Jeff Goldblum explaining Chaos Theory to Jimmy Fallon. Humanizing Trumpy Poo on your show by rubbing his flop top hair like he’s the Great Dane you never had.”
Fallon gets defensive for once in his endlessly charmed, borderline edgeless, frictionless life.
Had no idea the bit would blow up in our face, when a real-life skinhead never emerged.
Michael Kornbluth
Magic calling a time out on more hang out time with Lakers owner bus Dr. Buss.
“Dr. Buss, remember when Coop said how running the fast break was better than sex?” Well, that was some old G Nostradamus shit. HIV don’t want me playing around no more. Cookie said, “That’s how the cookie crumbles.” Dr. Bus says, “Don’t worry Magic. I’ll call in a favor to Jack. We can pump his body double for some fresh blood. How do you think Jack stayed alive after all these years? His dick should’ve caught gang green from gang banging fountain spewing hookers in Chinatown ages ago. How else could he bang more fabulous tight-coochie girls while standing up while smoking a joint to cheer you on in the playoffs during away games. Fabulous gang bangs live, Challah. Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
Dad says, “I don’t eat steaks anymore.” I reply, “I’ve been burnt out on your burnt steaks before I bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms Dad. And I’m the one who was diagnosed as a learning-disabled learner in High School. Granted, by the time I completed my un-timed SAT, my friends had already declared their majors at Washington University. At the same time, you did nothing to speed the development of my non-existent self-esteem as my basketball coach Dad like LaVar Ball could. He’d throw me house parties at our crib in the 9th grade to help ensure I got to 1st base before my younger brother did. My star substitute coach dad would only invite Stuck Up Jenny from The Block. Two seconds into the party, super sub coach dad barks into her hoop heavy, dangling ear, “The Grape Crush soda bottle, doesn’t spin itself bitch.”
But we can’t be defined by our self-esteem strangled, fight adverse past selves forever. Which is why none of those pinko buds of yesteryear who attended Washington University 23 years ago, will ever come close to producing 111 comedy records in 11 months flat like a Speed Angel out of hell. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his Stay-At-Home Dad Years. And Quicker Dick Wins, comedy record 113, is coming up right up your juice box hole, Challah. Quicker dick wins, Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
There’s no way Prince Harry tried to kill himself. Scruffy Archie hasn’t shaved in years.
Did Oprah give Harry and Markle the idea they could be a power couple like Linda Hamilton and James Cameron minus the major box office muscle?
Did Oprah recommend they read Hillary’s latest and greatest memoir, Eat, Drink, Wheeze?
But seriously, what was the power couple pitch that Oprah made? “William is a dud like Russell Brand after undergoing an ego lobotomy during the remake of Arthur. You’ve served in Afghanistan and have bad boy cred. Your hot right now like E from Entourage after he started banging Sloan in season 3. You 2 want to break free from your Royal Family ties. Now, is the time to do it. Just promise you won’t kiss and tell after you get your freckles mushed off into the Royal carpet after Michelle Obama pegs your royal bum into middle earth China for shits and giggles after a game of Operation Gender Reassignment edition gets out of hand.”
Has Oprah condemned Harvey Weinstein’s wife for finally divorcing that fat pig after 14 years of marriage? So, she could focus more on her lifetime battle with Amnesia.
Imagine Thanksgiving at the Obama’s this year. Malia, you barely touched your Tofurky. So, I let you intern at Miramax one summer. At the time, Miramax looked good on your resume. Besides, Michelle was your chaperone, and that fat Jew couldn’t pin down Michelle if he tried. Just like there’s no way Kristaps Porzingis tried to rape a girl in his apartment building, the day he tore his ACL. As a whole, going strong to hole was never KP’s forte. Plus, would Harvey Weinstein, try to rape Gal Gadot in her half naked Wonder Woman outfit on only one good leg?
At what point, did Markle say to Oprah? “Fuck the Queen, we bring in major tourist’s dollars to Wimbledon. Nobody’s buying tickets to take in Pier’s Morgan’s bloated blotchy mug.”
At any point, does Oprah keep it real and tell the royal pain in the ass to know her role and go woke herself for pretending she’s anything more than Lisa Bonet without the rock star DNA implanted up her lowly rated IMBD ass?
“Look, Meghan, you have a nice rack, but you still look like a wannabe mulatto mean girl in Heathers. Just because you didn’t get blinded by Scruffy Archie’s pubes, you think your entitled to capitalize off the royal name and use your own line of high-end stationary called, Royel Sussex Royal? Why, not come out with your line of handmade cars and call them, Royal Sussex Royce? You unhuggable classless cunt, Princess Diana, you’re not. Elton John isn’t dedicating shit in your honor, despite you being broad shouldered enough to pass for a B -Tranny judge on set of Rupal’s Drag Race to Nottingham Non-Entity Land. Joan Rivers would’ve called you “Princess Cruises for Hitler Youth Gingers on Halloween” on Fashion Police before Kelly Osbourne teamed up with Trans Chucky and ruined the franchise Joan built forever. Sound familiar, freckle cunt? Joan lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
I think it was Socrates or Plato who said, “Happiness is fleeting pleasure.” Fleeting, disappearing pleasure for me is my kids losing interest in hang out time with daddy. This explains why my youngest son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was busy at work drawing pictures of us hanging out together once I started bonding with his big sister over her new favorite show, Never Have I Ever, been a bigger fan of Johny Mac, he’s the narrator than I am now. Fleeting pleasure for Do It All Dad over here, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, recently renamed Pause Daddy Podcast, funny fast stories, for you and me, is me losing interest in earning respectful impressiveness from my 3 adoring Koshertarian Comedian friends.
Now the kids are in a Delaware for the next 3 weeks while I do everything in my power to stop a decade long streak of co-dependent bitchy dependence on my wife and parents since my Stay At Home Comedian Dad journey began. Sure, I got to write some cool host intros for a couple of music video countdown specials that aired on Vh1 and VH1 Classic. Only to make my producer a Bruce Springsteen mix while doing my best to assure him soon after, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you, Boss.”
Jokes aside, I rely on the kindness of others to feed my family, those others being my parents and wife. By feed, I mean those with the means to finance grocery shopping for my 3 Koshertarian comedian friends, that being my 3-fuss free, endlessly glowing, holy light time shining children.
They say man can’t eat live on bread alone. Well Daddy can’t eat the shit sandwich of shame for failing to earn bread for his family of 5 for the past 5 years without wanting the chance to rectify.
But applying for jobs doesn’t guarantee job interviews. Nor do job interviews result in immediate job offers soon after. Despite the Marketing Director at the Chef’s Warehouse nodding with respectful impressment after you referenced your 41 thousand page views on your WordPress blog. Marketing Director adds, “I saw that on your Writer Got Game Resume.” And I’m thinking, “At least, somebody is fucking reading it.”
But how do you cope with your mother resenting you making a yummy pesto mozzarella sandwich on bomb sesame loaf on her dime during her visit back east? How do you black out your mother-in-law calling you “pathetic”? How do you cope with a nurse wife who feels taken advantage of because you’ve been choking her too hard financially?
You become committed to becoming the best Koshertarian worshiping Comedian, who’s ever lived. Granted, Jerry Lewis, ate crab’s benedict, Woody Allen should’ve stuck to just eating Tuna Tartare at Elaine’s. And who gives a shit about what David Steinberg eats or what Paul Reiser orders at Nate and Al’s besides, “How was Hollywood ever mad crazy into you ever, So-So Special Sandwich number 5000?” Fine, Paul Reiser was mildly amusing in Bevery Hills Cop, but Gilbert Gottfrid funny he wasn’t. On the set of Beverly Hills Cop Gilbert Gottfrid says, “Paul, what’s the difference between The Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher and your comedy career? They both blow. Is Helen Hunt cute enough to be reformed Jewish? I can’t tell. If Helen Hunt is as good as it gets, I’m Lenny Bruce’s tailor in comedy heaven. Lenny says, “Easy with the needle Gilbert. You’re shakier than Eugene after cumming to the sound of his cousin’s shitting out Kreplach. And based on Albert Brook’s ballooning girth and highly developed sense of dark humor resulting from his father dying form a heart attack after killing at a roast of Lucile Ball prior, I don’t see the west coast Woody rocking the Koshertarian diet any more than a MAGA hat prop on the set of Curb Your Enthusiasm for episode 7, “Seinfeld Auctions A Porsche For Charity, Hope Half the Proceeds Went To Larry’s Kids.”
Again, how do you cope with being dependent on your wife’s sweat labor on her feet at the NICU while she checks for vital signs on blue faced newborns? When all you do is check for retweets? You shoot for perfect laugh lines on your Do It All Year Blog to recycle on your last and greatest comedy album, Watching Hacks Cry.
“I don’t like Snoop Dog claiming he culturally appropriated Ric Flair, so freely, during his 30 for 30, titled, “You’re A Boy and I’m Not.” Iceberg Slim was Pimp Of The Year for 6 years in a row at least and we got Ric Flair, 16-time World Champion. Don’t get your pigments twisted Dog. If you want to beat the man, don’t get bent over by Suge Knight in the can. No offense Snoop, but you don’t hear Ric Flair yelling, “Dog Fighting, woooh! That’s a MAGA country thing. Don’t be culturally appropriating our shit.” Watching Hacks Cry, Challah, Thank you very much.”
You cope with being a dependent by perfecting perfection in the kitchen with your heavily workshopped pesto ribbon pasta with Kosher air fried chicken thighs and sliced cherry tomatoes on top. And you grow closer to God and your 3 Koshertarian Comedian loving kids through the more “Yummy Dances”, you make. “What the hell is a Yummy Dance?”, my father says. Stop acting like your anything more than sheltered bum, my father adds in my mind. Glad you asked. Yummy Dances are standing ovations, curtain calls and victory laps in your dishes honor all combined into one as your 3 biggest fans in the universe run around the living room through the kitchen yelling, “Best Daddy ever.” That’s a Yummy Dance. It puts you in touch with the divine because God gives kids to only the lonely and this funny man giant is lonely no more. Watching Hacks Cry, Challah. Thank you very much.
Yummy Dances are why holiness rocks. Yummy Dances get you addicted to achieving such holy powered highs. But how do you cope with your son wanting to meet your old friends when they can’t be bothered to comment via text or state emotive love online about your 123 comedy records posted on LinkedIn to shake up the corporate controlled thought in the straight world? The same so-called friends of yesteryear who left for you dead. You decide to befriend Sean Lennon by sharing your book Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story or nudge him to check out your comedy record Laugh Yanker Love on SoundCloud, where you showcase some A plus stay at home dad material in his honor. “This is John Lennon 2 days into being a Stay At Home Dad. Choke on a fucking cucumber scone Paul. Even Primal Scream Therapy has its limitations mate. But Kate Spade wins the award for writing the most passive aggressive suicide note for her only daughter to read ever. Note reads, “It’s not your fault, Dad will explain.” Dad explains, “Explain what, how I was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate. The other day my son says, “I prefer vaginas with no hair. I’ve seen mamas before. I add, “Big boobs compliment better.” Soon after, Sean Lennon is financing my recording sessions at Electric Lady Studio’s to release my box set of comedy records before I’m famous that will be 124 in total, titled Totality Of Me or Watching Hacks Cry. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.
But isn’t holiness being a monk? It’s my year without beer and I’m almost 5 months in. So go woke yourself. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much. Isn’t holiness perfecting perfection? If God represents otherness holiness and the children from Isarael and Forrest Hills Queens are molded in his likeness, then shouldn’t I want to dress up my son like nature boy Ric Flair for Halloween because he already whips out his schmekel spot whenever he likes while I yell in catchphrase bliss, “Not Kosher Baby.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.
Mind of a yummy dance works like this. Your goal is similar to getting laughs at the local farm to pick up some fresh eggs, whenever another MILF hits on your youngest son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo again, “Your son has such nice hair. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I’ll say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.” Laughter fills the air. Daddy kills again. So, the goal of a yummy dance similar to scoring another laugh is simple, Respectful Impressiveness, that’s your reward for not making any bread off your creatively jacked dome, relentlessly innovative might and shishy bitch dad leanings just yet. I know this is my 2nd time using the expression respectful impressiveness, but only Shakespeare can invent words like “thoughtless”? While Dice coins expressions such as I’ve got a friend, one of these “Trans-Testicles.” Personally, I’m against Drag Queen reading hour because fluorescent library lights aren’t flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator, no offense. One time my daughter asks, “Daddy was Shakespeare Trans because he dressed like girls in all his plays.” I say, “I don’t know if Shakespeare was Trans. But I think Kevin Spacey is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.” I sampled that joke on the character Billy from Six Feet Under at the local Target in Mount Kisco. The joke got a big laugh from Billy. He even slapped my outstretched hand that I placed there to receive a high five of approval in return. That’s a Yummy Dance. That’s holiness killing hackery. Watching hacks cry, Challah. Thank you very much.
Holiness killing hackery is best whenever I receive some help from my Koshertarian Comedian loving friends. I use my 1st born, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, Effortless Magic, AKA, 10 Homer Daily as my creative sounding board for all of my comedy record titles if her 2 younger brothers Art Show USA and Hardcore Hunga Rocks aren’t in the room with her 1st. Matilda says, “I like Year Of Dragon Lungs a bit better than Half Heeb Crazy. Sloppy Second Stories is a good title for your debut collection of flash fiction short stories, but I still love the original title, Waste of Height, Really Short Stories the best.” Art Show USA enters the room and interjects,” Am I going to design your record cover for Greatest One, Daddy? But all your records are great, so isn’t Greatest One, a tad one note redundant for your tastes?” Youngest son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks points an imaginary remote control in my direction and says, “Pause Daddy. I write the jokes for your comedy records, got it, Moron Son.” Daughter adds, “You should do that Greta Thunberg bit on Greatest One daddy where the dad freaks out on “burry brow”, your words not mine, for keeping his twin daughters up with eco-anxiety despite popping melatonin gummies like Nerds at 10 o’clock on school night. Because a doorman can’t keep a typhoon out of their townhouse duplex on the Upper West Side.”
But how do you cope with your kid outgrowing their broken-down rusty bikes on a hot August day while taking them out for a spin? Knowing you can’t afford to replace those bikes anytime soon because you’re so broke, your Hebrew name is under judicial review. You include them in the making magic time in the kitchen by sticking your son on pistachio de-shelling detail before making their farewell pesto bow tie pasta supreme before leaving for Delaware, which was a bust last time, because you decided to get funky fresh and add excessively bitter sages leaves to the basil, pistachio nut mix which was bad idea like Hunter making a crack cocaine in his bungalow at the Chateau Marmont because it forced him to give up blow for blow painting, which is a bigger cock tease than a lap dance with a no touch policy on Kid Rock’s yacht, called Harpooning The Most. You cope with being a dependent dad by savoring the sheer joy in all 3 of your children inhale what’s being hailed as your “best batch yet daddy.” While your youngest one comments in ultra-focused manner, “Too yummy for yummy dance”, before resuming his role as Belushi 2.0 in Koshertarian House. Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.
But how do you cope with having to dip into your daughter’s Tooth Fairy droppings, that she haphazardly left on the kitchen table before camp that your parents paid for again? So, you could pay for your kid’s slushies at 7/11 without having charge more fun time on the credit card before mommy gets paid again when your cellphone is due to get deactivated the day your family leaves for Delaware? You throw the Rodney Dangerfield No Respect CD on in the car your parents lease to use when they visit only to hear your eldest son says, “Daddy, your comedy records are way better than this.” Daughter adds, “Yeah, Daddy, Rodney just sounds boring depressing here. And his 1st joke was about being on the Tonight Show prior, so Rodney shouldn’t be so unenthralling from the start.” Respectful Impressment lives, Challah. Thank you very much. I add, “Jimmy Fallon’s writers hate him now. Because when Jimmy Fallon tried to rub Trump’s hair off, a real-life skinhead never emerged. But if I’m still not scared of Trump. Then, I’ll never be into my mother as much as Seth Meyer’s. Then again, I’m the sloppy second son for a reason. If Jimmy Kimmel cares so much about the environment, then why is he so wasteful by only using Smart Water for some post show bong hits because his gal pal Jennifer Aniston hooks him up in bulk? At the same time Smart Water adds bounce to your step. All of a sudden, you feel like Jennifer Anniston on the rebound. Our state of the union is like Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least, O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas before Comedy Central executives resigned Trever Noah for the foreseeable future. Hey Trever Noah, Conan Obrien wants his good luck maroon hoodie back from the Harvard Lampoon.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.
On the other hand, you might be thinking, “Shouldn’t you only focus on getting a decent paying job in Corporate America? Sure, but like Frank Zappa said, “Magic is what happens between the notes”, and nobody is stopping me from creating more magic time on my time between new job interviews on the horizon come rain or shine. Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.
Well, more yummy dances and random hugs from my son behind can buy me some more holy time to shine.
When your son takes a bit out of your Koshertarian Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce that’s made with a pomegranate glaze and states with divine powered authority, “Always Kosher Daddy.” Holy time shines.
Getting fired up to please your favorite people in the universe is when holy time shines.
A man can’t live on bread alone, but he can by on laughs and yummy dances in between with a little help from his Koshertarian friends.
So, stop thinking children don’t appreciate extra effort.
Stop thinking aiming to please your children through cooking is antiquated fun.
Stop thinking your kids are a less worthy audience to impress.
Stop thinking that doing things for love alone don’t matter.
Stop thinking your life is fantastic without your kids adoring you in it.
Stop thinking kids are an impediment to middle aged fun.
Stop thinking kids don’t sense half-ass love from a mile away.
Stop thinking technology has zapped your kid’s ability to emote in your honor.
Stop thinking you can’t inspire your children to follow your lead, “Always Kosher Daddy.”
Holy shine time is holy bonding time.
And that’s as good as it gets.
Holy Shine Time shines on.
Watching Hacks Cry.
Lennon lives, Challah.
Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
Big City baby cries about next level sketchy. #ComedyRecord116BigCityBaby
What’s up with black guys sporting masks outside of Whole Foods in Scottsdale, Arizona?
Yolanda yells, “Wear the damn mask.”
Black guy says, “Are black Karens in Arizona even a thing?”
Yolanda yells back, “I used to live in Ridgefield, CT, motherfucker”
Challah, thank you very much.
Fuck Jerry West for crying about his depiction in Showtime on HBO.
Your life hasn’t been blessed enough Jerry?
Deep down, what he really hates is how it reminds everyone how he made it to the NBA finals 10 times and only won once while having Elgin Baylor and Wilt Chamberlin on his side. That’s a worst losing percentage than Hillary, every time she nominates herself for Woman of The Year despite it being the drunken druid edition or not.
And fuck Kareem for bitching about his sour puss depiction in Showtime on HBO. Airplane Cameo or not, Kareem is less likeable than Hillary Hammer Time Cankles on the rag out of Chardonay again with Whole Foods closed for Easter. At least, Hillary pretends to smile for the cameras despite the umbilical cord smoothie ripping apart her innards during a slow DNC fundraising month.
And fuck Magic for going on talk shows, bragging about not bothering to see the Showtime Lakers show on HBO as if it’s beneath him like wearing condoms since he made HIV disappear. But Magic had no problem taking a smile happy pic with the Governor of California, Gavin Getko at the Rams playoff game. Despite the sunshine scurrying state descending into a sprawling tent city sponsored by REI. But seriously, why does Magic sweat the prospect of watching the show about his showtime Lakers on HBO so much? You’d think the big cliff hanger was finding the cookie jar where Cookie hides Magic’s HIV pill suppressor stash if he’s caught scoring his brown sugar fix outside his Bel Air estate again.
And fuck Will Ferrell for ending his lifetime friendship with Adam McKay because he casted John C. Reily to play Dr. Buss over the dad in the Lego Movie. Dr. Buss was a major pussy hound in real life, which I don’t see Will Ferrell pulling off as well after seeing a pic of his wife once. And I thought Boris Johson’s wife, required a mask on at all times, woof, woof. Shit, Dr. Buss used to share girls with Magic. But Will Ferrell won’t share a bungalow editing suite with Adam McKay anymore because he cut his precious ego in 2, boo-hoo.
And what’s up with black guys tagging buildings with Swastika’s in Manhattan these days? Adolph Eichman could never leap a building in a single bound, like Nate the Great. Assuming, that building was a tall stiff in the post season like Dwight Howard.
But seriously, black guys tagging buildings with Swatika’s in Manhattan makes no sense. Are these brothers still educating themselves on Hitler? Let me drop some knowledge bombs. The founder of Planned Parenthood, a major eugenics enthusiast, was Hitler’s divine inspiration to launch his master extermination party in the 1st place genius. And Five Percenters weren’t escaping Hitler’s final cut from his dream team Aryan squad, regardless of your God blessed killer flow on 36 Chambers, Wu Tang, Wu Tang, Challah. Thank you very much.
Plus, Nick Cannon, hip hop royalty, I think, has singled out Planned Parenthood on 97.1 with Funk Master Flex for killing off more future high risers than white man’s disease and smokable cocaine, otherwise known as crack, most likely developed by a Nazi Scientist for the Deep State, as a part of their own final solution to ensure the poor don’t get on up to jack shit. That 2-state Kill “Em All solution, Metallica lives, being kill off poor blacks with crack and poor whites with meth. And if that doesn’t get the job done. Unleash the MAGA bat from Wuhan to finish off the rest. Challah, thank you very much.
But seriously, black guys tagging buildings in Manhattan with Swastikas is beyond ass backwards. That’s like Cardi B pretending her chicken nugget stuffed snatch is superior tasting to slurping German resiling all up in Hedi Klum’s innards to break your fast for Yom Kippur.
Imagine Guardian Angel Curtis Silwa catching a black dude tag another building with a swastika in Manhattan while trying to drop knowledge about what the swastika really means.
Curtis Silwa says, “Look, Curtis Blow, did you know the swastika was a Hindu symbol originally?”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “What the fuck is a Hindu symbol?”
Curtis Silwa says, “Just think elephants with more dicks coming out it it’s ears than Cardi B on a slow Tuesday. Personally, I always thought the Swastika looked like 2 stick figures doing a 69 on crystal meth.”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “You better back the fuck up fast, I ain’t no faggot. And what kind of fruity cap are you wearing anyway?”
Curtis Silva says,” It’s a beret. My father was a Green Beret in World 2, who was a Nazi destroyer in real life unlike those tweaked out wannabe punisher vigilantes in hoodies in ANTIFA. So, when you put a swastika on a building in Jew York, it offends the memory of my pops Curtis Blow.”
Fake News Curtis Blow says, “Why the fuck do you keep on calling me Curtis Blow?”
Curtis Silva says, “Curtis Blow was the 1st rapper to sign with a major record label from the Bronx, the birth of hip hop and condescending Jews, who expect immediate fawned upon service and guaranteed discounts on Mozzarella sticks while trying to impress his grandchildren at another mediocre restaurant in Scottsdale, Arizona, during Happy Hour.”
Fake News Curtis Blow laughs and says, “I don’t know what condescending means. But I can see how were more on the same team than apart.”
Curtis Silva extends his hand out and say, “Don’t keep me hanging, give me some love.”
Fake News Curtis Blow obliges and gives the legendary founding member of the Guardian Angels a semi firm, warm high five in return.
Curtis Silva says, “Look, if you really want to do some next level tagging shit, I’d start making your own logos, which aren’t culturally appropriated from Hindu Swami’s, English punk rockers and tweaked out Nazi’s, who make Hunter Biden come off a serial slack underachiever in comparison, Kapeesh.”
Less garbage lines, Challah.
Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
Wife says,”Samuel loves Space Jam 2 because it’s a father son story. I say, “Unless Lebron’s son triggers his dad by killing off Michael Jordan’s legacy from becoming the 7 ringed man, I’m not interested. Lebron’s son says, “My name is Bronny Bronny from Bel Air. Your zoom call with your 6 trophies in the background killed off my father’s surging sense of self-esteem during the fall of 2021. Prepare to die of an aired-out heart in 15 years after I became the 7 ringed man. It’s gotta to be the bat shoes made in Wuhan, Wuhan.” Wu Tang lives, Challah, thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
It’s hard to feel like a peasant at the posh, outdoor Grove mall in West Hollywood when you spot Broadway star Nathan Lane leisurely suck down his drink from Jamba Juice, in a pink jump suit from head to toe, without a worry wrinkle in sight, especially around 2002, before flashy Angeleno’s were being jacked for daring to sport Rolexes on Melrose in broad daylight.
Buying your 1st panini grill at The Grove to make high end grilled cheese sandwiches, using homemade aioli’s from scratch based on the cookbook from LA famed chef and founder of nearby La Brea Bakery, Nancy Silverton, doesn’t make you feel chained to a lifetime of thankless, zero high, serfdom either. Still, when you’re a Stay-At-Home Koshetarian Comedian at 44 years old, whose still not in the Writers Guild of America yet, despite writing for TV twice, you get looked down upon with huffy, disgusted disdain if you ask the cheese monger at Whole Foods if they have Landa Lakes American Cheese or tell your mom how you use onions in most of your meals, which the kids love, only to hear, “Onions are peasant food, you know.” Based on my mom’s sucks to be an elitist buzz kill reaction, you’d think, “I shamed my mom by reopening my account on Facebook, only to tag all of her friends, with nothing but onion loaf sandwich recipes on Wonder Bread, holla, thank you very much. At the same time, inheriting money, marrying into it or earning plenty yourself, doesn’t always overcompensate for certain hard to shake hick tendencies such as insisting on drinking chardonnay before it cools, or for proclaiming Meghan Markle is anything less than a race pimping, royal pain in the ass.
Some would argue the American grilled cheese is college freshman peasant food or your standard white trash trailer entre, yet it doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t get me wrong, Landa Lakes, yellow American cheese on Wonder Bread was fine growing up, despite my mother being weak on monitoring burnt toast detail. Still, what I learned in my mid-twenties as a proud panini owner in Sherman Oaks, CA at the time, working as a bartender for a bit at a fancy 4-star French restaurant on La Cienega before I got canned for breaking too many wine glasses on the job as the Mexican bus boys snickered at me, with dumb white boy derision as deserved, is that assuming ownership of making a grilled cheese a notch better than mom’s burnt ass, 3 bite edible ones, will help ensure you no longer feel like a slovenly dirty white boy no more. Foreigner lives, holla, thank you very much.
A great tip I learned from my panini book by big deal chef Nancy Silverton was to rub a peeled off bulb of garlic and rub it sensuously all over both pieces of bread you’re using to make a more substantial, elevated grilled cheese than what you’re reared on in the past, which miraculously imbibes all the garlicy, yummy essence you need. Personally, sourdough is my favorite bread of choice for grilled cheeses yet dare I say, peasant bread will get the job done to. I’ll also kick up the excitement factor by transforming the standard grill cheese into a bomb veggie panini melt of sorts, by adding super fresh local Mozzarella from any Italian grocer or from Whole Foods for that matter while also slathering on a semi-homemade basil aioli, consisting of nothing more than chopping up some fresh basil, mixed with peeled off pieces of garlic, interlaced with a little pinch of salt and pepper mixed in a premade mayo, and your perceived days of peasantry dissipate faster than the sandwich, assuming you also add some fresh, borderline emerald green leaves of spinach and olive oil drenched, diced up, seasoned cherry tomatoes, which is the ultimate cherry bomb popping, topping on top. My kids loved this last batch of grilled cheese so much, there wasn’t a single crumb left between them. Are you getting yummy dances from your grill cheese creations? Are your kids going out of their way to announce at the highest possible decibel, between more scrumptious, shishy bitch bites, “Delicious Daddy, absolutely delicious?” I didn’t think so, you peasant shaming cunts. This Koshetarian Comedian continues to bang out more sheets of comedy gold with no clear payday sight, yet if I keep generating rave reviews like this, I’m bound for an eventual pay hike.
Michael Kornbluth
Do It All Dad Year Podcast Blog 