Seed Spiller Supreme

HBO taking down Louie CK’s comedy specials was some knee jerk reactionary bullshit. But it’s kosher to keep Woody Allen’s movies up on HBO Max, despite most of those films coming out pre-Soon Yi. Before Woody’s new favorite hobby after stashing baseball cards in shoe boxes became stuffing his top sock drawer with naked Polaroid pics of a 9-year-old naked Soon-Yi to tap for future script generation ideas about an older than dirt creep who bangs a girl with barley forming breast dots called, Crimes Misdemeanors, The Early Years. At the same time, the only pic pissing from Woody’s far from mint, stuck together collection of Polaroid pics of Soon-Yi was the one of her crying naked on the cover of Time Life Magazine.

Has BLM taken the Rocky statue down yet because it promotes White Supremacy?

What is Louie really guilty of besides failure of imagination?

5 women accused Louie of jerking off in their presence after bestowing them green light power like they packed real industry heat as if they became mini-Penny Marshall directors who got final cut on her film Awakenings after a League of Their Own, which had to have been a real heady rush for these wet behind the ears, aspiring comedians to experience at the time.

Louie selling shirts on his website that say “Sorry” on it, is smile inducing 1st idea funny. Other ideas more on brand would’ve been, “Sticky Life”, “Bathhouse Louie”, “Lazy Man Sex”, “Standing Ovations Aren’t Enough”, “Full Of Yucks,” “Get A Grip No-Name Bitch, ” “Got Wipes?” “Whack Attack”, “Dirtier, The Better”, “Visual Aids Lover”, “Hornier Around Hacks”, “Seed Spiller Supreme” or “Coming on a Green Room Near You Indianaoplis.”

Bet it was hard for the college tour guide to keep a straight face when he spotted Louie in the crowd with his daughter after binging on the Soprano’s the previous night with his hockey buds at Boston University whose cousins with Ted Nugent, who grew up idolizing Dennis Leary under a hardcore Republican household in Minnesota.

Holy Shit, it’s Louie CK everybody. Nice shades Louie. The only thing missing from your creep ensemble is a trench coat and Sarah Silverman’s hoodie to wipe up with.

In case you’re wondering, Boston University is contemplating the inclusion of a safe space jerk off wing called, Lonely Heart Louie Lane”, which should take off in Silcon Alley, so you’re not yanked out of the office bathroom stall by office security crooning, “You don’t come around here no more.”

Louie’s here’s with his daughter. Personally, I’d push her to become a Lesbian because you can’t get Aids from munching on middle of the road Sashimi. Louie feels me. The dark prince of humor knows you can’t die from Aids when you’re lesbian because the flip side of being a Lesbian lover licker receiver is you can take a licking and keep on ticking. Don Draper, I fucked him oh. I can’t take no more.

Remember when Louie compared Trump to Hitler after Eminem did. But when Trump bought Mar-a -Lago he lifted the lifetime ban on Jewish membership, Slim on Facts Shady.

My favorite Louie episode was when Louie went on a college tour with his daughter Meadow and choked one out to an episode of the Soprano’s when Janice drills Ralphie in his ass with a vibrator during his reloading down time from whacking strippers to death.

Hey Louie, shouldn’t your daughter pursue a BFA in comedic arts at nearby Emerson university. On Daddy Deplorable Dady you can perform this Shakespeare piece I’ve been developing with my daughter. That’s right Louie doesn’t possess a fucking monopoly on edgy father daughter conversational fueled comedy in relation to gender fluid comedy either. I keep it simple and tell my daughter, transgender is gay in woman’s clothing. Daughter asks, “Does that mean Shakespeare was gay because he dressed like a woman in all his plays.” I said, “That’s just because Shakespeare looked prettier than but-her-face English wenches with ugly moles on their face. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy is gay about lunging at Othello backstage in tights. And I if see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter one more time, I’m going to break my Chic-Filet strike for good. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Plus, feeling shafted shouldn’t be a new shock to your system anymore either. This is Jefferey Tambour blasting his fellow Trans Co-star for pissing on the toilet seat in his trailer bathroom again. Real lady like, now get out of my trailer, you butchy bitch, hey now. Why are trans activists getting their panties in a bunch over the song Dude Looks Like a Lady Again?” In the song Steven Tyler takes more than a glancing stiffening peek, before proclaiming with surging mounting lust, “Oh what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get it over it already. Richard Pryor said it was the best piece of pussy, Bill Maher never had. Which reminds me, I just bumped into Michelle Obama’s Book Reach Higher at the Target dumper bargain bin and thought, “Reach Higher, Bill Maher, just got a stiffy. I can’t take no more, Dice lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Or did you call Trump the Anti-Christ Louie? Regardless, you’re the lying sack of shit for pretending to feel sorry about jerking off in presence of lesser female comedians after receiving their permission to throw on Sarah Silverman’s crusty old hoodie to get you in the mood for old time’s sake. The only thing you’re sorry about is pretending to care that your vote for Joe Biden mattered because you know that Biden pretending to get more votes than your boy Obama is like pretending DMX gave up weed for Catnip for Lent. Trump Hitler rhetoric got you too pumped-up Louie. Sequels never live up to the original. Maybe, Biden’s the Anti-Christ instead Louie. At the same time Christian right nation, in the Bible part 2 Jesus returns from Heaven to defeat the Anti-Christ. So have some faith in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you people?

Louie doesn’t feel sorry about jerking off in front of no name female comics. I wouldn’t either personally after getting their permission. Just own it and admit to feeling bad about his money shots in the green room costing him so much green.

What was Louie’s opener used to get consent before getting his yank on around these adoring female comics again? I’m too cheap for a massage parlor. Plus, I’m a dad. So, I can only get into the older happy enders, knowing they weren’t yanked off the boat yesterday. Don’t stare at my red pubes too intensely or you’ll get blinded with rage for not taking your father’s advice, when he pushed you to become a dental hygienist instead. I won’t jerk you around. Jerking off in the bathroom cramps my style. If I did my laugh yanker sets sitting on my ass like Paul Mooney I might be acting differently. You think Obama’s drones blasted with such Lasik type precision. To put you more at ease, would it help if I told you that Mr. Wonderful, Obama, ordered me to leak it. They don’t call me Bathhouse Louie for nothing, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Flipper Bird Baby

HBO taking down Louie CK’s comedy specials was some knee jerk reactionary bullshit. But it’s kosher to keep Woody Allen’s movies up on HBO Max, despite most of those films coming out pre-Soon Yi. Before Woody’s new favorite hobby after stashing baseball cards in shoe boxes became stuffing his top sock drawer with naked Polaroid pics of a 9-year-old naked Soon-Yi to tap for future script generation ideas about an older than dirt creep who bangs a girl with barley forming breast dots called, Crimes Misdemeanors, The Early Years. At the same time, the only pic pissing from Woody’s far from mint, stuck together collection of Polaroid pics of Soon-Yi was the one of her crying naked on the cover of Time Life Magazine.

Has BLM taken the Rocky statue down yet because it promotes White Supremacy?

What is Louie really guilty of besides failure of imagination?

5 women accused Louie of jerking off in their presence after bestowing them green light power like they packed real industry heat as if they became mini-Penny Marshall directors who got final cut on her film Awakenings after a League of Their Own, which had to have been a real heady rush for these wet behind the ears, aspiring comedians to experience at the time.

Louie selling shirts on his website that say “Sorry” on it, is smile inducing 1st idea funny. Other ideas more on brand would’ve been, “Sticky Life”, “Bathhouse Louie”, “Lazy Man Sex”, “Standing Ovations Aren’t Enough”, “Full Of Yucks,” “Get A Grip No-Name Bitch, ” “Got Wipes?” “Whack Attack”, “Dirtier, The Better”, “Visual Aids Lover”, “Hornier Around Hacks”, “Seed Spiller Supreme” or “Coming on a Green Room Near You Indianaoplis.”

Bet it was hard for the college tour guide to keep a straight face when he spotted Louie in the crowd with his daughter after binging on the Soprano’s the previous night with his hockey buds at Boston University whose cousins with Ted Nugent, who grew up idolizing Dennis Leary under a hardcore Republican household in Minnesota.

Holy Shit, it’s Louie CK everybody. Nice shades Louie. The only thing missing from your creep ensemble is a trench coat and Sarah Silverman’s hoodie to wipe up with.

In case you’re wondering, Boston University is contemplating the inclusion of a safe space jerk off wing called, Lonely Heart Louie Lane”, which should take off in Silcon Alley, so you’re not yanked out of the office bathroom stall by office security crooning, “You don’t come around here no more.”

Louie’s here’s with his daughter. Personally, I’d push her to become a Lesbian because you can’t get Aids from munching on middle of the road Sashimi. Louie feels me. The dark prince of humor knows you can’t die from Aids when you’re lesbian because the flip side of being a Lesbian lover licker receiver is you can take a licking and keep on ticking. Don Draper, I fucked him oh. I can’t take no more.

Remember when Louie compared Trump to Hitler after Eminem did. But when Trump bought Mar-a -Lago he lifted the lifetime ban on Jewish membership, Slim on Facts Shady.

My favorite Louie episode was when Louie went on a college tour with his daughter Meadow and choked one out to an episode of the Soprano’s when Janice drills Ralphie in his ass with a vibrator during his reloading down time from whacking strippers to death.

Hey Louie, shouldn’t your daughter pursue a BFA in comedic arts at nearby Emerson university. On Daddy Deplorable Dady you can perform this Shakespeare piece I’ve been developing with my daughter. That’s right Louie doesn’t possess a fucking monopoly on edgy father daughter conversational fueled comedy in relation to gender fluid comedy either. I keep it simple and tell my daughter, transgender is gay in woman’s clothing. Daughter asks, “Does that mean Shakespeare was gay because he dressed like a woman in all his plays.” I said, “That’s just because Shakespeare looked prettier than but-her-face English wenches with ugly moles on their face. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy is gay about lunging at Othello backstage in tights. And I if see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter one more time, I’m going to break my Chic-Filet strike for good. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Plus, feeling shafted shouldn’t be a new shock to your system anymore either. This is Jefferey Tambour blasting his fellow Trans Co-star for pissing on the toilet seat in his trailer bathroom again. Real lady like, now get out of my trailer, you butchy bitch, hey now. Why are trans activists getting their panties in a bunch over the song Dude Looks Like a Lady Again?” In the song Steven Tyler takes more than a glancing stiffening peek, before proclaiming with surging mounting lust, “Oh what a funky lady. And I like it, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get it over it already. Richard Pryor said it was the best piece of pussy, Bill Maher never had. Which reminds me, I just bumped into Michelle Obama’s Book Reach Higher at the Target dumper bargain bin and thought, “Reach Higher, Bill Maher, just got a stiffy. I can’t take no more, Dice lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Or did you call Trump the Anti-Christ Louie? Regardless, you’re the lying sack of shit for pretending to feel sorry about jerking off in presence of lesser female comedians after receiving their permission to throw on Sarah Silverman’s crusty old hoodie to get you in the mood for old time’s sake. The only thing you’re sorry about is pretending to care that your vote for Joe Biden mattered because you know that Biden pretending to get more votes than your boy Obama is like pretending DMX gave up weed for Catnip for Lent. Trump Hitler rhetoric got you too pumped-up Louie. Sequels never live up to the original. Maybe, Biden’s the Anti-Christ instead Louie. At the same time Christian right nation, in the Bible part 2 Jesus returns from Heaven to defeat the Anti-Christ. So have some faith in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you people?

Louie doesn’t feel sorry about jerking off in front of no name female comics. I wouldn’t either personally after getting their permission. Just own it and admit to feeling bad about his money shots in the green room costing him so much green.

What was Louie’s opener used to get consent before getting his yank on around these adoring female comics again? I’m too cheap for a massage parlor. Plus, I’m a dad. So, I can only get into the older happy enders, knowing they weren’t yanked off the boat yesterday. Don’t stare at my red pubes too intensely or you’ll get blinded with rage for not taking your father’s advice, when he pushed you to become a dental hygienist instead. I won’t jerk you around. Jerking off in the bathroom cramps my style. If I did my laugh yanker sets sitting on my ass like Paul Mooney I might be acting differently. You think Obama’s drones blasted with such Lasik type precision. To put you more at ease, would it help if I told you that Mr. Wonderful, Obama, ordered me to leak it. They don’t call me Bathhouse Louie for nothing, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Ballsy Better Hits

Bourdain and Joan Rivers walk into Heaven. Bourdain says, “How about a titty blast Joan?” Joan says, “I thought you’d never ask. Shit God, can you zap Bourdain’s foreskin off in a flash.”

Fuck Michael Jordan for calling Pippen selfish for daring to postpone knee surgery during the Last Dance. I’d make every day standing down day to, if I was being paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny.

If a boy is born 100 percent gay, does he suck down booby milk regardless, because he doesn’t know what his preferred oral fixation is yet?

Explaining Internet porn to my kids eventually. It wasn’t enough for Louie, it’s our last safety rail left. It’s what daddy does to squeeze in some me time alright.  

Coming to terms with my ex-social life pre 3 kids. It was the best of times whenever the condom broke from overexertion, as I yelled, “Woo, sex is fun again.”

I’m sacred of getting a vasectomy because I don’t want my ball sack to feel like Edward Scissor’s Hands face.

What Gen X parents understand. Snoop’s Dog’s wine tastes like mouthwash used in porn hood hell.



My son finds the Kama Sutra book in my office. And my son says, “My penis popped out opening it.” Daughter starts singing, “Irresponsible Daddy.” I say, “Matilda, ignore this book because it’s a recipe for Aids.” Daughters says, What’s Aid’s Daddy? I say, “A reason to become a Lesbian. You can take a licking and keep on ticking.”

Daughter gets the book Rebel Girls from Grandma for Hanukkah. Grandma asks, “Do you know who Hillary is?” Daughter says, ” 2-time loser alcoholic, Russian dossier financier, best-selling voodoo doll in Hatti year after year?”

My son is the best slacker alert of all time. Son asks, “Daddy, did you go on the Peloton today? I said, “I got COVID, and food poisoning form the Halal Guys. Son says, “Enough with the excuses daddy, “You’re worse than Hillary.”

Random parents always ask, “Why is your son, so happy, “I say, Funnier dad, happier, baby.” You want to compare kid photos buzzkill boomer? My son has more muscle memory to flex from than a young Leo on the set of Growing Pains with Alan Thicke.”

Why do kids love back? Because you make them feel like the center of your universe, instead of the reverse. Kids love back because when you say I love you, it doesn’t sound manufactured hoarse, like you’re forcing the issue to avoid divorce.

A son’s love is a second chance at respectable redemption, because abstaining from bourbon at home does wonders for your complexion.



This is my younger brother getting defensive on the behalf our father because he’s the favorite despite making Hunter Biden come off as a serial slacker underachiever. Brother says, “Dad isn’t a narcissist.” I say, “You post driving selfies on Facebook. Your past the point of objective return bro.”

My 3rd kid is Chosen Curls Was Bound to Woo because chesty Italian MILFS hit on him constantly. One said, “When you get older, you’re going to have 3 girlfriends to juggle. I said, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”



This is my daughter playing marriage counselor again. “Pause Daddy, mama, got your point mid breath.”

Fact, kids don’t need to be dressed up in masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain. Plus, we shouldn’t gut any more cities, and ruin more professional lives over stupid vaccine mandates over catching an itchy esophagus. COVID has 99 percent survival rate. So, stop treating COVID as if it’s death sentence like backend entry into the Dallas Buyer’s Club.

But masks are the new condoms, not. Only because I can’t cum in my wife wearing one either.

Anyone see the new Woody Allen doc on HBO, Crimes and Misdemeanors the Early Years? Woody actually kept naked pics of a 9-year-old Soon Yi in his top sock drawer. The only naked pic missing was Soon Yi crying on the cover of Time Life Magazine.

I’m so sick of seeing Cuomo’s ugly mug in the paper. He still looks like the Thing and Mama Fratelli from the Goonies had a baby. And Cuomo getting paid to write a book leadership is like Hitler getting paid to write a book on anger management or Woody Allen getting paid to write a book on hands off parenting or R Kelly getting paid to babysit the latest Kardashian out the womb.

The Italian Reptilian inside Cuomo, getting paid to write a book about leadership makes less sense than Kevin Durant getting picked to do a Ted Talk on how to block out the sound of cyberbullying.  

What does makes sense is making Carmelo Anthony the next spokesperson for Tampax Tampons already. Name another NBA player, responsible for stopping so much flowage.

Growing up, I wish LaVar Ball was my substitute coach dad because he wouldn’t have allowed my younger brother to lose his virginity before I did. LaVar Ball would’ve held house parties in my honor and only invite Stuck-Up Jenny from the block. 5 minutes in the party, LaVar Ball yells into Stuck Up Jenny’s ear, “The Yooho bottle doesn’t spin itself bitch.”

I stopped smoking weed because I felt like a moron answering my daughter’s question on it after I thought she was already asleep. Daughter asks, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created the universe?” I eventually come up with, “God went back in time, in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “That’s really convincing Daddy. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

This is an impersonation of merger talk between Dr. Dre and Eminem. “Hey Slim Microsoft paid 3.6 billion for LinkedIn. Worrrrd, LinkedIn is lamer than ever yoh”

This is Russell Simmons denying rape allegations with Gayle King. “Read my lisp.” I didn’t rape any of those vengeful over the hill hos.”

This is Jeff Ross roasting Jay Z in the VIP room for Super Bowl Sunday. “Child Separation is overrated Jigga. Look how you turned out. Plus, if Coco never got separated from his family, he never would’ve become a mini–Los Lobos in the making.”

The Woman’s March on Washington was gross. All I saw was a whole lot of Rosie’s sporting a whole lot of chins. My mom asked if my daughter watched it. I said, “No mom, Matilda’s finally learning how to read. So, the last thing I need in my life is my daughter trying to make out one of those protest signs on TV and ask, “Daddy, what’ a pa, pa, Pussy Power? Is that a new show on Amazon Prime?”

At the grocery store, I comment to the lady behind me, “I wrote the book the Koshertarian Comedians. So, I can’t make it, but do you ever make shrimp wrapped in bacon? Or is your attitude, “I’ll dine at Morton’s for a post Burning Mask Party, maybe.” Italian NY mom laughs long time. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth



Do It All Dad Does Mormonism

“If you wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.”

Toni Morrison

Do It All Dad, a 45-year-old divorced father of 3 was burnt out on feeling like a waste of height already.  He longed to fly high like MJ and DR J or Chocolate Thunder before him, yet what would Do It All Dad’s next destination be?  Do It All Dad had gorgeous looking jump shot yet he wasn’t going to try out for the European basketball league knowing, his ball handle was weak and could only dunk out with a mini basketball on a regulation at hoop at 6’4 in a non-game situation with an extreme running start and only with one hand while still fretting about awkwardly falling in his ass in the process.  One summer, when Do It All Dad was a lonely college student, still heartbroken over his summer romance with Katie in the Cape, which stayed in Kennedy Country and within the deep pits of his pain punctured heart, he worked as a waiter at the NY Yacht Club in Rye, NY and became friendly with all the busboys and other waiters, there, who mostly came from the boogie down Bronx, versus his more snuggle soft secure upbringing along the Tudor housed streets, with crisp cut grass you can eat a knocked over Hebrew National Dog from, assuming your uncontrollable putzy DNA held your semi-surging self-esteem hostage again or you just dropped spilled a plate at a barbeque because you have no sense of beer pounding pace whatsoever, especially with high octane weed puffed at increasingly rapid rate. One time, on their downtime at work, Do It All Dad then known as simply Josh was at local basketball court with a Latino busy boy who was half his size, boasting calf muscles thicker than the Yellow Pages Phonebook and launched high with zero hesitation for a thunderous dunk with reverberating authority as the lost 20 year old college senior, without a passion to latch a career on to yet, miserably clueless about what type of white collar job he’d pursue after graduating on the top communications schools in the country, that being Ithaca College, which he’d call Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor in his eventual open mike stand-up act years later, thinks to himself, “Look at Julio fly. My dad is right. I really am a waste of height. So, I scored 10 points against an all-Japanese private school team on our home floor. It’s hard to feel empowered about my sudden offensive power surge then, consisting mostly of jumpers and some occasional semi forceful layups that drew some contact in the paint, knowing whoever my defender was next had a tendency to run away scared from me when I drove to the hoop like they were auditioning as scurrying movie extras in a scorched city scene from Godzilla. “Then, after Julio’s raise the roof, in your face, I’m the man dunk, he encouraged Josh to get physical and try dunking out himself, saying, “Your turn Josh. I’m half your size. Dunk it home for me. You can do it player.”

Josh was very touched by this motivated nudge to assert his latent manhood by at least trying to dunk a ball without fear of failure or embarrassment from falling on his ass or cracking his head on the concrete for trying to launch toward the hoop with more fickle feet apprehension knowing his less than lackluster ups, which he had done nothing to accentuate since his Varsity playing basketball days, when he used to run on this tippy toes instead of high tops, looking like he was auditioning for America’s Top Model instead. If only LaVar Ball was his sub coach, he’d make sure he lost his virginity before his younger brother did, he’d joke about his in act when he auditioned for amateur night at the Apollo Theater once, adding, “LaVar Ball as my sub coach dad in high school would’ve been the great. He’d throw me house parties at home and only invite stuck up Jenny from the block. 2 minutes into the party, he’d get in stuck up Jenny’s ear and bark, “The Yoo-hoo Bottle, doesn’t spin itself bitch.”

Now, Josh takes a final glance at Julio on the sideline who gives an encouraging fist pump raising, signaling, you can do this champ. Josh does his best to run fast toward the hoop before blastoff, yet he started running faster than he was accustomed to, which was far outside of his comfort zone, before slowing down a tad before liftoff, which stripped him of all forward momentous lift, resulting in him barely grazing the ball on the rim. It was impossible for Josh to conceal his dejected embarrassment, knowing fear prevented him from flying high again. Julio approaches Josh, as his head hangs low in an excessively worrisome, I’m such a worthless putz, deflated state and says, “You slowed down. You can’t be afraid to fly B.”

Now at 45, what was holding Do It All Dad from flying high with the angels?  Assuming ownership of his original birth name Michael, instead of his middle name Joshua, knowing Michael was considered partially God like in the sense he packed enough fire power to kick Lucifer’s ass out of Heaven wasn’t adding any extra flying lift to his anemic vertical jump.

Do It All Dad loved his IPA’s, yet after getting divorced for cheating on his wife with a kid’s salon hairdresser who worked on his son’s cut, which most would say was done in extreme poor taste, he began to question the intrinsic value his cherished IPA’s had to offer his rapidly depleting, voided world, without his 3 beamish, wonder kids in his life anymore, after being so immersed in their lives as a podcast stay at home comedian years, writing one more self-published book with even more anemic sales to match after the next.  Do It All Dad always liked to read quotes on Goodreads to get his brain going when writing about a new topic to see what fresh point of view hadn’t been expressed yet because his definition of failure was giving up on being your most unapologetic, genuine, original self in the service of showing blatant disregard for so called ideals of appropriate, pre-determined labeling behavior. One quote, which always weighted heavily on guilty plagued conscious was the one from famed novelist Toni Morrison, stating, “If you wanna fly, you got to give up shit that’s way you down.” Now, Josh was divorced from what descended into a loveless marriage of convenience, where he was treated like hired help more so than a true lifetime partner in love patriarch of the family, so he was free of that constant negative nagging energy in his life yet that wasn’t enough to free him to fly. On a less psychic mumbo, jumbo level, if Josh was brutally honest with himself, it was the mini beer belly, which prevented him from reaching sustained dunking out glory, where he had life in a perpetual ball death grip for good. The shit Josh needed to give up was the ironically named hop juice.  

Now, Josh needed a change of location where alcohol wasn’t in your face and such a dominant aspect of nightlife, like at 2 drink minimum comedy clubs in NYC for starters. After a killer set at The Comedy Cellar, who doesn’t want a beer or 2, to enjoy the post kill rush among a sea of new touch feely female fans? Josh was tired of hiding behind a computer from the real world, now the comedy clubs were closed indefinitely in a post COVID controlled universe gone wild. If he was going to give up beer and actually write his new book concept into actual novel already, Do It All Dad Does Mormonism, he needed to embrace the Mormon lifestyle, by giving up his precious espresso pods, IPA’s and focus on shedding the extra 20 pounds holding him back from flying with rock powered authority like Eddie Vedder off the stacks at amps at the Rock and Roll Music Hall of Fame Induction ceremony, so he could prove to himself, he was a capable of being better a man after all, who can snag a smoking hot babe similar to Pearl Jam’s front man’s wife. Chances are, he didn’t meet he at a Seattle coffee shop.
But what would Josh do for money to pay child support and avoid jail time for failure to contribute? Nobody picked up the phone anymore, so working as an IT recruiter was out, and would only lead to him drinking again, to take the edge off from feeling like such a predictable, ineffectual, powerless, indentured servant jerkoff again and again. No, Josh had to move outside his comfort zone, more so than going on a permanent detoxification this time. He needed to put his handsome mug to good use, especially once he started dropping weight at an accelerated rate again, which made him look like Vince Vaughn during his pubescent prime pre-insomniac years. Josh was blessed with a booming, motor mouth to, who was a Do It All Dad Coach Dad who got his youngest into fencing, his 2nd oldest in swimming and his 3rd into volleyball, all on the verge of scoring respective sports scholarships for each, so how could Josh use his power to motivate, stimulate and entertain while making enough to bread to keep those child supports up?  Because getting another 50 K sales rep job for a media software sales monitoring company at 45 wasn’t going to get the job done either.

Finally, one night after Josh was done pulverizing the vagina of his new kid stylist girlfriend, Julia a striking, tall, muscular, stacked, 50-year-old divorced blond mom in tight ripped jeans, normally, who was caught staring at his swelled package, the 1st time he gave her the greenlight to give him his spikey haired, lean mean, machine makeover, an idea emerged. Josh says to the chesty, sweat drenched, chesty, perfect feet manicured, Julie in bed,  “I can’t make a living a working comedian or as an author yet, but I could say fuck writing for the time being, which is a major time suck in my life, which I don’t have the luxury to blow through anymore in life, as my Do It All Dad schtick is wearing thin, if I don’t start earning for my family tomorrow, so I’m going to throw my ball sack on the line and audition to become the next star Pelton riding instructor because they all bore me to freaking death. I don’t care how tan ripped solid they look. I’m also ranking high on the leaderboard every time without completely coughing out a lung either. Plus, my motivation is to avoid getting anal AIDS in prison in addition to becoming a star provider for my family after all, which is what I pray to God for every morning anyway. The most popular Peloton Instructors make 300 K a year. No wonder why their smiling so fucking much because it’s not their witty asides on the bike that’s making their cheeks hurt from extended grinning. Also, I’m gay enough to be a male instructor to look stylish and be cheeky, bitchy without sounding like a permanent bottom bitch while also possessing enough manly, grizzly chest hair to arouse all the Pelton moms and younger millennial mousketeers getting their efficient remote work groove from home to. Plus, I wrote the entire script for Vhl Classic’s America’s Hard 100, so I’m more than capable of crafting more kick ass riding playlists than playing the same generic GNR songs all the time. Plus, I know enough about hard rock to know Foreigner kicks way more ass than fucking Black Keys or Kings of Leon ever could, my chest. Hey, why don’t we move to Utah together?”

Julia says, “What the fuck is in Utah?” Josh says, “Mormon Moms, they’ll love me. In Utah, they have the most amount of plastic surgeon offices per square foot in the US, even more than Beverly Hills. I’ll be flush with primo new fantasy bang material, assuming I get tired of bursting with joy between your gorgeous lobes of perfection on top, come rain or shine.” Julia says, “Look Josh, I like you plenty. You make me laugh constantly and dent my pussy for weeks, which I’m not complaining about one iota either, but let’s be honest, I’m your divorce rebound lay, nothing more, nothing less. Although sometimes, a divorce rebound lay, can help arouse what you’re most passionate about doing next.”

Josh says, “My son Arthur keeps asking me if he’s going to take a picture of me dunking a basketball while slamming an empty IPA for the back cover pic. I think I finally found a way to do it on top of some basketball court overlooking Zion national park. The Lion Of Judah will conquer his white man’s disease after all, like a true Duppy Conqueror. Bob Marely lives, holla, thank you very much. Do It All Dad Does Mormonism, can be sold as self-help, mid-life crisis reinvention novel about a divorced dad who decides the best way to fly is to give up the shit that weighs him down, that being beer and a nagging ex-wife, who always insisted I was more of a writer than a performer, which is bullshit all the way. This would prove her wrong and I could become the star provider for my family after all. Julia says, “Yeah, but are you really going to give up everything, for this part like way Rodney’s character does for Easy Money?” Joshua says, “I could get a medical prescription for some stink free edibles for claiming PTSD after learning my mother-in-law forced Eucharist on my 3 kids behind my back. The Church of Later Day of Saints will eat up that shit like polygamy Jello wresting wife night. Plus, I’ll make up some line about me converting to Mormonism, because you can achieve salvation through good works similar to the act of Mitzvah in the Jewish faith, doing good for the sake doing it. I could thrown in a line how becoming a Jew for Jesus is tempting, yet I could never get past the rule allowing entry into Heaven if you’re a sanctuary city mayor, who asks for forgiveness before his final judgment, despite being guilty of using their power to blocks the deportation of child rapists who don’t belong in our country in the 1st place. Ban ICE, because homeland security was so weapons of mass destructions years, my chest.” Julia laughs and says, “When you become a big time, Peloton Instructor, maybe, I’ll fly to visit you.” Joshua leans closer to his divorce rebound lay career revitalizing muse of sorts with steamy, inhalatory glee and says “But the book isn’t called Do It All Dad Does Italian Hairdressers from Yonkers, NY. Still, I need to get into tip top shape for this audition. So how about I pump up your box one more time for the road instead.” Julia grabs Joshua’s throbbing man meat underneath the sheets and says, “I’ll take that has a hard yes.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth  

The Maiden Bartender

You met one Iron Maiden fan, you met them all right? Iron Maiden fans wear out those mummy metal patches on their faded, torn jean jackets, even into their late thirties to inject a dark, mysterious, complex, weighty edge 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 the Cruise Comedian, Michael Rocker thought, as he entered a 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 it 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 IPA’s do you recommend? The bartender, a tall, striking, borderline statuesque dirty blond, 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 blond, 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, reeking of stale, Newport cigarettes, stripping the minty cool flavor of any high schooler hoody appeal after the 1st drag whatsoever.  The Cruise Comic get’s the impression, 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 sample 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 bad ass 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, being 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 is 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 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 to Power Slave and the other 40 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 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, kick as 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 become 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 11 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 prior, sometimes my riffing veers into full fledged asshole land faster than I’d prefer 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 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.

The End

Michael Kornbluth