The Eunuch Sentimentalist

Listening to Steve Perry’s new album on Spotify this morning made feel like the eunuch sentimentalist in Game of Thrones. But why am I so hurried desperate to relink with my age of innocence again?  Granted, anyone who remains a stay-at-home dad on purpose wants to remain a eunuch for the time being. At the same time, why do cocksure heterosexual men or gender fluid shemale comedians like me feel compelled to deride some sappy sad downer power ballad songs as eunuch sentimentalist music at all? I think it’s because as we get older and get a tad more jaded around the edges of a broken heart, we don’t buy into the irrefutable, absolute truisms behind certain famous sing along lyrics by Chicago such as, “How can I go on?” How can I go on? Find a fresher, tighter snatch to fall in love with for starters, who doesn’t deride the workshopped over, comedic genius behind iconic, FX shows such as Rescue Me as being merely sexist. Just because a bunch of hot chicks throw themselves at Dennis Leary’s fireman character, which isn’t a radical departure from reality considering the post 9/11 times it was made in. Understand, before 9/11, Firemen as a whole in New York were derided by the NYPD as mere cat tree snatchers, burnt out line cooks or Magic Mike wannabes. 9/11 changed all that. That’s why DeBlasio shooting down the Freedom Tower tribute ceremony this past year over alleged COVID concerns was ridiculously stupid. Because out of the blue, I don’t think 9/11 1st responders were sweating the prospect of catching an itchy esophagus. Now, regardless of the NYPD being defunded or not, they’ve lost the moral high ground over New York City Fireman, since every day now for the cops is standing down day. Cops in NY have so much free time on their hands now, they’re the ones taking how to make ravioli from scratch classes at the 92 St. Y. Cops who insist on taking a knee today proves how undercover cops who haven’t retired yet prematurely from the force are still down with wearing Nike sweats no matter what.

But momentous, hair standing on the back of your neck tingly songs like the Flame by Cheap Trick still sway my heart toward more promise filled tomorrows than any shitty, melodic free rap song by Nipsey Hussle ever could, which is a testament to the timeless appeal behind emotive, heartfelt, male articulated lyrics man. Versus most radio friendly rap songs both old and new, which deride woman interested in riding a rapper’s joystick out of its socket as mere money grubbing, stupid ass, over the hill hos. Sebastian Bach, original lead singer of Skid Row claims only teenage girls bought their debut record because of their monster rock ballad hit, I Remember you. So, you’re a twinkle toe bitch boy for pretending you bought the debut record Skid Row to hear Big Guns and Rattle Snake Shake again and again, otherwise. Reality is though, the soaring guitar solo in I Remember You, is exalted high end heartfelt rock at its finest.  That sounds even more kick ass melodic special over time, because it’s my eunuch sentimentalist music, that came out in my time, when I didn’t even hit puberty yet, let alone have a clue on how to exert my manhood if it finally bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms after feeling like the last kid to enter the puberty party in school.  But that’s ok, because I grew a sack eventually, and some hair on it to or else I never would’ve dared to make it through my never ending pain period as a cold calling IT agency headhunter at 22 in LA, a long, long, way from home nor would’ve I ever contemplated trying open mike standup at the Rainbow Lounge on Sunset, where Hair Metal sleaze incarnate Ratt once reigned supreme, getting endless perfect tens to let their bodies do their talking for them. I also wouldn’t have hit on my future wife and mother of my 3 pitch perfect sounding kids after hitting on 3 other girls prior with relentless, horn dog crazed, wheel and deal zeal without the power ballad soundtrack of my youth pulsating through my on with the show heart.


So why are underlying hopeful power ballads that prove men are capable of being deeper than the eighteenth hole considered soft core girly again? Men in long hair and makeup back in the seventies and eighties singing songs starting with Barry Manilow didn’t counterbalance that perception one bit. Meanwhile, Ronnie Van Zandt sang Free Bird, which was considered an original power ballad of its day and he’d make Neil Young his Canadian cunt in the can without breaking a sweat while yelling, “More shriekish wailing Young. I’m not buying you being whipped on a southern man being all free and up in your jail bird ass just yet.”

Power Ballads are considered soft girly because most men are too chicken shit to spill their innards out to a woman in person let alone on wax after a record company fronts them 200,000 thousand dollars to make it for millions to hear. Power Ballads will always woo because they burst with romantic longing for more hopeful filled tomorrows, which hold out the promise of soothing the tissue torn teen hearts in us all, especially among us gun shy dudes plagued by our frozen with fear pasts. But I don’t buy for minute the horseshit premise which insists that the era of Internet porn on demand, flush with tatted out white girls on Crystal meth has completely stripped our need for the comforting lift, that great power ballads provide us all.  Hair Metal Nation on Sirus Radio doesn’t exist without the power ballad hits, that never lost the pull they have on Gen X guys and gals because it’s Eunuch sentimentalist music that hit big in our hearts in our time, it belongs to us, and nobody can ever take that away from WE. Also, when we all fell in love with the soft, soothing sounds of 9pm clock radio music by REO Speedwagon, we weren’t fixated on the singer or image from the video but on our aching, incomplete hearts, longing for a willing recipient of our love bursts already. Big tits are great, but they don’t overcompensate for an ok face or an even worse bitch laden, one note heart that fluctuates from softcore bitch to full-fledged, scowly cunt in a NY Minute.

What makes power ballads so powerful? Featherly light finger tapping by CC on Every Rose Has Its Thorn is great, no doubt. For me though, what makes power ballads so powerful, is the rousing, never say die attitude for giving love another shot with all you got like the late great Jani Lane from Warrant sings with such soul stirring feeling on Sometimes She Cries. Holding out the hope of more pregnant filled tomorrows is what makes power ballads pack some extra exalted, it’s not over yet asshole, oomph for me. Is it time to move past 14 yet? Not even close, because like the serially underrated Britney Foxx screeched back in the day with ultra throaty, soul metal verve, “It’s a long way to love.” So don’t give up on your storybook romance life just yet. You dream the fuck on, until you make your new dreams to remember come true, or else love really does bite if you allow it to get into last lacerating lick and stop believing in your right to live a fulfilling life, flush with your own fair share of Heavy Metal highs to cherish forever.  Save the week like Britney Foxx did. Hound down your innermost love. And never allow anyone the power to damper your special spark shine inside, that gives you more than a feeling. Boston lives. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Land Of Land O’ Lakes

Our state of the union is like Stephen Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O’Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least Bill O’Reilly gave Colbert gave gravitas. Only 1 million out of 350 million Americans even watch Colbert on a nightly basis. So, if I offended half a million people with that joke while making fun of 2 activist mouthpiece idols on both sides of the American evangelist divide, then you can go woke yourselves to. I created the material in United We Laugh for you and the millions, and millions, who think The Rock is guilty of cultural appropriation for exploiting the Rocky franchise name for its worth. Has the Rocky statue been taken down yet because it promotes white supremacy? Jokes like this is what make me a Shadowbanned Comedian. What’s a Shadowed Comedian? A comedian social media can’t stand because they dare to take a stand against bullshit narratives like Thug Lives Matter Most, that sort of thing. Then, you get banned from Twitter for claiming the Chinse have resisted Wuhan lab leak investigations more than AquaFresh. Or you cancel your Facebook account all together, because you’re sick of Good Will Hoodie shutting down accounts of scientists and doctors who promote Hydroxychloroquine, who don’t ascribe to the absolute dictum, In Fuck Face Fauci We Trust, no matter what. Or you cancel your Facebook account because you’re no longer thrilled with the idea of your retired parents spying on your life from afar knowing the site has turned baby boomers into the laziest, most hands-off grandparent generation of all time. Lifting a finger is liking a pic of their grandkids, assuming they’re not hugging flags on Main Street or without their stay-at-home comedian father in it, wiping up with the Sunday New York Times after Taco Tuesday night. More specifically, a Shadowbanned Comedian might as well be a Chinese comedian because his freedom of speech isn’t protected by Zit Face Zuck, or from Twitter Twat CEO Jark Doresy or from Cling On cheesy incarnate Jeff Bezos, who’s guilty of sending dick picks to. And I thought Alexa farting on demand for my kids was the death of small talk. Actually, I hear Bezos packs a formidable bulge. At the same time, his new lover used to be married to ultra-yoked out, Hall of Famer Tight End Tony Gonzalez. So happy denting AJAX man. And there’s no way Jeff Bezos tastes good, Ben Shapiro included. Amazon bans certain books for so called hate speech violations yet has no problem selling Mein Kamph. Who narrates the audio version of Mein Kamph, Edward Norton? His participation can remain anonymous. The NY Times only unmasks ICE Agent home addresses to ANTIFA because homeland security was so, Weapons of Mass Destruction Years. Write a book critical of critical race theory and you’re banned from making a living selling books on Amazon forever. Write a spirit cooking book for gender fluid pedophiles and the editorial gatekeepers at Amazon will lick it up, oh, oh, oh. Kiss lives. Can I get a holla for some Challah? For more jokes Gen X Dads understand and beyond, thank you very much.  Amazon says their online bookstore has no room for hate, but Mein Kampf is 720 pages of hate speech in a row, in spastic spitting German on Crystal Meth no less, which sounds twice as mass murderish, compared to Dr. Fauci, AKA, Dr. Gnochi, complaining about the right-wing media attacks on him for lying to congress about financing Gain of Function research in Wuhan, which only increases the transmissibility of the virus, no big deal. The politicization of the virus, that killed off our kids age of innocence faster than Sam Kinson giving Drew Barrymore his coke dealer’s number at Comedy Store on a slow Tuesday is.

Some real deep, smart guy once said, “Laughter is sound of comprehension.” Because for the joke to get laugh, you typically agree with the funny point or humorous phrased outcome in it. I’m putting this book out there to prove that we can still find more common ground to agree on the more laughs we make, regardless of how controversial certain topics appear to be, that have ruined dinner parties for all parties for the foreseeable future. United We Laugh is my olive branch to help our country recover from our endlessly divisive, grandstanding ways by focusing on real evil targets like Hamas who doesn’t do nuance, last time I checked. Again, the word controversy means to cause a disagreement. My intention is to prove how we can unite through laughter through jokes about aspects of controversial topics, most can agree upon. For those frowny faces who oppose, let the triggered twat tweets of rage begin, USA, USA.

Gun Control

They don’t have school shootings in Israel because the teachers are all ex-military who know how to handle firearms responsibly like real life Hebrew Hammers. Also, guns don’t kill people if the FBI actually had a school shooting quota to fulfill, as if their pensions, book deals or shooting the shit time with Jack Tapper on CNN were riding on it.  The FBI should be banned from Starbucks if they don’t follow up on the next school shooter lead. Coffee should be for closers, not for fake news do good posers in FBI windbreakers.  David Mamet lives. Can I get a holla for some Challah? Thank you very much.

Global Warming

I don’t sweat Global Warming because Al Gore’s film career has cooled considerably.


Planned Parenthood is an oxymoron, don’t you think? Nobody plans to cut off their connection to God or shrug off maternal waves, if Karen’s romantic prospects and job options don’t feel pregnant with life improving topping possibility after graduating from Kenyon college with a degree in Frumpy Feminism either.

White Supremacy

I don’t see Ernie on TNT claiming he’s got bigger ups than Barkley after housing a Tomahawk Chop for 2.   

Charter Schools

The kids will be taught to hate Israel’s right to defend itself in college eventually anyway. So, like Hillary Hammer Time Cankles says, “What difference does it make?” I also love school uniforms that Charter Schools require. Because you feel like you’re getting dressed up for a more important job to do than getting stoned 1st thing in the AM to even shitter rap music to boot. Plus, it’s hard to feel like a slacker stoner in Khakis devoid of any dreamy ambition in life either.

Universal Healthcare

If it guarantees my kids won’t have to wait in line behind 500,000 dreamers in the ER, Then, it’s all Bueno Holmes.

Marijuana Legalization

I know New York City wants nothing to do with celebrating white privilege these days. But the Big Apple isn’t Detroit yet either. So, can the city maintain the allure of Manhattan remaining a high-end tourist destination that doesn’t reek of shit weed everywhere you go? Have the new mayor sign an exclusive distribution agreement with Mike Tyson’s Knockout Weed Ranch in Northern California, something.

Universal Income

Like Boston singer songwriter guitar wiz, Tom Schultz sings in Peace of Mind, “People living in competition, all I want is to have my piece of pie.”  And a lit agent that can locate their ball sack for me sometime this century. So, they can put their inner Ari Gold to work, sell the film rights to my books The Great American Jew Novel and Waste of Height, Really Short Stories. When they’re not scoring me a comedy record holding deal from Atlantic Records, after they hear my Burning Mask Party comedy record demo to kick off their 4th of July party in the Cape, draped in Vineyard Vines, dressed for new success, assuming their balls are bigger than Mike Love’s Beach Balls for thinking Brian Wilson is more non-essential than he is.

I love my Land Of Land O’ Lakes, which gave birth to the likes of Brian Wilson, Anthony Bourdain, Miles Davis and The Allman Brothers. All of these American made success stories that stretch from the Sunshine state to New York Island, with soul shine sparkly light, made you proud to be an American, in a place where you no longer feel so free. Unless you’re a feckless, Canadian cunt like Samantha Bee. Dr. Seuss lives. Can I get a holla for some Challah? Thank you very much

Michael Kornbluth

Springsteen Blues

New comedy career launching plan of attack: Get Jon Stewart a recording of my upcoming comedy record Burning Mask Party or more elongated book version United We Laugh. And stockpile all my primo antisemitism is so hot right now material up front. The Jewish, far funnier Carson will lick it up like Dave Attell’s take on Scottie Pippen’s new brand of bourbon called Digits. What was Scottie Pippen thinking calling his line of bourbon Digits? R Kelly doesn’t do digits. Everybody knows there’s no digit grabbing in Grooming Club. David Fincher lives, holla. Thank you very much.

I’ve finally reached peace with it. Springsteen get’s a pass for being a fake news do gooder for campaigning for you know who. She should be in shankles and Trump’s nickname for her on the down low is Hillary Hammer Time Cankles. Which reminds me to tell you about how my new Trump voiced GPS system always takes me to a happier place. On your far left, is Talking Stick Casino, Elizabeth Warren’s home away from home.

But seriously, Bruce wrote the Rising after 9/11. No other band showed up bigger than the E Street Band after hell on earth ripped apart the most beautiful patch of sky in my universe. Song standouts on the record are endless such as Into the Fire, Waiting On A Sunny Day, Empty Sky, My City In Ruins, and the eternally revitalizing Rising. Bruce didn’t fuck around when he was constructing this divine touched masterpiece with his E Street Band brethren who are New York as much as Jersey, if you know what I’m saying bro. I did extra work on Orange County when I used to live off Hermosa Beach and got introduced to The Wild, The Innocent & E Street Shuffle album which is a legendary record in my book considering how young they were when they made such sublime, original, deeply felt rock and roll magic together from start to finish. The actor who introduced me to the album commended me using my down time between takes, writing consistently unfunny jokes at the time. Good looking dude, looked very tan and healthy, no night scream attacks in sight on his this dude’s horizon. He mentioned how before his neurosurgeon girlfriend and the other brain doctors got to playing Brain God for a living, they’d pop on the ultra atmospheric song New York Serenade from The Wild, and The Innocent E Street Shuffle on their I-Pods to achieve higher cerebral cortex functionality I guess. The Born To Run album is legendary for Jungle Land alone, which is Springsteen’s Layla’s rock opera of his own, that takes place in a fake news Washington Heights. Even Bruce’s work post E Street Band on Tunnel Of Love is packed with emotionally loaded lift on songs such as Tougher Than Rest. Bruce has never sounded more grown up cooler dapper than Dylan than he does on this soul sticking sear.

I sang Born In The USA for a Karaoke one night, post 9/11 while never performing it prior. I knew it was an anti-Vietnam song. Still, I connected to the distraught feelings in the song more than ever, especially after the 2 towers went down in “my city” as Walt Whitman described his cherished concreate jungle back in the day. I’m glad Broadway is back. Bruce can draw a crowd in the middle of a real life plague. God bless Bruce and The E Street Band. I’m just down about the possibility of “my city” losing it’s lead spark dream power that drives our God blessed land of hopes and dreams. At least for me it does, because I’m a native New Yorker and think the world should revolve around our opinions, especially mine. New York humor, got to love it. For example, as a token of my appreciation I made my producer boss at Vh1 Classic responsible for hooking me up with my 1st TV writing gig, which was 12 years in the making a Bruce Springsteen mix, because he’s from New Jersey to. Although, when I gave him the mix in person, I made it clear, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you boss.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Dream Team Days

I know Pippen needs money because during his playing days he got PAID less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. But I can’t believe that a Dream Teamer dominator who boasts zero percent body fat, who hasn’t aged a day since Rodman refused to go down on Madonna on New Year’s Eve in 1999, is going to get into bourbon enough to launch his own line of the stuff called Digits no less out of the freaking blue. After, we get some digits, let’s order another found of Jager shots for old time’s sake. Digits, why doesn’t Scottie Pippen call the bourbon Beeper Keeper instead? Can I get holla for some Challah? More jokes Gen X Dads understand and beyond, thank you very much.

When I was a kid, my 1st lofty goal was to scrounge enough money from my dad’s loose change dish so I could buy all the NBA rookie cards for the original Dream Team, Scottie Pippen included. At the time, I was also a diehard Knicks fan, which was an arranged marriage my father pushed on me, that I’ll never a ring to show for it. Back in the day, the Ewing lead Knicks at least competed in the playoffs, which offered plenty of thrills before my pubescent life shooter finally popped out of it’s holster as I bloomed under my Fruit of The Looms. Now, I wouldn’t describe my early love affair with the Knicks as Hakeem unveiling Lisa happy back in Zamunda again.  But the majority of my time spent with my favorite team in the universe, always gave me sustainable pleasure back as a whole, which is more than I can say for the woman and mother of my 3 beamish kids these days. But the one constant as a kid, besides my dad trying shit on my surging self-esteem, nothing has changed really, was the stud hued play of Scottie Pippen, whether it was his sweltering defense, giving off the impression he had extra length tarantula arms growing out of his bony ass, leading the fast break like Magic on Atkins with dogged, breathless ease or filling the lane to rip off the rim like a sober minded, better postured, Shawn Kemp. Who ran down the court with a slight hunch from impregnating half of Seattle one drooled over stuff at a time.  Plus, the year Jordan played baseball, Pippen owned the Knicks at the Garden and should’ve advanced to the NBA Finals without that bullshit tap foul call. Hubert Davis got grazed from way downtown with no time left on the clock, who cocked a slower release than Hunter Biden on bad coke. So, knowing what a clutch co-MVP Pippen was on those 6 championship Bulls teams, it infuriated me to learn on The Last Dance how Jordan gave him grief for postponing surgery one year because he was getting paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. Still, Pippen’s new natty dread hair due, and post woke talk about Phil Jackson being a racist because he a drew up a last second shot play for Tony Kukoc because God forbid Croatian baller ego’s matter to, is stripping any allure left to pump up Scottie’s ego for being the most grossly overlooked number 2 in my lifetime or the next.

Yeah, I’m sure Phil Jackson’s decision to give Tony Kukoc the final shot over Scottie Pippen was racially motivated, although he did shoot from a higher percentage from way downtown last time I checked. Why couldn’t Scottie just admit, Tony had a prettier, more reliable jumper? Let’s also not act like the black man in this instance was known as a superior set jump shooter off the pic and roll compared to Europe’s greatest imported jump shooter throughout the nineties outside of Drazen Petrovic. Although Tony Kukoc was nearly 6’11, so he had a much clearer view of the hoop than Scottie or Drazen, and Pippen wasn’t competing in any three-point contests back in the day either. But what really annoys me about this Pippen makeover is him pushing a bourbon called Digits with a hand on the bottle as a logo. Shouldn’t a bourbon called Digits have a Scottie Phone playing number on it instead or at least the cell phone for his smoking hot ex wife Laura Pippen just to piss her off for old time’s sake, although based on her Instragram feed, you know she’s begging for the extra attention to.

I’m just not feeling the extra-large Pelton high five hand logo on Scottie Pippen’s bottle of Bourdon one bit. Scottie Pippen was never known for his outlandish, towel twirling, ra, ra, rooting personality either. Last, Scottie Pippen never struck me as a guy who drinks bourbon because he still exudes 0.0 body fat and has nothing weighty to contemplate when his not 1 but 6 rings speak for themselves. Kid Rock wants to market a bourbon, I can get behind that concept a bit more, knowing he uses the booger sugar to stay slim after all these years.  Scottie Pippen endorsing bourbon is like John Stockton endorsing flavored vape pens or myself ordering Wild Turkey neat with no ice like a wannabe Nick Nolte in the making. Obama’s race obsessed bullshit has ruined everything, even the cocksure, quiet allure of the NBA’s greatest number 2 of all time, my chest times 6.

Michael Kornbluth

Beyond Personal

More hardcore edge is funnier.

Governor Cuomo getting paid to write about leadership is like R Kelly getting early release to babysit the latest Kardashian out of the womb, Woody Allen writing a book on hands off parenting or Kevin Durant, Mr. Millennial Mouseketeer himself, getting picked to do a Ted Talk on how to defend yourself against Cyberbullying.

Celebrity couples who can’t keep their hands off each other are stuck in a perpetual sweaty sex period. That’s the secret sauce ingredient that makes any sexually charged relationships stick.

Russell Simmons addressing rape allegations with Gayle King. Gayle, read my lisp. I didn’t rape any of those vengeful over the hill ho’s.

New marketing idea for my book Do It All Dad Does Jokes. Donate them to the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility where Martha Stewart stayed. Sample some Snoop Dog jokes to the Corrections Officer in charge of accepting donations for the Prison Library. “Have you tried Snoop Dog’s new red wine yet? Wine Spectator says it tastes like mouthwash used in Porn Hood Hell. Can I donate some Dr. Seuss books or are they not woke enough for the Warden’s tastes? Did you hear? Dr. Seuss is racist for drawing a pic of an African wearing a grass skirt. I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.” Correction Officer laughs long time.

Dad giving you parenting advice 3 grandchildren later over the phone again from Arizona is annoying. Oh, you don’t like the idea of your granddaughter attending Cornell University eventually because of a sudden mental health concerns post COVID pops? I think all the outsourced, invisible suicide nets used in factories for Nike and Apple in China got the 13 Reasons Why class covered pops. I bet Cornell made a Suicide Prevention App that has the Skulls and Bones logo on the button to make their snowflake prone students feel extra protected inside. Like Cornell alum Bill Maher for getting away with naming his production company Kid Love Productions, with no media inquiry into its pedo friendly name whatsoever.  If W’s kids weren’t such airheads, they’d download that app at Yale, knowing the Skulls and Bones logo makes you immune to fucking up again consequences like W after 9/11 for doing dick to prevent the inside job on his watch. Plus, whenever you press the Suicide Prevention App button, Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot plays pops, which gets you out of your head after you try to headbutt Joe Rogan through your laptop for promoting how much his CBD oil matters man, despite it giving you no mental lift worth giving a shit about whatsoever like any heady rush takeaways from the Dax Sheppard podcast. Oh, yeah, Joe Rogan wannabe be CBD decciple, Deadheads only attend Dead Shows for the drugs. I don’t think Dicks Dead Picks lists tracers only dude.  But seriously pops, once you press that suicide prevention app and hear Bang Your Head by Quiet Riot, your anxiety levels drop lower than Al Gore’s balls at the sight of finding one more Klondike bar left in his sub-zero freezer on the 4th of July.  

Imagine a kid trying to jump off a bridge at Cornell only to bump into the invisible net. Kid says, “I can’t even ace a perfect landing right.”

This is my impression of a Tour Guide at Cornell downplaying mental health concerns for the incoming class of 2021. “Freshman don’t even have time to squeeze in a 20-minute Peloton ride between classes. White Pelton Privilege doesn’t exist behind these Ivy draped walls. So, what makes you think, Cornell Freshman can afford to spend their down time attending pill parties, listening to 13 Reason Why on Vinyl backwards? While looking for secret hidden messages like, “Sell your soul to Apple Music like Trent Reznor did. And you’ll look less tormented menacing in 700-dollar leather jackets in no time.” Also kids today post COVID can’t enough of social distancing, especially after their ears get raped to death from all the yenta breath sorority sisters during rush week in the school cafeteria, chanting, “Gama Roe, were so hot. We rock the Keto diet. So, we don’t become fat feminist Karen bots.”

Don’t go there question on Thanksgiving. So, dad, what brings you more shame, your son getting addicted to opioids or your eldest trying to wean himself off the comment section of the Gateway Pundit? You never heard of it? Its’ another alt right, dirt rag like the rest, according to Uni Brow Maddow at MSNBC. Hey dad, tell me if you think this impression is funny. This is Chris Matthews sexually harassing a new chesty, yenta breath intern from Long Island on MSNBC. Eating out Maddow, counts as your lunch break babe.”

Waiting for my car appointment to get a new key and some old guy starts asking questions about login codes for the internet. I said, “What are you really missing out on, besides the Do It All Dad Year Podcast and Do It All Dad Year Blog? Personally, I want to kick it old school and get a flip phone again if I’m honest about only wanting to hear my own opinions most of the time.  Describe the Internet is 3 words, “I’m smarter stupid.”  Also, I want to start using my imagination for jerking off again, so I don’t feel like a slacker jerkoff at the same time in real time. Are you feeling me yet old timer? Old timer says, “I like using the Internet to read articles from the New York Times and Washington Post. I say, “Nobody’s perfect. Billy Wilder lives. I don’t do unnamed sources like you know who.” Holla, thank you very much.

At the library trying to donate some books and getting endless laughs by pitching all the book titles of my books to donate to a local prison in Bedford after the recommendation like Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story, Do It All Dad Does Jokes, etc. Then, the librarian says, “You remind me of my nephew. He’s a comedian.” I say, “Your warm-hearted embrace of my funny man identity doesn’t remind me of my mother one bit.”

Why should I care about the Swiss beating the French in soccer? The Swiss are guilty of cultural appropriation by storing Mark Chagal designer lamps for their Nazi rulers to sell at Sotheby’s  whenever they needed to stock up on more Malbec and crystal meth during their golden years, living it up in the Andes mountains, while writing more glowing reviews of Mein Kamp on Amazon under Nazi Scientist Protection Programs Rule.

New agent seduction plan. Only purse female lit agents, that give me sustained stiffage, which is extended arousal derived from their money shot loaded manuscript sales list. Playing with the idea of making mama jealous with a new potential Jewish Godmother fill in lover embracer regarding the totality of me wouldn’t hurt my increased motivation factor to woo them with more than my pulsating prose either.

Getting a new key at the Toyota dealership and start flirting with the slightly chesty, pretty faced enough, raven black haired, Latino gal who helped reorder the key for me prior in painless, super-fast fashion. I made her laugh long time prior the day before, when I said, “I don’t mind waiting. My unhuggable C Word of a mother-in-law is being forced to play fake news involved grandma for the week, so I’m whistling dixie regardless. Today, I say, the name Vilma is growing more on me every day. It’s more cinematic sounding than Penelope Cruz. In fact, I think Pedro Almodovar should make you his new muse and kick that uppity lisp to the curb.  Everyone working there laughs long time. I add,” I’m glad that my Philosophy and Film Class that my parents paid 50 thousand dollars for just materialized there.” The entire Toyota worker crew laughs long time again. United we laugh, oh, what a feeling.

Michael Kornbluth