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