Dr. Seuss Is Tony Robbins For Kids

Dr. Seuss’s illustrations are steeped in harmful stereotypes they say. But I don’t recall him drawing a picture of BLM protestors looting the Gucci store, who refuse to pay.

Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist then, it’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.

Has anybody complained about the hooked nosed, Goblin Bankers in Harry Potter yet? You know Mel Gibson was overjoyed with that movie set. Did JK Rowling, think, I’m hiring Mel Gibson as the set designer on my flick, Mel being a throbbing Jew hater dick, makes him my automatic number one pick.

What if I don’t care for Green Eggs and Ham? This means what, I hate the Irish race and refuse to play beer bong with them at such a rapid fire pace? Or does it mean, I insist on watching Irish movies with subtitles because of the funny way they sound, while also refusing to unfold my arms and dance in junior high to more Jump Around?

Dr. Seuss drew pictures of Asians eating with chopsticks, how sick. It’s worse than drawing a picture of Cardi’s B dropping her slippery chopsticks into her cum bucket, full of other forgotten stuffing’s in there like a lost lost chicken nugget.

What happens in the book, And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry St? Did Sonny and his crew beat up a bunch of rowdy bikers on the street, because they sprayed beer on the bartender and should’ve stuck to ordering their drinks neat? Wait a minute that happened in the Bronx Tale. American made mafia tales about the working man can’t be beat. I only wish Chazz Palminteri’s acting career, still packed so much heat.

Dr. Seuss is the Tony Robins for kids, who continues to inspires millions of kids to keep fighting for their dreams, instead of recommending they watch, 13 Reasons Why, whenever they feel their lives are falling apart at the seams.

Dr. Seuss was right. There is fun to be done and games to win. Just stop playing the victim, give Twitter a time out or just dump your tablet into the trash bin.

Michael Kornbluth

Dr. Seuss is Tony Robbins For Kids

Dr. Seuss’s illustrations are steeped in harmful stereotypes they say. But I don’t recall him drawing a picture of BLM protestors looting the Gucci store, who refuse to pay.

Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass skirt. He’s a racist then, it’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.

Has anybody complained about the hooked nosed, Goblin Bankers in Harry Potter yet? You know Mel Gibson was overjoyed with that movie set. Did JK Rowling, think, I’m hiring Mel Gibson as the set designer on my flick, Mel being a throbbing Jew hater dick, makes him my automatic number one pick.

What if I don’t care for Green Eggs and Ham? This means what, I hate the Irish race and refuse to play beer bong with them at such a rapid fire pace? Or does it mean, I insist on watching Irish movies with subtitles because of the funny way they sound, while also refusing to unfold my arms and dance in junior high to more Jump Around?

Dr. Seuss drew pictures of Asians eating with chopsticks, how sick. It’s worse than drawing a picture of Cardi’s B dropping her slippery chopsticks into her cum bucket, full of other forgotten stuffing’s in there like a lost lost chicken nugget.

What happens in the book, And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry St? Did Sonny and his crew beat up a bunch of rowdy bikers on the street, because they sprayed beer on the bartender and should’ve stuck to ordering their drinks neat? Wait a minute that happened in the Bronx Tale. American made mafia tales about the working man can’t be beat. I only wish Chazz Palminteri’s acting career, still packed so much heat.

Dr. Seuss is the Tony Robins for kids, who continues to inspires millions of kids to keep fighting for their dreams, instead of recommending they watch, 13 Reasons Why, whenever they feel their lives are falling apart at the seams.

Dr. Seuss was right. There is fun to be done and games to win. Just stop playing the victim, give Twitter a time out or just dump your tablet into the trash bin.

Michael Kornbluth

Mr. San Diego

Grilled fish tacos are lame, especially the ones from Baja Fresh, a popular health-conscious LA fast food chain, where your sense of charming individuality and personalized edge flat line to death and die. Are grilled fish tacos healthier than battered fried ones? Did Tony Gwynn strike out less than a teen George Brett at Daytona Beach on Spring Break?  Also, did the 8-time batting champion, who batted .391 in 94, who hit .412 against the equally nerdy Greg Maddox in the post season, ever leave the impression, he’d spray even more doubles all over Petco Stadium if he went on a diet with Kirby Puckett and only ate In and Out Burgers ATKINS style, using lettuce as buns instead?  If you’ve never made your own homemade Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter Baja Fish Tacos or never sampled the all-star goods from San Diego founded, famed fast food Tex-Mex chain Rubio’s, to inhale their battered fish burrito in 7 bites max, then your life sucks more than the snotty clogged Lupus from the Bad News Bear, before he snags a high fly ball over right field and chants with sudden clear voiced, take no shit bravado, “Just wait till next year”, before pouring beer on Miguel who looks like the uncoordinated Latino Tony Gwyn in the making.

Now, I’ve fried up Icelandic Cod using the standard, eggs, flour and panko breadcrumbs, or from using homemade discarded breadcrumbs ones, blah, blah, blah, yet all those crispy exteriors, even the non-blotchy, all covering coating jobs were flimsier than Wade Boggs power numbers against Roger Clemens during batting practice compared to my Lagunitas infused beer battered one. Regardless, if Nolan Ryan drank the cocksure Roger Clemens under the table the previous night and beat his ass in darts with overpowering, clutch precision, only to throw the upstart hothead into a crippling headlock for trying to call fake news bullseyes one too many times over a high stakes game of darts during All-Star weekend in Houston, when Robert Redford was deemed young enough to play the Natural because the casting director wanted a more stoic, wooden version of Kevin Costner if possible.

Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter slams all other breaded exterior concoctions out of the park by providing far superior crunch, snap and pop like Barry Bonds on the HGH, before his balls become the size of gumballs, better suited for the kid in the Bazooka Joe comic strips back in the day. Still, the added juicy, crackling oomph my Lagunitas IPA beer batter, mixed with rice flour, flour and baking powder required more rounded out flavor to make this Baja fish taco, the go to hot dog substitute to snag at the ballgame in Petco Field where the San Diego Padres play because HGH alone wasn’t responsible for Barry Bond’s breaking, Hammering Hank’s homerun record, knowing if I took steroids at sleepaway camp, I just would’ve struck at a more accelerated speed. If you’re going to make a consistently clutch, hit heavy Baja fish taco from home, you must add more boogie down balance and funky snap by rounding out the lineup  with a homemade pickled, purple cabbage slaw with jalapenos and Mexican oregano in addition to spreading the mini warmed flour tortilla with plenty of sumptuous, chipotle adobe mayo crema love, lined with plenty of chili powdered, in your face, spiky kick like the edge of Ty Cobb’s extra sparkly cleats up your ass, as he flew home like a bat out of hell in another blaze of natural born killer glory.

The Baja Fish tacos were a real hit with my kids, earning plenty of, “delicious nods”, so much so that I decided to make it a double header and serve them on back-to-back to nights this past weekend, doing my best hit heavy, consistently clutch, Mr. Sand Diego impression with endless joy spewing, Spring Training is almost here cheer.  For back-to-back nights, in our humble east coast Abode, Tony Gwynn, Mr. San Diego, the 1st ballot hall of famer, who would’ve most likely hit 400 or higher similar to Ted Williams during the abbreviated 94 strike seasoned lived again, especially knowing he didn’t become so pleasantly plump like fellow high average hitting sluggers such as John Kruck in the 90’s from sticking to protein shakes and black bean soup for after double header game feasts to. Even Don Mattingly, Mr. Neat, would’ve gotten his mustache and pristine pinstripes drenched in the crema from these Big Ups Batter Up Beer Battered Baja Fish Tacos, to eat his little hometown blues away, especially after the 94-strike season killed his shot at playing for the Yankees in the World Series, only to rip the ball off its seams into his favorite go to right field pocket in the House That Ruth Built, to make his own childhood Natural fantasy come true to.

Michael Kornbluth

Do It All Dad Does Decadence

If my 10-year wedding anniversary celebration was less than lackluster, knowing my Koshtertarian menu options were limited to a fried fish sandwich, then, I’m not going to lose any sleep over my premature celebration of my daughter’s upcoming 10th birthday over some whitefish salad smeared on top of toasty crisp, bagels from nearby Goldberg’s in Katonah, NY this weekend, with my favorite person in the universe, before her 2 younger brothers were born, no offense mom. We had a good run while it lasted, but neither of us can compare the depths of our former love to what our 3 beamish rays of sunshine offer us, who are fuss free 98 percent of time because controlling our kids can make our kids great again, and our kids largely thanks to my Do It All Dad molding, are as good as it gets.  

Almost a decade ago, I yelled at my dad for the 1st time ever, with major divine powered, you better respect my life blaster authority feeling, for making my newborn baby girl smell like Don Draper’s corpse if he chose to forsake Lucky Strike’s for Tareyton 100’s, assuming he stayed with the Jewish department store heiress, Rachel Whinestein from Madmen, and got hooked on them one summer in Israel. I’ll also never forget the reaction from my mother, almost a decade ago in our Queens apartment on the outskirts of Astoria, NY, when she calls me after I went totally ballistic on my father for ruining his granddaughter’s April fresh smell out of the womb. Mom says, “I can’t believe you yelled at your father like that. But if I have to choose, I choose your father every time.” Wow, and I thought Gore Vidal had mommy issues. I haven’t thought of this depressingly dreary moment in ages, yet the idea of siding with your legally bound partner in love from the wedding alter, versus your own flesh and blood, unless your own kid, writes obituary headlines for Rolling Stone such as, “Rush Limbaugh Did His Best To Ruin America”, is beyond me. Working for NPR as a curated news opinion blogger is a tad better knowing they’re not afraid to rip the glaring inefficiencies embedded in our US postal service knowing it’s just another glaring extension, of federally run, ruined, overreach. But I thought big government was the answer to all our problems like removal of Holocaust history at Bronx public schools or penalization of high achieving Asian students because black power and self-reliance are outdated concepts such as good, banging intellectual rap or goaltending in Basketball knowing the NBA is going to bend over backwards to let Lebron win more rings than Jordan because it exists now as a safe space for the king of the persecution’s complex’s ego. So what difference does it make? The infinitely funnier Rush Limbaugh lives because I was blessed with the funny Jew bone, holla, thank you very much.

But Rush Limbaugh was a bigoted feminist hater because he insisted the Woman’s March on Washington looked like a whole bunch of Rosie’s sporting a whole lot of chin’s, while thinking, “Talk about stretching your pussy hat supply thin.” Wait a minute, that’s my material on debut comedy record Resist This, except when my mom asked, “Did my beautiful granddaughter Matilda watch the Woman’s March on Washington? I said, “Yeah mom, but only after I insisted, she watch the march on CNN in a full length burka, to see she had nothing to bitch about in comparison. Plus, Matilda is finally learning how to read mom. So, the last thing I need in my life, is her trying to make out one of those protest signs, asking, “Daddy, what’s pa, pa, pussy power? Is that a new show on Amazon prime?”

Well, that was pleasant stroll down memory lane, and I didn’t get to the point, when almost a decade ago, my father says, “I don’t know how we’re related.” And this was after I splurged on white fish salad, bialy’s and Sturgeon from Russ and Daughter’s in honor of their 1st grandchild not smelling like Don Draper’s dead corpse drenched in Aramis just yet.

My daughter, Singing Rose Kornbluth can read my books now such as The Great American Jew Novel where she plays my 9-year-old agent to make my do it all dad year come true but she’s too busy making flashlights from scratch for her science class to put a spotlight on my labors of love just yet. She also loved the White Fish salad, even more than us learning about fancy adjectives to describe it such as delicate, which was a funny adjective choice to use when doing a Mad Libs later that night, based on the subject of George Washington, who wasn’t an easily triggered, Millennial Mouseketeer or critical thought impaired, news idea fed, baby boomer last time I checked either.

If Do It All Dad decides to retire in Florida way down the line, at least now, I know my Do It All Daughter will love me enough to send me care packages from Russ Daughter’s whenever she’s not too busy lighting the universe, with her majestic, awe inspiring touch she has on everybody blessed enough to come in contact with such hilariously sweet poetry in motion. I can’t wait to take her to Tavern On The Green to celebrate me finally getting a lit agent, although according to Soundcloud, I’m huge in Lahore, Pakistan, which is the literary hub of Pakistan.  So, retiring to Pakistan, after I cash in from my a plus gem studded, stand up comedy special, Do It All Dad Does Pakistan, could be a hilarious climax to this fairytale father daughter, adventure tale.

Do It All Dad doesn’t do pork, so I’m off to a strong start in city of Lahore, Pakistan, already. Plus, they have nukes, generate 84 billion in GDP, and boast a thriving industry called Lollywood. Do It All Dad Does Lollywood has a better ring than Do It All Dad Does Pakistan actually. It has all the makings of the most hilarious standup concert comedy film ever. Fuck you Eddie. I can rock a King Solomon royal purple jacket to.

What’s my new 10-year plan? Become the king of comedy in Lahore baby.  Together, my daughter and I can plug Russ and Daughter’s and make their gift packages flush with white fish salad go viral. Shit, they can even sponsor the stand-up comedy tour and will call it Decade of Decadence, indulging the locals of Lahore with plenty of saggy tits Sarah Silverman jokes to hold them over till Ramadan ends.

Michael Kornbluth

Stand Up Staffer

Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth lived for playdates with her best friend from Columbia Shannon, who turned her on to Shakira, despite her Do It All Dad insisting at 1st, “Shakira is a belly dancing lounge act for Saudi royals on holiday.” Only for his daughter to fire back in her standard hot pitch, effortless fashion, “Actually, Shakira is the most downloaded artist of all time and those stats don’t lie Dada. Feeling good about being dejected in the presence of such all-natural sales star ease, Do It All Dad admitted defeat with playful, funny man charm by wrapping up a conversation he regrated getting into for the most part by now, saying back, “I wish mama’s hips concealed their ever-widening reality already.”

Do It All Dad also operated an IT staffing business, Stand Up Staffer from home, placing front end developers, graphic designers and now UX designers throughout the Island of Manhattan. On Stand-Up Staffer’s business card was a long stage hook like the one they would use at the Apollo on Amateur Night except in this pic, a bearded, Millennial Mouseketeer stick figure hipster in glasses is getting hooked off into the loving saving, life enriching arms of Stand-Up Staffer. The slogan for Stand-Up Staffer on the card states, “Been Talent Hooking Since Y2K”, before LinkedIn thought leadership posts by Marc Cuban would make Jack Welch shake in his penny loafers made out of Leprechaun gold teeth.

Do It All Dad was also a part-time, open mike comedian in both LA and Manhattan before Matilda was born, so his daughter Singing Rose Kornbluth otherwise known as Grace In Motion, was bound to absorb her father’s always on, constantly pitching leanings. When Matilda was only 2, she could only string 2 words together, so her Do It All Dad would mold around those limitations, understanding the always relevant adage, “less is more”, especially when you’re in the pursuit of hooking a hiring IT Director’s interest in hearing about a hot to trot candidate over the phone out of the freaking blue, without making any contact prior or intent on delivering a fumble free 1st joke difference maker, which determines whether you score a semi-respectable set with enough momentous, kickstarting oomph at another open mike in the East Village, with 5 other struggling, aspiring stand-up comics stuck in their heads, rehearing punchlines bound for comedic glory compared to your hack stabs at being professionally funny for 5 minutes straight at a time. Still, Matilda would always shine in the scripted lines her Dad gave Matilda to score laughs with at 2, so she grew up trusting her Do It All Dad’s stand-up sales wisdom even more each, day, yeah, yeah, yeah. Do It All Dad’s favorite routine at the deli back in the day, when Matilda was only 2 was, “Hey, Matilda what did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks.” And Singing Rose Matilda Kornbluth would take the nookie out of her mouth and say, “Bupkis, Daddy, Bupkis.”  When Matilda was 5, her Do It All Dad enrolled his 5-year-old in acting camp despite prolonged protests from mama stating with huffy annoyed disgust, “But she can’t even read yet.” Do It All Dad snaps back with, “Will watch Rocky 2 together for pointers.” Then, the next summer, Matilda co-stared in 15 or more commercials uploaded on to YouTube for his Standup Staffer business, which later lead to her Do It All Dad scoring a retainer staffing fee to place a VP Of UX Design for a new food tech startup, FOODIEFRIEDNFORLIFE based in the NOHO section of Manhattan, billing itself as a lunch matching service, for single working professionals, who wanted to network with new business contacts over a shared Rib Eye for 2, knowing your vegetarian girlfriend never would. Plus, you could write off these pricy, big deal conjuring lunches, as a new business development expense if you worked in B2B sales, account management for Madison Avenue or as an Associate Editor for a major publishing business to woo literary studs on the rise, who weren’t complete social spaz attacks, off the page, who exuded more than 0.0 charisma off the page.

Matilda’s favorite commercial for Standup Staffer, included the one called Blond Power, where she plays a star UX Designer whose worked for 20 companies in 5 years stating, “I fall out of love easily like Trump.” Then when asked why she decided to dye her hair blond, Blond Ambition says, “Guy software engineers prefer blonds to feel smarter and superior. They’re nerds remember?” Plus, only ugly girls go to coding boot camp.” So, Matilda was no stranger to performing and selling as she started the 4th grade, especially knowing her old school go to line whenever her dear Dada used to pick up her from daycare in Scarsdale Village after working for the man Robert Half in Manhattan was, “Can I get a treat Daddy? I was fuss free today, fuss free. In short, Do It All Dad played a huge role helping transform his daughter into a supremely confident, effortlessly charismatic, logic loaded, never too overtly wordy dronish, sales machine. As a result, it pissed off Matilda to no end, when The Girl Scouts Of America denied her entry, after admitting to marching in the annual Israel Day Parade with her dear Dada, because it was insensitive to Arab Scouts in their troop despite their alleged secular, wholesome girl next door leanings, despite there being a Planned Parenthood abortion referral fee patch in the works, since full term abortions in New York State became Kosher in the empire state’s eyes under Governor Cuomo’s all-knowing watch, otherwise known as a the cold blooded Italian Reptilian inside.

Matilda fumes to her best friend Shannon over the phone about being denied more primo face time with her friend through The Girl Scouts Of America, saying, “Israel not the country, who fires rocket into their neighbor’s backyard, expecting nothing more than an Edible gift basket in return. Hamas terrorists in charge of their government, are supposed to be trusted partners in peace, 8 days a week, my chest.” Matilda also admitting to Dude Looks Like A Lady being her most liked song on Spotify, didn’t warm her up to The Girl Scouts Of America either, especially since the Boy Scouts started admitting girl men like Juno into their ranks to.

Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth was intent on revenge now, for being denied more face time with her best friend in the universe and launches Standup Sitter Club, an accelerated sales camp for kids, which unmasks the power of cold calling, for those interested in scaling their babysitting business to the next level.  Because of that, the head PTA Mom calls a sit down with Stand Up Staffer who runs his own IT staffing firm from home who gave his daughter the idea of recruiting burnt out goodie two-shoes from the Girl Scouts Of America in the 1st place. Matilda started Cold Calling Camp seminar lectures with lines such as, “Smartphones Don’t Come With Balls To Make Cold Calls For You” and, “You spent enough time on your ass doing more remote learning from home. The 1st rule of Standup Sitter Club is no chairs when cold calling.”

Now, the head PTA mom in charge of her local Girl Scouts chapter calls Stand Up Staffer to demand a sit down, threatening to report his daughter to the better business bureau for unfair recruitment practices since Matilda’s Cold Calling Camp For Kids Camp depleted her group dry, by offering commission heavy rip profits. Babysitter sounds so passe. Matilda’s stable network of enterprising babysitters were rebranded on LinkedIn as Creative Play Consultants.”

Stand Up Staffer meets the head PTA mom at a local coffee shop and says, “You can’t knock my daughter’s Cold Calling Camp For Kids. The only way to get ahead in life is to cold call yourself into stranger’s hearts. I wasn’t introduced to my wife of 10 years through a friend. I didn’t swipe her over to my lap at a new cider bar opening in the east village. I didn’t overcome my zero confidence, shyness stutter from a fancy internship connection to the agent training program at Creative Artists Agency. I didn’t break through the soul destroying, mentally crippling door of dependence on my parents to pay rent for my apartment in West Hollywood through being bequeathed some cushy IT Account Manger role to wine and dine IT Directors  who worked for wine distributor behemoth Southern Wine and Spirits, to secure more job orders to fill, without having to throw my balls on the line in the service of winning over the trust of new clients through sheer audacity and relentless, houndish delight while minimizing my sprinklings of spamish overtones until I became more polished in between.”

Stand Up Staffer adds, “More importantly, your daughter Maya is making bank at Standup Sitters, earning hefty referral babysitter fees up the wazoo. Also, let’s not depreciate your daughter’s increased ability to listen better due to her hardcore cold calling camp training, making it easier for her to bear drawn out conversations with you with more emotionally presence awareness and concern, next time, you start moaning on about your immovable belly rolls, 3 kids later, or how life offers rapidly depleted meaning once your daughter outgrows the need for mama’s nurturing hugs, as you pop open another boozy, mommy seltzer again, for head lightening relief.  PTA mom says, “If I can’t knock the cold call, then can I hit you in the face really hard once? It might turn you on actually.”

Michael Kornbluth

Waste Of Height

Once upon a time there was a Giant who lived in a tiny village called, Humungous Falls in Northern Westchester County, who never really fit in, despite owning a popular deli called Foot Long The Giant, which is what all the local lumberjack giants frequented every day, before chopping down more trees later used for bookshelves for their hobbit hipster southern neighbors in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Every day, the Lumberjacks would taunt Foot Long The Giant, calling him a waste of height for wasting his life making sandwiches for his fellow giants, when he could’ve just hired a bunch of Hipster Hobbits to perform the job instead. Ever day, they’d accuse of him being soft, for shying away from more hardcore forms of manual labor involving chopping down trees from dawn to sunset. One day, an 8-year-old aspiring professional food writer hobbit from Bushwick known as Hardcore Hunga, wanted to do profile for The Bushwick Post on Footlong The Giant, considering his legacy for making the best foot long heroes in New York, which were totally worth the schlep from Bushwick, assuming, you didn’t get too freaked out about getting stomped to death by a Giant Lumberjack by mistake on his lunchbreak. So one day, Hardcore Hunga fakes a tummy ache, ditches out on school, and flies his pet dragon to Humungous Falls to meet Foot Long The Giant face to face, praying none of the local giant lumberjacks sneeze in his general direction, which could send him flying all the way to Stink A Lot Jersey, where all the shitty smelling swamp creatures roam.

Footlong The Giant, descended from a land of giants who grew up to their full height out of Mother Giant’s womb, expected to get working from day one, being denied any sustained age of sheltered innocence from the real world of a grinding worker existence till their last dying breath. Mother Giant finally banged out her last giant, and with no female giants to procreate with, making these remaining giants the last of their kind, who normally started dropping like flies at a hard 40. So these lumberjack giants barely slept, and dedicated their walking life, to chopping more wood and tearing Foot Long The Giant down to size, for thinking he was better than them for being an artisan sandwich maker instead, when they weren’t getting wasted off Stouts, Porters and Barley Wine, which they were paid in from their Hobbit Hipster clients in Bushwick while competing in humungous cannon ball contents throughout Humungous Falls after work to blow up some much needed steam.  They also sold wood for precious gems to local Waterfall dwelling Nymphs, who made enormous bed structures, which always broke down and needed repairing for Sleeping Giants Are Us.   

Today, wasn’t any ordinary day in the life of Footlong The Giant, because today he turned the big 40, but as usual had nobody to celebrate it with, that is until the best looking, biggest hearted, funniest hobbit from Bushwick graced The Footlong The Giant Deli with a tape recorder in hand to conduct a career launching interview with the greatest hero maker the empire state has ever known.

Footlong The Giant gets ready to blow out 40 lit candles that go down in a straight line along his longest, star hero creation yet, a 40-foot hero that rests on a giant bench table that reaches from one side of the deli to the other. Footlong The Giant turns off the lights in the store and braces himself to take a depressingly long deep breath to make a 40th birthday wish, thinking, this might be his last and says, “Just once, I don’t want to feel like a waste of height anymore.” Then, as Footlong Giant opens his mouth to blow out the entire row of candles on his 40-foot-long cheese steak sub topped with Italian cherry peppers, lined with mayo, and semi-sharp provolone, he hears a knock on the door, which startles him a tad, because it was already way past lunch hour and was normally used to spending this time in the store to get the chicken parm stains off the wall after the standard lunch hour rush from the sloppiest eating lumberjacks who ever lived.

Hardcore Hunga knocks on the door again but peaks inside the window this time to see if anyone was inside, noticing a gorgeous flickering lighting of candles, thinking, he walked into a Death Memorial Giant Service, knowing the giants of Humungous Falls were a dying breed and dropping like termite infested Totem Poles these days. Footlong The Giant opens the door, not noticing Hardcore Hunga, who’s a solid 4 foot 2. Footlong The Giant says to himself, “I must be hearing things in my old age.” Hardcore Hunga, still holding his baby dragon on a leash instructs Dragon Lungs to blow a fire ball that nearly misses Footlong The Giant’s head. Footlong The Giant looks down and finally notices Hardcore Hunga and his trusted, always reliable companion, Dragon Lungs. Hardcore Hunga starts pitching, “Footlong The Giant, I’m Hardcore Hunga, I came all the way from Bushwick to interview a living hero maker legend.” Footlong The Giant laughs hard and long, blowing Hardcore Hunga Hobbit off his feet yet Dragon Lungs puts on the brakes to make sure he doesn’t get blown away into the wilderness, by wrapping his leash around Hard Hunga in midflight before slamming him to the ground to start wrapping him up as if he were roping a calf at a Texan rodeo. Footlong The Giant feels bad and invites Hardcore Hunga Hobbit and his pet dragon, Iron Lungs into his store yet totally forgets about never blowing out his row of 40 candles. Hardcore Hunga was smarter than your average bear, so he realized almost immediately, that he just crashed Footlong The Giant’s lonely heart, birthday celebration if you want to call it that. Hardcore Hunga Hobbit does his best to cheer up the sad hearted giant and says, “Happy Birthday Footlong The Giant, this looks like your greatest hero creation yet. You really are a living legend for a reason.” As Hardcore Hunga examines the scrumptious cheesesteak hero bursting with over the top, dynamite flavor, draped in glistening creamy white provolone that’s hugging on to the sesame loaded Italian loaf from end to the other for dear life and counts 40 candles in total in the process, which fills his hobbit heart with extreme sadness, knowing 40 is normally a death sentence for all giants who hail from Humungous Falls.  

Hardcore Hunga encourages Footlong The Giant to blow out his candles and make a wish already and says, “Make a wish and blow out the candles, Footlong The Giant. Wait a minute, one the candles went out already. Dragon Lungs do you mind? Dragon lungs blasts a stream of fire which lights the unlit candle on the end with laser sharp precision, which puts a big smile on Footlong The Giant’s face. Footlong The Giant wants to return the good, favored cheer from his kind, loving guests and gives them a birthday surprise to remember. Footlong The Giant turns his bum toward the 40 foot hero, lifts up his right leg and rips a humungous fart, which blows a gusty jet steam of sweaty, leg flapping, foul mist, which blows out all 40 candles in one swoop. Hardcore Hunga and Dragon Lungs fall down this time from laughing uncontrollably, while holding their noses in the process.  Footlong The Giant shoots off a smile that could light up a youth hostel with no Wi-Fi during the next Chinese rat planted Plague.

Footlong The Giant turns on the light in his deli and says, “Let’s eat.”  Footlong The Giant cuts off a four-foot 2 hero and serves it to his new friend Hardcore Hunga, who conducts a lengthy interview till they all finish the 40 foot hero together, Dragon Lungs included. After the story about Footlong The Giant got published in the Bushwick Post, New York state declared Footlong The Giant Deli a cherished, historical site, especially now that all his Lumberjack clientele dropped dead the next day after turning 40 themselves. Footlong The Giant no longer felt like a waste of height since his glorious friendship with Hardcore Hunga Hobbit began, who made him feel like the biggest star in the universe. After all the lumberjack giants drooped dead throughout Humungous Falls, Footlong The Giant moved to Bushwick with Hardcore Hunga Hobbit and opened a local deli, specializing in much smaller portions of course, when they weren’t building snow cones as big as skyscrapers every year for Hardcore Hunga’s birthday in February, the day before Valentine’s Day, which the entire village of hobbits licked up till they all became mostly brain freeze dead, proving how the biggest hearts come in all sizes and packages.

The End

Michael Kornbluth