Tag: mentalhealth

Wishing Well Architect

by doitalldadyear, posted in art, fiction, writing


Art Show USA was no ordinary Wishing Well Architect. He designed a Wishing Well for Bill Gates’s daughter after buying her a horse farm in North Salem, NY, only to clog it on purpose with Planned Parenthood brochures in honor of dad who used to sit on the board of Planned Parenthood for making such a splash as a baby part reseller on the open market (otherwise known, by pro-life activist groups, as the Million Dollar Fetus Flicker Man).


Art Show USA was a perfectionist artist. His Do It All Dad Michael Kornbluth, now a famous comedian author with a standup residency at MGM Grand in Las Vegas, would always encourage his son’s inborn artistic flair; yet all his gorgeous, pitch-perfect son would hear afterwards, in semi-kidding fashion, was: “So you think I suck because…”


Every student teacher evaluation for Art Show USA was a pure joy to receive, for his Do It All Dad, because he got an extreme kick out of some teachers, like his first grade one, Mrs. Rudolph, who would bemoan, in a begrudgingly huffy manner, “We all know Arthur is a great artist,” only to rub in the harsh fact that teachers teach and birth less talented offspring for a reason.


Do It All Dad always pounded into his eldest son’s cranium, “Art sells, baby,” which always stayed with Art Show because he was haunted by early memories of his mom threatening to divorce his Dad if he wrote one more book and didn’t get a job at Trader Joe’s in Danbury, CT.


So, his Dad doubled down on himself and wrote not one but two more books, without advertising the fact to his wife until he scored a lit agent in Israel with his book The Koshertarian Comedian. And the rest is star-studded history.


Art Show made his first million from a lucrative birdhouse-making business called “Bird Baller Cribs,” from only taking one woodworking class. He sold them at various farmer’s markets throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan, Woodstock, and in Kingston, NY, while his mother sold flowers with Art Show’s big sister from their new estate farm in North Salem, calling her flower truck “Green Thumb Girl.”


Do It All Dad’s favorite birdhouse creation was his Kiss-themed one, that rocked a giant-shaped bed similar to the one lead singer and main songwriter Paul Stanley lies on amidst an endless sprawl of busty, blond beauties in his Kiss lair in Beverly Hills (I’m assuming).


The best part of this birdhouse creation was the giant Gene Simmons tongue extension bird feeding line, containing a sprinkling of some homemade CBD oil-marinated granola as more high-flying blue jays and cardinals licked it up; oh, oh, oh.


Art Show USA cares plenty about wishing wells, because ever since he could remember, he’d wish for his Do It All Dad’s books to succeed (because “Art sells, baby.”).
The new and improved wish, after his Daddy finally scored a lit agent started his standup residency in Vegas and got into SAG for a film to co-star in with Russell Brand and Vince Vaughn called Too Tall Comedians, was for his dad to finally part with his precious time-release Adderall, despite his claims of writing like a Jewish angel on the stuff. Reality is, Do It All Dad was an incredibly fast-talking New Yorker to begin with, even on high-grade weed. So, he didn’t require any speedy thought enhancement; ever.


On Do It All Dad’s 45th birthday in Woodstock, NY, he took a mini-hike in the woods with his son, Art Show USA, only to bump into a wishing well along the way. Do It All Dad gave his son a customary quarter to make a wish with, although this time Art wished his Dad would become convinced he’d become a big-time author comedian success on or off the stuff, period. Plus, he knew his Daddy off Adderall would focus less on how annoying Mom can be with her phone during Adam Sandler Appreciation Night at home, again and again.
Daddy was better off writing all day, performing at night, and taking some weed edibles or a celebratory puff from his cherished green, in addition to an IPA or two, after another highly rewarding day at the office, for making the most of his God-given gift of comedic song.


Art Show USA’s latest and greatest wishing well creation was made in Central Park near the Great Lawn in the big city, the place of his birth like Do It Dad before him (which they both derived tremendous localtarian pride from, knowing the Island of Manhattan is what dreams of doer/topper success are made of).
The wishing well was named Do It All Dad Dumper, a tad longwinded name, even for Do It All Dad’s tastes. Still, the symbolic heft of this name wasn’t lost on the New York adoring public, especially after the Today Show did an unveiling of Do It All Dad Dumper, where a line of Do It All Dads followed Do It All Dad’s lead and dumped whatever pill, powder, drink, or strain of dumb, dumb weed they felt was preventing them from flying high off their kid’s glorious presence alone.


Do It All Dad beamed with endless nachas (pride, in Yiddish, derived from the reflective successful glow emanating from offspring who stem from your Do It All Dad tree’s trunk).
Do It All Dad picks up his son with excitable boy glee and gives him a 360-degree airplane spin for old time’s sake, despite Art Show being 6 foot 5, now, and twenty years old. Art Show USA shrieks for untapped joy like he was seven again. Do It All Dad continues to spin and says, “Teenager in love is all grownz up, and he’s all grownz up. Are you too special to be real? Are you too special to be real?”
Art Show USA shrieks with more love-blasting joy and says, with pitch perfect comedic timing, “Are you saying I suck, because?” Do It All Dad laughs a long time, wishing that even his worst enemies got to experience Do It All Dad bliss like this.

Michael Kornbluth

Pause Daddy

by doitalldadyear, posted in fantasy, fiction, Parenting

“Welcome to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast: What Gen X Dads understand; Dad-friendly entertainment for you and me. I’m your host, Michael Kornbluth.

            Controlling our kids with comedy can make them great again. My three fuss-free kids (most of the time) are living proof of this.

            I’ve been a Stay-At-Home Comedian on and off for a decade, now, although my dad is more old-school and prefers the expression ‘sheltered bum.’ Whenever I’m out with my three kids without their mommy, I hear, “You’ve got your hands full.”             I’ll say, “If any of my books ever become bestsellers and my wife agrees to an open marriage with Susan Sarandon, then my hands will be full.”

            I stopped smoking weed until I thought my daughter was asleep, already, because I felt like a moron answering her super-deep questions about the sticky icky stuff after I thought she was asleep.   She’d ask, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God?”

            I said, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.”

            Daughter says, “Real convincing, Dad. Thanks for making me an atheist at age four.”

            Michael Kornbluth, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast and proud father of the three most hilariously sweet, snuggle-shine bundles of sunshine known to mankind, adds, “Today, on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, we have a guest. Which is a rare occasion since the launch of my podcast four years ago, in my pursuit to become the paid star voice behind remote work revolution, before China could hog up all the credit for forcing corporate America to adjust to a remote work way of life to please our commie-controlled corporate masters till our last dying breath.

            “During my pilot episode, I interviewed a UX designer who worked for Apple. I know you’re bored out of your mind already (unless he was Steve Jobs, pumped for the casual grandma-jeans look for all it was worth). My standup performer instinct constantly interjected the moment I sensed my guest lose the audience. This happened automatically, whenever I allowed him to drone out another colorless, brain-reaching, screeching halt reply, so I swore off ever doing another interview on the Do It All Dad Year Podcast ever again.

            “Especially knowing that Do It All Dads who want to work from home based on free will alone, in the impassioned pursuit to make their kids the center of the universe instead of the reverse, don’t grow on freaking Bonsai trees, either.

            “But I decided to make an exception for our, guest Richard Lankfear from Plano, Texas, who is a retired drug counselor and the author of a new book called Addiction, a mind-expanding warning of drug abuse symptoms guide so parents can see if their kids are a frantic manifestation of their crazy hick degenerate gene, with zero concept of moderation in real time or not.

            “Raising drug-free children is important to me because being a druggy dependent is the opposite of feeling free. (Cream lives; holla thank you very much.)

             How can our kids get excited about the pursuit of happiness at home or at school if they are getting high off their loved ones, or from a job well done that isn’t enough (at least until their mid-twenties)?

            “Richard enacts tremendous good from his lifetime service as a drug counselor by making a drug abuse warning guide for parents today who are unaware of what constitutes drug-forming behavior under their allegedly emotionally-present watch.

            “The chilling, sobering stats in the book, such as fentanyl being 100 times more powerful than morphine, speak for themselves, and need to be illuminated with unflinching detail, knowing that either blissful ignorance, dismissive sugarcoating, or mere whitewashing of the opioid epidemic throughout the US as being a mere “white trash ” problem can become the worst fatal mistake a parent today can make.

            “This is especially true knowing how Chinese-made fentanyl, snuck in through our Mexican border, has killed more crackers in this country than Lena Dunham kicking it with Taylor Swift on Instagram.

            “The recurring theme in Richard’s book The Addicted Child is parents becoming reactive firefighters multiple rehab stints later, versus the ideal of becoming proactive troubleshooters before such residual damage has been done, which some families never truly recover from.

            “This book will help more families spot drug habit-forming warning signs by offering actionable insight to prevent their kids from facing such a life-crippling fate. More importantly, the vast breakdown of all types of drug abuse included in the book will give parents the confidence and sense of surging urgency to have the “drugs will kill your brain cells” talk with their kids and their still-developing minds, before those rapidly-deepening drug-forming habits become that much harder to break.”

            Richard, on the side of the Skype podcast interview, is red and flustered in the face, flabbergasted over how the Do It All Dad Year Podcast has made zero effort to give his guest a smidgen of breathing room to promote his book seven minutes into the broadcast, already.

            If only had Richard known of Do It All Dad’s code work trick which his three kids used whenever he went on one of his impassioned rants in one seamless endless breath, with zero auditory relief in sight as his kids long forgot what cool interesting idea, or question, they were to express!         It which was this: “Pause Daddy.” As they pointed an imaginary remote directly at him, they’d say, “Pause Daddy” with warm-hearted smiling-stretchy cheer because it was funny and it actually shut their dad the fuck up for change, whether he was on Adderall or off. 

            Stay At Home Comedian rolls on, adding, “Let’s focus on our guest, now, Richard, who didn’t spend any quality time emoting about the all-star book review I just read for you on Amazon about his book The Addicted Child (which was more than generous, considering what a snooze the book was, as a whole).

            “So, Richard, I just read another book by Lou Gramm, the former leader/signer/howler legend from Foreigner who’s known for co-writing and belting out endless classic rock staple hits such as ‘Juke Box Hero’, ‘Double Vision’, and ‘Long, Long, Long Way From Home’ (being my personal favorites among the pack).

            “In his highly readable book, in comparison to yours, he talks about getting sober and the growing frustration of not even being able to partake in lighting a doobie after killing at freaking Solider Field, on the tour party bus soon afterwards, when everybody else from the band is now in their early forties (they still are).

            “Like the roadie guy says in the movie Rockstar with Mark Wahlberg, “Don’t be half-ass about it. Live out the rock star dream for those who can’t. Or something close to that. 

            “Also, there’s a standup comedian who’s no longer with us; the late great Greg Geraldo, who said that drug use should be encouraged when in your forties more so than your twenties; especially when you learn, during a parent teacher conference, “That your son is a half a ‘tard.”

            “So, my question for Richard is, “What’s an acceptable form of addiction in your book?”    Richard says, “I wish I had a stage light to shine on you a thousand runon sentences ago.”             The Do It All Dad Year Podcast host fires back with, “So, all the Irish thugs who used to beat up nice Jewish kids in the Bronx, calling them Christ Killers and blah, blah…are they what you’d call a special kid of drunk prick later in life, or do you think the concept of a so-called happy drunk doesn’t apply to any Irish alcoholics because their rosy noses give the impression they’re really just more superficially cheery on the surface than the rest?

            “And if the Irish are the best drunk poets, then whatever happened to the Irish Beastie Boys in the Jump Around video?

            “Don’t get me wrong; I don’t thinking being a drunk prick is a strictly an Irish disease. For me, I think a fellow member of my tribe, Michel Rappaport, still sounds like he’s auditioning for the role of Wigger Number Three asshole In the Jump Around video.”

              Richard says, “Are you going to ask any of the questions I gave you?”

            The Do It All Dad Year Podcast Host Michael replies, “Why are parents so afraid to have honest conversations about drugs through their record collections with their kids, Richard? What makes these parents so apprehensive as to point out the dangers of doing shitty Chinese-made coke with Hunter Biden, only hearing the last call from the bathroom stall?

            “Do you feel that sketchy degenerate behavior is born, enabled, or all the above?

            “In the movie Requiem for a Dream, Jared Leto is missing a freaking arm at the end, which is a powerful cautionary message to nail home, on par with reading your kids Allen Ginsburg’s Howl the next time they claim to not scare easily. It describes all the beautiful angels of the light’s mind ravaged by drugs, reducing them to eating stray cats throughout the streets of San Francisco.

            “Why didn’t you share such hardcore scare tactics tips in your book, for parents to use on their kids, so they wouldn’t have to spend a mini-ortune, and take out a new home equity loan on the house to afford your overrated counseling services?”

            Now all of Michael’s three kids come bursting in the room to give their dear Dada a hug after coming back from school, anxious to tell him about their day. In unison, they all point an imaginary remote at their Stay-At-Home Comedian Dad and say, “Pause Daddy.”

            Richard throws up his hands in defeated disgust on the Skype window screen and yells, “That’s it! ‘Pause Daddy’ are the magic words to shut this loudmouth, obnoxious Jew up, already.”   Stay At Home Comedian Dad replies, “When your opinions are deemed worthy enough to interrupt my killer flow, I’ll let you know, jerkoff.            “Never forget controlling our kids with comedy can make them great again. My three fuss-free kids, 95 percent of the time, living proof of it.”

Michael Kornbluth

Masturbator Equalizer

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, fiction, humor

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”

Salvador Dali

“Money equals middle finger power”, is what my dad always told me growing up in our quaint yet artistically loaded Comedy Grant House 50 minutes North of Manhattan within the bucolic, historically tiny village of Croton Falls. Now famous for being the birthplace of my dear dada’s famous catchphrase, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast that ultimately got him a recording label deal to produce comedy record 100 Too Tall Jew, on Blessed Records and the rest is comedy gold machine making history. Personally, I preferred the comedy record title, Birds Eye View Bitches, but Daddy thought that it was tad long winded even for Bob Dylan’s tastes. At the Montreal Comedy Festival Daddy got big laughs when he said, ‘”Sorry pops, but when you live in Arizona for a decade and counting and still haven’t visited the Grand Canyon, you’re a fake news hippy. I don’t care if your Bob Dylan station on Pandora suggest otherwise.”

Still, growing up Papa, my grandfather, nicknamed my daddy Waste of Height because my father is a 6’4 Jewish New Yorker, who’s only highlight when playing Varsity basketball senior year was scoring 10 points against an all-Japanese team, which isn’t hard when the opposing players thought the pick and roll, mean their choice of fish. Now, my dad was being billed by Rolling Stone as Killer Set Kornbluth, while Variety magazine hailed him as the new giant of late night after replacing Bill Maher with a new talk show called Seriously Clowning. So, at this point in his life, my dad had every right to look down on any soul sucker dream detractor who tried to make him feel like a delusional, crazy man narcissist for pursing A plus comedic glory with a middle finger power mansion located at the highest point in Bel Air next to Jerry’s Lewi’s old school crib. So, the shelf life behind papa’s degrading nickname, Waste of Height, in relation to his 1st born blossoming son, no thanks to his encouraged direction had gone sailing, Dean Martin, lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

But daddy is what you would call a late bloomer, who didn’t start tasting big deal success till his late forties, combining that with a sexless marriage, with a man who is far from straight, on top of his mom wanting him to sling other’s people’s garbage instead of his own A plus gemry jokes for a living one day, combined with in-laws who force fed Eucharist on his Jew blood tainted kids behind his back, combined with zero creative collaborators outside of his own children during his 5 year journey into the wilderness while kicking is decade long addiction to Adderall for good, resulted in creating a tsunami of resentment fueled rage that almost burnt out what love spreader light that existed left in my dear dada’s endlessly beautifying, beyond spiritualized projecting soul, before it was too late.  Because of that, Daddy did everything in his power to ensure I established moonbeam blast shot goals early as possible compared to his mother urging her “artist son”, to settle and shoot for shit by chucking the joke writing career all together and become a full-time garbage man like Magic Johnson’s father in Lansing, Michigan. Obviously, Magic Johnson dad’s is a stellar example of being a God loving, do it all dad done good. Still, Magic’s dad also slung other’s people’s trash, so his son wouldn’t have to, similar to Papa schlepping over the George Washington Bridge for 25 years only to get nickeled and dimed by the likes of Potomka Pickles while working as VP of Sales for a plastics and glass company in Union, New Jersey, otherwise known as the Swamp Thing State, so his 1st born wouldn’t have to follow in his steps and blaze a new trail of funny man innovation to derive prideful enrichment of some kind on his own.

But what really pissed off my dad was Papa resisting the notion that I had genius potential in me because his waste of height son was too much a mongoloid moron in his eyes to birth such a star powered, out of this world seedling capable of moving millions with my own powers of imagination, poetic lift and storytelling powered song. Daddy went to Ithaca College, which he derided as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor. But he graduated from the distinguished Roy H. Park School of Communications, so he could suck down some bingers of extra strong Tompkin’s country outdoor weed and avoid stuttering every other 2 seconds. I loved the idea of going to Columbia growing up, yet Daddy viewed Manhattan as yesterday’s news and planted the idea of me attending Williams University in Massachusetts instead, because former owner of the Yankees George Steinbrenner, otherwise known as the Boss, was a famous alumnus and larger than life NY bred personalities like George Steinbrenner don’t get any big more time than that. Plus, Daddy loved the standup comedian Jim Norton who claimed Boston woman were the best to slay with. Also, at Uncle John’s wedding, AKA, Sir Snort a Lot, Daddy said, “God gave my younger brother more second shots at respectable redemption than what George Steinbrenner gave Steve Howe”, which got goonish at the time. Plus, I remember my dad driving us to the Manhattan to go skating at 30 Rock once for my birthday and he points out the new Yankee stadium off the Deegan and says, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee Stadium, the house that gentrification built.” I knew all about Reggie Jackson otherwise known as Mr. October, who hit not one but 3 first pitch baseball homers in 1979 to clinch the World Series for the Yankees at the original Yankee stadium, otherwise known as the house, that Ruth built. I also knew that Babe Ruth had the most homers during his day but had the most strike outs to, because there was nothing half ass about the Babe who went down swinging, coming through in the clutch with his back against the wall like the great Messier, Derek Jeter, Andy Petite, Eli Manning and Frank Sinatra all the way. Daddy imparted the lesson of why New Yorker’s have big time egos for a reason. When Daddy actually contemplated moving our family to Texas during year 2 of COVID, I said, “Daddy, how many great comedians are from Texas? Daddy said, “Bill Hicks and Sam Kinson.” I say, “Bill Hicks only made me laugh once. And Sam Kinson had one good comedy album from start to finish that was pure standup without the cheesy Wild Thing cover song on it, that’s it. Now, name me star comedians from New York? Daddy says “Rodney Dangerfield, Andrew Dice Clay, Lenny Bruce, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Greg Giraldo, Joan Rivers, George Carlin. Have I mentioned myself yet? Alright you’re right, Texan comedians suck compared to native New Yorkers, Joe Rogan included.”

For some time, I just wanted to be a singer and write my own songs, singing in pubs like Amy Winehouse without developing the heroin addition, yet my dad insisted I become an A Plus student and accept no other goal acceptable, so he could boast to his new comedy manager and rapper friends in South Africa, where his new record label was located, that his daughter went to Williams College, which rocks the old world King Solmon Royal purple. And my Do It All Dad thought the deep purple look exuded an edgy deep suave vibe similar to Jimmy Hendrix’s head tripping beanbag within the mixing room at Electric Lady Land studios in Manhattan. Daddy also had a black and white picture of famed writer director Bill Wilder in his old office where the famed writer, director of Ace In The Hole and Fortune’s Cookie, was marching in his office with his talking stick of sorts as his famed screenwriter partner Charles Brackett is on the writer’s  couch in letting him go long again, who is another Williams alum that helped co-write Sunset Blvd, which is good work if you can get it.  The other line Daddy would always pound into my cranium growing up was from Stephen Sondheim, which is, “God is in the details”, and the famous Broadway composer lyrist graduated from Williams to, so dumb, dumb burn outs didn’t even bother to apply. Reality is, I almost never got into Williams College nor ended up becoming the female Carl Jung of my day post COVID damage done after graduating Magna Cum Laude after triple majoring in English, Psychology and Philosophy, achieving the trifecta of liberal arts lunacy, I know. But believe it or not, my fate at William’s became sealed, not because of my college essay where I insist Carl Sagen was mothered by a starless atheist cunt who gave Booger face Behar on the View a whiff of semi-respectability in comparison for a change when she asked Don Lemon why he was nothing more than another race war inciting scumbag like Jussie Smollett minus the SAG card after she got red pilled by Russell Brand from turning her on to the Do It All Dad Year Podcast during bi-sexual pride appreciate month, I think. Actually, pursuing the harder, less shit laden path started by Daddy posting an ad on Craig’s List for a jerk buddy in search of more than a friend.  

“Why did I post an ad for a jerk buddy on Craig’s List? Because I thought it was healthy alternative to laughing at my own material on the couch after my daughter was tucked in, before breaking up with my wife off 11 years, again and again”, A 45-Year-Old divorced Comedian says to his chesty, red headed, Psychologist who was an English and Psychology major at Willaims herself. Mara Weitzman, the Psychologist from Williams says, “What if I jerk off your ego instead of some random stranger on Craig’s List, who would give Jim Norton the creeps?” Do It All Dad, now a divorced still struggling comedian, living on the couch of his Film Grip bud in Ridgefield, CT who wants to be the Bill Graham of Death Metal festivals in Upstate New York one day, says, “Does my health insurance cover that added expenditure on my behalf?  Psychologist Mara Weitzman says, “Remember, the time you talked about that 1st hand job you got from Carolyn Verdichio, in Cotswold Park, which you nicknamed Actionless Park in your bit at the Montreal Comedy about how you’re no gentle giant or else why would you insist on staying home to ignore your kid for the privilege of writing more jokes while choking your wife too hard financially, again and again? You described your 1st hand job as a throbbing extension of your brutishly rough personality, to the point where she almost skinned your pussy wrecker rearranger alive, while your jeans kicked wildly in the mud like a hardheaded hog in heat. Well, what if we reenact the moment right now? I played the steel guitar growing up in Plano Texas, so I’ve got stronger hands that most. Let me if see if I can yank out that rough side out of you for good. I’ll even put in a good word for your daughter at the Williams College during admissions season. Do It All Dad drops his pants and says, “I don’t feel like such a self-centric jerkoff anymore. Mara Weitzman, you’re the only masturbator equalizer for me. Now rip off that top and start jerking it like its 1999.  I’ll give those busty beauties a liberal load to boast about it when you pump up my long-term endowment potential to your fellow alum members after I blow you away with a blast of teen spirit of my own. Kurt Cobain lives, Challah. Mara screams in extreme anticipatory ecstasy, “Nirvana, come reign on me.”

Minutes later, Psychologist Mara Weitzman buttons up her top and puts her murky stained glasses back on and says, “See you next Tuesday Do It All Dad. Williams College will be lucky to have your daughter attend next fall, if she follows after your money blasting footsteps. Thank you, very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

Kindness Practice

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, poetry, writing

A Plus Narcissist practicing kindness on Westchester Jewish Community Services, located in White Plains, NY, otherwise known as the WJCS, through emailing HR Manager Milagros Rivera about what added value he’d provide them as their new Writer Recruiter for hire.

Why should you interview me for your recruiter position Milagros?

Because I wrote The Great American Jew Novel for starters. Surprised, you haven’t written a gushing book review in its honor on Amazon yet, despite Jeff Bezos thinking it’s kosher to allow the sale of Mein Kamp on to your Kindle, which is 725 pages of hate speech in a row, Challah. Thank you very much.

On your website, the WJCS claims it’s committed to fighting discrimination yet why am I getting the distinct impression that you’re already perceived my book The Great American Jew Novel as too super Jew supremacist leaning for your tastes? Challah, thank you very much. Nobody is preventing Hamas in charge of Palestine from encouraging the next Mr. Holland’s Opus to please stand up and teach Shakira Music Appreciation Theory considering it’s inclusive, worldwide appeal knowing the most downloaded artist of all time is more than the go-to pick for Saudi Royals in need of in-house Superbowl Sunday entertainment since Jennifer Lopez made her feel less welcome on the half time Superbowl Stage than a resurgent herpes sore on the spot when she decided to make her kids dance in fake news cages, while she banged a stripper pole to death in front of the millions and millions in the hopes that Ben Affleck, would drunk dial her again. Challah, thank you very much.

What more needs to be reviewed since I mailed you a letter of intent emphatically stating that all your hiring managers will consider me a godsend to work with Milagros, who could sell fertility drugs to Nicki Minja’s cousin that Dr. Gnocchi owns a patent to already? Why do you need to meet me with already Milagros? Because star powered loaded rubs off through sheer osmosis and your LinkedIn profile page is screaming for an emergency authorized infusion. 9th Grade science lives, Challah, thank you very much.

Name another writer recruiter that hugged it out with WWE star Chris Jericho on the set of America’s Hard 100 because he fell in love with your gift for heavy metal video intro prose such as homages in honor of Bruce Dickenson, whose called the “air-raid siren” because his super-natural voice pierces through the clouds of Heavy Metal Heaven, despite Iron Maiden’s music as a whole sounding like sped up horse charging music to exalted, pseudo nerdy, shrieking wails in Game of Thrones, Challah, thank you very much.

WJCS wants 3-5 years recruitment experience, which I accumulated post Y2K while managing to remain employed as an agency IT recruiter, despite the housing market sinking into middle earth China because big banks gave housing loans to homeowner dreamers of all colors, with FICO scores lower than Lindsay Graham’s integrity free balls.

WJCS needs someone to source for candidates through LinkedIn, but I’ve already offered you access to my 6223 direct connections on LinkedIn, which isn’t chopped liver for what most likely is a 60K max recruitment manager position for a not–for profit organization that offers zero Hannukah bonus for the miracle of making your organization appear less racial identity obsessed than the ACLU throughout George Floyd Appreciation Month. The same ACLU who cares less about a Stay At Home Shemale Comedian like myself for making the Koshertarian family meal great again, through the more laughs and yummy dances I get from my God loving, fuss free, hilariously sweet children. After two gnaw-tastic bites from my Kosher chicken wings made in the Air Fryer using a Jewish cookbook jacked barbeque sauce recipe including a pomegranate-based syrup sweetener with molasses and brown sugar to keep it soul shine real, my close to 5-year-old son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks, declares with emphatic, soul man and a half glee, “Kosher Meat Rocks. I’m going to follow the meat to get meatier bites.” It’s a holier, cleaner pursuit than chasing down Lindsey Graham’s meat spewing’s at the nearest glory hole trucker stop in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina last time I checked, so I’ll take it.

Milagros, your lack of responsiveness is making it very difficult for me to practice more kindness on the WJCS’s behalf. I worked as an IT agency recruiter on and off in LA and Manhattan for 8 years in my twenties and thirties. How many more times can you flip through the lunch menu at Epstein’s only to come across more indecisive than Jared Kushner holding up the salad line at the Bellagio?

WJCS is committed to being culturally transparent organization. Ok, then has anyone in a visible leadership position at WJCS still allowed on Twitter or allowed to like the Joe Rogan fan page on Facebook, despite new disclaimers of potentially dangerous misinformation on his podcast like wasting your life on listening to Ari Sharif try to come across as Thomas Mann deep who sounds like a permanent head cold, who’s perpetually sneezing into his Talus? Would the WJCS ever host its own podcast with me as the host to interview RFK Junior to discuss reverse racist doctors responsible for denying heart transplant surgery to unvaccinated dads despite your feel-good talk of fighting racism one mongoloid moron damning, hypocritical tossed oath at a time?

WJCS offers outpatient services to help those overcome emotional trauma. Have burning mask parties for the kids been proposed from hate speech therapists on staff yet? Or are your Social Services Counselors more down with working as Vax ID bouncers at a Bubba Gump Shrimp for some extra cash paid under the table that’s tax free, despite the money never being used to fly in more illegal immigrants with pre-paid credit card bills and COVID vax exemption cards to cash in at a local Holiday Inn to terrorize and take over near you.

WJCS supports LGBTQ rights as do I. But does WJCS support parent’s rights to vote out school boards who coddle and protect teens who identify as rapists in skirts or does your woke board of directors just debase those parents as fringe minority domestic terrorists like the rest?

WJCS claims it’s committed to helping those disadvantaged overcome learning disabilities. Does that include Karens who think masks are the new condoms, not that anyone is itching to pump her kitty litter stank box with loads of hate speech and white privilege or is going out of their way to mark down the event on their Outlook Calander as a must-see super spreader event on YouKarenBlow.com.

WJCS cares for seniors, except the ones forced to die alone in elderly homes after Cuomo through executive order forced those same facilities to accept COVID infected Blanch’s to die of more than a urinary tract infection because he already had ordered so many extra body bags to fill out and couldn’t allow all those stage photo ops of freezer Morgue trucks go to waste. Only after Trump shipped in fleets of social distanced hospital beds that got less touches than Bible at an interfaith, secular Jewish sleepaway camp in the Town of Hudson, known more for worshiping fresh loafs of caraway crackling sourdough than mask misery-imposed mandates on our kids, experimental and side effects riddled vax shots on our children? Or else the local rock star bread maker can’t make enough bread catering Stanly Tucci’s nieces post communion bash, like Jesus would grant heavenly entry for anyone complicit in keeping our children enslaved by fraudulent based fears, manufactured by self-serving, power hungry politicians and all the lying talking head, commie siding, propagandists in academia or within the soul sell out medical community among those precious, good hearted pediatricians siding with the FDA and CDC who push death and deny life unless you pledge your allegiance to big government and F Face Fauci you trust. Last night, my daughter got freaked out by the scene in Mars Attacks, when the Aliens from Mars blow up Congress. I made her relax later when I said, “Matilda, sci-fi, means stuff that’s predicted to happen in the future. We can only be so lucky.” Godspeed Lord, Godspeed, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Reimagining Old Testament God

by doitalldadyear, posted in comedy, creativity, health

The UN just passed a resolution to deny all Jewish ancestry connection to Temple Mount by calling it Haram esh-Sharif, which in Arabic means, “King Solomon didn’t build shit”, despite remnants of the Western Wall still standing. And there being archeological evidence of lamb skin condoms buried deep under the 1st Temple used by King Solomon with the Queen of Sheeba, so he could last longer, the next time she flashed her bushy legs under the influence of some primo Ethiopian weed, which was never confused with dirt sprayed week from the Boogie down Bronx that tastes like Windex.

Antisemitism and Florida are so hot right now.

What would you consider more suicidal behavior? Accusing the founding father of Islam of cultural appropriation on the BBC for hijacking the great Mosque of Mecca, despite Abraham and Ishmael building it. Or becoming known as a Dome of Rock Truther Blogger Comedian on Real Time with Bill Maher to take heat off Salman Rushdie by comparing the UN’s attempt to rebrand the Temple Mount as a Muslim only holy site to Mr. Roger’s Land of Neighborhood Make Believe. Dome of Rock Truther Blogger Comedian reveals his last words on Real Time with Ball Maher, ” A 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking Bill. The Dome of Rock is also a 3-minute walk from the Western Wall. So, claiming ancestral connection to the original resting place that housed the 1st great Temple of Solomon is a stretch Bill, like Hillary claiming all of her destroyed emails under subpoena were yoga related while the rest detailed funeral arrangements in the woods if Chelsea’s finance decided to increase his asking price at the last sec. I also don’t recall Drago popping out of my voting booth, only to threaten me with real life hate speech such as, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you. Russian Collusion isn’t why Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lost to Trump. Hillary lost, because she’s an unhuggable cunt, who failed to sell 70 million branded racists on why Baby Boomer Mom knows best. Baby Boomer Arrogance never dies. I’m still waiting for that bumper sticker Bill. But Trump has ties to Russia, no shit, what mail order bride owner doesn’t it? Cut me off any time before the Muslim Brotherhood does Bill.”

Bill Maher says, “You’re growing on me like Dexter on Showtime although I don’t see you getting renewed for 7 more seasons. I wouldn’t want to be your neighbor in Vencie, California, late at night, knowing how many hired loons are available to cancel you prematurely from breathing since my cherished southern California of yesterday became a giant Tent City sponsored by REI.”

Suicidal Comedian throws in some final last words, “But Bill, I forgot to promote my new comedy record, “Not Kosher Baby.” The original record cover picture concept was my 4-Year-Old-Son going in to lick Finn’s butt from the new woke Star Wars franchise. My son does share my DNA, so he’s bound to take a dip into the dark side eventually. My son being pictured licking Finn’s butt was my son’s idea actually. I don’t want you to think I’m grooming future fluffers for the Rebellion. Son even said, “Finn being a black guy makes it funnier.” I said, “I agree. Licking the Asian girl’s butt who plays the Rebel Mechanic wouldn’t work because I don’t see her being popular enough of a character to warrant a giant doll size action figure on her behalf either. Although the last image we settled on for the record cover was my son blocking his face with an old school Playboy magazine while holding up a Playmate centerfold from the 2nd do over Suzanne Somers issue that I got myself for Hanukkah for a Do It All Dad treat. Next to my son in this pic is his new Teddy Bear, who’s sporting an orange foam roller between his legs. In the end, my son and I decided to use the Teddy Bear foam roller hardon pic instead of the one catching my son in the middle of licking Finn’s butt. Between pictures, my son knocks over the orange foam roller with the Playboy magazine and I make him laugh longtime when I said, “You knocked over his penis.” But yeah, so we went with the orange foam roller boner pic, because we didn’t want the butt licking one to give the Podesta brother’s any funny ideas. And don’t act coy Bill. Google Tony Podesta artwork. There’s enough pedo installation artwork on those fundraising walls for the DNC to make Marilyn Manson blush. At the same time Bill, going with the record cover of my gorgeous son licking Finn’s butt for my 45th Comedy Record this year alone, Not Kosher Baby is innocuous behavior, compared to sicko states like California forcing kids to take COVID vaccine shots to attend Kindergarten like they’re grown-up Billy Madison’s who are wastes of life to begin with. The only long-term side-effects these vaccines offer is a false sense of security or a fake news return to normalcy because they work less than Hunter does on his Blow Painting since he gave up doing blow in townie bars in Wilmington, Delaware the night before Thanksgiving, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall. And China loves open borders Joe, because Chinese made fentanyl smuggled across our southern border has killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking with Lena Dunham on Instagram. Pregnant moms getting stabbed are causing an increase in stillbirth babies. Vaccinated mothers are giving birth to kids with cardiac problems out of the womb. Grown healthy dads at 42 have been reported to drop dead of heart attacks on the vaccination room floors seconds later. But I’m supposed to trust Dr. Fauci who’s suppressed effective early-stage treatments like hydroxychloroquine to treat an itchy esophagus for anyone under 70, who never condemned Cuomo for forcing elderly homes to house infected COVID patients after Trump shipped in hospital beds for needed spacing, that got less touches than a Bible at Barry’s favorite bathhouse colony in Provincetown. But my mom wants me to get stabbed with the vax before visiting her and my dad in Arizona for Christmas before threatening to issue the take-away invite. Mom tries to pre-close me on the phone with, “I don’t ask much of you.” And I’m thinking, “Experimenting with the most dangerous vaccine of all time, which a preponderance of PHD’s have resisted taking, so you can steal my free mind and warrior soul away is a pretty big ask mom. Your side already stole an election and got away with it. All of this drawn out COVID theater way past its expiration date, where all the evolved ones pretend to care about the health of their neighbor when most diehard leftists want all Trump voters dead already is a serially unfunny comedy, that’s offering no comedic relief in sight. Unless Mike Dikta becomes the new president of the CDC and calls masks a worst prevent defense than pissing off Walter Payton by calling him a pretty boy in headbands. I know you don’t have kids Bill. But I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to see their kids masked up off the bus looking like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain. But the masks work. Woke bloke please. Masks work less than Melo running the Triangle Offense. Why hasn’t Melo become the spokesperson for Tampax Tampons yet? Name another NBA lifer responsible for stopping so much flowage. And doctors who refuse to treat unvaccinated patients aren’t doctors anymore. They’re wannabe George Clooney’s in stethoscopes who belong in Straight Jackets for acting like COVID depresses your immune system more than backend entry into the Dallas Buyer’s Club. Last, I don’t like interfaith families Bill. Not that my wife gives me a choice in the matter. The only thing I hate more than my kids being used as extras like the kids from Pink Floyd the Wall to feed the media manipulated narrative behind vaccinated lives mattering the most, are fucking Gnomes Bill. Gnomes look like Santa’s stoner slacker offspring in Succession. I had to give up taking edibles before I thought my daughter was asleep already because I’d feel like a mongoloid moron trying to answer her super deep questions on the stuff. She’d ask, “So daddy, if God created the universe. Then, who created God. I said, “God went back in time in a Time Machine, made my Elon Musk.” Daughter says, “That’s a real convincing explanation Daddy. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”

Michael Kornbluth

Big Man Blundering

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, sports, writing

I feel like less of a femboy whenever another’s man’s dog checks me out at the park. I’m normally topless playing basketball by myself. Dog darts in my direction whenever I launch another hook shot. Owner thinks, “That’s not even a real hook shot. Plus, she he doesn’t even go hard to the rack. He looks like the disowned gay palsy Walton if you ask me.”

Big Man Blundering, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Holy Lighter

by doitalldadyear, posted in beauty, faith, family

It’s been officially 6 months since my year without beer journey began. It got humiliating spending so much time hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush-littered past, as entire Rocky Marathon marathons on AMC passed me by. Now, I fuck with type A personality types, who think it’s a good look wearing a running medal of some kind at a bagel shop during the weekend. Chances are, this edgeless, blah breath, has never been in a rush to slam double IPAs behind his kids’ back on a Friday, because his wife is being ahead of the curve annoying again, especially when she says, “Do you believe in the Monkey Pox Vaccine?” I say, “Babe, I gave up my alt right dirt rags like the Gateway Pundit and Breitbart according to Anti-MAGA country at large. So, I don’t really give a shit about any of the damned hell hole sex commentary about it. All I know, is that according to an American Thinker article from 1 month ago, kids are getting it, according to groomed are us.com. Plus, from what I’ve read in the past, I’ve learned that Monkey Pox primarily impacts the gay community and can be transferred from mere skin on skin contact, which rules out random hand job relief at the Equinox Gym in Chelsea, that I can’t afford a membership from my non-existent book sales anyway. So, I don’t see what a vaccine can do to prevent skin on skin infection outside of good old-fashioned abstinence, which I’ve got going for me because were us, and I’m in the middle of porn cleanse also, so the temptation to juice for joy at the sight of Third Legged Beauties.com has died. So, I’ll pass on the Aids light, Monkey vaccine, thanks.”

So, the Medal running douchebag at the bagel store on a Saturday gets all chummy with the manager there, taking about the upcoming New York City Marathon, I think, then his age of 36 is brought up, which is a decade a younger than me. My sober Alpha Dog attacks and spit fires, “Do you still get asked for ID?” Atkins lite barely mutters a clear sounding lie, “Well, maybe, sometime.” Because this asshole has never passed out with a raging hardon with a condom still on while blacking out the face of the gal he banged the night before, guaranteed. And I say, “I still get asked for ID and I’m 46. I win this race to the fountain of the youth, BMI light. The only thing that sucked about getting asked for ID around my 3 kids at Target, is how it made me feel like a teen drop out mom from Tallahassee. Later when I got home, I wanted to change my headline title on my LinkedIn profile to Crystal Meth Homemaker.”

So, what’s my essential thought leadership point LinkedIn, as the new king of sober media? Comedy keeps you young at heart and does wonders for your complexion, which is why upholding a rigorous regimen of banging out more endless sheets of comedy gold keeps those encroaching greys at bay. At the same time worry lines don’t become to pronounced worrisome after your done lifting the spirits of random mom’s standing next to you with your kids at Target now, with the oppressive hold of Adderall and edibles rapidly fading from your system, who thank you for “making their day”, after you refuse to get your son a Hershey Bar after stating, “No chocolate bar. We just made Chocolate chip crumbled pancakes at home. And we have crazy hick degenerate DNA to contend with on the southern side of our family, that makes Hunter come off as a slacker underachiever in comparison. Plus, mom had a drunk cousin on her Irish side who fell into a vat of Guiness while on the job once to. So, we need to temper our over top indulgent desires more than most families or else you’ll be a slave to your primal desires forever, and never achieve sustainable levels of holy lighter light. Which explains why Uncle John, looks like a hollowed version of his former self these days or why former Mets All-Star Dwight Gooden talks in that stilted, drained dry manner while losing his God given ability to throw blazing, awe inspiring fastballs that scream you better feel the fucking breeze in my presence motherfucker. Back when Dwight Gooden’s masterful timing and killer attack ease, would leave you speechless like Shoeless Joe Jackson batting .408 his rookie year, which is a hit to swing ratio even Woody Allen couldn’t match on Show of Shows with Sid Ceasar, despite him shitting out films like Bananas soon after in his sleep. That’s why holy lighter can’t be beat.”

Son says, “So not drinking beer for 6 months in a row, makes you feel lighter on your feet? I say, “Yes, and your inner light shines brighter than putz breaths who show up to bagel shops on the weekend wearing running medals with far more stable work histories to boast of, who haven’t been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot, that’s correct kid. Plus, I can finally trash my old joke about what it’s like being a Stay at Home She Male Slayer Comedian. “Well, drinking alone is no longer an issue.” Son adds, “Don’t you mean behind our back?” I add, “Well, daddy, doesn’t do that anymore, but that’s correct Art Show. Now, I can feel superior around mama while she nurses a glass of Pinot Grigio on a Friday night or around my mother for that matter, who sometimes can’t even wait for the Oaky Chard to cool because I’m strictly committed to getting high off your presence now kid, Matilda and Samuel included. That is until, next summer in Vermont, so I can order an insanely overpriced IPA in Burlington Vermont, only to spit out the 1st sip and declare, “Murderers Row work here. Sorry, I confused you for Hospitals sanctioning quadruple clot shots for its employees while more Doctors hit the floor than coin at the strip club in Montreal during pledge trips from the University of Buffalo while Neil Young and Crazed Vax Horse is reclaiming lost Spotify royalties in town. Holy Lighter rocks on in his free clot shot world, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Reiki Touch

by doitalldadyear, posted in comedy, entertainment, humor

Why is Reiki Therapy the best Balancing Rock Therapist you never had?

  1. You’re not being force fed meds to artificially manufacture positive energy flow used to help relieve both physical and mental pain plaguing you.
  2. Lying face down on a Reiki Healing Table is a less stressful inducing experience compared to sinking into a couch as your Social Worker Counselor/Hate Speech Therapist nods in drab, emotionless detachment again and again.
  3. Reiki Therapy Masters help you heal from physical and psychological damage through the use of purposeful placed touch and incorporation of positive driven thought, laced with good hued intentions bound to unleash endless waves of good, good, vibrations.
  4. Once your energy channels become open, they become open permanently. So ultimately, Reiki Therapy offers a negative energy blockage releaser guarantee.
  5. Reiki Therapy helps you heal psychic wounds such as childhood neglect through freeing your body and soul from the suffocating clasp of damning dark negativity that desperately tries to infiltrate worry and doubt toward every positive attempt at change you make. Or maybe, I’m making Reiki Therapy too much about my mother again.
  6.  Reiki Therapy helps flush out negative downer energy with electric charged, light filled magnetism. Consider Reiki energy, an oil change for the soul, without any unforeseen added costs attached. Sometimes, there’s no substitute for the Reiki stressor reliever touch.
  7. Nobody likes to feel tied down to brooding cycles of negativity laced, buzz kill energy. So, give Reiki healing therapy a chance to unleash your most vibrant, dynamic, forceful self that screams booya-tribe, I’m back. But don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been kick ass awesome for years. I just needed to open my channels of light filled energy again through a little help from my Reiki Master healer friend.

Michael Kornbluth