo didn’t hurt the chicken cutlet sandwich’s overall appeal one bit either. Ah, those were the days, pre-Yelp, where you actually had to rely on your own intuition and New York bred sense of adventure to try and consume it all, like a less hyper articulate, perpetually suave, mini Anthony Bourdain in the making, minus the French royal rocker look working in your favor either.

Now, that I’m getting my 3 kids more courageous about trying different Kosher meat creations because they know I’m writing a book about it and unlike others, they still believe me in me pounding my dreams of comedic superstardom into freaking reality already, especially when I involve them in the act of pulverizing the homemade Kosher chicken cutlets I made tonight with real deal Hebrew Hammer fury.  I told my son Arthur to choke up on the mighty mallet before pounding the chicken cutlets for round 2 with the intention of smooshing those cutlets into barely recognizable form like when Mitch Blood Green came up with the bright idea to start a street fight with Iron Mike in Harlem during his prime time domination years, where he knocked out legendary heavyweights by the time you banged another one out to Taste Of Amber again.  

My wife had to Nazify my dream chicken cutlet recreation tonight, using a combination of panko breadcrumbs and homemade ones while also using a mishmash of chopped parsley, sage and rosemary, by insisting on calling the meal “Schnitzel”, saying, “I haven’t had Schnitzel since Oktoberfest in Germany.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Chances are you had pork schnitzel for starters, which is fine, but don’t lump my dish into your non-eating Kosher past in Germany before the open borders invite to invade and resist assimilation lead to no-go zones, proving too much for Angela Merkel’s hunched shoulders to bear alone. Where is W to give Angela Lansbury’s, more homely, less talented, dour dumpy clone to give an unsolicited back rub, when you need him?” Also, I didn’t  know what the hell Schnitzel was in high school, I just knew how to order a chicken cutlet at the deli, with shredded lettuce, tomato, mayo, Russian dressing or getting some melted provolone on it if I was feeling particularly eccentric for lunch, that day, that’s it. Granted, tonight, I did fry up gargantuan flatted breasts which looked like Pauly from Rocky passed out on Bridget Nielson’s tits. But I wouldn’t call a schnitzel dish using Panko breadcrumbs and Kosher certified chicken as a sterling example of keeping it real Arian like either.  Actually, for those food nerd historians at home, schnitzel was actually invented in Austria before famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal helped track down Adolf Eichman’s Nazi footsteps in Buenos Aries pleasuring himself to more Malbec and Nazi trading cards bound for the ashbins of truly deplorable history. Before shiny shoes got hanged in Israel for being Farrakhan’s dreamboat exterminator against you know who Gervais, and it wasn’t your mole infested British commoners working as Bank Tellers for Barclay’s Bank either.

I’m most impressed with my how kids continue to embrace and try any new meat creation I make for them, because they know it’s made with love and kids always love you back twice as much, when you make them like feel like the center of your universe instead of the reverse. Last, your kids can’t help but look up to daddy a little bit in the kitchen knowing he’s doing his best to please God and obey his dietary laws in exchange for blessing him with the greatest home team imaginable, which grows closer every day, yeah, yeah.

I’m about to put my 3-year old son Samuel in the car today on our way to pick up a couple of last minute, improvised inspired ingredients and he says with a wink and brightened smile, “I hate your jokes and your books to.” I laughed long time. The fact my 3-year-old son already understands the full spectrum of silly minded, sarcastic fueled ball busting while also comprehending what work I’ve been pounding away at since he was born is a sign that God really is looking after my back through this miracle wonderkid. Samuel Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, really is the pubescent, Total Package, Lex Luger after all.

Michael Kornbluth

Arousing A Lit Agent Into Action

Dear Terrie Wolf,

Resist This is a pre-election comedy special book, flush with clean, smart, edgy jokes you’ll never hear on Bill Maher, about the resistance insanity and endless excuse tour that’s consumed Big Tech, Hollywood and the media online and off, since the big, bad, blond wolf beat Hillary Hammer Time Cankles fair and square, proving baby boomer arrogance, and millennial mouseketeer petulance never dies. Chapter 11 What Gen X Dads Understand , contains all family related material in the book, which closes out this killer set for the ages with hardcore, punchy pop. It will take a brave Literary Agent with keen bullshit detection lens to embrace my material from start to finish. I hope you’re one of them. 

Tech censorship is a major problem in this country. Hate Speech is a term used to silence those who praise President Trump or those who dare to criticize the continuous divisiveness generated by Obama Be Good or from any of his media enabled minions in pop culture or in Congress who wants to cancel Israel. Do I need to name names? How much time do you have exactly?  Last, I think the sales potential for the audio version of Resist This is huge, 64 million branded racists and growing, to be exact. I also envision enormous international sales in Canada, Australia, India and Israel. Tell me I’m not funnier than Russell Peters and I’ll make my not my President mother happy and become a garbage man for a living like a good deplorable provider for my family of 5 already. Below, is a link for Chapter 1, Hate Speech Dragon On Fire. 

My Very Best,

Michael Kornbluth

https://doitalldadyearpodcast.libsyn.com/chapter-1-hate-speech-dragon-on-fire

Netflix To The Rescue

In a Netflix doc in honor, which she produced, Michelle Obama says, “She conceded her dreams after having 2 children. But she paid her mom a White house salary to look after her 2 kids, so what was Michelle prevented from doing exactly? But social justice was served when Netflix showered her with a lavish production deal, to make up for her systematic, oppressive existence. Sorry, if I haven’t rushed to see the documentary in her honor yet, What’s Talent Got To Do With It, to justify her multi-million dollar production deal with Netflix, despite her absence of TV and film development experience on her IMDB page prior. Having her daughter Malia intern for Miramax one summer as a production assistant doesn’t count.   Also, I’m all for amplifying diverse voices but I don’t think BLM is facing many issues on this front, especially when they’re camped out in front of those white devil suburbanites, in Seattle, demanding, “Give us your homes, open your wallets and not the one for that bitcoin shit either, You sleepless in Seattle now, motherfucker.”

Michael Kornbluth