Endless Blankets Of Love

4.5 IPA’s taste like circumcised happiness.

Daddy, what’s the biggest bra size imaginable? All I know is Jamey Farber lost everything scrumptious up top after dropping a solid thirty from her waist down during my 2nd year of sleep away camp. I know boobs are empty filler but she left me hanging.

 

INT. Home

Daughter

Daddy, do you want to how Shannon and I got so good at drawing horses?

Do It All Dad

You’re mesmerized by their well hung anatomy, prematurely at 8?

EXT. Stud Farm

Do It All Dad

Did you ever play a Polo Horse in a movie Hollywood Royalty?
Talking Horse

I could never keep a straight face, knowing Ralph Lauren is a scrappy Jew from the boogie down Bronx.

Do It All Dad

I used to buy weed there in High School, the sprayed kind, that tastes like Windex.

The NBA canceled the media availability for the remainder of the China Trip. Claiming it’s unfair to ask Lebron James questions about China because he never went to college, insisting those questions are culturally biased. But ask away about Trump.

 

Curt Shilling on CNN with Jake Tapper. Seriously, Jake, how can self-respecting Jew still vote Democrat. They treat baby face Omar with kiddie gloves like she’s some naive, brainwashed groupie just trying to win free concert tickets from Roger Waters.

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

Shudras are servants in India. Chances are, I was a stay at home dad bitch in the past lifetime until I made the decision to earn my freedom.

Daughter

By doing stand up comedy for free at towny bars in Westchester County?

 

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Bible says seeking out the counsel of medium’s, even it’s a talking Palomino Horse is forbidden.

Daughter

What if we just write off the counsel as you being a crazed schizophrenic? Who hears me crying even if I’m not anyway.

 

INT. HOME

Daughter

What are castes Dada?

Do It All Dad From upper middle, to lower deplorable is a chapter in my book, which explains what happens when you come out as pro Trumpian in Hillary Hammer Time Cankles country.

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Hindus say our fates our determined by Karma.

Daughter

Well God, gave you endless blankets of love in the form of me, Arthur and Samuel. Who adore you more every day. Does that mean you’re straight shooter with purpose?

Michael Kornbluth

Good Luck Guru

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Bible says seeking out the counsel of medium’s, even it’s a talking Palomino Horse is forbidden.

Daughter

What if we just write off the counsel as you being a crazed schizophrenic? Who hears me crying even if I’m not anyway.

 

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Hindus say our fates our determined by Karma.

Daughter

Well God, gave you an endless blanket of love in the form of me, Arthur and Samuel. Who adore you more every day. Does that mean you’re straight shooter with purpose?

 

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

Shudras are servants in India. Chances are, I was a stay at home dad bitch in the past lifetime until I made the decision to earn my freedom.

Daughter

By doing stand up comedy for free at towny bars in Westchester County?

INT. HOME

Daughter

What are castes Dada?

Do It All Dad

From upper middle, to lower deplorable is a chapter in my book, which explains what happens when you come out as pro Trumpian in Hillary Hammer Time Cankles country.

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

Vaishyas are merchants in India.

Daughter

So you’ve got bad karma to root out, if you’re stuck working as an IT recruiter into your forties, exploiting indentured H1-B workers for all their worth?

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

Brahmans in India are teachers and priests. They’re less touchy feely Church types. They also don’t insist on possessing absolute sin absolution power either.

Daughter

Who does these priests think they are? They’re not God.

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Hindu God Vishnu embodies righteousness.

Daughter

Let me guess, ANTIFA calls him a fascist racist because he follows President Trump on Twitter.

 

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

The Hindu God Shiva embodies power.

Daughter

Do you think he does box jumps also? Or is he just genetically jacked that way?

Do It All Dad

I think yoga out of the womb made his core super strong long time.

INT. HOME

Do It All Dad

Hindus believe in a universal God who takes on many forms.

Daughter

Like in a Palomino Horse. They’re so pretty. Would you ever divorce mama for talking Palomino horse if it was pretty enough? Would mama let you out on dates?

Do It All Dad

I shouldn’t have made out with your stuffed animal Pineapple Pretty to show off my playful, young at heart depraved side after all.

Michael Kornbluth

They’re Not God

If you want to get through to somebody you better be funny.

Jules Feiffer

 

Why is raising my children Jewish important to me? Knowing I just learned at 43 years old 3 kids later, how the Mezuzah necklace my father has worn since his Dad died when he was only 23, from radiation emissions during the big one during World War 2, contains the verses from Deuteronomy commanding the Jewish people to hang a Mezuzah on our doorposts and love God with all our soul instead of new rules on Real Time with Bill Maher.

Let’s start with my time at a Conservative Synagogue for the High Holy Days, I’m not a member of, to make peace with my anger issues with God for the start of Rosh Hashanah 2019.  The English translated passage, impacting my spiritual rearing of my children the most described the most indestructible type of faith in God. As a mixture of faith amassed from proactive individual study and personal inventory of your own internal probing experience combined with the faith which is commanded to learn in the form of memorized Haftorah portion by your Jewish Dad from Pond Place. Whose father was the President of his Synagogue in the Bronx, long before the new Yankee stadium was built, otherwise known as the House That Gentrification Built.

It is this rock solid, unbeatable, Road Warriors, tag team combo of God commanded, Jewish dad pusher man faith, combined with a gratitude inflected, soul rebel infused,  introspective path from within, I’d like to set my three children on, without my constant hammering of you better obey or else suffer the rage of God next time you think it’s funny to hit daddy in the nuts, idolize Miley Cyrus or kick your sister’s private parts in the bubble.

 

Raising my kids Jewish was important to me even before I learned how my mother in law force fed my kids Eucharist at her Ukrainian church, behind my back during Ukrainian Christmas, which is never kosher, not even in Bill Maher’s book, despite him not believing in God at all thinking, it’s all just meaningless fake news pageantry bullshit in the first place.

 

Just to clarify for clueless Jews who didn’t intermarry into a family with a Ukrainian mother in law, who writes God Bless on every card imaginable, even the one for the Biden family who live in the same neighborhood in Delaware, despite knowing their son Hunter had sexual relations with their dead son’s ex-wife but I digress.

Yeah, so Eucharist also means communion, which is where you kneel down to eat the wafer, acknowledging it as the body of Christ, ensuring your entry into Christian defined Heaven as some sort of loophole if your Jewish blood containing children from dad’s side were never baptized out of the womb. Come to think of it, being Baptized is really the antithesis to the love supreme faith package I described before, combining personal belief and faith pushed upon you from Hebrew School. Because according to the Christian faith, without a Baptism you can’t get into Heaven, case closed. But wouldn’t God, regardless of whether you accept Jesus as the son of God or not, prefer you come to love the totality of the all mighty after you developed some life experience under your belt, experienced some trials and tribulations or been blessed to be in the delivery room for not one but all 3 of your unplanned bundles of sunshine? Knowing, a baby out of the womb starts off pure, with no surging sexual appetites to drive them insane in the membrane yet.

 

Raising my kids Jewish is important to me because I do believe in the power of prayer because I’ve only acknowledged a Jewish God in my life forever and he’s always come through for me when I needed him the most. One summer, after my 1st time big time request of God in the form of potential summer romance, he gave me my summer wind Katie on the Cape, making this 20-year-old virgin at the time a very happy man, by teaching how happy I was capable of making another. My three children only reinforce that mantra every day, especially my youngest, baby Samuel, AKA, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo. Funnier dad, happier baby, baby.

Also, after my wife was in labor forever with my 1st kid, Matilda, AKA, Grace In Motion, I prayed for God to ensure my knock-kneed putz embedded DNA skipped a generation. Now, my daughter is breaking high jump records at school at 8 and conducting parent teacher gymnastic school update conferences with her daddy, regarding progress reports involving her 2 adoring, younger brothers in training under her hardcore, future Olympian gymnasts in training supervision.  I also had cousins on my father’s side who were killed in the Holocaust for the crime of being Jewish. For that reason alone, I feel compelled to raise my kids Jewish knowing, my children are able to live out dreams they never could.

 

Raising my kids Jewish is important to me, because my funny Jew bone is a tremendous source pride for me, which all 3 of my kids inherited and no Nazi or hate speech police monitor at Facebook and beyond could ever take that away from me. Last, I tell my daughter whose already had her mikveh, ritual bath conversion ceremony already, how I felt ostracized from the Rabbi on the Bimah during Rosh Hashanah services over the past two days. The Female Rabbi’s passive aggressive acknowledgment of my presence there without my wife and kids, stems from a past preliminary conversation about getting a mikveh conversion ceremony for my hospital circumcised sons since she became aware of the fact of how my wife had no plans of converting to Judaism. My mom converting and no longer attending synagogue after she converted for my Dad didn’t help the case for my wife converting if I chose to push the issue.

 

Still, I never asked my wife to convert on my wife stating, “You don’t want to covert fine, but I want to raise the kids Jewish.” She replies, “But we have to raise the kids on a pescatarian diet, fish, veggies and cheese. I say, “Jesus the fisherman was the original super Jew, sold.”  Still, it was impossible to not feel a look of shame descend upon me from the Rabbi on back to back days of services for Rosh Hashanah like I was some unwanted, resurgent herpes sore on the spot during services. Blissfully unaware of almost the entire 614 commandments such as seeking out consulting services of Fortune Tellers in LA only to learn my Chakras were more clogged than my Freshman one hitter. Also, learning the other big no, no in Deuteronomy is for Jews not to marry gentiles. The logic behind this Jewish law, is the fear of non-Israelite women turning your Jewish blood infused kid’s hearts to their Gentile God and prophets.  I’m not freaking out over this prospect yet, knowing my kid’s initial reaction to stain glass window displays at the Met was, “Pretty Dada, but too Churchy. Also, my daughter stating, “Who do these Rabbis think they are, defining whose more deserving of God’s love than the other. They’re not God Dada.”  God could use more hardcore spiritual warriors like my daughter on his side.

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Happy Jewish Afterlife

I believe the liberation of my people from death camps in Germany is proof God exists. And how the existence of Roger Waters proves there’s us and whinier, British malcontents who wish White Walkers could’ve finished the job on their behalf.

My Hebrew School failed in teaching us about the concept of an alluded to afterlife. Consisting of a place above with glow enshrouded souls, giddy with delight over not having to futz with going to the dry cleaners ever again. Feeling cleansed of all penetrable jealousies emanating from your Aussie brother in law for not being confused for Mel Brooks ever. Knowing he wasn’t chosen to be blessed with the funny Jew bone, nor made tough enough to endure goonish laugh producing periods of non-stop taunting despair, in the face of relentless imposed doubt from family members, friends, scuzzy sales bosses and joke sampled on strangers at large.

 

An Aussie brother in law whose only way to impress the opposite sex is by inserting his Aussie accent of old before moving to Delaware with his family, in the place of any semblance of personality to showcase at all. An Aussie brother in law who will never know what it feels like to unearth comedy gold, only after decades of digging for it within the deepest pits of your kvetching, rewriting righting soul.

Another way to ensure my funny man soul lives on is through reading the Old Testament this summer already. Getting closer to God will be a blast, further away from my aimless, MOJO rising not so much yet past. Ensuring my 3 kids, will possess a more intimate, heightened understanding behind the power of soul outside of blasting and puking their brains out in college to Jimi Hendrix’s blowing your mind with Power of Soul  on the Band of Gypsies, from killing floor, Fillmore East, New Years Eve show pasts.  I need to get familiar with my Torah like Abe Lincoln before me, if I plan to prove my worthiness to write Stay At Home Rabbi already. I’m thinking of pitching the book to Harper Collins and Rape Wood as Billy Madison meets Mr. Fantastic. Can I get a Hollah for some Challah? Because Adam Sandler isn’t the only true funny man, non-resistor Jew capable of bringing in big deal bread boyy!

The End,

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

Greatest Moderate Muslim Of All Time

Ali never declared Islam the greatest religion of all time. Insisting you better recognize or else Infidel. That means, chosen people my ass Cosell.

 
Ali didn’t devalue 911 by stating “some people did something”. He’d say those terrorists don’t represent me. What they did wasn’t courageous unlike Bill Maher barebacking with She He’s.
Ali appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated 38 times. And not once did you feel SI was trying to fulfill a Muslim forced diversity quota out of fear of offending old school militant Malcolm X before his pilgrimage to Mecca.
Ali never insisted the Jews in Hollywood gave their six million dead more specialty treatment coverage because they run the media, complain too much and never got over their interest charging, predatory lending business bleed into the red on such a big, generational wealth stealing scale.

 

Ali never described the Holocaust as giving him a “calm feeling.” Knowing, Norman Mailer’s mom would be spared. So, her son could report on Ali’s Thrilla In Manila and give Coltrane jerking off Jazz critics a means to afford to their rent-controlled apartments in the East Village by founding the Village Voice in the process.

 
Ali clowned around with the Beatles. And never accused them of exploiting the teenager in love humanity of Chuck Berry’s catalog of hits for all it was worth to their all about the Benjamin’s infidel, flaming gay manager Brian Epstein either.

 
Ali famously declared, “no Vietcong, have tried to kill me.” Never coming to close to today’s accusations of Trump bad for never stopping our military from knocking off Somalian Jihadists with drones in the name of poetic justice.
Ali never accused Israel of ethnic cleansing before Palestinian suicide bombers left Netanyahu no choice but to build the chosen people who elected him, the wall.

 

 

If alive today, both Ali and Mandela would try to stop the widespread murder of white South African Farmers, ensuring the story got more shouts outs than from the Michael Savage podcast and on Tucker Carlson the following evening.

 

 

Ali never accused Dick Cavett of trying to silence powerful Muslim voices by putting his audience to sleep when it was the host’s turn to speak.

 

 

Ali remained friendly with Sammy Davis Junior after he converted to Judaism like shorter, dapper, less nerdy stiff version of Rod Carew.
Ali kept fighting past his prime to give his purse money for charities not including the UN death tunnel digging fund for Hamas.
Ali never called Hitler a “great man” or refer to Sammy Davis Junior as part Candy Man part Cock Roach.

 

Ali never pushed for boycotts of Israel. But I’m sure he’d question Obama Nuke gifting Iran. In an alleged effort to stimulate their economy and make it less dependent on the sale of hair removal products for Khloe Kardashian.

 

Ali celebrated his comeback victory against Joe Frazier over an Ice Cream bar, slamming Root Beer Floats, with Malcolm X. Without threatening to impeach the motherfucker boxing commission for stealing his boxing license in his prime what’s my name, you better recognize years.

The End
By,

Michael Kornbluth

Flax Seeds Are Off The List Honestly

Do It All Dad Advice
Son, never tell a girl to hold it.
Can you please hold it? Would work in your favor though.

INT. CAR
Stay At Home Comedian
I think my Dunkin Donuts turkey sausage power breakfast on flatbread needs more flaxseeds. Eating it was like going down on a bird feeder.

Watching the Doors with my kids.
Aren’t those canals in Venice Beach cool?
I want to live there.
It’s become a giant tent street.
Moonlight drives are no longer as scenic.
Tripping on acid there could get ugly real fast also.

INT. STOP AND SHOP
Cashier
Do you have ID?
Stay At Home Comedian
Pretend I’m an illegal alien who can’t speak a word of English.

VP Joe Biden skinny dipping in his DE estate home surrounded by Secret Service detail.
Told you I was bigger than boogie boarder.

Explaining the MAGA hat to my kids.
The hate represents unapologetic pride in American exceptionalism. In other words, it’s a huge middle finger directed at every sore loser whose made the past 2 years a living hell for parties.

Mushy Soy Boy trying too hard to prove he’s no toxic masculinity offender on a 1st date with Natasha Romanoff’s baby sister. I think all women of Russian descent should be given equal access to Russian Spy job openings in the KGB.

Int. Bedroom
Wife
Can you put Broccoli in your peanut noodle dish next time?
Stay At Home Comedian
I was thinking carrots instead. My dish, my call. But I appreciate your effort to turn me into a neutered hipster, fake feminist.

INT. Car
Stay At Home Comedian
500 podcasts downloads in one day, means the Do It All Dad Year Podcast is cooking. There’s no other young voice out there which can compare.
Daughter
You mean no other 20 year old’s host a podcast?

EXT. HOUSE
Stay At Home Comedian
Matilda, call me a pussy if I whip out my North Face fleece for a 2 second walk to the deli.

2 seconds later.

Daughter
You fulfilled your pussy prophecy dad, congratulations, you big pussy.

INT. KITCHEN

Stay At Home Comedian

You were crushing the whiffle ball yesterday Matilda, going yard every time.

Daughter
When Cody at school hits a home run he calls it a dinger.

Stay At Home Comedian

Great your 2nd grade crush is Mr. Ding Donger in the flesh.

Whenever I hear the mention of low wage labor on droning Mark Levin podcasts, I become ashamed about my IT Recruiter background in LA knowing I could’ve made more money selling oranges to acid freaks on Venice Beach.

Explaining Shamans to my kids with the Doors on.
Shamans are medicine men who heal sick people after they puke out peyote buttons.

Felicity Hoffman at the Bel Air Country Club with the girls.

If she wanted to be an actress, her shitty SAT scores wouldn’t matter. Can you picture Cher feeling the need to increase her word power, trying to converse with Greg Allman?

Kids getting jealous over Bruce Lee.
Daddy, what’s one thing Bruce Lee wasn’t good at?
Fart control from too much soy.

Nothing gets me more pumped than reading John Cho leads the cast for the live action adaptation of Cowboy Bebop. Does he play the Asian version of a blind Charlie Parker? Who laid down tracks on the Orient Express before he gets signed by Columbia Records?

 

Son bitching about his big sister.
Matilda, always wants to play family. And I’m tired of playing the white dad whose always apologizing like an ineffectual pussy like every heartbroken putz in a Chicago Song. How can I go on?

The main event for Wrestlemania this year has Ronda Rousey, Becky Lynch and Charlotte Flair in a Triple Threat match. If you have zero interest in watching this match, then your toxic masculinity doesn’t bother you one bit.

Asshole Observation
On the book cover of Reese Witherspoon’s southern goth lifestyle meets Bel Air chic cookbook, Whiskey in a Teacup, she’s covering her chin with a teacup on purpose. Friends in it aren’t as flattering in polka dots either.

INT. DELI
Stay At Home Comedian
A bag would be great.
I’ll do it myself. Thanks for nothing.

INT. HOME
Stay At Home Comedian
Play Honestly by Stryper at my funeral.
Wife
Write a living will then.
Stay At Home Comedian
I’ve got 2 best sellers to finish 1st.
Or else the rest of my will won’t have much to give.

 

INT. HOME
Stay At Home Comedian
Wouldn’t it be nice if God was flattered by our constant praise and admiration of his handy work? Imagine God no longer grumbling in your head, obey my law or else.

Wife
You’re talking like a real Christian.
Of course Jesus finally talks to you through Christian Hair Metal.

Stay At Home Comedian
To hell with the speed devil trying to trick me into thinking he’s responsible for my comedy gold making, not you Lord. I’m giving up the Adderall this time forever.  I promise God, honestly.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

No, He’s My Daddy

My 4 year son old Art Show USA was born on New Years Day. So, he’ll never be hard pressed to recruit boys out on his birthday. Before the inevitable last minute desperate dash toward whatever non-hoarded around muff in attendance.

My son’s real name is Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. Your move Judd Apatow. That’s right, you were blessed with too overly heady, nerdy girls. Google death was funny though. Albert Brooks saved This is 40 from being passable as a comedy film Woody.

So my son’s name Arthur Morrison Kornbluth is fitting because he was born in the true spirit of f you parental rebellion. After my dad urged me to refrain from having more after Matilda. Enjoy more Indian Summers in Arizona without us pops.

Arthur was the only planned baby of my 3 but certainly not in the wholesome loving sense. My dad says on my birthday. Don’t have a 2nd kid. I can’t afford it. I pulverize my wife’s vagina 2 hours later. Now Art Show is 5 in 11 hours.

Art Show USA was the easiest birth ever and he’s a a dreamboat existence since. He slipped out of mama easier than I do from behind her doggy style 3 kids later. Paging Doc Hollywood. Vag Tighten up in aisle 1.

After I had Arthur, I remember my dad saying. Coaching you in basketball is a great memory of mine. Strangling my self-esteem like a non-touchy feely Bobby Knight by calling me a soft pussy constantly did wonders for my self-esteem also.

No he’s my daddy screams, I’ll be in no rush to join a Fraternity to prove my manhood to strangers in baseball hats. Who can’t wait to exact revenge on pledges because they wanted easy access to fresh off the press puss.

No he’s my daddy, means, he doesn’t give me middling, less slovenly, sloppy seconds treatment compared to virtual grandparents on both sides of the bare minimum grandparents divide.

When Arthur and Matilda fought over dad ownership rights as I tucked them both in. By each one out pronouncing each other. No he’s my daddy. No he’s my daddy. I felt like Hugh Hefner minus the mansion, sex life and cashmere slippers.

It’s very flattering to have your 2 kids fight over ownership rights of you. No, he’s my daddy, no he’s my daddy. I think it’s safe to say I don’t have a future Magic Mike or girl from the Fallen Angel video on my hands yet either.

To hear my son say, no he’s my daddy screams, back off big sis. I hate girls being 1st. I don’t care what NPR says.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Politically Incorrect Prisoner of The Year

Daddy, why do Goldfish die young? Because they’re not holding their breath at the shot of skinny dipping with Christie Brinkley.

Christine Blasey Ford was a runner up for Time Person of the Year. Michelle Obama didn’t even make honorable mention. I think it’s time for a new publicist.

Why wasn’t Anthony Bourdain Time Person of the Year? He was a writer journalist who died for what he believed in. That’s right, he trolled Hillary on Twitter for taking campaign donations from known rapists like Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein, duh.
And where’s my nomination for Time Person of the Year? Corporate America has insisted on keeping me imprisoned under house arrest as a Stay at Home Comedian/Father of 3 because I’m a pro Trump truther prisoner of political correctness.
A Vasectomy is like playing God or a Bartender who refuses to serve you after you’ve had too many.
A Vasectomy screams I’ve got enough knots in my back already. One more in my groin won’t make much of a difference.
A Vasectomy screams after this, I’m done tying knots with either sex period.

Old Bud
I dreamed of you owning a vacation home in New Mexico.

Me
Georgia O’Keefe did good work there. Personally, I prefer her labia looking flower paintings because they burst with more eye fucking sensuality.

If the CEO of Google called me at Robert Half, I’d assume he was an H1-B, claim our connection was bad and hang up on him next. Thinking, I’d have an easier time penning a Bollywood musical than making a fee off this guy.
My son tires from over-exposure to my wife like me. He wines. “Why does mommy always have to drop me off at Pre-K?” She does this twice a week max. NPR & Indy Rock drive him nuts strapped into his car seat minus my father figure veto powers in times of war.

Why do my people, elitist Jews hate Trump so much? Either A) They’re hack writers who can’t stand his far greater Twitter following or B) They’re no names Sales Directors. Who might make enough to live in a building Trump owns.
INT. HOME
Wife
You’re hanging out with Dave on Christmas Eve?
Me
I never see him. Plus, he’s listened to 1 more podcast than you have out of 57 so far. Last, I can play socket puppets with the kids with your mom’s gift when I get back. Plus, babe, I’m Jewish. So, Mass isn’t a Holiday Event to be checked off in my Outlook Calendar, no offense.

Divorcing my parents was a good deal for them. They pay child support in the form of Pre-K for only 1 out of their 3 grandchildren. Which is cheaper than minimum child support payments in Texas. Plus, they save money on gas because they never visit.
Daddy laying his foot down. Get away from my 40 of Grapefruit Seltzer. I’m not drinking IPA’s, wine or bourbon till your birthday kid. It’s all Daddy’s got left. Daddy, what’s a 40? Snoop Dog’s ho sprayer of choice.
All the talking heads on Fox sound the same when defending their belief in God. I’m better off believing. Who else who could’ve created all this majesty? My answer is simple. I believe in God because my 3 kids worship me like the All Mighty himself. Plus, they love to caress my holy, wise beard. And deep down I know God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. Last, I’m a true believer because my mother sulks as my 3 kids blanket with me love in her presence and my son hugged me after my dad sulked from me reading my DM from Richard Lewis.
The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

The Meaning of the Hebrew Hammer

Dad texts 9:45 EST. Michael, have the kids call us tomorrow tonight at 6:30 so we can wish them a happy #Chanukah. And I’m thinking, chopped liver gets more respect from gentiles than this.

Call my nurse wife at work at night.

Wife
Is everything OK?
Me
You should defriend whoever gave you this wine for your birthday.
It tastes like Manischewitz and your mom’s cheap shit Prosecco had a baby.

Wife
Why are you drinking my wine?
Me
I just learned the Good Men Project is republishing 19 of pieces before sundown on the 1st night of #Chanukah .
Wife
Guess you deserve it.
Me
Why didn’t you say spoiler alert 1st?

Thanks and Praises Prayer
Lord, thanks for making my daughter Matilda so me oriented sweet. Her hair band holder #Chanukah gift to clip my felt tip pen around my wrist because I had stained my beige Levi jean pockets made me feel I’ve done good.

Thanks and Praises Prayer Part 2
Lord, thanks for the 25 dollar telescope steal of the century at Goodwill. It made the best big kahuna group #Chanukah gift ever. I think my wife wanted to overdose on the vitamins she gave the kids prior.

INT. NORDSTROM
Me
I’d like this Ugg Slipper because the grey one will encourage my wife to wear her black robe with floral print which I can’t stand. When my daughter wears it, I resent my wife for turning me off from my daughter.

INT. HOME
Me
Pete Davidson trending on Twitter again is really testing my commitment to comedy. I never contemplated cheating on comedy until now Matilda. That kid exudes less personable charm than a wax replica of Paul O’Neil.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 1
Andy Dick orders his pet reindeer’s Jew Hater Horn 1 and 2 to impale his Jew Lover dad Santa to death because he worshiped the golden Jew Adam Sandler more because he’s more child friendly than Dick.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 2
Andy Dick, Santa’s Jew hating son, has Santa’s Reindeer kill Santa because he refused to back Mitt Romney’s bid to gut Dreidel World and turn it into an Illuminati looking Nutcracker factory.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

LAST PERSON ON EARTH DESERVING MY SCORN

I hate to admit it but I’m too liberal with my screaming voice, especially around my 3 children, especially around Matilda, my 1st born. My best friend in the universe. I recall getting jealous of her wish at the mall once. I give her a quarter to throw in the fountain. I ask what she wished for. She wished, her old school Pre-K friend Cecilia never dies. And I say. “Did you ever considering wishing that your borderline hilarious dad never bombs on stage with an untested opener again sunshine? Because once the hole is dug, you’re like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill flailing with all of your might, in a coffin buried six feet under. And I never took Kung Fu like yourself to learn the 5-point palm exploding heart technique to use in case I’m confronted with another life or death emergency of my own doing, again and again.”
Last night, I’m downstairs with my wife watching the season finale for Always Sunny, “Mac Finds His Pride”, all 3 kids are asleep, so I think around nine. Then, I hear some slight feet poundage upstairs. I freak out prematurely. What’s new? And yell “go to bed” like Charlie from Always Sunny because he yells all his lines 99% of the time. And my pitch perfect daughter replies in an ultra-upset perplexed state, “I was just going to the bathroom.” Talk about feeling like a total rageful, hateful, Twitter Twat resistor on the spot. Within less than 2 seconds, I became what I detest most. The yelling, hysterical, bile bully cliché incarnate.

I always stress to my kids the importance of trusting their gut to determine right from wrong. So, wanting to keep my a-hole enshrouded hypocritical streak from sapping it of all parental pride left all together. I dart upstairs to kiss my best friend on the cheek and stroke her forehead before telling her I’m sorry. “Daddy overreacted, and you don’t deserve to be yelled at ever. I’m so sorry. It’s ok Daddy. I just had to go to the bathroom. Stop rubbing it in, I feel crappy enough already.”

But is yelling at your kids really so bad? It didn’t work out too well for me as a kid. My dad yelled at me most when he coached me in basketball in elementary school. “Go up strong, stop jamming your fingers already, you knock-kneed freak. I don’t know how were related. Stop playing so soft. Who runs down the court on their tippy toes? I blew one hundred twenty dollars on David Robinson High Tops, not Jimmy Choo’s.” Or during Thanksgiving 1 year I recall my dad requesting with begrudging this is all my son has to offer bile. “Say something funny”, because that’s all your good for obviously. Would have I turned out to be less of an indecisive nervous wreck in high school on the court or off, especially around girls until I finally got to 2nd base summer after my Junior year in High School on a Kibbutz in Israel, if my dad was more of an emotive empowerer than a Screaming Nazi? I think so. Here I go again, using loaded Nazi language from the too liberal screamers on the left, using, reprehensible Nazi smears to silence any differing opinion against open borders for anyone who wants to crash our boomtime post Trumpian economy. No bouncers, metal detectors or dress code required.
Then again, I didn’t give my father much to emote about outside of killing it during my Bar Mitzvah during my Haftorah portion reading, which we worked on together. My dad reflects today. “Now your younger brother sucked up the joint at his Bar Mitzvah big time.” But my younger brother was always the favorite because he played football and that’s all that matters for my American Dad. You want not 1 but 2 girlfriends invited to your Bar Mitzvah party who you mounted during your mountain climbs during Wilderness Ventures, no problem, more the merrier son. Hold the party at a fancy country club in Lake Isle vs the shabby interior of the Reform Temple, normally used for seminars on “REFORMED WAYS TO NOT TOTALLY DISMISS JESUS AS FAKE NEWS PROPHET OF ANY KIND” Or other reform minded seminars including “HOW REFORMED JEWS CAN BE LESS ANTI-CHRIST.” But let’s be honest here folks. Comparing the wrathful tone of Leviticus to the PG friendly book of Matthew is like comparing Samantha Bee these days to Mr. Rogers.
The thing is my 3 kids, especially Matilda, never give me any real reason to yell at them. She looks up to me, respects me, cheers me, launches into yummy dances in honor of my veggie casserole supreme. Whizzing around the house with her 2 brothers behind, chanting, “best daddy ever, best daddy ever.” Just yesterday, my 7-year old daughter Matilda, Miss Musicality, draws me a complimentary Pinterest like Pinboard drawing on my computer paper of me teaching her about our 3 past General US presidents yesterday for Veterans Day. Drawing a guitar with lipstick on it, signifying her dad’s love for Poison’s C.C Deville’s guitar shafts in the video Nothing but Good Time. Who could resist? After I’m done playing teacher, which my daughter draws in crayon on her picture of me, “Dad playing teacher.” I say to my daughter. “Matilda if anyone at school ever says George Washington was a racist, you tell them he was the only slave holding US president ever to release all 120 of them. Plus, on top of that he hooked up all his ex-slaves with trust funds for their labors out of white privilege, I’m assuming. Which I can buy into 400 years ago as a living, breathing, oppressive, dehumanizing, non-Kosher reality, obviously.” My daughter replies. “But daddy, what’s a trust fund? It’s a paycheck you get every month from your rich parents when you get older. But it’s spread out over time to ensure you don’t become a coked-out, tormented degenerate. Who only hears last call from the bathroom stall for starters. Nobody earns the nickname Sir Snort A Lot for nothing.”
Sweet, Singing Rose Matilda. She always slept when I went for runs in her stroller along the Bronx River as I prepared for my 1st half marathon in Maine. Which I completed, hobbled with what felt like Daniels Day’s Lewis wart infested, callous hardened, stress attack of a sprained, club left foot for my final 6-mile stretch. Pure adrenaline and me telling myself, prove to your dad you’re not soft, pushed me past the finish line with super charged, kick start my heart, sober revived Motley Crew gusto. Then, I went to my kiss my 2-year-old son, Art Show USA after blazing past the finish line. Come to think of it, finishing strong has always been my forte assuming I commit to finishing before new goals grip my inner drive whole. I’m an all over the place, exhausting Aries through and through I know.

Anyway, back to my stupendous, high stepping, poor man’s prime time dart across the half marathon finish line. I dart right over to my beautiful, 1-year old son, Arthur Morison, most fuss free birth ever.

Been a radiant light of good vibrations and a hilarious undertow of sweet powered undertow ever since. So, there he is my beautiful boy. Who I want to love better and be a dream emotive empowerer the way I’ve continued to strive to be for his big sister and baby brother Samuel now. I lean in to hug my boy and my stiff, bore of a mother-in-law extends her stubby forearm and stiff arms me, trying to prevent me from embracing my beautiful, victorious moment with my baby boy because he was “sleeping.” I mouthed off. “You see the kids how many times each year? And now your playing concerned, all knowing, in tune with my kids sleep rhythms Grandma. I don’t think so Crumpet breath. Jewish Doubtfire over here don’t play that. I’ve raised my 3 kids no thanks to you or my mother for that matter. If anything, your granddaughter Matilda, is the best, present, involved Grandma figure her younger brother Arthur and now baby Samuel have. Whose wise beyond her years. She reads to them, puts on Hula Hoop Hip Hop shows with them, leads exercise routines with them, grabs nappies and a beer for daddy from the fridge on demand, no resistance, no I’m tired, no I’m not your wet nurse, ever.”

My daughter Matilda has been with me for all of the greatest moments of my life, outside of me killing at the New York Comedy Club for 1 of my 1st bringer shows where my old high school buds showed up. Best compliment I got that night was from a kid who hijacked my best friend in high school. The hijacker friend after the show says. “Loved your set and I don’t even like you.”
I never forgave my fake news, supposed best friend in high school for never acknowledging my John Candy biography book I got for his birthday one year. I wrote an inscription inside the book and everything. Come to think of it, I haven’t found the sub best friend to give such a personal, expressive gift to since. Until, my daughter Matilda was born. We saw Billy Joel for her 3rd birthday in Madison Square Garden. My mom warns. Make sure my granddaughter wears ear plugs. And I’m thinking. Whatever mom, we’re seeing Billy Joel, not Metallica front row. As a whole, Bill Joel’s music, especially these days sounds like lullaby music for eighties Republicans but thanks for your all insightful, buzz kill input as always.
I never want to be without my daughter. She’s pure, pollutant free sunshine come rain or shine. Yelling at sweet Matilda ever is like yelling at the Great Barrier Reef if you were a stubborn minded Atheist till snorkeling down under. Now face to face with pristine maritime, Genesis creation in real life, not on the page wonder. Incapable of refuting God’s handywork all around you.

You don’t know what love is until you father a girl and have your 7-year-old daughter profess how much she prefers your company over mama. Not that I needed any verbal confirmation of those deep rooted, feelings because I felt them within the depths of my core already. By the way sweet Matilda jumps into my arms after school. By the way, she strokes my beard but not for too long or I cut her off before I tuck her in at night. Or from the way, she snuggles up close to me at night in bed to do more Mad Libs and insist I use Unibrow for body parts again and again, if Buffalo Balls wasn’t used already in our new Thanksgiving Mad Libs edition. I felt the depths of my daughters love when we made boatloads of commercials on YouTube for my creative tech design staffing agency that went nowhere. But the commercials were smart, creative and very funny. And my 6-year-old daughter back then, required minimal takes to nail her lines every time. We called it Comedy Camp. We even got the Rev Bob Levy from the Howard Stern show and Richard Lewis to throw nice warm words of praise in this do it all dad’s direction. Rev sends me a direct message on Twitter. “You got it kid, funny, very relaxed.” What a compliment, thanks Rev. I didn’t score 1 group laugh from stand-up comedy in LA for a whole year almost 12 years ago. Hard work really does pay off. But you most always work the muscle. Either you use or lose it.

The thing is I let myself be bullied and pushed around in high school because I didn’t know how to defend myself with my brain or fists. As a result, I’ve become determined to ensure my 3 children, starting with 1st born Matilda doesn’t suffer from the same fixable fate. My 7-Year Old Daughter is already Kettle bell dense strong. Thanks to me pushing Kettle Bells swing exercise starting at 4 upward. This is my daughter fat shaming to ensure I give up beer forever this time. “Daddy, I’ve got a 4 pack. You’ve got a zero pack.” Plus, Female Flash’s one-liners are far funnier fierce than mine will ever be, thanks to her absorption of my funny leanings and teachings of course, naturally.
“Always save the punchline for the last word Matilda, say it with relish, deliver it with forward force style, zero hesitation, keep punching, never relent, “think good and will be good.” It’s not the size of the dog, but the fight in it, but chill out on getting competitive with Jesus Christ for the time being.” If I want to trigger my daughter, I’ll say. “According to the Mormon’s, Jesus Christ was the closest thing to a perfect human being. My daughter replies. Why daddy, because he became a Jew for Jesus? Isn’t that big no, no, in our Old Testament Book?” One night, I made my 1st homemade pizza using cornmeal for the base, with burrata. Think cream filled mozzarella. I topped the pie with roasted cherry tomatoes from our garden, sliced and drizzled in olive oil, ample sea salt and fresh cut basil. Daughter takes 1 bite and says. “Daddy, I know you really want to be a stand-up comedian because you tell jokes all the time when we’re out of the house and always make strangers laugh at the deli and coffee shop, but can’t you be a pizza maker in heaven instead?” How can anyone in their right mind, feel compelled to ever be or act annoyed angry at that?
I used to think using a selective screaming voice was essential to signify when I was really pissed off at my kid’s behavior because I’ve always held them to higher social standards than ANITFA for starters. But if I’m brutally honest with myself, I haven’t been too selective with my screaming voice as of late. And in fact, become guilty of liberal overkill use of it.
Alternative solutions to my selective screaming voice to express extreme A+ annoyance? Mimicking my 20-month-old Samuel’s manufactured shrikes of discomfort with mere mimicry works like charm every time. I literally mimic his wincing wails with exaggerated, you’d think an Alien was eating my intestines about now look and my baby boy laughs hysterically at my mimicry. Because I’m killing the pseudo tense, projected mood by making my 20-month-old son laugh. Mirroring how ridiculous his fake news freak-out attacks appear in actual reality. And the essence of laughter is a cathartic release of pent up overblown, pouty prissiness. Controlling your kids with comedy really works folks.
But the same managing approach applies to your employers also. If you mimic how ridiculous your Software Engineer sounds if they start bitching about shared Taco Tuesdays knowing, they’re free and the Al Pastor ones are a slow cooker braised, succulent delight unavailable to you at home because your working wife doesn’t cook. It will give the employee a needed dose of diva highlighting perspective in a NY minute. Our children mirror our behavior and so do employees. If a boss always talks down to you like a stupid kid. They’re going to act petulant, feel sorry for themselves, retreat into a little shell under their nightie and blame their boss for keeping them down instead of accepting responsibility for themselves. Isn’t it better, to occasionally use humor to reflect how childish employees or our children sound? Assuming under normal circumstances we treat our kids and employees with respect and hold them to higher social standards than petulant, heartless, serially selfish, disrespectful Twitter twats.
All I ever hear when I’m out in public is how good, sweet and well behaved my 3 children are. Well, I also don’t sugar coat it when they’re acting demonstrative like when my 4-year-old son, little Arthur starts ordering his big sister to play what he wants to play. In these moments, I’ll say. “Chill out Little Hitler. Nobody’s interested in your shitty landscape drawings of the Rhine River.” Nobody likes being called “Little Hitler.” So, nickname shaming your kids into changing their behavior instead of unleashing the selective yelling voice works also. At the same time, if I called my son Little Hitler every time, he couldn’t sit still for story time and insisted on pushing the blankets off the bed instead. The sting of nickname shaming him would lose the implied, sarcastic aside intended meaning behind it. You know like when no name putz breath guests on CNN call President Trump Hitler. Really, Trump is the new Hitler? In what Inglorious Bastards 2? And no offense Eminem but make Nazi Germany great wasn’t his campaign slogan. Trump also lifted the lifetime ban on Jewish membership at Mar-A-Lago Slim on Facts Shady.
A Famous old school comic, Victor Borge said “The shortest distance between 2 people is laughter.” So, is it any wonder how close I am to my daughter? Knowing how our laugh count among ourselves for 7 years straight is through the roof. As the most beautiful laughs emanate from my pitch perfect daughter onward and upward to Comedy Clown Heaven and above. Lighting up heavy hearted clowns of yesteryear like the late great Joan Rivers, riffing on Michelle Obama’s new book with Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks, Rodney, Redd Fox, Patrice O’Neal, Greg Geraldo and Don Rickles at the famed Mount Olympus Diner. Joan Rivers says. “No offense Patrice, but if you were Melania, would you seek out advice on how to be a 1st lady from Michelle Obama? Like, Melania planned on rocking the Kwanza themed decorations for Christmas. Or had to rely on Michelle for fashion tips once Fashion Police got terminated. No thanks to that backstabbing bitch Kathy Griffin. Can we talk? She campaigned for my job when I was in a coma. God showed me the footage from above. And boy has Kathy Griffin gone bat shit crazy over Trump. What was she thinking with that hair? Now, Kathy looks like Clifford in Chemo and Trans Chucky had a baby. Joan lives.
The End,
By,
Michael Kornbluth