Servicing Boring

A candidate recently emailed me, “I’ve never had such a fun conversation about work.”

And this was through LinkedIn Recruiter, which isn’t synonymous with fun.

The LL Bean Catalog is fun.

Buying Houses of The Holy on Vinyl at Newbury Comics on a Friday afternoon after work at the Westchester Mall for only 30 bucks, it’s a steal trust me, is fun.

Your son admitting in the bubble that Led Zeppelin is his new favorite band over Motley Crue at 5 years old is fun.

Son says, “Daddy, Shout At That Devil was my favorite, but my new favorite is the one with the naked mermaids on the cover.”

Helping your daughter overcome her sleeping issues at 11 years old is fun.

“Matilda, I’ve got the perfect solution for your sleeping troubles. Have you ever heard of a channel called the BBC? Ted Talks might get the job done too.”

Later my daughter says, “Daddy, I saw one of the Ted Talks. Did you know that more people die from falling asleep at the wheel than from drunk driving”?

I say, “But Vince Mcmahon who only averages 3 hours a night for the past 4 decades and counting doesn’t care. Because he can afford to take the company limo instead.”

Presenting my daughter, a Squish-Mallow that resembles a sleeping Unicorn pig from Newbury Comics is fun.

I say, “This is only the sleep aid you need Matilda, but nice try Ted tries.”

Tonight, I spoke with a candidate about his interest in competitive weightlifting.

He laughed when I said, “Ok, so you’re not oiling yourself down at work.”

My youngest son asked his older brother, Arthur, “Who’s your favorite YouTuber?”

I felt a combination of cringy embarrassment and sucks to be you pity for his generation. But he’s only 5.

Plus, he’s way funnier than I’ll ever be.

Also, despite my assertions of every YouTuber sounding like a spurned intern for Reddit.

They’re still stimulating my son’s imagination, and making him laugh, which is more than Saved By The Bell ever did for my Gen X Generation.

Your Favorite YouTuber Personality is like your favorite Recruiter.

Neither take themselves too seriously.

Plus, they entertain, enlighten, and sell with fun filled relish.

I don’t know any of these Youtuber Personalities by name.

I’d like to think I’m still cooler than my kids.

Maya Angelou says, “People will always remember the way you make them feel.”

So, service fun I say.

I’d rather be remembered that way.

Servicing boring has a time and place.

But even accountants laugh.

I make them laugh all the time in my office.

I rest my case.

Ted tries.

But flashing subtitles on LinkedIn don’t make you laugh or rattle your insides.

Service fun over boring.

Be gratefully different.

Be overwhelmingly fun.

Like Jim Morrison on Morrison Hotel amongst the scattered sun.

Servicing fun is money honey.

I’m a knockout artist like Gene Tunney.

I swear your honor.

My next swing is a goner.

Just stop telling me how Brian Cranston is must-see TV Boomer.

Your cred is shot.

I’d rather jerk off to Laura Loomer.

Michael Kornbluth

Helplessly Boosting

What were David Crosby’s last words?

I shouldn’t have given the 4th Booster a chance?

It’s Deja Vu for Bob Saget all over again?

Pfizer, Moderna and AstraZeneca are a fake news super group.

My turn was 5 decades ago after Jimi, Janis and Jim Morrison.

Woodstock, Ohio, I’m the Ken Burns of folk rock motherfuckers.

In our house, Snopes knows best.

Helpless is trying to get it up around Joni Mitchell with no makeup on high grade blow.

Teach your children well.

Fuck your Pfizer stock, sell, sell, sell.

Helplessly boosting, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Happy Birthday Israel

Yesterday, I got a cake for the last night of Hanukkah. On it I had them write Happy Birthday Israel.

God appreciates the gesture, especially on Jesus Christ’s birthday. It’s not fair that God gets lop-sided love on Jesus’s birthday. Doesn’t the Old Testament guilt us to death into honoring thy father and mother? And all money shot good stems from God’s do it all tree trunk. Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

I don’t want God to feel like the sloppy second son on Jesus’s birthday. Nobody takes a week off from work for God’s birthday. And on Hannukah, practicing Jews left, honor Jewish pride in honor of God being on their side. I tell my kids, “The last night of Hanukkah celebrates faith in Hashem the Most-High for inspiring his band of Maccabees to fight for every inch of their great Temple defiled by those Greco Roman Polytheistic whores. King David’s line of cosmic perfectionists have more of a booty call relationship with God, who only call him up for some hook up love whenever they’re in the mood to pray. Assuming they have some bitcoin to short before the next crypto kid gives Bernie Madoff a good run for his money.” Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

God. the original old G prevails in my heart and in our Jewish loving home, which makes every day Hannukah Day. Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you much.

Gloomy in the corner is cheapness on Christmas. “Thanks for the socks, Bell. Now, I can postpone laundry for another week. And you wonder why my son wants to punch Santa hard in the stomach.”

Son confronts Santa at the mall.

“Where are my ice skates Santa? You don’t have my size in the North Pole? But I’m not any bigger than your average Elf. Plus, Biden would never pull this shit with Zelensky. Zelensky gets a blank check from Uncle Sam for Christmas. And all I get is half baked truths about you running out of my size due to supply chain issues. Now, I know why Hanukkah Harry calls Santa the real cheapskate. But thanks for the Fisher Price toy chest with no toys in it. I’ll fill it up with my eight thousand Hannukah gifts.”

Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

I don’t like kids in Steph Curry jersey’s, unless they’re mom won Miss Washington Heights.

Or was hot enough 5 years ago to charge the price of Hamilton Tickets for some high-end Chlamydia.

I only want kids from the Bay area sporting Steph Curry Jersey’s, because chances are; they’re not bandwagon fans.

And those mini ballers on the rise, know what’s it’s like to high step over shit throughout the streets for San Francisco.

When will Penn State Alumni realize how sporting their school colors in public is in poor taste?

There’s nothing vague about taking showers with disadvantaged black kids in the shower on Penn State grounds.

Paterno and crew failed to call cock block interference with the school’s integrity on the line.

So, to still wear your Penn State hoodie in public means you’re siding with the rape enablement, open borders party. It’s like whipping around a ladle on Halloween used from a spirt cooking class taught at 92 street Y, signed by Hillary Hammer Time Cankles.

Is wearing a Penn State Windbreaker to Cracker Barrel after Church on a lazy Sunday afternoon equivalent to blitzing Fat Albert from behind? After he’s already weak in the knees from wind sprints for Kit, Kat’s, no.

I hate to be excessively judgmental on Jesus’s birthday. But I’d chuck the Penn State hoodie already. Would you wear a priest collar in public if you didn’t have to?

Fuck the MAGA hat, the Penn State hat is the real symbol of white supremacy. Those poor black kids who got felt up in the shower by Sandusky didn’t get paid like the Neverland kids. The judge awarded 52 million to those victim’s families. And that was after the parents got paid hush money with green cards, houses and diamond encrusted bracelets. Those Neverland white kids got a splashy doc on HBO with big billboards on Times Square throughout Fake News Black History Month. What did Sandusky’s victims get? Stiff arm talk from Al Pacino while playing Joe Paterno on HBO?

“Those kids never had so it good. At least those kids had a strong male role model around who took an interest them for change.”

Then, during one take Pacino slips into his coach character from Any Given Sunday after having one too many spritzers in trailer between takes.

Pacino screams.

“You want to climb out of hell, then fight off that inchworm kid. But Joe Pa don’t preach.”

Happy Birthday Israel, Challah!

Thanks for a glorious Hanukkah year Lord, very, very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Sketchy Screener Test

Text a picture of a Hannukah mug your son created using oil pastels that could be sold in the MOMA gift shop easy. And you either A) Don’t acknowledge the creative genius at work B) Pretend you didn’t know the mini masterpiece came from your creatively jacked son or C) Act as if you never received the text afterwards because you’re not getting texts from Android devices allegedly or D) Fail to suck of the totality of its awesomeness after you acknowledge how the second follow text went through or E) Only muster a blandish, all your kids are special reply after hounding for a reply of any kind prior. It means, you passed the Godless Cunt test with flying colors.

Michael Kornbluth

8 Million Butterflies

It’s your fault if you don’t make Hanukkah more festive than Christmas. I get it. Most likely Jesus himself who celebrated Hanukkah with his apostles, even invented Christmas to make the holiday season feel more festive. When the strongest drink offered was Manischewitz before eggnog was invented. Spinning Beastie Boys records while blaring Intergalactic planetary to honor the Aliens in helping his fellow Hebrews build the Great Pyramids wasn’t a thing yet. Can’t all the Jews, Muslims and Christians unite on the 1st night of Hanukkah on the premise behind Home Depot never being erected in the Israelites’ honor? Growing up, I’d push my dad to honor my mom’s Christian side after she converted. I say, “Dad, mom dumped Jesus to marry into your putzy DNA. The least you can do is let mom throw up a tree. Dad says, “The only time a Jew from the Bronx would get a Christmas Tree is if he planned to convert it into a tricked-out Treehouse and flip it for a profit.”

Finally, one year, my year my dad budges and allows my mom this pathetic, sorry excuse for a bonsai tree relegated to the side patio covered in cobwebs that got less touches than a St. James Bible at a bath house colony in Pronvincetown. But seriously, can’t you see Jesus recognizing the festive limitations of Hannukah after receiving one carved dreidel too many? Jesus says, “Thanks for the Dreidel, Judas. I’m glad that my carpentry session on dreidel building 101 at The 92 Street Y paid off so handsomely. But why don’t we make Channukah a more drawn-out celebration that’s ten times festive by celebrating my birthday for the entire month of December after Hannukah.”

Matthew says, “Yeah, but Jesus wouldn’t Hannukah then be considered a forgettable warm act, that gives you ball balls just thinking about it.  You were born my immaculate conception, right? Yet by the time your 4 brothers James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon were born, the magic was gone baby, baby gone.”

Jesus replies, “Yeah, but I had a vision in desert last night about a future comedian named Billy Crystal bemoaning in his autobiography, Baby Boomer Arrogance Never Dies, about how Jews bend over backwards to adopt Christmas traditions, so they don’t feel so old world clingy Jewy. Nobody cares anymore about the rocking band of Maccabees reclaiming the Great Temple of Solomon because they’re not the polytheistic whores like the rest. Taylor Swift is the number recording artists in the future, and she grew up on a Christmas Tree farm for Christ’s sake.” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles strikes again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Matthew asks, “What’s a Christmas Tree Jesus? “Jesus says, “A camouflaged cross, but it’s going to be tricked out in lights that run on electricity, which will outshine any burn a mile of minute candles on a Menorah.  Any Jewish record executive would jam a pinecone up their ass if they promised Taylor Swift more inclusiveness gayness spirit to be produced on her next Christmas album.

Now, I used to get very tense about the mention of Jesus, but not anymore, since my invention of a new tradition, Jesus Fridays, which allows me to break my Koshertarian diet of the past 2 years and counting. Understand, I’ve been following the Koshertarian Diet for 2 years now. Finally, I’ve allowed myself the inclusion of shellfish for a special occasion because who cares about eating soulless shellfish? Plus, Jesus, the original super Jew rocked the Pescatarian diet. So, if it’s good enough for Jesus, then it’s good enough for me. I also like the idea of acting less like an all-knowing exalted prick. And celebrating Jesus Fridays inspires me to connect with my fellow Gentile like a retired fireman who runs the best deli in Westchester in North White Plains. Outside my new office, after just resurrecting my IT Headhunter Writer career. Where I’m getting paid to creatively sell job opportunities for Software Engineers, digital designers, and Information Technology workers in general, whose job prospects have more legs than Lieutenant Dan. I like Jesus Fridays because it divorces me from perpetuating any messianic complex of my own, which screams, the original version of the Bible is better than second part that I’ve barely dabbled in for the most part. And I’m tired of being that old timer Gen X guy that just bemoans new age Simpsons episodes as woke filler compared to season 1 through 7 without even dabbling in the newer versions to make any ultra judgy informed decisions of my own. Like when I saw Juno, ages ago and got angry about how everyone was hailing the hardcore hilarity of it, when I saw Juno as nothing more than a poor girls’ Jeanne Garafalo. I wrote a blog about the movie being overhyped, yet I told myself afterwards, don’t be a critic, hack breath like the rest. It’s way better to originate, then merely pontificate. So, I wrote mini porn parody that I turned into my 1st screenplay, Juno Does Williamsburg, later named Brooklyn Blogger. Edgeless titles suck pinecone dick, Challah. Thank you very much.

At the same time, I’ve worn Jewish pride on my sleave for the past 5 years and change as host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, responsible for banging out comedy records such as Big Mouth Moses, Koshertarian Offensive, and the Pig-Headed Jew, Challah. Thank you very much. I’ve also written and published The Great American Jew Novel, which Diane Sullivan from the Midwest Book Review described as a “Hilarious exploration of New York Comedy and Culture.” Which proves that my material wasn’t too overtly Jewy pushy annoying for the Heartland’s tastes. And for the past 2 months, I’ve renamed my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, the Shabat Shalom Ramble, in honor of my dad accusing me of never being on point, despite him proclaiming 5 years ago before I launched my podcast, how nobody cares about my political opinions anyway, 45 thousand page views on my Do It All Dad Year blog later.

 Well, I haven’t read the news since Dominion Machines won. And I don’t see Kari Lake recruiting Linda Hamilton as her VP to take down the new Sky Net For good. Plus, how much more can we stomach talk of Alex Jones being bad Santa versus John Fetterman being a burnt out offering of the Democratic party who looks like the Good Will Grinch who showers in Bong Water. So, more than ever 3 million Jews in the US, according to Alexa, which is most likely an inflated claim, like Antifa still being nothing more than an idea in Patton Oswalt graphic novels, about a gang of wannabe Punisher vigilantes, in hoodies, could use some miraculous ways to modernize Hannukah and make it more festive than Christmas than Google ever would. Because I want other Jewish American Dads to derive extended Nachas from pronounced Jewish pride from their offspring when they proclaim to Daddy how they get butterflies in their stomach every day before each night of Hanukah begins, which was the opposite of my experience growing up. Getting a Pinball Machine one tear one year for Hannukah was unbelievable, despite being woken up every night prior to Hannukah because dad couldn’t resist the urge to play with it himself and break it in personally. Which made my younger brother and I believe that Aliens from Space Invaders were raining Gama Rays on top of our house eight nights prior to Hannukah because my dad was making his best Hannukah gift all about his own self-enrichment over ours. Still, my dad was raised an only child, so you can’t blame him for occupying his inner loneliness in his forties the week before Hanukah, because playing Dreidel by himself, gets played out faster than trying jerk off with your left in honor of shortest-lived New Year’s resolution yet. Which only leads to more played out blue ball’s devastation. So, here’s 8 ways to start making Hannukah more festive than Christmas. There are 14 million Jews worldwide. So, if this post goes viral, my Hannukah wish of 8 million butterflies can come true. And you can’t knock the miracle of mitzvah moves, Challah. Thank you very much.

  1. Understand, I haven’t collected paychecks in 8 whole years till this past December after resuming my IT Headhunter Career, where I can drop lines like, “Michael Kornbluth here, Recruiting Manager for Digital Unicorns USA. With a last name like Kornbluth, I specialize in mind control, in Kayne’s mind. So, when my wife tells me, “Don’t get carried away with getting the kids gifts this year for Hannukah.” I fire back with, “New tradition kids, when you get 3 Big Kahuna gifts on the 1st night of Hannukah. You each declare loud and proud, “Hannukah Hatrick, Challah” I add, “So, in this instance, go woke yourself babe, Gentile Grinch.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  2. 2nd way to make Hanukkah more festive is to start the tradition of Hannukah Halloween. And force your son to dress up like Van Halen with a pack of candy cigarettes in hand. Who cares if your mini air guitar appendage looks like an overdose at the limelight waiting to happen. Party Monster spirits live, Challah. Thank you very much.
  3. 3rd way to make Channukah more festive is to play Dreidel for Bitcoin versus more fake news Gelt. But explain the rules in humorous ways. For example, when the dreidel lands on Hey, you sing, “Hey, hey Paula, I want to marry you. Now give me half and full custody of the kids. I don’t want you coughing your natural immunity all our kids anymore, you anti-vaxer piece of shit.” Challah, thank you very much. Shin, means put it in, think Cardi B on a slow Tuesday. Nun, means nothing, goonish. Remember our routine at the Deli Matilda, when you could only put 2 words together? What did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks Daddy? And you’d say,” Bookpus, Boopku. And Gimmel means, give me everything because we control all the blockchain technology, Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole too. Son says, “Samuel, don’t even think of stealing my bitcoin, or I’ll sell your pure blood on the Dark Web along with your vintage Cobra Commander with the blue mask and eyes holes in it that looks like Gung Ho’s bottom bitch in Robot Chicken remake of Pulp Fiction.” 8 million butterflies Challah, thank you very much.
  4. 4th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to play the Adam Sandler Channukah song on Vinyl backwards only to hear the latest and greatest chorus addition, “Linda Sarsour, not a fan.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  5. 5th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to Jewish guilt Software Engineers at Amazon into seriously questioning the state of their moral compass by sending them LinkedIn Inn-Mail messages through LinkedIn Recruiter that read, “Tell Bezos to make the Hebrew Hammer available on Amazon prime already despite Florida and antisemitism being so hot right now.” 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  6. 6th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to sign your kids up for art classes that teach your kids how make masked morons made out of clay for fuck the CDC day. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  7. 7th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas, permit your kids the freedom to pile drive mommy’s white Guido, non-denominational tree while dressed as Mr. Wonderful for Channukah Halloween instead. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  8. 8th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to launch your Burning Mask Party already, for eight glorious nights while throwing some of mama’s Gnomes on top because they look like Santa’s burn out Trust Fund Babies on Social Security. What’s another burnout offering after making Goodwill Grinch Fetterman the new face of the Democratic Party. So, what difference does it make? 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Lopsided Love Remedy

What’s my lopsided love remedy?

Text my brother on his birthday with this.

Happy Birthday bro, despite you not acknowledging my birthday since I came out as a Stay At Home Shemale Comedian outside of texting happy birthday bro once in 7 years.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, don’t do heroin on your birthday.

And get Hanukkah gifts for all 3 of my kids if you want to rekindle any semblance of a relationship with them ever again.

You’re getting the entire inheritance anyway, once you share this text with mom soon after.

And when you give thanks for Thanksgiving with mom and dad in Arizona without me, my wife or 3 kids, thank your demons for convincing mom and dad that your ex-wife was the driving force behind your decision to add heroin to your resume into your early forties as if doing blow for 4 decades straight, after only hearing last call from the bathroom stall wasn’t enough.

I don’t care about being the sloppy second son anymore.

I don’t care about mom and dad betting against my capacity to achieve full blown independence again.

I don’t care about you being a sketchy, sniveling, drug addict bitch who can’t even muster the class to wish me good luck at my new job on Monday, which is the 1st full time opportunity I’ve had to feed my family in 7 years.

I don’t care about your life always being deemed more important in mom and dad’s eyes because of your innermost need to feel special, compared to the other mere spoiled, dumb son over here.

I don’t care about your opinions on anything, including mom and dad’s judgement of my talents, direction or beliefs anymore.

I don’t care that mom and dad would do dick for me if I wanted to get divorced.

I don’t care that mom and dad don’t treat you like the regrettable dumb fuck one.

I don’t care that you talk shit behind my back in the service of preserving your drug money from mom and dad.

I don’t care that dad gets an extra glint in his eyes when trying to upsell your endless fuckitude again.

I don’t care that mom made Yom Kippur all about whether I’d help you move.

I don’t care that mom wasn’t feeling the need to wish me a happy Jewish New Year in return because she was all over your morose dick again.

I don’t care about how you’re the sorry excuse for why and mom and dad, never spend more than a week or 2 back here every summer to see the kids.

I don’t care that your legal fees and divorce lawyer fees are the reason they reneged on taking the kids to California for Spring Break allegedly.

I don’t care about you not being a conspiracy theorist.

I don’t care about you playing the forced intermediary on mom and dad’s behalf anymore, whenever they want to meddle in my life again.

I don’t care about mom breaking into cankers sores on your behalf anymore.

I don’t care about mom only focusing on the center of your existence whenever she visits back east to see the grandkids allegedly.

I don’t care about lopsided love anymore because God put me on this earth to ensure I don’t make the same mistake with my 3 Pescatarian Comedian friends, that being my children, Matilda, Arthur, and Samuel.

That’s right, like mom and dad you refuse to acknowledge the fruits of my labor, in this case being my book The Koshertarian Comedians, which will sell huge, mark my words, no thanks to any emotive encouragement from you, mom and dad, that’s for damn sure. The follow up sequel hit book will be the Pescatarian Comedians, forget about it.

I don’t care about trying to impress you, making you laugh, or making you feel special anymore, because you’re just going to focus on you and not my kids.

Mom says, you’re making money now. I say, “Take the boys out to a baseball game.” And all I get is more bullshit promises in return.

I don’t care that you, mom and dad are A plus narcissists times infinity compared to me anymore.

I don’t care that lying, deceiving, downplaying, and minimizing has become second nature to you all.

I don’t care because I’m the star parenting genius and your enablers aren’t.

I don’t care because come Monday at my new job, will mark the greatest recruiter winning streak of all time.

I don’t care because I’m taking my family to fucking Jamaica man for Spring Break and you’re not, because you don’t have a family, but I do despite mom yearning for versions of you the most inside.

I don’t care because all of my kid’s teachers want to clone future versions of them.

I don’t care because I’ve got 3 masterful books to self-publish or sell.

I don’t care because I get to work for an older Jewish woman with style, class and a sense of humor now, who’s a loving, local, involved Grandma no less.

I don’t care because I’ve got 136 comedy records to convert into 99 cent E books for sales while having my genius artist son design all the covers after his 3rd grade teacher last night described him as the best art student she’s ever had. Especially, after she laughed long time when I said. That’s why, I call him Millionaire By 10 for a reason, Challah. Thank you very much.

I don’t care about lopsided love from mom and dad anymore because I’ve endless sheets of comedy gold, endless a plus, laugh yanker nicknames for my 3-fuss free, pitch perfect children and Dad doesn’t it, Waste Of Height, because it’s a term of affection but a great title lead for my all-star collection of funny man flash fiction stories, Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories. I like getting milage about my dad’s endless assholishness on my behalf.

I don’t care because I’ve got one more final comedy record special to record from home on Sundy called Spoiled Dumb Son before I start cashing checks 20K commission checks on the regular while you’re hooked up to a weed pen on a forklift.

I don’t care because my Shabbat Shalom Ramble is going to kick into extra fucking high rollicking gear tonight.

I don’t care because before my birthday in April, I’ll have a screenplay Gum King Of New York to blow Tarantino away with.

I don’t care about your hurt feelings of dejection in the face of my towering genius anymore because now I live for watching hacks cry.

I don’t care about lop sided love because this is the winter, I don’t drink a drop of alcoholic, even hard fucking Kombucha, so I can finally achieve Do It All Dad Dunking out glory on my lucky 47th to make Dragon’s Lung’s year finish on fire.

I don’t care about lopsided love anymore because it only illuminates what beautifying magic the opposite can be.

Like Ayn Rand said, “New love is always waiting around the corner. And I plan on being its biggest spreader as I become the Relo King Recruiter of North White Plains as I scurry to score jobs and monster commission rips for any remaining in demand tech talent who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of New York, yet. As Jimi sang on Jimi Hendrix Blues, “I hear my train coming, and pretty soon I’m going to buy this town and put it all in my shoes. That’s what I’m going to do.” Jimmy lives, Challah. I might even pretend to give a shit about my freedom buying success that will allow me to kill on stage eventually down the line too.

Lopsided Love woes in my bruised heart are the off the fucking list, starting now, forevermore.

Thank you, sweet Lord, for my lopsided love remedy blog post very, very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Stumped On Blockers

Why do kids today want puberty blockers again?

Growing up, puberty couldn’t come soon enough.

Especially when younger brother of 3 years hits puberty before you do, in addition to banging the 3 hottest girls in his class. That I tried to jerk off to at the time but couldn’t. One year for Hanukkah I get a book from my mother called the 12 Stages Of Puberty. I freak out immediately.

“Mom,why would you present me this book in front of my younger brother? Jonathan can play with himself whenever he wants?”

Mom says, “But you do that all the time upstairs with your GI-Joe figures.”

If I caught my son playing with his big sister’s Barbie Dolls, I’d think banging my GI Joe figure way past the acceptable age was incredibly gayer, especially while I had Gung Ho manhandle Cobra Commander like his gimpy bitch in Pulp Fiction.

“Welcome to my Terror Dome dick, Major Blood.”

“It’s Cobra Commander.”

“You wish bitch, bottoms away. Yoh Joe! Hasbro lives up your gaping anus hole.”

Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Parenting Genius

Parent Teacher conference was last night.  I open with, “You know Frank’s Pizzeria in town? Well, Frank just called Samuel our future President. What do you got?” Kindergarten Teacher, Mrs. Rudolph laughs long time. She adds, “He’s such a happy child.” I say, “Funnier dad, happier baby. You want a photo off old man? My son has more happy muscle memory to flex from than a young Leo on the set Growing Pains with Alan Thicke. Controlling our kids with comedy can make our kids great again, my 3 fuss free kids’ 90 percent of time are living proof of it.”

Mrs. Rudolph’s titillated esophagus secretes more laughter to fill the air, which feels like long lasting Lock Jaw Love in return.

Lock Jaw Love lasting, Challah, Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Banking On Boring

What kind of an asshole has a kid today at 46 years old?

What do you say to that kid when we start pledging our allegiance to the CCP?

Freedom of Speech had a nice run, but Trumpy Poo Tits made too many derisive nicknames on Twitter.

So, Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi and other Swamp Thing hostages in Congress gave George Soros and friends in China the green light to release the Franken Bat on MAGA country to ensure we the people never meant jack shit again.

And today, I’d be thrown in jail if I try to prevent you from cutting your dick off before you bloom under your Fruit of the Looms.

Shit, who am I kidding.

Kids don’t wear underwear anymore.

The Commando look went viral when Little Nas became our next President.

Open borders rule everything around us now.

Homeland Security was so weapons of mass destructions years.

Times Square in the 70’s is considered good times now.

At least then, you didn’t have to wear a mask to jerk off in a theater like a moderate Muslim trans wanting to squeeze right in with the crowd.

But I’ll be 66 when you graduate college, which isn’t that bad.

Who cares if my wife has to microdose to make you interesting if you take after me.

Banking on boring, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth