Korny Kornbluth

Was Korny Kornbluth sick of surviving off laughs, or wasn’t he? Being funny and spinning the most comedic gold out of his God given imagination was important to Korny Kornbluth because it made him feel most alive while riding on the shoulders of funnier, hardcore giants of laugh yanking song before him like the late great, always scariest elephant in the room, otherwise known as the Grand Poobah of hack attacks of Comedy Cellar past, Patrice You Better Fucking Know My Name by Now, O’Neil.  How could Korny Kornbluth not relish conquest rich memories of killing at the famed Comedy Cellar in Greenwich Village even it was only for a punchline powered sprint for 5 minutes at a time? Especially when Korny Kornbluth’s rapidly trusting funny man instincts paid huge dividends after throwing in an ad lib line which drove the crowd into a deeper, more aroused state of room enveloping ecstasy when he said, “I used to live in LA. I don’t miss the driving. But I do miss road head, especially along the Pacific Coast Highway, whenever I’d drive by the sign that said, “Malibu, 37 miles of scenic ball blasting bliss.” Only to flirt it up with a couple of banger pretty college girls from NYU close to the stage and add, “Did you girls just call shotgun?”

One time doing extra work for a film with Kristen Bell called When In Rome, Korny Kornbluth sampled one liners on a hot actress extra with a SAG card, which gave him sustained stiffage, whenever he got laugh yanks out of her long time because it made him feel like real deal funny man on the rise by being able to touch her on a deeper, more expansive, inside widening manner than any of his predictably dronish one note friends from high school ever could.

Korny Kornbluth uses the term friends from high school loosely because he didn’t feel particularly close to them anymore because friends want to hang out with each other and after Korny Kornbluth fell in love with his girlfriend during their sweaty sex period, where he’d manage to elevate the bed in her Greenpoint apartment despite his ferocious poundage downward, which defied all laws of gravity all together, the interest to seek out their company rapidly depreciated and flat out disintegrated after his 3 glorious, snugglet shine rich kids were born.  This jerkoff hot to, aspiring actress extra on set of When In Rome made an illuminating insight when she said, “You like to be naughty, don’t you?” Korny Kornbluth could’ve inhaled her on the spot for showcasing such insightful fervor in his honor. Reality is, Korny Kornbluth was a self-esteem strangled kid who was constantly stuck in his head throughout Junior High, who only came bursting out of his head, after he finally kissed a couple of girls in Israel one summer during a Masada Teen Tour, leaving one girl with a hickey from hell outside of Mount Masada no less as if he was the horniest novice zombie zygote alive. But now, 6 or 7 sales job later, whether it was slinging ads for the Village Voice, CitySearch or the billable techie gold talent of software engineers while working as an IT agency recruiter in both LA and Manhattan, he started to question his funny man chosen path because he had been fired more than a Palestinan Sling Shot. All of a sudden, Korny Kornbluth contemplated the brutal reality of being too over the top edgy for his own good.

Korny Kornbluth wasn’t overtly over the top edgy to appear cooler than he wasn’t. He was just being funny, so he thought. But what if Korny Kornbluth was headed in the wrong direction to nowhere? What if Korny Kornbluth alienated old friends and family members because of his raging desire to always be on, 600 podcasts and 91 comedy records later? What if Korny Kornbluth proved to be too overpowering for others to bear, which made them feel like ineffectually, cheesy hackling weaklings in his presence? Or was Korny Kornbluth just guilty of glaring egotistical overreach on the behalf of his perpetually swelling noggin again and again? How the fuck was Korny Kornbluth going to make money off his endless sheets of comedy gold at 45 years old during the cancel heavy culture of 2022 after producing comedy records titles on Spotify such as The Day Democracy Died and COVID The Clown exactly? You can make the argument that the best thing going for Korny Kornbluth was how he didn’t have an enviable, profit rich career to cancel just yet. He released a political album Resist This at 43 years old, the same age of his comedic idol Rodney Dangerfield released his debut album, I Don’t Get No Respect before he broke big and was able to support his family by slinging jokes versus aluminum sliding for a living for good. Korny Kornbluth actually used his IT agency background and cold called Rodney’s grown up daughter when he launched his Do It All Dad Year Podcast 5 years ago and after getting her on the phone he pitched, “I want put a spotlight on your father Rodney, the original Do It All Dad star, and tell the world about how he turned down a residency in Vegas and opened up Dangerfield’s on the Upper East Side of Manhattan as his own personal work out lab space to test out new material for the opportunity to be a more involved father at home.” Tremendous pitch I know. Still, Rodney’s daughter declined. Rodney’s daughter deciding to sell private footage of her dad’s heavily workshopped, money maker Vegas act to Comedy Central for a documentary about him pre-YouTube without his permission doesn’t portray the ungrateful bitch in the most flattering light anyway. No wonder why Rodney suffered from depression and found perpetual solace in the magic green to sooth his achy, weary weepy soul. Regardless of how many more killer sets Korny Kornbluth produced on his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, he wasn’t going to book any appearances on the Late Show with Colbert with jokes such as, “Our state of the union today is like Colbert’s handle on funny for the past 5 years and counting, shaky. It’s too bad Bill O’Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate for a living. At least at the time, Bill O’Reilly gave Colbert Gravitas. Or how does John Stewart does not question the wisdom of Obama Be Good’s nuke gifting deal to Iran with more hardcore sardonic bite on the Daily Show franchise he built before Comedy Central decided to resign his woke successor Trevor Noah for the foreseeable future?  Why did Stewart only direct his comedic venom at W only, whose best friends now with Ellen, which proves what a non-divisive, evolved comedian she is because Ellen is pro Bush all the way. Why not ask Obama, so what do you consider your greatest accomplishments as president besides rebranding ISIS, ISIL so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times? Or why not make fun of the 1.5 billion Obama bequeathed to Iran, Israel’s number one enemy and largest sponsor of worldwide terror worldwide, that was used for overseas job creation for Vermont’s own Build A Bear corporation to make the Iranian economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal cream for the Kardashians?

Korny Kornbluth was already kicked off Twitter for constantly stating how the COVID vaccines worked less than Carmelo Anthony and Russell Westbrook running the Triangle Offense for the Showtime Lakers in Los Angeles, California, insisting the new caped duo should become the official spokesperson team for Tampax Tampons. Because name another bitchy faced pair throughout NBA history, that’s been responsible for stopping so much flowage. So Korny Kornbluth wasn’t getting on the woke Grantland Podcast with Greenwich, CT bred nerd Bill Simmons either, especially since the NBA’s sole existence existed to be nothing more than a safe space for Lebron James ego. The lion share of Korny Kornbluth’s comedic blast targets received diplomatic immunity against charges of black supremacy racism on Twitter and beyond like King Of The Persecution Complex Lebron James, AKA, America’s Most Hunted. So what could a proud, practicing killer Koshertarian Comedian do to make money from his funny man writing for his family when Twitter allows terrorists in charge of Palestine from Hamas to keep their Twitter profile up and running, knowing how a 2 state solution is impossible to achieve if Hamas keeps fucking? How could Korny Kornbluth ever build a profitable online presence through selling his comedy records, audiobooks or podcasts on Patreon after her got banned for being a hate speech disinformation machine by defending Israel’s right to defend itself, that he compared to a nation flush with acerbic Kyle Rittenhouse’s at large? Because if you launch 5000 UN funded rockets into Israel’s backyard Hamas, Terrorists Are Us, don’t expect an edible gift basket in return, with a thank you note in return written in Farsi, with all the hardened pineapple tops chucked in the Red Sea.

Regardless of Korny Kornbluth’s propensity to bludgeon your unasked-for ears with a tsunami of a plus loaded gemry made for these times in his eyes, Joshua Prize was capable of mixing the profane and heartfelt better than most because unlike other guys from his senior class of 94, he considered himself far deeper than the eighteen hole. Korny Kornbluth wrote funny love poems of all sorts for his wife of 11 years and 11-year-old daughter Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, 10 Homer Daily, to prove the totality of his ego wasn’t wrapped up into receiving funny man approval confirmation long time all the time. Still, Korny Kornbluth used humor to process his rageful feelings stemming from being denied a living at being a funny man writer as a paid blogger, vlogger, copywriter, podcaster or professional standup comedian because of his far from edgeless digital imprint after working as a Hair Metal historian Comedian as the Head Writer of America’s Hard 100 on Vh1 Classic no less, while blatantly turning off every booker this side of the eastern seaboard with his debut comedy record Resist This, that included joke blasts that proved to be a tad too radical racist for their tastes such as, “I just read about an all-girl Muslim prom in Detroit. So, the prom was like mine, pork free. And stop calling ISIS good recruiters, all those Headhunters do is target other lonely virgins on Facebook Instant Messenger who wish their phones blew up.”

At this point, Korny Kornbluth wasn’t prepared to give up on getting paid for being professionally funny, but TV no longer offered the allure of steady employment in fantastic LA since the city of blue ball wrecking dreams descended into an extended tent city sponsored by REI. Nor did Korny Kornbluth possess the tolerance to endure lesser hack comedians in his eyes, plow through their meh sets while waiting for his turn to kill, knowing they all played it cheesy safe compared to him, which was twice as lame because he didn’t think he was doing anything blazingly original outside of tripling down on being his unapologetic, reclusive rocker shredder self all the way. But what if Korny Kornbluth started to care more about making his kids laugh the most with funny fast short stories he semi-performed on his rebranded Pause Daddy Podcast, super funny fast stories for you and me? What if Korny Kornbluth performed these funny man stories like a Jewish Paul Mooney, the Black Zappa in his eyes while sitting on his far from straight ass for a change? What if Korny Kornbluth decided to chill out on dropping his killer catchphrase “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”, every other 2 seconds while in essence sucking off his material long time all the time again and again for a change? What if Korny Kornbluth played it semi-safe for change and decide to dramatically lessen his over-the-top edge to help increase his chances of a lit agent offering a letter of representation on his material’s behalf, if they could locate their ball sack this century, God forbid?

At 45 years old going on 46 in April, who gives a shit about impressing your so-called close friends from high school anymore? Especially, when those same dudes never aroused any jealous feelings of in-your inferiority compared to them ever. What if Korny Kornbluth focused a new book project called Year Without Beer instead of making more comedy records for a change? Writing a Year Without Beer would be a loving homage of sorts to Rodney In Easy Money and would be much easier to achieve off Adderall, assuming an occasional weed edible was always at arm’s length as a mini reward on Shabbat after the kids are asleep to give Korny Kornbluth’s creatively jacked brain a well-earned rest for a change after splitting a bottle of wine with his lifetime partner in love wife, Snuggle Up My Shaft, Duffy Kornbluth. What if Korny Kornbluth stopped giving a shit about his slighted, picked upon teen soul despite him not possessing the means to fight back through soul powered righting punchlines at the time while Kurt Cobain slept under a bridge, dreaming of the perfect time to raid his grandma’s closet for a throw away sweater to wear on MTV Unplugged, after Courtney Love’s claims to self made fame without him and Billy Corgan helping her co-write the rock masterpiece Live Through This, started to become rapidly undone? What if Korny Kornbluth stopped fretting about being pushover putzy in Junior High before he developed fists of fury in his forties from wrecking one Everlast chained bag after another, before allowing his beautiful seed son Hardcore Hunga to wail him in the face while the Rocky 4 Soundtrack blared in the background, as a continued form of flinch freeing therapy?

Rocky Marciano never lost a match because he invited the pain and always remained on the offensive. But what if Korny Kornbluth after turning 46 went on the Love Speech Machine offensive for a change off the speedy demon Adderall barking in his ear anymore, to bitch and lash out at any less creatively impaired human being who ever dared to question or criticize his funny man chosen path in the 1st place? What if Korny Kornbluth rebranded himself to the podcast universe as the Love Speech Machine through his super funny fast short stories on his Pause Daddy Podcast, which some could argue is reflective of his original, pure self in the 1st place because he assumed nuclear attacks on all who made him feel like an ineffectual, worthless jerkoff who failed to provide for his family the way he knew was capable of doing? Although trying to become the Desmond Child, Hair Metal power ballad writer maestro for Bon Jovi who penned hits such as Living on A Prayer and Without Love for the Hallmark channel wasn’t going to pay for his kids Bar Mitzvah party catering bill, let alone future trips to Budapest, Hungry with his beautiful wife and 3 kids, to soak up the soulful, majestic edge of the Danube to inspire for more family friendly tale adventures that could give Adam Sandler triggered jealous moments of despair for once in the Golden Jew’s life either.

Korny Kornbluth was always triggered by more manly writers like Hemingway knowing how he boxed Kangaroos for fun, yet Hemingway was a humorless bore as a whole who blew his brains out, so who gives a shit about Hemingway being taught in English Literature classes despite Old Man and The Sea being another stellar example of excellent, concise, immaculate, sturdy strong prose at work? That’s not who Korny Kornbluth was or ever would be. What if Korny Kornbluth become known as the Zamboni Artist and got a job driving a Zamboni at the local hockey rink, so he could afford to buy his daughter state of the art skates during Hanukah for a change, and start creating more winter land rich memories between them skating together versus Dad locking himself upstairs only to lash out at the propagandist media again with more divine powered, evil condemning authority on comedy record 5000, Mega Dumb Daddy, God forbid? No, Korny Kornbluth would end obsessing over the need to feast off Lady Laugh long time all the time because if his wife ever did kick him out of the house away from his 3 favorite people in the universe, Samuel, Arthur and Matilda, best home team ever, his world would become darkened overnight, stripping Korny Kornbluth of the zest beneath his wings, that contributed to him becoming the empowered funny man with a plan to search and destroy. Iggy Pop lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Moving forward, Korny Kornbluth wouldn’t abandon his need to get laughs, but would put that incessant, all-encompassing need on the backburner and not give it as much prime time real estate in his heart anymore, in favor of growing closer to his kids and wife, though focusing on writing stories, which celebrating his inner love speech machine because he wasn’t considered Korny, The Emotor Kornbluth on Yelp back in the day for nothing. Hacks criticize for a living and never create. Like famous classical composer Jean Sibelius said, “No statues were ever built in a critics honor.” Now, Korny Kornbluth would let his love light shine on what brings us together versus what drives us apart, despite common hatreds possessing a huge binding element in us all like unhuggable cunt Mother-In-Laws who force eucharist on her Jew blood tainted grandchildren for starters.

Now, Korny Kornbluth would focus the totality of his being not on being less cheesy, because he wasn’t that cheesy in the first place, but focus less on the need to be perceived as never cheesy ever, God forbid.

God blessed Korny Kornbluth with beautifying love of the highest magnitude for a reason and it wasn’t to solely make wisecracks from the sidelines of life for a living while not celebrating the binding beautiful within us all either.  Korny Kornbluth never wanted to become professionally funny for the money, fame or endless selection of new tight puss selection galore. It was because he finally found something he did good a job at, that offered the potential to achieve greatness with that wasn’t a decision made by his fucking parents on his behalf either. Plus, showcasing an early flair for laugh yank generation was encouraged by others he admired and looked up to growing up like his dearly departed Alternative School Teacher, the perpetually dapper, always unflappably sharp cool funny, Judy Cook, especially after a post pubescent Korny Kornbluth returned a new man from the Land of Milk And Honey with a lighter glint to his step Senior year after giving the hickey attack of 1993 before Nirvana killed off the glorious, crazy train reign of wonderful Hair Metal sleaze more so than Aids ever did. Plus, when Korny Kornbluth got laughs as an air guitar shredding teen or as a bombastic, punchline blasting middle age encroaching clown now, he no longer felt like a highly disorganized, pushover putz breath, no more, no more. Aerosmith lives, Challah, thank you very much.

But that was 28 years ago already. And Korny Kornbluth was more comfortable in his last kid to get into the puberty party and bloom under his Fruit of Looms skin now, having written well reviewed self-published books like Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story and The Great American Jew Novel while still having new books to sling and complete such as The Koshertarian Comedian and Waste Of Height Really, Short Stories. So finally one day, Korny Kornbluth decided to lay to double down on the cheese factor and propose to his wife the concept of renewing their vows in Australia, the place of her birth, assuming their COVID damage done mandate passport bullshit was lifted. Still, it’s the cheesy thought of renewing his vows to his wife and mother of his 3 beamish kids on Mother’s Beach only for him to recite a new poem in her lovely honor called, My American Dream. Because like the late great Hair Metal crooner legend Jani Lane from Warrant once bellowed shrieked with big deal redemptive oomph, in Sometimes She Cries, “Maybe, give love one more shot, yeah.” And doubling down on love was worth the shot, or else Korny Kornbluth would be circumcising his happiness like forsaking ballsier, fuller flavored Double IPA’s in his mid-forties over measly pale ale’s despite Sierra Nevada being the pale ale that never get’s stale.

My American Dream

My American Dream lives in my heart. Because of her, I’d never want to depart.

My American dream was made in the land down under.

When real deal love came to live in my heart, it shook my core like sky splitting thunder.

My American Dream gave me the freedom to spread my funny man wings, which has been an endlessly arousing heaven on earth fling.

Lady Laugh is a booty call who’s always a blog post away, yet what I want more than anything now is an actual payday.

I’ll get any job no matter what it entails, so we can dine al fresco again as I watch you eat snails.

Providing for your family more than laughs and gourmet meals isn’t cheesy.

It’s just that giving up the dream of making people laugh for a living all together yet isn’t so easy.

Shell Silverstein lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

The Metal Edge

The mother responsible for her son developing a near crippling neck condition that required corrective surgery at 2, called Torticollis, where the neck muscles contract causing the head to twist to one side as a result from too much newborn plopping time alone the crib, summoned the gaul to ask her son, whose about to turn 50 years old in his new Victorian Mansion home outside of Saratoga, NY lounging on a money Polo Lounge green Adirondack Chair, overlooking Lake George, “Why would you push your son into Fencing?” The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Because the sport of fencing needs a metal edge. And your grandson, “Headbangers Baller is just the kid to do it. Plus, Christian Knights slayed Jews and Muslims for centuries because they didn’t wear crosses around their neck. So, it’s time to rock those Limey bastards on their ass like they just got hit by an American made Twister from Kansas City in the shape of Charlie Parker with the colossus wind power to match.  Bruce Dickenson, the lead singer of Iron Maiden is a championship fencer yet his nerdy hued, Dungeons and Dragons stylings are no match more for my son’s budding Headbanger Baller Edge. I want my son to be the most famous American fencer who ever lived, who graces the cover of Rolling Stone and Sports Illustrated all at the same time. I envision my son becoming the dreamy child offshoot of John Belushi, Charles Bukowski and Slash wrapped into one. He’ll shred every fencer record to pieces and tear more than his share of hymens in the process. Assuming he identifies with highly addictive heterosexuality puss plowing play. Force =Mass x Acceleration and becoming a world class championship shredder will make my son an indominable force within the business world when he opens his own hair metal shredder fencing line which will be recession proof, because we’re all going to be stuck wearing nappies on our face in post COVID universe gone wild till our last dying breath anyway.”

The Torticollis Survivor Son adds, “Fencing will be more popular in the US than Basketball and Baseball combined after Headbanger Baller Kornbluth adds windmill celebration dances with his fencing sword, throwing all that old school fencing decorum bullshit out the window. Plus, he’ll be loaded from commercial endorsements from the Guitar Store, Bose, Spandex R Us, you name it, so he could afford to pay any fine for inappropriate, hot dogging behavior whenever the flamboyant showboating moods strikes again.  Dana White will be inspired to go into the fencing business and make Headbanger Baller Kornbluth the face behind his new billion-dollar behemoth franchise, transforming Octagon rings into enormous steel cage fencing matches instead.  Instead of having Michael Buffer in a tux before Fencing matches, boom, “Let’s get ready to rumble”, Dana White will find the new Cherry Pie girl to announce, “Let the shredding begin”, while Kickstart My Heart by Motely Crue blares on the state-of-the-art surround sound speaker system that gives the steel cage tremors of impending despair. I’d push my son into becoming a WWE Wrestler for a living, yet there will never be another Andrew the Giant, nor is he 3rd generation wrestling royalty like the Rock or have a Canadian hockey player dad like Chris Jericho. So, why not become a big fish in far smaller pond, while making the most humongous splash possible? He also plays with collection of lightsabers now more than he does with his cherished Wrestling figures and he owns the original rubber dog toy size Hulk Hogan and Ricky The Dragon Steamboat among many others with vintage WWF wrestling ring I got off ebay to match. Kayne West is worth 6 billion, mostly from his fashion line of sneakers that sell for 1 grand and up ma yet there’s no limited, in demand fashion line for the flamboyant hair metal shredder in us all. I envision a flashing middle F-You, finger logo that’s sporting the inscription of a Kosher Chalef butcher knife on it that says, “Live To Shred”, to slap on his own line of silver spaceman sneakers, ripped jeans and shorts, obviously in every color imaginable except Slayer Reign In Blood Red.  He’ll have his own line of studded, belts, necklaces, metal cowboy hats and tang tops to show off his legions of groupies and adoring young male fans how his own line of core exercise work out videos involving jumping off box jumps through rings of fire as Moth Into Flame by Metallica plays at full blast, being responsible for his shredded physique once he steps into something more comfortable for post fencing fight interviews.  I want to feed my son’s love for speed. I want my son to maximize his inherent shredding edge like Buckethead, Randy Rhodes and Steve Vai for love of God, kickass metal guitar solo’s and for his metal loving American Dad who pushed him to shred for bread. On a less poetic, baser level, I want my son to be an all-American athlete who gets a fencing scholarship for being the most rollicking, flamboyant, fencing front man of all time while making the sport less overtly nerdy in the process.  I want him to be loved and feared like Sonny in the Bronx Tale mom. I want colleges to recruit him in junior high for fencing scholarships, so he can become a Headbanger Baller in life, instead of being a desperate flailing hounder. That’s why I’m pushing my son into Fencing mom.”

Mom says, “Your father thinks a team sport would be better for our grandson like Football for instance. The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Will be sticking with Nerf football in yard ma. I also don’t like to take advice from fake news hippies like Dad, mom no offense. You’ve lived in Arizona for 9 years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon once yet, case closed. Alsodad pushing eventual Pee Wee Football on his grandson is another example of him trying to make me bow down to his authoritative opinion, which makes me think he’s the one with brain trauma from feeding his head with too much acid at Woodstock. Because if I bowed down to this belabored, weak ass pitch command request, I would’ve shied away from doing political material during my speech at my younger brother’s wedding, when I said to his old pal from Boarding School, “Cam from Canada, make yourself at home and hit somebody. So, Jim Carrey can paint you as an alt right goon on the loose in Charlottesville, with a Tiki Torch in hand, looking like an angry rejected extra from the Sears Catalog in 89. And that material killed at the Montreal Comedy Festival in 2022, which got me the agent who got me my movie deal for Back To Hebrew School, which bought this Victorian mansion, wave runners for all 3 of my kids and my speedboat Slashing Thunder.”

Mom says, “Why do you hate me so much?” Son says, “Mom, I just hated how you always tried to shred my ego to pieces and cut me down to size in my divine powered pursuit to become a world-famous comedian author/light spreader shredder, who lives to bang out more sheets of electric fueled comedy gold. I hate your arrogance for thinking you get to tell me how to raise my kids because they’re my kids, not yours, especially after your lack of physical play with me as an infant resulted in my Torticollis correcting surgery, from being left to smoosh my face into the crib out of place for serially unhealthy, prolonged periods of time. I hated the way you always tried to make me feel like I was a crazy moron for trusting my instincts and for pursuing work I was good at, which made me feel most kick ass, happy alive.” Mom says, “I still think fencing is a dumb idea. I bet they only offer 2 fencing scholarships a year max.”  

Headbanger Baller won the Olympic Gold in Fencing 3 times in a row, shredding every fencing record in the past. Dana White expanded his business empire to include MMA with fencing swords now, in steel cage Octagons with no protective gear required, although Headbanger Baller preferred to show off his shredding edge in the ring, sporting various items from his billion dollar fashion line of ripped jean shorts, tank tops and speed metal belt with his signature middle finger logo, sporting a ring with a Kosher Chalef butcher knife inscription on it that says, “Live To Shred”.

Shredding rocks, especially when you shred perceptions of what you’re capable of achieving in this world whether it’s through individual accomplishment or through coaching your speed addicted seed or not. Shredder’s soar. Shredder’s fly high with the angels like 3 Guitar Attack from Lynyrd Skynyrd on Free Bird. Shredders makes us feel most alive, for doing the rocking out for us. Shredders inspire us to unleash our own solo edge. Shredders make us feel most alive, because they put us in touch with our Sunset Strip strutting, Headbanger Baller inside.

Michael Kornbluth