Cuntish Continent Country

An IT Receuiter enters a record shop in Williamsburg.

And says.

Have the Kayne records graduated to the bargain bin yet?

Or is that on hold until he campaigns to kick Alex Jones off his Patreon page?

Got any New York Doll records?

I’m also in the market for a Trans Sitter with balls.

Because our current sitter is already dosing on the job.

And if I took estrogen shots, I’d at least dress up in some sexy undergarments before letting it hang loose on our couch with the lights turned down low if you know what I mean.

Here take my business card. Call me Stand Up Staffer, I’ve teen talent hooking pain in the ass IT workers since Y2K.

I’m like a divorce lawyer for techies who make sure they fairly compensated for this previous amorphous, lame love littered, time suck existence.

Or if you’re an uppity Software Engineer who codes for a living for the Daily Kos, I’m a trespassing coolness impaired, parasitical putz breath, incapable of deep probing, impactful oomph in life in her scurrying sketchy eyes. How do I know this software Engineer is one of the sketchy ones? Easy, she only has her 1st name listed on her LinkedIn profile like Ye would. And I get paid to screen for sketchy trash and throw garbage personalities away.

Hick shaming my Aussie wife for thinking she’s deeper than country music songs by Johnny Cash, let’s do it. Because growing up in Brisbane with only 2 TV stations including non stop repeats of Astro Boy doesn’t beat local broadcasts of the Grand Ole Opry with Dollly Parton’s showcasing the greatest rack of all either. And most of Australia is fly over country that’s so remote, the Chinese don’t fuss over whether to release the Franken Bat on the 2 MAGA country sympathizers who operate a mining company that mines for iron used to stiffen the spines of Aussie government officials who reduced their country to a ball sack containmment camp state over fears of catching an itchy esphogus.

Johnny Cash has been everywhere but fucking Perth MAN.

Perth Austraila is so off the grid country, Waze won’t even bother showing cross eyed corrective lasix surgeon offices nearby because everybody is a born a cross eyed hick to begin with anyway. So what difference does it make? Hillary Hammer Time Cankles strikes again from the land of Perth. So, so far out of the way, it’s not’s even recognized on Waze, under blowing their Little Bo-Peeps brains out edition, Challah. Thank you very much.

Most Aussie hicks outside of Melboune, Sydney, Brisbane; Victoria, Port Douglas maybe, talk slower than southerners do. You ever hear of Australia’s answer to OutKast in their Alternative Weekly called we ain’t got shit past Bon Scott, the Bee Gees and Kylie Minogue. Shit most Aborigines walkabout their enftire lives and in the end when their one dumb fuck cousin is dying from a clot shot induced heart attack, they’ll muster, “You media horror Gods are crazy. ”

Cuntish Contitent Country, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Zamboni Artist

“No friendship is an accident.”

O. Henry

If a husband googles an ex-girlfriend 3 kids later, does it mean he’s officially divorced from great expectations at home? At the same time, what man isn’t guilty of reflecting fondly on spoiled summers past? Especially, when you’ve had to suck up another frigid east coast winter in the face of permanent career stagnation suckitude again. The same winter and so-called comedy career that felt colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons when you’re not laughing all the way to the bank yet. But at least, Harvey Weinstein’s wife of the past 12 years finally left him, to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. Now, Solomon Kornbluth, a proud stay at home podcast comedian was on thin ice with his wife of 12 years for failing to make any money off his sheets of comedy gold, despite him urging his accountant to write off such an awe inspiring, sparkly array of A plus gemry dissemination on his Do It All Dad Time Blog and Do It All Dad Time Podcast as a generous charitable donation. What 45-year-old non-industry represented, so called Comedian Solomon Kornbluth wanted was a win, but not just any win, like getting another comedy record Mega Dumb Daddy reposted on Soundcloud again by some random, faceless music promo service, but an actual trophy, symbolizing how in this instance Solomon Kornbluth was best of the rest.

Solomon Kornbluth had won some awards in the past, but they weren’t a result of superior mental toughness, sustained physical dominance or a result of outperforming his competition for number 1 champion bragging rights either. Winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleep Away Camp was an incredibly moving moment for Solomon Kornbluth because despite not knowing the full extent of it yet, he was an overly sensitive, lonely, shy, nerve plagued fag, who blew off Canteen mixers with the fellow female camp members to shoot hoop and read his Cracked comics in bed alone instead after cranking one out to freckle face specked Alicia Rody, a counselor for the female camp who wore University Maryland boxer shorts, creeping up her supple, spry ass as Dice would say back in the day. And her mountainous cleavage formation was a thing of immovable, feast worthy beauty as those gorgeous melons dangled like luscious lobes of mouth drooling inducing perfection. Ok, so maybe Solomon Kornbluth wasn’t 100 percent gay yet, especially knowing how a fellow bunkmate tried to shame him once for owning a jar of Vaseline while having no idea what that meant. Bunkmate Jordan from New Jersey says in a crackling, just a day over puberty voice, “What do you need that Vaseline for Solomon?” And Solomon says, “I don’t know, for an itchy ass. My mom packed it for me.” Bunkmate Jordan laughs in a slightly demented, pseudo bellowing manner and says, “You can’t blame your mom for being a fudge packer dude.”

Later, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast, Solomon Kornbluth would do a routine about Sex-Ed in Sleepaway Camp throughout the late eighties before Magic made HIV disappear. He says, “Do 3rd graders today really need to know about scented lubes after using good old-fashioned Vaseline became passe already? When I was 13-year-olds at Sleepaway Camp, but still not into the puberty party yet, one of my bunkmates gay shamed me for my mom packing me Vaseline yet I still didn’t get gay lube joke connotations used at my expense till watching shemale porn decades later on 3rd Legged Beauties.com, if you really to know. It’s hard to develop any surge of self-esteem at Sleepaway camp, when you’re the 2nd worst athlete there after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck in yenta breath Seinfeld country. Seinfeld otherwise known as the “Joke Doctor”, just auctioned off one of his vintage Porsche’s for Charity. I hope half of those proceeds went to Larry’s kids. I also don’t want Seinfeld smirking for at least 5 years till he gives us a semi-credible excuse on being completely oblivious to Bill Cosby’s 4-decade reign of rape throughout fantastic LA, up high in those Hollywood drugging hills. Where were your powers of observation, then, Jerry? Also, why isn’t Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame already? They were already Hall of Fame bound when I used to collect their cards at camp. Plus, if I took HGH, Testosterone shots or any form of performing enhancing drugs at Sleep Away Camp, I just would’ve struck out at a more accelerated speed.”

Solomon Kornbluth never got into collecting hockey cards until his friend Jared got him into the NY Rangers in 93, encouraging him to buy all the hockey cards he could so he could snag an Eric Lindros rookie card of his own, bound to be worth big money one day, who was being hyped as the new great one post Gretzky, who had a bigger mark on his back than Trump did after he triggered the Swamp with fits of despair for relegating good old Jeb Bush to another low energy, halfwit hack for hire like the rest. Solomon Kornbluth targeted Laura Bush in his debut comedy album Resist This when he said, “Fuck Laura Bush for thinking the world gives a shit about her memoir, Texas Librarians Know Best.” At least, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles was willing to get rich or die trying bitch. And this is an impression of Stevie Nicks backstage at MSG, “Hillary, tell me lies, only sweet little lies. Versus humongous bitter ones, like how you lost to Trump because of Russian collusion, involving fantasy tales of Drago Holograms emerging in your voting booth only to threaten you with impossible to ignore ultimatums like, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.” I thought you lost to Trump because you’re an unhuggable cunt, my bad. You must have deleted that memo to Hillary. And why would Trump hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on him at a hotel in Moscow, when he can hire a bunch of Ivanka look-alikes to do the same thing at his hotel in D.C whenever pussy grabber likes?”

One time Solomon and Jared got caught shoplifting Hockey Cards at Child World, yet the security guard let them off with an ominous warning, when he said, “I’m going let you 2 go, but understand the only reason I caught you 2 was because you came back to steal again and got greedy.” This damning, ominous indictment of greedy self-serving behavior always stayed with Solomon Kornbluth who obviously didn’t pay homage to the commandment Thou Shall Not Steal one iota for some time after. Even his younger brother shamed him into stop stealing Turkey Jerky at Gelson’s as the ultimate Shishy bitch life enhancer back in the day. Little bro says,” “Never steal, it’s wrong bro.” And this is years after his younger brother, AKA. Sir Snort A Lot, was caught on a security camera stealing thousands from his parents ATM to buy more blow at 13 years old in Washington Heights from Julio Silver Blade The 3, which resulted in his parents shipping him off to boarding school with a bunch Jew picking on Hocky jocks in Avon, CT, which wasn’t really thought through on their part. So, Solomon Kornbluth knew what a steep price his parents had to pay for his younger brother’s crimes of incessant, serially serving selfishness like a pseudo slacker underachiever Hunter in the making, who never had the privilege of being able to collect 52 grand a month from a Ukrainian sports drink company for pushing Borscht as the new Kombucha.

One day Solomon Kornbluth got burnt out on making the world laugh for free on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast again and went to the local hockey rink for a cheap Happy Hour special and was greeted by an Italian bartender, Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, who’s known to stir memories of ex-girlfriend’s past. Vinnie notices how Solomon Kornbluth is a tad low energy, hunched over his phone without much fiery glint in his eyes. Vinnie says, “Is that IPA stale champ?” Do you want something a tad lighter that’s more poundable like any yenta breath from Long Island on Spring Break.” Solomon Kornbluth laughs and asks, “What’s your story? Bartenders never make me laugh, unless they’re sporting a winter wool hat in summer.” Vinnie says “I’m Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, my great, great, grandfather invented the Zamboni machine. I do the light shows for the hockey rink. My Zamboni driving days are behind me, cool job though when your 16. I plowed my fair of share of ice queen boxes on top of that puss plower machine. Solomon says, “What type of light shows do you produce? The one at Hayden Planetarium is boring, I felt asleep 2 minutes into it. Daughter woke me with a sharp elbow in my ribs and I yell, “What, God only made Neil Grase Dyson interesting for 2-minute spurts at a time.” Vinnie Zamboni The 2nd laughs and says, “You’re a pretty funny guy yourself. So, what’s bringing you down champ?” Solomon Kornbluth says, “Just longing for some fun in the sun again, 2 unplanned kids later. That’s what I get for being a degenerate pothead who keeps on forgetting to ask his girl if she’s on the pill. What’s bringing me down is realizing how I’m getting bored of my kid’s company and need to get back on stage again. Plus, my pinched nerve in my back is killing me since my wife forced me to see a Hate Speech Therapist since I stopped taking Adderall to focus less on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be after droppings lines such as, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his early thirties wanted kids ever. I’m doing a Google search for a chiropractor, and I end up finding my ex in Hawaii who I met when I used to live in Hermosa Beach. How could I ever forget Summer King beyond those Hermosa skies? Then, I googled a comedy festival in Hawaii, but realized it’s been canceled because of this COVID damage done bullshit, so it got me down because I know I can win it. The only awards I ever won was Grooviest my Senior Year in High School and Most Improved Basketball Player at Sleep Away Camp. I was also wined and dined after leading my IT agency sales office in billing one month and got to party it up in the Sunset Room in fantastic LA once but that’s it. But I want to win that comedy festival and blast off away in my comedy gold mobile wave runner, which nobody will ever be able to take away from me. George Gershwin lives, Challah, thank you very much. If I can’t afford to get my son the SS Flag GI-Joe Aircraft Carrier for Hanukkah, at least I can let him ride my comedy gold mobile wave runner. How much would gas cost to ride that wave runner back to New York exactly? I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.”

Vinnie says, “So I produce light shows flush with holograms of hocky legends both dead and new like Bobby Hull, The Mighty Messier, and reenact legendary fights like when Ty Domi fought Bob Probert in 94, when he poses with the belt around his waist, boy were those the days, pre-social media, before you had to hear lines on kids shows about some character being the Lebron James of stem cell research. What the fuck does that even mean? Is he a celeb Scientist that has his own brand of tequila spiked umbilical cord stump smoothies that he sold to Bill Gates for a cool 500 million or what? Can you believe kids today get Beyond Meat tattoos around these parts? I freelance as a Tattoo artist for my brother’s Tat Parlor in Danbury, CT called Body Art USA.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “I’ve been telling my local Pizza owner Frank to make an artichoke slice using an alfredo cream sauce, versus just a boring white slice with flaccid, deathly off-white artichokes on it, that will inspire hipsters from Bushwick to make the schlep down to these parts just to Yelp all about it. Plus, I’m getting pissed about Bill Gate’s equestrian riding daughter already owning half the real estate in North Salem already. So, I love the idea of Frank being able to grab a meatier slice of that synthetic pea protein, beyond meat pie.” Vinnie says, “So whatever happened to your Summer Wind? Solomon says, “She smiled at me one day with her soul blasting eyes that screamed I love you, and for some strange reason, my eyes didn’t love her back. One time she died her blond, when I took her out to meet up with a friend of mine in Napa and everyone thought she was a high-end prostitute, because she dressed real classy sexy with the tight dress, creeping up her ass. I loved kissing Summer King. We’d do weed shotgun kisses together, which were the best. We made veal piccata while watching the Soprano’s together, drank Pyramid peach beers by Hermosa Beach and nobody sported prettier feet in the sand than Summer King. Vinnie says, “Summer sounds like a real trophy wife material.” Solomon says, “Yeah, she even said, “Why don’t we move to Santa Barbara so I could write books and she could day trade to make us money for the time being. Boy, did I fuck that one up. Vinnie says, “I hate to bring you down more than you already are Champ, but you’re right.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “Summer liked Metallica, Wu Tang, the Sopranos and loved everything about me. She thought I could be a big-time writer just from reading my Friends spec script for Christ’s sake. Vinnie says, “I already told you fucked up bro. I’m known as the ex-girlfriend stirrer but you’re just progressively pissing me off for being such a dumb fuck for expunging her from your life jerkoff. You don’t think I want to kick back in the sand with a hot Asian gal from Hawaii in pebble free Hermosa Beach with a gal named Summer King no less for Christ’s sake? I had to suck up summers in an ocean full of seashells and fucking nets of seaweed in Norwalk, CT for Christ’s sake. Plus, my brother owns this rink and its our family tradition to keep it family operated. You’re a little old for it, but do you want a job riding a Zamboni? We’re already running around in circles, so why not take your sad sack sob story around the ice for a couple of laps because you’re bringing me down and enraging me at the same time. I’m paraphrasing but Mark Twain said writers write interesting stories who’ve possessed a series of interesting, varied jobs, so why not a give the Zamboni driver job a shot champ? You obviously have nothing else better to do with your time on a Sunday, ultra-wise King Solomon you’re not.”

Solomon Kornbluth took the job and smoothed over the rough patches with his wife at home before being promoted to chief Zamboni manager, who worked on his MC skills as the host of a weekly Karaoke night, rocking out renditions of Baba O’Riley with real deal star powered authority. Then, one year later, Solomon Kornbluth got his trophy and won the Aloha Comedy Festival, coming in 1st place and was able to take his wife, and mother of 3 children for endless, killer spins in his new comedy gold wave runner mobile for one memory rich victory lap after the next after delivering a killer set for the ages that was made for these times.

Solomon Kornbluth Kills

“It’s hard to keep cool when your kids were forced to wear masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain.”

“If Michael Jackson were alive today, how would he defend himself against all his Neverland accusers exactly? Would the King of Popping cherries say, “All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’t buy me love?”

“Anyone try Snoop Dog’s new wine? According to Wine Advocate, it tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell”

“Actually, gave up drinking beer last summer. It got humiliating spending so much time, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush, littered past, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.”

“Did you know 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday? I haven’t felt this betrayed since Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.”

“I stopped smoking weed till I discovered weed edibles, which are half CBD because I felt like a total moron trying to answer my daughter’s questions on the pure sticky stuff. Daughter asks, “Daddy if God created the universe, then who created God? I say, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “Do more edibles Daddy. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”

“This is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Time Magazine. Reporters says, “Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake news, MAN.”

“And if Obama is such a baller, why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?”

“What if Bob Marley became President of the United States, so Obama didn’t have to? For starters, there’s no more trouble and it’d be a punky reggae party tonight and we’d be jamming in the name of the Lord, not in honor of Allah’s Gangster ruining paradise, especially since the hopeful one rebranded ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more start up friendly in the NY Times.”

“And ISIS Headhunters aren’t good recruiters. All they do is target other lonely virgins on Face Book Messenger like Good Will Hoodie/AKA Zit Face Zuck, who wish their phones blew up.”

“But how did killing the number 2 in charge of ISIS make it easier for ISIS to recruit? Like the head of recruitment for ISIS would ever honor a non-compete agreement with Al-Qaeda”

“And why are radical jihadists so into deflowering virgins in Allah’s hymen hacking Paradise? Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already”

Solomon Kornbluth was later blown up into smithereens on his Comedy Gold Mobile Wave Runner in the Red Sea by Hamas terrorists after headlining a comedy tour there called, “Solomon Kornbluth Kills”, because a 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking. Still, what’s better than a 1st place Trophy is a new award in your honor, given every year at the Standing O Laughs Festival in Haifa called the Killer Set Kornbluth Award, which honors the most hardcore hilarious comedian who exhibited the most fearless, killer shtick from start to finish. All 3 of Solomon’s killer Koshertarian Comedian kids won the Killer Set Kornbluth Award in their dear dada’s honor. So comedic royalty in the mold of King Solomon Kornbluth did live through Do It All Dad’s big three after all.

And Solomon Kornbluth had his new Zamboni Artist friend to thank for his victory laps in his custom made, stretched Comedy Gold Wave Runner Mobile with his 3 biggest fans in the universe as they squeezed on to their dear dada with all their loving might. The same home team who always stood by his side, especially when his comedy career was ice cold, when mama would threaten to kick him out of the house if he ever gave his kids the common cold through COVID. And not even Hamas, despite them trying, could ever that away from thee. Unplanned favorites rule, proving once again how no friendship is an accident. O. Henry lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Back To Hebrew School

Do It All Dad’s daughter, Matilda Kornbluth, his funnier, sweeter twin, who had his genetic makeup all over fer face hated how her friends used the word “loyal” to describe her at school. In other words, I like being able to get away with using my friend as a doormat whenever I want. “What am I some dumb dog?”, she’d fume to her dad on occasion. Do It All Dad could relate to his daughter’s feeling of resentment. You could argue that after ending a marriage of 11 years, 3 kids later, he began to question the strength of his past loyalties, which also included the Knicks, IPA’s and picking up the phone every other time his mother called. Was loyalty deader than Yiddish Theatre on the Lower East Side? But what did loyalty look like in 2022 post pandemic? Rapidly fading spotting’s of Biden, Harris bumper stickers, embedded colors of the Ukrainian Flag on Indeed.com, forsaking Twitter for Facebook because Good Will Hoodie in charge does more to silence COVID disinformation than Elon Musk?

Fact is, Do It All Dad was done with New York after finding it nearly impossible to get a job in corporate America there without getting a COVID vaccination shot, which turned him off from ever wanting to sell his precious time and soul to those worker bee killers at large within the rotten Apple anymore. Now, it was time to move outside his comfort zone, accept more responsibility for his destiny and make a daring decision not imposed on him by his ex-wife, parents or from a Book Coach, not even deemed quote worthy enough to be quoted Goodreads.com. Who after reading one his short stories Korny Kornbluth says, “Nothing happens in the story. The main character promises to get a real job that’s not hosting a comedy podcast for free yet never wills that promise into reality.” Problem was, Do It All Dad had to get out of the fucking house already and do so some real life living for a change, which wasn’t an issue now since his wife threw out his ass after his brother-in-law bitched to his wife about a story posted on his WordPress blog called, Countdown To Boredom, which was about his brother-in-law offering to take his kids to see a soccer game in Philly this coming summer. In the blog piece, there was also mention of another story brewing on the horizon called, Matzah Murder Mystery, about a Jewish son-in-law who employs his 3 kids in a detective training program to figure out who planted the box of Matzah in his Ukrainian mother-in-law’s Cupboard as an attempt to frame her as a lover of biblical Jewish tradition, despite her pushing Eucharist, which are the body wafers of Christ on her 3 grandchildren already. That same mother-in-law still didn’t know about their Jewish naming ceremonies, because Do It All Dad’s wife swore to never tell them until he got a real job. So naturally, Do It All Dad was tempted to find a job now that was Jewy as can be outside of being some busted, hack blog editor for the Times Of Israel, a clot shot pushing pediatrician who graduated from Tufts University with a major in biochemistry and psychology of wanting to terminate special needs kids through asking Alexa to do it if possible. “Alexa, abort Sarah Palin’s special needs child on demand. John Hopkins Hospital will force the kid on a ventilator and overprescribe it enough pills to extinguish its so-called life, if the unvaccinated kid got COVID anyway. Just so the Hospital can collect more ventilator hookup kickbacks from Uncle Sam and rake in bigger COVID death certificate dollars by chalking all deaths to COVID no matter what, regardless of a teen being another innocent bystander on the south side Chicago from another drive by shooting during George Floyd appreciation month. Those blood controlling kids don’t sell themselves. Mayor Lightfoot of Chicago has to prove there’s a viable market for those blood controlling kits, mostly made in China remember.”

When still married, Do It All Dad didn’t buy into his wife’s spiel about his mother-in-law being such a diehard, Matzah enthusiast all her life knowing she grew up in Manchester, England, surrounded by Pakistani neighbors no less. “Hey Samir, you haven’t lived until you tried a grape leave on a bed of matzah. It won’t taste like a depressed cracker, I promise.” But seriously, if you’re not an observant Jew, why the fuck would you ever have Matzah in your house ever? Unless the mom is hosting a political fundraiser for Hillary for a spirt cooking dinner serving the blood of Christian babies in them. Yeah, so hardcore hilarious lines like this proved to be too offensive for Do It All Dad’s wife tastes. And that was before she read the line about learning how his mother-in-law kept her kid’s teeth in a satchel like a Tooth Fairy for the SS, assuming there was an occasional gold filling in there to stash in a hidden Swiss bank account somewhere.

Growing up in a predominately Jewish suburb of New York, 30 minutes north of Manhattan, Do It All Dad, then known simply as Josh, or Bud Man, Bud Man, after he got into the weed senior year, was involved in an alternative school, that was a school within a school that encouraged individual expression and the fostering of intellectual curiosity by allowing students to choose their own humanity courses such as Holocaust History or American Short Story Writers while still taking the required math and science courses in the regular school. It’s there where his teacher for Government and Media wrote in his written evaluation, given to students over standardized grades that said, “Josh could be a leader one day if he was willing to accept the responsibility.” Now, Josh was willing to accept the responsibility more than ever, tired of being another pissy peon pawn in the game of life. He was successful at raising good eggs at home when he was still married. Now, he wanted to groom other mini menschs on the rise that weren’t his own because getting his wife pregnant by mistake wasn’t an option anymore anyhow.  At one point before they got divorced, Do It All Dad broached the hypothetical scenario of getting his wife pregnant by mistake again and naming the kid Solomon Kornbluth, only for his wife to reply, “No, Solomon sounds too much like sodomy to me.” Do It All Dad replied, “Whatever you say Mrs. Groomer. Disney kid subscribers know best.”  

But where could Do It All Dad groom future menschs on the rise? He’d have to go back to Hebrew School, not the Scarsdale Reform synagogue, where his friends would hurl Nerds at lispy lipped Danny Farber, and never expect any hardcore retaliation in return. No, Do It All Dad would set his sights on the south, Memphis Tennessee to be exact, which was not only the cradle of rock and roll but NWA southern wrestling. Did Do It All Dad have any teaching credentials outside of schooling his children on how hardcore hilarity rocks? No, but what he did have to sell a Jewish principal at a reformed Jewish academy right outside of Memphis, Tennessee was Jewish soul, which he had up the wazoo. His new mission was to groom a bunch of Jewish messiah evangelists by inspiring them to fall in love with the act of Mitzvah, which is doing good for the sake of doing good, without any promised, hooked up afterlife in return. He wanted to teach kids not to stop yearning for the Messiah, but to carry out his work for him as mini, Messiah trainee menschen on their own. What is the Jewish Messiah but a Jewish leader? Who ushers in an era of heightened spirituality and universal recognition of Jewish law. So, getting his students into asking their parents to start ordering from Grow and Beyond for Hanukkah to savor Kosher duck wings for Hanukkah was a promising start, striving in the upright, direction.

Do It All Dad was done being a stumbling, IPA drunk, intent on doing his best mensch impersonation possible and what better way to do that than becoming a star alternative Judea history teacher who brings the stories of major Jewish characters in the Old Testament Bible to life with a touch of funny man historical fiction to keep them coming back for more. But first he had to settle scores with the COVID crazed Jewish community at large and performed a slam mic for the ages at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis Tennessee.

10 Reasons Why I Feel Bad About Yearning for The Messiah

  1. I feel bad about yearning for the Messiah because he’ll judge me for ascribing too much faith in Trump being above sheer ego preservation.
  2. I feel bad about yearning for the Messiah because 24 carrot crosses worn by rappers will depreciate in value and they’ll feel robbed.
  3. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because it’s against self-help, and I’d like to feed my family on my own again.
  4. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because of the nagging Jewish guilt that would ensue. My cousins get thrown in ovens, but I get off easy by noshing on God blessed Sponge Cake with ringside seats for the rebuilding of the Great Temple.
  5. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because I’ll feel like I’m cheating death when the Dead come back to life, to tell Christian nation, I told you so.
  6. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because it forces me to lie about wanting all Jews united under one roof, when I can’t stand any of my Jewish friends from High School anymore.
  7. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because no more wars, means Terrorists will be forced to drive more Uber cars in Tel Aviv, than I feel comfortable driving in, when I’m in town to watch my son, compete for Israel’s Next Top Temple Builder.
  8. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah because wishing for no more famine, means I can regress into being a pampered, trust fund baby again.
  9. I feel bad about yearning for the Jewish Messiah, because I don’t think Israel should be redeemed for forcing its citizens of God to take the clot shot to feed their families. Maybe, the 2nd booster made the COVID case less severe. And Booger Face Behar is the new Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart.
  10. I feel bad about your yearning for the Jewish Messiah because my father will become more spiritual and finally visit the Grand Canyon after moving to Arizona 10 years later. So, I’ll lose my moral high ground and right to call him a fake news hippie anymore. Challah, thank you very much.

10 Reasons Why I Have Mixed Feelings About The Messiah Arriving In My Lifetime

  1. I’m not ready to give up hatred yet.  Without hatred, comedy ceases to exist, which translates to me making 95 comedy records for nothing.
  2. Tinges of jealousy are alright, if you use that surging sense of envy to fix your sour puss situation, so you feel less shitty about yourself than before.
  3. And the existence of greed is good, if it motivates you to work harder for brighter tomorrows, pregnant with more do good possibility man.
  4. I don’t need the Messiah to arrive in my lifetime to convince me of God’s divine presence in my 3 glorious, blemish free children for the time being. Cosmic perfection through my kids’ lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
  5. I don’t want Trump to get involved in the next hit reality show, “Israel’s Next Great Temple Builder”, only for him to tweet on his new social media platform, “Not enough orange marble for my taste, personally.”
  6. Regardless of Twitter being bought by Elon Musk or not, the Twitter Twat home will be flush with real life hate speech from atheist cunts about the arrival of a real deal Jewish leader who can prove King David descent on Acenstry.com. Linda Sarsour will accuse the Messiah, of “Cultural apartheid”, moments after construction of the Great Temple begins because it’s not a Super Mosque for God’s fake news chosen people. Islam gave us math, I heard. Then, why aren’t Muslim ever getting charged for tax evasion due to creative accounting?
  7. Israel means, “To argue with God”, but once the Messiah arrives, you can’t pull off a convincing remake of Fidder in The Roof, starring Jack Black. The milk man Dad will come off as a short-sighted true believer.
  8. I won’t be able to jerk off to Third Legged Beauties.com again, without dreading the prospect of the great 3rd Temple, tumbling down due to my inability to let go off my death grip on sexual immorality.
  9. I’ll have to send my kids to Hebrew School then, despite the Rabbi using COVID in the same sentence as the Holocaust. Death camp victims don’t boast a 99 percent survival rate Rabbi, sorry.
  10. I’ll just get mad about my parents for refusing to use my future inheritance money to buy the Kosher meat store in Yonkers, NY on Central Avenue on the cheap. Because after the return of Jewish commanded law, Kosher butchers will make a killing, Challah. Thank you very much.

10 Reasons Why It’s Hard to Believe The Messiah Will Arrive In My Lifetime  

  1. Because who wants to see Trump rolled up in a ball behind closed doors after another interview expose with Piers Morgan on Fox Called, “The Day My Ego Died.”
  2. Because Florida and Anti-Semitism are so hot right now. If the real messiah did emerge, that being the new age promised Jewish leader self-picked to rebuild the Temple of David and teach Hebrew to a bunch of dreamers in South Bronx. I don’t see him descending from Mount Sinai, because he’ll be called a poor man’s Moses impersonator by the NY Times, who posts Hot Sauce Parm recipes on Pinterest to downplay his Jewish noble ties to King David out of fear being called Butt Bump Buddies with Trumpy Poo, God forbid.
  3. Because Lebron James has depreciated the Messiah brand name after inscribing the tat, “Chosen One”, on his holy temple bod. Forget the promised land, King of The Persecution Complex can’t even get the Lakers into the 1st round of the playoffs with all eyez on him in the Staples Center for year 2 of COVID this time around.
  4. Jews in charge of our precious news media need to repeat Hebrew School because they still refer to January 6 as an armed insurrection uprising.  Taking selfies in the atrium of the Capital Building is equal to the Maccabees jamming white roman priveledge up their ass in the form of spears shaped like Thunderbolts after reclaiming the Great Second Temple to prove God was on their side, I agree.
  5. Doesn’t China need to approve the Messiah’s social credit score before agreeing to sell Israel more masks made in China?
  6. Kareem Adul Jabbar will stay pray five times a day to play the horn better than Miles Davis regardless.
  7. Obama will go on hating the hick from French Lick regardless, because despite being half black, Obama Be Meh’s vertical jump is still whiter than White Man’s Disease.  
  8. All Lives Matter is the new N word and BLM don’t play that.
  9. George Soros will have to pay ANTIFA in shekels instead bitcoin, which will set fire to the Great 3rd Temple in a nanosecond.
  10.  Executives at Disney care more about grooming pool time entertainment at the Podesta’s summer house in Martha’s Vinyard.  It’s not as if those executives have any intention of going back to Hebrew school to teach Jewish pride and groom future mensch’s on the rise instead. Challah, thank you very much.

10 Reasons Why It Would Be Weird For The Messiah To Arrive In My Lifetime

  1. It’s weird because liberals will rally against all the reasons to hate drawn out Synagogue services after the 3rd Great Temple is built, compared to highly shortened Libs on Tik Tok summations of the services instead. Arcade Fire plays. Images of clouds appear and God’s voice pierces them, proclaiming, “Follow my commandments already motherfuckers. How much more proof do you need that I exist already? I’ve eradicated war, famine and all your college debut to study genital mutilation studies at Oberlin College, when Sharia Law for Mongoloid Morons, for only 72 shekels at the local farmer’s market in Damascus, would’ve been sufficient.
  2. It’s weird because I don’t see street meet vendors in New York City scrapping their cash cow by insisting their Muslim brotherhood butchers forsake giving shout outs to Allah’s gangster paradise before slicing the throats of lambs served for the killer price of $8.99 per plate with rice and white sauce either.
  3. It’s weird because my mother-in-law will still say, “God bless”, on every birthday card for her grandchildren without saying, “I’m still eating ham on Easter to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ, you, obstinate, all-knowing bastards.”
  4. It’s weird because the Catholic Church will be harder up for donations than the Clinton Foundation during the new Spirit Cooking Awareness Month.
  5. It’s weird because I still don’t see my Christian in-laws embracing the remake of Happy Days with Henry Winkler, who gives the Messiah a high five at Johnny Rockets for fixing the Jukebox by paying a mini homage to fellow Hebrew Andrew Dice Clay when he says, “Rub A Dub, Dub, Douche”, before thrusting his Chuck Berry loving playing pelvis toward the Juke Box that’s gets the sweet soul music machine playing again.
  6. It’s weird because I don’t see Joe Biden giving the Messiah a post Pandemic first bump without social distancing himself from Hunter’s Laptop from hell 1st. Icky Shuffle, AKA, Mr. Groper says, “Jill, we better tell God, the “Big Guy”, wasn’t me, but Jesus Christ, another fake news messiah like Obama Be Good. Do you think God will warm up to me again with that one liner? I better scrap my Easter Day speech at the White House when I claimed to speak to God through Jen Psaki’s Burning Bush after Hunter gave her the clap from the hooker in Cabo on his birthday. Remember Jill?  When you said, “Blow”, Hunter snorted the cake.”
  7. It’s weird because when The Jewish Messiah isn’t fake news, starts to trend on Twitter. Farrakhan will spray the Messiah’s twitter feed with termite emojis from dusk through night regardless. Elie Wiesel lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
  8. It’s weird because Scientist Atheists will become the new lepers.
  9. It’s weird because Woody Allen will have to explain why he kept naked pics of a 9 nine-year-old Soon-Yi in his top sock drawer when he married to Mia. The Messiah, says, “Woody, how do you explain your nude polaroid pics of a 9-year-old Soon Yi? The only pic missing from your collection was Soon Yi crying on the cover of Time Life Magazine.”
  10. It would be weird if the Messiah was a hard laugh, who refused to acknowledge my free jokes posted on my WordPress blog as a charitable donation of any kind devoid of all striving up goodness whatsoever. Messiah says, “Yeah, Michael, man can’t live on punchlines alone, especially yours. But lucky for you, I’ll treat you as a desperately flailing charity case. So, what’s new? So just get a real job already outside of raging against the world on your Do It All Dad Year blog through more meh jokes because you’re the sloppy second son for a reason. It’s time to move on already. Maybe, you can help me sell Christian nation on why I’m not the sloppy second son compared to Jesus Christ, for Christ Sake, Challah. Thank you very much.” So never forget, keep on yearning, Challah. Thank you very much.

Do It All Dad strikes up a conversation after the slam mic with Rose Gold, a sexy, blond, middle-aged principal of a reformed synagogue charter school located in Memphis, Tennessee. She says, “Hi, Joshua, my name is Rose Gold, principal of Beth Israel Day School, the only reformed synagogue school in town. Delivering that speech down south in Jesus country took plenty of chutzpah Joshua. And I used to work as an air raid drill instructor in Israel who was responsible for gathering all the children and elderly whenever the bomb raid siren went off during Ramadan again.” Do It All Dad says, “Gotta love that Iron Dome. Still, I’ve always said, “NY Times, when Hamas fires 5000 rockets into Israel’s backyard, don’t expect an edible gift basket in return, with a thank you note written in Farsi.” Rose Gold laughs as Joshua admires her sun spotted specked tits jiggle with sustained titillating delight.” Rose Gold says, “I got your In-Mail message on LinkedIn about asking for a teacher job, but I didn’t see any teaching experience on your resume. Although your book, Controlling My Kids With Comedy, a Love Story, intrigued me. Do It All Dad says, “But I got Jewish soul to sell Rose and that’s worth it’s weight in gold. Plus, I can ensure Hebrew School isn’t a countdown to boredom anymore. Minor Jewish prophets on Ranker who cares, Major Jewish prophet listings on Ranker, I’m interested. Better yet, you kids want to learn about Moses’s number one assistant Joshua, in the tale The Last Temptation of Temps? Good luck finding a temp back then capable of assisting Moses transcribe the bible in full onto stone.” Give me one year Rose and I’ll make sure Beth Israel Day School gets nothing but 5-star reviews on Yelp. I was thinking, we can attract new members through showing NWA matches on a movie screen this summer and get Jerry the King Lawler to teach an accelerated clinic on how to apply a figure four leg lock, with submission moves in MMA being the new craze, to ensure a new generation of Jewish leaders will remain pushover putzy no more, no more. Rose Gold says, “You’re too much Joshua. But I like your style plenty. How old are you again?” Do It All Dad says, “46.” Rose Gold says, “Could’ve fooled me. You look like the baby face hero dreams are made of. Why don’t we extend our chat at my place? I make the meanest batch of salt and pepper crusted Kosher ribs this side of the Mississippi. We can start mapping out a teaching itinerary for Alternative Judea History together. My homemade barbeque sauce using a pomegranate squirt syrup is the bomb.” Do It All Dad says, “I knew a change was going to come. Sam Cooke lives, Challah. Thank you very much. Thank God for dreams to reconsider.” Rose Gold says, “What do you mean by dreams to reconsider?” Do It All Dad says, “Well, my first dream was to write for TV, which I did, then it was to become a bestselling writer, which didn’t happen. Then, it was to become a world class, world renown comedian, which didn’t materialize either. Yet becoming a Hebrew School teacher showman star that my new southern neighbors can give a shit about and derive some regional pride from sounds like sweet soul music to me.  I brought some edibles down from New York on a midnight train to Memphis. Maybe, after were done braining storming itinerary plans, we can split one and play some Grateful Dead Europe 72 on at your place on Spotify. Rose Gold says, “I thought you’d never ask and sings, “Tennessee, Tennessee, there ain’t no place, I’d rather be, baby, won’t you carry me, back to Tennessee.” Do It All Dad kisses her on the spot, practically inhaling Rose Gold whole and says, “Keep on yearning baby”, and kisses her more passionately than before, with twice as much majestic might, infusing the night with sparkle shine delight as the 2 new soul shine mates collide. Keep on yearning baby. Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

High Schooler Hoody Problems

“Hear my bus coming, Daddy?” asks Art Show USA.

            Do It All Dad says, “Pretty soon, Art Show USA is going to buy this town and put it all in his shoes—that’s what he’s going to do.”

            Art Show USA says, “I know the town of Croton Falls is small, Daddy, but don’t be ridiculous. Plus, I’m going to build my own house in the woods next to another house I’ll build for you one day, so we can be neighbors. Plus, if I put the whole town of Croton Falls in my shoe, everyone will bother me in the woods to pick up their mail, since I’ll have absorbed the post office in my shoe, which defeats the purpose of me living in the woods in the first place, Daddy.

            “Got to go now, or I’ll miss the bus. Love you, Daddy, but only if you keep on rocking the high schooler hoodie look, or I’ll stab you with our sharpest knife for real.”

             Art Show USA whizzes across the street to catch his bus in time in one spark-smooth motion, which his fills his Do It All Dad’s heart with tremendous nachas (which means ‘vicarious joy derived from your kid’ in Yiddish, especially when your 7-year-old son, otherwise known as Number One Capricorn, born on New Year’s Day, becomes more grownz up every day. Yeah, yeah, yeah.).

            Do It All Dad, though, was having reservations about rocking the high schooler hoodie look anymore. It was one he should’ve retired in his thirties, at least, when he used to be a semi-sporadic performing open-miker at the New York Comedy Club in Manhattan, if he could rally enough friends in attendance again.

            Now Do It All Dad was questioning the extent of his maturity, knowing he’d never outgrew his truly tasteless jokes phase. He still puffed the green out of a one-hitter at 44 in a hoody like Sarah Silverman, minus the career.

            Now Do It All Dad still got asked for ID at Target with his three kids whenever he couldn’t resist snagging another six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale for only $9.99 (knowing it’s the pale ale that never gets stale).

            Still, it was impossible for Do It All Dad to stare at his suddenly-grey-specked beard in the mirror at age 44 while still not showing any touches of grey on his chosen curls on top, and think, “You look better than John Oliver, these days but that isn’t saying much.”

            “Now I have to worry about a podcast hosting opportunity slipping away all because I made a joke over our second call about a donkey-shaped pinata with Governor Cuomo’s ugly mug on it (except, instead of candy spilling out when it breaks, piles of pink masks come out, instead, that say “Cuomo Blows,” which got a big, cathartic laugh out of my future potential benefactor, at the time.

            “I’m so tired of acting like some gun-shy stiff out of fear of never getting a job in a post-woke corporate America again, or snagging a comedy manager ever, because I dared to make fun of Obama Be Good for gifting Iran 150 billion for overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal products for the Kardashians.

            “I think my son Art Show likes to see me rock the high schooler hoodie look because it helps ensure I stay young at heart, and don’t lose heart, too, when I can’t even get the Jewish Book Council to review my book, ‘The Great American Jew Novel’ after sharing stellar previous reviews.            It’s because I’m not an atheist has-been like David Cross, who hasn’t made a good W joke in 15 years (or even an edgy insult about Laura Bush, for that matter).

            “At least Hillary had the balls to get rich or die trying, bitch. Deep down, I think my son Art Show wants me to sport the high school hoodie look more than ever to ensure that I keep on rocking in our big-tech-ruining world as a symbol of non-conformist resistance, knowing my comedy career can still take flight if I never lose touch with what make me feel most kickass and in-control alive—which is getting laughs longtime, all the time, with a big-deal-talking, NY-made, ball-busting flourish, all the way.”

            Son Art Show USA enters the bathroom and notices his Do It All Dad, lost in thought, grazing the specs of grey on his beard with the tips of his fingers, and says, “Don’t even think of shaving the beard, Daddy. You’d look weird without one, like when you shaved it to dress up like Stan Smith from American Dad.

            “Remember, dressing up our family, like the Cleveland Show family, was no longer an option because Megyn Kelly already stole our thunder. Plus, Cleveland’s holding up the sign “Build The Pool Fence” for Mimi and Papa to see on Facebook in Arizona would’ve lost his impactful oomph, too.

            “Also, Daddy, I like you with the beard; because without it, you’ll look like a Pre-K schooler in a hoody. So, you won’t be able to boast on stage about the Jews being chosen by God to perfect the human race through your gorgeous sons, who stem from your Do It All Dad Year tree trunk.”

            Do It All Dad hugs his son, Art Show USA, and says, “The beard stays, kiddo. It’s just that the high school hoodie look rubs me the wrong way sometimes, because it reminds me too much of Sarah Silverman—which annoys me, since she came out to Twitter as a social justice warrior to detract from her once-mouthwatering tits’ sagging popularity.”

Michael Kornbluth

Smackdown Satan

Archangel Michael says, “You shall not misuse the name of the Lord by calling him, “Fake News Mercy God”, Lucifer. Just because God won’t give WWF wrestler Bam, Bam Bigelow his angel wings, despite you having a soft spot for flaming bear wrestlers in tights.” Lucifer fires back with, “Michael means, “Who is like God.” You mean another micromanager control freak? I give humans the permission to exercise free will in the service of pleasing themselves. That makes me the good life giver, not God Michael.”

Archangel Michael says, “You don’t get to be the ears of God, Lucifer, I do.” Lucifer says, “Don’t think for a second, I want to trade winged tipped shoes with you Michael. Your name Michael means who is like God. You mean another micromanager square who won’t give Bam, Bam Bigelow his angel wings because he considers drug overdoses a form of subconscious suicide. Your name Michael means who is like God, but what it really means is sloppy second spokesperson after Moses. And if Moses really knew God face to face, then why didn’t he prophesize about the condemnation of goatees on metal rappers during Woodstock 94, before the entire shit show went up in flames?  But that’s what happens when Jewel is considered a seat stayer middling act before Limp Bizkit gave Carson Daily sustained stiffage until Kid Rock’s performance blew everyone away in college bliss paradise.”

Archangel Michael says, “Why am I hearing a new rumor around Heaven about you being the voice behind the Burning Bush Lucifer? You’d literally piss on Moses’s grave if you knew where to find it. And you wonder why God makes you feel like the sloppy second son, brother.”

Lucifer says, “I was the voice behind the Burning Bush. It was a prank I learned at Angel Magic Camp. I loved hearing Moses’ stutter like the kid in Billy Madison. But Moses didn’t shatter his teeth from stuttering after I spoke to him through the Burning Bush as expected. At the same time, Moses stumbling to articulate more excuses to turn down God’s job offer was hilarious.  Moses moans on, “Whiny Jews chosen to complain about not receiving immediate recognized sit-down service at restaurants in Del Ray Beach won’t take me seriously as your chosen your spokesperson Lord. It’s not as simple as Joan Rivers hocking jewelry to Midwest housewives she detested on the QVC. And why would Pharoah release our people from Slavery? What form of leverage do we have to offer our Lord besides the threat of my cousin Schlonka boring Pharoh to death through her mustard making workshop seminar at local JCC?”

Archangel Michael, says, “Remember when God said to Moses, God’s favorite prophet on Ranker, the last I time I checked, “You shall have no other God’s before me”, little brother? Well, that includes your Olympian size ego that rivals Kid Rock. Who I’m sure doesn’t pleasure himself in front of the mirror naked the way you do. Future Talmudic scholars will amplify God’s commandments in relation to you little bro when stating, “You shall not suck off the totality of your own awesomeness and refrain from stroking off what elongated love you provide the universe without 1st giving shout out props to the Lord, for endowing you with such special equipment to become such a star powered lighter upper with.”

Lucifer says, “But similar to Jeffery Bruckheimer, God isn’t the only big swinging dick in the producer business Michael. Tell that to Brian Grazer at Imagine Entertainment or to Mark Wahlberg, who’s the executive producer of Entourage for Christ’s sake.”

Archangel Michael says, “And you wonder why God never speaks directly to you anymore, only grumbling to his assistant Joshua in the background whenever you bother to text Shana Tova this Jewish new year. Lucifer says, “Communication is a 2-way street brother. And if I do hear from Dad, it’s because he’s dictating another business memo to his cherished assistant Joshua, who could transcribe all the sketched in stone commandments without complaining about a surging case of carpel tunnel syndrome in the making.”

Archangel Michael says, “We get it Lucifer, you want to feel like God’s gift to the universe 24/7, but forget angel wing promoting power, that’s far outside your pay grade brother. Granted, Bam, Bam Bigelow was a phenomenal wrester for his size, who power slammed his opponents into the mat with forceful funk authority like a more feral Junk Yard Dog, cranked up on Crystal Meth despite swallowing a cauldron of Hooter’s hot wings prior. Still, you don’t get to draft your own team of archnemesis angels.  So, stop acting as if your Dr. Jerry Buss in Winning Time on HBO who was anointed with savior type status for the city of angles, with the deep pockets to match. At least Kayne made money enough money off his artistry to justify his ego enlargement therapy sessions on wax for Def Jam and Roc-A-Fella records.”

Lucifer says, “Enough talk. I challenge you to a Ladder match in Heaven to wrestle away your favored angel status from Dad Michael. Problem is, you don’t know how to fight do you, Michael?”

Archangel Michael says, “Unlike you Lucifer, I have friends in high places, to end your smack talking reign about Big Mouth Moses for good.”

A winged, Macho Man Savage launches into his famed elbow drop from way up high in the Heavens on top of Lucifer’s head while the Lord from above bellows, “Oh yeah”. The Lord adds, “You want to be my ears now Lucifer you got it.” Next, a winged Super Fly Jimmy Snuka comes flying down off a golden ladder from the World Trade Center with a coconut in hand that smashes into 2 as it comes crashing down on Lucifer’s rapidly rupturing head.” Then, a winged Owen Hart, swoops in to unleash a dropkick that smacks Lucifer straight to Hell, to deliver justice for all, especially in honor of Moses, Abraham and David who earned their plethora of Mensch and a half shouts outs in the Torah for a reason.

Archangel Michael gives a bunch of ariel high fives to his new angel brothers in arms, Macho Man, Super Fly and Owen Hart, all highflyers till the end of time and says, “Slim Jim’s on me”, as Flying High by Ozzy Osbourne blares on the Lord’s decked out gold plated surround sound speakers as guitar God Randy Rhodes puts on a one man show for all WWF angels including the female wrestler Chyna. The Lord took her into Heaven despite her doing the sex tape Back Door to Chyna in addition to her subconscious suicide from pills and booze. Even the Lord Hashem, is a softy for female body builders. So, the Lord gave Chyna her angel wings because she already shouldered the responsibility of being the 1st WWE female wrestler star to get over in the “attitude era”, while becoming the only female wrestler to win the Intercontinental Belt Championship, let alone beat Triple H and high flying, metal howler Chris Jericho in the process. Besides, who else is going to break balls about Macho Man’s steroid size nuts in Heaven with such divine powered authority?

“Hey, Randy, can I be your new Miss Elizbeth in Heaven? Your balls filled out a missing person report ages ago, but are they still big enough to take on the Chyna challenge, which is drilling my hell hole into China for Back Door to Chyna Part 2?”

Macho Man says, “Oh yeah. Then again, power slams are more up Bam, Bam, Bigelow’s alley.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Maiden Bartender

You meet one Iron Maiden fan, you meet them all, right? Iron Maiden fans wear those mummy metal patches on their faded, torn jean jackets even into their late thirties, to inject a dark, mysterious, complex, weighty edge that such diehard fanatic fans are incapable of generating on their own.  

            Granted, Bruce Dickenson (the more exalted replacement lead singer star of Iron Maiden, otherwise known as the human air raid siren) boasts a supernatural voice which pierces through the clouds of heavy metal heaven. Still, it’s impossible to not grow tired of his rapid fire, Spinal Tap-conjuring caricature of what an English heavy metal howler should like in Samuel Johnson’s speed metal phonics dictionary under ‘Game Of Thrones horse-charging music’.

            At least, that’s what Cruise Comedian Michael Rocker thought, as he entered the colonial-constructed seaside shipbuilding town of Mystic, CT where Julia Roberts shot the movie Mystic Pizza and entertained the grips on the set by fisting her mouth in-between takes to ensure they made her look the most flattering in the face of such frigid, east coast winter light.  

            Now Michael Rocker, a tall, athletic-looking, preppy casual comic, orders a drink and says, “Hey, what local IPAs do you recommend?”

             The bartender, a tall, striking, borderline-statuesque dirty blonde sporting an Iron Maiden tattoo on her defined, yet not overtly chiseled, deltoid replies, “I don’t know. That all depends on how much hardcore bitter bite you can take. I mean, are you interested in merely quenching your thirst with a session-filler beer? Or would you prefer to get your hardcore freak on for Karaoke night with something boozier and more funktastic, like a Fat Orange Cat’s Trippel IPA, stud?”

            The Cruise Comic says, “I’ll take the Trippel IPA, Hot Stuff,” as he tries hard not to lick his lips, wanting to inhale her on the spot.

            Sitting next to the Cruise Comic at the bar is a hunched, tired, lanky, dirty blonde, long-haired guy in his late thirties, sporting bad acne spots from a poor diet full of too much beef jerky and cheap vodka tonics. He reeks of stale Newport cigarettes, stripping the minty cool flavor of any high schooler hoody’s appeal after the first drag.  

            The Cruise Comic gets the impression that the Newport cigarette guy who’s sporting a black Iron Maiden shirt under his faded, torn jean jacket is here solo, as usual, so he decides to try some new jokes on him in preparation for his upcoming cruise tour (heading to Jamaica for spring break the following morning).

            Cruise Comic makes eye contact with the Iron Maiden fan and says, “Nice Maiden shirt. You must know the wrestler and Fozzy front man Chris Jericho, then?”

             Maiden dude replies, “Duh, who doesn’t?”   Immediately, the Cruise Comic becomes engulfed with extreme annoyance, regretting his attempt to bond with this local in his attempt to play it cool with the hot, badass bartender, and snaps back with, “Be honest. Don’t you think Iron Maiden is a poor man’s Judas Priest, with far less sing-along, radio-friendly hits, and is forced to rely on catchy, merchandising gimmickry to radiate a cooler, far less Dungeons and Dragons nerdy veneer, instead?

            “And who is the Eddie mascot on Iron Maiden shirts supposed to be, anyway? He looks like a cyborg mummy and a virile Crypt Keeper in his prime had a baby.  ‘Run For The Hills’ was a good running song for Daniel Day Lewis to crank up when he trained for his role in The Last of the Mohicans.”

            The bartender can’t help but chuckle, doing her best to not let Cruise Comedian know it. Still, she decides to interject, knowing that fighting words were just thrown down in this normally peaceful waterfront town, and says, “Hey, Eddie, don’t listen to him. He’s not sophisticated enough to understand the intricacies and sweeping historical, majestic sweep that went into Power Slave and the other forty records of English speed metal mastery at it’s finest. Next vodka and tonic is on me, babe; don’t sweat it.”

            Cruise Comedian is turned on by the bartender’s friendly-infused fiery cheer, especially knowing that this was her way of pleasing a local and flirting with him big time, and says, “She’s right, Eddie. (That’s your name—Eddie—just like the Iron Maiden mascot; wow.)

            “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m just putting Iron Maiden down to feel better about myself. That’s what hack cruise comics do.  I think Poison, Motely Crew, and Cinderella rock out just as hard and boast infinitely catchier, kickass metal pop anthems which ooze forceful, heartfelt personality versus sounding like systematic howling knights on horseback; but what do I know, Eddie?

            “Didn’t mean to offend your hardcore fanatical Maiden sensibilities, bud.”

            Eddy’s face becomes ensnarled in acne-scar shades of red as he clenches his callous, hardened, burn-laden hands and says, “Dude, I’m a dishwasher on a cruise ship. I don’t need to take this shit.”

            The Cruise Comedian says, “I’m a lowly Cruise Comedian hack comedian, so it’s a wash, mate.

            “Looking forward to docking in Jamaica, though. This is my impression of Ziggy Marley being interviewed by High Times Magazine for their annual 4/20 issue: ‘Ziggy, your dad had eleven kids, but I thought ganja drained your life blaster dry.’ Ziggy replies, ‘Fake news, man.’”

            Cruise Comic finally scores a tension-diffusing laugh. Eddie says, “That was a good one. Perhaps I take my obsession with Iron Maiden a tad too seriously, at times. Thing is, you get pretty cagy as a cruise ship dishwasher, all alone with Iron Maiden tunes of wanton destruction stuck in your head.”

            Cruise Comic says, “No problem, dude. I was being a big dick, before. Sometimes my riffing veers into full-fledged asshole land faster than I’d prefer it to. Do you smoke your mind with the crystal-specked bud?”

             Eddie the dishwasher says, “Yeah—I mean, what loner burnout Maiden Head in high school didn’t? You never outgrow the soothing lift. The green gives a loner burnout at heart.”

              Cruise comic says, “Did you know 4/20 was Hitler’s birthday? I haven’t felt this betrayed since Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.”

            Eddie the Dishwasher says, “Oh, so you’re Jewish. That’s why you’re so annoying and pushy with your material. Well, nobody’s perfect (except Beth the bartender).”

            Beth the bartender commands the stage and clenches the mike to belt out ‘Run for the Hills’ on the Karaoke stage with enough of an incredible, hardcore edge feeling to make a jaded, English’ metal-resisting cruise comic willing to give British speed metal another shot. All that was missing was a hardcore female touch and some added funktastic feeling, with some sexy metal sass to match.

Michael Kornbluth

The Eulogy Ghost Writer

Do It All Dad had a bit in his old standup comedy act called Wise Black Grandma, where he’d say, “If I could do it again, I would’ve subbed my no-show whiny Jewish grandma for a wise black grandma, to fill in her place at my wedding, instead. Post an ad on Craigslist: ‘Wise Black Grandma need for a wedding in Woodstock. Tyler Perry impersonators are welcome. Must be comfortable performing in front of white audiences only.’”  

            Growing up, Do It All Dad grew a fondness, teetering on full blown love, for his substitute Grandpa Ed, who exuded the furry-browed, warm-hearted, wiser glint you’d expect from a retired Jewish estate tax lawyer from Queens in his button-up, neatly woven sweaters and whiff of well-put-together aftershave.

            Becoming a grandpa doesn’t make you into Santa Claus, yet Grandpa Ed (his substitute Grandpa, whom his Jewish Grandma Ethel had remarried soon after the death of her first husband Murray) would shell out an always-neat, crisp five-dollar bill for the grandkid who found the Afikoman (which is the half-broken piece of matzah that little Jewish kids go looking for after dinner for Passover.

            It was a nice, cheer-filled touch to celebrate the Jewish people’s liberation from slavery in honor of God’s hardcore divine intervention years on the behalf of his chosen people. Who were meant to become cosmic perfectionist lovers of TV, who lived to complain in restaurants about unrecognized, immediate service.

            Now, Grandpa Ed had a grandson from his first marriage, yet you didn’t get that distinct impression, based on the eulogy he delivered on his grandpa’s behalf, and Roger was billed as the really smart one because he played chess and wore plenty of turtlenecks (which gives you ten extra IQ points, easy). 

            Grandpa Ed was dead now, and Roger (who later went to Harvard) was supposed to be giving a heartfelt eulogy in honor of his biological grandfather (not his rebound one). This involved merely reading some boring letter that his original wife wrote to Grandpa Ed, devoid of any juicy details such as their sweaty sex period after World War II, when she used to lick ice cream bonbons off his bellybutton during those brutally hot summer Queens nights before Grandpa passed the bar, became a family estate tax lawyer, and they could afford an AC unit of their own.

            This failed to bring back any semblance of a real-deal connective feeling, either.

            Eulogies really do separate the men from the ungrateful twats such as Roger, who couldn’t muster up a single original, expressive remembrance of his dead biological grandfather, who’d treated him like the second coming of Bobby Fisher.  Eulogies would also reveal if Grandpa had raised a cunt-for-brains daughter, too.

            Now, there’s a good kind of gall and a bad kind of gall. Faye, Roger’s clammy, insincere, peppy, patronizing, style-free, a tad stumpy mother, showcased the worst kind of gall when, during her eulogy, she went for the kishkes (meaning the intestines, in Yiddish) by openly declaring permanent f-you season on Do It All Dad’s grandma when she said, with what felt like manufactured, dialed-up invective, “I’m just glad that now Dad can join Mom in heaven,” which was a low blow on par with Mini Me trying to gnaw off Austin’s Power’s nuts in The Spy That Shagged Me.  

            Now, in the limo ride to the gravesite, Faye asks Do It All Dad, a 20-year-old college junior at the time, “You didn’t write your eulogy did, you?”            He says, “No, my mom wrote it for me, Faye.”           Faye almost stutters and says, “Well, I just thought.”  

            The twenty-year-old Do It All Dad adds, “You thought what, Faye? That I hired a eulogy ghostwriter with the bus boy tip money I earned this summer in Cape Cod?

            “My eulogy was well received by the Rabbi because it sprang from my heart, Faye. Regardless if Grandpa Ed was my rebound grandpa or not, he still treated me like I was his own grandson, worthy of his wisdom and love. I recall him telling me how to place my feet when using a 7-iron once, which is more than my own dad ever taught me (besides a half-formed hook shot).

            “Wasn’t there anything Roger could’ve mentioned to honor his legacy, outside of reading an old letter that his first wife wrote? Reality is, your son Roger, the genius, is the one guilty of plagiarizing, by stealing the memories contained in an old letter your mom wrote to fill in the lapse of having any soul serenade sermon to deliver on his own.

            “And where do you get the gall to disrespect my grandmother at her dead husband’s funeral, regardless if you feel that her endlessly manic bi-polar art buying spree of southwest American Indian art was responsible for draining his will to live one second more, either.

            “Also, Jews focus on more Mitzvah and doing good for the sake of doing good here on Earth without the intention of sole financial gain or promised hooked-up afterlife in Heaven, where all sins are cleared even if Grandpa Ed asked Jesus to forgive him for raising such a cunt-for-brains like yourself.

            “Do I have way with words or what? But I’m positive Roger will make an excellent food coloring chemist for Johnson and Johnson to overcompensate for his color-free personality, which he could thank you for inheriting at your funeral, too.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Masked Boomer Deadhead

I don’t like older Deadheads because they got to experience free flowing love with busty Italian girls in the parking lot of Giants Stadium before Magic made HIV disappear. I had to settle for either dry humping induced zipper burn in college or feel nothing condom sex, which is the equivalent of having to exchange silky smooth lining for plastic covered seats. A guy knows when a condom breaks because he immediately starts to coo, “Wee, wee, sex is fun again.”

I especially don’t like older Deadheads wearing Grateful Dead masks at the grocery store because they’re not dropping acid in those dancing bear masks for 3 hour drum solos on ACID at MSG Square to see Grateful Dead and Friends. I don’t care how much masked deadhead woman bat their eyes to John Mayer with a mask on looking like a longhaired Long Ranger in Tie-Dye in disguise.

Imagine a Masked Deadheads who suffers from anxiety, being slipped ACID by a new age Merry Prankster at MSG, requiring you to wear the mask at all times, except between more puffs of increasingly necessary calming green. Once the double of dose of ACID kicks in, the Masked Deadhead says, “Fuck CDC guidelines. If I could survive Altamont and the Hell’s Angel’s nearly beating my skull into the middle earth, I can handle an itchy esophagus no problem. Besides, I’ve been spoking weed out of out a metal bat at Dead Shows for five decades straight and my lungs feel great, holla, thank you very much. “

It’s hard to remain calm when I see a Baby Boomer in a Grateful Dead mask today. They never had to greet their kids off the bus wearing masks, looking like Michael Jackson’s adopted ones on holiday in Bahrain. All these Masked Deadheads did was use their cushy positions in the media, government and academia to push lawless policies, which turned LA and San Francisco and now Manhattan into overrated, overpriced ten cities sponsored by REI.

Masked Deadheads are fake news hippies like my retired father who hasn’t visited the Grand Canyon in 9 years since retiring to Scottsdale, Arizona, to take up jerking off to the Weather Channel every winter and playing tennis with Dr. Ken, who claims my father’s forehand has never been stronger.

Took my daughter to her 1st Dead show and she says, “Daddy, why are your eyes red? I said, “The THC content in these edibles have unmasked my pothead eyes.”

My daughter’s 1st Dead Show was days after her 2nd Birthday. She points at dinged up looking hippie sucking down a nitrous balloon and inquires, “Birthday”? I say, “No Matilda, Burnout Day.”

It’s hard to plan for kids, when you’re pothead who forgets to ask your girlfriend if she’s on the pill. Although when my wife told me about being pregnant with our 1st child Matilda, my response in my mind was. First, stress how it’s her decision but then push for the abortion and don’t be a pussy about it. Still, at the time it was impossible for me to write off my daughter in the making as a zombie zygote whose spirit could be brought back from the dead by getting my girlfriend now wife, accidently pregnant again in a NY Minute again, no problem. The moment my wife announced she was pregnant with our 1st of 3 kids, I couldn’t be blase about pushing the Unplanned Parenthood, family man, extermination plan.

Do you think Michael Corleone would push Kay to get an abortion if the ultra sound revealed their kid in the making was a gender fluid hermaphrodite? Kay says, “It’s a hermaphrodite Michael. I know you really wanted a boy to carry on your scared Sicilian seed. I’ll just book a contract hit with Planned Parenthood tomorrow. Don’t bother sending a car for me. I’ve seen how that movie ends before. You had no problem ordering your goons to blow up helpless Fredo, so stop acting like giving me the green light to take out a hit on your own flesh and blood doesn’t sit well with your soul anymore. Besides, how does a hermaphrodite as the head of the five families even work? Do all the other thuggish killers in Armani come into The Gender Fluid Godfather’s office to kiss her cock ring or just suck off her latest wallpaper collections of gender fluid pink zit recipes in Pinterest??

Vermont must change their state logo from the Green State to CBD Oil only. Bernie Sanders couldn’t even make Vermont great for potheads on vacation.

I drop weed edibles about an hour before I tuck my kids in to avoid my daughter’s super hard questions on it before they kick in. Once, edibles kicked in earlier than usual and my daughter says, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God?” I say, God went back in time in a Time Machine, made by Elon Musk.” She replies, “Real convincing Daddy. Thanks for making an atheist at 4.”

Did you know 4/20, Earth Day for Potheads because it’s an herb that grew wild around King Solomon’s grave, is also Hitler’s birthday? Total bummer right man? I haven’t been this let down since I learned how Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

And this is my impersonation of Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Times magazine? Reporter says, “Ziggy, your dad had a dozen kids. Isn’t excessive ganga use supposed to drain your life blaster and ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake News man.”



I really don’t like Baby Boomers wearing Grateful Dead masks because they’re acting like this freedom killing reign of COVID terror is campy fun like touring with the Dead during summers past. I only wish I could dance in the grass to the Shakedown Street again throughout the Bethel Woods great sprawling lawn without any mask mandates anymore to kickstart the 1st of many burning mask parties this summer, able to sing with final chapter closed authority, “What a long, evil revealing trip, it’s been.”

Last, I’m sick of hearing certain Baby Boomers proclaim, “We’re all mad.” Unless, you were drafted to fight in Vietnam, I don’t give a shit about your alleged discomfort post COVID asshole. Generation X, that being my generation, had to endure the nagging, adolescent of fear of contracting HIV, multiple recessions, 9/11, the media’s perpetual white washing of the Jew hating squad and our kids being forced to wear masks in school as if we’re living in some sick, twisted version of Pink Floyd The Wall, except this time only the CDC, Fuck Face Fauci and China get final cut. Jew loving Roger Waters lives, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Made In Wuhan


Biden mandated that no US government employee can call COVID 19, The China Virus or the Wu-Flu. I prefer to call it, Our Country Is Shit Out Of Luck Club.

If we the people, let the CDC, the WHO and Fuck Face Fauci dictate whether America becomes China’s masked bitch for life.

What did they call COVID behind closed doors at the Department of Homeland Security before Biden got his nappy in a bunch over so called hate speech? Biological Warfare falls under the Department of Agriculture.

What did fat ass William Barr call the COVID virus when he was in charge of destroying what credibility remained within the Department Of Justice? Ain’t No Thing, But Poisoned Peeking Duck On A String.

What did the Department of Defense say about the COVID 19 behind closed doors before Biden’s shut up and don’t rat on the Chinse mandate began? That’s what Americans get for electing a President who didn’t start any major new wars under his watch, who finally gave Vets the hospital service they deserve? Who ordered the US military to crush ISIS in the same time it takes Jared Kushner to blow a load in Ivanka whenever she talks dirty to him in Mandarin on his birthday again.

What did the Department of Veteran Affairs call the COVID Virus before Biden thought he possessed the authority to tell our vets how to label the real enemy behind the new red scare 2.0? Lebron and Nike sitting in a Chinese Maple Tree, SUCKING.

Land Of Gold Making Dreams

There’s nothing funny about our kids being forced to wear masks at school like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain. Especially if they’re too young to identify with the moderate Muslim housewives of Manhattan just yet. Before Jared Kushner helped broker a peace treaty between Bahrain and Israel faster than he bursts within Ivanka in shear whenever she talks dirty to him in Mandarin on his birthday again. Still, I would love to see a viral video sensation similar to one started by the gay hairdresser Brandon Straka who started the Walk Away movement from the Democratic party to announce a Burning Mask Party in honor of my upcoming over top comedy record release, Killerset@gmail.com instead.

My daughter, Matilda, Ten Homer Daily, Singing Rose Kornbluth stars in the Burning Mask Party video and narrates as my infinitely sweeter, far funnier twin whose sports my genetic makeup all over her face.

Dear America,

Once upon a time, Trump made ball busting great again. Our economy was hotter than Florida and Antisemitism right now. Every day, more Americans worked, laughed and celebrated American exceptionalism with renewed patriotic flourish. Then, one day China used financing from Fuck Face Fauci to construct a man made virus used to kill our economy and the Trump topping presidency. So they could steal an election, avoid prosecution for treason for illegally spying on the Trump campaigning and push mail in voting, so they could cheat, steal the election and kill off the veneer of voting mattering anymore. Because of that, schools had to play along with this farce and dress up in masks to project the fake news fear of us being more likely to die from COVID than from a Seth Meyers monologue on Zoom. If I’m not scared of Trump. Then, I’m not into my mother as much as Seth Meyers. No offense mommy.

Until finally, the CDC and the WHO lifted their mask mandates despite Biden trying to push ineffective non FDA approved vaccines on kids, not knowing whether they’re more hazardous than snorting crushed up Flinstone vitamins mixed with Tide Pods just yet. From where I stand, if all the kids refuse to wear the masks, the teachers won’t have anyone left to teach. So I let’s get this burning mask party started this summer on July 4th and reclaim our independence on the eve of my Dad’s comedy record release Killerset@gmail.com. Jokes GenX Dads understand and beyond. It’s impossible to hate such non-stop hilarity like this. This comedy train is bound glory. Hope you can join the ride and help make ball busting great again to. Controlling our kids with comedy can make our kids great again. Myself and my 2 little brothers 98 percent of the time, are living proof of it, USA, USA, USA.

Michael Kornbluth