The Dream Team Days

I know Pippen needs money because during his playing days he got PAID less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. But I can’t believe that a Dream Teamer dominator who boasts zero percent body fat, who hasn’t aged a day since Rodman refused to go down on Madonna on New Year’s Eve in 1999, is going to get into bourbon enough to launch his own line of the stuff called Digits no less out of the freaking blue. After, we get some digits, let’s order another found of Jager shots for old time’s sake. Digits, why doesn’t Scottie Pippen call the bourbon Beeper Keeper instead? Can I get holla for some Challah? More jokes Gen X Dads understand and beyond, thank you very much.

When I was a kid, my 1st lofty goal was to scrounge enough money from my dad’s loose change dish so I could buy all the NBA rookie cards for the original Dream Team, Scottie Pippen included. At the time, I was also a diehard Knicks fan, which was an arranged marriage my father pushed on me, that I’ll never a ring to show for it. Back in the day, the Ewing lead Knicks at least competed in the playoffs, which offered plenty of thrills before my pubescent life shooter finally popped out of it’s holster as I bloomed under my Fruit of The Looms. Now, I wouldn’t describe my early love affair with the Knicks as Hakeem unveiling Lisa happy back in Zamunda again.  But the majority of my time spent with my favorite team in the universe, always gave me sustainable pleasure back as a whole, which is more than I can say for the woman and mother of my 3 beamish kids these days. But the one constant as a kid, besides my dad trying shit on my surging self-esteem, nothing has changed really, was the stud hued play of Scottie Pippen, whether it was his sweltering defense, giving off the impression he had extra length tarantula arms growing out of his bony ass, leading the fast break like Magic on Atkins with dogged, breathless ease or filling the lane to rip off the rim like a sober minded, better postured, Shawn Kemp. Who ran down the court with a slight hunch from impregnating half of Seattle one drooled over stuff at a time.  Plus, the year Jordan played baseball, Pippen owned the Knicks at the Garden and should’ve advanced to the NBA Finals without that bullshit tap foul call. Hubert Davis got grazed from way downtown with no time left on the clock, who cocked a slower release than Hunter Biden on bad coke. So, knowing what a clutch co-MVP Pippen was on those 6 championship Bulls teams, it infuriated me to learn on The Last Dance how Jordan gave him grief for postponing surgery one year because he was getting paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. Still, Pippen’s new natty dread hair due, and post woke talk about Phil Jackson being a racist because he a drew up a last second shot play for Tony Kukoc because God forbid Croatian baller ego’s matter to, is stripping any allure left to pump up Scottie’s ego for being the most grossly overlooked number 2 in my lifetime or the next.

Yeah, I’m sure Phil Jackson’s decision to give Tony Kukoc the final shot over Scottie Pippen was racially motivated, although he did shoot from a higher percentage from way downtown last time I checked. Why couldn’t Scottie just admit, Tony had a prettier, more reliable jumper? Let’s also not act like the black man in this instance was known as a superior set jump shooter off the pic and roll compared to Europe’s greatest imported jump shooter throughout the nineties outside of Drazen Petrovic. Although Tony Kukoc was nearly 6’11, so he had a much clearer view of the hoop than Scottie or Drazen, and Pippen wasn’t competing in any three-point contests back in the day either. But what really annoys me about this Pippen makeover is him pushing a bourbon called Digits with a hand on the bottle as a logo. Shouldn’t a bourbon called Digits have a Scottie Phone playing number on it instead or at least the cell phone for his smoking hot ex wife Laura Pippen just to piss her off for old time’s sake, although based on her Instragram feed, you know she’s begging for the extra attention to.

I’m just not feeling the extra-large Pelton high five hand logo on Scottie Pippen’s bottle of Bourdon one bit. Scottie Pippen was never known for his outlandish, towel twirling, ra, ra, rooting personality either. Last, Scottie Pippen never struck me as a guy who drinks bourbon because he still exudes 0.0 body fat and has nothing weighty to contemplate when his not 1 but 6 rings speak for themselves. Kid Rock wants to market a bourbon, I can get behind that concept a bit more, knowing he uses the booger sugar to stay slim after all these years.  Scottie Pippen endorsing bourbon is like John Stockton endorsing flavored vape pens or myself ordering Wild Turkey neat with no ice like a wannabe Nick Nolte in the making. Obama’s race obsessed bullshit has ruined everything, even the cocksure, quiet allure of the NBA’s greatest number 2 of all time, my chest times 6.

Michael Kornbluth

My Son Is Going To Trade School

I hate run-on sentence critics. It’s not my fault your slow and can’t keep up with my gender fluid flow.

Critical Race Theory is bullshit. Guaranteed money in the NBA, regardless of injury, is so oppressive.

The Muslim Sisterhood in congress don’t have an issue amplifying their voices in America either Jack.

Howard Beal was killed in the movie Network over lousy ratings. CNN’s worst nightmare come true.

British accents are unwelcome intrusive like Boris Johnson’s wife staring in my general direction.

Does Triple AAA offer ANTIFA roadblock assistance because the Proud Boys will do it free of charge?

Night screams mean you care about living. Or else you wouldn’t be afraid of dying before making it.

New York will come back, but everybody has left, except Free Palestine protestors and The Halal Guys.

Forcing kids to wear muzzles is wrong. Boris Johnson’s wife at the G-7 summit, not so much.

Jill Biden is a tacky, small town ho. Biden wears her panty hose when he can’t find his mask.

Masks are the new condoms only because I can’t cum in my wife wearing one either. 

99 percent of people survive COVID yet Fuck Face Fauci, AKA, Dr. Gnocchi pushed endless lockdowns and triple masking of our kids while acting as if COVID depresses your immune system more than entry into the Dallas Buyers Club.

Hydroxychloroquine can increase your survival rate by 200 percent. What’s up with that study Doc?

Still, Dr. Fauci used his power to block the use of it. He’s Dr. Kevorkian in reverse.

Biden is donating thousands of free COVID vaccines to Africa like a poor man’s Bill Gates who can’t code for shit either.

Sanctuary cities is encouraged lawlessness on crack.

1 kid only means, your diaphragm is for walls after all.

I’m against unlimited immigration because I’m not a proud member of the rapist enablement party.

If calling Baby Face Omar, a Jihad loving runt cunt, makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with that.

Where were you when Fox stopped counting the ballots? Thanking God JFK didn’t die for nothing. Yeah, me to.

IBM made technology to identify Jews for Nazis. Watson Supercomputer says, “No Sherlock.”

My mom texts me Happy Father’s Day on the wrong day. Her happiness for me knows no bounds.

Boris Johnson’s wife, woof, woof needs water breaks, not my son 2 minutes into basketball practice.

My wife wants me to get COVID to say, “You should’ve worn a mask going down on MAGA mom.”

Trump Won signs at MLB is my new favorite America pastime, after telling Lebron to go woke himself.

The Mueller Report court hearing proved what again? Mueller parts his hair with gritty, elbow grease.

Did Drago pop out of your voting booth and demand, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.”

When the Statue of Liberty went dark. I bet DeBalsio forgot to pay the Con Ed Bill on time again.

I hate the term helping others unless you’re applying for a job that says help wanted.

Maintaining relationships is overrated among those who think Mr. Groper won by a hair alone.

My son is going to trade school to become a landscape artist. Because NYC will have to start from Ground Zero at this rate. Or he could become a furniture designer within his own private studio and avoid charges of sexual harassment because he’ll design his own state of the art safe space for jerking off. Or he could become programmer and work remote unlike those software engineers who were charged with sexual harassment pre-COVID, despite them leaving the impression that they were too busy banging out new code to hit on girls anyway. Plus, I thought only ugly girls went to coding boot camp. Also, don’t programmers wear those yenta breath noise canceling headphones at work for a reason. Last, the typical Pearl script command isn’t, “Massage my carpel tunnel ho.”

My daughter’s 4th grade teacher just made her classroom writer tutor. Parenting matters to.

Michael Kornbluth

True Lincoln Log Story, Google It,

True, Lincoln Log story, Google it. My great, great, great grandfather, Austin Gollaher, saved his boyhood bud Abraham Lincoln from drowning, yet nobody ever heard of him and he couldn’t rub 2 pennies together before he died a broke down, never was.  Because when Abe was drowning to death in the river because he slipped on a log while crossing Knob Creek to rush back in time for supper or miss out on more Raccoon soup, a 7 year old Abe, had a vision of  liberating the black man from slavery but had his friend Austin promise to never tell anyone about him almost drowning to death because Abe couldn’t let the black man know he was a worst swimmer than they. What a gyp?  Poor Austin never got to cash in on the greatest Presidential save after JFK kept Marilyn warm for Bobby.   My great, great, great grandfather, Austin Gollaher was a man of his word and never told anyone about saving Abe’s life until after his assassination, but he had to have been tempted from time to time, especially at the local moonshine shack on a Friday night, when the circus was in town and the famous circus Elephant Old Bet got all the peanuts he can eat. Meanwhile, my great, great, great Grandfather Austin Gollaher, stares down his last sip of 200 proof White Lightning, thinking, “ Hillbilly lives don’t matter much anymore.”

Michael Kornbluth