The Wishing Well Architect

Art Show USA was no ordinary Wishing Well Architect. He designed a Wishing Well for Bill Gate’s daughter after buying her a horse farm in North Salem, NY only to clog it on purpose with Planned Parenthood brochures in honor of his former CEO dad for making such a splash as a baby part reseller on the open market. Otherwise known by pro-life activist groups as the Million Dollar Fetus Flicker Man.  

Art Show USA was a perfectionist artist. His Do It All Dad Michael Kornbluth, now a famous comedian author with a standup residency at MGM Grand in Las Vegas, would always encourage his son’s inborn artistic flair yet all his gorgeous, pitch perfect son would hear afterwards in semi-kidding fashion, “So you think I suck because.”

Every student teacher evaluation for Art Show USA was a pure joy to receive for his Do It All Dad because he got an extreme kick out of some teachers like his 1st grade one Mrs. Rudolph, who would bemoan in a begrudgingly, huffy manner, “We all know Arthur is a great artist”, only to rub in the harsh fact that teachers teach and birth less talented offspring for a reason.  

Do It All Dad always pounded into his eldest son’s cranium, “Art sells baby”, which always stayed with Art Show because he was haunted by early memories of his mom threatening to divorce his Dad if he wrote one more book and didn’t get a job at Trader Joe’s in Danbury, CT. So, his Dad doubled down on himself and wrote not one but 2 more books, without advertising the fact to his wife until he scored a Lit Agent in Israel with his book The Koshertarian Comedian and the rest is star studded history.  

Art Show made his 1st million from a lucrative birdhouse making business called, “Bird Baller Cribs” from only taking one woodworking class prior. He sold them at various Farmer’s Markets throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan, Woodstock and in Kingston, NY while his mother sold flowers with Art Show’s big sister from their new estate farm in North Salem, calling her Flower Truck, “Green Thumb Girl.”  Do It All Dad’s favorite birdhouse creation was his Kiss themed one that rocked a giant shaped bed similar to the one lead singer and main songwriter Paul Stanley lies on amidst an endless sprawl of busty, blond beauties in his Kiss lair in Beverly Hills, I’m assuming. Although the best part of this birdhouse creation was the giant Gene Simmons tongue extension bird feeding line, containing a sprinkling of some homemade CBD oil marinated granola, as more high-flying Blue Jays and Cardinals, licked it up, oh, oh, oh.  

Art Show USA cares plenty about Wishing Wells because ever since he could remember, he’d wish for his Do It All Dad’s books to succeed because, “Art sells baby.” The new and improved wish after his Daddy finally scored a lit agent, started his standup residency in Vegas and got into SAG for a film to co-star in with Russell Brand and Vince Vaughn called Too Tall Comedians, was for his dad to finally part with his precious time release Adderall, despite his claims of writing like a Jewish angel on the stuff. Reality is, Do It All Dad was an incredibly fast talking New Yorker to begin with, even on high grade weed. So he didn’t require any speedy thought enhancement, ever.

On Do It All Dad’s 45th birthday in Woodstock, NY he took a mini hike in the wood with his son Art Show USA only to bump into a wishing well along the way. Do It All Dad gave his son a customary quarter to make a wish with, although this time he wished his Dad would become convinced he’d become a bigtime author comedian success on or off the stuff period. Plus, he knew his Daddy off Adderall would focus less on how annoying mom can be with her phone during Adam Sandler Appreciation Night at home again and again.  Daddy was better off writing all day, performing at night and taking some weed edibles or a celebratory puff from his cherished green in addition to an IPA or 2, after another highly rewarding day at the office for making the most of his God given gift of comedic song.  

Art Show USA’s latest and greatest Wishing Well creation was made in Central Park near the Great Lawn, in the big city, the place of his birth like Do It Dad before him, which they both derived tremendous localtarian pride from, knowing the Island of Manhattan is what dreams of doer topper success are made of. The Wishing Well was named Do It All Dad Dumper, a tad longwinded name, even for Do It All Dad’s tastes. Still, the symbolic heft of this name wasn’t lost on the New York adoring public, especially after the Today Show did an unveiling of Do It All Dad Dumper, where a line of Do It All Dad’s followed Do It All Dad’s lead and dumped whatever pill, powder, drink or strain of dumb, dumb weed they felt was preventing them from flying high off their kid’s glorious presence alone.

Do It All Dad beamed with endless nachas, pride in Yiddish, derived from the reflective successful glow emanating from offspring, who stems from your Do It All Dad tree trunk. Do It All Dad picks up his son with excitable boy glee and gives him a 360 airplane spin for old times sake, despite Art Show being 6 foot 5 now and 20 years old. Art Show USA shrieks for untapped joy like he was 7 again. Do It All Dad continues to spin and says, “Teenager in love is all grownz up and he’s all grownz up. Are you too special to be real? Are you too special to be real?” Art Show USA shrieks with more love blasting joy and says with pitch perfect comedic timing, “Are you saying I suck because? Do It All Dad laughs longtime, wishing even his worst enemies got to experience Do It All Dad bliss like this.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Pitchwoman Of The Year

Aliens are capable of formulating and defending their own critical race theory to. Although a bunch of Think Tank Alien Eggheads from Planet Scrambled Over Easy declared the American Dream dead and it’s entire race plain stupid for thinking otherwise, on both sides of the political divide during it’s annual Brunch Expo address at their annual Northern Lights retreat on Planet Verde, known for its enormous Avocados trees, tricked out converted farmhouse party palaces, enveloped by Hop Farms galore and beautifully manicured baseball diamonds and fields of highly stimulating, brain tickling weed. Even Think Tank Alien Eggheads need to cool off their hyperactive brains with some baseball, buds and brews from time to time.

The Think Tank Alien Eggheads observed how unhinged and excessively biased the US media and Big Tech had become since the New Yorker from Queens exposed them for the feckless, misleading, self-serving, fear mongering, deliberately divisive, commie sell out bastards they’d become.  Close Encounters Of The 3rd Kind”, was voted the number one ranked Sci Fi film for 44 years in a row and counting, according to Egghead Alien Film Review Magazine, which still boasts an incredible print ad sales revenue, because on Planet Scrambled Easy, print is king and considered the most prestigious medium, attracting the universe’s most talented writers knowing they’re willing to pay up to 3 US Dollars per word. Plus, there’s no TV shows made on Planet Scrambled Over Easy except a hugely popular father son alien cooking show, called, Better Than Boobie. On this show, we learn the alien baby is a result of a mixed marriage between an alien and a busty, full lipped, tan Sicilian blooded Italian Barbera Bustiasti, originally hailing from Rochester, NY. On the show, our Stay-At-Home Alien Dad Host, Fried Brains Bourdain, a self-anointed in-house gourmand for the entire Planet Scrambled Over Easy, will ask his part human part alien baby, Chef Samuels what he thinks of his latest and greatest LEO scramble supreme, including, smoked salmon lox, scrambled eggs and sweet, not too bitter caramelized red onions. Normally, Chef Samuels will take a taste and pronounce the dish creation a double fister instead of a yuck yucker. But if baby Chef Samuels is totally enthralled with the dish, he’ll ask his cherished Dada Fried Brains Bourdain, to make the dish for him every day before he whizzes around the rings of Planet Scrambled Over Easy faster than Flash, in a high calorie burning blaze of glory.  

So, the reason Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy was smitten with the movie Close Encounters Of The Third Kind stemmed from the aliens portrayed in it, being musical savant mutes of sorts like Holly Hunter in The Piano. The problem on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, is how their recent open borders policy resulted in a gazillion different languages spoken at once on any given Farmer’s Market enough to make C3po’s language transmitter chip to melt down from an intergalactic mere auditory sensory processing overload. So, the clamor in the streets had reached a fevered pitch, with no universal language in place, capable of instilling a more melodic cadence. And none of the star magazine writers on Planet Scrambled Over Easy were capable of banging out musical showtunes such as West Side Think Tank Alien Stories, because Broadway tunesmith legend Stephen Sondheim declined the invitation to procreate with the alien civilization because he was gayer about the prospect of lunging at Othello backstage in tights, whenever asked to do his best Kevin Spacy impersonation by his cast and crew at Sardis for wrap up show celebrations after hours. Stephen Sondheim gave the anal probe a shot after the Alien Think Tank Leader Gershwin Goo, convinced him they were doing it the name of stool DNA sampling science, in their long, hard, in depth exploration of pinpointing the exact genetic makeup roots responsible for sprouting such mature musical genius out the womb. At 6 Mozart was touring Europe, entertaining French nobles with the nimble quickness of a French Prostitute, who got 2 customers to spew with joy in 1 minute flat each, so she could squeeze in her favorite customer, famed American Jewish writer Henry Miller in one more before closing hours for the road.  

So not only was the roaring decibel of noise on the streets of Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, consisting of every guttural, gross Alien language imaginable, that collectively heard together sounded like the antithesis of French pillow talk in Eric Rohmer films such as Busted Burgundy Girls and Paris Dicks Are Burning. Thereby, making their home planet a highly grating, excessively annoying place to be, but there was also not a singe lone, beautifying voice to even sing their new planet anthem, in an attempt to promote, celebrate and unify the country behind a star beautiful voice in their own native tongue, Hebrew. What, you think the Pyramids and the 1st great temple were built by the Israelites alone? I’ve known Jews who are allergic to Home Depot, who suffer from immediate panic attacks upon entry.

On retreat, The Think Tank Aliens, sucking down endless IPA’s and puffing non-stop high grade green over a killer double header of baseball surrounding the Field Of Dreams Funhouse, a young, rising star egghead about to pitch his famous speedball splinter known to make most fellow Aliens whiff more than Charlie Sheen at an AVN after hours party these days, an idea emerged, “Hey, fellas, instead of blowing up the Planet Earth for our annual 4 of the July Celebration to celebrate our freedom banning the Internet in 2000, because we knew Y2K would serve as a slow acting bomb to blow up earth’s any last remaining capacity for critically thinking, mass produced independent thought ever again, we convince Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth to become our permanent-in-house Planetary Anthem singer. Granted, we have incredible leverage knowing if she refuses, will go head and blow-up Earth for the best fireworks show, we’ve ever seen. Bulldozing a casino is child’s play compared to Planet blasting. Plus, I think the universe is ready for a new earth to emerge again, assuming God’s in the mood o give the human race another shot at redemption or not.”

The Think Tank Aliens of Scrambled Over Easy Planet actually thought of Singing Rose Kornbluth immediately, the moment they coined the idea of establishing a Planetary Anthem in Hebrew, from eavesdropping from space whenever she’d recite the Shabbat prayers over the candles, Challah and wine. To them, Singing Rose Kornbluth was blessed with the most angelic laced, beautifying, spiritually rich, jade free voice of all time, which sounded ten times more soul tantalizing pretty sung in Hebrew, which she’d do in Synagogue, shining through most, whenever the Torah was taken out of the arc for the infamous Shema prayer, “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.” Think Tank Aliens from Scrambled Over Easy Planet are able to eavesdrop into different galaxy systems due to their alien race, being crossbred with Alien Hybrid Elephants reared by Alexander The Great. Alexander The Great would use those elephants to eavesdrop on his enemies or on Cleopatra next time she plotted to roofie him, tie him up and jam some precious gemstone beads up his ass for shits and giggles to see if they came out looser since the last gender neutral interkingdom orgy at her Luxor party palace.

Now, Singing Rose Kornbluth is at home in her bedroom within the hamlet of Croton Falls, NY, 50 minutes north of Manhattan, brushing the mane on her new American Girl horse doll Lavender Love, singing her own made-up tune “Lavender Love has beautiful hair, my brother Arthur better not threaten to turn him into fake news dog chow, if baby Samuel double dares.” Then, the Palomino American Girl Doll horse Lavender Love comes to life and speaks to her from the baseball diamond on the Field Of Dreams Funhouse and says, “Singing Rose Kornbluth, don’t be alarmed. For starters, my voice can’t be any freakier than when you confuse your American Girl Doll Horse for an actual little person on occasion.” Singing Rose Kornbluth say, “Keep talking.”  Think Tank Alien says, “We think your singing voice, especially in Hebrew is the most beautiful, God loving, effortlessly sweet signing voice, we’ve ever heard, without any deep vibrato rumblings which ruin Adele and Demi Lovato’s chances as potential picks for us if you really need to know.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “And who is we exactly.” Think Tank Alien says, “Were Think Tank Aliens from Planet Scrambled Over Easy. Our natural tongue is Hebrew, and we just came up with our 1st ever Planetary Anthem and it needs work, because our alien civilization isn’t musically inclined whatsoever.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “Do all aliens talk through American Girl Horses? I know Aliens were real. Think Tank Alien says, “Singing Rose, we love your voice. God made your supernatural voice for a reason. Still, will be left with no choice but to blow up your planet, if you don’t let us use your gift of creation and singing love songs which touch the inner most sanctum part of the Divine.” Singing Rose Kornbluth says, “I’ll only help you out if you agree to take over control of our Internet, unleash virus worms to corrode all the software code for Twitter, Facebook and Google and fill in that gaping voice of Internet bandwidth with my father’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast every Friday for another Meandering Shabbat Shalom Special. My daddy is hilarious. He said, Beyonce sat out the national anthem because Demi Lovato sounds like white priveledge version of Alabama Shakes.” Think Tank Alien laughs long time and replies, “We don’t have the Internet on our planet.” Matilda says, “I’ll be your new best friend. And you’ll get one sleepover invite a year, deal? Think Taken Alien says, “Deal.”

1 year later, Singing Rose Kornbluth graced the cover of Time Magazine. On the top, the headline read, Pitchwoman Of The Year, who saved her country’s planet from being wiped off the Solar System for selling the Think Tank Aliens on making her Do It All Dad the most popular, downloadable, highly quotable Podcaster in the universe. So, he could afford the opportunity to shine like the brightest, rising comedy star in the galaxy and drive his family back from the hospital in his new Comedy Gold Porsche SUV with a new baby sister addition in the back, Lavender Love Kornbluth to make his Do It All Dad year mission complete. Now Singing Rose Kornbluth could sing duets with her new baby sister Lavender Love Kornbluth for a double dose of beautiful wonderfulness on Planet Scrambled Eggs Over Easy, so she’d never have to feel homesick again.

Michael Kornbluth

Bad Boy Soy Boy Strikes Back

                                         

Once upon a time there was a biracial Korean, Jewish kid from the Riverdale section of the Bronx, Steven Park, otherwise known as Bad Boy Soy Boy, since he unleashed his Nunchucks of fury at a block party on a bunch of shit talking, instigating, black gangbangers, who wore the same wife beater, corn rows and cut off jean shorts, looking like they were dressing up for Coolio Appreciation Day. Who never dared to call Bad Boy Soy Boy, a COIVD chink in his midst ever again, as he cracked one corn row braided skull in 2 after another, without breaking a sweat in a NY Minute. Son of Sam in the seventies was scary no doubt, but the surge in hate crimes against Jews and Asians in the boogie down Bronx, Jersey City and throughout the Island of Manhattan were at an all-time high with no relief or added protection in sight.

Cops today, were younger, softer, and far less hardcore than their 9/11 predecessors. Nobody in the force today possessed the balls to make money on the side through good old-fashioned extortion like 99 percent of the force in the movie Serpico. Bail was banned in NY, garbage filled the streets, rats grew the size of Lena Dunham during Restaurant Week after challenging Leslie Jones to a Junior’s Cheesecake off. But even these woke large and in charge funny woman, couldn’t believe what a scary shithole their cherished concrete jungle of yesterday had become in 4 years flat.

Crazy talk slogans punctured the air such as, “Ban ICE”, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. It’s no excuse to mug Chinese grandma in Chinatown, yet the Wuhan made virus, made New Yorkers at large crazier than ever, placing misplaced faith in a news media hellbent on feeding more unregulated hate and fear into the nation about black men in America being America’s most hunted, despite not one enlightened BLM member encouraging their fellow brothers to just stop resisting arrest or the temptation to run out on a 2000-dollar dinner check in South Beach for Spring Break, God forbid.

Every day, Bad Boy Soy Boy worked at his parent’s deli in the South Bronx, despite living in the leafier, more snuggle soft confines, of Riverdale in the Bronx, where abandoned, torched, burnt down buildings to salvage a semblance of ROI from the insurance company were less common than a B plus Korean student at Bronx Science.

Bad Boy Soy Boy had to bite his lip at the deli every time some brother would come in there talking endless shit, yelling, “COVID Chink, this, COVID Chink that,”, despite him being fucking half Korean and half Jewish. It didn’t make a difference because cum bucket dumpsters such as Cardi B today were deemed heady, culture enriching, poets from the street, whose gaping, sloppy 3rds snatch couldn’t be beat, allegedly. Jim Rome lives, holla, thank you very much.

But one day Bad Boy Soy Boy decided enough was enough, so he opened a medicinal speakeasy weed milk bar in Bergen, New Jersey as a front to offer Nunchuck self-defense classes for Asian Americans based in any of the 5 boroughs willing to make the schlep to fight for their life to live out the protracted, rapidly fading American dream with a semblance of peace of mind as they raged, raged against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas lives, holla, thank very much.

Now, Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class, became the number one tourist destination in Bergen history, not that there was much stiff competition in this department. But Bad Boy Soy Boy had a college roommate from UPENN who he’d talk to on the phone every day who worked as a rock star chef for a Korean food truck in old city in Philly, known for their Korean eggroll cheesesteak hot pocket breakfast treats. Who now had to invest in a bullet proof vest covered food truck in Old City, which was once the only really safe area in Philly outside of Center City on Chestnut street. But safe spaces for Asian Americans were now deader than Jeremey Lin’s chances of gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated 7 times in a row again, especially since JR Smith bitched to Knicks management about the golden child Harvard grad who plopped in their lap out of the freaking blue, because he was hogging the Garden spotlight and bike lane all for himself.

Asian Americans including Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, who never bothered to study martial arts, thinking, it wasn’t necessary to learn from 1994 to 2020, were flocking to Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class. Bad Boy Soy Boy’s grandfather, Michael Kornbluth was a Holocaust survivor because when all the brown shirt ANTIFA members of their day banned guns, he used his own Nunchucks of fury gifted to him from his Korean father-in-law, and cracked NAZI skulls hyped on crystal meth all his way to freedom from Nazi persecution. Who pawned enough Nazi gold teeth from the skulls he cracked in 2 with his Nunchucks of fury to buy a boat pass to NY, establish a family of his own with his reflexology wife therapist and become a proud 1st generation deli owner, getting Jewish New Yorkers hooked on Kimchi for more reasonable outs from ever having to slip their wife some tongue again.

Both young and old Asian Americans no longer had to live in helpless, paralyzed fear, all thanks to Bad Boy Soy Boy teaching them the infinite beat down possibilities unleashed from the almighty Nunchuck strikes of fury, to ensure they were never fucked with again in the name of the COVID Chink virus or not. Because Bad Boy Soy Boy was on a mission from God to prove Bruce Lee’s weapon of choice, ain’t nothing to fuck with.

Michael Kornbluth

Bad Boy Soy Boy Strikes Back

                                         

Once upon a time there was a biracial Korean, Jewish kid from the Riverdale section of the Bronx, Steven Park, otherwise known as Bad Boy Soy Boy, since he unleashed his Nunchucks of fury at a block party on a bunch of shit talking, instigating, black gangbangers, who wore the same wife beater, corn rows and cut off jean shorts, looking like they were dressing up for Coolio Appreciation Day. Who never dared to call Bad Boy Soy Boy, a COIVD chink in his midst ever again, as he cracked one corn row braided skull in 2 after another, without breaking a sweat in a NY Minute. Son of Sam in the seventies was scary no doubt, but the surge in hate crimes against Jews and Asians in the boogie down Bronx, Jersey City and throughout the Island of Manhattan were at an all-time high with no relief or added protection in sight.

Cops today, were younger, softer, and far less hardcore than their 9/11 predecessors. Nobody in the force today possessed the balls to make money on the side through good old-fashioned extortion like 99 percent of the force in the movie Serpico. Bail was banned in NY, garbage filled the streets, rats grew the size of Lena Dunham during Restaurant Week after challenging Leslie Jones to a Junior’s Cheesecake off. But even these woke large and in charge funny woman, couldn’t believe what a scary shithole their cherished concrete jungle of yesterday had become in 4 years flat.

Crazy talk slogans punctured the air such as, “Ban ICE”, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. It’s no excuse to mug Chinese grandma in Chinatown, yet the Wuhan made virus, made New Yorkers at large crazier than ever, placing misplaced faith in a news media hellbent on feeding more unregulated hate and fear into the nation about black men in America being America’s most hunted, despite not one enlightened BLM member encouraging their fellow brothers to just stop resisting arrest or the temptation to run out on a 2000-dollar dinner check in South Beach for Spring Break, God forbid.

Every day, Bad Boy Soy Boy worked at his parent’s deli in the South Bronx, despite living in the leafier, more snuggle soft confines, of Riverdale in the Bronx, where abandoned, torched, burnt down buildings to salvage a semblance of ROI from the insurance company were less common than a B plus Korean student at Bronx Science.

Bad Boy Soy Boy had to bite his lip at the deli every time some brother would come in there talking endless shit, yelling, “COVID Chink, this, COVID Chink that,”, despite him being fucking half Korean and half Jewish. It didn’t make a difference because cum bucket dumpsters such as Cardi B today were deemed heady, culture enriching, poets from the street, whose gaping, sloppy 3rds snatch couldn’t be beat, allegedly. Jim Rome lives, holla, thank you very much.

But one day Bad Boy Soy Boy decided enough was enough, so he opened a medicinal speakeasy weed milk bar in Bergen, New Jersey as a front to offer Nunchuck self-defense classes for Asian Americans based in any of the 5 boroughs willing to make the schlep to fight for their life to live out the protracted, rapidly fading American dream with a semblance of peace of mind as they raged, raged against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas lives, holla, thank very much.

Now, Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class, became the number one tourist destination in Bergen history, not that there was much stiff competition in this department. But Bad Boy Soy Boy had a college roommate from UPENN who he’d talk to on the phone every day who worked as a rock star chef for a Korean food truck in old city in Philly, known for their Korean eggroll cheesesteak hot pocket breakfast treats. Who now had to invest in a bullet proof vest covered food truck in Old City, which was once the only really safe area in Philly outside of Center City on Chestnut street. But safe spaces for Asian Americans were now deader than Jeremey Lin’s chances of gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated 7 times in a row again, especially since JR Smith bitched to Knicks management about the golden child Harvard grad who plopped in their lap out of the freaking blue, because he was hogging the Garden spotlight and bike lane all for himself.

Asian Americans including Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, who never bothered to study martial arts, thinking, it wasn’t necessary to learn from 1994 to 2020, were flocking to Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class. Bad Boy Soy Boy’s grandfather, Michael Kornbluth was a Holocaust survivor because when all the brown shirt ANTIFA members of their day banned guns, he used his own Nunchucks of fury gifted to him from his Korean father-in-law, and cracked NAZI skulls hyped on crystal meth all his way to freedom from Nazi persecution. Who pawned enough Nazi gold teeth from the skulls he cracked in 2 with his Nunchucks of fury to buy a boat pass to NY, establish a family of his own with his reflexology wife therapist and become a proud 1st generation deli owner, getting Jewish New Yorkers hooked on Kimchi for more reasonable outs from ever having to slip their wife some tongue again.

Both young and old Asian Americans no longer had to live in helpless, paralyzed fear, all thanks to Bad Boy Soy Boy teaching them the infinite beat down possibilities unleashed from the almighty Nunchuck strikes of fury, to ensure they were never fucked with again in the name of the COVID Chink virus or not. Because Bad Boy Soy Boy was on a mission from God to prove Bruce Lee’s weapon of choice, ain’t nothing to fuck with.

Michael Kornbluth

Bad Boy Soy Boy Strikes Back

Once upon a time there was a biracial Korean and Jewish kid from the Riverdale section of the Bronx named Steven Park, who his friends called Bad Boy Soy Boy for unleashing his Nunchucks of fury at a block party on a bunch of black gangbangers who wore the same wife beater, corn rows and cut off jean shorts, looking like they were dressing up for Coolio Appreciation Day, who dared to call him a COIVD chink in his midst ever again, as he cracked one skull in 2 after another without breaking a sweat in a NY Minute. Son of Sam in the seventies was scary no doubt, but the surge in hate crimes against Jews and Asians in the boogie down Bronx Jersey City around the Island of Manhattan were at an all time high with no relief or added protection in sight.

Cops today, were younger, softer, and far less hardcore than their 9/11 predecessors, nobody in the force today has the balls to make on the side like 99 percent of the force in the movie Serpico. Bail was banned in NY, garbage filled the streets, rats grew the size of Lena Dunham during Restaurant Week after challenging Leslie Jones to a Junior’s Cheesecake off. But even these woke large in charge funny woman, couldn’t believe what a scary shithole their cherished concrete jungle of yesterday had become in 4 years flat.

Crazy talk slogans punctured the air such as, “Ban ICE”, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. It’s no excuse to mug Chinese grandma in Chinatown, yet the Wuhan made virus, had made New Yorkers at large crazier than ever, placing misplaced faith in a news media hellbent on feeding more unregulated hate and fear into the nation about black men in America being America’s most hunted, despite not one enlightened BLM member encouraging their fellow brothers to just stop resisting arrest, God forbid.

Every day, Bad Boy Soy Boy worked at his parents deli in the South Bronx, despite living in the leafier, more snuggle soft confines, of Riverdale in the Bronx, where abandoned torched, burnt down buildings to salvage a semblance of ROI from the insurance company were less common than a B plus Korean student at Bronx Science.

Bad Boy Soy Boy had to bite his lip at the deli every time some brother would come in there talking endless shit, yelling, “COVID Chink, this, COVID Chink that,”, despite him being fucking half Korean and half Jewish. It didn’t make a difference because cum bucket dumpsters such as Cardi B today were deemed heady, culture enriching, poets from the street, whose gaping, sloppy 3rds snatch couldn’t be beat, allegedly.

But one day Bad Boy Soy Boy, decided enough was enough, so he opened a medicinal speakeasy weed milk bar in Bergen, New Jersey as a front to offer Nunchuck self-defense classes for Asian Americans based in any of the 5 boroughs willing to make the schlep to fight for their life to live out the protracted, rapidly fading American dream with a semblance of peace of mind as they raged, raged against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas lives, holla, thank very much.

Now, Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class, became the number one tourist destination in Bergen history, not that there was stiff competition in this department. But Bad Boy Soy Boy had a college roommate from UPENN who he’d talk to on the phone every day who worked as a rock star chef for a Korean food truck in old city in Philly, known for their Korean eggroll cheesesteak hot pocket breakfast treats that had to invest in a bullet proof vest covered food truck in what was once the only really safe area in Philly outside of center city on Chestnut street. But safe spaces for Asian Americans were now deader than Jeremey Lin’s chances of gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated 7 times in a row again, especially since JR Smith bitched to Knicks management about the golden child Harvard grad who plopped in their lap out of the freaking blue, because he was hogging the Garden spotlight and bike lane all for himself.

Asian Americans including Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, who never bothered to study martial arts, thinking, it wasn’t necessary to learn from 1994 to 2020, were flocking to Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class. Bad Boy Soy Boy’s grandfather, Michael Kornbluth was a Holocaust survivor because when all the brown shirt ANTIFA members of their day banned guns, he used his own Nunchucks of fury gifted to him from his Korean father in law, and cracked NAZI skulls hyped on crystal meth all his way to freedom from Nazi persecution in NY to later establish a family of his own with his former reflexology wife therapist as a proud 1st generation deli owner, getting Jewish New Yorkers hooked on Kimchee for more reasonable outs to ever slip their wife the tongue ever again. Both young and old Asian Americans no longer had to live in helpless, paralyzed fear, all thanks to Bad Boy Boy Soy Boy teaching them the infinite beat down possibilities, using the all mighty Nunchuck strikes of fury to ensure they were never fucked with again in the name of the COVID Chink virus or not, because Bad Boy Soy Boy was on a mission from God to prove Bruce Lee’s weapon of choice, is nothing to fuck with.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Bad Boy Soy Boy Strikes Back

Once upon a time there was a biracial Korean and Jewish kid from the Riverdale section of the Bronx named Steven Park, who his friends called Bad Boy Soy Boy for unleashing his Nunchucks of fury at a block party on a bunch of black gangbangers who wore the same wife beater, corn rows and cut off jean shorts, looking like they were dressing up for Coolio Appreciation Day, who dared to call him a COIVD chink in his midst ever again, as he cracked one skull in 2 after another without breaking a sweat in a NY Minute. Son of Sam in the seventies was scary no doubt, but the surge in hate crimes against Jews and Asians in the boogie down Bronx Jersey City around the Island of Manhattan were at an all time high with no relief or added protection in sight.

Cops today, were younger, softer, and far less hardcore than their 9/11 predecessors, nobody in the force today has the balls to make on the side like 99 percent of the force in the movie Serpico. Bail was banned in NY, garbage filled the streets, rats grew the size of Lena Dunham during Restaurant Week after challenging Leslie Jones to a Junior’s Cheesecake off. But even these woke large in charge funny woman, couldn’t believe what a scary shithole their cherished concrete jungle of yesterday had become in 4 years flat.

Crazy talk slogans punctured the air such as, “Ban ICE”, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. It’s no excuse to mug Chinese grandma in Chinatown, yet the Wuhan made virus, had made New Yorkers at large crazier than ever, placing misplaced faith in a news media hellbent on feeding more unregulated hate and fear into the nation about black men in America being America’s most hunted, despite not one enlightened BLM member encouraging their fellow brothers to just stop resisting arrest, God forbid.

Every day, Bad Boy Soy Boy worked at his parents deli in the South Bronx, despite living in the leafier, more snuggle soft confines, of Riverdale in the Bronx, where abandoned torched, burnt down buildings to salvage a semblance of ROI from the insurance company were less common than a B plus Korean student at Bronx Science.

Bad Boy Soy Boy had to bite his lip at the deli every time some brother would come in there talking endless shit, yelling, “COVID Chink, this, COVID Chink that,”, despite him being fucking half Korean and half Jewish. It didn’t make a difference because cum bucket dumpsters such as Cardi B today were deemed heady, culture enriching, poets from the street, whose gaping, sloppy 3rds snatch couldn’t be beat, allegedly.

But one day Bad Boy Soy Boy, decided enough was enough, so he opened a medicinal speakeasy weed milk bar in Bergen, New Jersey as a front to offer Nunchuck self-defense classes for Asian Americans based in any of the 5 boroughs willing to make the schlep to fight for their life to live out the protracted, rapidly fading American dream with a semblance of peace of mind as they raged, raged against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas lives, holla, thank very much.

Now, Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class, became the number one tourist destination in Bergen history, not that there was stiff competition in this department. But Bad Boy Soy Boy had a college roommate from UPENN who he’d talk to on the phone every day who worked as a rock star chef for a Korean food truck in old city in Philly, known for their Korean eggroll cheesesteak hot pocket breakfast treats that had to invest in a bullet proof vest covered food truck in what was once the only really safe area in Philly outside of center city on Chestnut street. But safe spaces for Asian Americans were now deader than Jeremey Lin’s chances of gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated 7 times in a row again, especially since JR Smith bitched to Knicks management about the golden child Harvard grad who plopped in their lap out of the freaking blue, because he was hogging the Garden spotlight and bike lane all for himself.

Asian Americans including Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, who never bothered to study martial arts, thinking, it wasn’t necessary to learn from 1994 to 2020, were flocking to Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class. Bad Boy Soy Boy’s grandfather, Michael Kornbluth was a Holocaust survivor because when all the brown shirt ANTIFA members of their day banned guns, he used his own Nunchucks of fury gifted to him from his Korean father in law, and cracked NAZI skulls hyped on crystal meth all his way to freedom from Nazi persecution in NY to later establish a family of his own with his former reflexology wife therapist as a proud 1st generation deli owner, getting Jewish New Yorkers hooked on Kimchee for more reasonable outs to ever slip their wife the tongue ever again. Both young and old Asian Americans no longer had to live in helpless, paralyzed fear, all thanks to Bad Boy Boy Soy Boy teaching them the infinite beat down possibilities, using the all mighty Nunchuck strikes of fury to ensure they were never fucked with again in the name of the COVID Chink virus or not, because Bad Boy Soy Boy was on a mission from God to prove Bruce Lee’s weapon of choice, is nothing to fuck with.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Bad Boy Soy Boy Strikes Back

Once upon a time there was a biracial Korean and Jewish kid from the Riverdale section of the Bronx named Steven Park, who his friends called Bad Boy Soy Boy for unleashing his Nunchucks of fury at a block party on a bunch of black gangbangers who wore the same wife beater, corn rows and cut off jean shorts, looking like they were dressing up for Coolio Appreciation Day, who dared to call him a COIVD chink in his midst ever again, as he cracked one skull in 2 after another without breaking a sweat in a NY Minute. Son of Sam in the seventies was scary no doubt, but the surge in hate crimes against Jews and Asians in the boogie down Bronx Jersey City around the Island of Manhattan were at an all time high with no relief or added protection in sight.

Cops today, were younger, softer, and far less hardcore than their 9/11 predecessors, nobody in the force today has the balls to make on the side like 99 percent of the force in the movie Serpico. Bail was banned in NY, garbage filled the streets, rats grew the size of Lena Dunham during Restaurant Week after challenging Leslie Jones to a Junior’s Cheesecake off. But even these woke large in charge funny woman, couldn’t believe what a scary shithole their cherished concrete jungle of yesterday had become in 4 years flat.

Crazy talk slogans punctured the air such as, “Ban ICE”, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. It’s no excuse to mug Chinese grandma in Chinatown, yet the Wuhan made virus, had made New Yorkers at large crazier than ever, placing misplaced faith in a news media hellbent on feeding more unregulated hate and fear into the nation about black men in America being America’s most hunted, despite not one enlightened BLM member encouraging their fellow brothers to just stop resisting arrest, God forbid.

Every day, Bad Boy Soy Boy worked at his parents deli in the South Bronx, despite living in the leafier, more snuggle soft confines, of Riverdale in the Bronx, where abandoned torched, burnt down buildings to salvage a semblance of ROI from the insurance company were less common than a B plus Korean student at Bronx Science.

Bad Boy Soy Boy had to bite his lip at the deli every time some brother would come in there talking endless shit, yelling, “COVID Chink, this, COVID Chink that,”, despite him being fucking half Korean and half Jewish. It didn’t make a difference because cum bucket dumpsters such as Cardi B today were deemed heady, culture enriching, poets from the street, whose gaping, sloppy 3rds snatch couldn’t be beat, allegedly.

But one day Bad Boy Soy Boy, decided enough was enough, so he opened a medicinal speakeasy weed milk bar in Bergen, New Jersey as a front to offer Nunchuck self-defense classes for Asian Americans based in any of the 5 boroughs willing to make the schlep to fight for their life to live out the protracted, rapidly fading American dream with a semblance of peace of mind as they raged, raged against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas lives, holla, thank very much.

Now, Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class, became the number one tourist destination in Bergen history, not that there was stiff competition in this department. But Bad Boy Soy Boy had a college roommate from UPENN who he’d talk to on the phone every day who worked as a rock star chef for a Korean food truck in old city in Philly, known for their Korean eggroll cheesesteak hot pocket breakfast treats that had to invest in a bullet proof vest covered food truck in what was once the only really safe area in Philly outside of center city on Chestnut street. But safe spaces for Asian Americans were now deader than Jeremey Lin’s chances of gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated 7 times in a row again, especially since JR Smith bitched to Knicks management about the golden child Harvard grad who plopped in their lap out of the freaking blue, because he was hogging the Garden spotlight and bike lane all for himself.

Asian Americans including Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, who never bothered to study martial arts, thinking, it wasn’t necessary to learn from 1994 to 2020, were flocking to Bad Boy Soy Boy’s Self-Defense Nunchucks Of Fury class. Bad Boy Soy Boy’s grandfather, Michael Kornbluth was a Holocaust survivor because when all the brown shirt ANTIFA members of their day banned guns, he used his own Nunchucks of fury gifted to him from his Korean father in law, and cracked NAZI skulls hyped on crystal meth all his way to freedom from Nazi persecution in NY to later establish a family of his own with his former reflexology wife therapist as a proud 1st generation deli owner, getting Jewish New Yorkers hooked on Kimchee for more reasonable outs to ever slip their wife the tongue ever again. Both young and old Asian Americans no longer had to live in helpless, paralyzed fear, all thanks to Bad Boy Boy Soy Boy teaching them the infinite beat down possibilities, using the all mighty Nunchuck strikes of fury to ensure they were never fucked with again in the name of the COVID Chink virus or not, because Bad Boy Soy Boy was on a mission from God to prove Bruce Lee’s weapon of choice, is nothing to fuck with.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Pause Daddy

“Welcome to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, What Gen X Dads understand, Dad friendly entertainment for you and me. I’m your host Michael Kornbluth. Controlling our kids with comedy, can make our kids great again. My 3 fuss free kids most of the time, are living proof of it. I’ve been a Stay-At-Home Comedian on and off for a decade now, although my dad is more old school and prefers expression Sheltered Bum. Whenever, I’m out with my 3 kids without mommy, I hear, “You’ve got your hands full.” I’ll say, “If any of my books ever become best sellers and my wife agrees to open marriage with Susan Sarandon, then, my hands will be full.” I stopped smoking weed until I thought my daughter was asleep already because I felt like a moron answering her super deep questions on it the sticky icky stuff after I thought she was asleep already. She’d ask, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God? “I said, God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.” Daughter says “Real convincing Dad. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

Michael Kornbluth, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast and proud father of the 3 most hilariously, sweet, snuggle shine bundles of sunshine known to mankind adds, “Today, on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, we have a guest, which is a rare occasion since the launch of my podcast 4 years ago, in my pursuit to become the paid star voice behind remote work revolution, before China could hog up all the credit for forcing Corporate America to adjust to a remote work way of life to please our commie controlled corporate masters till our last dying breath. During my pilot episode, I interviewed a UX Designer who worked for Apple. I know you’re bored out of your mind already, unless he was the guy Steve Job pumped for the casual Grandma jean look for all it was worth. My standup performer instinct constantly interjected, the moment I sensed my guest lose the audience, which happened automatically, whenever I allowed him drone out another colorless, brain reaching a screeching halt reply, so I swore off every doing another interview on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast ever again, especially knowing Do It All Dads who want to work from home based on free will alone, in the impassioned pursuit to make their kids the center of the universe instead of the reverse, don’t grow on freaking Bonsai trees either. But I decided to make an exception for our guest Richard Lankfear from Plano, Texas, who is a retired Drug Counselor and author of a new book, called, Addiction, a mind-expanding warning drug abuse symptoms guide, so parents can see if their kids are a frantic, manifestation of their crazy hick degenerate gene, with zero concept of moderation in real time or not. Raising drug free children is important to me because being a druggy dependent is the opposite of feeling free. Cream lives; holla thank you very much. Plus, how can our kids get excited about the pursuit of happiness at home or at school if getting high off their loved ones or from a job well done isn’t enough at least until their mid-twenties? Richard enacts tremendous good from his lifetime service as a Drug Counselor by making a drug abuse warning guide for parents today unaware of what constitutes drug forming behavior under their alleged, emotionally present watch. The chilling, sobering stats in the book such as fentanyl being 100 times more powerful than morphine, speak for themselves and need to be illuminated with unflinching detail knowing either blissful ignorance, dismissive sugarcoating or mere whitewashing of the opioid epidemic throughout the US as being a mere “white trash ” problem, can become the worst fatal mistake a parent today can make, especially knowing how Chinese made fentanyl snuck in through our Mexican border to NPR, has killed more crackers in this country than Lena Dunham kicking it with Taylor Swift on Instagram. The recurring theme in Richard’s books, The Addicted Child, is parents becoming reactive fire fighters, multiple rehab stints later, versus the ideal of becoming proactive troubleshooters before such residual damage has been done, which some families never truly recover from. This book will help more families spot drug habit forming warning signs by offering actionable insight to prevent their kids from facing such a life crippling fate. More importantly, the vast breakdown of all types of drug abuse included in the book, will give parents the confidence and sense of surging urgency to have the drugs will kill your braincells talk with their kids on their still developing minds, before those rapidly deepening drug forming habits become that much harder to break. Richard on the side of the Skype podcast interview is red and flustered in the face, flabbergasted over how Do It All Dad Year Podcast, has made zero effort to give his guest a smidgen of breathing room to promote his book 7 minutes into the broadcast already. If only had Richard knew of Do It All Dad’s code work trick, his 3 kids used whenever he went on one of his impassioned rants in one seamless endless breath, with zero auditory relief in sight as his kids long forgot what cool interesting idea, or question to express already, which was this, “Pause Daddy”, as they pointed an imaginary remote directly at him and say, “Pause Daddy”, with warm hearted smiled stretchy cheer because it was funny and it actually shut their dad the fuck up for change on Adderall or off.  

Stay At Home Comedian rolls on adding, “Let’s focus on our guest now Richard, who didn’t spend any quality time emoting about the all-star book review I just read for you on Amazon about his book The Addicted Child, which was more than generous considering what a snooze the book was as a whole. So, Richard, I just read another book by Lou Gramm, the former leader signer howler legend from Foreigner, known for co-writing and belting out endless classic rock staple hits such as Juke Box Hero, Double Vision, Long, Long, Long Way From Home, being my personal favorites among the pack. In his highly readable book in comparison to your one, he talks about getting sober and the growing frustration of not even being able to partake in lighting a doobie after killing at freaking Solider Field on the tour party bus soon afterwards, when everybody else from the band now in their early forties still is. Like the roadie guy says in the movie Rockstar with Mark Wahlberg, “Don’t be half ass about it, live out the Rock Star dream for those who can’t or something close to that.  Also, there’s a standup comedian whose no longer with us, the late great, Greg Geraldo, who said drug use should be encouraged when in your forties more so than your twenties especially when you learn during a parent teacher conference, “That your son is a half a tard.” So, my question for Richard, is “What’s an acceptable form of addiction in your book?” “Richard says, I wish I had stage light to shine on you, 1000 run on sentences ago.”  Do It All Dad Year Podcast host fires back with, “So, all the Irish thugs who used to beat up nice Jewish kids in the Bronx, calling them Christ Killers blah, blah.  Are they what you’d call a special kid of drunk prick later in life or do you think the concept of a so called happy drunk, doesn’t apply to any Irish alcoholics, because their rosy noses give off the impression, they’re really just more superficial cheery on the surface than the rest? And if the Irish are the best drunk poets, then whatever happened from the Irish Beastie Boys in the Jump Around Video? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t thinking being a drunk prick is a strictly an Irish disease. For me, I think a fellow member of my tribe, Michel Rappaport, still sounds like he’s auditioning for the role of Wigger Number 3 asshole In the Jump Around Video.  Richard says, “Are you going to ask any of the questions I gave you?” Do It All Dad Year Podcast Host Michael replies, “Why are parents so afraid to have honest conversations about drugs through their record collections with their kids Richard? What makes these parents so apprehensive to point out the dangers of doing shitty Chinese made coke, with Hunter Biden, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall? Do you feel sketchy degenerate behavior is born, enabled, or all the above? In the movie, Requiem, for a Dream, Jared Leto is missing a freaking arm at the end, which is a powerful cautionary message to nail home on par with reading your kids Allen Ginsburg’s Howl next time, they claim to not scary easily, describing all the beautiful angels of light’s mind, ravaged by drugs, reducing to eating stray cats throughout the streets of San Francisco. Why didn’t you share such hardcore scare tactics tips in your book, for parents to use on their kids, so they wouldn’t have to spend a mini fortune, and take out a new home equity loan on the house to afford your overrated counseling services? “

Now, all of Michael’s 3 kids come bursting in the room to give their Dear Dada a hug after coming back from school, anxious to tell him about their day. In unison, they all point an imaginary remote at their Stay-At-Home Comedian Dad and say, “Pause Daddy.” Richard throws up his hands in defeated disgust on the Skype Window screen and yells, “That’s it Pause Daddy, is the magic word to shut this loudmouth, obnoxious Jew up already.” Stay At Home Comedian Dad replies, “When your opinions are deemed worthy enough to interrupt my killer flow, I’ll let you know, jerkoff. Never forget, controlling our kids with comedy, can make our kids great again. My 3 fuss free kids most of the time are living proof of it.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Pause Daddy

     

“Welcome to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, What Gen X Dads understand, Dad friendly entertainment for you and me. I’m your host Michael Kornbluth. Controlling our kids with comedy, can make our kids great again. My 3 fuss free kids most of the time, are living proof of it. I’ve been a Stay-At-Home Comedian on and off for a decade now, although my dad is more old school and prefers expression Sheltered Bum. Whenever, I’m out with my 3 kids without mommy, I hear, “You’ve got your hands full.” I’ll say, “If any of my books ever become best sellers and my wife agrees to open marriage with Susan Sarandon, then, my hands will be full.” I stopped smoking weed until I thought my daughter was asleep already because I felt like a moron answering her super deep questions on it the sticky icky stuff after I thought she was asleep already. She’d ask, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God? “I said, God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.” Daughter says “Real convincing Dad. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

Michael Kornbluth, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast and proud father of the 3 most hilariously, sweet, snuggle shine bundles of sunshine known to mankind adds, “Today, on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, we have a guest, which is a rare occasion since the launch of my podcast 4 years ago, in my pursuit to become the paid star voice behind remote work revolution, before China could hog up all the credit for forcing Corporate America to adjust to a remote work way of life to please our commie controlled corporate masters till our last dying breath. During my pilot episode, I interviewed a UX Designer who worked for Apple. I know you’re bored out of your mind already, unless he was the guy Steve Job pumped for the casual Grandma jean look for all it was worth. My standup performer instinct constantly interjected, the moment I sensed my guest lose the audience, which happened automatically, whenever I allowed him drone out another colorless, brain reaching a screeching halt reply, so I swore off every doing another interview on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast ever again, especially knowing Do It All Dads who want to work from home based on free will alone, in the impassioned pursuit to make their kids the center of the universe instead of the reverse, don’t grow on freaking Bonsai trees either. But I decided to make an exception for our guest Richard Lankfear from Plano, Texas, who is a retired Drug Counselor and author of a new book, called, Addiction, a mind-expanding warning drug abuse symptoms guide, so parents can see if their kids are a frantic, manifestation of their crazy hick degenerate gene, with zero concept of moderation in real time or not. Raising drug free children is important to me because being a druggy dependent is the opposite of feeling free. Cream lives; holla thank you very much. Plus, how can our kids get excited about the pursuit of happiness at home or at school if getting high off their loved ones or from a job well done isn’t enough at least until their mid-twenties? Richard enacts tremendous good from his lifetime service as a Drug Counselor by making a drug abuse warning guide for parents today unaware of what constitutes drug forming behavior under their alleged, emotionally present watch. The chilling, sobering stats in the book such as fentanyl being 100 times more powerful than morphine, speak for themselves and need to be illuminated with unflinching detail knowing either blissful ignorance, dismissive sugarcoating or mere whitewashing of the opioid epidemic throughout the US as being a mere “white trash ” problem, can become the worst fatal mistake a parent today can make, especially knowing how Chinese made fentanyl snuck in through our Mexican border to NPR, has killed more crackers in this country than Lena Dunham kicking it with Taylor Swift on Instagram. The recurring theme in Richard’s books, The Addicted Child, is parents becoming reactive fire fighters, multiple rehab stints later, versus the ideal of becoming proactive troubleshooters before such residual damage has been done, which some families never truly recover from. This book will help more families spot drug habit forming warning signs by offering actionable insight to prevent their kids from facing such a life crippling fate. More importantly, the vast breakdown of all types of drug abuse included in the book, will give parents the confidence and sense of surging urgency to have the drugs will kill your braincells talk with their kids on their still developing minds, before those rapidly deepening drug forming habits become that much harder to break. Richard on the side of the Skype podcast interview is red and flustered in the face, flabbergasted over how Do It All Dad Year Podcast, has made zero effort to give his guest a smidgen of breathing room to promote his book 7 minutes into the broadcast already. If only had Richard knew of Do It All Dad’s code work trick, his 3 kids used whenever he went on one of his impassioned rants in one seamless endless breath, with zero auditory relief in sight as his kids long forgot what cool interesting idea, or question to express already, which was this, “Pause Daddy”, as they pointed an imaginary remote directly at him and say, “Pause Daddy”, with warm hearted smiled stretchy cheer because it was funny and it actually shut their dad the fuck up for change on Adderall or off.  

Stay At Home Comedian rolls on adding, “Let’s focus on our guest now Richard, who didn’t spend any quality time emoting about the all-star book review I just read for you on Amazon about his book The Addicted Child, which was more than generous considering what a snooze the book was as a whole. So, Richard, I just read another book by Lou Gramm, the former leader signer howler legend from Foreigner, known for co-writing and belting out endless classic rock staple hits such as Juke Box Hero, Double Vision, Long, Long, Long Way From Home, being my personal favorites among the pack. In his highly readable book in comparison to your one, he talks about getting sober and the growing frustration of not even being able to partake in lighting a doobie after killing at freaking Solider Field on the tour party bus soon afterwards, when everybody else from the band now in their early forties still is. Like the roadie guy says in the movie Rockstar with Mark Wahlberg, “Don’t be half ass about it, live out the Rock Star dream for those who can’t or something close to that.  Also, there’s a standup comedian whose no longer with us, the late great, Greg Geraldo, who said drug use should be encouraged when in your forties more so than your twenties especially when you learn during a parent teacher conference, “That your son is a half a tard.” So, my question for Richard, is “What’s an acceptable form of addiction in your book?” “Richard says, I wish I had stage light to shine on you, 1000 run on sentences ago.”  Do It All Dad Year Podcast host fires back with, “So, all the Irish thugs who used to beat up nice Jewish kids in the Bronx, calling them Christ Killers blah, blah.  Are they what you’d call a special kid of drunk prick later in life or do you think the concept of a so called happy drunk, doesn’t apply to any Irish alcoholics, because their rosy noses give off the impression, they’re really just more superficial cheery on the surface than the rest? And if the Irish are the best drunk poets, then whatever happened from the Irish Beastie Boys in the Jump Around Video? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t thinking being a drunk prick is a strictly an Irish disease. For me, I think a fellow member of my tribe, Michel Rappaport, still sounds like he’s auditioning for the role of Wigger Number 3 asshole In the Jump Around Video.  Richard says, “Are you going to ask any of the questions I gave you?” Do It All Dad Year Podcast Host Michael replies, “Why are parents so afraid to have honest conversations about drugs through their record collections with their kids Richard? What makes these parents so apprehensive to point out the dangers of doing shitty Chinese made coke, with Hunter Biden, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall? Do you feel sketchy degenerate behavior is born, enabled, or all the above? In the movie, Requiem, for a Dream, Jared Leto is missing a freaking arm at the end, which is a powerful cautionary message to nail home on par with reading your kids Allen Ginsburg’s Howl next time, they claim to not scary easily, describing all the beautiful angels of light’s mind, ravaged by drugs, reducing to eating stray cats throughout the streets of San Francisco. Why didn’t you share such hardcore scare tactics tips in your book, for parents to use on their kids, so they wouldn’t have to spend a mini fortune, and take out a new home equity loan on the house to afford your overrated counseling services? “

Now, all of Michael’s 3 kids come bursting in the room to give their Dear Dada a hug after coming back from school, anxious to tell him about their day. In unison, they all point an imaginary remote at their Stay-At-Home Comedian Dad and say, “Pause Daddy.” Richard throws up his hands in defeated disgust on the Skype Window screen and yells, “That’s it Pause Daddy, is the magic word to shut this loudmouth, obnoxious Jew up already.” Stay At Home Comedian Dad replies, “When your opinions are deemed worthy enough to interrupt my killer flow, I’ll let you know, jerkoff. Never forget, controlling our kids with comedy, can make our kids great again. My 3 fuss free kids most of the time are living proof of it.”

The End

The Reference Check Girl

Once upon a time there was a high energy, constantly red in the face, yet easily excitable IT agency recruiter in his early twenties from Long Island, Patrick Dublin, who worked for a small staffing agency above Madison Square Garden called Unicorn Staffers. Unicorn Staffers specialized in recruiting and placing Unicorn UX Designers, who also did the nitty gritty, back and front-end coding, who made billion-dollar apps and various new age tech startups come to life, blessed with visionary founders brilliant enough to avoid sexual harassment charges at work, by creating in-office innovations such as designing a panic free, jerk off safe space bathroom. So, security never had to escort you from the building, legs first from the bathroom stall, only to knock your head against the mildew lined walls one more time, before hearing the Security Guard croon in his best Tom Petty voice, “You don’t come around here no more.”  

Since the era of #METO began, Unicorn Staffing would have to conduct more rigorous background checks with ex-girlfriends for Unicorn star studs they represented, who couldn’t control their urges to whip it out during a Zoom Call, despite the Head of Application Development from South Wales, Australia trying to manage an unwanted sexual harassment claims at work in a post virtual meeting COVID controlled universe gone cagy nuts, by addressing his team of developers and designers with, “Welcome all. Now if everyone is going to feel safe during this Zoom meeting, let’s raise all our hands high, where I can see them. Please, don’t be such a knee jerk reactionary cunt about it, you Jefferey Toobin wannabes at the New Yorker, thanks.”  Sexual harassment was a dirty secret infesting the tech startup world today, even among, the biggest tech company in the world Google, despite most of the employees being too busy banging out to code, to actually hit on girls at work while sporting their yenta noise cancelation headphones in the 1st place. Plus, your typical software command script at Google or elsewhere, wasn’t, “Massage my carpel tunnel, ho.”

Now, Patrick, the IT Recruiter is conducting a background check with a 25-year-old, chesty Digital Marketing Manager Lisa, based on her LinkedIn Profile picture, who used to date his star candidate awaiting a verbal offer of 145K for a new permanent Creative Technologist Director position with a cannabis lifestyle startup Budranker.com, from Oakland, CA, looking to expand its online digital magazine division here in NYC, targeted toward working, functional pothead millennial mousketeers. Patrick, takes a deep breath, loosens his tie a tad and gets ready to call,  Lisa, the Digital Marketing Manager for Hip Hops, a new multi-level old-school hip hop gastropub club in the East Village about the extent of her past relationship with his star candidate, which he’s very proud of connecting with, after LinkedIn banned him from the site for sending too many failed connection requests, before enrolling in a Spam A Lot Less Sales Seminar, offered by a former power ballad songwriter for hire turned Life Career Coach, Michael Rocker. Patrick calls and says, “Hi Lisa, this is Patrick Dublin. I’m an IT Recruiter for Unicorn Staffers, calling you about Max Diesel, whose being considered for a top Creative Technologist Director position for a cannabis startup, Budranker.com. Can I ask you a couple of quick questions about your relationship with Max in the past?”

Lisa says, “Yeah, we only hooked up once after meeting at the Windows Expo in downtown LA. it was right around the time Microsoft and had bought LinkedIn. I was working as a bartender hostess at the event, before I met the CEO of Sierra Nevada at same event, before becoming their Digital Marketing Manager after I started riffing while making some drinks, insisting, Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA blows all other IPA’s out of the water. Then, I crafted their sentimental laced campaign for the 30-year anniversary of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, calling it the pale ale that get’s stale. I conceptualized the guerilla marketing campaign for printing a bunch of bar napkins with love poems on them in honor of 1st loves, my personal favorite being, “I fell in love with you from the start. You’re my favorite valentine etched on my heart. You made love spill out of me like overflowing treasure. The idea of pounding you again, gives me non-stop pleasure. You were my 1st love, when I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew is that were heaven sent. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, You Never Got Over US Did You. So, Max starts flirting with me after I snagged the business card for the CEO of Sierra Nevada and says, “This is my impersonation of merger talk between Dr. Dre and Eminem after Microsoft paid 4.5 billion for LinkedIn, “Hey slim, Microsoft paid 4.5 billion for LinkedIn. Eminem says, “Worrdddddddddd. Linked in lamer than ever yoh.” Personally, Max had me at Hey Slim, because he dropped his voice low enough to pull off a semi-decent Dr. impersonation. Hey, did you know Hitler’s birthday is on 420? Puffing the bong to more Tuff Gong never felt so wrong. I haven’t felt this betrayed since Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.” So, to answer your question, I hooked up with Max on the dance floor sky bar in West Hollywood later that night on the dance floor, but then, Frans Drescher from the Nanny, caught his interest and I never heard from him again. He left me a busines card and said, we should stay in touch through LinkedIn, which I’ve never got over completely, especially knowing how I got interested in hooking up with Max only after he dumped on LinkedIn in the 1st place.”

Patrick finally interrupts Lisa, trying to be diplomatic as possible, afraid of blowing his potential 9 grand commission rip in the making and says, “Well, Max thought enough you to list you as reference for ex-girlfriends to a conduct a background check to assess his sexual harassment factor risk at Budranker.com. Did Max ever touch you on the dance floor too aggressively at the Sky Bar?

Lisa says, “Hell no. I’m the one who shoved his hand up my skirt. I told him my panties were packed in my purse and we could go skinny dipping at this house in the hills, my friend was housesitting for, next to Roman Polanski’s old house, who’s a serially underrated rapist compared to Cosby in my book. I still don’t understand how they pulled the Roseanne show off the air yet have no problem showing adds for Ambien between replays of the Cosby show on syndication on Nick at Night.”

Patrick says, “You’re really funny. What are you doing wasting your time doing Digital Content Marketing for a living?” Lisa says, “I’m too sexy for stand-up Patrick. Sara Silverman and Chelsea Handler 20 years ago were never in my league of looks. Also, I don’t see myself posting endless naked pics of myself like Chelsea Handler with another book in hand to showcase my social justice warrior reading cred to downplay the world from my tit’s sagging popularity in the process either.” Patrick says, “So, if Budranker.com called you tomorrow to ask you if Max was a sexual assault liability in the making, what would your response be exactly? Lisa says, “That all depends on you Patrick. Do you like old school hip hop like most old school wigger Irish dudes from Long Island?” Patrick says, “How do you know I’m from Long Island.” Lisa says, “I already looked you up on LinkedIn. You’re cute. Why don’t we wrap this interview up at Hip Hops later tonight? I crafted the playlist, playing only old school rap myself. It’s flush with songs by Biggie, Nas, even Snoop. Who cares if Snoops brain hovers a notch below Porn Hood Hell?”  My exact measurements are 36d, my pic on the LinkedIn doesn’t give my balling beauties justice.” Patrick thinks to himself, “I better learn how to code for a new tech startup because that safe space room to get my whack on can’t come soon enough.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth