“What’s self-love? I think it’s not giving up on fighting for what you feel is right through the depth of your bones throughout the deep bowels of your anus hole. Whatever gets you off your ass to compete in the arena of life, keep it burning alive, or else you place your dignity within the hands of inferior, gun shy, smug laden pussies and you’ll hate yourself forever for it.
Self-love is not turning your back on your dreams yet, especially when those supposed to love you the most, love your remaining work life ambitions the least. I joke around on my Do It All Dad Time podcast, jokes Gen X Dads understand, how I prefer my comedy like my coffee, dark and bitter. Bitterness erupts in my slighted soul whenever others try to depreciate my capacity for gain like from my wife for instance. Nurse wife who works in Labor and Delivery says, “Won’t self-publishing a book cost money?” I say, “Walt Whitman self-published, yet he never banged out perfect laugh lines like this. This is my daughter playing in-house marriage counselor again. Pause daddy, mama got your point mid-breath.” Wife says, “I’m all out of patience, get a real job already, do headhunting again, tell your precious ego, vanity vagina, whatever you want to call it, to get a fucking life and provide for your family already. Your writing isn’t even that good. On NPR they say companies are struggling to fill roles more than ever before. I say, “You’re running out of patience babe. Whistling like Axl Rose helps, but thanks for making me feel like one in a million babe, my Nurse rising star.” Wife says, “I am a rising star, and have the certificate at work to prove it. How do you justify your star power exactly? Through nameless, faceless, followers on your WordPress blog or no-name downloaders of your Do It All Dad Time podcast who like your latest and greatest comedy record posts when you know deep down, they ignore the totality of your existence if they weren’t offered for free. I get it, you feel trapped to a life of shishy bitch daddy servitude, especially over the past 10 years, with no friends or family members to help out with the kids whatsoever, but I’ve had to make sacrifices to.” I say, “Sacrifices, you act like aspiring comedian in his thirties wanted to have kids ever.”
Famous Psychoanalyst Carl Jung says that “Jealously stems from lack of love.” Yet reality is I don’t have much to be jealous about since God graced this lucky old clown with my 3 unplanned favorites, that being by endlessly beautifying children, Matilda, Arthur and Samuel, the best Koshertarian Comedian home time imaginable. Tossing them into the pool up for another typhoon toss to celebrate another self-published comedy record release last summer at a local club, which we couldn’t afford, was what Do It All Dad Year dreams are made of. Punchout Poverty, splash. Too Funny To Fail, swoosh. Millionaire By 10, booya-tribe, plop. Billionaire Brain, it’s Hillary Hammer Time Cankles, wave pool time. Not Kosher Baby, woosh my troubles away.
As more shrieks of pure powered joy pierced the clouds through heaven on earth, it remained impossible to frown, for my children loving me all the way for bringing out the best from my inner clown. But what do I want after getting to write for TV as a Hair Metal Comedian historian for America’s Hard 100 on VH1 Classic, hosted by WWE star Chris Jericho? Because he’s only wrestling leftover from the nineties that’s still rock hard, especially if Lars Ulrich from Metallica invites him over him for Norwegian brunch in his fuck paid in Bergan, Norway to catch the Northern Lights from his star powered telescope signed and designed by astrophysicist guitar God Brian May himself.
I want to avoid permanent nerve damage by never working up the nerve to finish my mission and become known as a joke truth killer made for these times. Losing out on a job after an interview is one thing but getting rejected by a unicorn tech start-up company forBudrranker.com sucks more than Meghan McCain’s husband being stuck on Cheeto retrieval detail inside her belly button again. In other words, “We’d rather go on a speed date with Snookie than interview you through Zoom. “So Snookie, is this coke good enough for Hunter to freebase with in the eighties when the shit was purer and not cut with as much Ajax, before he gave up blow for blow painting, allegedly, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall, while his tweaker biker buds from the Sons of Anarchy, yell, “Where’s Hunter, who else is going to pay for this shit?”
Carl Jung also says, “The greatest tragedy is our parents unlived lives.” On some level, I can see why my daughter doesn’t want to have kids when she gets older, because she’s seen 1st hand how I’ve been restricted in doing what I want to do the most in this world which is to produce laugh yanker love on stage and get hundreds of thousands of strangers at time off in person for a living. On stage, separates little boy blue from the Big John Stud. On stage, you get soul shine love. I want to love my big man fighter inside again and I can only achieve this by becoming a professional killer on stage for a living, especially when others constantly bemoan, “If it was going to happen, it would’ve happened already.” Fuck those towel thrower wishers. But it’s a young man’s game, man. Funny is funny asshole, that’s why your kid is a monotone mute compared to my 3, because funnier dad, happier baby, Challah, thank you very much.
I’ve reached the conclusion that the Lionshare of hostility issues in my life stem from being denied stage time to flex my stuff, regardless, if these restrictions are self-imposed or not, like getting my wife pregnant by accident again, because I never mastered the art of the pump fake or was too much a stoner to remember asking if she were on the pill or not.
But if you’re going to ask me what I long for the most Balancing Rock Therapist, it’s to get a standing ovation again. Because getting one during my 1st IT recruiter agency job after making a 12-minute company-in pitch, where I pitch the hiring IT Manager to interview 3-4 qualified, pre-screened candidates in our office, so we can schedule 2nd round interviews soon after, doesn’t count because everyone in our sales office was already on their feet cold calling their brains out in the 1st place.
I’m running out of time to kill. My daughter has breast buds at 11 years old already, although my wife says, that her and friend Shannon were the last kids in her class to get them. So, I say, “Then, why haven’t your breast buds sprouted yet.” I know that Matilda’s younger brother, is the boy who raised himself, who literally taught himself to ride a bike without my guiding light influence, but future Harry Potter Lego sets don’t grow on trees and my youngest, Chosen Curls Was Bound Too is already requesting a waterbed set for his birthday. So perhaps, I form a man show locally at the local playhouse if I’m going to cause a ripple to spread worldwide in my material’s honor eventually.
Matilda Rose Kornbluth, Do It All Dad’s Bashert daughter now known as Ooh-La-La supreme says, “Daddy, are you done talking to your Balancing Rock Therapist yet?” I know that you’re longing for stage time away from us but this getting ridiculous.”