Judas Lives

How many athletes have to die in their prime before Bob Costas says anything about it? Granted, Americans don’t know about soccer players dropping dead on the field because none of us watch soccer. Just once, I want to see a red pilled Bob Costas interview Dr. Gnocchi as a guest interviewer on 60 minutes.

Dr. Fauci, Doctors are blaming clot shot deaths from the fake news vaccine on green tea now.

Ginseng is so hot right now, not.

Care to comment?

Bob, I knew you were funny, but never this hardcore hilarious.

Look Bob, I don’t need the WHO to tell me that too much green tea can give me cardiac arrest.

How do you think the Chinese built the Great Wall of China ahead of schedule?

Costas cuts Fuck Face Fauci off.

Forget tea, do you think Prince Harry tried to kill himself because of mental health issues?

Scruffie Archie hasn’t shaved in years.

Fauci says, “No comment. But what I can tell you Bob is that depression doesn’t discriminate.”

Costas says, “Is that why Ja Rule get’s depressed at the pump for blowing all his remaining royalties on gas these days?”

I don’t know who you’re taking about Bob.

Costas adds.

Why are so many soccer players dropping dead?

Yet David Beckham still finds a good reason to get up every morning.

I mean calling David Beckham a great soccer player is like calling you America’s most trusted doctor.

What are you implying Bob?

That you own a financial stake in the Moderna COVID 19 vaccine and due to get royalties on it despite it working less than Russell Westbrook helming the Triangle Offense for Showtime Lakers.

I’m implying that your idea of Philanthropy Capitalism is your boy Gates turning us into Placenta Smoothie Nation.

I’m implying that after trillions spent on Aids research, the only vaccine you developed was the secret stash stashed in Magic Johnson’s cookie jar to make the HIV virus disappear.

I’m implying that AZT drug you pushed was responsible for killing more gay men than Fashion Police getting canceled after Kelly Osbourne teamed up with Trans Chucky, which proved to be more toxic than barebacking the Aids Monkey hemophiliac with hemoglobin issues, who got Monkeypox after Andy Dick barebacked bi curious George with a banana in his tail pipe.

I’m implying that you have a history of fast-tracking vaccine drugs that killed all the gerbils jammed up Richard Gere’s ass before they’d tried to break free.

I’m implying that you’re a sadistic piece shit for funding an experiment that allowed beagles to be eaten to death by sandflies and that you’re a better paid Joseph Mengle that will be hiding once the Nuremberg Trials 2.0 kick into full gear.

I’m implying that shutting down the economy and pushing worldwide depopulation through the clot shot gives overachieving Nazi scientists a bad name.

I’m implying that you’ve caused more unnecessary suffering under your watch than Phil Rosenthal’s artificially happy theme music on Somebody Feed Phil.

I’m implying that it’s the year the four eyed snake. And that you and your butt boy Gates, got another thing coming.

I’ve got 2 words for you. Iron Maiden.

You let patients die alone in New York.

While shipped in hospital beds got less touches than a St. James Bible within a Bath House colony in Provincetown.

HGH injections ruined the purity of America’s Pastime.   

You’re clot shots did the same for our medical profession.

Pete Rose can’t get into the Hall yet you’re the highest paid hit man in our government for producing zero hit vaccines after 40 years at the plate.

Now that’s torture on par with Kevin Costner ‘s wooden acting in the Untouchables.

But screaming Vengeance is going to come Dr. Gnocchi.

Resist this hate speech, Mr. Untouchable.

If only Dinero was a real-life designed hitter for the mob instead of looking like Betsy Ross on the View these days, falling apart at the seams.

Screaming Vengeance For Judas , Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Mastercard CFO Says

Mastercard CFO isn’t worried about a recession. Because their only interest is getting you into deeper debt, shit head stains on society.

CFO explains to Bloomberg.

Ban fertilizer in Canada.

I don’t give a shit.

Food shortages and increased production costs for Farmers are cash cows for us.

MasterCard rules your life now.

Just when you think, you’re out of debt, because Mr. Groper promised to pay off your college degree from the University of Phoenix. Mastercard keeps pulling you back in.

Emit bitch all you want on your WordPress blog.

We suffer from net zero guilt, you peon putzes.

That’s why you’re eating a face of full of manure like Biff from Back to Future, and we’re not.

So, relax kids, Millennial Mouseketeers are dying in their sleep from the clot shots.

But for now, they’ve got Mastercard.

Remember more shots means less living.

But at least you got your vaccine passport stamped one more time to visit Copenhagen.

Apply for a Mastercard today.

More living equals less limits.

Like you were going to blow your bonus money on a self-driving scooter that hits get away rape speed while driving through a no-go zone in Denmark.

AI saves the day. Your clit won’t be hacked into shawarma shreds in Copenhagen in August, priceless.

Michael Kornbluth

Dante’s Hell Lives

Now it’s racist should be the new website address for Google or for Snopes Debunks.com.

Now it’s racist if a mascot at Chuck E Cheese ignores your kid’s Thugs Lives Matter hat, that’s turned backwards.

Since All Lives Matter become the N Word.

A mascot at Chuck E Cheese can’t barely see as is.

And I’m positive the mouse is masked inside, unless he’s a pedophile on parole.

We don’t want the pedophile to be accused of heavy breathing on his 1st date.

Want some bread sticks Johnny?

Ever try one with a creamy alfredo sauce instead?

If a mascot at Chuck E Cheese ignored my kid in Wayne, New Jersey, I’d think, “Chuck E. Cheese must be more into the cheesy bimbet Guido girls that sprout like asbestos in New Jersey around these parts.

I’d freak out if a mascot started waiving at me uncontrollably.

I’d think, “Why is Patch Adams treating me like my days are numbered? Is my, “Just Vaccinated Sticker”, a dead giveaway?”

When the mom confronted the manager about the alleged diss from the mascot, he made excuses.  

“Wave goodbye, to your cushy Cinnabon manger offer now.”

“Snubbing black kids don’t pay.”

“I should’ve stuck with accounting at Montclair university.”

“I’m not even supposed to be here today.”

Dante’s Hell lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Recess Passes Matter

Instead of giving criminals get out of jail free cards, which is what no bail laws do.  We should institute a recess pass system that my teachers used on us to discourage bad behavior growing up except these Recess Passes are used for Cannabis shops in New York City. Latrel Sprewell’s kid chokes out a cop’s white privilege and he gets his recess pass to the cannabis shop taken away. Thugs Lives Matter Most, start having panic attacks on the Subway. Where am I going to get my gummies now? Stink free plus ash free equals zero regrets homey. Plus, I don’t want to share a blunt with your ass just out of the slammer, you monkey pox packing motherfucker.”  Recess Passes Matter, Challah, Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Angel Light

How do you fuck with your Atheist wife? Be serious about expressing your desire to adopt a kid with Down Syndrome. But they can die at 40 from cancer. Athletes are dying from the clot shot in their twenties now. So, 40 is the new 90 really babe. Plus, your username on the Peloton is Flowers and Babies. Shouldn’t all kids enveloped in our circle of love in our comedy estate home come up roses in your eyes? You work in the NICU checking for vital signs. All I check for is for retweets. You want me to prove I’m not an A Plus Narcissist and break the curse of my family tradition for good? Then this is it. Huey Lewis and the News live, Challah. Thank you very much. Although leave it to Uncle John, AKA Sir Snort A Lot to contaminate our air of holiness at home, the one time he offers our adopted son with Down Syndrome some blow and says, “You don’t always have to be down kid.” But who’s going to look after him? You still don’t have a job. He’ll help me sell my new gum invention Hop-O-Rama Chew. Who’s going to say no to a kid with Down Syndrome? What, I want to disrupt the job market for young adults with Down Syndrome. Most kids with Down Syndrome are highly creative. Plus, they possess highly developed senses of humor like Phil Rosenthal’s cousin in Somebody Feed Phil or the guy in Something About Mary. And who could resist our adopted kid with Down Syndrome going to door to door in Brooklyn selling Hop flavored gum to overweight Stay At Home hipster dads who identify more with Lena Dunham since she morphed into the Hunchback of Bushwick during Restaurant Week? We can call him Zevon Zappa Kornbluth, which gives him immediate hipster cred after he introduces himself in addition to some immediate breathing room to pitch. I want to out Hipster the shit out of these guys. Door to door sales would do wonders for this kid’s self-esteem. At the same time, nobody is slamming a door on a kid’s face with Down Syndrome, especially if he’s blowing the biggest bubble, you’ve ever seen while holding up tape recorder that plays our pre-recorded radio jingle for Hop-O-Roma Chew. “Blow your blues with away some Hop-O-Rama Chew. Our bubbles are easy to blow. Even kids with Down Syndrome can blow big bubbles while chewing on a daily nugget of wisdom wrapped inside each burst of bright-eyed flavor inside.  Hop-O-Rama Swami says, “Beer Bellies give self-love a bad name. And Sarah Palin is better than you. So, add some extra bounce to your step with some Hop-O-Rama Chew.”

“Also, your best friend Sara will feel like a more self-involved narcissist for only having one kid versus our 3 plus one adopted one with Down Syndrome. And our 4th kid being an adopted one with Down Syndrome would really piss my parents off. Just think of what a big deal they made about putting up a pool fence. But I don’t view a kid with Down Syndrome as an eye sore but as angel light and their laughs are the purest. Plus, when a kid with Down Syndrome smiles it could light up a youth hostel in a no-go zone area in Germany with no-WI Fi during the Chinese planted plague made in Wuhan delivered through remote controlled drone bats, next day delivery. Supply Chain problem solved because everyone will be dead. So, what difference does it make? Except that our best of 4 worlds family, that being all 4 kids, because were not family without them, will be able to bask in some angel light before the never-ending shit show goes up in flames. As we sing in a beautiful, truthfully tuneful harmony, “It’s the end of the world, and we know it, and I feel fine. Because Samuel needs a younger brother to look after. And denying him the opportunity to be the biggest hearted big brother ever would really blow more than being denied the chance to see if your mother would terminate her Nazi dog Heidi over a more playtime consideration with her grandchild with Down Syndrome. Will see how God blessed she’ll act in the face of our new kid with Down Syndrome who will do abortion jokes in my honor over Christmas. One kid only means your diaphragm is for walls after all Baba. Plus, how could I ever be sad in the presence of Dad? Funnier dad, happier baby. Thanks Dad. For giving me the confidence to do more than dig ditches for non-biodegradable masks at McDonald’s before the never-ending shit show goes up in flames.” Angel Light lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Half Heeb Crazy

The best thing about weed being legalized is not pretending to like your old dealer anymore. Until it’s cheaper to visit your dealer instead of blowing 50 bucks on gas on your way to the Berkshires. You’re forced to make small talk again.

“Joe Rogan thinks Michelle Obama, What’s Talent Got To Do With It, would make a great next president. And Mr. Groper in the White House got more votes than Obama ever did, which is like claiming DMX gave up weed for catnip during Lent because he isn’t a Catholic on his Jewlery only. Michelle Obama calls it racist to flee from the southside of Chicago, the lead maker of blood controlling kits in the country, as if the southside of Chicago is only one Crepe Food Truck away from Gentrification. Gentrification, you know old school liberal talk for less black people before All Lives Matter became the new n word. I don’t care if Michelle Obama is trans, just stop acting like you hate Trump’s America so much, when you admitted to playing with Malibu Barbie as a kid. Throw a wig on in the eighties and Trump could’ve passed for Malibu Barbie with smaller tits.”

Old weed dealer says, “Michelle Obama isn’t trans.” I say, “How many trans have you gone down on exactly? I’ve done the dirty work and gone deep undercover. Call it a Trans Dar. Just imagine Catilyn Jenner facing off with Michelle Obama on the debate stage after coming out as Trans. Caitlyn Jenner says, “Michelle, so glad, you finally decided to join the party, especially after Trans Chucky teamed up with that unhuggable cunt Kelly Osbourne and ruined Fashion Police forever. Fashionably late my balls. That’s right, I still got them Chappelle.  Did you participate in leaving trash talking notes about Trump in the White House with Chappelle during your last blow out party at the White House Michelle? Or was that beneath you, despite claims of Melania having to fumigate the Lincoln bedroom on your way out the door. I know, Icky Shuffle Biden got the most votes out of any president in US History. And you regretted pissing on the ceiling fan in the Lincoln bedroom during Trump’s inauguration. Hours later, The Donald comments to Melania, “Is this what Michelle meant, when She-Hulk said, “When they go low, we aim high”?  But keep getting your panties in a bunch over Michelle being Trans in real life dude, get over it already. Richard Pryor talks about an affair he had with a Trans woman in his book Confessions. He called it the best piece of pussy, Bill Maher never had. Half Heeb Crazy, Joan lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Greatest Recession Nation

Broke man on campus interview.

Are you in college?

Yeah, how did you know?

The U Penn mask was a dead giveaway.

Plus, I’m conducting interviews outside the Wharton School of Business.

So, you’re a business major, I assume?

No, I major in gender fluid studies at Oberlin college and minor in films done to demonize whitey by Jordan Peele. I loved his last film Get Out Of My Dreams, Katy Perry. You’re not the added color I’m casting for.

So how does an Economics professor at the Wharton Business School define a Recession today?

Hunter giving up blow for blow painting because he can’t afford good blow anymore.

After President Poopy Pants told the Ukranian energy company to cut out giving Sir Snort a Lot 50 grand a week to push borscht as the new Kombucha.

Drug jokes aside, how would you explain a Recession to your nephew today?

Tocca Boca money won’t get you jack shit in Boca.

Fuck the Vanguard Index. The only thing the Vanguard Index mimics these days is Prince Harry’s depression. I shouldn’t make fun of mental health. Harry tried to kill himself. Harry hasn’t shaved in years.

So, fuck the Vanguard Index. In only DeSantis We Trust, Florida gotta to love it.

Invest in bitcoin, which is Tocca money to use in real life.

You can trade bitcoin for cash or gold teeth fillings from R. Kelly on the cheap.

Dark money rules everything around me, dollar, dollar bills, yah.

What, my nephew just had Wu Tang play his Bar Mitzvah party at Griffith Park in Silverlake?

Is Dave Chappelle still defending R. Kelly in his act these days?

Get off your R. Kelly’s dick already Breitbart.

He’s the black Elvis with weaker bladder control.

Or just the ask the Tooth Fairy for a Money Tree, assuming it’s not made in Wuhan, which is sprayed with Spike Proteins used designed to depress your immune system more than entry in the Dalla’s Buyers’ Club.

What, my nephew identifies with Harry Style’s pansexual leanings in the remake of Peter Pan called, Cock Blocking Puberty Blockers. So little boys never develop enough raging testosterone to fight off advances from Michael Jackson impersonators during Drag Queen Reading Hour once Fabiola calls in sick for the Monkey Pox. How would the King of Popping Cherries defend himself today? All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’t buy me love?

So, buy a Money Tree, not made in Wuhan, which will definitely yield you more luck than the stock market these days. The 3-year return on the S&P is dropping faster than Meghan Mccain’s belly rolls while despanxing.

A recession is like breast reduction surgery.

It only causes more financial strain.

Because you have to buy your own drinks now.

Plus, your personal worth plummets because banking on your personality to net more angel seed money interest in your dog walking business was a losing bet that caused your next great depression.

Oh, yeah that’s it. You want to explain what a Recession is today on Seaseme Street?

Count Dracula can get count 13 reasons why were the Greatest Recession Nation.

Trump didn’t come up with the term Great Recession Nation we did. One.

Were the great recession nation because Jimmy Carter got his Mojo back which makes him feel smoother than sanding alphabet blocks for his grandchildren carved in Farsi.


Were the greatest recession nation because Al Gore is trying to be relevant again. Still, why don’t I sweat global warming? Because Al Gore’s speaking career since 2006 has cooled considerably. Three.

Were the greatest recession nation because it’s the great reset, you dumb, sheepish bitches. Klaus Schwab and his Nazi spawn overlords will ensure America becomes Placenta Smoothie Nation in no time, come hell or high water. Four.

Were the greatest recession nation because big tech doesn’t need multiple Talent Acquistion Managers to order in for Taco Tuesdays anymore. Five.

Were the greatest recession nation because deplorable oil riggers are forced to sell solar panels on commission only, which gives Death of A Salesman new life at the local playhouse in Odessa, Texas, once the Friday night lights experience another rolling blackout from relying on wind farms built on quicksand to power increased electricity demands. Opening the border for the next Santana garage band to emerge isn’t helping resolve their electric power demands either. Six.

Were the greatest recession nation because the Big Guy is getting his cut from the Ukraine while Zelensky poses for Glamour magazine with his wife in his finest olive-green shirt from the Gap in Boca Roton. Seven.

Were the greatest recession nation because Biden made shorting Banana Republic stock great again. You can’t even get a decent pair of docker shorts there anymore because of incessant supply chain issues, yada, yada, yada, Jap Breath. Eight.

Were a great recession nation because it takes 6 months to get a custom-made couch from Mexico delivered to your house to burn when you run out of oil money this winter, so the timing will be perfect really. Nine.

Were a great recession nation because Capitalism regains their leverage over your free time and doesn’t have to tolerate your pansy ass requests for remote work anymore. As if your children possess more magnetic potential than the land of free I-Phones if you manage to cross over our border without forgetting to say, “No, Papers, Senior. Democrats bueno, Republicans, Punta Holes. Joe Rogan meh.” 10.

Trumpy Poo didn’t coin Greatest Recession Nation. 11.

Trumpy Poo didn’t coin Greatest Recession Nation 12.

Trumpy Poo didn’t coin Greatest Recession Nation 13.

Only Republicans have bad creditability problems, comprende?

Greatest Recession Nation, Challah. Thanks for tanking the economy over an itchy esophagus to get Trumpy Poo out office because he would’ve schooled Greta Thunberg on Climate Change in Davos. Fracking actually reduces are carbon footprint Greta. Greta says, “So Neil Young is full of shit now.” Trump replies, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint. So that much, you share in common babe.”

Above all else, I miss Trump’s relentless optimism and over the top salesmanship.

If he got Monkey Pox and HIV after the Deep State pricked him in his sleep to ensure he doesn’t run for reelection again. Trump would tweet on Truth Social the next morning, “Do I have HIV, yes? But my t-cell count numbers have never been stronger.”

Michael Kornbluth

Endlessly Right

English muffins reminding me of the time alcohol prevented my son from dying a premature death.

“So, Arthur, one time, I went to Fire Island with an old work bud, who wasn’t a complete Long Island hack like the rest, when I used to sell online ads for CitySearch in Manhattan. Our primary target audience was gay men searching for who gave the best facial. I had just met mommy, yet we weren’t in a committed monogamous relationship. Son interrupts my flow. “What’s monogamous daddy?” I say, “Decoupling in reverse.”

“I was semi-seeing this Filipino girl at the time who co-owned a restaurant in the city. She showcased way too much upper gum for my taste. But she was the 1st one I ever did phone sex with because of her instigating encouragement. Son says, “What’s phone sex? I say, “Kama Sutra talk without getting naked, so there’s no harm in it really, assuming you have her consent to give her endless dick over the phone that is. Still, she pushed me to write a Family guy spec during one of my brooding moods, after asking point blank, “What’s going to make you happy?” And I said, “Writing a Family Guy Spec, so I wouldn’t feel like such an ineffectual jerkoff outside of what sporadic laughs I was getting throughout the open mike stage outside of a semi-reliable opener at the time, which was, “So far, my claim to fame was an appearance on the show Blind Date. All I got out of it was a free meal and herpes.” Son says, “What’s herpes?” I say, “Worse than long COVID, next question. And just when you think you’re in the clear, it keeps breaking out from within.”

“Yeah, so back to Fire Island. I made Avocado toast on a toasted English muffin with melted Munster and turkey bacon and all the yenta breaths went hog wild over it. All of a sudden, I felt Jerry Seinfeld minus the career, which reminds he just sold one his vintage Porsches for charity. I just hope that half the proceeds went to Larry’s kids.”

“So, for my 1st time on Fire Island, I was feeling semi-cocky, already had some living under my belt after living in LA for a bit. I didn’t miss driving in LA. But I did miss road head. Son says, “What’s roadhead? I said, “Primo pole position all the way.” Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.”

One time I did that joke at the Comedy Cellar and addressed a banger pretty NYU girl sitting close to the stage with, “Did you just call shot gun?” And the crowd screamed touchdown. Yeah, so I wasn’t married to any one fun hole just yet, my days of being a slut-in-straight jacket hadn’t happened because I didn’t get mommy pregnant by mistake.” Son says, “How did you get her pregnant by mistake? I say, “By being a stoner who forget to ask if she were on the pill. Or from being too much of a chicken shit in a post feminism world to inquire about whether the pill still made her “nauseous” or not, which is code for, run for the hills if you don’t love the bitch.”

“So, I hit on this beautifully, sexy gal on Fire Island who was sunbathing all by herself. She was a better stacked, prettier faced Phoebe Cates with longer luscious hair than the sexless, dike cut she sported in Gremlins 2. All the yenta breaths surrounding us, got their panties in a bunch over the new big headed Heeb in town hitting on a far sexier Barbara Stanwyck without breaking a sweat because girls this sexy are normally dating some alpha man jock who lettered at 3 varsity sports, which I didn’t, who most likely didn’t run down the basketball court, looking like he was sporting high heels instead of high tops. At the time, I didn’t know that she broke up with her boyfriend. Chances are, he banged her hotter friend because guys are scumbags like that, always interested in doing the next best thing. So, I bump into her on the dance floor at some random bar later that evening. We grind on the dance floor as I flexed my magic mike love stand behind her love buns to Moby from what I recall. I’m also on incredibly strong E and have been drinking for 5 hours straight, which is a blackout combo waiting to happen.” Son says, “What’s a blackout?” I said, “Your southern hick DNA sabotaging your chances of getting laid again.”

“Eventually, she says, “Want to take a walk by the beach. I follow her lead. Shit, I would’ve followed her into a glory hole at a Chicago bathhouse during Arafat Appreciation Month. Son says, “What’s a glory hole.” I say, “Russian Roulette with your dick.”

“So, we sit on the sand together but now I’m light-headed. So, I recline back on the sand to look up at the stars. And I feel a bump. She says, “Did you just pass out?” I can’t believe we came that close to fucking.” And that’s how my crazy hick DNA prevented your premature death. Crazy Hick DNA lives. But endlessly wrong produced endlessly right in you kid.”

Endlessly wrong produces endlessly right, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

A Plus Arrogance

Daughter is tall enough to go on the Bumper Cars now because her hips already hit the ceiling. I only wish she inherited my mother-in-law’s stumpy Ukranian troll side now. I’d put that heart shaped blue and yellow sticker on my car if it got me out of witnessing my daughter’s bumper car bust of biblical proportions. I don’t think my daughter completed one full lap. It’s hard to enjoy the Bumper Cars for the 1st time in 35 years, when you have to re-kink your neck every 2 seconds while yelling, “Matilda keep the steering wheel straight. Step on the gas. Stop acting like you’re a city kid who never had to drive a car till that last great escape from Manhattan.”

Watching my daughter struggle to keep her steering wheel straight was brutal. It was like watching Brian Brick make fun of my knock-kneed ass run the three-legged race in Pre-K at the Y all over again.

“Try to stay straight, far from straight Fagala. Pretend a candy ring goes to the winner, clown lips. Why did I have to get paired with the knock-kneed freak? He’s more comfortable on all four’s or in his go to kneeling position anyway.” Brian Brick lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Worse yet, my father, who rarely sees his granddaughter ever, starts to make fun of her. I didn’t have my daughter repeat the insults because she was so upset afterwards, but he could’ve called my 1st born Susie Wong Eyes for all I know. The same girl, Effortless Magic, my Bashert, Hebrew for soulmate, the big wise, sister I always wanted to overcompensate for being the sloppy second son, who plays my Talent Agent in the Great American Jew Novel to help make my Do It All Dad Year come true, my go to babysitter for her 2 adoring younger brothers while I bang out more sheets of comedy gold getting ten times more flustered upset because my father thinks it’s his domain to bust her balls with his standard tactless, asshole relish is where I draw the fucking line. At the same time, I have the perfect out for not having to buy my daughter a car for another 20 years max, a self-driving scooter maybe.

Afterwards I confront my dad and say, “Matilda isn’t into you anymore, not because she’s getting older. She isn’t into you because you’re being a hypercritical prick dad. Never forget, being an a plus narcissist is the family tradition. But mom has the gall to call my oldest “arrogant”, because she doesn’t require your fucking permission to feel great about herself. Join the fucking club. Every teacher since Pre-K has asked me for permission to clone her. So, A plus arrogance in this case is well earned Dad, similar to me killing it on my final comedy record 121 Last Licks, all done in 13 months flat. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years.”

A plus arrogance lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Shirley Temple Life

Mom texts from her cross-country trip stop in Memphis with my dad.

“How is Samuel enjoying camp?”

I say, “He’s a happy camper. Funnier Dad, happier baby.”

Just like how John’s mother and my 2nd Grade teacher Mrs. Pariso would call me Elvis growing up. Samuel is getting hit on by older Italian woman at DeCicco’s all summer long. Last one said to Samuel. “When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.”

And I say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative. I’m not sending him to junior high without a lawyer on his person at all times to hand out pre-poundage consent forms. I call him Chosen Curls was bound to woo for a reason. But instead of declaring bankruptcy, after spending our last rolls of Nickles on gas, I can always sell lockets of his hair for 5 grand a pop on Chinese Ebay. That’s a sustainable business model to keep us rocking in President Poopy Pants world.” Mighty Magic, Challah. Thank you very much.

My wife saw the Elvis movie, which made her walk away from the movie with a heightened appreciation of his sex appeal now. So now, whenever I want to get the wife in the mood for some lockjaw love on my pussy wrecker, rearranger, I’ll whip it out on our Time Life memorial Elvis plate and say, “Memphis Mafia lives. You want to hit that? Fine, pretend, I’m giving you communion Priscilla. Then, pick up your shit and your Fisher Price Farmhouse and have your mommy pick you up in 2 minutes and you got yourself a deal.”

I like to encourage my son’s fearlessness, so he isn’t controlled by fear and only takes up diving off the diving board at 43 years old like his old man. Mom says, “I don’t remember you diving ever.” I say, “That’s because I grew up in the era of Aids mom. So, I’ve never gone headfirst into anything without some initial, gun-shy trepidation. Plus, dad calling me a waste of height before I bloomed under my fruit of looms while being stuck in my head miserable and alone for being the last kid to get into puberty party didn’t help my manly metamorphosis into a high-flying Jimmy Snuka like Little Richard without his rollicking personality swinging in my favor just yet.”

So, my son’s favorite Bruce Lee movie scene is the fight with O’Hara, when he says, “Board, don’t hit back.” That is before Bruce Lee kills O’Hara with a jump kick on to his cranium, which he breaks in 2 like a Meghan Mccain sat on Watermelon, after an act of honor chucking, desperation on O’Hara’s part when he breaks a fairly sizeable beer to cut Bruce with, which causes the master to deliver the final kill shot kick in the head for the ages. As a result, my son, wanted to recreate the scene, and break the glass, only for Daddy to yell, “O’Hara”, which drug lord Han does to O’Hara after he breaks the beer bottle in a no more honor admonishing manner. So, whenever my son whips out his Schmeckel when my Nespresso is being made instead of doing planks with me as I wait, I yell, “Not kosher baby”, or “O’Hara”, pick up your pants Schmeckel Spot.”

I text my mother an O-Hara Lives Part 2 video, so she knows her grandson isn’t breaking his cherry here as he breaks a Shirley Temple Saranac bottle on a rock before yelling, “O’Hara. I laugh uncontrollably on the video and say, “Fast forward funny, O’Hara lives. Shirley Temple Knife, Challah. Thank you very much. But my son is pissed because he broke the entire bottle with only a tiny part of the top handle left in his striking hand. I urge him to say, “Thank you very much. ” Son says, “Thank you very much. This sucks and throws the tip of Shirley Temple bottle on the ground away in disgust.” Mom texts back, “Why are you sending me videos of my grandson breaking bottles on rocks while yelling O’Hara? “I text back, “O’Hara, New World Order, Klaus Schwab, Soros and Friends buying all the farmland and trailer parks on the cheap to turn us into Placenta Smoothie Nation. What difference does it make?” Shirly Temple Life, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth