Just to reminisce a little.
Stay At Home Comedian spews genius on tap.
Dear Billy Corgan,
I’m Ric Flair literally, woo. I’m writing a thank you letter like Curious George taught me to do. I want to thank you for bringing NWA wrestling back from the dead. My daddy bought me the NWA All Access Pass for my birthday and I’ve never been happier. I love watching new wrestling matches with daddy. But I want to return the favor and give my daddy some love on his birthday to. I’m his best friend and best friends get each other gifts, right? And he didn’t even get a card from Mimi and Papa this year, so I want to make it up to him in a humongous way. Daddy is a really funny comedian, who’s due to record comedy record 94 this Sunday Less Garbage Lines, yet he’s beginning to feel like an imposter for having no paydays to show for it. He also looks after my older sister Matilda and older brother Arthur. We make a great home team and want nothing more than for daddy’s comedy career to achieve blast off time already. Would you be willing to let my Daddy do five minutes of Nirvana material at Lollapalooza this summer as your opening act? You won’t be disappointed. I’m sending you a demo record he recorded last summer called Burning Mask Party Record. United we laugh, my daddy, proves it every day, yeah, yeah. Daddy is a fan of old school jamming out Chicago to. I’m guaranteed you’ll be impressed and you better play Rocket if you say yes, or I’ll be pissed Billy. Last, my father is feeling like a mega dumb moron for passing on spending 40 bucks on your debut album Gish, in favor of Deep Purple’s Last Concert in Japan for only 22 bucks on Vinyl instead, which he thought was the deal the century, until he realized soon after that Deep Purple’s Last Concert wasn’t Deep Purple Made in Japan. Don’t get me wrong, Daddy and I are huge David Coverdale fans and adore his live album In Heart of The City that he did with White Snake after he left Deep Purple. Still, I know deep down this mix up brought Daddy down because he loves your band and didn’t buy your album Gish because he was trying to be a frugal pragmatist on his birthday for a change. I hate to end on a down note, but nothing would make daddy happier than get blown away by a sea of laughs this summer in Chicago at Lollapalooza after being stuck like a rat in cage as a Stay-at-Home Shemale Comedian for the past 5 years and counting since I was born, with no grandparents in sight. At the same time, being under house arrest post COVID hasn’t been that much of a radical departure for daddy. Regardless, it’s his time to shine this summer and nothing would make me happier than to see my daddy flying high again.
Your Biggest 5-Year-Old Fan,
Samuel Teddy Kornbluth
P.S. My big sister helped me write this letter. But I can still do more one armed pushed than her. Plus, my big brother did the artwork for Daddy’s record cover Burning Mask Party Record, which is beyond overdue at this point already. Let’s launch a burning mask party on stage together Billy. I know you can do it. Billy Madison lives, Challah, thank you very much. That’s my daddy’s catchphrase by the way.
Dear Samuel Teddy Kornbluth,
I heard your dad’s record Burning Mask Party Record. And you’re correct, it rocks. It would be an honor to help break your father big at Lollapalooza this summer. I can offer him one thousand dollars for five minutes, which should be enough to pay for travel expenses. Although, I see him scoring a recording holding deal after this. Tell your dad that will have a booth set up for him to sell any of his, comedy records and books at the show soon after although I have an idea for a grand entrance that will drive the audience wild for the overall presentation. I’m a big-time wrestling promoter who knows a thing about putting on kick ass show for reason. Stay cool All Metal Baby.
All Metal Baby descends from a helicopter on a zipline down to the Lollapalooza stage, dressed like Van Halen angel baby from their album 1984 with a cigarette behind his ear. The 500,000 plus crowd goes wild as The Smashing Pumpkins play the intro to Rocket in the background as Billy croons, “Love.” All Metal Baby makes a perfect landing on to the stage from the helicopter. First, he faces the audience and flashes the bird with both middle fingers behind his ears, as if he’s sporting Devil horn middle fingers. Billy Corgan howls, “All Metal Baby in the house, Ronnie James Dio, lives, Challah, thank you very much. Crowd screams with holy shit Joe C lives to, as the crowd roars, “We like to party, rock the party.” Next, All Metal Baby launches into a series of one-armed push-ups while flipping the bird with his remaining free hand. Next, All Metal Baby grabs the cigarette behind his ear, which isn’t a real one but flammable nonetheless, and lights it up before throwing it on top of a pile of masks, which takes this Burning Mask Party that much higher. Then, All Metal Baby hops into a drum set behind his cherished daddy, who always wanted his son to dress up like the Van Halen angel baby for Hanukkah Halloween, so wishes do come true. Then, Do It All Dad launches into his act that was made for these times, starting with, “Nirvana, didn’t kill Hair Metal Aids did, before Magic made HIV disappear.”
The 500,000 plus crowd laughs in one love unison, which screams a Refrigerator Perry touchdown of yesteryear, which is drawn out even longer, after All Metal Baby does a one-handed headstand rim shot on the drums after his daddy’s opening punchline, while sucking on a Scorpion lollipop to boot.
All Metal’s Baby daddy completes his short-lived Nirvana set, made for these times.
I dislike any rock journalist or cultural critic who still lives in Portland, Oregon or in Seattle, Washington, ANTIFA apartheid represent. Especially those intent on selling us why Kurt Cobain was destined to become another rock casualty cliche due to a stomach irritation aggravated from too much soy. But at the height of his popularity, with all the f-you money in the world to avoid touring if he wanted to, after becoming a proud, doting father no less, Kurt Cobain wanted to pull an Ernest Hemingway after his shotgun marriage to Sloppy Seconds Hole? Because Kurt Cobain couldn’t bear the burden of being branded as the voice of Generation X by Tabitha Soren, when Sonic Youth had less brand name recognition on MTV than the Fine Young Cannibals or Midnight Oil throughout the early nineties for that matter?
Kurt Cobain admitted that their records sounded closer to Motley Crue records than punk rock ones, which doesn’t make him sound like the overgrown kid in the Jermey video on the verge off blowing his brains out over his Trapper Keeper in AP Bio either.
And Kurt Cobain killing himself at 27 no less, which is when Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison died from accidental overdoses is too cliche ridden planned for a rock star who raided his dead grandma’s closet for her most unflattering, wool sweater to sport on MTV Unplugged.
In the song In Bloom, Kurt Cobain sneered at meathead jocks with hardcore sardonic disdain, more likely to be first in line to see the Foo Fighters play the first MSG show post pandemic for the privilege of seeing big pharma sell out shill Dave Grohl perform in front of a vaccinated only crowd, to mark another monotone milestone through their edgeless, ever long lives. Yet were supposed to believe Kurt Cobain would give those same homophobe faggots in University of Maryland hats, who like to sing along to his “pretty songs”, the satisfaction of killing off his legacy as being the most kick ass, wildly popular non-conformist artist of his generation by proving to be another unoriginal, poser artist burnout tale of premature, blatantly avoidable ruin on VH1 Behind the Music like the rest. Yeah, and Eddie Vedder met his banger pretty wife at a lesbo coffee shop in Seattle for slam toxic masculinity night.
All I’m saying is that Kurt Cobain was not one to do cliche, outside of doing his best Sid and Nancy impersonation with Courtney Love for a bit. And in the end, his overhyped stomach pains cited as the main driving force behind blowing his brains out after framing his vision of becoming a middle-aged junkie artist like a modern-day William Boroughs to Courtney Love as an easily attainable goal to shoot for, has been blown way out of proportion, like the working effectiveness of COVID 19 vaccination shot, which works less than an Alice and Chains cover band today at BYU, with Mitt Romney in town.
Personally, I love the Courtney Love Hole album, Live Through This, even more than Nevermind, even if ex-boyfriend Billy Corgan penned the lion share of her monster lyrics on it like, “I shit my bed from doing too much H. So, I might as well die in it.” Plus, I can’t hate someone who called Linda Sarsour a fake news feminist who had no business attending the Woman’s March on Washington because of the Palestinian freedom fighter’s support of clitoral mutilation to ensure Muslim housewives receive zero pleasure on earth before being stoned to death for the crime of being spotted in their full-length Burkas in Sex and The City 2. So, if siding with Courtney Love for calling Linda Sarsour a fake feminist, makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with it. Challah, thank you very much.
Truth is, Kurt Cobain wouldn’t be caught dead in Starbucks if his Sonic Youth record collection was riding on it. So, I don’t buy Kurt Cobain feeding into the packaged brand of brooding depressive consumerism by killing himself at the height of his popularity who caused a bigger eruption in Courtney’s Love pants than Eddie Van Halen ever did. Nor do I buy into the forced fed, media manipulated assertion that Kurt Cobain was too much of a gun-shy pussy to persist rocking in a hyper focused Internet world of do or die capitalism Man. A victimized Twitter Twat, he wasn’t it, “Here we are now, entertain us, I feel stupid and contagious because I shared a needle with Magic Johnson’s number one groupie in Seattle. You want a remake of Sleepless in Seattle post Kids you got it.
Last, did you know Kurt Cobain predicted that an outsider who never worked in politics could become President of the United States like Trump one day? Ok, so maybe Kurt Cobain killed himself for a reason, knowing that the eventual advent of social media would unearth the A Plus narcissist in us all. Neither Republicans nor Democrats have a monopoly on messianic right, God does. The sooner were all able to unite around that absolute truth of one love, under one God, who knows above all else, when you’re being an insufferable, know it all twat, on the alleged right side of ethical moralism, the better.
Shit, at least I’m self-aware enough to proclaim Jesus doesn’t want me for a sunbeam yet. But thank God, I still have time to seek absolution for being the biggest prick in the east, since Alec Baldwin admits no fault for acting like an all-over the place Jew since he quit self-medicating by getting loaded. Short lived Nirvana lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
The following day, Rolling Stone Magazine called All Metal Baby the ultimate smash hit at Lollapalooza during the summer of 2022. At the same time, his daddy now nicknamed by Billy Corgan as Killerset Kornbluth wasn’t chopped liver either. And for those about to rock, All Metal Baby salutes you, Challah. Thank you very much.
“No friendship is an accident.”
If a husband googles an ex-girlfriend 3 kids later, does it mean he’s officially divorced from great expectations at home? At the same time, what man isn’t guilty of reflecting fondly on spoiled summers past? Especially, when you’ve had to suck up another frigid east coast winter in the face of permanent career stagnation suckitude again. The same winter and so-called comedy career that felt colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons when you’re not laughing all the way to the bank yet. But at least, Harvey Weinstein’s wife of the past 12 years finally left him, to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. Now, Solomon Kornbluth, a proud stay at home podcast comedian was on thin ice with his wife of 12 years for failing to make any money off his sheets of comedy gold, despite him urging his accountant to write off such an awe inspiring, sparkly array of A plus gemry dissemination on his Do It All Dad time blog and Do It All Dad Time podcast as a generous charitable donation. What 45-year-old non-industry repped, so called Comedian, Solomon Kornbluth wanted was a win, but not just any win, like getting another comedy record Mega Dumb Daddy reposted on Sound Cloud again by some random, faceless music promo service, but an actual trophy, symbolizing how in this instance Solmon Kornbluth was best of the rest.
Solomon Kornbluth had won some awards in the past, but they weren’t a result of superior mental toughness, sustained physical dominance or a result of outperforming his competition for number 1 champion bragging rights either. Winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleep Away Camp was an incredibly moving moment for Solomon Kornbluth because despite not knowing the full extent of it yet, he was an overly sensitive, lonely, shy, nerve plagued fag, who blew off Canteen mixers with the fellow female camp members to shoot hoop and read his Cracked comics in bed alone instead after cranking one out to freckle face specked Allyssia Rody, a counselor for the female camp who wore University Maryland boxer shorts, creeping up her supple, spry ass as Dice would say back in the day. And her mountainous cleavage formation was a thing of immovable, feast worthy beauty as those gorgeous melons dangled like luscious lobes of mouth drooling inducing perfection. Ok, so maybe Solomon Kornbluth wasn’t 100 percent gay yet, especially knowing how a fellow bunkmate tried to shame him once for owning a jar of Vaseline while having no idea what that meant. Bunkmate Jordan from New Jersey says in a crackling, just a day over puberty voice, “What do you need that Vaseline for Solomon?” And Solomon says, “I don’t know, for an itchy ass. My mom packed it for me.” Bunkmate Jordan laughs in a slightly demented, pseudo bellowing manner and says, “You can’t blame your mom for being a fudge packer dude.”
Later, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast, Solomon Kornbluth would do a routine about Sex-Ed in Sleepaway Camp throughout the late eighties before Magic made HIV disappear. He says, “Do 3rd graders today really need to know about scented lubes after using good old-fashioned Vaseline became passe already? When I was 13-year-olds at Sleepaway Camp, but still not into the puberty party yet, one of my bunkmates gay shamed me for my mom packing me Vaseline yet I still didn’t get gay lube joke connotations used at my expense till watching shemale porn decades later on 3rd Legged Beauties.com, if you really to know. It’s hard to develop any surge of self-esteem at Sleepaway camp, when you’re the 2nd worst athlete there after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck in yenta breath Seinfeld country. Seinfeld otherwise known as the “Joke Doctor”, just auctioned off one of his vintage Porsche’s for Charity. I hope half that half of those proceeds went to Larry’s kids. I also don’t want Seinfeld smirking for at least 5 years till he gives us a semi-credible excuse on being completely oblivious to Bill Cosby’s 4-decade reign of rape throughout fantastic LA, up high in those Hollywood drugging hills. Where were your powers of observation, then, Jerry? Also, why isn’t Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame already? They were already Hall of Fame bound when I used to collect their cards at camp. Plus, if I took HGH, Testosterone Shots or any form of performing enhancing drugs at Sleep Away Camp, I just would’ve struck out at a more accelerated speed.”
Solomon Kornbluth never got into collecting hockey cards until his friend Jared got him into the NY Rangers in 93, encouraging him to buy all the hocky cards he could so he could snag an Eric Lindros rookie card of his own, bound to be worth big money one day, who was being hyped as the new great one post Gretzky, who had a bigger mark on his back than Trump did after her triggered the Swamp with fits of despair for relegating good old Jeb Bush to another low energy, half wit hack for hire like the rest. Solomon Kornbluth targeted Laura Bush in his debut comedy album Resist This when he said, “Fuck Laura Bush for thinking the world gives a shit about her memoir, Texas Librarians Know Best.” At least, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles was willing to get rich or die trying bitch. And this is an impression of Stevie Nicks backstage at MSG, “Hillary, tell me lies, only sweet little lies. Versus humongous bitter ones, like how you lost to Trump because of Russian collusion, involving fantasy tales of Drago Holograms emerging in your voting booth only to threaten you with impossible to ignore ultimatums like, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.” I thought you lost to Trump because you’re an unhuggable cunt, my bad. You must have deleted that memo to Hillary. And why would Trump hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on him at a hotel in Moscow, when he can hire a bunch of Ivanka look-alikes to do the same thing at his hotel in D.C whenever pussy grabber likes?”
One time Solomon and Jared got caught shoplifting Hocky Cards at Child World, yet the security guard let them off with an ominous warning, when he said, “I’m going let you 2 go, but understand the only reason I caught you 2 was because you came back to steal again and got greedy.” This damning, ominous indictment of greedy self-serving behavior always stayed with Solomon Kornbluth who obviously didn’t pay homage to the commandment Thou Shall Not Steal one iota for some time after. Even his younger brother shamed him into stop stealing Turkey Jerky at Gelson’s as the ultimate shishy bitch life enhancer back in the day. Little bro says,” “Never steal, it’s wrong bro” And this is years after his younger brother, AKA Sir Snort A Lot, was caught on a security camera stealing thousands from his parents ATM to buy more blow at 13 years old in Washington Heights from Julio Silver Blade The 3, which resulted in his parents shipping him off to boarding school with a bunch Jew picking on Hocky jocks in Avon, CT. So Solomon Kornbluth knew what a steep price his parents had to pay for his younger brother’s crimes of incessant, serially serving selfishness like a pseudo slacker underachiever Hunter in the making, who never had the privilege of being able to collect 52 grand a month from a Ukrainian sports drink company for pushing Borscht as the new Kombucha.
One day Solomon Kornbluth got burnt out on making the world laugh for free on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast again and went to the local hockey rink for a cheap Happy Hour special and was greeted by an Italian bartender, Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, who’s known to stir memories of ex-girlfriend’s past. Vinnie notices how Solomon Kornbluth is a tad low energy, hunched over his phone without much fiery glint in his eyes. Vinnie says, “Is that IPA stale champ?” Do you want something a tad lighter that’s more poundable like any yenta breath from Long Island on Spring Break?” Solomon Kornbluth laughs and asks, “What’s your story? Bartenders never make me laugh, unless they’re sporting a winter wool hat in summer.” Vinnie says “I’m Vinnie Zamboni the 2rd, my great, great, grandfather invented the Zamboni machine. I do the light shows for the hocky rink. My Zamboni driving days are behind me, cool job though when your 16. I plowed my fair of share of ice queen boxes on top of that puss plower machine. Solomon says, “What type of light shows do you produce? The one at Hayden Planetarium is boring, I felt asleep 2 minutes into it. Daughter woke me with a sharp elbow in my ribs and I yell, “What, God only made Neil Grase Dyson interesting for 2-minute spurts at a time.” Vinnie Zamboni The 2nd laughs and says, “You’re a pretty funny guy yourself. So, what’s bringing you down champ? Solomon Kornbluth says, “Just longing for some fun in the sun again, 2 unplanned kids later. That’s what I get for being a degenerate pothead who keeps on forgetting to ask his girl if she’s on the pill. What’s bringing me down is realizing how I’m getting bored of my kid’s company and need to get back on stage again. Plus, my pinched nerve in my back is killing me since my wife forced me to see a Hate Speech Therapist since I stopped taking Adderall to focus less on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be after droppings lines such as, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his early thirties wanted kids ever. I’m doing a Google Search for a chiropractor, and I end up finding my ex in Hawaii who I met when I used to live in Hermosa Beach. How could I ever forget Summer King beyond those Hermosa skies? Then, I googled a comedy festival in Hawaii, but realized it’s been canceled because of this COVID damage done bullshit, so it got me down because I know I can win it. The only awards I ever won was Grooviest my Senior Year in High School and Most Improved Basketball Player at Sleep Away Camp. I was also wined and dined after leading my IT agency sales office in billing one month and got to party it up in the Sunset Room in fantastic LA once but that’s it. my But I want to win that comedy festival and blast off away in my comedy gold mobile wave runner, which nobody will ever be able to take away from me. George Gershwin lives, Challah, thank you very much. If I can’t afford to get my son the SS flag GI-Joe Aircraft Carrier for Hanukkah, at least I can let him ride my comedy gold wave runner mobile. How much would gas cost to ride that wave runner back to New York exactly? I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.”
Vinnie says, “So I produce light shows flush with holograms of hocky legends both dead and new like Bobby Hull, The Mighty Messier, and reenact legendary fights like when Ty Domi fought Bob Probert in 94, when he poses with the belt around his waist, boy were those the days, pre-social media, before you had to hear lines on kids shows about some character being the Lebron James of stem cell research. What the fuck does that even mean? Is he a celeb Scientist that has his own brand of tequila spiked umbilical cord stump smoothies that he sold to Bill Gates for a cool 500 million or what? Can you believe kids today get Beyond Meat tattoos around these parts? I freelance as a Tattoo artist for my brother’s Tat Parlor in Danbury, CT called Body Art USA.”
Solomon Kornbluth says, “I’ve been telling my local Pizza owner Frank to make an artichoke slice using an alfredo cream sauce, versus just a boring white slice with flaccid, deathly off-white artichokes on it, that will inspire hipsters from Bushwick to make the schlep down to these parts just to Yelp all about it. Plus, I’m getting pissed about Bill Gate’s equestrian riding daughter already owning half the real estate in North Salem already. So, I love the idea of Frank being able to grab a meatier slice of that synthetic pea protein, beyond meat pie.” Vinnie says, “So whatever happened to your Summer Wind? Solomon says, “She smiled at me one day with her soul blasting eyes that screamed I love you, and for some strange reason, my eyes didn’t love her back. One time she died her blond, when I took her out to meet up with a friend of mine in Nappa and everyone thought she was a high-end prostitute, because she dressed real classy sexy with the tight dress, creeping up her ass. I loved kissing Summer King. We’d do weed shotgun kisses together, which were the best. We made veal piccata while watching the Soprano’s together, drank Pyramid peach beers by Hermosa Beach and nobody sported prettier feet in the sand than Summer King. Vinnie says, “Summer sounds like a real trophy wife material.” Solomon says, “Yeah, she even said, “Why don’t we move to Santa Barbara so I could write books and she could day trade to make us money for the time being. Boy, did I fuck that one up. Vinnie says, “I hate to bring you down more than you already are Champ, but you’re right.”
Solomon Kornbluth says, “Summer liked Metallica, Wu Tang, the Soparnos and loved everything about me. She thought I could be a big-time writer just from reading my Friends spec script for Christ’s sake. Vinnie says, “I already told you fucked up bro. I’m known as the ex-girlfriend stirrer but you’re just progressively pissing me off for being such a dumb fuck for expunging her from your life jerkoff. You don’t think I want to kick back in the sand with a hot Asian gal from Hawaii in pebble free Hermosa Beach with a gal named Summer King no less for Christ’s sake” I had to suck up summers in an ocean full of seashells and fucking nets of seaweed in Norwalk, CT for Christ’s sake. Plus, my brother owns this rink and its family tradition to keep it family operated. You’re a little old for it, but do you want a job riding a Zamboni? We’re already running around in circles, so why not take your sad sack sob story around the ice for a couple of laps because you’re bringing me down and enraging me at the same time. I’m paraphrasing but Mark Twain said writers write interesting stories who’ve possessed a series of interesting, varied jobs, so why not a give the Zamboni driver job a shot champ? You obviously have nothing better do with your time on a Sunday, ultra-wise King Solomon you’re not.”
Solomon Kornbluth took the job and smoothed over the rough patches with his wife at home before being promoted to chief Zamboni manager, who worked on his MC skills as the host of a weekly Karaoke night, rocking out renditions of Baba O’Reily with real deal star powered authority. Then, one year later, Solomon Kornbluth got his trophy and won the Aloha Comedy Festival, coming in 1st place and was able to take his wife, and mother of 3 children for endless, killer spins in his new comedy gold mobile for one memory rich victory lap after the next after, delivering a killer set for the ages that started off like this.
Solomon Kornbluth Kills
It’s hard to keep cool when your kids were forced to wear masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain.
If Michael Jackson were alive today, how would he defend himself against all his Neverland accusers exactly? Would the King of Popping cherries say, “All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’ t buy me love?”
Anyone try Snoop Dog’s new wine? According to Wine Advocate, it tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.
Actually, gave up drinking beer last summer. It got humiliating spending so much time, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush, littered past, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.
Did you know 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday? After learning this, I felt more betrayed than the time Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.
Stopped smoking weed till I discovered weed edibles, which are half CBD because I felt like a total moron trying to answer my daughter’s questions on the pure sticky stuff. Daughter asks, “Daddy if God created the universe, then who created God? I say, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “Real convincing Daddy. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”
And this is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Time Magazine. Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake news, MAN.”
And if Obama is such a baller, why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?
What if Bob Marley became President of the United States, so Obama didn’t have to? For starters, there’s no more trouble and it’d be a punky reggae party tonight and we’d be jamming in the name of the Lord, not in honor of Allah’s Gangster ruining paradise, especially since the hopeful one rebranded ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more start up friendly in the NY Times.
And ISIS Headhunters aren’t good recruiters. All they do is target other lonely virgins on Face Book Messenger like Good Will Hoodie/AKA Zit Face Zuck, who wish their phones blew up.
But killing the number 2 in charge of ISIS made it easier for ISIS to recruit. Like the head of recruitment for ISIS would ever honor a non-compete agreement with Al-Qaeda.
And why are radical jihadists so into deflowering virgins in Allah’s hymen hacking Paradise? Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already?
Other text in the Koran also promises the duration of sex greatly prolonged and its pleasure enduring. Spoken like a like a true Virgin asshole till the end of time and I feel fine, Challah, thank you very much.
Solomon Kornbluth was later blown up to smithereens on his Comedy Gold Mobile Wave Runner in the Red Sea by Hamas terrorists after headlining a comedy tour there called, “King Solomon Kornbluth Lives”, because a 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking.
Still, what’s better than a 1st place Trophy is a new award in your honor, given every year at the Standin O Laughs Festival in Haifa called the Killer Kornbluth Award, honored to a comic that year, who exhibited fearless, killer shtick till his last dying breath.
All 3 of Solomon’s killer Koshertarian kids won the Killer Kornbluth Award in their dear dad’s honor soon after. So comedic royalty in the mold of King Solmon Kornbluth did live on through Do It All Dad’s big three after all.
And Solomon Kornbluth had his new Zamboni Artist friend to thank for his victory laps in his Comedy Gold Mobile, taken with his 3 biggest fans in the universe while squeezing on to their dear dada with all their loving might in his custom made, stretched 3-seater Wave Runner. The same team who always stood by his side, especially when his comedy career was ice cold, when mama would threaten to kick him out the house whenever the mood struck, and not even Hamas, despite them trying, could ever that away from thee. Unplanned favorites rule, proving once again how no friendship is an accident. O. Henry lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.”
I don’t want my wife coming out of my mouth, especially after I got COVID from going down on her prior. How else do you explain my itchy esophagus?
At my age, I don’t care about getting my wife off when she can’t be bothered to suck off fumes of my mega ton laugh blast hits at the grocery store prior. I say, “It’s colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons. But at least his wife of 12 years finally left him to focus on her lifetime battle with… amnesia. At the same time, Ashely Judd isn’t a real victim of rape. Ooh, she refused to watch Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein shower himself down in his 5-star suite at the 4 Seasons. Granted, Ashley Judd being a native Kentucky gal, has plenty of experience judging fat pigs at the county fair.” Portly, yet cheery grocery store worker releases a hearty stream of much dinero laughs long time, Challah. Thank you very much.
Daughter says, “Meat is murder.” I reply, “But you had no problem killing off that plate of Everything Kosher Tenders, made with a homemade honey mustard sauce because it was made with love as I continue to slay mama’s claims of infinite superiority in my presence again and again, so I’ll take it.” I used a killer combo of everything bagel seasoning from Stew Leonard’s, panko breadcrumbs made in fake news Japan I’m assuming, in addition to grinded up in-house made sesame loaf bread from the local Italian grocer DiCiccio’s to create the mega blast breading hit, responsible for blowing your local bowling alley’s chicken tenders of frost burn balls yesteryear into disintegrated pieces of sad sack smithereens.
I fucked up by making the homemade honey mustard sauce with mayo, instead of vegan mayo, which stripped the holy shit nature of these Everything Kosher Tenders but didn’t realize I made this oversight till the following day. So, I can’t fret too much for forsaking God’s commanded Kosher law in the service of showing my kids the unmatched delicious might of homemade love versus store bought condiments that make you feel like half a fag for being a half ass Shishy dad bitch in the process. Also, by making homemade condiments such as Honey Mustard sauce, infused with love, you avoid circumcising your happiness like settling for burnt Starbucks espresso versus sucking down 80 percent of a homemade French pass to your head instead.
If I have one overriding message to teach my kids, one I wish my father implanted into my creatively jacked head ever was how much half-assing things sucks moose dick. You have to be nuttier than my Nutsy Russell’s for thinking anyone will return palpable, fully felt love of any kind, if you ass anything like claiming powers of independent thought, when you’re enamored with sharing links of Tucker Carlson rehashes on Fox News, knowing the same man used a Grateful Dead song from Mars Hotel, Ship Of Fools, as the tile for a book of political essays to give marble mouthed Greg Gutfeld blue balls of less fawned over suckitude in comparison, who’s still not arousing sustained stiffage among anyone in his presence ever. But seriously, how can you respect another lazy brain, fake news Journalist for Vulture or the Atlantic, when they get triggered by another ho-hum, one note, serially boring ass monotone, emotionally divorced monologue from Tucker Carlson, when it was his wife hiding in the closet in a sea of leftover dirty, Vineyard Vine boxer briefs when ANTIFA came knocking at his home address in D.C, not the other way around. The same Tucker Carlson who named his book of essays after a Grateful Dead song from Mar’ Hotel, in addition to Morrison Hotel by the Doors, which is the double whammy of wannabe be poetic pronounced shame. Tucker Carlson doesn’t have one pothead friend left from Boarding School since he left CNN for Fox News. Interviewing Kid Rock after the fact because he’s got a new record to sell about COVID damage done, doesn’t count, Challah. Resist This Neil Young, thank you very much.
So, don’t be a lazy brain minion like deviated septum Hunter, who only heard last from the bathroom stall till he gave up blow for blow painting allegedly. Be really gay about pleasing your kids with the extra effort in whatever you do to make them happier in your presence like when you involve them in making Far From Winging It Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce, that’s so holy shit good, your own meat adverse eating daughter, will claim she likes better than your Leo Lox Scramble Supreme, which again is good work if you can get it. My youngest Samuel Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo sucked the succulent meat off the bones dry and said, “Daddy, I sucked all the meat off the bone, the way Papa’s father did.” Who says, ancient biblical traditions don’t matter? Granted, my grandfather who died before I was born on my Dad’s Jewish side never recorded a comedy record called Funny Enough Fagala nor used a Pomegranate Molasses squirt bottle squeeze adding to his homemade barbeque sauce, but he was never a shadowbanned stay at home shemale comedian who had as much free time on his hands to forsake half-assing fatherhood with.
Regime change starts at rebuking past governing laws of doing what’s edible good versus dedicated your soul towards making mega bomb hits that crack the sky with holy shit, wow worthy, third servings are around the bend magnitude, which points toward the right way to do things by unearthing the extra special sauce love inside us all.
“You shall not misuse the name of the Lord by calling him “Fake News Mercy God”, Lucifer. Just because God won’t give WWF wrestler Bam, Bam Bigelow his angel wings, despite you having a soft spot for flaming bear wrestlers in tights.” Arch Angel of Heaven, Michael says. Lucifer fires back with, “Michael means “Who is like God.” You mean another micromanager control freak. I give humans the permission to exercise free will in the service of pleasing themselves. That makes me the good life giver, not God, Michael.” Michael says, “You don’t get to be the ears of Lucifer, I do.” Lucifer says, “Don’t think for a second, I want to trade winged tipped shoes with you Michael. Your name Michael means who is like God. You mean another micromanager square who won’t give Bam, Bam Bigelow his angel wings because he considers drug overdoses a form of subconscious suicide. Your name Michael means who is like God, but what it really means is sloppy second spokesperson after Moses. And if Moses really knew God face to face, then why didn’t he prophesize about the condemnation of goatees on metal rappers during Woodstock 94, before the entire shit show went up in flames? But that’s what happens when Jewel is considered a seat stayer middling act before Limp Bizkit gave Carson Daily sustained stiffage until Kid Rock’s performance blew everyone away in college bliss paradise.” Michael says, “Why am I hearing a new rumor around Heaven about you being the voice behind the Burning Bush Lucifer? You’d literally piss on Moses’s grave if you knew where to find it. And you wonder why God makes you feel like the sloppy second son, brother.” Lucifer says, “I was the voice behind the Burning Bush. It was a prank I learned at Angel Magic Camp. I enjoy hearing Moses stutter like the kid in Billy Madison. But Moses didn’t shatter his teeth from stuttering after I spoke to him through the Burning Bush as expected. At the same time, Moses stumbling to articulate more excuses to turn down God’s job offer was hilarious. “Whiny Jews chosen to complain about not receiving immediate recognized sit-down service at restaurants in Del Ray Beach won’t take me seriously as your chosen your spokesperson Lord. It’s not as simple as Joan Rivers hocking jewelry to Midwest housewives she detested on the QVC. I project less than Kamala Harris in the lock jaw love position. The Jewish elders won’t believe we possess the power to wrestle our Jewish brothers and sisters away from the arms of slavery, despite our God given ability to hondle better than an Egyptian. Jews are slaves to poor taste in the form of bankrolling overrated musicals like Hamilton, which sounds more awkward forced than Don Lemon rapping to Obama on his birthday with a generic, hip flavored, Shakesperian accent. Why would Pharoah release our people from Slavery? What form of leverage do we have to offer our Lord besides the threat of my cousin Schlonka boring Pharoh to death through her mustard making workshop seminar at local JCC?” Michael, says, “Remember when God said to Mosses, God’s favorite prophet on Ranker and on Quora, last I time I checked, “You shall have no other God’s before me”, little brother? Well, that includes your Olympian size ego that rivals Obama Be Good. Who I’m sure doesn’t pleasure himself in front of the mirror naked the way you do.” Lucifer says, “That’s because Obama isn’t circumcised. I can’t get aroused by the ant eater look either.” Michael says, “Future Talmudic scholars will amplify God’s commandments in relation to you little brow when stating, “You shall not suck off the totality of your own awesomeness and refrain from stroking off what elongated love you provide the universe without 1st giving shout out props to the all mighty for endowing you with such special equipment to become a star powered lighter upper with 1st.” Lucifer says, “But similar to Jeffery Bruckheimer, God’s not the only big swinging dick in the producer business Michael. Tell that to Brian Grazer at Imagine Entertainment or to Mark Wahlberg, who’s the executive producer of Entourage for Christ’s sake.”
Michael says, “And you wonder why God never speaks directly to you anymore, just grumbling to his assistant Joshua in the background whenever you call on his birthday again or bother to text Shana Tova and wish him a happy Jewish new year.” Lucifer says, “Communication is a 2-way street brother. And if I do hear from our holy father, it’s because he’s dictating another business memo to his cherished assistant Joshua, the temp who could transcribe all the sketched in stone commandments without complaining about surging case of carpel tunnel syndrome development in the making. The last business memo Dad sent me was called, “Life Giver God”. The all mighty called me a bigger a plus narcissist than Kayne West for claiming I could come up with better logo designs for my own line of winged, high tops sneakers like the one with a space shuttle in the form of a dragon called Rarefied Air Lucifer’s.” Michael says, “We get it Lucifer, you want to feel like God’s gift to the universe 24/7 but forget angel wing promoting power, that’s far outside of your pay grade brother. Granted, Bam, Bam Bigelow was a phenomenal wrester for his size, who power slammed his opponents into the mat with forceful funk authority like a more feral Junk Yard Dog, cranked up on Crystal Meth despite swallowing a cauldron of Hooter’s hot wings. Still, you don’t get to draft your own team of archnemesis angels. So, stop acting as if your Dr. Jerry Buss in Winning Time on HBO who was anointed with savior type status for the city of angles, with the deep pockets to match. At least Kayne made money enough money off his artistry to justify his ego enlargement therapy sessions on wax for Def Jam and Roc-A-Fella records. Have you even had a real job Lucifer? And playing the role of a freelance fortune teller writer doesn’t count, especially when you couldn’t even sell your own brand of weed oil pens to a Chinese Restaurant weed dispensary in Oak town, Dragon Lungs Incorporated, despite Snoop Dog’s endorsement on it. Maybe, our father in Heaven decided it was time for divine intervention again and appeared in a puff of bong smoke when Cyprus Hills was in town refusing to socially distance from Mary Jane for more than 2 seconds at a time and freaked out the owner of Dragon Lungs Incorporated, the moment he started making damning Snoop Dog jokes. Have you tried Snoop Dog’s new wine yet? According to Wine Advocate, “It tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.” Lucifer says, “Enough talk. I challenge you to a Ladder match in Heaven to wrestle away your precious favored angel status from Dad.” Problem is you don’t know how to fight do you, Michael? Michael says, “Unlike you Lucifer, I have friends in high places, to end your endless smack talking about Big Mouth Moses for good.”
A winged, Macho Man Savage launches into his famed elbow drop from way up high in the Heavens on top of Lucifer’s head while God from above bellows, “Oh yeah”. God adds, “You want to be my ears now Lucifer you got it.” Next, a winged Super Fly Jimmy Snuka comes flying down off a golden ladder tall as the World Trade Center with a coconut in hand that smashes into 2 as it comes crashing down on Lucifer’s rapidly rupturing head.” Then, a winged Owen Hart, swoops in to unleash a dropkick that smacks Lucifer into Hell, to deliver justice for all, especially in honor of Moses, Abraham and David who earned the plethora of good man shout outs in the Torah for a reason. Michael gives a bunch of ariel high fives to his new angel brothers in arms, Macho Man, Super Fly and Owen Hart, all highflyers till the end of time and says, “Slim Jim’s on me” as Flying High by Ozzy Osbourne blares on God’s decked out gold plated surround sound speakers as guitar God Randy Rhodes puts on a one man show for all WWF angels including the female wrestler China in attendance despite Lucifer talking her into doing that sex tape Back Door To Chyna in addition to her subconscious suicide from pills and booze. Even God, is a softy for female body builders and gave her angel wings because she already shouldered the responsibility of being the 1st major WWE female wrestler star to break in the big, in the “attitude era”, while becoming the only female wrestler to win the Intercontinental Belt Championship, let alone beat Triple H and high flying, metal howler Chris Jericho. Besides, who else is going to break balls about Macho Man’s steroid size nuts in Heaven with such divine powered authority. “Hey, Randy, can I be your new Miss Elizbeth in heaven? I know, your balls filled a missing person report ages ago, but are they still big enough to take on the Chyna challenge, which is drilling my hole into China for shits and giggles for Big Trouble in Back Door Chyna Part 2.” Macho Man screams, “Hell yeah. Then again, power slams are more up Bam, Bam, Bigelow’s alley.”
Stay At Home Comedian unmasks Domestic Terrorist Dad bombing.
Stay At Home Comedians goes on the Koshertarian offensive, Challah. Thank you very much.
Stay At Home Comedian slays as the crowd-pleasing peasant.
Stay At Home Comedian raises super proud Koshertarians.