Made In Wuhan

Biden mandated that no US government employee can call COVID 19, The China Virus or the Wu-Flu. I prefer to call it Our Country Is Shit Out Of Luck Club. If we the people, let the CDC, the WHO and Fuck Face Fauci dictate whether America becomes China’s masked bitch for life.

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

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

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

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

Michael Kornbluth

Michael Kornbluth

The Masked Boomer Deadhead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

Michael Kornbluth

Loud Man’s Disease

How loud was Do It All Dad? For starters, when seeing Aerosmith live in Las Vegas 2 summers ago with close seats to the stage before a mask muzzle was designed to kill freedom of speech forever, his incessant hollering and wooing, made lead singer Steven Tyler, shoot off retaliatory hate stares of disgust in his direction which screamed, “Somebody shut this loudmouth Jew up already. This is my showcase career retrospective, not his. I didn’t blow millions on blow and almost derail my stadium selling out career in the seventies to have this big-headed putz project louder than me without a microphone, Joe Perry and a state-of-the-art sound system working in his magnifying favor either.”

There was also the time Do It All Dad saw Dice in a casino in Arizona with his younger brother, only for the Dice Man to single out the loudmouth Jew and yell with exasperated force, “You’re an asshole”, and all he was doing was laughing longtime all the time prior while sporadically yelling, “Dice Lives, holla, thank very much.” Dice was so flummoxed by Do It All Dad’s laugh throaty roar, he beelined into his nursey rhymes prematurely way ahead of schedule to get the fuck out of dodge at a hard 45 minutes into his set.

Then, there was the time when Do It All Dad saw Bon Jovi at Mohegan Sun with his daughter Matilda, fairly up in the nose bleed seats this time behind the stage, yet his bombastic, rocket fueled voice, still managed to get under Zebra print’s skin, as the old school long cowboy from Jersey, projected a damning you ain’t shit thousand-yard stare toward Mr. Loud Man’s Disease general direction, as he sang along with rock star blasting authority, “Bad Medicine is all I need.”  

Do It All Dad didn’t only piss off living legendary comedians and hall of fame rock star front men with surefire, unintentional precision. His omnipresent Loud Man’s Disease enraged his normally English dour, future father-in-law over a dinner at his home in Delaware only 2 minutes after grace, compelling him to bark out in depleted, drained already disgust, “He’s more talkative than the other one.” The other one being the gentile mute from Indiana, his daughter was engaged to before his daughter found her real deal partner in love this time, at least for the time being.

The major issue now was Do It All Dad’s loud man disease causing his son Art Show USA to develop all-consuming migraine headaches, leading his son to sport a permanent PMS face, until he started to take up mainlining extra strength Tylenol again. And Do It All Dad’s son was tough. How tough you ask? Well, when Art Show USA required stiches for tripping on top of an empty IPA glass on the ground and had to wait 1000 lifetimes in the emergency room so the other doctors could serve all the 1st in line dreamers in attendance, the doc gave Do It All Dad 2 options, “Either A) Authorize the doc using an anesthesia which would take 20 minutes to kick in, or B) To stich up his son the spot as his gaping gash continued to open wider than Octomom after push 5000. Do It All Dad chose B, only for the doctor to say, “Your kid is tough.” Do It All Dad inquires, “Indulge me doc, how tough?” Doc says, “One time there was this black kid from Brooklyn.” Do It All Dad says, “Sold already Doc. Thanks for giving my son tough guy bragging rights for me to derive vicarious pride from till my last dying breath.”

But how was Do It All Dad going to solve his Loud Man’s Disease exactly? Would triple masking even get the job done, after getting his tonsils taken out for an extra safe precaution to? Would Do It All Dad become a eunuch monk, despite already feeling this way at times from being a Stay-At-Home Dad, bitchy underling until his comedy writing career achieved blast off already? Would Do It All Dad seek out a Voodoo Doctor in Washington Heights to cure his Loud Man’s Disease by changing his pigmentation to ESL Asian?

What could Do It All Dad do to prevent his son from receiving any more debilitating headaches in his presence again? Finally, Do It All Dad devised a cure all solution. He’d buy his son a pair of Bose noise canceling headphones to wear in his presence and teach him fucking sign language. Because native New Yorkers were made to be heard.

The End

Michael Kornbluth