Sketches Of Ridgefield

The best thing about breastfeeding today is that you can’t blame low supplies on supply chain problems. Plus, you feel much less pain at the pump.

My wife The Boob Doctor, who works as a lactation consultant, sampled a speech on me last night about breastfeeding. When she said, “Were not in the business of starving babies.” I said, “Assuming, those mommies are modeled after Jessica Simpson. I don’t think my mom had one bottle leftover between her.”

Tried to go short shopping at Vans today. A checkered print of red shorts appealed to me, but then I thought, “You have too many grey hairs in your beard to pull of those shorts asshole.”

I’ve lost all patience with my daughter’s friends who don’t acknowledge my presence whenever I pick her up from camp. I say, “If Mazel hates her mom so much, she should stop acting like such a scrunchie face cunt in my presence, no offense.” Later, I try to act nicer and say, “Mazel just morphs into an uppity bitch in my presence when I pick you up from camp because she’s just pissed about having to part with the sweetest friend she doesn’t deserve to have.” Daughter says, “What do you expect Mazel to do in your presence daddy?” I say, “Dictate a thank note into her smartphone in front of me when I pick you up from camp in real time in front of all her counselors about why she’d turn into a Godless cum dumpster without the beautifying, anchoring influence that you bless her life with because you stem from my Do It All Dad Year Tree Trunk for starters. #Hang10Dad. Robert Schimmel lives. Challah, thank you very much.

Did you know that Jeff Bezos dumped his wife for a woman who used to be married to Hall of Fame Tight End Tony Gonzalez? I don’t care how big his dick pics are. Happy denting, AJAX Man.

Then, the lady at the bookstore in Ridgefield, CT finishes laughing and says, “Are you in our system?” And I say, “All of a sudden, I feel like a registered sex offender with Woody Allen’s autobiography in my hand. Did you know that Woody used to keep naked polaroids of a 9-year-old Soon-Yi stuffed into his top sock drawer? The only pic missing from his spank collection was the one of Soon-Yi crying on the cover of Time Life Magazine. I almost forgot, do you also have the book Comedy, Drama by Bob Odenkirk? Personally, my favorite Bob Odenkirk role was him playing Larry Sander’s agent on the Larry Sanders show when he wore his assholishness on a sleave. But it’s impossible to not think of my brother when I repeat the title Comedy, Drama, because he’ll do cocaine and Ambien at the same time. Next level sketchy lives. How indecisive can you be bro? You’re more indecisive than Jared Kushner holding up the salad bar line at the Bellagio. Actually, met Gary Shandling at an art show in Pasadena, when I was catering, working on my smile ready face, because growing up I didn’t have much muscle memory to flex from whatsoever. Gary Shandling said, “Keep writing and you’ll look like me.”

She says, “So did you keep writing?” And I said, “Yeah, I got my TV writing break with Vh1 Classic on America’s Hard 100 that was hosted by WWE star Chris Jericho. He wouldn’t touch the steroid shrinkage joke I wrote for him out of respect for Vince McMahon. He didn’t want to be Owen Hart without a safety net with no harness to pull him back from the point of no return. I’ve also recorded 113 comedy records since. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years. My last comedy record, Crazy Stones after Lapping Losers was made in honor of Oliver Stone’s crazy stones, whose half Jewish by the way. Put another one on that board. You know your dad is a fake news hippie if he vehemently denies the CIA’s role in taking out JFK. Never visiting the Grand Canyon after living in Arizona for 10 years, doesn’t help bolster your case against being a fake news hippie dad, fake news hippie. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggests otherwise. Also, where are all the Philosophy books? Oh, their placed all the way at the bottom here at the bottom of the food chain where all their diplomas belong. I’m in no position to act more evolved secure after graduating from a top communication school with a stutter to become another schmuck in a headset IT recruiter out of college like the rest. I went to Ithaca college in upstate NY, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I could suck down back-to-back to bingers and not manage to stutter every other 2 seconds. Wait a minute, 30 bucks for Bob Odenkirk’s Breaking Balls, you’ve got to me kidding me. I snorted crystal meth thinking it was cocaine once. 5 hours later after one line, I acted like an extra speedy Tony the Tiger, going, “This shit is great.” The come down was far from great. Later, I call the dude who gave me the bump from hell and say, “Dude that was really strong coke. I thought I was going to die in my own arms that night.” He said, “Dude that wasn’t coke, that was crystal meth. I thought you knew the difference.” And I said, “I didn’t realize you were conducting the Pepsi Challenge.” Eighties Don Draper lives if he didn’t die of lung cancer in the eighties. Have I mentioned my push to push my daughter into becoming a lesbian yet? Because she can’t die of Aids or get cervical cancer from HPV if you get the vaccine for it that actually works better than Russell Westbrook running the Triangle offense This way my Lesbian leaning daughter can take a licking and keep on ticking. I don’t have any business cards on me but just ask Alexa to play Michael Kornbluth if I’ve aroused your interesting in wanting to be stuffed with more totality of me.” Challah, thank you very much.

Book Lady says, “Vince Mcmahon is a nice man. One time I went to a restaurant in Darien, CT and he paid for everybody’s dinner.” I said, “He gave a touching homage to Andre The Giant in his doc on HBO, unlike bleeding heart Rob Reiner. Who insisted, Andre the Giant was wasted throughout the entire shooting of Princess of Pride. Great job, ruining any last connection to my age of innocence asshole. Billy Crystal’s ho hum commentary didn’t help, adding, “I couldn’t understand Andre as a one syllable grunt as the Sasquatch in the 6 million Dollar Man.” Fuck you, Billy Crystal. Your face looks like a rotten apple head who identifies as a dried-up Danish with a goatee with all funny man color stripped from your hallowed edgeless core for the past 15 years and counting. Rob Reiner adds, “Andre could barely catch Buttercup descending from the castle because his back muscle was mushier than a plate of brie left in the summer Provence sun. ” Book Lady says, “Keep writing, Totality Of Me, keep writing. Thank you, very, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Deep State Dads

When you’ve lived in Arizona for 10 years and still haven’t visited the Grand Canyon.

You’re a fake news hippie.

Sorry Dad.

I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggests otherwise.

I don’t care that you attended Woodstock.

You ordered the DJ at my wedding to stop playing the Star-Spangled Banner by Jimi Hendrix at a sculpture garden 10 minutes outside of Woodstock for Christ’s sake.

That’s like asking Joni Mitchell to hang herself with one of her hippie haggard shawls next time she gets triggered by the Joe Rogan Podcast.

When your granddaughter was 2 Dad, she stepped on her pink, Disney Ukelele guitar.

I said, “Matilda, never step on your guitar. And she says, “But Jimi played with his teeth.

So let it go Dad. You’re 2-year-old granddaughter is more into Jimi licks than you are.

But if you really want to learn whether your dad is a deep state dad sympathizer, AKA, Fake News Hippie, bring up the CIA’s role in the Kennedy assassination.

I say, “Dad, how you can pretend to be a hardcore hippie of any kind in possession of any form of credibility when you don’t think the CIA took out Kennedy for wanting to share UFO info with the Russians?”

Dad says, “Moron son, you think the CIA conspired to murder Kennedy because he wanted to share our UFO intel with the Russians? Are we talking about some secret acid stash used for Psych Ops missions that made you see more than UFOs, that even Dr. Timothy Leary didn’t have access to during the height of Haight Ashbury freaks outs back in the day? Since when is Kennedy sharing a stool sample from Gore Vidal after getting anally probed off the coast of Hyannis Port considered a national security risk of any kind?”

I add, “Dad, didn’t you see the movie Nixon with Anthony Hopkins or listen to any of Kennedy speech’s when he openly criticizes the unchecked power of the Deep State and war machine it powers? Or is doing for your country, doing Jack shit for your 1st Born’s ego enlargement therapy since you decided to deride me as an overrated softie, so you could draft higher quality 1st picks in the rec draft before I bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms throughout the 3rd Grade and beyond?”

Kennedy said, “Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.”

I don’t think that stated sentiment gave the Pentagon elongated love or sustained stiffage against their dying of the light.

“We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth.”

Suck my Executive Big dick Hoover. You want some lock jaw love Peeping Tom Pasty? You got it.

“In serving his vision of the truth, the artist best serves his nation.”

Robert Frost, I fucked him, I can’t take no more. Dice lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

“Dante once said that the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in periods of moral crisis maintain their neutrality.”

You know like those who write off non-stop clot shot deaths as accidental overdoses on fentanyl that’s killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking it with Lena Dunham on Instagram?

“We must know all the facts and hear all the alternatives and listen to all the criticisms. Let us welcome controversial books and controversial authors. For the Bill of Rights is the guardian of our security as well as our liberty.”

In other words, call out Islam for being a so called “religion of peace.” And Booger Face Behar on the View is the new Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart. And the Catholic Church doesn’t play musical chairs with salvation granting pedophiles. And Woody Allen just got a book advance from Random House on hands off parenting. And Jeff Bezos gives a shit about reigning in white supremacist rage when he has no problem selling Mein Kampf on to your kid’s Kindle at a heavily discounted price on Amazon Prime Day, which clocks in as only 724 pages of hate speech in a row.

“When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.”

Who knew, all Joe Biden needs is Kayne West rapping his soul to sleep?

“Fuck Snoop Dog’s spell. His new wine sucks. It tastes like mouth wash used in Porn Hood Hell.”

Kenndy also fired his CIA chief and made Bobby the CIA’s next level sketchy hall monitor after they mislead him about the Bay of Pigs Dad.

Remember, the CIA stated plan for regime change in Cuba without the need for US air support, which was another bullshit planted lie by the Deep State that boasted less legs than Lieutenant Dan.

And what did we learn from Mueller Report again Dad after his big reveal in front of on Congress? Oh yeah, Mr. Get A Haircut and Get A Real Job only parts his hair with good old fashioned elbow grease.

A communist Cuba was a greater threat to Meyer Lansky’s bottom line than Iran becoming the number sponsor of terror after the CIA forced regime change and put the Shah in charge during the Iranian revolution, that gave us the rise of Kylie Jenner, the wealthiest member of the Kardashian clan among the porcupine puss food chain. Our society is fucked anyway because when I told my daughter this morning that Kylie Jenner liked one of my jokes on Twitter before I got banned from the site for insisting the Chinese have resisted Wuhan lab leaks more than Aquafresh. She acted as if, “I just told her about my 4-way with Raquel Welch, Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe on a slow Thursday.”

Kennedy said, “I will splinter the CIA into a thousand pieces and scatter it into the wind.” After they wanted to start a nuclear war with Russia without Russia bombing the Russian Tea room 1st Dad. Yeah, I don’t see any CIA brass being invited to Frank’s late-night fuck pad at the Sands hotel, knowing JFK could use those compromising shots of underage muff on their lap against them for a change. Lolita Island lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

The Military Industrial Complex wanted to escalate the war in Vietnam and expand their defense budget, which JFK was against. But the CIA had no vested interest in taking out cash cow cock blowing Kennedy one iota Dad.

J Edgar Hoover hated Kennedy because he would’ve dismantled the FBI eventually. Because he didn’t see the value in spying on Dr. King orgies, just so Edgar didn’t have to rely on stag magazines or his raw imagination to get off in a bathroom donut shop instead.

Kennedy spoke out against government secrecy and how scrutiny leads to understanding, which is why tolerant, forward thinking, Liberals of yesteryear concerned about our common welfare, don’t exist in media anymore, because not even Mark Twain winner John Stewart dared to deliver any barbed wit in Obama Be Good’s honor when inquiring on his show about why he nuke gifted Iran 150 billion in unmarked bills on his way out the door for the creation overseas manufacturing jobs for Build a Bear to make the Iranian economy less dependent on the sale of hair removal cream for the Kardashians.

Kennedy wanted to abolish the Federal Reserve because it was controlled by the Rothchilds. And Kennedy knew how much backlash the Jewish community would receive if it was revealed how those blood sucking Hebrews own all the safe numbers to Fort Knox and all keys to safety deposit boxes in the North Pole to.

When JFK fired the CIA director, he muttered “traitor.” The Bay of Pigs Invasion was worse than me lying about keeping Marilyn warm for Bobby.” And it just so happens that the CIA’s director brother was the mayor of Dallas, who knew about the last-minute change in the parade route to make the assassination easier to pull off than stealing an election through using COVID as an excuse for mail-in-voting knowing how Mr. Groper’s campaign rallies would barely fill out Ariel’s clam shell bra.

Deep State Dad says, “What is this, Deplorable Daddy Day? Now, I bet you’re going to tell me that 9/11 was an inside job or that Ellen DeGeneres is a CIA agent like Jackie O.”

And I say, “Ellen did come out on her show to claim she was besties with W after being caught palling around with him at a Cowboys game because she’s pro Bush all the way.”

Resist this Prescott Bush, you Nazi war profiteering piece of shit. At least Jospeh Kennedy didn’t birth Deep state-controlled losers from start to finish. Plus, the Nazi symbol is dumb, it looks like 2 sticks figures doing a 69 on a Seesaw.

Never forget, Kennedy was the top White Hat Gangsta, who topped them all. And Deep State siding dads are fake news hippies who blow off their grandchildren for MSNBC and Uni Brow Maddow. And this is Chris Matthews sexually harassing a new intern for MSNBC. “Eating out Maddow, counts as your lunch break babe.”

And this is JFK and Dr. King going to a gangbang at Frank Sintra’s House in Palm Springs.

Frank says, “Too toothy, nice and easy baby.”

JFK says, “If I had it my way, I would’ve called 1st dibs on Marilyn before Dr. King gave her a dreamboat lay. I’m lucky to feel a stiff wind in her sail ripped snatch now. ”

Resist this, Deep State siding Dads, Challah.

JFK lives. Brightest star in the universe, shines again, Challah.

Thank you, Mr. President, very, very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Metal Edge

The mother responsible for her son developing a near crippling neck condition that required corrective surgery at 2, called Torticollis, where the neck muscles contract causing the head to twist to one side as a result from too much newborn plopping time alone the crib, summoned the gaul to ask her son, whose about to turn 50 years old in his new Victorian Mansion home outside of Saratoga, NY lounging on a money Polo Lounge green Adirondack Chair, overlooking Lake George, “Why would you push your son into Fencing?” The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Because the sport of fencing needs a metal edge. And your grandson, “Headbangers Baller is just the kid to do it. Plus, Christian Knights slayed Jews and Muslims for centuries because they didn’t wear crosses around their neck. So, it’s time to rock those Limey bastards on their ass like they just got hit by an American made Twister from Kansas City in the shape of Charlie Parker with the colossus wind power to match.  Bruce Dickenson, the lead singer of Iron Maiden is a championship fencer yet his nerdy hued, Dungeons and Dragons stylings are no match more for my son’s budding Headbanger Baller Edge. I want my son to be the most famous American fencer who ever lived, who graces the cover of Rolling Stone and Sports Illustrated all at the same time. I envision my son becoming the dreamy child offshoot of John Belushi, Charles Bukowski and Slash wrapped into one. He’ll shred every fencer record to pieces and tear more than his share of hymens in the process. Assuming he identifies with highly addictive heterosexuality puss plowing play. Force =Mass x Acceleration and becoming a world class championship shredder will make my son an indominable force within the business world when he opens his own hair metal shredder fencing line which will be recession proof, because we’re all going to be stuck wearing nappies on our face in post COVID universe gone wild till our last dying breath anyway.”

The Torticollis Survivor Son adds, “Fencing will be more popular in the US than Basketball and Baseball combined after Headbanger Baller Kornbluth adds windmill celebration dances with his fencing sword, throwing all that old school fencing decorum bullshit out the window. Plus, he’ll be loaded from commercial endorsements from the Guitar Store, Bose, Spandex R Us, you name it, so he could afford to pay any fine for inappropriate, hot dogging behavior whenever the flamboyant showboating moods strikes again.  Dana White will be inspired to go into the fencing business and make Headbanger Baller Kornbluth the face behind his new billion-dollar behemoth franchise, transforming Octagon rings into enormous steel cage fencing matches instead.  Instead of having Michael Buffer in a tux before Fencing matches, boom, “Let’s get ready to rumble”, Dana White will find the new Cherry Pie girl to announce, “Let the shredding begin”, while Kickstart My Heart by Motely Crue blares on the state-of-the-art surround sound speaker system that gives the steel cage tremors of impending despair. I’d push my son into becoming a WWE Wrestler for a living, yet there will never be another Andrew the Giant, nor is he 3rd generation wrestling royalty like the Rock or have a Canadian hockey player dad like Chris Jericho. So, why not become a big fish in far smaller pond, while making the most humongous splash possible? He also plays with collection of lightsabers now more than he does with his cherished Wrestling figures and he owns the original rubber dog toy size Hulk Hogan and Ricky The Dragon Steamboat among many others with vintage WWF wrestling ring I got off ebay to match. Kayne West is worth 6 billion, mostly from his fashion line of sneakers that sell for 1 grand and up ma yet there’s no limited, in demand fashion line for the flamboyant hair metal shredder in us all. I envision a flashing middle F-You, finger logo that’s sporting the inscription of a Kosher Chalef butcher knife on it that says, “Live To Shred”, to slap on his own line of silver spaceman sneakers, ripped jeans and shorts, obviously in every color imaginable except Slayer Reign In Blood Red.  He’ll have his own line of studded, belts, necklaces, metal cowboy hats and tang tops to show off his legions of groupies and adoring young male fans how his own line of core exercise work out videos involving jumping off box jumps through rings of fire as Moth Into Flame by Metallica plays at full blast, being responsible for his shredded physique once he steps into something more comfortable for post fencing fight interviews.  I want to feed my son’s love for speed. I want my son to maximize his inherent shredding edge like Buckethead, Randy Rhodes and Steve Vai for love of God, kickass metal guitar solo’s and for his metal loving American Dad who pushed him to shred for bread. On a less poetic, baser level, I want my son to be an all-American athlete who gets a fencing scholarship for being the most rollicking, flamboyant, fencing front man of all time while making the sport less overtly nerdy in the process.  I want him to be loved and feared like Sonny in the Bronx Tale mom. I want colleges to recruit him in junior high for fencing scholarships, so he can become a Headbanger Baller in life, instead of being a desperate flailing hounder. That’s why I’m pushing my son into Fencing mom.”

Mom says, “Your father thinks a team sport would be better for our grandson like Football for instance. The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Will be sticking with Nerf football in yard ma. I also don’t like to take advice from fake news hippies like Dad, mom no offense. You’ve lived in Arizona for 9 years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon once yet, case closed. Alsodad pushing eventual Pee Wee Football on his grandson is another example of him trying to make me bow down to his authoritative opinion, which makes me think he’s the one with brain trauma from feeding his head with too much acid at Woodstock. Because if I bowed down to this belabored, weak ass pitch command request, I would’ve shied away from doing political material during my speech at my younger brother’s wedding, when I said to his old pal from Boarding School, “Cam from Canada, make yourself at home and hit somebody. So, Jim Carrey can paint you as an alt right goon on the loose in Charlottesville, with a Tiki Torch in hand, looking like an angry rejected extra from the Sears Catalog in 89. And that material killed at the Montreal Comedy Festival in 2022, which got me the agent who got me my movie deal for Back To Hebrew School, which bought this Victorian mansion, wave runners for all 3 of my kids and my speedboat Slashing Thunder.”

Mom says, “Why do you hate me so much?” Son says, “Mom, I just hated how you always tried to shred my ego to pieces and cut me down to size in my divine powered pursuit to become a world-famous comedian author/light spreader shredder, who lives to bang out more sheets of electric fueled comedy gold. I hate your arrogance for thinking you get to tell me how to raise my kids because they’re my kids, not yours, especially after your lack of physical play with me as an infant resulted in my Torticollis correcting surgery, from being left to smoosh my face into the crib out of place for serially unhealthy, prolonged periods of time. I hated the way you always tried to make me feel like I was a crazy moron for trusting my instincts and for pursuing work I was good at, which made me feel most kick ass, happy alive.” Mom says, “I still think fencing is a dumb idea. I bet they only offer 2 fencing scholarships a year max.”  

Headbanger Baller won the Olympic Gold in Fencing 3 times in a row, shredding every fencing record in the past. Dana White expanded his business empire to include MMA with fencing swords now, in steel cage Octagons with no protective gear required, although Headbanger Baller preferred to show off his shredding edge in the ring, sporting various items from his billion dollar fashion line of ripped jean shorts, tank tops and speed metal belt with his signature middle finger logo, sporting a ring with a Kosher Chalef butcher knife inscription on it that says, “Live To Shred”.

Shredding rocks, especially when you shred perceptions of what you’re capable of achieving in this world whether it’s through individual accomplishment or through coaching your speed addicted seed or not. Shredder’s soar. Shredder’s fly high with the angels like 3 Guitar Attack from Lynyrd Skynyrd on Free Bird. Shredders makes us feel most alive, for doing the rocking out for us. Shredders inspire us to unleash our own solo edge. Shredders make us feel most alive, because they put us in touch with our Sunset Strip strutting, Headbanger Baller inside.

Michael Kornbluth

Regaining That Cuddly Feeling

Before Daddy says his final goodnight, his magical, pitch perfect daughter says, “Daddy, what do you do after you put me to bed and tell me what to dream about?” Do It Dad get’s a tad huffy, cagy in response to his daughter’s innocuous inquiry and snaps back with, “I squeeze in some me time, alright.”  Reality is, Do It All Dad loved tucking in his 1st born in his old office, which his daughter took over after her baby brother Samuel was born, way more so than hearing his younger brother bemoan over the phone, how their Dad is no longer into him as much because the old man was burnt out on hearing about his youngest non-stop pity party, knowing he had a cushy restaurant manager job in the city now and happily married, allegedly, when other family run generational restaurants had become obliterated forever in a post-COVID constrictive universe gone wild.

At the same, tact was never Do It All Dad’s younger brother forte. For example, after his 2nd child was born Art Show USA, his younger brother calls Do It All Dad and says, “Hey bro, congrats, figured I’d call you while taking a piss.” Do It All Dad always quick with a snappy one liner replies, “So glad you could squeeze the call in between doing more bumps of coke into your late thirties, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall.”  Now, Do It All Dad wasn’t a drug free monk, even after becoming a father of 3, he took a daily hit of pot downstairs in the garage at night, which was a reward for posting another short story on his blog or from performing a new chapter piece from his upcoming book The Koshterarian Comedian on his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, which he would listen to after a puff of his cherished green, knowing it made his material come more alive in addition to chilling him out after another day of banging out more sheets of comedy gold in his relentless pursuit to become the star voice behind the remote work revolution and earn some book advance money sometime this millennium, so he could continue to grow closer to his kids and God on the Stay At Home Comedian front, yeah, yeah, yeah. Still, Do It All Dad knew cocaine was the most overrated, soul sucking drug of all time, which played the main role in getting his Father addicted to Ambien knowing how much his younger brother’s ongoing cocaine incidents including getting arrested, stealing money from their ATM account, being shipped off to Boarding School for it, going to rehab, fucking up every new golden Restaurant Manager opportunity played no role in Pops becoming the deepest sleeper in the world anymore either.

Do It All Dad had always resisted telling his parents about his younger brother’s drug woes, however whenever he did alert them to his younger brother falling into a dark hole of druggy abyss with no flicker of light in sight again, little bro would resent his big brother’s intervention, despite him knowing that only their father could put the fear of God into his little brother during another predictably dark dive into pity party played out land again.  Do It All Dad also knew what a manipulative, lying cunt his younger brother could be as a result of being a cokehead for more than 2 decades in a row and counting. So he was more sensitive than most, about the residual damage early teen drug use can cause families, which never ceases to tear the trusting binding fabric between family members with relentless precision at the seams. So when Do It All Dad’s nurse wife started pushing Melatonin Gummies on his precious, Bashert daughter, he got tense immediately because he didn’t want his daughter to develop an addiction to any drug or sleep inducing vitamin, despite it being all natural, whatever the fuck that meant because nothing felt natural about a mother drugging her daughter to sleep, knowing his dear Matilda’s effortless warm, sparkly glow made Do It All Dad feel most alive in her presence, come or rain shine and she wasn’t some dead weight conversationalist snooze, who was better off forced to bed prematurely before she bored everyone else to fucking death in the family prematurely in the process.

Now Do It All Dad was applying for freelance writing jobs to keep his marriage together because the endless sheets of comedy gold banged out for the wild enjoyment of his Do It All Dad Year audience wasn’t paying off the mortgage any time soon either.  Today, he even applied for a Sleep Niche Marketing Copywriter position which sells sleep masks and fired off this email to his potential hiring benefactor that read like this, “I’m a great fit for his role because I have vested interest in promoting any sleeping aid which helps my daughter go to sleep without it feeling like the NeverEnding Bedtime Hour. Plus, I hate my wife pushing Melatonin gummies on my daughter, because it’s a gateway drug for Ambien and I don’t need my daughter to sleepwalk into my room at night, only to ask me again, “What should I dream about Daddy? I can only say dream about dunking over your younger brother while farting in his face so many times, before the idea loses its forceful funk forever.  Last, I’m a creative, funny writer who loves to sell. Like the late great Joan Rivers used to say, “Can we talk?”

Matilda, Do It All Dad’s daughter didn’t enjoy mommy pushing Melatonin Gummies on her or her younger brothers either, knowing she didn’t see her Mama nearly as much at night compared to Daddy. Plus, nothing screams, leave me alone already than the automatic pushing of Melatonin Gummies at hard 7 every night. Little did mama know, Matilda similar to lip syncing grace in her parent’s house, was also pretending to swallow the gummy before spitting it out in the trash soon after. Matilda has been doing this routine for almost a whole year now, so her tolerance for Melatonin Gummies was at an all time low, which got freaky for her fast one night, when she forget to spit it out because it was a new brand of Melatonin Gummy, dipped in Eucalyptus Oil, from the far away hinterlands of the Aussie outback, which had been taken over my Chinse big pharma companies, looking to expand past the market for muscle soothing Tiger Bomb, which is the Aussie football cool down lotion of choice. Mama got a good deal on these gummies on Prime Thursday and couldn’t resist. For some reason, these Melatonin Gummies were real creepers and didn’t kick into far later after Dada tucked in her 2 younger brothers to sleep.

Mama was downstairs watching the Great British Bakeoff, while Dada read to his daughter from their Weird But True book about a ghost tale from Upstate New York, triggering a pleasant stroll down memory lane, when Dada said to his daughter resting her head on his chest, “You were conceived in Upstate New York, outside of Cooperstown, NY in a cornfield to be exact. It was 4th of July weekend, mama and I were there to see a Further show, which was the new version of the Grateful Dead. The show was only 12 miles away from the Baseball Hall Of Fame, in Cooperstown, NY, which is why I’ve always called you an American made beauty from the start.” Daddy get’s inspired and asks Alexa to play American Girl by Tom Petty. Then, Matilda runs into her room to grab her favorite new American Girl doll, Layla.

Once Matilda renters the room, American Girl’s eyes looked more tweaked than usual and says, “Daddy, do Layla’s eyes look bigger than normal?” Dear Dada says, “Nothing out the ordinary. Layla still freaks me out whenever I catch her in the bathroom watching me take a piss. I’m just playing, I’ve never found Layla check me out in the bathroom, but you know what I mean. American Girl Dolls can be creepy realistic, making Chucky look like a harmless Cabbage Patch Doll in comparison. Then again, I was raised on Garbage Patch Kids trading cards, so you’d think I can handle an American Doll batting her eyelashes at me with such pronounced, real deal feeling. Also, it’s hard to feel like your own man when you’re Stay At Home Dad Matilda. which is another reason I want you to stay clear of all gateway drugs while your brain is developing, especially in high school. I don’t want you taking any pills besides aspirin, got it. Now, mama receives a notification every time I make another questionable purchase, before mama texts me, “Hey babe, so how was Bride of Chucky.”

Matilda says, “I have a confession to make Daddy. I took one of mama’s new Melatonin Gummies by mistake tonight, meaning I forget to spit it out later than usual and I think I’m hallucinating since feeding my head with melatonin, which my body produces naturally, from concealed darkness last I checked on Google.” Do It All Dad says, “Let’s put a sleeping mask on Layla so her eyes flickering eyes don’t freak us out as much.”  Matilda says, “Why don’t we just close all the curtains and snuggle but no guided mediation music please.” Daddy says, “I hear you Matilda. Trying to sleep off the Acid to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony Freshman year college was the worst idea of my life. At least we don’t have any distracting, flickering black light constellations to contend with in here. Just know, you’ll always be the light of my life and if there’s one person on this earth who doesn’t require any form of chemical induced enhancement to make your magical way of being any more spectacular than you already are, it’s you. You’ll always have me and God in your heart, no matter what.”

Matilda says, “Daddy, what should I dream about?” Do It All Dad says, “Castles made of Melatonin Gummies before Daddy eats them all to cure his loud man’s disease, so mama doesn’t get freaked out as much from me blaring to many holla for challah chants during my next Do It All Dad Year Podcast whenever Mama is home.” Matilda says, “I love the loud you Daddy. So why don’t we make the castle out of Diet cokes and some hidden Adderall pills instead, not that you need it. I don’t care that you’re naturally louder than Busta Rhymes at midnight showing of Higher Learning or not.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Roasting Fat Vegetarians

Why are fat vegetarians so pathetic? Is it their dumpy physique, droopy eyes or inflated sense of self-worth, because they’re still pastier than a formula baby under house arrest during Covid? Does a meat free diet, make your complexion look a tad less oily? Yes, but fat vegetarians not so much, knowing, their added layers of blubber weigh down any glow filled, glint to their step.

But how do fat vegetarians get so fat exactly?  It isn’t from Turkey meatballs served on toothpicks from Mark Wahlberg’s personal chef.  So, what’s preventing good intentioned vegetarians from feeling better about their humane promoting diets, despite it making their pale icky, round faces look like murky, greyish, shaved Elephant balls?  From personal experience, double IPA’s inhaled in rapid succession doesn’t help, nor does frying up Beyond Meat burgers in butter whenever you want, because you’re taking a break from drinking double IPA’s during the work week again. Also, the overreliance of cheese in your average fat vegetarian’s diet stems from the lack of eating options at the bar, which is limited to Jalapeno Poppers, French Fries and French Onion Soup. So chances are, you’ll be inhaling an eggplant roll and a Grandma slice from your local pizzeria far after 10pm, which is a big no, no, in Ryan Reynold’s book, according to Men’s Journal favorite pinup to paste inside your gym locker year after year. An eggplant roll alone is 456 calories, which eaten after 10, slows your metabolism to a screeching halt, wiping out your combined calorie loss from your past 2 days on the Peloton, which isn’t getting your body into tip top, Woody Harrelson shape on the set of Natural Born Killers either. Did you know Cheddar Cheese possess 7 times more fat content than a bite of chicken breast? Ryan Seacrest’s daily diet of egg whites, chicken breast wraps isn’t so easy to disparage with such rock solid, self-righteous, all knowing glee so much anymore, is it? That’s a humungous reason why fat vegetarians should consider giving The Koshertarian Diet a chance.

Understand, most vegetarians are vegetarians for humanity purposes, even more so than the healthier heart aspect, because those same vegetarians have zero problem taking more hits from their old school glass bong, singing, “Got to have Kaya now, because tripping on acid in a Covid masks outside will make me feel like I’m trapped the middle of a Biological war for my soul man. So, The Koshertarian Diet should appeal to the fat vegetarian within us all, because all Kosher meat is sliced with a Chalaf knife, designed to kill Ben and Jerry’s cows on spot with one seamless motion, by cutting through their jugular veins, which eliminates any painful, drawn out death. Just think the opposite of Saw 1 through 7.  Also, the Kosheterain Diet forces vegetarians to get creative without the use of the cheese, involving Kosher chicken breast meals, which forbid the mixing of dairy and meat such as the time I made a cheese-less Quesadilla with diced up chicken breast cooked on the grill, later sautéed in high grade, cold pressed, extra virgin olive oil, always the best, on top of caramelized, sweet red peppers and red onion, in addition to peeled slices of garlic, and generous sprinklings of Kosher salt, and fresh ground peppercorns for extra peppy pop. After one bite of this reimagined Chicken Quesadilla, the urge to drop your customary, shredded mounds of spicy pepper jack cheese on the top of the diced up chicken breast between the fried-up flour tortillas dissipates faster than Dominion employee profile pages on LinkedIn after Sidney Powell released the Kraken after election night. Another night, I used the same batch of leftover chicken breast chicken, diced up some more, and made a pesto out of basil, pecans, garlic, Kosher salt and olive oil, mixed with a scrumptious pappardelle pasta  while topping it with some thinly sliced, cherry tomatoes on top, for some needed color and cooler texture contrast to transform this dish into some big time summer loving, having a blast, with the entire house to myself, with my wife and 3 kids in Delaware for Baba Camp for a pleasant change of pace.  Who needs meat lasagna, when you can follow Martha Stewart’s lead and perfect your version of Mexican Lasagna without having to get too carried with the cheese distribution plopage in the process? Especially, when you use baked corn tortillas as the base while stacking a couple of layers of sautéed black beans, red onions and Jalapeno peppers, with your homemade cherry tomato based salsa, encasing the entire dish with a wall of impenetrable, impossible to resist, Cilantro specked flavor, making it hard for you to separate from your plate if La Bamba is on HBO without the use of on demand cloud technology for old time’s sake.  Plus, child separation is overrated, because if Coco never got separated from his parents, he never would’ve became a miniature Los Lobos in the making. I know, making fun of a cartoon character storyline is worse than Carlos Santana claiming President Trump has “dark energy”, despite Hillary being the best-selling voodoo doll in Hatti year after year. Plus, President Trump doesn’t need to take Acid to see who’s full of shit Carlos.

So, what’s my overriding take away message, fat vegetarians, besides turning off every lit agent imaginable who believe Hiding Biden won fair and square?  Simple, eat more Kosher chicken breast-based meals and give The Koshertarian Diet a chance.  Nothing is worse than being a fat vegetarian, besides being a fat cokehead, who lacks total self-awareness or shame, by blaming their constant stomach pains on Landa Lakes.

Michael Kornbluth

Hot For Hummus

Hummus is Chickpeas are great in Arabic. It’s the most popular dish in the Middle East among Egyptians, Jordanians, and Israeli offshoots of the Zohan tribe, 7 degrees separated from the golden Jew Adam Sandler. Actual unity is getting your Hummus resistor Jewish father from the Bronx to follow your 3 Koshertarian diet embracing children by joining the party to try your homemade Hummus made in his Arizona estate home for a pre-nosh nibble snack on top of toasted pita triangles with some diced up cherry tomatoes, fresh scattered parsley and vibrant looking, just grated carrots on top. I’m not betting the farm on my father to try my workshopped, perfected homemade Hummus over Thanksgiving break but as my father likes to rightfully point out, I don’t own a farm let alone a John Deer lawnmower or the personal property big enough to justify the expense because I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under judicial review.   Everyone can unify behind the depressingly dreary premise of a degenerate Jew like myself not being financially secure in life yet, who uses his fingers for basic arithmetic like a retarded version Dustin Hoffman at the Blackjack table at Talking Stick Casino.

Growing up in elementary school, all my Loan Officer mother ever made me was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, which didn’t help my blobby physique one bit at the time. Still, I never complained or requested anything different, urging my mother to make me Bento box lunches with Power Rangers stickers on the outside, with Cucumber and cream cheese Koshertarian rolls wrapped in seaweed and sticky rice within. Also, as a kid, I always preferred sesame bagels, for my egg and cheeses at the local Greek dinner, inhaling 2 in one sitting, after a night of drinking, with my old school high school buds, which is why my father called me the” human shovel” for a reason. So, I don’t need to be a math savant like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man to realize my love of nut based spreads like peanut butter would eventually lead to my developed steamy love for Tahini flavor in Hummus, which is where the oily, creamy, pulverized sesame seed spewing essence derives from. Hummus is basically, the more versatile, infinitely less tubby version of peanut butter, which also packs leaner blasts of less sticky mouth protein. So of course, I’m hot for Hummus but only after I started making my homemade versions to spice up my kid’s lunches, so I didn’t burn them out on peanut butter, ruining their capacity to ever savor a Reese’s Pieces Peanut Butter Cups, made at all the specialty chocolate chops like in Ridgefield CT again, which is an American shishy bitch rite as it gets.

If you never tried Hummus, the famed sesame paste can be a turnoff, if you never sampled the primo goods before. On the surface, some store-bought Hummus or homemade Hummus can look like a sad plop mound of dried out earwax. That’s why you must add color and a dash of sophistication to your presentation. Pine nuts, who needs them. Chopped hardboiled eggs, gross, too overtly Israeli for my taste sorry. Pesto on top of hummus, is a blatantly unnecessary, awful idea, knowing Hummus when made right, requires no parm cheese garlic infusion to make it more swoon worthy than it already is. For me, I dress up my Hummus triangle creations with a menage a trois of radiant, lick it up color such as hot to trot, Little Red Corvette, cherry tomatoes and Arizona wild, desert bloom orange specked shredded carrots or some Polo Lounge conjuring green in the form of thick strands of Jalapeno on top to keep it extra steamy in the process.  

Just like it any relationship, you have to spice things up, incorporating needed color and variety to keep things interesting or you’ll lose sustained stiffage, which is the perpetual state of arousal necessary for any relationship to get excited for toppable tomorrows. The same rule applies to homemade loving infused creations versus the mass produced, manufactured kind, which lacks the length and depth of personalized pop compared to the real thing.  So invest in a Cuisinart to blend your Goya Chickpeas, add some store bought Tahini from your local Kosher butcher, add a garlic bulb or 2, throw in a generous heaping of sea, Himalayan, or Kosher salt, I don’t give a shit, before pouring in a steady steam of medium grade Olive oil, as the hummus magic swirls into scrumptious loving perfection before constructing your pita triangle pizzas with the steamy garnishes I mentioned prior and call it a day.  At the very least, your kids will love you more for putting in the extra effort to tantalize and awaken their tastebuds to newer, fresher, yummier possibilities than ever before. Last, your wife tasting like hummus won’t lure you into sucking face with her on the spot, but you’ll take whatever justified outs a 10-year marriage can give you.

Michael Kornbluth