Chosen Curls Kills

My son hasn’t ruined my life. But he did ruin veggie cream cheese for me. He says, “I don’t like Salad Cheese. Who wants salad in their cheese? I’ll chew on a baby carrot if I’m in the mood for a little nosh. But you can take your overpriced veggie cream cheese, shine it up real nice and jam it up your anus hole daddy. Smoked salmon or white fish on a pumpernickel bagel, moron son. Have I told you that your bad at life yet? Do you think Uncle John would like that material for your final comedy record this time, Family Funny Rules, Daddy? How does Uncle Jon have a harder stomach than you Daddy? Who does planks on heroin? And why did Uncle Jon flinch when you ordered me to punch him in the stomach again on July 4th? You let me hit you in the face with my boxing gloves as a form of flinch freeing treatment all the time. I thought boarding school made him tough. If he started out as a punk, he came out a 100 percent bitch. What’s my follow up punch? Please, after one gut punch alone, Uncle Jon lost all appetite for my triple decker sandwich.”

Family Funny Rules, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Haunting Hacks

Biden begging for oil.

I’ll suck Michelle’s dick if my master pushes me in that direction.

I’ll pretend that his butt boy Trudeau ordered me to leak it.

Joan lives.

Haunting hacks, Challah.

Thank you very much.

I don’t like Jets fans working for Startups. They yuck up the whole ecosystem. The 2 just clash like Mike Francesa doing a podcast, Jill Biden brushing her hair for a change or John Podesta becoming a photojournalist for Teenbeat in the eighties during the height of Menudo.

Biden begging for oil again.

You want Florida? No that’s not enough? Saudi Disney has a nice ring to it. No lines for Saudi royals, unless Hunter’s willing to share.

My daughter wasn’t scared from her 1st ride on the Dragoncoaster. After the ride, she says, “Daddy, the Dragoncoaster was sturdy, you rickety bitch.

Haunting hacks, challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Greatest One

When mommy says, “I miss you guys”, you can tell if its half-hearted bullshit or not. Did you really miss Samuel asking you to finish wiping his bum while you’re cleaning up for your date with Sarah? Did you really miss badgering the kids about whether Daddy reapplied sunscreen on them or not after their picnic after I picked them up from camp? Did you really miss rushing out of the house in 98-degree weather to get some snacks for a picnic that turned out to be one for just Matilda and her friends? One of them being the kid who lives next door to Bill Gate’s daughter. Who for a wedding gift was bequeathed a 22-acre farm under the condition that she turn it into a placenta smoothie retreat for Hollywood Actresses to practice equestrian therapy with. You haven’t lived until you threw back a placenta Smoothie with January Jones on the set of Mad Men. It provides nutrients for an anorexic baby in the making. So, let’s kick this spirit cooking party into full gear and invite Hillary Hammer Time Cankles to feast off magnums of Baby Jane from 62. But no “unusual” placentas Planned Parenthood or else they can’t demand top dollar by Bill Gates and friends. I know Marina what’s her name isn’t satanic, she’s a “performance artist”, because her interview with James Franco got published in the Wall Street Journal under the money and investing section for Spirit Cooking Schools for the rich and famous not advertised on LinkedIn. Recipes for liquid dinners are painted on the wall in blood. The first one is a mix fresh breast milk and fresh semen, none of this frozen shit from Walt Diseny and friends. Added directions include to only drink on earthquake nights although attending a live podcast by Megan Mccain, otherwise known as the Plop of Nothing gets the job done. You don’t think the DNC is controlled by demonic beasts in relation to Hillary Hammer Time Cankles, Snopes Salon? Have you seen Tony Podesta’s kiddie porn art collection draped on his fundraising walls? There’s enough pedo bondage pics on those walls to make Marilyn Manson blush. You don’t think the Wiki Leaks emails from the Podesta’s about pool time entertainment, with ages specified along with talk of kids being sent Ubers on top of various mentions of various pizza topping such as yum, yum sauce are enough reasons to give you hypertension for giving babysitting with the Podesta brothers a chance?

So were about to leave the “Picnic”, and the girl who lives next door to Bill Gate’s kid’s Placenta Smoothie Farm Retreat says, “Richard Gere is my neighbor to.” And in front of 2 parents there I say, “Those prayer beads didn’t come in red Gere.”

Michael Kornbluth

Big Stinger Day

When mommy says, “I miss you guys”, you can tell if its half-hearted bullshit or not. Did you really miss Samuel asking you to finish wiping his bum while you’re cleaning up for your date with Sarah? Did you really miss badgering the kids about whether Daddy reapplied sunscreen on them or not after their picnic after I picked them up from camp? Did you really miss rushing out of the house in 98-degree weather to get some snacks for a picnic that turned out to be one for just Matilda and her friends? One of them being the kid who lives next door to Bill Gate’s daughter. Who for a wedding gift was bequeathed a 22-acre farm under the condition that she turn it into a placenta smoothie retreat for Hollywood Actresses to practice equestrian therapy with. You haven’t lived until you threw back a placenta Smoothie with January Jones on the set of Mad Men. It provides nutrients for an anorexic baby in the making. So, let’s kick this spirit cooking party into full gear and invite Hillary Hammer Time Cankles to feast off magnums of Baby Jane from 62. But no “unusual” placentas Planned Parenthood or else they can’t demand top dollar by Bill Gates and friends. I know Marina what’s her name isn’t satanic, she’s a “performance artist”, because her interview with James Franco got published in the Wall Street Journal under the money and investing section for Spirit Cooking Schools for the rich and famous not advertised on LinkedIn. Recipes for liquid dinners are painted on the wall in blood. The first one is a mix fresh breast milk and fresh semen, none of this frozen shit from Walt Diseny and friends. Added directions include to only drink on earthquake nights although attending a live podcast by Megan Mccain, otherwise known as the Plop of Nothing gets the job done. You don’t think the DNC is controlled by demonic beasts in relation to Hillary Hammer Time Cankles, Snopes Salon? Have you seen Tony Podesta’s kiddie porn art collection draped on his fundraising walls? There’s enough pedo bondage pics on those walls to make Marilyn Manson blush. You don’t think the Wiki Leaks emails from the Podesta’s about pool time entertainment, with ages specified along with talk of kids being sent Ubers on top of various mentions of various pizza topping such as yum, yum sauce are enough reasons to give you hypertension for giving babysitting with the Podesta brothers a chance?

So were about to leave the “Picnic”, and the girl who lives next door to Bill Gate’s kid’s Placenta Smoothie Farm Retreat says, “Richard Gere is my neighbor to.” And in front of 2 parents there I say, “Those beads didn’t come in red Gere.”

Big Stinger Day, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Creeper Tuesdays

I don’t like my brother calling Bob Seger a God because he gets paid to operate a forklift while running on weed oils with ear buds on for a living, which taints his entire musical library for me. Which reminds me of the time my brother left a used condom on our old white leather coach despite me specifying prior, “Don’t swipe any skanky ass puss over to our house, the one weekend, I have away from the kids to get some work done. I understand your need to feel important like Hunter Biden since he gave up blow for blow painting but refrain from being next level of sketchy for a change like asking to be excused from a barbeque with my kids to pick up some pain relief aspirin at the local Pharmacia in Dutchess County on a Sunday while disappearing in and out of a Requiem for Dream, Team Oxy, thanks.”

But back to Bob Seger, I’d ask Alexa to play Still The Same, every time I got a new piece published by the The Good Men Project, before my editor told me that my last submission would her give her boss a heart attack, which included a scene where Rob Van Zant from Lynyrd Skynyrd turns Neil Young into his Canadian Cunt in the can and says, “More shrieking Young like your whipped on an anti-vax man. Natural Immunity can survive.” Hank Williams Junior lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

So, I love me so Bob Seger to, but I stop at calling him a “God” because he sold the rights to his song “Like A Rock” to the Ford company knowing how Henry Ford is the only American name drop in Mein Kampf who he viewed as a model citizen because he wrote a newsletter that blamed the Jews for the controlling the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole to. So, bro, keep clean from the heroin pills for your pain management issues for an extended stretch of time or show a modicum of remorse for making mom breakout into a perpetual case of canker sores and I’ll give a shit about your Kid Rock Country siding soul, deal?

Bob Seger is a God. You’d think my brother was working the assembly line for Ford’s new line of plug in Ford Explorers called, “Master Race Machines.” This is me interviewing Watson Computer on my Pause Daddy Podcast. “Watson, do you know that you’re named after Dr. Watson who invented tracking technology for the Kraut breath Nazis that made it easier to detect Jewish ancestry whenever they sported the ant eater schnauzer look between their legs instead? Watson Computer says, “No, shit Sherlock.”

Hitler even had a portrait of Henry Ford in his office. He put a swastika pin on his lapel, despite the swastika looking like 2 stick figures doing a 69 on a seesaw. Hitler called Heny Ford an “inspiration”, adding, “Fucking Christ killing Jews are the root of all evil, especially those descendants of Don Rickles who heckled the feckless, highly impressionable Roman Guards into crucifying Jesus to death.” Ford even received the highest medal in Nazi Germany called the Grand Cross German Eagle with a mustache on it. Ford wanted to wear it around his neck for the company Christmas Party until his wife said, “You look like a Dago clown with that thing on. Charlie Chaplin is getting invited to Hearst Castle and you’re not, get over it already. Bribe some Jewish writers from Hearst Newspapers to write your International Jew column for you if you crave the Jewish media’s embrace so much. Aren’t money hoarding, parasitical worms their spirit animals? So, get that God ugly necklace off and make me a French martini with an orange rind twist. Somebody has to add some color to this relationship. And dressing up like Woodrow Wilson for Halloween doesn’t count.” Trumpism lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Is there anything Hitler didn’t culturally appropriate. First, it’s the swastika, which was formally a Hindu symbol for anal herpes karma, so that was actually quite on brand really. Then, he culturally appropriates Chaplin’s stash despite it failing to hide his herpes sores which flared up his desire to annihilate any non-kraut breath since his father called his decision to pursue art as a profession as “too ambitious”, before adding, “And you’re not even a speed freak hooked on Crystal Meth whose softer than German Pound Cake.” Plus, Hitler’s master race theory was totally pulled straight from the eugenics playbook written by the founder of Planned Parenthood, Margaret Sanger. And Planned Parenthood has deflated more hoop dreams than the NCAA instituting a no dunk rule because Kareem made Indiana centers look whiter than White Man’s Disease.

But back to Bob Seger. You could accuse the heartland rock God as the king of pedo friendly lyricism on his album Night Moves, when he sings, “Come see your papa if you need a pacifier? Then, motor mouth Bob sounds like Christmas came early when he sings, “Call me anytime. I’ll try to be your pacifier. If you feel like a horse blazin at the bit. It’s because I knocked out your fucking teeth because you chomped down too hard on my carrot stick.”

Next morning, Little Girl Blue asks, “Daddy, why didn’t the Tooth Fairy hook me up with a whole lot of Bitcoin under my digital wallet pillow last night? Is the Tooth Fairy another cheapskate Queen like Lou Reed?”

Father still drunk on Fire Water hell screams, “The Rock slept in for a change, alright. Where’s your friend Jenny? Is she hanging out with Gump again? Unlike you, she’s got good southern etiquette. And doesn’t mouth off and talk with her mouth full of more bay seasoned shrimp next time your cousin Billy Bob pays a visit.” Truly tasteless jokes about incest, cousin fucking and pedo punctuated lyricism live, Challah. Thank you very much.

But in Bob Seger’s defense, he only comes across as a harmless peeping tom loser in the song Main Street. Who can’t even get his courage up to enter the strip club, let alone offer to tip the DJ a crisp 20 spot for playing the 22-minute version of Whipping Post from the Filmore East by the Allman Brothers band. So Seger could get the most bang out of their one song per dance policy on Creeper Tuesdays. Instead, all Seger does in the song Main Street is creep on the so young and sweet stripper by watching her through the glass to the smoky live beat. Segar should’ve renamed that song, Blue Balls on Main Street.

But let’s talk about how great St. Louis Cardinals fans are. Cardinals Nation gave Mark McGwire consistent standing ovations during his initial 0 for 28 hitting slump after they traded for him midseason, not knowing if he’d resign with them in the off season after his contract was up. Yankee fans would’ve been raiding the closet for Energizer batteries to pelt his Pez Despenser head with while hyped on shitty coke from Washington Heights. He’s only 6’5. Pops is right, I really am a waste of height.

This is George Thorogood backstage with Sammy Haggar during their Crazy Times Tour. “Hey Sammy, I tried your Tequilla. It tastes Van Halen light.”

And this is the CDC throwing a retirement party for Dr. Fauci. “Hope you’re not sick of Gnocchi, Dr. Gnocchi. We got Mario Batali on the cheap. It was Gates idea to put caramelized grasshoppers on top. So, let’s raise our Placenta Stump Smoothies and toast the greatest loser streak off all time. How many hit vaccines were developed under your watch? An Aids blanket quilter on Pinterest would like to know. But if you’re goal was depopulation with the clot shot. Then, mazel Tov, you and Gates got what you wanted. To the year of the Four Eyed Snakes. I hope Herschel Walker forgets about pumping your daughter with some MAGA teen spirit between 1000 more crunches with Fox News on the background while making Jungle Fever great again. Does it feel inclusive enough dear? Hershel Walker plows Gate’s daughter after pounding some shots of Wheatgrass on her Placenta Smoothie Farm Retreat and says, “Too inclusive, yet?” Creeper Tuesdays live, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Hanging Low Scientists

This is the CDC throwing a retirement party for Dr. Fauci. “Hope you’re not sick of Gnocchi, Dr. Gnocchi. We got Mario Batali on the cheap. It was Gates idea to put caramelized grasshoppers on top. So, let’s raise our Placenta Stump Smoothies and toast the greatest loser streak off all time. How many hit vaccines were developed under your watch Dr. Gnocchi? An Aids blanket quilter on Pinterest down on road head since she got an itchy esophagus from long COVID ought to know.” Alanis Lives. Hanging Low Scientists, Challah. Thank you very much.

Back to the toast. “So, Dr. Gnocchi, if you’re goal was depopulation with the clot shot. Then, Mazel Tov, you and that four eyed snake Gates got what you wanted. Will the real modern-day Dr. Josef Mengele please retire his fuck face mug on CNN already? To the year of the Four Eyed Snakes. I hope Herschel Walker forgets about pumping your daughter with some MAGA teen spirit between 1000 more crunches with Fox News on the background while making Jungle Fever great again and says, “Too inclusive yet?” Hanging Low Scientists, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

American Made Prayer

Aaron Rodgers, Kyrie Irving and the gluten tennis guy enter the hotel bar at the Pierre just to make Michelle Obama uncomfortable while in town for the U.S Open.

Bartender says, “We don’t serve your kind.”

Gluten Tennis guy says, “I piss Beetroot brighter than you.”

Kyrie Irving says, “Still educating yourself on Hydroxychloroquine for Dummies, merchant of liquid death?”

Aaron Rodgers says, “Even my bud Joe Rogan thinks you smirk too much.”

Bartender says, “Deplorable douchebags, what will you do when Michelle Obama becomes our next President?”

After they’re all done laughing and coughing out lungs without any blood clots in them.

Kyrie Irving says, “Just what America needs, Obama’s, Five O’ Clock Shadow Part 2.”

Never forget the new terrorists that pushed Operation Death Speed on us, that’s ripped the heart out of our American Dream that’s barely hanging on to life support in front of our children’s undimmed eyes, if you’re lucky.

Bury these demonic shitbags and force Hunter to snort up their dusty remains and have LA famed street artist Babo spray paint the pic all over the Smithsonian in D.C. to hang for all eternity. God’s speed, Lord, God’s speed.

Michael Kornbluth

Nothing Shitty

I’m paying our Septic bill in person and say, “If somebody doesn’t pay, you really have them held over a barrel.” 85-year-old Bird laughs and says, “You couldn’t pay me enough to change Biden’s drawers.” I say, “You’re not an opportunistic, perv enabling, small town ho, who outwore the usefulness of her fishnet stockings during her cradle robbing babysitting years. I call this administration the never-ending shit show since the day Democracy died. Anyone who supports, apologizes or enables this shit show of an administration is shit in my book United We Laugh.”

Old Bird says, “I agree, and I would know about never-ending shit shows since my father started this septic tank business in 1922. In fact, my entire life has been shit.”

I say, “Either something in life is great, medium suck or shit.” She says, “There’s nothing shitty about you kid.” And I love that eulogy ghost writer business idea champ.” I add, “Yeah, my new pitch to Funeral Directors is, “Do you employ eulogy ghost writers for hire? Because our religious leaders have failed us post COVID damage done, and our loved ones deserve better send offs than this shit. And if I hear one more Rabbi during the High Holy Days use Holocaust and COVID in the same sentence. You’ll see more body bags than ever, during a Hell in The Cell match between The Undertaker and Triple H.” Old Bird laughs long time.

United we laugh, I prove it every day. What’s my mantra for a winning life in America? Nothing shitty and don’t be a half ass putz like Hair Plugs Sniffer playing President on the fake news White House set. And let’s contemplate God powered light through my 5-Year-old son strumming my Fender Stratocaster, singing, “I tried, I lied, I died. Now, I’m in Heaven with Daddy, the end.” I just quoted my son verbatim; did I mention that he’s 5? Like father like son, nothing shitty from our gene pool today, Challah. Thank you very much.

And this is me making an honest attempt to reconnect with my dad who grew up on the streets of the Bronx.

“Hey Dad, did you know that Edgar Allen Poe used to live in the Bronx near Fordham? Dad says, “How much money did he make off his writing?” I say, “He could afford to drink himself to death. But he was also the 1st well known American writer to a earn a living through writing alone Dad. You were editor of your school newspaper when you attended Clinton in the Bronx. I’m sure you can appreciate that feat.” Dad says, “His prose was weak and maudlin tone was excessively weary.”

I add, “He wrote humor tales to.” Dad says, “I’m sure the gentile from Boston was a barrel of laughs. Edgar Allen Poe wrote humor tales, use that in your act or podcast or whatever you do anymore because that shit is hilarious. You can’t write NOTHING that shitty. Nothing shitty, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Punisher Light

Diversity is our strength. Why else would Antifa be so weak? Those Punisher vigilantes wannabes require Tommy John Surgery every time they throw another Concrete Milkshake at a gay Vietnamese journalist that has a byline with the National Review.

You ever ask Alexa to define who Antifa is? That big tech horror Alexa, does her best to Beta boy splain, “According to Legal Insurrection.com., Bad Boy Soy Boys ain’t nothing to fuck with. The FBI isn’t raiding our room to locate Patton Oswalt’s 1st edition Punisher collection is all were saying.”

Michael Kornbluth

Mensch & A Half

Is Bob Seger guilty of pedo punctuated lyricism on his album Night Moves, when he sings, “Come see your papa if you need a pacifier? Then, he sounds like Christmas came early when he sings, “Call me anytime. I’ll try to be your pacifier. If you feel like a horse blazin at the bit. It’s because I knocked out your fucking teeth because you chomped down too hard on my carrot stick.”

Next morning, Little Girl Blue asks, “Daddy, why didn’t the Tooth Fairy hook me up with a whole lot of Bitcoin under my digital wallet pillow last night? Is the Tooth Fairy another cheapskate Queen like Lou Reed?”

Father still drunk on Fire Water hell screams, “The Rock slept in for a change, you ungrateful bitch. Where’s your friend Jenny? Hanging out with Gump again?
Unlike you, she’s got good southern etiquette. And doesn’t mouth off and talk with her mouth full of more shrimp next time your cousin Billy Bob pays a visit. Truly tasteless jokes about incest, cousin fucking and pedo punctuated lyricism live, Challah. Thank you very much.

Bob Seger only comes across as a harmless peeping tom loser in the song Main Street though. Who doesn’t even get his courage up to enter the strip club, let alone offer to tip the DJ a 20 spot if he plays the 22-minute version of Whipping Post from the Filmore East by the Allman Brothers band. So Seger could get the most bang out of their one song per dance policy on Creeper Tuesdays. Instead, all Seger does in the song Main Street is creep on the so young and sweet stripper by watching her through the glass to the smoky live beat. Should’ve been called Blue Balls on Main Street. Weird Al on a highway to hell lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth