Slut In A Straight Jacket

David Kornbluth just finished sucking on the balls of his college roommate at NYU and felt ultra-gay about it. He looked at the mirror, thinking, “Why did it taste right in my mouth but not right now? Why am I feeling a sense of self-imposed gay shame regret after releasing in my normal 2 seconds flat prior?  I still haven’t lost my virginity, so I don’t know what I’m missing out on otherwise. Did I enjoy slobbering all over the girl in Israel at the Kibbutz who was a solid 7.9 by ultra-hot Israeli girl standards, to the point where her face resembled a wet mop, because I had no form of kissing style or technique to draw from just yet? Yes, but I’m not jerking off to fantasies of clanking teeth with her again and feeling up her non-existent tits either. Instead, I get way more sexually aroused at the thought of grabbing my roommate’s cock that’s tucked away neatly in his jeans under his tighty whities, before I suck on his salty, tasty balls again. After I’m done licking my lips at the thought of playing footsie with him again, naked, in his parent’s bathtub, next time they leave the city for an early Hamptons retreat. I used to blow off homework to watch the Cherry Pie girl video for months at a time, how did I ever come to this?”

Now, David Kornbluth, a 19-year-old freshman auditions for America’s Top Shocker at the college radio station, who grew up listening to Howard Stern before he came out as weird, weak Howard, who failed to give his longtime fans sustained stiffage of any kind. For his audition, David Kornbluth recruited a Jewish sex therapist who used to work as a Transvestite Worker to pay for her PHD in Psychology from Columbia prior. David Kornbluth propositioned her after hearing her give a guest lecture in his freshman psychology class called, “My Favorite Sexual Deviants”, that framed famed homosexual artists such as William Boroughs, DH Lawrence, Oscar Wilde and Mario Cantone as brave souls who lived out their fantasies despite so called claims of them suffering from a far-left mental disease. His exact pitch was, “Dr. Ballstein, I have a chronic masturbation problem and bisexual leanings and I’m interested in you hearing your real thoughts on my sexually obsessed leanings while I interview you on our local college radio station at NYU. It’s a mock, audition interview. So, I don’t have the Sex Talk radio host job yet, but with you in my corner, I think it’s a promising start, for good things to come.”

Dr. Ballstein is flattered and impressed by David’s pseudo developing confidence for only a college freshman at NYU and says, “Sounds splendid, I’ll get dressed up extra nice.” David Kornbluth says, “You could also wear a nice pair of white jeans, if you’d like.”

Now, the audition interview is in session with Dr. Ballstein, and David Kornbluth gets this party stared. “So, Dr, Ballstein, are you born with homoerotic urges or are they only activated when someone else pushes you in that direction, like suggesting you jerk each other off to Scandal in the Mansion before the Giants game on Sunday?”

Dr. Ballstein says,” Famed scientist Alfred Kinsey wrote a book called Sexual Behavior in the Human Male and claimed that no one is really 100 percent straight or gay while famed writer Gore Vidal said, there’s no such thing as gay, only “homosexual acts.” Or like Lenny Bruce said, after a man has been holed up in prison for 20 years, “He’d do mud.” 

David Kornbluth says, “Do you think I plastered my teen room walls with pictures of half-naked Hair Metal Gods like Sebastian Bach from Skid Row and the king of cock rock Vince Neil in his tight leather pants, because I longed to be them or in them?” Dr, Ballstein says, “I think it means you’re attracted to a more feminine, pretty faced type.” David Kornbluth doesn’t know what comes over him, never coming close to broadcasting his homosexual desires to anybody, let alone on the radio for the entire NYU campus to hear, regardless of it just being an audition or not and says, “Yeah, but I got a jerk bud at school, and when I’m sucking his balls before the Giants play and in between commercials, I’m not thinking about his highly defined cheek bones or pencil thin lips either.” Dr. Ballstein says, “So you’re a sucker for balls, join the club.” Life sucks without them in your mouth for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I agree. If you’re going to fag out, might as well go all the way. “Which reminds, me, I wore those tight white jeans that you requested. See anything you’d like? I haven’t squeezed into these bad boys in years, they’re literally bursting at the seams, especially around my zipper part.”

It just so happens that David’s freshman roommate overheard this beyond steamy audition interview, which drove him into a crazed rage, to the point where he greeted him back in the dorm room with a kick in the nuts, before smashing his Nintendo Wi console on his head which cracked in 2, yelling, “That’s the last time, I’ll be touching your balls ever again, DICK.” Now, David Kornbluth was sent to a mental hospital in Westchester Country for his shock jock antics after his roommate called his parents to tell them their son is a lying fag who deserves to be locked up in a loony bin to electroshock the lying, scheming fag out of him once and for all. His parents abided in a NY minute.

10 years gone, David Kornbluth is still in the mental hospital, yet his popularity as their own in-house shock jock continues to rise. The electroshock therapy, which David derided as Shock Jock Treatment, only made him gayer about being perceived as a freaky, deranged, wild man fruitcake, especially when laughing at his own jokes on air again like the time he launched his pilot show at the mental hospital and says, “Welcome to Homosexual Talk, I’m the hilarious gay friend you never had, otherwise known as America’s Top Shocker although if my parents acknowledge my existence over dinner with their friends ever I’m Slut In A Straight Jacket, Challah, thank you very much.” 

Michael Kornbluth

Twice As Happy Pancakes

Bombing at parenting is your kids not seeking your company when they get older. Parents either make their kids feel good about themselves or not. Parents either offer sincere encouragement or not. Parents either train their kids to be superior, less error prone versions of themselves or don’t give a shit regardless, unless their kids success starts to infringe upon their once rock-solid sense of impactful, joy filled accomplishment in this life.

I wrote an Eastbound and Down spec script ages before my daughter, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth was born about the main character Kenny Powers insisting his wife get an abortion because he dreamed of his future daughter becoming the most dominant Lesbian lusting, heat throwing softball bitcher of her time, threatening to overshadow his legacy, when he hasn’t even made this triumphant return to the majors yet. At one point, Kenny Powers states, “Is the desire to outshine your kids a natural one? And his wife April says, “No Kenny, it’s not. Ken Griffey and his son looked like they were having a grand old time playing together, dropping fart bombs in the dugout in the 80’s when they played together in Cincinnati ,before junior played for Seattle as a young Kurt Cobain sang, “Somebody Rape Me”, while living under a bridge, so he could lose his virginity already.”

I haven’t thought of my Eastbound and Down specs script, Cooperstown Or Bust for ages, where Kenny Powers pushes his trusted assistant Stevie to launch a media blitz campaign on his behalf to get the great Kenny Powers voted into Cooperstown already, despite him not starting his return to the majors yet.  I thought this spec, definitely not my 1st, would get me into the esteemed biz launching Warner Brother’s fellowship because hope filled, dream powered action adds fiery, enthralling magic to our days, similar to my desire to kill as our Stay-At-Home Comedian in-house gourmand chef, before becoming a star Benjamin provider for my 3 kids one day. In the meantime, just like when Kenny had to start over again as a high school gym teacher after playing in the majors, I’ve had to suck up my ego and bite my lip after writing for TV twice 8 years ago for Vh1 and Vh1 Classic, many star powered book reviews later, only for my wife to utter, “Trader Joe’s in Danbury in hiring”, or my mom to say, “Become a garbage man. Wearing a mask will block out the smell. Plus, let’s not act like changing your kids shit stained bums is a new development for you at this stage in your life. As a Sanitation Worker, you’ll at least have health benefits. And I could finally tell our friends you have your shit together for a change.”  

What I’ve learned on the stay-at-home Koshetarian Comedian front is how your kids always reward the extra effort you put in to please them. Kids can sense half-ass hearted displays of affection in the form of semi-sporadic visits from Grandparents, Jida, having all year to get a fucking a new slip and slide since 86 for Baba camp and fail miserably every time. Mama choosing to rebrand melatonin gummies as heathy vitamins and insist all her 3 kids take them, the few nights of week, she’s home to play Julie Andrews or the grandpa from Princess Bride, if she wanted to showoff her old school, gender shattering acting chops, allegedly.  When my mom wrapped up her last visit, she tells me in my son’s lower bunk bed at a hard 6:45, “You don’t always have to be a 10 around your kids.” Gotta love motherly advice of this heat-warming magnitude. In other words, stop making Mimi and Papa look like such slackers already. It’s not our fault Facebook made us the laziest grandparent generation of all time.  Stop acting like you’re choosing to make your kids the center of your universe, instead of the reverse. You’re not fooling shit.”

The truth is, I couldn’t half ass fatherhood at this point if I tried. Giving with a jade free joyous heart around my kids when I’m getting stuck in their heads to unearth their inner hilarious light for more all-star chapters to my books is what I do best. I’ve also learned how kids grow closer to you, when you don’t talk down to them like perpetual morons. Because of that, your kids become more expressively confident than you’d ever anticipate. For example, I made it a tradition last year, to get my 3 kids gifts on my birthday, just so my wife can feel more ostracized from our special circle of love than usual. Just kidding, I thought it was a touching idea because every birthday since becoming a dad 10 years ago makes me feel born again, blessed with the divine powered opportunity to relive my age of innocence through my kids with warmer, wiser, deeper, starry filled eyes, as I become immersed in their dreamy, good spewing, reflective light.  

Recently, my son 4-year son Samuel was helping me make Pancakes with my double handle pancake griddle, which is great for deflecting concrete milkshakes if ANTIFA barges into your home protesting your right to make the family meal great again. After Samuel says, “Can I crack the egg.” He adds, “Daddy for your birthday, I want Predator and Han Solo. It’s only 2 gifts. Plus, it will make me twice as happy.” I can’t argue with funny man logic like that or else I’d be a miserable cunt in competition with my kids like the rest. It’s the reason why getting a single espresso versus a double espresso is bound to give me immediate buyer’s remorse, because Do It All Dads shouldn’t be the ones circumcising their happiness, when others female figures in their life, supposed to be on their side, appear hellbent on circumcising their happiness for them, because you don’t respect their glaring lack of intelligence, tact and belief in you making your Do It All Dad year dreams come true.  But I got God on my side and the best home team imaginable to play hard for like Charlie Hustle, to make my own dash for immortality through penning the most hilarious food writing book ever written, that being The Koshetarian Comedian and they couldn’t be more exited for me as I power through my final home field stretch with nothing but dreamy powered thoughts of winning over the spirit of Anthony Bourdain on my mind, where all the great New Yorker literary lions roam. Nothing can stop me now. If I ruffle the ego’s of various cock blocking dream detractors attempting to destroy my confidence in achieving big time literary book success, then they go woke themselves to. This Do It All Dad Train is bound for glory because my kids are well fed with heart-warming memories of making Saturday strawberry pancakes with Dad, which should be enough to satisfy their souls for now, until Daddy scores enough major f you money on the horizon, where talk of taking advantage of the Trader Joe’s employee discount will sound more ridiculous than me following my mother’s advice to become a half ass dad who throws other parents kid’s shit out for a living, triple masked or not.

Michael Kornbluth

Loud Man’s Disease

How loud was Do It All Dad? For starters, when seeing Aerosmith live in Las Vegas 2 summers ago with close seats to the stage before a mask muzzle was designed to kill freedom of speech forever, his incessant hollering and wooing, made lead singer Steven Tyler, shoot off retaliatory hate stares of disgust in his direction which screamed, “Somebody shut this loudmouth Jew up already. This is my showcase career retrospective, not his. I didn’t blow millions on blow and almost derail my stadium selling out career in the seventies to have this big-headed putz project louder than me without a microphone, Joe Perry and a state-of-the-art sound system working in his magnifying favor either.”

There was also the time Do It All Dad saw Dice in a casino in Arizona with his younger brother, only for the Dice Man to single out the loudmouth Jew and yell with exasperated force, “You’re an asshole”, and all he was doing was laughing longtime all the time prior while sporadically yelling, “Dice Lives, holla, thank very much.” Dice was so flummoxed by Do It All Dad’s laugh throaty roar, he beelined into his nursey rhymes prematurely way ahead of schedule to get the fuck out of dodge at a hard 45 minutes into his set.

Then, there was the time when Do It All Dad saw Bon Jovi at Mohegan Sun with his daughter Matilda, fairly up in the nose bleed seats this time behind the stage, yet his bombastic, rocket fueled voice, still managed to get under Zebra print’s skin, as the old school long cowboy from Jersey, projected a damning you ain’t shit thousand-yard stare toward Mr. Loud Man’s Disease general direction, as he sang along with rock star blasting authority, “Bad Medicine is all I need.”  

Do It All Dad didn’t only piss off living legendary comedians and hall of fame rock star front men with surefire, unintentional precision. His omnipresent Loud Man’s Disease enraged his normally English dour, future father-in-law over a dinner at his home in Delaware only 2 minutes after grace, compelling him to bark out in depleted, drained already disgust, “He’s more talkative than the other one.” The other one being the gentile mute from Indiana, his daughter was engaged to before his daughter found her real deal partner in love this time, at least for the time being.

The major issue now was Do It All Dad’s loud man disease causing his son Art Show USA to develop all-consuming migraine headaches, leading his son to sport a permanent PMS face, until he started to take up mainlining extra strength Tylenol again. And Do It All Dad’s son was tough. How tough you ask? Well, when Art Show USA required stiches for tripping on top of an empty IPA glass on the ground and had to wait 1000 lifetimes in the emergency room so the other doctors could serve all the 1st in line dreamers in attendance, the doc gave Do It All Dad 2 options, “Either A) Authorize the doc using an anesthesia which would take 20 minutes to kick in, or B) To stich up his son the spot as his gaping gash continued to open wider than Octomom after push 5000. Do It All Dad chose B, only for the doctor to say, “Your kid is tough.” Do It All Dad inquires, “Indulge me doc, how tough?” Doc says, “One time there was this black kid from Brooklyn.” Do It All Dad says, “Sold already Doc. Thanks for giving my son tough guy bragging rights for me to derive vicarious pride from till my last dying breath.”

But how was Do It All Dad going to solve his Loud Man’s Disease exactly? Would triple masking even get the job done, after getting his tonsils taken out for an extra safe precaution to? Would Do It All Dad become a eunuch monk, despite already feeling this way at times from being a Stay-At-Home Dad, bitchy underling until his comedy writing career achieved blast off already? Would Do It All Dad seek out a Voodoo Doctor in Washington Heights to cure his Loud Man’s Disease by changing his pigmentation to ESL Asian?

What could Do It All Dad do to prevent his son from receiving any more debilitating headaches in his presence again? Finally, Do It All Dad devised a cure all solution. He’d buy his son a pair of Bose noise canceling headphones to wear in his presence and teach him fucking sign language. Because native New Yorkers were made to be heard.

The End

Michael Kornbluth

The Stand-Up Leech Doctor

Once upon a time there was a Cardiologist from New Orleans who moved to Manhattan to become a Stand-Up Leech Doctor named Aioli Kornbluth.  Every day in his new Upper East Side office across the street from the famed Comic Strip Live on 2nd Avenue, he’d offer his bad blood removal service free of charge. Growing up in New Orleans, his Cardiologist father Michael decided to name his kid Aioli because no son, planned or not, could compare to his dearly departed 1st born Zevon Kornbluth who died in Vietnam from a falling tree. Aioli Kornbluth’s father always said, “Laughter was the best medicine for a heavy heart”, so he named his unplanned son Aioli, which lightened his cinderblock clogged heart every time he ordered his son to do his errands as a kid such as, “Make your bed Aioli, take out the trash Aioli, your Snoop Dog records to. I don’t care that he samples funk beats and big horns from Curtis Mayfield records. His brain still hovers a notch below porn hell in my book.”

As a kid, Aioli Kornbluth was forced to feel like the unwanted, aborted one, prompting him to use his allowance for a whole year to buy a Henry Kissinger doll from a Voodoo Doctor in the French Quarter, to seek revenge on the merchant of death responsible for the rapid, incessant, blatantly unnecessary acceleration of the Vietnam war, but he didn’t have enough money saved for the costs of so much fabric. Still, the Voodoo Doctor Chief Longwinded Bow, gave Aioli Kornbluth more than a mere constellation prize in return by offering to teach the ancient black magic art of bad blood removal through leech expungement.  

A young 13-year-old Aioli Kornbluth poured his heart out to Chief Longwinded Bow, trying to look his dapper best, sporting his standard, ironed, Catholic Private School suit and tie attire, from the same school where Eli and Peyton Manning attended as kids down off the Bayou. He says, “Chief, can I call you just Chief? I’d like to be curt, so you have more time to ramble on. I can’t shake the feeling that my dad will never forgive God for taking his 1st born, my big brother away from him so soon. You’d think I’d offer some solace being on the Honor Roll year after year. I even broke Eli Manning’s single season touchdown record yet pops would rather listen to Fat’s Domino records on Sunday while sipping more Blanton’s High Balls, reading more damn Michael Crichton novels, than ever taking the time to throw the pig skin around the yard with me. Also, Eli Manning is a bigger pimp than Tom Brady. He’s New Orleans royalty for starters. Plus, Eli married his college sweetheart not some annoying Brazilian chicken head either. Giselle is also like 80 in model years.” Chief Longwinded Bow says, “And Oliver Stone has the gaul to call me longwinded compared to my younger Brother, “Snorts Coke With Vampires when he hired us as creative consultants on the set of Natural Born Killer. Moving forward I would add some leaches to your diet. You can swallow them whole or dice them and sauté them in butter nestled within a crawfish pie if you’d like. Either way, the leeches will remove any ill will you have for your father for never making you feel like an esteemed, wanted member of your family.” Aioli Kornbluth says, “I love Crawfish Pie. I’ve always told my dad Crawfish is shrimp with more personality. Yeah, my dad doesn’t think I’m funny enough to be stand up comedian either.”  

But now Aioli Kornbluth is about to turn 40 in Manhattan with no kids or wife in his life. All he’s got his fancy cardiologist office practice on the Upper East Side and dreams of becoming a Stand-Up Leech Doctor although tonight was the annual audition try out for the Comic Strip, which he had been practicing for his entire life. His number is called and Aioli Kornbluth approaches the stage yet fumbles grabbing the mike out of the stand. Aioli says, “Can you believe I’m a Cardiologist and perform open heart surgery for a living.” Crowd screams with approval. Aioli relaxes a tad and roams the stage to take in the crowd and the moment he’s dreamed of turning into reality forever while almost tripping over the coiled microphone chord. Aioli stares at the mike cord on stage and says, “The mike cord isn’t a live snake. You’d think being raised by a bunch of Marti Gras Indians; I wouldn’t let a microphone chord rattle my game.” Crowd laughs again.  Laughter was the best medicine for a heavy heart and Aioli Kornbluth was sad no more, until he died on stage soon after and was told to never audition for the Comic Strip ever again. The owner of the Comic Strip said, “Stick with sticking your heart attack patients with more stents.”

The End