Politically Incorrect Prisoner of The Year

Daddy, why do Goldfish die young? Because they’re not holding their breath at the shot of skinny dipping with Christie Brinkley.

Christine Blasey Ford was a runner up for Time Person of the Year. Michelle Obama didn’t even make honorable mention. I think it’s time for a new publicist.

Why wasn’t Anthony Bourdain Time Person of the Year? He was a writer journalist who died for what he believed in. That’s right, he trolled Hillary on Twitter for taking campaign donations from known rapists like Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein, duh.
And where’s my nomination for Time Person of the Year? Corporate America has insisted on keeping me imprisoned under house arrest as a Stay at Home Comedian/Father of 3 because I’m a pro Trump truther prisoner of political correctness.
A Vasectomy is like playing God or a Bartender who refuses to serve you after you’ve had too many.
A Vasectomy screams I’ve got enough knots in my back already. One more in my groin won’t make much of a difference.
A Vasectomy screams after this, I’m done tying knots with either sex period.

Old Bud
I dreamed of you owning a vacation home in New Mexico.

Me
Georgia O’Keefe did good work there. Personally, I prefer her labia looking flower paintings because they burst with more eye fucking sensuality.

If the CEO of Google called me at Robert Half, I’d assume he was an H1-B, claim our connection was bad and hang up on him next. Thinking, I’d have an easier time penning a Bollywood musical than making a fee off this guy.
My son tires from over-exposure to my wife like me. He wines. “Why does mommy always have to drop me off at Pre-K?” She does this twice a week max. NPR & Indy Rock drive him nuts strapped into his car seat minus my father figure veto powers in times of war.

Why do my people, elitist Jews hate Trump so much? Either A) They’re hack writers who can’t stand his far greater Twitter following or B) They’re no names Sales Directors. Who might make enough to live in a building Trump owns.
INT. HOME
Wife
You’re hanging out with Dave on Christmas Eve?
Me
I never see him. Plus, he’s listened to 1 more podcast than you have out of 57 so far. Last, I can play socket puppets with the kids with your mom’s gift when I get back. Plus, babe, I’m Jewish. So, Mass isn’t a Holiday Event to be checked off in my Outlook Calendar, no offense.

Divorcing my parents was a good deal for them. They pay child support in the form of Pre-K for only 1 out of their 3 grandchildren. Which is cheaper than minimum child support payments in Texas. Plus, they save money on gas because they never visit.
Daddy laying his foot down. Get away from my 40 of Grapefruit Seltzer. I’m not drinking IPA’s, wine or bourbon till your birthday kid. It’s all Daddy’s got left. Daddy, what’s a 40? Snoop Dog’s ho sprayer of choice.

 
All the talking heads on Fox sound the same when defending their belief in God. I’m better off believing. Who else who could’ve created all this majesty? My answer is simple. I believe in God because my 3 kids worship me like the All Mighty himself. Plus, they love to caress my holy, wise beard. And deep down I know God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it. Last, I’m a true believer because my mother sulks as my 3 kids blanket with me love in her presence and my son hugged me after my dad sulked from me reading my DM from Richard Lewis.
The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows

I don’t recall one special birthday as a kid besides my Bar Mitzvah Party. If the Aussie transplant student Joanne Matthews slow danced with me with too much upper body stiffness, then my 13th birthay would’ve been a total bust. Slow dancing with brace face Denna Kleinman was nice and I liker her spunky, not as peppy cute Punk Brewster personality. But she failed to stimulate visions of walking hand and hand along the boardwalk at Rye Playland at night. The way statuesque, fuller lipped, high caste conjuring, big blaster laugh Kajal did.

My son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, AKA Art Show USA, AKA Feather Foot, AKA Number 1 Capricorn, AKA Gimel Be Good, won’t have an issue attracting woman to slow dance with him at Bar Mitzvah Parties or for him. Because my son Arthur already looks like a handsomer, pubescent Leo. At 4 going on five, Art Show USA, number 1 Capricorn who was born on New Years Day, looks like a dreamy pairing of child star Chad Allen from Our House  and a less aw shucks, mop head blondie Ricky Schroder from Silver Spoons. But never coming off overtly preppy stiff either.

Arthur’s also hilarious already. These are his greatest ad lib hits so far. “Cortana, throw yourself out the window.” And “daddy be funnier than Weird Al by Christmas or I’ll kill you with your sharpest knife for real.” This morning, I’m working on a new blog post chapter post and ask him. “Art Show, what do you think of the title, Book Authors Are Fire Proof?”  He says. “Your office is on fire.” And my wife questions my comedic tutelage by exposing my son to an episode of Robot Chicken. Until I realized how Seth Green grew up in Hollywood as a child star. So of course his sense of humor is going to be ten times darker than mine. Assuming he hung out at the Viper Room with River Phoenix 1 more time than I did.

But forget the God given good looks and intrinsic sense of funny man timing, my son Arthur also happens to be the sweetest boy in the world. Who was drawing a picture of me as I picked him up early from Pre-K today. Arthur launches into yummy dances after taking a bite of my blanched broccoli, shitake bake casserole supreme in my honor. Whizzing around the kitchen back into our living room dinning room area. Singing “Best daddy ever, best daddy ever.” Arthur plays so well with his 7 year old big sister Singing Rose Matilda. Besides when Arthur orders his big sister around. Commanding her to put down her Barbies and play Honey wit him. Which is their teacher, pupil imaginary game. Under these circumstances, I’ll control my son with comedy and address his pushy, controlling behavior in a playful yet direct tone. I say,  “Calm down Little Hitler. You have the best sister ever. Because of Matilda your bare minimum grandparents on both sides are rendered 100% useless.” In case you’re wondering, Arthur, doesn’t like it when I call him “Little Hitler.” If he ever really pissed me off, I’d buy him eight MAGA Hats for Chanukah and drop him off in the middle of Prospect Park by himself and go for a run there for old times sake.

I’ll never get over my parents ho hum embrace of Art Show USA’s birth into our family.   The thing is Arthur was born 2 weeks early and my parents were already retired in Scottsdale, Arizona for 5 years already. So on some level, I feel my dad resented Arthur’s birth a tad because it’s not a good look when you only see your not 1 but 2 grandchildren now, only 10 days a year. When you’re both retired in your mid sixties in an Arizona Estate shrine home for themselves. Despite claims of getting it to make it a marquee vacation destination for my family to visit despite their old yenta friends spending way more time than our family has. And despite them buying the home after we already had Matilda and still hadn’t added 2 more children to our Kiss Army family at large.

Don’t get me wrong. My parents worked hard for their Arizona Estate home. Nothing was given to them. I respect their achievement in this respect immensely. Still, this financial, career offshoot accomplishment in a cushy Clinton years economy, pre 911,  doesn’t erase the fact that after my son Arthur was born, I sensed 0.0 rush to book the 1st flight to NY to hug and kiss their grandson.

What was more infuriating was me on the phone with my Dad who was on his way to Vegas after my son Arthur was born. On the phone, I said Dad. “Don’t forget to bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas.” But my dad whose never been a narcissist according to my younger brother. Totally blanked on why he should bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas. So I yell over the phone. “Let me help you dad. Bet on 1 at Roulette because your grandson was born on New Years Day.”

I return to work, cold calling Directors in charge application development as a new business development rep for the IT consulting staffing division of Robert Half at the time. As the day progressed, I become consumed with clench fisting rage over the fact my parents weren’t on a Southwest Flight heading toward Kennedy already because their flight back east was already pre-booked 2 weeks in advance. Later that evening, I told my mom how I felt. Thank God, my mom realized our fledging remnant of a relationship, depended on her booking a flight ASAP to see her grandson back east. Pops didn’t join her. My dad doesn’t do the cold anymore. Now, his favorite pastimes, retired in Scottsdale, Arizona. Are playing tennis with Dr. Ken and jerking off to the Weather Channel, whenever a new winter storm does a bukkake all over the eastern seaboard. Slamming it harder and harder with more flurries of winter blasts, again and again.

Last year a day before Arthur’s 4th birthday my wife still hadn’t contacted Jame’s mom from Pre-K yet to invite them over for Arthur’s birthday. And James was his only main bud there. To say I was infuriated was an understatement but I assumed ownership of the situation. Called Jame’s mom who I chatted it up with numerous times at Arthur’s Pre-K prior. She’s a pretty, striking, tall Croatian. So I got off making her laugh and she got my off the cuff humor which is always nice.  James made it to Arthur’s birthday with his mom, big sister and construction worker Dad. Who made me feel like Rocky staring up at Drago after he kills Apollo. I got every big balloon possible from Party USA. It’s a birthday tradition I established with his big sister Matilda from the start. We don’t have a big home so only inviting James and his family was perfect.  Jame’s big sister really got into me after I told her I hosted a podcast even though I hadn’t recorded an episode yet. I’ve done 57 since our exchange last year in case you’re wondering.

My parents always claimed birthdays were never a big a deal for them. But my children’s birthdays are for me. I tell my kids their birthdays are mine to because all 3 kids of mine have made me born again. All 3 of my kids have blessed me with the divine powered opportunity to relive my age of wonderous innocence but through more mature lives through lens this time around. So I can make sure they suffer less than me. So I can make sure they suffer from less career hampering mistakes than me. So I can make sure they develop richer, more substantial, more long lasting friendships than I have.

All of my kids birthdays also celebrates me becoming a family man, not a degenerate, self serving, show biz slut for hire. I love my children’s birthdays because each was a big deal then and always will be, come rain or shine. Without my children, I don’t do my podcast. I don’t decide to become a best selling book author. We make a great home team and celebrate all our unique brands of specialness all the way.

My children are superior company than most. And if you can’t get excited about the birth of my children, which are in essence sweeter, superior manifestations of me. Then, I think it’s safe to assume, I don’t possess a special place in your heart after all. As long as I’m around, my kids birthdays will never blow.  I’ll always make sure to make them feel like center of my universe and never be afraid to show it. I love my little Kiss Army with all my heart. Fathering my kids good is my starring part.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

The Meaning of the Hebrew Hammer

Dad texts 9:45 EST. Michael, have the kids call us tomorrow tonight at 6:30 so we can wish them a happy #Chanukah. And I’m thinking, chopped liver gets more respect from gentiles than this.

Call my nurse wife at work at night.

Wife
Is everything OK?
Me
You should defriend whoever gave you this wine for your birthday.
It tastes like Manischewitz and your mom’s cheap shit Prosecco had a baby.

Wife
Why are you drinking my wine?
Me
I just learned the Good Men Project is republishing 19 of pieces before sundown on the 1st night of #Chanukah .
Wife
Guess you deserve it.
Me
Why didn’t you say spoiler alert 1st?

Thanks and Praises Prayer
Lord, thanks for making my daughter Matilda so me oriented sweet. Her hair band holder #Chanukah gift to clip my felt tip pen around my wrist because I had stained my beige Levi jean pockets made me feel I’ve done good.

Thanks and Praises Prayer Part 2
Lord, thanks for the 25 dollar telescope steal of the century at Goodwill. It made the best big kahuna group #Chanukah gift ever. I think my wife wanted to overdose on the vitamins she gave the kids prior.

INT. NORDSTROM
Me
I’d like this Ugg Slipper because the grey one will encourage my wife to wear her black robe with floral print which I can’t stand. When my daughter wears it, I resent my wife for turning me off from my daughter.

INT. HOME
Me
Pete Davidson trending on Twitter again is really testing my commitment to comedy. I never contemplated cheating on comedy until now Matilda. That kid exudes less personable charm than a wax replica of Paul O’Neil.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 1
Andy Dick orders his pet reindeer’s Jew Hater Horn 1 and 2 to impale his Jew Lover dad Santa to death because he worshiped the golden Jew Adam Sandler more because he’s more child friendly than Dick.

What’s the meaning of the Hebrew Hammer Dada? Part 2
Andy Dick, Santa’s Jew hating son, has Santa’s Reindeer kill Santa because he refused to back Mitt Romney’s bid to gut Dreidel World and turn it into an Illuminati looking Nutcracker factory.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

Loved 9 Times 2 Babe

Daddy, what’s DNA? Not enough for a jury to declare OJ guilty beyond reasonable doubt.

I sacrificed my career to become a mother. So now, VP Pence has control over your Fallopian Tubes?

INT. ANTIQUE STORE
Owner
I only have this Menorah.
Me
It looks like my starter weed bowl in high school, no offense.
Don’t worry, my daughter did the intro for my podcast episode, My Weed Exit Interview.

INT. ANTIQUE STORE
Me
I love your va va voom Marilyn Monroe Doll. It’s almost life size.
Once, my son points at a picture of Marilyn in my old office while I’m changing him. He says Mama? I say, I wish.

Owner laughs longtime.

INT. ANTIQUE STORE
Owner
That Menorah isn’t for sale.
Me
Really, did George Soros call dibs on it on already?

INT. BAGEL STORE
OWNER
Your girl can’t stand on the chair.
Me
Its’ a he. And he flings 5 pound free weights like Pistachio nuts. Would you tell a budding Bruce Jenner to sit on her ass?

Perfect gay husband qualifier.
Buy yourself a pink vibrator ladies. And if your husband only shows interest in manhandling it, after telling Alexa to turn your smart bulb on Lexington Steele black.

Me explaining the meaning of Chanukah to my kids.
A miracle is faith rewarded in believing and acknowledging the fact they don’t happen without God’s blessed, divine intervention powered assistance.

I sample a Lena Dunham joke at a book store. Worker says. I’m not amused. You should try that one at an open mike? I say. I bet you have Google alerts set for Marc Maron’s  stories about his cats.

INT. TOY STORE
Me
Does the Obama doll talk?
Toy Store Worker
Only in Europe these days since the blue wave turned into a severe case of blue balls.

I don’t hate people. I hate unearned, bitch face arrogance, especially if you sport a beard. Never been #shadowbanned, kill on stage or closed a deal off an initial cold call in your life because you’re a gun shy, ineffectual pussy.

INT. WINE SHOP
Owner
Self Awareness is rare.
Me
Tell that to Baby Boomers who still spend more time with Don Lemon’s fluttering lisp over the warm butterflies in their belly feeling from playing with their 3 grandchildren.

At 42 with 3 kids,  a standard egg and cheese and regular slice are off the list. I feel like George McFly never graduating past his menial, bottom of the food chain, never living free of fear or poverty of spirit existence.

Me
Girls on bikes in Finland.
New Bud
You have no idea. They’re totally hairless.
Me
Chin Hair plucking wives are the worst, especially when their blond hair is blinded under the bar lights when you 1st met.

College Bud
Sad, George HW Bush passed.
Me
I’m sure Obama’s pouring out a Bud Light in his honor to Boyz to Men as we speak. Crooning, it’s so hard to say goodbye to his default Bush blaming years of yesterday

Sad, George HW passed. Look, I got emotional when he got wheeled out for the Super Bowl. But this was before I learned his father was a Nazi profiteer. Forget, losing to Clinton which gave us Hillary and Russia our Uranium. And John Podesta a pool party pass.

Why won’t Michelle Obama run for President? I thought her husband called Michelle the closer. Oh, that’s right, Obama’s nicknames don’t mean anything or offer any real world substance in reality like calling ISIS JV monster killers.

INT. ANTIQUE STORE
Owner
That Menorah isn’t for sale.
Me
What if told you I worked for the Clinton Foundation.
Owner
I’d say, you had less call in favor power now than papa Bush.

I sample a Lena Dunham joke at a book store. Worker says. I’m not amused. You should try that one at an open mike? I say. The world is my stage you sackless, no personality twerp. You still work in a book store Cold Spring correct? Just checking.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a wife who always drank good beer over overpriced wine? Because stated concerns of beer making her bloaty never touch thy lips because she’s religiously married to her rock solid core exercise regimen. I’m just a dreamer. Who dreams of better days, oh yeah!

 

I sacrificed my career to become a mother. I wouldn’t call wining and dining doctors as a pharma sales rep a career. You were a glamorized, white collar drug pusher with an expense account at best.

I sacrificed my social life to become a mom. Stop acting like your boring friends in marketing we’re such interesting company to begin with, past flashing their semi-attractive feet in flip flops on casual Friday.

Catch and release makes less sense than letting the Podesta brothers order in Pizza for your Super Bowl Party.

Sad, George HW passed. Then, you won’t get out of bed. When John Brennan is locked up in Gitmo for sedition. Fantasizing about the good old days. Sniffing Obama’s Birkenstock’s after Obama’s casual bike rides with Reggie Love in Martha’s Vineyard.

Obama’s statement on Bush.
Without his fuck up son, I never would’ve been groomed as a doable replacement. Or scored a Netflix deal for Ben Rhodes writing my say nothing, do nothing speeches discarding ISIS as JV Terror mongers.

INT. ANTIQUE STORE
Owner
That menorah isn’t for sale.
Me
Is that where George Soros hides the key to his safety deposit box in Switzerland?

Hey Twitter, is this joke anti-Trump enough for you? Melania’s red Christmas Trees look like Paul Bunyan got corn holed by sitting on them all after standing on line all day to get into a Trump rally because it hurt so good.

I come back from a beard trim. My 3 kids bum rush me in the car, the second I arrive. Obviously, I’m beyond touched by the gesture. Still, I’m fuming knowing mama was boring them to death. What husband wouldn’t be empathetic?

You know you’re pissing off the right people at Twitter. When you start a new account for the 17th time to get out of #shadowbanned jail. And still have your account frozen before you’ve even fired off your 1st tweet.

Do It All Dad Advice
Kid Rock said son, I can give you a blank check, but that won’t do you any good. What he meant by this, is prolonged dependence hampers your ability to dream bigger than your controlled circumstance dictates.

College friend not sounding flattering. I’m envious of you having a wife and a family. Don’t get me wrong I think your wife is alright. But why haven’t I got married? Because you didn’t let your parents buy your girlfriend an engagement ring.

I deliver a Lena Dunham joke. Bookstore attendant says. I’m not amused. I say, no offense but out of my 5 million jokes, I wasn’t expecting a Lena Dunham one to get me on Kimmel.

I sacrificed my career for motherhood. Resent your kids more, despite them injecting your life with more meaning and divine connective tissue than your excel spreadsheets on data mining for Target ever did babe.

Wife
We’re going to give daddy alone to get some work done.
Me
Because mommy only feels 2 hours is enough to write query letters, blogs & complete manuscripts during the days she’s around to entertain and teach her children well.

7 Year Old Daughter
Can we call Grandpa?
Mom
It’s a Saturday Night.
Me
And he’ll feel weird during the call when he’s got no excuse to be home on a Saturday night beside Baba resting her bum knee from couch plopping, atrophy.

Daddy, what’s the Bible? A book of laws communicated from God to Moses. Whose Moses? A stuttering Jew who came through. But he wasn’t nearly as putzy as his assistant Joshua. He dropped God’s tablet commandments. That’s your DNA in a nutshell.

15 years later Hebrew Hammer is still funny. Understand, the shtick is a tad redundant but Adam Goldberg is still hilarious in it. Stay Jewish kid destroyed me. Daughter laughed at Jewish Justice League, priceless.

Why my wife sucks sometimes. Hey, babe, The Good Men Project is going to republish 18 of my blog pieces. What are they paying you for it? Less than your parents give us, so nothing.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

What’s My Blog About Rapewood?

It’s about an ex pot head lost boy who found his mojo as a stay at home dad comedian.

It’s about falling for fatherhood hard and rising from slug to stud as a paid remote American writer on the rise.

It’s about proving I can deliver the funny and heart on both the universal and topical better than most.

It’s about showcasing my Neil Young productivity and Metallica brooding intensity.

It’s about not sounding too rehearsed or sounding too formulaic like every other jerkoff on the Twitter-Verse.

It’s about mining for comedy gold and exercising my freedom of speech, so my wife no longer treats me like such a treacherous leach.

It’s about getting laughs from strangers which is what comedians live to do but I have 3 kids now. So chasing down open mikes in the city aren’t as easy to do.

It’s about promoting the benefits of attachment parenting. Which is turning your bed into a 24/7 open milk bar. But my kids complexions glow as opposed to other kids who look like they took a load to the face with Elmer’s Glue gun so far.

It’s about calling out fake news racist charges against President Trump. Unlike Obama, he never drank, smoked or did bumps.

It’s about becoming a voice for the remote work revolution and stay at home dads who get less respect than IT recruiters.

It’s about doing my own version of Charles Bukowski’s zero bullshit poetic prose, Thomas Paine’s freedom of speech loving verse and Walt Whitman’s making love to the world through words.

It’s about becoming an unplanned parent of 3 and how it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.

It’s about writing the funniest parenting book ever about working remote, falling for fatherhood and controlling my kids through comedy.

It’s about recycling my jokes on Twitter which shadow bans my material every time I get on another hot streak which has been 2 years straight.

It’s more than just a creative outlet babe. It’s the greatest do it all dad show on earth.  But I’m glad you’re making tomato soup grill cheese sandwiches with your boyfriend now to reduce your combined girth.

It’s not about bashing whitey because that’s more played than dedicating the song, We Won’t Get Fooled Again to the Clinton Foundation at the only local Karaoke bar in Hatti.

It’s not about getting noticed by a Creative Director in Manhattan for a Copywriter job anymore.

It’s not about just complaining about my parents abandoning me for Scottsdale, Arizona 350 days a year with 3 grandchildren back east with me.

It’s not about just entertaining myself or my own ego enlargement purposes although more likes than usual helps.

It’s about figuring out what writer I want to be.

It’s about writing my way into your heart, not whether I come across as a notch above learning disabled smart.

It’s about minimizing my intense, aggressive, NY asshole aura by emoting about how wonderful my children are and how much they adore me instead.

It’s about taking my writing career more seriously than ever. And revealing more about myself than my predominant tendency to bludgeon your ears to death with clever.

It’s about becoming an important voice for Gen X Dads. Who in the age of Meto, care about preserving their nads.

It’s about becoming a voice for do it all dad’s who don’t get enough props, who need me time entertainment to enjoy with their IPA hops.

It’s about I how I have to become a parenting author because capturing voices is my forte and getting inside my children’s is the most fulfilling form of child’s play.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

But Walt Whitman Self-Published

 

What’s Latin Daddy? And don’t tell me Bob Dylan was in the Latin Club again.

He’s the only songwriter to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

 

I want to punch you in the face so bad right now. And for the record, Warren Zevon sounds like The Last Unicorn.
But seriously daddy, why do I have to take Latin again? My Colombian friend Shannon told me Latin is old school white privilege English. I say. You try seducing Cleopatra with limericks in Yiddish. And see how that materializes for you.

New Intro for Do It All Dad Year Podcast EP54 “My Cubicle Resistance”
I’m a Spiritual Medium Comedian for voiceless, dead man dads. Today, I’m visited by Lenny Bruce, doing my act, because I passed his hack free seal of approval.

INT. HOME
Wife
Won’t self-publishing a book cost money?
Stay At Home Comedian
Hush, let me finish.
Wife
I’ve been patient for 10 years.
Stay At Home Comedian
Whistling like Axl Rose helps.

Rocky 3 proves flailing blocked hay-makers, compared to improved, balletic, ducking and weaving in ring ain’t nothing.

Me
I was ready for our sex date after tucking in the kids. But you went to sleep on me on the couch before they did.
Wife
You seemed angry with me.
Me
Your soggy sage pesto didn’t help. And I’m so horny. I’d French Kiss Julia Child.

Crazy Good Dada
School Lunches Deconstructed
Cafeteria ban is in full effect. Thank God. Don’t these moms have anything else better to do than hang out with their boring kids for lunch? I guess mommy blogger meetups have limited appeal after all.

INT. HOME
Wife
Won’t self-publishing a book cost money?
Stay At Home Comedian
Walt Whitman self-published Leaves of Grass.
Your faith left in your husband making a star studded dent in this universe is less than blue ball season on Neptune.

Crazy Good Dada Lunch Continued
Today, I learned Brooke’s name is actually Brooklyn. She’s like a mini Lena Dunham. Brooke’s parents just signed her up for horse riding lessons. Now Brooke breath, identifies herself as a self-involved, know it all twat.

I’d rather hear the Muslim call to prayer in my own home than hear my stuck up English mother in law say Christmas on our Alexa speakers at full blast. Because at least the Muslim call to prayer never sounds gratingly generic.

Daddy, what does Zen mean? It’s a school of Buddhism that teaches you to use meditation for enlightenment. What’s enlightenment? The opposite of being an all over the place Jew. You’re not very good at meditation yet, are you Dada?

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

My Cubicle Resistance

My boy screams. Mom says. “If you won’t brush your teeth, I will.” I say. “Or you’ll turn get ready for bed into a wall of cacophony sound. Like when Lana Clarkson told Phil Spector the Ronettes were high maintenance whiny Jews in weaves.”

Opening line for my personal essay about my old school cubicle resistance.
I want to work from home as a stay at home comedian paid writer because I’m better at empowering and entertaining than my wife is. And my kids take pride in who I am.

What’s the secret to keeping my marriage together? Making fearless, non-negotiable demands like insisting my wife deal with lumpy, batter tits until she finds a replacement for her Handmaid’s Tale bra giveaways on Amazon Prime.

Wife
This is the 1st year your parents didn’t send me a birthday card.
Me
My mom was busy planning Jonathan’s 2nd engagement in 2 years for his big year, big year.

Pedo Jeffrey Epstein invited Bill Clinton to visit his virgin Island 20 more times than my parents invited my family to visit them in Scottsdale, Arizona. When they pay for you to visit on demand once a year, it doesn’t quantify as an invite does it?

EXT. SON’S PRE-K-MORNING
Drop off my son with his teacher.
Me
I knew it was going to snow. So much for mama being a nature love child in tune with the Rainforest.

Son’s teacher laughs long time.

Me turning my daughter on to Ecstasy unintentionally.
Ecstasy is ingenious marketing actually because your friends will say. Are you an anti-joy Republican? Ecstasy feels like a fairy tingles your spine with a feather from Pocahontas’s Head Dress.

New Chapter Title Ideas about the birth of my 3 kids.
Birth of an another American Beauty
F You Dad Baby
Birth of a God Loving Humanist

Personal essay title options about re-raising myself as a classical baby schooled in classic American literature and white European composer music.

The Latin Club
Reincarnating Myself as a Classical Baby
From Hendrix to Mahler

Friend
What’s Shadow Banning?
Me
Big Tech suppressing pro-American content by banning your words or blocking their visibility because the fake news moralist nerd overlords of Silicon Valley sold their souls to communist controlled China and the Kennedy Killers.

Enough with investigations into Facebook’s knowledge of Russian election interference. Get answers on why they haven’t banned ANTIFA, or hate speech incarnate Farrakhan from the site yet insist on Diamond and Silk being the real menace to society. Nino Brown from New Jack City was a menace to society. Diamond and Silk are De La Soul in comparison Zit Face Zuck.

Luck eludes me like hangtime, no matter how I hard I try to move on up, to the stars.  I meet a former CIO of Nokia. He wants to do an interview on my Podcast yet he doesn’t know if he has Skype. So much for pumping Dino for an open job to fill and putting my old school IT recruiter hat on to feed my family, unbelievable.

Don Draper genius on display at Stop and Shop with my son. I pick up foot fungus cream before taking in the condom section to feel like a total scumbag inside and out. Jealous rage swims within me when I see. Skyn Condom, “Feel Everything.” If this isn’t the Devil tempting you to cheat on your girlfriend or wife to ensure the least collateral damage, I don’t know what is.

Personal essay title about getting a reluctant Vascetomy.
Sperm Implanter or Sperm Terminator?
Pulling the Plug on My Life Shooter
But 4 Kids Would Really Piss My Parents Off

How do I control my kids with my comedy? I tell them if they don’t let daddy get work done, I’ll get a sales job in the city, do open mikes after work and they’ll never see me again. Works every time because they’re in love with my company naturally.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

The Productive Stoner

I always wanted to be a functional pothead. But I had to stop trying 3 kids later.  I gave it my best shot. Don’t think I’m quitter.

7 years ago, my wife barges into our 1 bedroom apartment bathroom on a Friday night in a whirlwind of presumptive disgust because I was enjoying myself a tad too much as our 3 year old splashed in the bubble. And sang with me as we crooned with soul stirring,  shimmering glee to Bob Marley’s evil spirit conquering Duppy Conqueror. Understand, I puffed a one hitter in the bathroom with the window open before I got my daughter situated in there which got me feeling extra loose. Now, my wife barges through the bathroom door unannounced. Shoots off a final judgement hate stare in my direction and says with frothy, damnation dispiritedness. “You’re such a stoner.” Before slamming the bathroom door coming off the hinges.  Next my 4 year old daughter, Matilda, Singing Rose Kornbluth says. “Daddy, you’re not a stoner. You’re a rock star.” I say. “You’re right, Matilda. Because stoners aren’t doers and daddy is a doer. Granted, I haven’t done mommy since her birthday last year but that’s besides the point.”

So do I still smoke some weed? Squeeze in a puff of Florida Crippy’s for old times sake to celebrate writing the 1st draft of a new TV pilot like I did for my past creations including Don’t Laugh I Live Newark, Mr. Right and Mike Mates? I’m strong at banging out headline hookers I know. But no, I haven’t smoked the scrumptious, crystal specked green supreme goodness in 4 months now I think. Could be longer. So much for my short-term memory bouncing back with palpable, reverberating vengeance since my past podcast goodbye to my pothead plagued past in Episode 43 My Weed Exit Interview, on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast. I had my daughter do the intro for it. “Funnier, dad, happier baby, and I’m living proof of it. Can I get a Challah for some Challah?”

Ok, so back to the million dollar question, what drove me to take a permanent vacation from what I perceived as my best bud till my daughter Matilda was born? For starters, 3 kids later, I could no longer afford to feel like a bigger moron than I already feel around my comedic genius daughter. She’s a math nerd also which is a tad annoying. It got to the point, where I was disgusted at my belabored, ad lib replies to her super deep, out of nowhere questions about God.  My daughter asks. “So Daddy, if God created the Universe, then who created God?” I say. “God, went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk.” Daughter says. “Real convincing Dada. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.” The joke doesn’t work as good if she says 6.

When you stop smoking weed after you’ve been a Stoner for 2 decades in a row, you start remembering your dreams because they’re so vivid crazy homes. You think you’ve been blackout drunk your entire waking life prior. What I’ve noticed in these dreams is old buds resurface. Who I’d either get stoned with or drunk with. But any semblance of a sturdier, brotherly bond past getting fucked up together, disintegrates under the unflinching, murky, glare of my dream undertow. Where old buds appear emotionless within the shadowy corners of my subconscious, REM catching up mind man.

I also compared my joke retweet stats on Twitter when I took an extended break on weed prior to my podcast Weed Exit Interview episode and was disgusted at the sobering statistical illumination revelation. I banged out almost ten times as many jokes off the weed than on it. Plus, my jokes on weed in comparison sounded like the dull minded, dim witted, dead brained drippings of a mentally strained douche-bag.

 

Trump has produced around 38,000 tweets compared to my 40,000 plus from my past. Proving native New Yorker’s hailing from Queens don’t have a hard time expressing themselves or ever run out of colorful things to say. At the same time, this doesn’t mean I’ve had burnout induced moments in my 20’s and 30’s when I was an awful communicative stoner, which haunt me till this day.

Once, I was cold calling a VP of Engineering as an IT Recruiter, doing new business development in Manhattan for a staffing company in One Penn Plaza right above MSG. And I could barely state my own full name clearly and at this point I only had 36 years of practice. “Hi, my name is Michael Kornbababluth, from Adam Jacobs & Associates. “Struggling with your own name I see” the VP of Engineering said with relished glee.

My own father stopped smoking weed after he met my mom in college. It was a deal breaker for her. Once, I recall watching the Knicks my Senior Year in High School when I started smoking plenty of weed after school from the Bronx, the cheap, sprayed kind that tastes like Windex. So I’m watching the game with my dad and out of nowhere my dad says with all knowing, dour disdain, “You’re not speaking well.” Translation, you’re smoking too much weed and you’re a learning disabled kid who didn’t crack a 1000 on his SAT’s. You’re not Bob Dylan, moron.

I always wanted to be a functional pothead. Getting my TV writing gig at VH1 Classic for Americas Hard 100, which was 12 years in the making felt great. Especially after I rose to the occasion and proved to myself I could get a high stakes writing job done well with all eyez on me pressure. I got stoned solo to celebrate in Manhattan off my prized one hitter and took a soulful, money, money, cocksure stroll from Times Square to my favorite craft brew bar in Manhattan on 10th Avenue to extend my feel good party in my honor. But then, I’m at the bar, being non-predatory flirty, feeling like a married slut in a straight jacket. Acting nervous around woman at the bar because I feel guilty about being free of my 3 year old girl for once and that was before my other 2 kids were born.

I continued to get high off the extra good green after becoming a dad because it still brought me pleasure and it helped my brain chill at night when I’d squeeze in a hit away from kids after dinner around 7. I’d love listening to the Grateful Dead, Europe 72 on it or Hair Metal ballads by Warrant, especially while reading new jokes of mine which come alive off the page a bit more on it. Plus, my evening reading performances for my kids in bed were more spontaneous fun for both the kids and me. Reality is though, weed is a poor man’s substitute for the American Hustler search and destroy, kill um all mentality  I needed to embody to become a major comedy success in this universe and continued weed use burns out my full throttle flame of creativity before I can take it even higher. I justified my weed use for long because I’d use the weed as a reward for getting a new script or blog done, but that’s a limited way of thinking, especially knowing, how I’m scheduling myself to be less productive the day after I get blazed.

My wife’s worse nightmare was me being stoned at night once she was in labor with our 3 child Samuel Teddy.  The birth of Samuel pushed me past my obsession with fulfilling all my self-serving needs. 14 months later I became determined to love myself better and be the healthier, wiser, friskier, funnier Dad provider my family of 5 needed me to be. Now, I’m pushing myself to maximize my time on this earth to make it as a writer on the rise after all. One my 3 kids can be proud of past their adoration of dad because they’re not teenagers in love with anyone else but me yet.

My book Stay At Home Comedian is a love letter about how my 3 kids finally got my act together. It’s a self-improvement story about how my 3 kids inspired me to replace bad habits with good habits. It’s a humor book about parenting, modern fatherhood and controlling my kids through comedy as a stay at home comedian podcast host blogger who works from home  It’s a memoir about my unusual artist family and how my kids have made me a better friend, husband, patriot, writer, leader and comedian.  Last night, my daughter asks. “Are you getting close to finishing your humor book on fatherhood, Stay At Home Comedian yet daddy? When you start selling copies of it through Amazon Kindle and at Barnes and Noble, I can call you a real artist because real art sells, right Dada?” I say. “I liked it better when you called me a rock star instead. Richard Belzer called all comedians frustrated rock stars at heart.”

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

Best Bud Sarah Silverman Never Had

You know God loves you when your kids play with your fungus covered feet. Seeing past your impurities. My 2 boys know to wear new flip flops every time they step foot in the men’s showers at LA Fitness in West Hollywood.

My 1st dad moment was yelling at my wife for tramp stamping my 5 year old daughter with fake tattoos seconds before our 1st Winter Ball Dance together. I yell. Take them off. My daughters adds. Yeah, now I can’t be buried in a fake Jewish Cemetery.

My 2nd dad moment was saying no fairy wings on Matilda after my wife’s best friend gave them to her for Christmas. Matilda looks like an overdose at the Lime Light waiting to happen. Especially, at the rate she pounds seltzer at home these days.

Dads are stronger cheerleaders than moms. My wife says it’s because we live in a Patriarchal society. I say. I thought it was because our kids cared more about my opinions. Plus, growing up don’t act like you cared more about impressing your knife chucking mother babe.

I still struggle with saying patriarchal society without stuttering it out. I’m convinced Virginia Wolf willed the word into popular culture so men would sound dumber Jersey like than usual.

Sarah Silverman doesn’t think the President is mature yet still takes bong hits in a hoodie way past 40. Plus, I don’t recall Sarah Silverman outgrowing her truly tasteless, alternative jokes phase either.

Life Is Worth Losing is worth revisiting for hard core George Carlin fans. Carlin is sober and sharper than ever. Plus, darker is funnier and George Carlin achieves stand-up nirvana on this HBO special with The Suicide Guy. He really was the best. Plus, George Carlin’s rape jokes were vastly superior to Sarah and felt far less forced rapey.

Opening line for my new book chapter “Puff, Puff, Pass”, about passing on being a pothead, only 3 kids later. I always wanted to be a functional pothead.

Option 2 for an opening line for my new book chapter “Puff, Puff, Pass”, about passing on being a pothead, only 3 kids later. Weed was my best bud till I had Matilda.

My 7-Year-Old Daughter on Adam Levine. He sounds like he stole Michael Jackson’s voice. In case you’re wondering, we were listening to the song Gotten on Slash’s debut album, Slash. You’re welcome. Fergie, Chris Cornell, Kid Rock all shine on it.

George Soros calling Roger Waters.

George Soros
Can you supply the caravan with free I Phones with 1 song on it each?
Roger Waters
Tear down the wall, got it.
I’m only doing this because you know how awful Israelis are to Palestinians.

Dad
Day 5, free from beer Matilda. It will sound weird when I say day 28.

Daughter

I know.  You’ve never even made it to double digits.

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

 

Birth of a Boob Doctor

My nurse wife says I can’t call her a Boob Doctor till she gets her PHD.
But I’m not one to follow the rules and this is an overdue birthday poem for just her and me.
She was born in Brisbane, the site of a former British prisoner colony.
I only know this because I’m reading up on my National Geographic with my kids along with 30 second read books on Theology.
Natalia Anna Duffy is most happy cultivating her garden outside. Her greatest triumphs like her towering Sun Flowers in Pleasantville are impossible to hide.
Natalia Anna Duffy is now a proud mother of three. Which is a big deal because it’s 1 more non-screwed up kid than Me, Me.
The Boob Doctor has turned our home into a temple of suburban, Norwegian sheik. We wouldn’t have it any other way because our new granite top table, Danish Nome Tea Cups and ecofriendly chairs can’t be beat.
It makes me happy knowing the Boob Doctor had a nice birthday with her friends. And still forgave her husband’s hot head behavior and made amends.
The Boob Doctor’s parents are very proud. Of the beautiful home and family life she’s created. So please, take a bow.
The Boob Doctor can’t wait for her birthday next year. So, her husband can pay for a night out from his book sales in their New Range Rover that can jump over deers.

Happy Birthday Snuggle Shine

By.

Michael Kornbluth