What’s My Blog About Rapewood?

It’s about an ex pot head lost boy who found his mojo as a stay at home dad comedian.

It’s about falling for fatherhood hard and rising from slug to stud as a paid remote American writer on the rise.

It’s about proving I can deliver the funny and heart on both the universal and topical better than most.

It’s about showcasing my Neil Young productivity and Metallica brooding intensity.

It’s about not sounding too rehearsed or sounding too formulaic like every other jerkoff on the Twitter-Verse.

It’s about mining for comedy gold and exercising my freedom of speech, so my wife no longer treats me like such a treacherous leach.

It’s about getting laughs from strangers which is what comedians live to do but I have 3 kids now. So chasing down open mikes in the city aren’t as easy to do.

It’s about promoting the benefits of attachment parenting. Which is turning your bed into a 24/7 open milk bar. But my kids complexions glow as opposed to other kids who look like they took a load to the face with Elmer’s Glue gun so far.

It’s about calling out fake news racist charges against President Trump. Unlike Obama, he never drank, smoked or did bumps.

It’s about becoming a voice for the remote work revolution and stay at home dads who get less respect than IT recruiters.

It’s about doing my own version of Charles Bukowski’s zero bullshit poetic prose, Thomas Paine’s freedom of speech loving verse and Walt Whitman’s making love to the world through words.

It’s about becoming an unplanned parent of 3 and how it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.

It’s about writing the funniest parenting book ever about working remote, falling for fatherhood and controlling my kids through comedy.

It’s about recycling my jokes on Twitter which shadow bans my material every time I get on another hot streak which has been 2 years straight.

It’s more than just a creative outlet babe. It’s the greatest do it all dad show on earth.  But I’m glad you’re making tomato soup grill cheese sandwiches with your boyfriend now to reduce your combined girth.

It’s not about bashing whitey because that’s more played than dedicating the song, We Won’t Get Fooled Again to the Clinton Foundation at the only local Karaoke bar in Hatti.

It’s not about getting noticed by a Creative Director in Manhattan for a Copywriter job anymore.

It’s not about just complaining about my parents abandoning me for Scottsdale, Arizona 350 days a year with 3 grandchildren back east with me.

It’s not about just entertaining myself or my own ego enlargement purposes although more likes than usual helps.

It’s about figuring out what writer I want to be.

It’s about writing my way into your heart, not whether I come across as a notch above learning disabled smart.

It’s about minimizing my intense, aggressive, NY asshole aura by emoting about how wonderful my children are and how much they adore me instead.

It’s about taking my writing career more seriously than ever. And revealing more about myself than my predominant tendency to bludgeon your ears to death with clever.

It’s about becoming an important voice for Gen X Dads. Who in the age of Meto, care about preserving their nads.

It’s about becoming a voice for do it all dad’s who don’t get enough props, who need me time entertainment to enjoy with their IPA hops.

It’s about I how I have to become a parenting author because capturing voices is my forte and getting inside my children’s is the most fulfilling form of child’s play.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

Birth of an American Dad

Once upon an asshole my dad used to be an asshole. Never to me personally. Outside the 1 time he pointed out how the penne vodka at Pizza and Brew was made with prosciutto ends after I only gave his green goddess essence Broccoli Penne Vodka a 9.

Dada added. Daddy isn’t a pescatarian. But when I cook for our family I am. So, excluding prosciutto ends to my penne vodka means I don’t have as much flavor flavorings working in my favor. Obviously, dada was a being a mini asshole oversharing with me like he tended to do back in the day.

In retrospect, Dada, should’ve just accepted my 9 rating of his penne vodka with blanched Broccoli green goddess essence and moved on with his life. Instead, of throwing the chef at Pizza Brew under the bus as we’re waiting outside our home sweet home. Hearing my bus coming.

Dada always waited for me by the bus, when we used to live in the beautiful hamlet of Croton Falls, NY. Right, off Route 22. You can drive on Route 22 throughout every bucolic hamlet from NY all the way up to Vermont into fake news socialist Bernie Sanders country.

I won’t apologize for making fun of Bernie Sanders. He didn’t make America great again. Plus, when we took a family spring break trip to Norway. Dada came back from a bar sampling some local Norwegian brew and was told by a bartender Bernie neve even stepped foot in the country for their annual smoked fish smear convention. Tremendous tap water, in the city of Bergen by the way. So, the beer quality was naturally Ithaca is gorgeous Ithaca Flower tap fantastic according to daddy.

Did you know only 2% of American children call their fathers daddy? We never had a normal American family. Mommy being from Australia originally and daddy being a stay at home comedian dad/native New Yorker from the rough section of Scarsdale, NY. That’s a joke obviously. All the Jewish kids who went to daddy’s Hebrew school were real pussies according to Daddy.

Daddy attended Edgemont High School. Which is right next door to suburban Scarsdale, NY. His friends braved going to Movieland to watch movies like New Jack City during the height of the Albanian Guido revolution. So, my daddy and his friends had pseudo tough guy bragging rights through osmosis in comparison.

You’re probably wondering, why I’m tossing around words like asshole and real pussies so loosely being a 27-year-old nationally syndicated comic strip illustrator and co-creator of Hear My Bus Coming. A comic strip that gave Dilbert creator Scott Adams, heart palpitations because it’s gotten so popular, daddy told President Trump to unfollow the creator of Dilbert, Scott Adams on Twitter. Because he’s an unfunny, low octane personality in comparison. Trump laughed. And unfollowed Scott Adams the next day, no questions asked.

Daddy predicted Ivanka would be president after Trump was done making ball busting without the hysterical, falling apart at the seam’s overtones great again. Daddy killed at the White House Correspondents Dinner. Still getting laughs out of making fun of Hillary Hammer Time Cankles. And her deleted emails about the yoga class coupons from Lulu Lemon and those others detailing funeral arrangements in case Chelsea’s Clinton’s fiancé increased his asking price at the last sec.

Yeah, so back to my liberal use of cursing. Understand, I only curse for emphasis the way daddy always did. Before his Do It All Dad Year Podcast blew up, got Gibson Guitar as a big time sponsor in addition to Lulu Lemon and an Israeli tech start up providing social media monitoring alerts for the FBI and NSA to thwart the surge of hate formation surging in the forms of all white nationalist, Neo Nazi Groups and of course radical Islam groups not too fond of our people either. At least, Farrakhan is having his wormy eyes being eaten by real life termites six feet under as we speak.

Farrakhan called Hitler a great man when he was alive. Not a great artist though obviously. Do you see Picasso ideating the swastika? When Daddy performed at the White House Correspondents Dinner, Dada said the swastika look like 2 stick figures doing a sixty on a see saw on Crystal Meth. Daddy is very funny. I couldn’t have done our nationally syndicated comic strip Hear My Bus Coming without his punchy might. Then again, daddy would also be screwed without my artist drawing supreme abilities. His handwriting till this day. No matter how hard he’s tried to improve still looks like Jared Leto with the shakes using a pen crazed glued to his stump arm in Requiem for a Dream.

Growing up, daddy always told us how heroin destroyed all the creative greats like Jerry Garcia and how it also led to premature deaths of other artistic giant personal favorites of his such as Janis Joplin and John Coltrane, Belushi included. Daddy showed me and my 2 brothers the movie Requiem for a Dream once a month from 10 through 17. Only to read us the druggy, brain raping destroyage tales from Allen Ginsburg’s landmark poem Howl for a night cap to nail his overkill message home. It worked. God bless daddy for not holding back in that instance time and time again.

So, I wasn’t a planned baby. Mommy was pregnant with me when she got married to daddy but barely showed. Technically, speaking I already traveled overseas to Australia for their honeymoon when I was only 180 days old. Customs in Australia thought mama was a Drug Mule. Patted her down and everything. Which I took personal offense to at the time. Daddy looked nothing like Leo from Beach back then. Especially since Leo’s looks took a nose dive off a cliff after draining his face dry from way too much booze fueled nose candy plagued nights according to daddy. Only hearing last call from the bathroom stall.

Daddy started his Do It All Dad Year Podcast to celebrate other do it all dads living the new remote work American dream. Which would make the focus less ego centric and help minimize his assholishness. It did. Daddy’s much smarter than Papa and Mimi ever gave him credit for. Before he became so big time with my assistance of course. Now, they can’t help but kiss his bum more than Uncle John’s. Not that Uncle John gave daddy much steep competition anymore in comparison. Still Uncle John made out alright. Becoming the VP of Expansion Sales for Shake Shack. Lots of expensing on the corporate account. Uncle John still doesn’t know the difference between a White Burgundy or a Polly Fume Sauvignon Blanc. But he never had dad’s flamboyant, shisshy bitch tastes or style either.

My baby brother Arthur is a world-famous architect who just built the 1st space model design for Trump Tower on Mars. Our youngest brother Samuel, AKA Chef Samuels continues to expand his restaurant empire of old school hip hop themed Pescatarian Gastro Pubs. With actual dance floors to get jiggy with it on called Hip Hops. Daddy gets 10 percent of the revenue for naming rights alone. Daddy always said headline hooker creation was one his few fortes.

Oh, and Mommy eventually got her PHD in Lactation and became an internationally acclaimed bestselling writer, with her book the Boob Doctor. Daddy got 10 percent of her book sales royalties based on his naming creation ability yet again. What, I never said, Dad overcame his assholishness altogether.

For my dad’s follow up book to the Stay at Home Comedian, Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian. The book cover says. Pescatarian Diet + Heaps of Funny Equals 1 happy family. And my family is living proof of it. It’s a tremendous honor to receive the Mark Twain prize for humor and for once my daddy let me do all the talking myself. All it took was winning the Mark Twain prize to shut the asshole up. Love you daddy. You became a stand-up mensch after all. I always knew you had it in you. Now give me another never ending hug. I never want this moment to end either.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Coming To Terms With My Ex-Social Life Pre- 3 Kids

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

West Hollywood was fun. Mika couldn’t speak a paragraph full of English. She took me out to Sushi Roku for my birthday at 22. I should’ve broken up with you like a man. Sorry special.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life with pre-3 kids.

1st, I got serious with my girlfriend now wife Natalia because I knew deep down how much my friends from high school sucked compared to her. You kill at the Comedy Cellar and get. They were laughing at you.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life before 3 kids.

Now I don’t have to waste my Angel Hair in White Clam Sauce with Pepperoncini’s on a baby-faced southern gal. Only for her to ask if she could bring home leftovers for desert.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-kids.

Living in Hermosa Beach, you had to lunge at new puss fast because last call was at 12:30. Which sucks for a native New Yorker. My yak pipes were just getting warmed up.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I had to endure my friend JT’s tasteless, Nazi jokes. But he was half my size. And I knew he was a jealous gentile because of my chosen curls and Vince Vaughn aura. He did call me a social genius though. Miss you pal.

Coming to terms with ex-social pre-3 kids.

My old roommate Dan was right. I did puff the ganja in excess for my lack of buds nearby. Jacob, my dealer was the best. Always made him laugh. And I wasn’t very funny back then either. Totally blanking on how I met him.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre kids.

I’m so lucky. Erica pushed me to write, create and stretch my imagination. Bought us tickets for a taping of Friends for my birthday. Pointed out a writer talking to Ross between takes. Saying you can be him. Thank you.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I loved living with my roommate Jay in Sherman Oaks for the most part. He really cared for me. Went tripping on Mushrooms when I got fired from my 1st and only bartender job I had in a fancy 4 star French Restaurant in West Hollywood on La Brea after months of searching.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre 3 kids.

Lizzette was statuesque and pretty. Looked like a Latino Terri Hatcher. Paid her way through law school. Loved my poetry. Made her cry when I graded her blow job once. Sorry babe. You were perfect.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-kids.

Melissa had great boobs. Was a cool Indiana gal. Worked on the Fox lot. Friends were awful. When I sold wine. I sampled desert ice wine on her innards. Never loved her though. Sorry pretty.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I did sing Karaoke every Friday with my roommate Jay. I met Leslie from the valley. She sold porno DVD’s for a living. Which is Paul Thomas Anderson material. I’ve done goonish with. She was really good to me.

Coming to terms with my ex -social life pre- 3 kids.

My roommate fat shamed a Mexican girl who really loved me. Heart still breaks for her. So sorry gorgeous. Worked as a film editor for MGM. Asked me to choke her. So I banged in a her turtleneck.

Coming to terms with my  ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I did sing Karaoke every Friday with my boy from LA Jay Master Jay. And feel excessively white after he killed to Eminem before Slim Shady became a Trump triggered bitch boy like the rest.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I auditioned for the reality show Blind Date in the same room as Disco Dan. Got on the show to. All I got from it was a free meal and herpes.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre- 3 kids.

It was hard to top my summer wind Summer Lam, yummy. So sweet. Her plan for us? Move to Santa Barbra. She’d day trade and I’d write books. I fucked that 1 up. Love you forever perfect.

Coming to terms with ex-social life pre-3 kids.

I’d do shotguns of weed with Summer in my Hermosa Beach pad. She didn’t even like weed despite going to the same school as Obama in Hawaii. Some baller, a bench player at an all Asian private school in Hawaii.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

Erica’s dad in Westwood, had a keg of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on tap constantly. Fuck, now I have to be happy with my father in law’s leftover brown ale from Maine 2 and half years ago.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

Leslie had issues. Still she did look like a shorter Loraine Bracco to me. And her dad’s house in Malibu was sick. Doesn’t make up for her terrorizing me at work, almost getting me arrested for fake news assault charges and the restraining order.

Coming to terms with ex-social pre-3 kids.

My 1st year of doing open mikes in LA was humbling. I fumble an opener joke about Ron Artest. My saver and only laugh. I love black guys because they don’t discriminate against the p word. Of course, I said the actual p word.

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre-3 kids.

It wasn’t so great to begin with. Especially knowing I had to slam J&B scotch on the rocks around my High School friends. To fill the entertainment void left by their lackluster, blah brained company.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

LaVar Ball As My Sub Dad Growing Up

I’d have more brothers to play with over my GI-Joe Figures way past puberty. It was a road block to my emotional development.

He’d hold spin the bottle house parties in my honor.
But only invite stuck up Jenny down the block.
2 minutes in, he barks. The Yahoo bottle doesn’t spin itself bitch.

I’d be more inclined to my buy my dad a Bentley with unbridled enthusiasm. Instead, of the gift giving possessing a cold, transactionary, I owe you for college and for paying Pre-K way.

I’d prank call Cuba Gooding. And challenge Cuba and Laurence Fishburne to games of 2 on 2 for 64’s of Old E. Just to watch my Dad LaVar Ball pour the 64’s on Fishburne and call him a low IQ baller.

He’d make sure I lost my virginity before my younger brother did. So I wouldn’t feel like a big brother bust like Eddie Curry or Greg Oden. With an even shittier, less reliable hook shot.

My highlight varsity year would be more than scoring a whopping 12 points against an all Japanese team in suburban NY. The players ran away from me like movie extras in a Godzilla film.

My dad still wouldn’t be sporting the same pair of ashy sweats from 88.
Totally ruining his 1st type Skype call with his grandchildren in retirement splendor from Scottsdale, Arizona.

My father’s favorite nickname for me wouldn’t be a Waste of Height but instead be Manifest Baller Destiny.

We mirror our dad’s behavior. So I wouldn’t have taken up smoking cigarettes at the time or only get off the couch to tear down my John Stark’ poster after he failed to elevate the Knick’s past Houston.

He’d send me to Big Man Camp to build up my toughness. Instead of to a Jewish sleep away camp where I was the 2nd worst athlete after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck, Long Island.

My 1st concert would be Public Enemy with Anthrax, for the Bring the Noise, bring the funk tour. And I wouldn’t have to feel so self-conscious Jewish in the presence of skinheads and one percenters in attendance.

He’d offer Rihanna future sneaker profit participation points for popping my cherry. So I’d pick and pop from way downtown with bigger baller authority.

I’d still get busted for stealing Hockey Cards at Child World in attempt to snag an Eric Lindros rookie card.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Celebs Playing Dad

Brad Pitt playing Dad.
David Fincher scripts were bumming me out man.

Brad Pitt playing Dad again.
Floyd had to get off the couch sooner or later man.

Brad Pitt playing Dad again.
Don’t get me we wrong. I love killing Nazis and all. But revenge pics are so tired Tarantino. Unless, he pens one where Uma gets to gut Harvey in Grindhouse 2. I’m so much cooler than Johnny Depp.

Ben Affleck playing Dad.
Normally, dads don’t move to New York City after rehab in Malibu to curb their enthusiasm for boozing all night long.

Jeff Goldblum playing Dad.

2 kids later at 68. Jeff Goldblum feels right on schedule. I’m sure his boys will feel the same way when he forgets to zip his fly doing the Humpty at their Dino rocker themed Bar Mitzvah parties.

Ryan Phillipee playing Dad.
What, my agent can’t get me a recurring role on TV. I’ll take any role I can get.

Ryan Phillippe playing Dad again.

Does Reese, I mean mama ask about me anymore? Or has her love for daddy gone to pieces? Because of my cruel intentions of making her jealous by banging a younger actress before my cameo for Crash never materialized.

George Clooney playing Dad.

Clooney opened up how fatherhood changed his life once and for all. Let me guess. He no longer feels so distinguished. Plus, massive acid attacks in England made him flee back to rape wood in sunnier, walled surroundings.

Will Smith playing Dad.
What do you think of the dress dad? I think a tailor is in order. If you want another shot at rebooting an iconic movie franchise. But for kicks the dress looks adorable on you kid.

Neil Patrick Harris playing Dad.
I know Mario Cantone is funnier than me. I’m not a traditional stand-up comedian kids, remember? I thought you were just a child actor with good timing dada.

Ryan Reynolds playing Dad.
My boobs just didn’t pop out of nowhere girls.
But don’t sweat it. You’re bound to follow after mommy’s golden globes when it’s your time to pop.

David Beckham playing Dad.
Pele does bicycle kicks, not me kid. But I can show you how to kickstart your ab workouts into high gear in no time.
Chris Hemswoth playing dad.
I learned how to surf at Bondi Beach with Brody as my surf whisperer.
So hop on my back kid. You got nothing to fear when the ghost of Swayze is near.

Salman Kahn playing Dad.
Bollywood actor Salman Kahn wants to embrace fatherhood through surrogacy because he’s not marriage material. Or as they say in India. Why the buy the cow, when it’s not arranged or skewed in your bold, rich, and beautiful favor.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth