Too Funny To Fail

I don’t like Kyle Rittenhouse anymore. Now, he’s down with Thug Lives Matters Most? Defending Dad’s store from getting looted and burned to the ground with an AR-15 in hand shoots that fake news placation to smithereens. Does he support resisting arrest? Does he support 2 billion worth of property damage during the past summer of love? Does he support Cops letting ANTIFA and BLM led riot mobs wreck any facade left behind cops existing to protect and serve anything but their precious pensions anymore? Does Kyle support the good cops who contributed to his bail fund? Who can’t find work unless they service truck drivers cruising down to Florida, with the hope of scoring a security guard job at Costco during the peak holiday season? Kyle Rittenhouse doesn’t like to be associated with lawyer Lin Wood, so he’ll receive less hate speech spewing’s about him on the View? Lin Wood only scored Nick Sandman a huge defamation lawsuit payday from CNN for trying to paint him as the second coming of Dances with David Duke. I don’t think Kyle Rittenhouse should’ve been on trial for acting in self-defense. Still, I wouldn’t exude a smug smile because the Matt Gaetz offered you an internship on Captial Hill since the day Democracy died without a whimper from the Republican righting side.

I wish Adam Sandler was more divisive. His Hanukkah song needs to be updated to make it less of a safe space for gentiles. The Golden Jew needs to downplay his cozy relationship with Obama running Netflix and replace the verse, “OJ, definitely not a Jew, with Linda Sarsour, definitely not a fan. And if that funny man assertion makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with it.”

If Adam Sandler went after Obama’s basketball game alone on his next Netflix song and joke special, I’d get my wife pregnant by accident again and name the kid Adam Sandler Kornbluth instead of Zevon Zappa Kornbluth. All Sandler has to say in a made-up conversation with Chris Rock on stage is, “Hey Chris, if Obama is such a baller, then why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii? And if Obama isn’t a radical jihadist enabler of the most despicable order, then why did he nuke gift Iran 1.5 billion dollars in the still of the night in unmarked bills as he slithered out the White House door on to George Clooney’s Banana Boat Team in St. Barts, only feel to like second Banana after Jay Z arrived? That’s right, Obama Be Good, gave all that untraceable terror money to create overseas manufacturing jobs for Build a Bear, to make the Iranian economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal cream for the Kardashians.”

Bruce Jenner wasn’t asexual when he was married to Kris Jenner. Although, I’m positive Bruce stayed harder longer after he pushed Krish to cut her short to look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio.

History of loser lamentation. Alien spawned, Christan baby cannibal loving Jews stabbed Weimar Republic loyalists in the back with their diamond encrusted pitchforks by using Uri Geller forms of fork bending mind control on the newly in charge democratic government to sign a peace treaty against their best interests despite losers in war having no fucking leverage to dictate more favorable terms otherwise, Kraut breaths. In the end, Germany lost some farmland that a location scout for Inglorious Bastards couldn’t even find using Waze anyway. 2 million Germans die after they decide to team up with Austria and Belgium against the big 3 England, Russia and Italy yet they expected to be a fair match against mafia bred Italian muscle, descendants of Drago and Brits who had nothing to lose in war except waking up to the dreaded prospect of cursing their wench wives for birthing such pasty, mole maligned kids after the United States of America came in as the ultimate Road Warrior tag team from the more hardcore southern WCW circuit to apply the final power slam on fake news assertions behind a superior superpower worth envying of any kind. But the Germans are proud people. The Germans are moronic people after they exterminated all the smarter Jews. What has Germany contributed the world since World War 2? Besides, 5-week rave paid maternity leave? But banking is a religion in Germany? Banking is a religion in Switzerland to. That doesn’t make the national embrace of gold tooth hording Gnomes for all their worth any less deflective creepy. Gnomes look like Santa’s dumpy, druggy trust fund babies who managed to survive after they eventually got cut off because they’re old enough now to collect Social Security. Hitler got his panties in a bunch because Germany had to pay war reparations which were beyond payable. And they call the chosen people monopolistic, greedy loot sack hoarder whores. Also, when you perpetuate a war resulting in 10 million lives lost that you ultimately lost, don’t expect free Starbucks gift cards for life. But the Germans are prideful people. Why? Any kid from El Salvador can shine my Ecco shoes with far greater polished precision. Plus, aren’t all German men uncircumcised? What’s respectable about an ant eater schlong? I don’t care how big your petrified pig in a blanket is. Last, none of World War 1 was fought on German land. So, the least mother Germany could do was pay some dead dad littering fines in Italy who gave the world opera, Leonardo Da Vinci and Sophia Loren’s luscious lobes of perfection, which I’ll take over the nerve pinching edgy film score to Run Lola Run any day of the week. Losers walk with a hunch of shame for a reason you bratwurst bitches. 400 thousand Americans died during World War 2 by the way. So, when you willingly watch the NFL today, understand you’re supporting players who take the knee who are cool with kicking Nazi destroyers in the nuts, again and again.

Succession on HBO jumped the shark after Murdoch’s daughter used the expression burning Koran’s. Like any sane person would burn the Pedophile Guide for Dummies since cartoons of Muhammad were deemed permanent no go-zones since French cartoonist Charlie Hebdo got canceled from breathing prematurely.

Wikipedia is so Fascist favoring. Root cause for the Spanish Inquisition, stupid stubborn Jews. Cause of the Holocaust, pinko, leftist Jews who dared to charge Germany interest 10 million lives lost later because they failed to prove why Aryan’s are superior organizer planners of risky world war. French Revolution, overblown reaction to high taxes and the inflated cost of cheese since the horn dog King starting hogging up all the Brie for in Northeast France for lube in marathon long gang bang sessions in Versailles because Nostradamus predicted the rise of sodomy in powdered wigs during France’s post Trans topping period. Nostradamus predicted that one day Versailles would become the perfect romantic getaway from the plague and anal stimulation starvation.

You know you’re not 100 percent gay when you get increasingly aroused from a teenage girl double fist a gentle caressed veggie burrito into her mouth without chomping down on it with fangy fearsomeness in the process. Plus, you’re not feeling 100 percent gay, when the girl at the Kosher butcher greets you with your full name after you gave her your business card prior, only to pronounce at the Kosher Buther in front of her, loud and proud, “I love how I’m up in your cranium already.” Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Waste Of Height

Once upon a time there was a Giant who lived in a tiny village called, Humungous Falls in Northern Westchester County, who never really fit in, despite owning a popular deli called Foot Long The Giant, which is what all the local lumberjack giants frequented every day, before chopping down more trees later used for bookshelves for their hobbit hipster southern neighbors in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Every day, the Lumberjacks would taunt Foot Long The Giant, calling him a waste of height for wasting his life making sandwiches for his fellow giants, when he could’ve just hired a bunch of Hipster Hobbits to perform the job instead. Ever day, they’d accuse of him being soft, for shying away from more hardcore forms of manual labor involving chopping down trees from dawn to sunset. One day, an 8-year-old aspiring professional food writer hobbit from Bushwick known as Hardcore Hunga, wanted to do profile for The Bushwick Post on Footlong The Giant, considering his legacy for making the best foot long heroes in New York, which were totally worth the schlep from Bushwick, assuming, you didn’t get too freaked out about getting stomped to death by a Giant Lumberjack by mistake on his lunchbreak. So one day, Hardcore Hunga fakes a tummy ache, ditches out on school, and flies his pet dragon to Humungous Falls to meet Foot Long The Giant face to face, praying none of the local giant lumberjacks sneeze in his general direction, which could send him flying all the way to Stink A Lot Jersey, where all the shitty smelling swamp creatures roam.

Footlong The Giant, descended from a land of giants who grew up to their full height out of Mother Giant’s womb, expected to get working from day one, being denied any sustained age of sheltered innocence from the real world of a grinding worker existence till their last dying breath. Mother Giant finally banged out her last giant, and with no female giants to procreate with, making these remaining giants the last of their kind, who normally started dropping like flies at a hard 40. So these lumberjack giants barely slept, and dedicated their walking life, to chopping more wood and tearing Foot Long The Giant down to size, for thinking he was better than them for being an artisan sandwich maker instead, when they weren’t getting wasted off Stouts, Porters and Barley Wine, which they were paid in from their Hobbit Hipster clients in Bushwick while competing in humungous cannon ball contents throughout Humungous Falls after work to blow up some much needed steam.  They also sold wood for precious gems to local Waterfall dwelling Nymphs, who made enormous bed structures, which always broke down and needed repairing for Sleeping Giants Are Us.   

Today, wasn’t any ordinary day in the life of Footlong The Giant, because today he turned the big 40, but as usual had nobody to celebrate it with, that is until the best looking, biggest hearted, funniest hobbit from Bushwick graced The Footlong The Giant Deli with a tape recorder in hand to conduct a career launching interview with the greatest hero maker the empire state has ever known.

Footlong The Giant gets ready to blow out 40 lit candles that go down in a straight line along his longest, star hero creation yet, a 40-foot hero that rests on a giant bench table that reaches from one side of the deli to the other. Footlong The Giant turns off the lights in the store and braces himself to take a depressingly long deep breath to make a 40th birthday wish, thinking, this might be his last and says, “Just once, I don’t want to feel like a waste of height anymore.” Then, as Footlong Giant opens his mouth to blow out the entire row of candles on his 40-foot-long cheese steak sub topped with Italian cherry peppers, lined with mayo, and semi-sharp provolone, he hears a knock on the door, which startles him a tad, because it was already way past lunch hour and was normally used to spending this time in the store to get the chicken parm stains off the wall after the standard lunch hour rush from the sloppiest eating lumberjacks who ever lived.

Hardcore Hunga knocks on the door again but peaks inside the window this time to see if anyone was inside, noticing a gorgeous flickering lighting of candles, thinking, he walked into a Death Memorial Giant Service, knowing the giants of Humungous Falls were a dying breed and dropping like termite infested Totem Poles these days. Footlong The Giant opens the door, not noticing Hardcore Hunga, who’s a solid 4 foot 2. Footlong The Giant says to himself, “I must be hearing things in my old age.” Hardcore Hunga, still holding his baby dragon on a leash instructs Dragon Lungs to blow a fire ball that nearly misses Footlong The Giant’s head. Footlong The Giant looks down and finally notices Hardcore Hunga and his trusted, always reliable companion, Dragon Lungs. Hardcore Hunga starts pitching, “Footlong The Giant, I’m Hardcore Hunga, I came all the way from Bushwick to interview a living hero maker legend.” Footlong The Giant laughs hard and long, blowing Hardcore Hunga Hobbit off his feet yet Dragon Lungs puts on the brakes to make sure he doesn’t get blown away into the wilderness, by wrapping his leash around Hard Hunga in midflight before slamming him to the ground to start wrapping him up as if he were roping a calf at a Texan rodeo. Footlong The Giant feels bad and invites Hardcore Hunga Hobbit and his pet dragon, Iron Lungs into his store yet totally forgets about never blowing out his row of 40 candles. Hardcore Hunga was smarter than your average bear, so he realized almost immediately, that he just crashed Footlong The Giant’s lonely heart, birthday celebration if you want to call it that. Hardcore Hunga Hobbit does his best to cheer up the sad hearted giant and says, “Happy Birthday Footlong The Giant, this looks like your greatest hero creation yet. You really are a living legend for a reason.” As Hardcore Hunga examines the scrumptious cheesesteak hero bursting with over the top, dynamite flavor, draped in glistening creamy white provolone that’s hugging on to the sesame loaded Italian loaf from end to the other for dear life and counts 40 candles in total in the process, which fills his hobbit heart with extreme sadness, knowing 40 is normally a death sentence for all giants who hail from Humungous Falls.  

Hardcore Hunga encourages Footlong The Giant to blow out his candles and make a wish already and says, “Make a wish and blow out the candles, Footlong The Giant. Wait a minute, one the candles went out already. Dragon Lungs do you mind? Dragon lungs blasts a stream of fire which lights the unlit candle on the end with laser sharp precision, which puts a big smile on Footlong The Giant’s face. Footlong The Giant wants to return the good, favored cheer from his kind, loving guests and gives them a birthday surprise to remember. Footlong The Giant turns his bum toward the 40 foot hero, lifts up his right leg and rips a humungous fart, which blows a gusty jet steam of sweaty, leg flapping, foul mist, which blows out all 40 candles in one swoop. Hardcore Hunga and Dragon Lungs fall down this time from laughing uncontrollably, while holding their noses in the process.  Footlong The Giant shoots off a smile that could light up a youth hostel with no Wi-Fi during the next Chinese rat planted Plague.

Footlong The Giant turns on the light in his deli and says, “Let’s eat.”  Footlong The Giant cuts off a four-foot 2 hero and serves it to his new friend Hardcore Hunga, who conducts a lengthy interview till they all finish the 40 foot hero together, Dragon Lungs included. After the story about Footlong The Giant got published in the Bushwick Post, New York state declared Footlong The Giant Deli a cherished, historical site, especially now that all his Lumberjack clientele dropped dead the next day after turning 40 themselves. Footlong The Giant no longer felt like a waste of height since his glorious friendship with Hardcore Hunga Hobbit began, who made him feel like the biggest star in the universe. After all the lumberjack giants drooped dead throughout Humungous Falls, Footlong The Giant moved to Bushwick with Hardcore Hunga Hobbit and opened a local deli, specializing in much smaller portions of course, when they weren’t building snow cones as big as skyscrapers every year for Hardcore Hunga’s birthday in February, the day before Valentine’s Day, which the entire village of hobbits licked up till they all became mostly brain freeze dead, proving how the biggest hearts come in all sizes and packages.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Regaining That Cuddly Feeling

Before Daddy says his final goodnight, his magical, pitch perfect daughter says, “Daddy, what do you do after you put me to bed and tell me what to dream about?” Do It Dad get’s a tad huffy, cagy in response to his daughter’s innocuous inquiry and snaps back with, “I squeeze in some me time, alright.”  Reality is, Do It All Dad loved tucking in his 1st born in his old office, which his daughter took over after her baby brother Samuel was born, way more so than hearing his younger brother bemoan over the phone, how their Dad is no longer into him as much because the old man was burnt out on hearing about his youngest non-stop pity party, knowing he had a cushy restaurant manager job in the city now and happily married, allegedly, when other family run generational restaurants had become obliterated forever in a post-COVID constrictive universe gone wild.

At the same, tact was never Do It All Dad’s younger brother forte. For example, after his 2nd child was born Art Show USA, his younger brother calls Do It All Dad and says, “Hey bro, congrats, figured I’d call you while taking a piss.” Do It All Dad always quick with a snappy one liner replies, “So glad you could squeeze the call in between doing more bumps of coke into your late thirties, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall.”  Now, Do It All Dad wasn’t a drug free monk, even after becoming a father of 3, he took a daily hit of pot downstairs in the garage at night, which was a reward for posting another short story on his blog or from performing a new chapter piece from his upcoming book The Koshterarian Comedian on his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, which he would listen to after a puff of his cherished green, knowing it made his material come more alive in addition to chilling him out after another day of banging out more sheets of comedy gold in his relentless pursuit to become the star voice behind the remote work revolution and earn some book advance money sometime this millennium, so he could continue to grow closer to his kids and God on the Stay At Home Comedian front, yeah, yeah, yeah. Still, Do It All Dad knew cocaine was the most overrated, soul sucking drug of all time, which played the main role in getting his Father addicted to Ambien knowing how much his younger brother’s ongoing cocaine incidents including getting arrested, stealing money from their ATM account, being shipped off to Boarding School for it, going to rehab, fucking up every new golden Restaurant Manager opportunity played no role in Pops becoming the deepest sleeper in the world anymore either.

Do It All Dad had always resisted telling his parents about his younger brother’s drug woes, however whenever he did alert them to his younger brother falling into a dark hole of druggy abyss with no flicker of light in sight again, little bro would resent his big brother’s intervention, despite him knowing that only their father could put the fear of God into his little brother during another predictably dark dive into pity party played out land again.  Do It All Dad also knew what a manipulative, lying cunt his younger brother could be as a result of being a cokehead for more than 2 decades in a row and counting. So he was more sensitive than most, about the residual damage early teen drug use can cause families, which never ceases to tear the trusting binding fabric between family members with relentless precision at the seams. So when Do It All Dad’s nurse wife started pushing Melatonin Gummies on his precious, Bashert daughter, he got tense immediately because he didn’t want his daughter to develop an addiction to any drug or sleep inducing vitamin, despite it being all natural, whatever the fuck that meant because nothing felt natural about a mother drugging her daughter to sleep, knowing his dear Matilda’s effortless warm, sparkly glow made Do It All Dad feel most alive in her presence, come or rain shine and she wasn’t some dead weight conversationalist snooze, who was better off forced to bed prematurely before she bored everyone else to fucking death in the family prematurely in the process.

Now Do It All Dad was applying for freelance writing jobs to keep his marriage together because the endless sheets of comedy gold banged out for the wild enjoyment of his Do It All Dad Year audience wasn’t paying off the mortgage any time soon either.  Today, he even applied for a Sleep Niche Marketing Copywriter position which sells sleep masks and fired off this email to his potential hiring benefactor that read like this, “I’m a great fit for his role because I have vested interest in promoting any sleeping aid which helps my daughter go to sleep without it feeling like the NeverEnding Bedtime Hour. Plus, I hate my wife pushing Melatonin gummies on my daughter, because it’s a gateway drug for Ambien and I don’t need my daughter to sleepwalk into my room at night, only to ask me again, “What should I dream about Daddy? I can only say dream about dunking over your younger brother while farting in his face so many times, before the idea loses its forceful funk forever.  Last, I’m a creative, funny writer who loves to sell. Like the late great Joan Rivers used to say, “Can we talk?”

Matilda, Do It All Dad’s daughter didn’t enjoy mommy pushing Melatonin Gummies on her or her younger brothers either, knowing she didn’t see her Mama nearly as much at night compared to Daddy. Plus, nothing screams, leave me alone already than the automatic pushing of Melatonin Gummies at hard 7 every night. Little did mama know, Matilda similar to lip syncing grace in her parent’s house, was also pretending to swallow the gummy before spitting it out in the trash soon after. Matilda has been doing this routine for almost a whole year now, so her tolerance for Melatonin Gummies was at an all time low, which got freaky for her fast one night, when she forget to spit it out because it was a new brand of Melatonin Gummy, dipped in Eucalyptus Oil, from the far away hinterlands of the Aussie outback, which had been taken over my Chinse big pharma companies, looking to expand past the market for muscle soothing Tiger Bomb, which is the Aussie football cool down lotion of choice. Mama got a good deal on these gummies on Prime Thursday and couldn’t resist. For some reason, these Melatonin Gummies were real creepers and didn’t kick into far later after Dada tucked in her 2 younger brothers to sleep.

Mama was downstairs watching the Great British Bakeoff, while Dada read to his daughter from their Weird But True book about a ghost tale from Upstate New York, triggering a pleasant stroll down memory lane, when Dada said to his daughter resting her head on his chest, “You were conceived in Upstate New York, outside of Cooperstown, NY in a cornfield to be exact. It was 4th of July weekend, mama and I were there to see a Further show, which was the new version of the Grateful Dead. The show was only 12 miles away from the Baseball Hall Of Fame, in Cooperstown, NY, which is why I’ve always called you an American made beauty from the start.” Daddy get’s inspired and asks Alexa to play American Girl by Tom Petty. Then, Matilda runs into her room to grab her favorite new American Girl doll, Layla.

Once Matilda renters the room, American Girl’s eyes looked more tweaked than usual and says, “Daddy, do Layla’s eyes look bigger than normal?” Dear Dada says, “Nothing out the ordinary. Layla still freaks me out whenever I catch her in the bathroom watching me take a piss. I’m just playing, I’ve never found Layla check me out in the bathroom, but you know what I mean. American Girl Dolls can be creepy realistic, making Chucky look like a harmless Cabbage Patch Doll in comparison. Then again, I was raised on Garbage Patch Kids trading cards, so you’d think I can handle an American Doll batting her eyelashes at me with such pronounced, real deal feeling. Also, it’s hard to feel like your own man when you’re Stay At Home Dad Matilda. which is another reason I want you to stay clear of all gateway drugs while your brain is developing, especially in high school. I don’t want you taking any pills besides aspirin, got it. Now, mama receives a notification every time I make another questionable purchase, before mama texts me, “Hey babe, so how was Bride of Chucky.”

Matilda says, “I have a confession to make Daddy. I took one of mama’s new Melatonin Gummies by mistake tonight, meaning I forget to spit it out later than usual and I think I’m hallucinating since feeding my head with melatonin, which my body produces naturally, from concealed darkness last I checked on Google.” Do It All Dad says, “Let’s put a sleeping mask on Layla so her eyes flickering eyes don’t freak us out as much.”  Matilda says, “Why don’t we just close all the curtains and snuggle but no guided mediation music please.” Daddy says, “I hear you Matilda. Trying to sleep off the Acid to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony Freshman year college was the worst idea of my life. At least we don’t have any distracting, flickering black light constellations to contend with in here. Just know, you’ll always be the light of my life and if there’s one person on this earth who doesn’t require any form of chemical induced enhancement to make your magical way of being any more spectacular than you already are, it’s you. You’ll always have me and God in your heart, no matter what.”

Matilda says, “Daddy, what should I dream about?” Do It All Dad says, “Castles made of Melatonin Gummies before Daddy eats them all to cure his loud man’s disease, so mama doesn’t get freaked out as much from me blaring to many holla for challah chants during my next Do It All Dad Year Podcast whenever Mama is home.” Matilda says, “I love the loud you Daddy. So why don’t we make the castle out of Diet cokes and some hidden Adderall pills instead, not that you need it. I don’t care that you’re naturally louder than Busta Rhymes at midnight showing of Higher Learning or not.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Netflix To The Rescue

In a Netflix doc in honor, which she produced, Michelle Obama says, “She conceded her dreams after having 2 children. But she paid her mom a White house salary to look after her 2 kids, so what was Michelle prevented from doing exactly? But social justice was served when Netflix showered her with a lavish production deal, to make up for her systematic, oppressive existence. Sorry, if I haven’t rushed to see the documentary in her honor yet, What’s Talent Got To Do With It, to justify her multi-million dollar production deal with Netflix, despite her absence of TV and film development experience on her IMDB page prior. Having her daughter Malia intern for Miramax one summer as a production assistant doesn’t count.   Also, I’m all for amplifying diverse voices but I don’t think BLM is facing many issues on this front, especially when they’re camped out in front of those white devil suburbanites, in Seattle, demanding, “Give us your homes, open your wallets and not the one for that bitcoin shit either, You sleepless in Seattle now, motherfucker.”

Michael Kornbluth

Netflix To The Rescue

In a Netflix doc in honor, which she produced, Michelle Obama says, “She conceded her dreams after having 2 children. But she paid her mom a White house salary to look after her 2 kids, so what was Michelle prevented from doing exactly? But social justice was served when Netflix showered her with a lavish production deal, to make up for her systematic, oppressive existence. Sorry, if I haven’t rushed to see the documentary in her honor yet, What’s Talent Got To Do With It, to justify her multi-million dollar production deal with Netflix, despite her absence of TV and film development experience on her resume. Having her daughter Malia intern for Miramax one summer as a production assistant doesn’t count.   Also, I’m all for amplifying diverse voices but I don’t think BLM is facing many issues on this front, especially when they’re camped out in front of those white devil suburbanites, in Seattle, demanding, “Give us your homes, open your wallets and not the one for that bitcoin shit either, you sleepless in Seattle now, motherfucker.”

Michael Kornbluth

 

Bill Burr Predicts Duh

Bill Burr says, “I don’t see anyone beating Trump this election.” That’s like saying I don’t see Louie ever being denied stage time at the Comedy Cellar. Even if Louie traded in his shirt and jeans look for a trench coat, sunglasses and Sarah Silverman’s hoodie to wipe out with.

Michael Kornbluth

Make Scowling Great Again

Why doesn’t Biden just let Kamala  Harris run for President instead? Because Vice Presidents lives never matter, especially when they remain  discarded vice presidential nominees among the dustbins of US elections past, because scowling doesn’t count as charisma. Plus, middle class black America has a low tolerance for another fake news biracial hopeful one after Obama did less for black people than BLM protests have done for NBA ratings on TNT.

Michael Kornbluth

Unmasking Ronan Farrow

If Woody Allen really did molest Ronan Farrow’s sister Dylan, and if Ronan Farrow really is Frank Sinatra’s son, as hinted at by his mother Mia Farrow during an interview with Vanity Fair, then why hasn’t Ronan Farrow hired a hit man from Jersey to knock Woody Allen on his ass yet?

Michael Kornbluth

Don’t Stop Feeling

I’ll always love Journey. Lead singer Steve Perry is the “voice” for a reason. Still, listening to Steve Perry’s new album on Spotify this morning, made feel like the eunuch sentimentalist from Game Of Thrones; desperate to feel a link to my age of innocence.

 

Michael Kornbluth