Do It All Dad unmasks the birth of a Hair Metal Comedian.
Do It All Dad unmasks the birth of a Hair Metal Comedian.
We need to knock on doors to get people vaccinated. And Trumpy Poo was the fascist dictator in charge who launched biological warfare on his own precious economy. I hate the Biden administration more than Jen Psaki’s Strawberry Shortcake White House, house-warming gift for Mr. Groper, like it was nicotine gum to quell his cravings around inhaling her whole in the Oval Office with the lights turned down low. Bob Marley lives, holla, thank you very much.
The Tokyo Olympics will be held without spectators like the NBA Finals, without Drama Queen Diaries.
My 4-year-old son hits me in the stomach as I encourage him to do so, until I have zero beer belly protrude-age left to hit. My father sitting next to us on the lawn chair says, “Don’t hit your daddy.” I say, “It’s ok Dad, I’m teaching him to be a fighter, not a flincher.” My dad says, “Fine, but don’t hit me Samuel or I’ll hit back.” Typical, Democrat reply, “Threaten and attempt to intimidate those deemed smaller in stature than you. Personally, I think my 4-year-old son could break pop’s glasses in 2 if he tried. The kid flicks 5-pound free weights with ease like they were pistachio nut shells flicked at Andy Dick’s head at the Viper Room passed out 2 hours before the ball drop on New Year’s Eve.” Heaven for my 4-year-old son is watching Rocky training montage sequences on YouTube with Daddy on the big screen TV. Next time my dad, tries to disparage good news about Christian lit agents sucking off my pitch letter or “very funny” sample chapter samples from The Koshterian Comedian by saying, “Who cares?” My little fighter will say to Gramps, “You tried knocking Daddy down, why don’t you try knocking me down. Daddy, calls me Hardcore Hunga for a reason, go for it.” Rocky 5 lives. Can I get a holla for more some more primo Gen X references Gen X Dads understand, challah? Thank you very much.
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.
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.”
If you want to teach your kids about masturbation, send your kids to Dalton prep school for 50 grand a year on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They’re teaching kids about masturbation early as 1st grade, imparting liberty preserving lessons like jerking off being our last safety rail left kids.
The question is, assuming Dad is beneath teaching his kid about the importance of jerking off to avoid disease and charges of rape with due process being deader in our country than Mia Farrow’s judge of character. Where would you prefer your kids to learn about masturbation? At sleepaway camp with your kid’s camp counselor or at school from a professor who teaches porn literacy at Columbia College? Porn literacy, do the parental controls at Dalton prep ensure the porn categories on their laptops are only visible in Latin? Forcing our kids to read porn categories in Latin, is one way to bring dead languages back to life in no time. It also ensures Dalton kids won’t be accused of Xenophobia for refusing to take a class trip to Vatican because they know what giving communion in the dark means in Latin. The main reason Dalton is teaching kids about masturbation and only allowing them to surf porn written in Latin, is because some catholic donor wants to make their Latin club great again. So his son can sprinkle his debates with more highbrow nicknames than Trump could ever belch out on Twitter like BAT SHIT CRAZY COVIDITUS PELOSI. Holla, thank you very much.
The teacher at Dalton claims the masturbations lessons in the animation video were misinterpreted. Because jerking off videos like Topless Tudors are so ambiguous.
In the masturbation video animated kids discuss how touching themselves, makes it point in the air. “So, Johnny, you ever touch yourself to Dora and feel the need to cover it with multiple backpacks? Holla, thank you very much.
Parents who send their kid to Dalton claim to be enraged over their kids being show masturbation videos in the 1st grade, but they want to remain anonymous, refusing to come out on Tucker Carlson out of fear of being kicked off Facebook or else they’d lose all showing off privileges.
Aren’t the parents who send their kids to Dalton high powered lawyers, hedge fund managers and plastic surgeons for trans teens reared on Lou Reed records, considered less disposable employees than the rest, assuming they shit in MAGA hats on company retreats in the Bahamas? And how does speaking out publicly against Dalton’s teachers sexualizing their kids age of innocence get somebody fired from a hedge fund in Connecticut bringing in 4 billion a year? Does office security yank you out of the executive corporate john, on the top floor, only to sing, “You don’t come around here no more.” Tom Petty lives, holla, thank you very much.
This is my 9-year-old daughter playing marriage counselor again. Enough daddy, mama got your point mid breath. Holla, thank you very much.
My wife is pushing me to see a therapist for my anger management issues. I suggested primal scream therapy. Wife says, “Don’t you do that on your podcast already?” I say, “How would you know? You’re only 460 episodes behind babe. Never mind your complete lack of interest in the 7 books I’ve written since our lucky number 3 was born. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years.” Holla, thank you very much.
Wife insists our 3 child Samuel, gets bored whenever he spends too much with her. I always knew he was a quick learner.
My son Samuel was bound to woo. He stops traffic at the Stop and Shop even after the prime rib sample station has closed. Random Italian grandmas consistently bum rush the kid and say, “You’re gorgeous. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” I’ll reply, “If James Woods had this face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”
All my fights with my wife revolve around me not making money off my comedy yet. Since I got kicked off Twitter, I can’t even write off a joke about the Chinese resisting Wuhan lab investigations more than Aquafresh as a charitable donation anymore. Holla, thank you very much.
Imagine John Lennon resenting Paul McCartney for shaming him into becoming a stay-at-home dad against his will. Paul McCartney did write Hey Jude in honor of John Lennon’s neglected son Julian, who Lennon didn’t spend much time with during the rise of Beatlemania. 2 seconds into a leisurely baby stroll through Central Park West with his 2nd kid Sean, John Lennon yells up at the sky, “Choke on a fucking Cucumber Scone Paul. Playing the role of stay-at-home dad, is no walk in the park mate. Even primal scream therapy has its limitations, like trying to snuggle off bad acid with Yoko whenever Dr. Leary drops by with more CIA made ACID again.” Holla, Thank you very much.
The Left says there is a rise in anti-Semitism and Islamophobia. Arabs chanting “Hitler was right” and “Allah is great” while beating up pushover Jews in the streets of New York, London, and Los Angeles, with the blunt ends of Palestinian flag poles while the cops do shit to protect them, doesn’t mirror the act of extending an olive branch in the hopes of giving peace another chance either. I don’t see these sparks of divinity inspiring observant Jews to skip Shabbat dinner at home in favor of going to a new oxygen bar opening in Astoria once the mask mandate is cleared in NY either.
Palestinians attacking Jews in the subway, asking random New Yorkers who’s Jewish, so they could beat the shit of them with the ends of Palestinian flag poles doesn’t inspire me to try out that authentic shawarma stand in Astoria, despite the elite Yelper claiming, “It’s worth getting your skull cap crushed into your cranium for it.” The elite yelper throws in a warning advisory label in her review to and says, “Just don’t call random Palestinians attacking Jews in broad daylight, Islamic supremacists, that’s a big no go zone area in Allah’s book. Bill Maher would concur. Because he knows Israel will never achieve a 2-state solution with Palestine if Hamas keeps fucking.” Holla, thank you very much.
I’m afraid to reveal the totality of my Mezuzah necklace on the subways in NY these days. That doesn’t make me Islamophobic. It just means I’m scared of getting pushed on to the subway track and having my white man’s disease preventing me from jumping back up to the subway platform in a NY minute in the nick of time. I can’t even do one legitimate pull up if my Do It All Dad Tree Trunk was riding on it. But I’m supposed to be overly confident in adrenaline alone to catapult me high enough to grab on to the subway platform before pulling myself up to safety like the Jewish Stallone in Cliffhanger? Yeah, and Rashida Talib is the Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart.
Imagine being surrounded by a bunch of crazed Palestinian nationalists on the subway, demanding for you to tell them if you’re Jewish, without having to prove it by whipping out your business card from Goldman Sachs 1st.
Equity research analyst David Rosenbluth from Short Hills, New Jersey tenses immediately and says, “Jewish, no, of course not. Look, under my arm, I still read the New York Times. I don’t even know how many zeros are in a trillion. I count with my fingers for simple arithmetic, which your people invented from what I’ve read in the Atlantic, Mazel Tov. Oh vey! Please don’t kill me. I’ll block Mark Ruffalo on Twitter. Israel is guilty of genocide, not Mao, Stalin or Pol Pot. I voted for Obama twice. I think Farsi is the most beautiful sound in the universe to. And Obama loves Hitler. Obama wishes he was that organized. Gassing all his nuke deal critics would be a gas. Palestinian nationalist says, “You’re too funny for a WASP. Samir, chop his fucking head off. So we can jump for joy like it’s 9/11 again already. And I thought David Lee Roth was a long-winded Jew.”
This is Mark Ruffalo apologizing to Jon Stewart about accusing Israel of genocide. Mark Ruffalo calls. “Hey, Jon, it’s Mark. Sorry about accusing Israel of genocide despite them giving Hamas plenty of advance warning to get their kids the fuck out of dodge before they strike back again and again. Normally, genocidal maniacs like Mao prefer to starve millions to death. And Jews don’t like to blow through money if they can avoid it.” Jon Stewart says, “Don’t sweat it, Mark. I don’t care if you repeat old school Farrakhan talking points like the mulatto version of Public Enemy. Nor do I care if Palestinians get green with envy about the Jews controlling the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole to. I let Trever Noah reveal what partisan hacks my Emmy winning writers have become by siding with ANTIFA and BLM to silence any form of speech that paints them or their enablers in the White House and establishment media as the fascist, racist terrorist enablers that they are, regardless of how much CNN orders Kamal Bell to pontificate otherwise like a schlumpy, unfunny Paul Mooney for hire. I also didn’t press Obama on my show to do a better job of selling his time out deal with Iran, which had less legs than Lieutenant Dan. So, what difference does it make?” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lives. Holla, thank you very much.
If Biden condemns the surge in hate crimes against the American Jewish community, then why doesn’t he stick Kamala Harris on it? She’s married to a rich Jew. Tell her hubby to redistribute his wealth to moderate social workers in Hamas. Social Workers for Hamas can deprogram Jihadists in Gaza through exposing them to LinkedIn thought leadership posts by Marc Cuban on how to design high definition video portals to sell Hashish Hookah’s Made in Gaza, not controlled by those blood sucking Jews for a change.
Social workers for Hamas can push a hate filled Jihadist into attending coding boot camp, if they don’t wanna waste their lives digging death tunnels for terrorist groups like Hamas for a living. Only to get denied entry into Hebrew University prior because they described their experience digging tunnels used to kidnap, kill and maim in the name of you know, as a rewarding, lived experience to emulate for Hamas’s version of Habitat for Humanity. Holla, thank you very much.
Imagine a Social Worker for Hamas from Berkeley, urging a teen Palestinian to give up dirty bomb making for designing killer virgin dating apps such as “Blood On The Burka” instead?
Social Worker tries to break the ice by quoting Bob Dylan 1st and says, “Look Samir, it’ ok to rely on government assistance when you’re optionless otherwise. Like Bob Dylan said, “Show me someone that’s a not a parasite, and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him. But I won’t draw a cartoon of Muhammed riding his underage slave wives after dark like a MAGA hat sporting Dr. Seuss, alright. I’m being deadly serious Samir. Designing killer dating apps such as “Cherry Bomb Popping” can change your corner of the Arab world, which you’re terrorist leadership has destroyed willingly to score more international aid from the UN to ensure you remain dependent, genocidal terrorists for hire forever. Virgin dating apps can usher in an era of calm to Palestine not seen since the Second Tower went down faster than Obama did at a Chicago Bathhouse during Arafat Appreciation Month. The advent of killer virgin dating apps such as, “701 Virgins Now, You Sand Ho Bitch”, will bring death to jerking off and give birth to a less hate filled generation of Palestinians. Who won’t be so sore about nearly sandpapering their dicks into shawarma shreds, mangled up and blue.