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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birthing My Babies

Georgia O’ Keefe, famous landscape muralist, said if you can’t give up something you love for 2 months in a row, you posses no strength of character or something like that. I tried to Google the quote and came up with goonish. So much for my  keyword, Boolean search recruiter background paying dividends for my writing career at all whatsoever.

So what must I give up that’s so important for me to birth my planned 2 babies in me this time around?  In order to prove to my 3 kids, only 1 being intentional how dad isn’t a spoiled, irresponsible, self-indulgent, crazed, alcholic, drug addict flake? Well, 1st I was thinking I only had to give up my cherished IPA’s, even my low calorie alternative Pap’s Blue Ribbon Tall Boys from the Deli. Which make me feel a tady hickish twentyish whenever I find myself buying them 2 at a time and drinking them for multiple days in a row straight. Despite, the famed Milkwakee brewer of such a slamable, crisp, pilsner, becoming rebranded in Willamsburg, Bushwick and beyond as the unofficiall hipster brew of choice.

But now I’m reached the conclusion outside of giving up on going to bars to watch my 1st love the Knicks this winter or with a friend like I see them anymore as a Stay At Comedian/Father of 3, knowing we’re on the cloud here at home. Outside of giving up my bombtastic, supple, hoppy forward, outrageously, lushytistic American made IPA’s, and my Knicks on TV this coming winter, my 3rd grandiose sacrifice in pursuit of securing what upstanding character I have left. And for the preservation of the focused, pure, loving  spirit of the incoming birth of my back to back inspired baby books, Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian. That documents my journey from boyhood to manhood through accepting responsibility for my degenerate lushy weekend, pot head littered ways in the past in exchange for getting high off the pure goodness of my 3 pitch perfect kids, baby Samuel’s inhalable feet and off my most impressive role yet, as our in house gourmand Pescatarian chef and host of our family meal review show starting tonight, Crazy Good Dada. Where I promote the mighty strength glory of the Pescatarian diet. Which is mostly, fish, veggies and cheese. By showcasing the wonderous raw power of my 7 year old daughter, Matilda, Singing Rose, AKA, Deltoids Dawn, doing one armed push ups on our family meal review show. Where we break the down the elements of what we ate, how many yummy dances it generated and what justified critiques, heckles or funny meal time storytelling it sparked in the process. Thereby, helping other do it all dads out there get inspired to make some heathy, delicious, Pescatarian meals for their kids during their ordained days of rest on the weekend. So their kids can make their working wives feel like slackers in comparison for a change.

How dare I imply any women of being  slackers in any capacity outside of bringing home the bacon. Kind of like how men today should believe all woman, regardless of logic or proof who charge a man of sexual harassment even when he works remote from home. Knowing all company Skype meetings start with the same old virtual office procedure as your boss states. Before we get this meeting started, folks, all the guys raise your hands up high where I can see them. Self-imposed butt plugs aren’t considered a form of toxic masculinity are they? But I digress.

So back to the more PG13 friendly leanings of our family meal cooking review show Crazy Good Dada. Where you’ll see my hulking, 7 year old daughter complete her 10 one armed pushed ups. Before barking at the camera with friendly fierce, fired up glee. Not enough protein? Followed by punching her left open palm hand with her close fisted one in a very, slow, deliberate, all knowing smirk. Which screams I’m the most proud, non-annoying feminist to the core. Who takes the utmost offense to anyone implying, I’m a weaker, energy deprived, subservient, flabby underling just because I don’t have any meat in my diet or ham and cheese on wonder bread for lunch either.

Ham and Cheese is a such a boring lunch, my 7 year daughter fumes on camera. She adds. And it’s not like your mom even uses good ham like prosciutto, topped with creamy, funky subdued cheese like Piave, just regular ham and white bread, boringgg. My daddy says the good old fashioned ham and cheese never went out of style. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, I never knew the ham and cheese sandwich had a style.

So do it all dad being me, I also host the Do It All Dad Podcast, dad friendly entertainment for you and me. I’ve produced 54 episodes so far, resulting in 27 hours of stand-up funny material in less than a year off the weed for the most part. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay at home dad years.

Still, the big sacrifice which I must give up for birth of my coming of age baby book Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian and Stay at Comedian, Controlling My Kids through comedy is my non stop worship and relentless pursuit of the most glorious, most high, except you the Lord, the body, spewing, spitastic, yanker laugh.

I’ve gotten quite proficient at being an A list laugh generator for the past 3 years as a Stay At Comedian but I can’t have that be the bane of my existence anymore nor let my obsession with proving my funny man chops. Knowing I no longer have the luxury of living in Queens and Brooklyn without kids to hop on stages whenever I want anytime old time.

My constant precoccupation with rewarding my good natured cheer generation to the world with beer or wine in addition to my addiction to carrying on my incessant love affairs with all my comedy bud strangers on Twitter must end until I birth these author career babies out of me.

My coming of age baby inspired parenting books are a result of beoming an unplanned stay at home comedian dad. And my 3 kids are a wonderful by product of my teaching, hustling and loving. And I’ve been given a taste of paradise and never want to slip away. I want more of it, a 4th kid even to give my 1st born the sister she never had. Doing stand up as a headliner doesn’t mesh with this dreamy lifestyle I want to perpetuate more than I still want to mount Elle the Body Mcpherson standing tall from behind. I have to bang out my next 2 coming of age baby books with aplomb and make them the literary equivalent to Slippery When Wet and New Jersey to give. myself the freedom to create more and be known in my kids school as a best selling, funny man published book author.

Plus, the success of Stay At Home Comedian book will allow me to control my kids even more so through comedy by getting them involved in the magic creation of our family meal review cooking Show Crazy Good Dada on the stay at home comedian work front. Also, more importantly, the success of these books, will allow me to extend my time at home with baby Samuel some more. Who I’m growing closer to every day, yeah, yeah.

Everything about daddy, he’s interested in, especially the Knicks basketballs on my shirts, ball, ball, ball. His 1st word by the way because he’s used to spending plenty of time watching do it all dad over here drain so many balls at the local playground court from way down town.

All of my codes on my phone and computer now are Samuel Wins. And that’s how I truly feel about my decision to launch this blog, do my podcast, write my baby books, get some sample chapters published in national magazines and launch this family meal review show with my kids because kids today need dad around more. And my kids growing love for each other, where they all can’t seem to get enough of each other or me yet, is living proof it. And quite flattering to contemplate, emote about and feel on a daily basis through and through, come rain or shine.

If Amy Shumer is going to have a kid now, I can suck up not drinking for nine months also. For the record, I’m not making this up, Amy Schumer’s really having a Garbage Pale Kid, Snot Nosed Sammy. And Sarah Silverman is crying herself to sleep tonight into her favorite bed wetting averting, nightie hoodie. Lena Dunham is losing.

But in order to put more pressure on myself to make sure I don’t fuck up my last show at proving to my kids dad possess the strength of upstanding character and isn’t a slacker wimp at his very core. I told my 7 year old daughter to withdraw all forms of hugs for me if she sees me drink any beer or wine till I finish birthing my 1st baby book, Stay At Home Comedian, Controlling My Kids through comedy. Because those hugs unlike more empty filler from Paps, I can’t live without.

Yes, Stay At Home Comedian will be my smash book debut. Where I document my rise from slug to stud. Where I become a paid, published author on the stay at home comedian dad front becoming the new face of the remote work revolution. Who at 43 years old finally gets his act together, conducts his weed exit interview on his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, removes the foggy, deadened past, nervous energy weight to his writing and ends up dunking a basketball at the end of the book. With a picture of me doing it, yelling from hanging on the rim. Waste of height no more pops, that being my dad. In your face, I proclaim with all mighty, divine powered gleam in my eyes, in your face, in your face.

By,
Michael Kornbluth

More Jokes Coming Out of Me

Me feeding into my kids white privilege.
The goat cheese, broccoli omelet was too tangy. I agree.
What does too tangy mean Dada? Too sour puss glum like the oppressed Heidi Cruz.

Lebron held a dunk contest at Staples last night? Does this make Lebron the King of Paper Dunk Champions now?

According to Stephen Hawking, there are forms of intelligent life out there. Take Kayne West for example.

Before Stephen Hawking died. He also said, “God never existed.” Hawking added. Watching Bill Maher’s doc Religulous is more anti-climatic for me than the Special Olympics. I prefer Ingmar Bergman films instead.

Married podcast couples exist now. As a form of Couples Therapy. These men aren’t forced to talk and hang out with their wives against their wills enough already, again and again?

Podcasting with my Daughter
What do you think of married couples podcasting together Dada?
I think mommy and Dad talk enough as it is.

I want to retire from podcasting now. Knowing married podcasting couples are getting thousands of more downloads than my Do It All Dad Year Podcast already. Why don’t you kiss me anymore? You couldn’t get into it on E too much either babe.

I really want to retire from podcasting. Knowing married podcasting couples are getting thousands of more downloads than my Do It All Dad Year Podcast. They discuss neighborhood gossip? So they get out of the house on date nights? I hate them all already.

Does a corporate mandate from Robison Oil exist? Insisting each Oil Technician claim every Boiler “is different?” Most companies in corporate America keep HR managers hidden in Boiler Rooms. Still chained to Baby Ruth machines, correct?

Me on the phone with Robison Oil. My report says a “burner coupling broke?” Like when Chris Martin from Coldplay turned cold on Gwyneth Paltrow’s Kama Sutra moves after too many Kimchi taco Tuesdays became a family tradition.

INT. Garage
Robison Oil Technician
Your Gauge Glass on your Boiler is rotted from too much leakage.
You see?
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
It looks like Freddie Krueger got the runs on it. Didn’t Jason end Freddie’s fist fucking reign of tear already?  I feel like Tom Green after Freddie Got Fingered fist fucked over his career.

Robison Oil Tech laughs long time.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

Jokes You Won’t Hear on Kimmel

Int. Bar
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
I’ll have another Oktoberfest.
Because I’m an elitist seasonal beer drinker.

Nurse wife comes home in the morning after working all night. She’s done giving baby boob and asks. Can I go to bed now?

I reply.  Are we living under Sharia Law now?  Yes, you’re allowed to sleep now. But only after I titty fuck you with this bomb strapped to your chest.

Int. Pre-K
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
Arthur won’t be in school tomorrow. I convinced his mother to take all 3 kids to Delaware for a long weekend. So I can get my book proposal out already. And not be a bitchy, dependent, underling the rest of my life.

Pre-K teacher laughs long time.

Resist this Eric Holder.
Jim Brown has been working at reforming LA gang members before Easy E kind of hit puberty.

Michelle Obama is class personified no doubt. As the ex 1st lady has she ever gone on record stating her 2 girls are composed, bright, celestial beams of light because she held them to higher social standards than ANTIFA? Just curious.

Int. Tavern
Older Woman
Your son is gorgeous. Your wife must be fetching in her own right.
Stay At Home Comedian Dad
But her arm fat. Which my other 5 year old son points out at the dinner table. Weighs heavily on her overall bangability index score these days. If you really need to know.

Brutal day for resistors.
Kid Rock and Kayne have more talent, courage, humor, style and originality than all the Seth lame Meyer critic clones combined. If you’re still not afraid of Trump. You’re not into your mother as much as Seth Myers.

Brutal day for Jay Z fans for thinking he’s the well meaning good one.
Kayne at the White House today is discussing gang violence prevention and prison reform, not big J. Kayne’s got 99 mental problems, huh? But genuine independent thought from SNL isn’t 1.

Int. White House
Trump
Give my love to Kim.
Kayne
Lorne Michaels is still kvetching to Paul Simon over wheat grass shots as we speak.

Int. Oval Office
Trump
Give my love to Hank Williams Jr. Kid.
Kid Rock
You know Sarah Palin let me grab her for an autograph on my record Rock and Roll Jesus. But I gave Mike Pence 1st dibs.

The End

By,.

Michael Kornbluth