The World’s Most Woke Arena

The Foo Fighters are playing Madison Square Garden’s first big concert post pandemic on June 20th in front of 20 thousand fans, immune to catching an itchy esophagus or any semblance of taste throughout their everlong, edgeless lives.

But Dave Grohl is one of the good guys bro. He’s an accessory to murder. If Kurt Cobain killed himself, Woody Allen stands a shot at winning father of the year.

If Frank Sinatra is Ronan Farrow’s father, then why isn’t Woody sleeping next to Secretariat?

Courtney Love is Mia Farrow with better husband selection.

Can you a get a fake news fake vaccine ID in Times Square? Or does domestic terrorist money payments in bitcoin no longer apply?

What if a MAGA groupie flashed her tits at Dave Grohl from the front row, before throwing a secret stash of hydroxychloroquine on the stage? Would she be banned from MSG for inciting a riot against good drugs, that would’ve saved plenty a name?

They’re been more than 5000 reported deaths from the alleged miracle non FDA approved vaccine designed to keep you safe from the made in Wuhan virus, financed by US tax dollars, thanks to Fuck Face Fauci’s use of gain of function research, designed to get you more than rabies from Chinese Bats. What happens when that number reaches 100,000? Will the Who be invited to play next year at MSG if they promise not to play We Won’t Get Fooled Again? Or was that Pete Townsend’s alibi when he got caught clicking on soapybottoms@moveon.org, in the name of opposition research for a song about Pizza Gate conspiracy theorists? Alex Jones lives. Thank you very much.

And if Michael Jackson were alive today Monique, how would he defend himself against his Neverland accusers? All the Beatles royalty points in the world can’t buy me love?

Michael Kornbluth

All Assholes

After Lebron James lost in the 1st round against the Suns, do you think Obama scurried down into his man cave in Martha’s Vineyard to tear through his private stash of Almond Joys, hid under a giant box of Duct Tape from Costco? Joan Rivers lives. Can I get a Challah, for not giving a shit if I offended you already, and if I did, then go woke yourself, holla; thank you very much.

Why isn’t Marv Albert lionized as a hero of the LGBT community? He had an affair with a retired Broadway Transgender dancer for a solid 15 years. Doesn’t that give him a leg up on the competition? Eddie Murphy getting caught picking up a Transgender prostitute on a lonely West Hollywood night is child’s play in comparison. Oscar De La Hoya got caught wearing woman’s lingerie, whoopty freaking-do.  Del La Hoya was never canceled and had his career taken away during his prime because he liked to nosh on his sexual partners backside with extra relish on it. And there’s no way Marv Albert is capable of sexual assault on anything. He comes up to Spike Lee’s knee. If anyone is guilty of forced sodomy, it’s Spike Lee’s forced fed, media pushed narrative behind critical race theory and all lives matter being the new n word, burning up race relations faster than any Public Enemy video could, thank you very much.

Imagine Marv Albert doing play by play for Drag Queen Reading Hour. Drag Queen says, “Who wants to be a Drag Queen when they grow up?” And Marv Albert says, “We’ve entered serious garbage time folks.” Dr. Seuss, she’s not. Is that an Amber Alert I hear? Another reason, not to encourage your kids to go way downtown. I live in Soho and know what danger lurks behind those dumpster alleys late at night, which isn’t the most spectacular move to make with no protection on your person, which is why even hotels in West Virginia have room service for a reason.” Holla, thank you very much.”

Did you know Ellen DeGeneres and George W. Bush are friends? I knew she was pro bush, but what do they do together exactly? Besides play Operation with Michelle Obama, gender reassignment edition? Watch Portia De Rossi squirm as W paints a portrait of her clit being hacked off in front of Michelle for Sharia Law Appreciation Month?

Portia De Rossi is from Australia like my wife. We wanted to get married there yet my mom shot it down. She calls, “Son, Australia, is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.” I console my wife later and say, “Assuming we have a boy one day, instead of hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision, we hire Crocodile Dundee. Just so we can hear a roomful of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”

Daughter asks, “Daddy, was Shakespeare transgender, because he’d dress up like a girl in all his plays? I said, “Back then, male actors played all the female parts because Kate Blanchet’s, great, great, great, grandmother was a but-her-face with no make up on to. So, I don’t know if Shakespeare was Transgender because the Bard of Avon also wrote, “Hanging perverts saved many a bad marriage”, because decoupling hadn’t gone viral yet. Plus, masturbation post #meto wasn’t declared man’s last safety rail left yet. Nor was sexting, Internet porn or dick picks devised back then either, which proved to be the death knell of small talk in this country and beyond, before tatted up white chicks on crystal meth ruined the golden age of muff diving forever. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy bought the Old Vic playhouse in London because backstage the Academy Award winner is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to triple wrap his life blaster in the making in seaweed, before taking the deep dive into Polynesian Barbie.

Why is the transgender community so offended by the song Dude Looks Like a Lady? In the song, Steven Tyler takes more than a peek, proclaiming with surging lust, “Oh, what a funky lady, and I like, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get over it already. He called it the best piece of pussy Bill Maher never had. Holla, thank you very much.

I’m breaking my Chic-fil-A strike if I see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter again. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not, nipple tits. And stop acting like getting shafted is a new experience you’re closed to pursuing either.

I’m in favor of sexual expression but Drag Queen Reading Hour is a tad scary for our kids, don’t you think? Fluorescent lights don’t look flattering on anybody, let alone on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator. Also, if we’re going to be exposing our kids to Drag Queen Reading Hour and believe it’s not intended to groom our kids into pool time entertainment at John Podesta’s house, who showcases enough pedo installation art to make Marilyn Manson blush. Why not have a Drag Queen read a fable about buyer’s remorse after playing operation, gender reassignment edition called, The Missing Link? It’s a fable about a sexual awakening on the dance floor at the China Club. Where a horny, sexually repressed, 17-year-old kid from Westchester County reared on Lou Reed Records, desperately tries to his exert his presence behind stuck up Jenny From The Block but fails to flex his manhood up into her round of mound, because his missing link to old school, banging hip hop is gone baby gone. 

At least our kids won’t be required to wear masks at the pool this summer, looking like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain, who are being forced to identify with the Moderate Muslim Housewives of Manhattan.

This past morning, my wife asks me, “Can I go to sleep now, after working all night at the NICU?” I say, “Do we live under Sharia Law in this house? Of course, you can go to bed now, but not until I titty blast you with this bomb strapped to your chest 1st.” Andy Kaufman lives. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

All American Gold

This is Russell Simmons addressing rape allegations with Gayle King. Read my lisp Gayle. I didn’t rape any of those vengeful, over the hill hoes. I was going to do that joke at the Apollo. 2 hours later, my number hasn’t been called to audition for Showtime At The Apollo. Then, I got triggered after reading article about Nipsey Hussle like he’s the second coming of Tupac and I bolted faster than Usain Bolt with a Chinese Bat on his tail. I already felt less welcome than a resurgent herpes sore on the spot. So, I bolted, thinking, “Fuck the Apollo. It lost its soul when it let Bjork perform after Amy Schumer did, which is a double whammy of shame. Moms Mabley wouldn’t have fucked Amy Schumer with a replica of Sam Cooke’s strapping dick. Who opened for Bjork at the Apollo anyway, The Shrieking Seals? I have 2 books to edit before Father’s Day, Do It Dad Does Jokes and Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story. I’m out of here. It’s bad enough my wife is already texting me with a request to call her and keep her company in the car with our 3 kids while I have the entire house to myself for change. I’m audi 5000 like Vanilla Ice if Suge Knight busts out of Folsom State Prison with a bigger chip on his shoulder than Michelle Obama’s shoulder pads after Melania was rumored to have fumigated the Lincoln bedroom once they moved in. Apparently, Michelle peed on ceiling fan before Trump’s inauguration. Seconds later, Trump comments to Melania, “Is this what She-Hulk meant when She-He said, “When they go low, we aim high.” Joan lives, holla, thank you very much.”

I leave the bowling alley with my son and this cool Latino biker taking a smoke break outside with his woman says, “Leaving so soon.” I say, “I’ve got 2 kids to pick up now. I never mastered the art of the pump fake.” Latino biker laughs long time. He adds, “You’ve got a great looking kid, God bless.” I say, “I call him chosen curls was bound to woo. I always call him that name in front of my gentile mother-in-law to make her extra tense, whenever were graced with her presence again. But that’s what the bitch deserves for giving my kids eucharist behind my back. And my people the Jews are supposed to have monopoly on backstabbing behavior. Your laugher proves I’m not being a paranoid Jew about it. Thank you very much. But I better tone it down out here in the parking lot or I’ll be charged with hate speech against Unhuggable Cunts, who blamed the broken AC in her car for not visiting her grandchildren one whole summer. Like my father-in-law wouldn’t mind his wife sweating off some tons in the process. I didn’t give her atrophy of the knees, The View did, pushing more lies about Russian collusion with less legs than Lieutenant Dan. Those same chicken heads and fake news comedians never dared to ask Jill Biden if Hunter is the smartest guy she knows. Hunter thought a Ukranian energy company was paying him 52 grand a month to sell borscht as the new Kombucha. Who needs a microphone? I’m sounding louder than Busta Rhymes at a Midnight Showing of Higher learning.” The Latino Biker and his woman laugh long time throughout. Thank you very much.

Knicks fans won’t be allowed to attend Knicks games without showing proof of vaccination if they advance to the second round of the playoffs, And I thought the Biden supporters were guilty of wishful thinking.  



It was just matter of time before the world’s most famous arena, tried to become the most woke to. The Garden of Eden has morphed into Capital Building overnight. Why not erect a fence around the Garden with dangling Knicks masks hanging on it instead? Don’t masks keep the virus at bay like triple wrapping your dick, before rolling around with Madonna’s blown-up camel snatch in the hay?

Madison Square Garden demands Knicks fans show proof of vaccination if they advance to the second round of playoffs, which hasn’t happened since 1999 during the days of Sprewell. This was before Urban Dictionary wasn’t even created to birth new words like Spree (verb) To flee from an impending choke hold. Holla, thank you very much. Again, I thought getting the vaccine prevents you from catching COVID or does it only make you immune from charges of being an anti-vaxxer conspiracy theorist, who refuses to suck off Dr. Gnocchi’s exalted wisdom concerning infectious disease prevention till your last dying breath?

Everybody knows Fuck Face Fauci helped finance the Wuhan research, which birthed the world economy wrecking Wuhan virus from hell. But keep on thinking the media and government really care about your personal wellbeing New York. Shutting down the economy for an itchy esophagus, defunding the police, embracing sanctuary city policies, which is encouraged lawlessness on crack, banning bail and posting Cuomo’s meatball recipes on Pinterest will keep New Yorkers pinned to their seats at the Garden in record numbers in no time. Because Andrew Dice Clay playing the Garden in this post woke, COVID controlled universe gone wild will make it the world’s most famous arena again, despite Durant choosing to play for Brooklyn to become the mumble core voice for the mope maligned millennial mousketeer generation. Because I’m positive MSG would welcome Dice back to perform for his 3-night special engagement only titled The Day Democracy Died, after night one, when he opens with. Fuck China. Chinese made Fentanyl has killed more crackers in this country than Taylor Swift kicking with Lena Dunham on Instagram. Trump’s the anti-Christ. But in the bible part 2, doesn’t the original super Jew before me, Jesus Christ kill the Anti-Christ. So have some faith in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you people? I actually had to Google Anti-Christ to find out what it meant. At the time, I thought that’s what Pig Vomit called Howard in Private Parts before he came out as weird, weak woke Howard. So how bad could the Anti-Christ be? That is until Perm Head Howard divorced his wife Alison for Beth, who’s a 6.2 by ghoulish tranny standards at best. But weird woke Howard dumps on Trump supporters, so Jimmy Kimmel keeps on inviting him over for more 2-bite chicken parm dinners. Was just at Target and saw Michelle Obama’s book Reach Higher and I thought. Bill Maher just got a stiffy. Joan Rivers, I fucked her oh. I can’t take no more.

Michael Kornbluth

The Maudlin Mermaid Waffle

I’m doing sight words with my 7-year-old son Art Show, documented as Arthur Morrison Kornbluth on his Social Security Card, which looked more bad ass than it sounds when I received it in the mail. Coming up with the middle name Morrison for my son was a divine blessed miracle despite Sam Harris’s snippy claims of belief-based hogwash otherwise because Morrison creates an actual flow to Kornbluth, which is easier said than done. One time I considered naming my 1st son Arthur Brooks Kornbluth in honor of funny man Hebrews who have inspired me to become a professional funnyman one day such as the perpetually smug dour, Albert Brooks. Bu then I changed my mind because I didn’t want to give my son the permission to be a victimized plagued, Jewish pushy. At the time, I also liked the idea of pissing off my dad, with the name Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, so he could say to me, “Morrison, isn’t very Jewish genius.” Only for me to reply with, “But up and coming Jewish comedians who want to break into show busines have changed their last names since the dawn of time to come across as less overtly, kvetchy, pushover Jewy, like Jonathan Leibowitz, who changed his name to Jon Stewart or Andrew Silverstein, who went with straight up Dice, after jacking the Buddy Love asshole persona from the original Nutty Professor and Elvis’s puffed up pompadour hair due while also pumping the entirety of Mother Gooses rhymes for all they were worth.  So, it’s ok for self-motivated, scrappy comedians on the rise to change their names the way Rodney and Joan did but it isn’t kosher to give my son the middle name Morrison because it reminds you too much of Toni Morrison, Van Morrison or Tommy Gun Morrison from Rocky 5, Dad? I don’t get it. I know you prefer Dylan’s word dumps over Van Morrison or my own for that matter. Still, I’m not giving my son permission to drink himself to death by the magic 27 the way Jim MOJO Motherfucking Rising did. Instead, my son has an effortlessly cool, larger than life name to live up to, who won’t lie to reporters about his parents dying in a car accident, discovered by Indians to avoid talking about his disapproving Dad, despite being the dark price of poetic rock of his day.  

I never considered changing my last name in a sneaky, misleading attempt to break into show business in a more palatable, less in your face Jewy fashion although I did experiment on stage during my years on the open mike circuit throughout dumpy towny bars in the talent agent free hinterlands of Northern Westchester County, by having the MC introduce me as Michael Rocker for a bit. I had good sets with that name to but stopped using it because the stage name Michael Rocker started sounding like an easily discarded 1st name idea for the new porn up and comer actor to replace Dirk Diggler as the new face of VHS tape porn in Boogie Nights. Paul Thomas Anderson lives, holla, thank you very much.

Since I’ve become a practicing Koshertarian comedian, the idea of changing my last name, to blend in better with our Christian dominated nation at large, fails to give me sustained stiffage to, just to give the MC an easier last name to annunciate than Kornbluth. Kornbluth is a total mouthfeel I get it. Kim Kardashian can’t wrap her mouth around it. But now Kim is going to become a Social Justice Lawyer. Social Justice Lawyers are so hot right now, What Makes Sammy Run? on Amazon, not so much.

Also, after just watching Mank on Netflix, the stubbornly depressing, factual based reality of the Jewish Moguls such as Louis B Mayer being hesitant to pressure Washington to stop Hitler from franchising Concentration Camps like Johnny Rockets throughout Poland and Germany out of fear of hurting MGM’s profit’s from the number 1 overseas market of it’s time, the China of its day, drains me of any lingering leftover desire to becoming a woke chameleon to play nice with the Dream Factories founded by Jewish moguls complicit in being engaged in the Nazi profiteering business, making them no better than Joe Kennedy in my book.

For my daughter’s 10th birthday, a couple of weeks ago, I wanted to make Kosher barbeque Brisket sliders, yet my wife got tense about the concept. I said, “Why are you tense about telling your mom about our family rocking the Koshertarian Diet? Oh, yeah, she performed eucharist on my 3 kids behind my back. I totally forget it for a second. We don’t want to advertise any affiliation with the Jewish faith in our own home, got it.  It’s like forcing your mom to eat a shit sandwich with Biden’s mask nappy on while gagging on such rancid, unpleasant in your face Jewishness. It’s borderline suicidal triggering offense, on par with Meghan Markle being forced to balance the Queen’s Gin and Tonics on her head for charm school posture 101, when she wasn’t lounging in the VIP box at Wimbledon, having it all to herself, while banning all reporters from the premises, thinking, “Even Beyonce isn’t white looking enough, to get away with this shit.”

Yeah, so if Meghan Markle was ever really suicidal while nursing a thumb sprain for losing a thumb wrestling match to Michelle Obama after a post Wimbledon party which got out of hand, over who got  1st dibs on pegging Archie from behind, before his face got rammed into royal tapestry rug to the point where his freckles got smooshed off in process, she never would’ve written a passive aggressive not on par with the one Kate Spade left for her only daughter, which read, “Dad will explain.” Kate Spade’s widowed husband reads the suicide note out loud at the time and screams, “Dad will explain. Dad will explain, what Kate? I, was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate.”  Holla, thank you very much.

So, I’m doing more sight words with my son Arthur Morison Kornbluth this morning and he only gets 2 wrong, still prompting me to call him a “Fake News Genius” and “Bubble Tape Brain”, after he failed to the recognize the word “saw”, despite me acting out using a handsaw to chop off his femur in half as he howled shrieks of endless joyous, angelic delight. But believing in a loving God is equivalent to believing in an indifferent alien psychopath like Predator, Sam Harris? I know Scientists can’t prove God exists despite you building a successful podcast career playing a pseudo brainer, punch free, zero gravitas exuding version of Bill Maher for a living, for daring to accuse Christians of killing, torturing and enslaving in name of the original, super Jew of his time, got it.  Also, I hate to burst your meditative, vastly spiritual bubble Sam Harris, but the Torah wasn’t written by Tony Kushner either, because then it would come across as excessively wordy, even for Kevin’s Smith’s tastes. Get Kevin Smith away from those damn Tablets. Punching up Good Will Hunting isn’t the same as the punching up the old Testament, Mallrats lives, holla, thank you very much.”

Later, my son’s ecstatic high was short lived after mama presented her Kellogg’s brand of purple Mermaid waffles. Don’t get me wrong the whip cream and blueberries was a nice touch on top, but it couldn’t remove the scarring of image of what Grimace puked after a group of kids gave him a barrage of leg jumps in the eighties in the ball pit at Mcdonald’s during the height of Hulkamania, assuming he was a secret lush, who drank too many vodka laced, Lavender Smoothies between bathroom breaks in between.  So much for running out of ideas for new chapter entries for the Koshertarian Comedian, despite my total non-involvement in mama’s Maudlin Mermaid Waffle bust or not. Although my wife trying to upstage me as our new in-house Koshetarian Comedian failed to materialize in her favor, when she kidded about the frozen Mermaid waffles being made of Mermaid blood, or something gross like that. In related news, did you know Neil Young left his wife of 25 years for the actress Daryll Hannah. Talk about a match made in hippie heaven. Neil Young’s Publicist told Rolling Stone off the record, “Neil is going through a post midlife never banged a mermaid crisis. What Gen X Dads understand, holla, thank very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Death Of A Bose Salesman

Once upon a time there was Sales Rep for Bose who suffered from Loud Man’s Disease.  He loved blasting The Who, Led Zeppelin   and AC/DC at work in the listening booth before he turned borderline deaf. Now, all Michael the Sales Rep from Bose hears is AC/DC’s song Hells Bells. Michael Yeller always believed louder is better until now because he was longer ablet to sing Search and Destroy by Iggy Pop and Stooges at the local Karaoke bar in White Plains, NY after work with his boss anymore.   

Growing up, Michael only wanted to play air guitar like the great metal shredders throughout the walls of his childhood room, which included pictures Mick Mars from Motley Crew, the Freddy Kruger of shredding, the steel guitar slaying, Gypsy Road howler Tom Kiefer from Cinderella and the Tasmanian Devil of pretty good metal pop CC Deville from Poison. Later, Michael tried to learn the guitar after his parents got him an acoustic one for Hannukah but he already started smoking weed by junior year in high school, so the hand dexterity and hours of practice necessary to assume any semblance of functional playing mastery over the guitar were out of his self-imposed reach.

After college, Michael tried to make a living as an IT Headhunter in LA but IT Directors half his age didn’t appreciate being hounded by a such a loudmouth New Yorker who had less voice control than Busta Rhymes at a midnight showing of Higher Learning. Also, everyone in LA is very cagy, accustomed to time alone in their cars and airy, open rooftop hotel bars and non-descript, low key bars on random, zero foot traffic streets, unaccustomed to Vince Vaughn clones from Swingers from New York like Michael who was actually told to hush while on a date to see Eric Clapton at the Hollywood Bowl once. Eventually, Michael moved back to NY and did digital ad sales for Citysearch and started to try open mike stand up comedy. When working for Citysearch he’d say on stage, “Citysearch is city guide used mostly by gay men to find who gives the best facial.” But Michael struggled to unleash his inner rock star on stage, because if his 1st joke bombed, he could never win the audience back, which stripped him of the confidence to riff and piggy back off the waves of laughter, opting to go into any new inspired direction of hilarity he choose.  

At the Christmas party for CitySearch Michael sang his best rendition of Wanted Dead or Alive yet, which he had perfected over the years. The high end 15-year Macallan scotch helped. Still, he got fired the next day for getting black out drunk and dry humping the coat check girl on the dance floor to Oh What A Feeling.

Knowing Michael couldn’t pay rent through playing air guitar renditions of Fallen Angel in Times Square, or make any money at stand-up comedy in NYC because he had to actually invite his friends to get performing time at the NY Comedy Club at all, he decided to find a job, where his loud man disease could be neutralized, where it wouldn’t become such a career hindering liability and got a job in suburbs at The Westchester Mall in White Plains, NY selling state of the art stereo equipment for Bose. Michael’s boss gave him some leeway and allowed him to tell some jokes, because he knew the stand-up comedy bug wasn’t out of his system all together. Michael would be selling noise cancelation headphones, “Yenta Silencers”, is what he’d call them specifically before sampling new bits on random customers such as, “Did you know Google fired 25 software engineers for sexual harassment? But software engineers are too busy banging out code to hit on girls at work. Plus, if you’re a software engineer at Google, your typical Pearl command script isn’t, “Massage my carpel tunnel ho.”  

But one day during a demo presentation for AC/DC Back In Black on surround sound in the primo listening sampling room at work, Michael lost his ability to hear fully, now only hearing the death knell Church bell clang to Hells Bells. Was God punishing Michael for his Loud Man’s Disease forever? How could Michael ever sing Karaoke again, losing all semblance of voice control now whatsoever?

Michael was a really a good sales rep for Bose, but reality is, the speakers sold themselves. Michael’s boss and favorite Karaoke partner let him keep his job at Bose but got him off the sales floor to work as a blogger for their digital marketing team instead, allowing him rant and rave about all the loudest and proudest, most bad ass metal rock records of all time, which are only accentuated on Bose’s premium blast speakers, naturally. Michael would fire off blog record recommendations for albums by The Who, Neil Young and Crazy Horse and Van Halen with divine powered authority. He’d pound the keyboard non-stop-all day long, which was sweet music to his boss’s ears, knowing his employee and friend Michael could channel his love of fast, loud, kick ass metal like a Bat Out Of Hell, which sent his heart soaring, flying high again. In the end, Michael couldn’t sell Bose speakers on the main sales floor anymore but he was still able to sell his love of loud, metal music through his blogs, and also had the kick ass, momentous clang of Hell’s Bells playing in his head for company. And Michael didn’t need Meatloaf to tell him, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad.

The End

Michael Kornbluth