The Hair Metal Licker Comedian

I’m buying myself the book The Uncensored History of 80’s Rock. Bookstore owner says, “Would you like to be put on our list?” I said, “Not yet. I’m just getting this gift for myself the way I filled out my own Father’s Day Card last year.”

Waiting for Joe Biden to deliver a flub free, unifying speech is like waiting for Hunter to give up blow for blow painting fulltime.

His old school cokehead buds miss the good old days, getting tweaked in townie bars next to their dealer in Wilmington, Delaware, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall, only to utter, “Where’s Hunter man?” Oh, yeah, he’s spewing his white priveledge seed all up in some stripper’s fake news roped off snatch in the Champagne Room where only the high roller hacks roam.”

Hunter Biden texts found in his forgotten laptop reveal he was not only banned from the Chateau Marmont but wasn’t allowed to gather any of his belongings. My brother is banned from Talking Stick Casino in Arizona yet Hunter makes little bro come off as a major slacker and serial underachiever in comparison.

At the chocolate shop in Ridgefield, CT, I say, “I’ll take 3 of those chocolates.” I don’t want to perpetuate my dad’s tradition of playing blatant overt favorites or they’ll suffer from a lifetime of lingering resentment that no amount of yoga, prayer, or weed edibles can expunge from the depths of their slighted, impossible to recover from souls.”

When your dad says out loud in front of you, “I don’t know how were related.” It means he treats you like sloppy seconds for a reason.

I got my dad a joint for us to smoke together in Arizona after it became legal there because I thought we could bond over the all-star review for my book, The Great American Jew Novel. Dad says, “Yeah, I’m going to smoke this with my friend Nat in Vegas instead. And pops wonders why I seek laughs from strangers for a living.

Megan Rapinoe is partnering with Victoria Secret, which is totally on brand move for them to make. Can’t wait to sample their new line of edible shin guards that taste like hairy fish sticks.

If Megan Rapinoe runs for President, what’s going to be her campaign slogan? Bring back the L Word To Netflix Obama, your are only hope.

Is the purple haired tom boy look even a real life type or just a cry for attention because Olympic Soccer carries less cultural oomph in America than Orlando’s Blooms archery tips?

When Megan Rapinoe refused to take a knee, what point was she trying to make again? Pussy hat wearing lesbos are down with licking Nike’s ass no matter what.

Did Megan Rapinoe ever accuse Kaepernick of sporting a fake news fro backstage at the ESPYS’s? Have you ever seen a bi-racial afro that large before? Slash tried to grow out his fro and it was a total flop. At the same time, fake news fro takes selfies with Linda Sarsour who supports genital mutilation through supporting Sharia Law and Chelsea Manning’s run for senate. That’s like wearing a mutilated clit on your fro bro.

Eli Manning is still a bigger pimp than Brady in my book. He ruined his shot at a perfect season. Giselle was a Victoria Secret Angel, big deal. Now, she’s like 80 in model years. Plus, her uppity lisp isn’t winning her any popularity contests over Tyra Banks either. And why doesn’t anyone praise Terry Bradshaw as the best quarterback ever? Nobody aired it like out Bradshaw. Fine, that much he shares in common with Brady. I’ll give you that much.

Michael Kornbluth

All Assholes

After Lebron James lost in the 1st round against the Suns, do you think Obama scurried down into his man cave in Martha’s Vineyard to tear through his private stash of Almond Joys, hid under a giant box of Duct Tape from Costco? Joan Rivers lives. Can I get a Challah, for not giving a shit if I offended you already, and if I did, then go woke yourself, holla; thank you very much.

Why isn’t Marv Albert lionized as a hero of the LGBT community? He had an affair with a retired Broadway Transgender dancer for a solid 15 years. Doesn’t that give him a leg up on the competition? Eddie Murphy getting caught picking up a Transgender prostitute on a lonely West Hollywood night is child’s play in comparison. Oscar De La Hoya got caught wearing woman’s lingerie, whoopty freaking-do.  Del La Hoya was never canceled and had his career taken away during his prime because he liked to nosh on his sexual partners backside with extra relish on it. And there’s no way Marv Albert is capable of sexual assault on anything. He comes up to Spike Lee’s knee. If anyone is guilty of forced sodomy, it’s Spike Lee’s forced fed, media pushed narrative behind critical race theory and all lives matter being the new n word, burning up race relations faster than any Public Enemy video could, thank you very much.

Imagine Marv Albert doing play by play for Drag Queen Reading Hour. Drag Queen says, “Who wants to be a Drag Queen when they grow up?” And Marv Albert says, “We’ve entered serious garbage time folks.” Dr. Seuss, she’s not. Is that an Amber Alert I hear? Another reason, not to encourage your kids to go way downtown. I live in Soho and know what danger lurks behind those dumpster alleys late at night, which isn’t the most spectacular move to make with no protection on your person, which is why even hotels in West Virginia have room service for a reason.” Holla, thank you very much.”

Did you know Ellen DeGeneres and George W. Bush are friends? I knew she was pro bush, but what do they do together exactly? Besides play Operation with Michelle Obama, gender reassignment edition? Watch Portia De Rossi squirm as W paints a portrait of her clit being hacked off in front of Michelle for Sharia Law Appreciation Month?

Portia De Rossi is from Australia like my wife. We wanted to get married there yet my mom shot it down. She calls, “Son, Australia, is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.” I console my wife later and say, “Assuming we have a boy one day, instead of hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision, we hire Crocodile Dundee. Just so we can hear a roomful of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”

Daughter asks, “Daddy, was Shakespeare transgender, because he’d dress up like a girl in all his plays? I said, “Back then, male actors played all the female parts because Kate Blanchet’s, great, great, great, grandmother was a but-her-face with no make up on to. So, I don’t know if Shakespeare was Transgender because the Bard of Avon also wrote, “Hanging perverts saved many a bad marriage”, because decoupling hadn’t gone viral yet. Plus, masturbation post #meto wasn’t declared man’s last safety rail left yet. Nor was sexting, Internet porn or dick picks devised back then either, which proved to be the death knell of small talk in this country and beyond, before tatted up white chicks on crystal meth ruined the golden age of muff diving forever. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy bought the Old Vic playhouse in London because backstage the Academy Award winner is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to triple wrap his life blaster in the making in seaweed, before taking the deep dive into Polynesian Barbie.

Why is the transgender community so offended by the song Dude Looks Like a Lady? In the song, Steven Tyler takes more than a peek, proclaiming with surging lust, “Oh, what a funky lady, and I like, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get over it already. He called it the best piece of pussy Bill Maher never had. Holla, thank you very much.

I’m breaking my Chic-fil-A strike if I see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter again. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not, nipple tits. And stop acting like getting shafted is a new experience you’re closed to pursuing either.

I’m in favor of sexual expression but Drag Queen Reading Hour is a tad scary for our kids, don’t you think? Fluorescent lights don’t look flattering on anybody, let alone on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator. Also, if we’re going to be exposing our kids to Drag Queen Reading Hour and believe it’s not intended to groom our kids into pool time entertainment at John Podesta’s house, who showcases enough pedo installation art to make Marilyn Manson blush. Why not have a Drag Queen read a fable about buyer’s remorse after playing operation, gender reassignment edition called, The Missing Link? It’s a fable about a sexual awakening on the dance floor at the China Club. Where a horny, sexually repressed, 17-year-old kid from Westchester County reared on Lou Reed Records, desperately tries to his exert his presence behind stuck up Jenny From The Block but fails to flex his manhood up into her round of mound, because his missing link to old school, banging hip hop is gone baby gone. 

At least our kids won’t be required to wear masks at the pool this summer, looking like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain, who are being forced to identify with the Moderate Muslim Housewives of Manhattan.

This past morning, my wife asks me, “Can I go to sleep now, after working all night at the NICU?” I say, “Do we live under Sharia Law in this house? Of course, you can go to bed now, but not until I titty blast you with this bomb strapped to your chest 1st.” Andy Kaufman lives. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Koshertarian Offensive

I tried to get a Kosher butchering knife on EBAY called a Chalef knife, so I can feel like I’m capable of living off the farm like a Jewish Hank Williams Junior. But customer service told me they’re not available anymore because they’re dripping with hate speech against Halal butchers who give shout outs to Allah before butchering cows instead. Plus, they added, “Kosher butchering knives are too aggressively Israeli for EBAY’s tastes.” Holla, thank you very much.

Why do I care about rocking the Koshetarian Diet? First, I don’t have to do any of the blood draining myself, so it’s the least I can do. Second, the Koshertarian Diet makes me feel like a less all over the place Jew, which is a welcome change of pace. Third, it’s the least I can do to show my love for Hashem for blessing me with the three sweetest, most hilarious, fuss free kids in the universe. Fourth, the Koshertarian Diet allows me to look down on my younger brother and parents for never giving the Koshterian Diet inside the house and out an extended chance. And I have zero interest in being a fake news, God dissing hippy. Sorry, when you live in Arizona for 9 years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon once. You’re a fake news hippy. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora disagrees. Fifth, my younger brother orders bacon cheeseburgers at Wendy’s with extra bacon on top yet he thinks being lactose tolerant is responsible for his chronic stomach pains, which have nothing to do with 2 decades worth of cocaine abuse, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall. 6th, I love the Koshterian Diet because if I do go out to eat, my options are significantly lessened. So now, whenever I do dine out, I no longer feel as indecisive as Jared Kushner holding up the salad bar line at the Bellagio. 7th, I rock the Koshterian diet because I wrote about a book about my divine powered quest to get my 3 fuss free kids excited about giving the Koshterian Diet a chance. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years. And if I don’t back up the talk, I’m no worse than my fake news hippies’ parents. 8th, I embrace the Koshertarian diet to ensure God continues to bless my funny Jew bone as I bang out more sheets of comedy gold. 9th, I practice the Koshertarian Diet because it forces me to generate more mo money minting ideas such as the Do It All Dad Hero Food Truck, which peddles the1st ever smoked Kosher brisket cheesesteak, using a plant-based cheese wiz in my debut middle age coming of age story, The Great American Jew Novel. Last, the Koshertarian diet reigns supreme because it triggers Italian deli workers, whenever I order an egg and cheese with no bacon on it. Italian Deli worker says, “No Bacon on that?” And I’ll give him the same response I give my 4-year-old, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, whenever he whips out his pubescent life shooter in the making during dinner again, “Not Kosher baby.” Can I get a holla for some Challah? Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

 

The Manhattan Jerkoff Project

If you want to teach your kids about masturbation, send your kids to Dalton prep school for 50 grand a year on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They’re teaching kids about masturbation early as 1st grade, imparting liberty preserving lessons like jerking off being our last safety rail left kids.

The question is, assuming Dad is beneath teaching his kid about the importance of jerking off to avoid disease and charges of rape with due process being deader in our country than Mia Farrow’s judge of character. Where would you prefer your kids to learn about masturbation? At sleepaway camp with your kid’s camp counselor or at school from a professor who teaches porn literacy at Columbia College? Porn literacy, do the parental controls at Dalton prep ensure the porn categories on their laptops are only visible in Latin?   Forcing our kids to read porn categories in Latin, is one way to bring dead languages back to life in no time. It also ensures Dalton kids won’t be accused of Xenophobia for refusing to take a class trip to Vatican because they know what giving communion in the dark means in Latin. The main reason Dalton is teaching kids about masturbation and only allowing them to surf porn written in Latin, is because some catholic donor wants to make their Latin club great again. So his son can sprinkle his debates with more highbrow nicknames than Trump could ever belch out on Twitter like BAT SHIT CRAZY COVIDITUS PELOSI. Holla, thank you very much.

The teacher at Dalton claims the masturbations lessons in the animation video were misinterpreted. Because jerking off videos like Topless Tudors are so ambiguous.

In the masturbation video animated kids discuss how touching themselves, makes it point in the air. “So, Johnny, you ever touch yourself to Dora and feel the need to cover it with multiple backpacks? Holla, thank you very much.

Parents who send their kid to Dalton claim to be enraged over their kids being show masturbation videos in the 1st grade, but they want to remain anonymous, refusing to come out on Tucker Carlson out of fear of being kicked off Facebook or else they’d lose all showing off privileges.

Aren’t the parents who send their kids to Dalton high powered lawyers, hedge fund managers and plastic surgeons for trans teens reared on Lou Reed records, considered less disposable employees than the rest, assuming they shit in MAGA hats on company retreats in the Bahamas? And how does speaking out publicly against Dalton’s teachers sexualizing their kids age of innocence get somebody fired from a hedge fund in Connecticut bringing in 4 billion a year? Does office security yank you out of the executive corporate john, on the top floor, only to sing, “You don’t come around here no more.” Tom Petty lives, holla, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Going For Comedy Gold

If you name your son Hudson or Bowie it means you’re less original than your BLM flag planter neighbors within the snuggle soft confines of Westchester County. How many black friends do you have again? How many black girls did you bang before you become a defeated, slut in a straight jacket like the rest? Oh yeah, you only watch CNN for finance news since Trump got fired from the CIA. Yeah, and my mom only watches Real Time With Bill Maher for her bible study group after she converted to Judaism.

I’ve given up on trying to bond with an alumni from Ithaca College if I see them wearing a school sweater because they never lost that freshman 20 after all. The main reason why I avoid the encounters with Ithaca Alumni is because I’ve lost all tolerance for these people treating me like a resurgent herpes sore on the spot. Without fail, the random Ithaca alumni will give me this stupefied stare which screams, “Tell me why I should give a shit about our imaginary alumni connection already? If you went to Cornell, I’d care about who you can introduce me to on LinkedIn. I don’t care that you were in the Roy. H. Park School of Communications. Ithaca’s still Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. But you were a communication major who can suck down a bong hit and not stutter every other 2 seconds, whoopty, freaking do.”

This is my impression of Dr. Dre discussing the merger between Microsoft and LinkedIn with Eminem. Hey Slim, Microsoft paid 4.5 billion for LinkedIN. Worddddddddd! LinkedIn is lamer than ever yoh.

My wife had a Hillary spotting during lunch with our baby boy. She claims Hillary was nice, adding “She even waived to Samuel. I said, “Of course she did. Hillary was getting warmed up for desert.”

I live in horse country close to nearby North Salem, so my mother signed my daughter up for some horse ridding lessons. Daughter says, “Everyone is friendly here.” I said, “Everyone here shits gold. They should be perpetually giddy come rain or shine.” I think this fairly young rider there flirts with me through riding her steed like she wants to break my joy stick in 2. Or maybe I’m just a sexually repressed stay at home comedian who needs to get out of the house more often.

Why do Jews still vote Democrat? Baby Boomers can’t admit when they’re wrong. Baby Boomer arrogance never dies. Because of Kent State, they want to abolish the National Guard forever. They thought the Black Panthers were on their side to.

4 out of 10 Democrats blame Israel for claiming ancestral connections to so many Nobel Prize winners like Jonas Salk. Who discovered the Vaccine for Polio, only to give it away for free like so many of those other Apartheid ruling Hitler wannabes.

Free Palestine. You’d think it was a breeding ground for future Nelson Mandela’s to clean up at Model UN.

Israelis are baby killers. So blow up a Planned Parenthood you’ll most likely Uber to, if you’re so concerned. Holla, thank you very much.

Israel is the problem. How many Palestinians are being hunted and assaulted with knifes, rocks, firebombs and UN financed missiles by Israelis who only serve in the military because they fucking have to, morons?

Fascist or racist, how is that even up for debate anymore, all the above Democrats? A white cop just got fired in Idaho for making fun of Lebron on Tik Tok. I don’t call him King of the Persecution Complex for nothing. And reverse racism against whites, Jews and Asians in this country is in full force more than ever before. Oh no he didn’t, yes I did. Holla, thank you very much.

Prince Harry thinks freedom of speech should be curtailed to curb enthusiasm over bashing balding Archie on Twitter. God forbid, you make fun of his uppity, zero gravitas exuding, spoiled rotten wife. Oh yeah, she contemplated suicide when she was pregnant with her lifetime fucking meal ticket on the line. Yeah, and Prince Harry dressed up as Hitler for Halloween like a poor man’s Charlie Chaplin to perfect the human race with a willing Heidi Klum by his bedside.

Bill Gates dismissing Melinda Gates at work. Program the pearl script command, massage my carpel tunnel, ho, you busted ass bitch. Fetch me a pea protein burger if you’re not busy stockpiling more stock.

Chris Rock says people are afraid to talk these days and comedy is sucking because of it. BLM is really shaking in their boots at the latest Toastmaster International meeting through Zoom Chris. Plus, did you ever consider comedy sucking today because all the established biggies like yourself, have become nothing more than establishment sell out propagandists for the rape enablement party like the rest?

Joe Biden’s hate crime engagement director recommends Jews stop showing off their Jewishness to avoid more hate crimes. Fine, I’ll whip out my smart phone to calculate the tip on a 20 dollar Pastrami sandwich at Katz to throw off Jewish headhunters on the prowl from Palestinian Terrorists Are Us. Holla, thank you very much.

I leave a grocery store with my mask off. A guy passes me and asks, “Are masks mandatory in there? I say, “I always take mine off immediately. Only dumb fucking alumni from Ithaca wear masks outside. It’s Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor for a reason.” Holla, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Wuhan Mascot From Hell

Kristaps Porzingis got fined 50 grand for violating COVID player restrictions by briefly attending a strip club in LA, the night after Dallas beat the clippers. NBA commissioner Adam Silver proves again how Latvian blue balls don’t matter. I love how Kristaps Porzingis’s publicist emphasized to USA Today how her client only “briefly” attended a strip club after the game. All that proves is how Kristaps Porzingis made it rain in his sweats instead of on stage. Before spending his last Benjamin on his person on a Sombrero from a local Mariachi bandleader outside the strip club, to cover his stain of easily excitable shame, before hailing an Uber back to his hotel at the W.

Kristaps hops out the Uber with a Sombrero over his dick. He get’s bombarded by the crew from Entourage outside his Uber, waiting for an Uber of their own. Turtle says, “KP, huge fan man. Ask Vince, I always told him, my Uni would fly again. E says, “What’s with the Sombrero KP? Based on your size, I assume you got noting to hide. The entire entourage laughs. Vince chimes in. “Hey, KP were going to a party in the hill’s at Drake’s place to replace Michael Jordan’s new tequila brand with AVION from Entourage, for ruining the Jay Z concert at the new Yankee stadium. How do you put Drake on after Eminem, Dr. Dre and Jay Z? Drama adds, That’s more deflating than Turtle trying to keep his dick from slipping out of Kourtney Kardashian in a slink of shame after she banged the Cav’s old starting five when the Cavs PR manager told JR Smith to stop conducting interviews in the locker room on his hoverboard because he was high enough already. Why are you so quiet KP? Kourtney Kardashian, you know OJ’s daughter, the sloppy third Kardashian sister, whose easy to bang at 4 in the morning like a lamb Gyro in Astoria.” Turtle adds, “And for Knicks pride, I’m going to taunt every Jordan licker at this Tequila release party for MJ for never pushing Bulls management to pay Scottie Pippen more than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. By the way, tell Cuban, I say hi.”

KP tosses the Sombrero on to Sunset Strip and says, “Fuck it, let’s go. The strip club is dead anyway.” Drama says, “No shit, you can’t practice social distancing in the Champagne room. Isn’t that right, you long limbed Latvian freak? Next Drama starts to give KP a fist pump but finally notices the enormous wet spot between his legs and says, “Don’t sweat it KP. Next time, don’t wear sweats to Girls, Girls, Girls. You’ll blow out your ACL next time. Do you believe in miracles KP?” KP says, “I do Drama.” So wear rugged Levin jeans to the strip club next time, not those 200 dollar faggy seven jeans that Vinny always wears, no offense little bro. Turtle adds, ” I got faith in you KP, so does the rest of the Knick fan faithful. Shock the world like Ozzy post Black Sabbath after teaming up with Randy Rhodes and prove to Stephen A Smith, Uni will fly high again. For once, Stephen A won’t be able to blame your higher hopping ability on white priveledge as Lebron continues to drive NBA playoff ratings into China like a WUHAN Bat Mascot from hell.”

Michael Kornbluth

Visions Of Hamas Social Workers

If Biden condemns the surge in hate crimes against the American Jewish community, then why doesn’t he stick Kamala Harris on it? She’s married to a rich Jew. Tell her hubby to redistribute his wealth to moderate social workers in Hamas. Social Workers for Hamas can deprogram Jihadists in Gaza through exposing them to LinkedIn thought leadership posts by Marc Cuban on how to design high definition video portals to sell Hashish Hookah’s Made in Gaza, not controlled by those blood sucking Jews for a change.

Social workers for Hamas can push a hate filled Jihadist into attending coding boot camp, if they don’t wanna waste their lives digging death tunnels for terrorist groups like Hamas for a living. Only to get denied entry into Hebrew University prior because they described their experience digging tunnels used to kidnap, kill and maim in the name of you know, as a rewarding, lived experience to emulate for Hamas’s version of Habitat for Humanity. Holla, thank you very much.

Imagine a Social Worker for Hamas from Berkeley, urging a teen Palestinian to give up dirty bomb making for designing killer virgin dating apps such as “Blood On The Burka” instead?

Social Worker tries to break the ice by quoting Bob Dylan 1st and says, “Look Samir, it’ ok to rely on government assistance when you’re optionless otherwise. Like Bob Dylan said, “Show me someone that’s a not a parasite, and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him. But I won’t draw a cartoon of Muhammed riding his underage slave wives after dark like a MAGA hat sporting Dr. Seuss, alright. I’m being deadly serious Samir. Designing killer dating apps such as “Cherry Bomb Popping” can change your corner of the Arab world, which you’re terrorist leadership has destroyed willingly to score more international aid from the UN to ensure you remain dependent, genocidal terrorists for hire forever. Virgin dating apps can usher in an era of calm to Palestine not seen since the Second Tower went down faster than Obama did at a Chicago Bathhouse during Arafat Appreciation Month. The advent of killer virgin dating apps such as, “701 Virgins Now, You Sand Ho Bitch”, will bring death to jerking off and give birth to a less hate filled generation of Palestinians. Who won’t be so sore about nearly sandpapering their dicks into shawarma shreds, mangled up and blue.

Michael Kornbluth

Reimagining Cuomo Book Titles

Did you know Jared Kushner talked Dad out of Motley Crue playing at his inauguration because he insisted Tommy Lee looked too Alt-Rightish. Later he adds, “And my Hebrew Hammer can’t compete Dad.” Holla, thank you very much.

A leadership book by Cuomo carries less impactful weight than a Stacy Abrams romance novel, especially after she ditches the fat suit for a parachute jumper on casual Friday. Holla, thank you very much.

Knowing how New York State boasted the highest death rate of any US state, largely due to Cuomo’s policy of forcing sick old patients with COVID to shack up with other sick old New Yorkers older than Yiddish, to die, cursing the Italian Reptilian inside against their dying of the light, it’s time to reimagine new book titles for the thug in Armani, don’t you think? If Cuomo’s lucky, he can win another Emmy with a TV show on Netflix in his honor based on these killer, headline hooker titles alone. Let the alt righting book title reimagining being.

  1. That slut Blanch from the Golden Girls was going to die from a urinary track infection anyway. Wait a minute, in Florida she’d still be alive to suck a golf ball through a garden hose for another day, my bad.
  2. Ben Stiller thinks I’d play a convincing mob boss in a remake of the Goonies because I look like Mama Fratelli and the Thing had a baby. Wait a minute, who wrote this shit for me, Joan Rivers. I thought that annoying, Jew bitch was six feet under already for insisting Michelle Obama let it flop around on Ellen like she he don’t care. Joan lives. Holla, thank you very much.
  3. Trump’s shipped in hospital beds were just for show. Who cares if they got less touches than a bible at a bathhouse colony in Provincetown?
  4. I got Chris Rock to do a mask up PSA in my honor despite President Trump helping push prison reform to give his people new leases on life. I just gave BLM more rope to hang themselves with within the court of a public opinion.
  5. I destroyed the greatest city in the world in 14 months flat. What have you done with your life, besides wish the big, bad blond wolf could give me a nipple twister under the comment section on the Gateway Pundit?
  6. Born to Kill like Anthony Gnocchi.
  7. Vince Lombardi Lives
  8. Thugs in Armani Matter
  9. Broadway Blue Balls
  10. Andrew Black Eyes
  11. Destructive Mook Knows Best
  12. No, I Won’t Jump Off My Own Bridge.
  13. Reckless Endangerment Is Good
  14. Hijacking Hydroxychloroquine. Cuomo confiscated the entire supply in NY for his own personal stash and banned Doctors from prescribing it because the Italian Reptilian Inside had a surplus of body bags to fill, never mind.
  15. How to Kill Without Throwing Granny Off The Train
  16. From Good Too Imprisoned for Highly Avoidable Crimes Against Humanity.
  17. The Ponzi Push of Death
  18. The Art of Getting Away With Granny Choking On Her Pasta Fazool, metaphorically speaking.
  19. Too Big for Late Term Abortion
  20. Why I’m Smarter Than Tony Soprano
  21. Eating Meatballs Alone On Death Row
  22. The Hit Man’s Dilemma Around Real Made Men Tough Guys
  23. How to Get Banned From Rao’s For Life
  24. Dysfunctional Democrats Always Win Last

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