Chapter 34 Gold Driller

 

 

Chapter 34

Gold Driller

Joshua never cared for dentists. He didn’t care if they were oral surgeons like his ex-girlfriend’s father despite his keg of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on tap at his house, because birthing the only Irish lassie in Westwood who couldn’t handle her beer or booze made it a wash. Plus, Joshua resented the standard smug stable, pseudo brainy, neat, never too taxing 9 to 5, assistant organized existence of dentists. They never made a cold call in their life. They never had parents who shit on their dreams from start to finish. They never had to endure passive aggressive insults from their wife’s blah breathed friends at wedding with lines such as, “So you’re hosting a podcast. At least, you have a creative outlet to express yourself.” At the same time no dentist had to bite their lip for the sake of radical civility at their wife’s best friend wedding in upstate New York, as the same girl gives you grief for drinking a seltzer at the bar in splendid isolation away from his kids for a change, only to hear, “Feel free to join the party any time.” Boy did Joshua grow to hate resistor liberal, fucking fatties from New Jersey. He’d father face fuck a trailer girl with no teeth from the backwoods of West Virginia. At least, she’d could instruct him on the difference between powdery cocaine to sniff versus Crystal Meth.

There was also a pseudo ex friend from high school, who was apart of his pink crew who became a Dentist in DC. Joshua was happy for him, but Phil had a streak of funny in him, winning wittiest over Joshua in high school, senior year compared to Joshua’s win for grooviest, an award invented in his honor, but losing out to Phil still pissed him off. But really pissed Joshua off, besides Phil never being responsible for making Joshua laugh out loud on any consistent basis ever, was him not taking any creative chances with his life become another fucking dentist in his life, after attending college at Washington University with Joanna and Ari, from his senior class, whose carbon copies quotes of What A Strange Trip’s It’s Been, on their respective senior year book pages, failed to project much NPR group think originality either. The same dentist, once inferring Joshua be more a behind the scenes guy, after bumping into him on Metro North after telling him about his 2-year pursuit into stand-up comedy. Some of his meat head, football playing buds from high school, always thought he overreacted to this assertion, of Joshua being a more behind the scenes type of guy. This fake news deep dentist could go fuck himself long time in Joshua’s eyes. You score a call back for Paul Mooney sketchy comedy show, showcase the balls to approach Richard Pryor’s best friend and only joke writer, who never went out of his way, to suck off whitey ever and get back to Joshua on your ball free, zero imagination, gunky teeth cleaning existence on what actual star power you’re capable of exuding to see emanate inside and out through others who got it, moron. Its not’s that Joshua was jealous of the hefty, paycheck dentists received or normalized respect their profession engendered. He just hated members of his tribe who were Dentists, who acted like your bud, who promised to read your books and review them on Amazon, who never did. Comedians as a whole hate two faced hypocrisy like so called non-violent liberals insisting ANTIFA wasn’t a terrorist organization, deeming them an instrument of good, despite them throwing bags of piss at cops, concrete milkshakes at gay journalists who have a bi-line for the National Review or set fire to US military recruitment offices in Berkley, because big bad Ben Shapiro is in town, to give another boring, grating speech on how to own liberals in a debate, despite him being the least threatening Jew in America next to Chelsea’s Clinton’s neutered hub. Joshua was fed up with east coast, racist calling, elitist conjuring bullshit. Caring was emoting in his honor and if you made an effort to devalue his potential with gain with, you’re writing the Great American Jew Novel with so, you’re were off the list, meaning off the list of people, he gave 2 shits with impressing at this stage of his life 3 unplanned kids later, raising his kids all by himself, as grandparents on both side, continued to watch CNN for only fiancé news. Yeah, and Joshua only watched Real Time with Bill Maher for his bible study group.

Joshua loved to read the Weird But True books to his kids at night, especially to his 9 year old daughter Matilda, who took a special interest them also, despite her constantly busting her dada’s balls for reading more books of fiction because the Godfather by Mario Puzzo didn’t count. Last night, Joshua was reading to Matilda the Weird But True fact about how human start shrinking after 40 but Joshua was no 43 going in 44 and felt like he continued to grow in comedic stature and actual height in real life. Every time, he’d see his old buds for a game of stick ball, despite them being products of the comfy confines of Westchester Country versus the more hardcore, brick laden surroundings of the boogie down Bronx, they’d comment, “Joshua you’re enormous. Then, Joshua would air out a football and they’d started hailing their old bud as someone who could’ve been the second coming of Vinnie Testeverde. But Joshua’s yoga improved posture and core exercise regiment involving a daily use of kettle bells and arm planks on his yoga mat in his downstairs garage work out sanctuary, daily morning prayer space only played a surface level contribution to his enhanced physical and spiritual growth, enabling him to grow closer to God every day, yeah, yeah. The other side to Joshua’s hypergrowth during his time in the wilderness here in Croton Falls, NY hosting his podcast and writing his joke heavy books from home in their comedy grant house on the most northern point of Westchester Country, God’s country in his eyes, enveloped by one pristine, water spritzing reservoir or glistening lake after another, was the searing growing pains associated with acknowledging he had outgrown the need or want of adulation from those he once considered his closest alleys, friends, or past believers in him, namely his wife. He didn’t want to hear about the questionable news sources he read from anymore. He didn’t want to her so, couldn’t have done this and that, but I was just joke when I said I hated him. He didn’t want to hear Americans were stupid anymore. He didn’t want to hear negative, downer, hysteria, hate driven drivel on social media anymore. He didn’t want to ease his kid’s developing anxiety anymore, because Mama equated a substandard tooth brushing job, to kids dying of eventual, premature plague covered heart failure. He didn’t want to hear his wife actually explain what amber alert was to kids in full fucking detail. He didn’t want his kids to feel they were in constant competition with their mama’s fucking Instagram anymore. He was done acting like he card to be charming around his mother-in-law whenever he was graced with her presence again, just because she send her grandchildren another belated birthday card 2 months after the fact, while only using more stamps of the Virgin Mary in the middle of fucking summer. Joshua outgrew the need to give 2 shits about understanding the nuances of English worshiping football, because watching it still bored him to death. Joshua was sick of hearing his English born and raised, father in law on how George Washington was nothing but a lucky general while George Harrison was underappreciated, wordsmith genius, despite possessing the riveting personality of a Mitt Romney’s power red, private equity tie collection. Joshua was tired of pretending his wife was uncomfortable with him teaching Solomon’s Song of Songs for his own version of weekend Hebrew School, because of her own non-believer status. Joshua was tired of hearing the line, I didn’t even know I was pregnant 5 months later, for those joyless, humorless, women in die hard, support of 3rd term abortion. Joshua was tired of putting PETA, NPR, ESPN, EPA and Nancy Denture Breath Pelosi, on any so-called elevated pedestal of any kind. Joshua was also tired of drilling for comedy gold with all his funny man Jewish fighting might only to have Republicans who live to own liberals, deride his edgy, in your face, bombastic showmen style as mere crazy, over the rainbow, certainly gone swimming. Joshua was tired of pretending his dear New York City wasn’t turning into a piss sprayed, weed stinking, glamor stripped shithole fast. Joshua had outgrown the limited, provincial, so called enlightened New Yorkers adopted or native born of his past, who zero respect for heart felt patriotism, our troops, cops or masterful ball busting and high-level salesmanship done good. Joshua was tired of pretending his mama didn’t hate him for serving lady laugh despite no clear pay day in sight. Joshua was tired of acting like he didn’t want to mount a sexy, chesty, older, Jewish babe or not, with ravenous delight, who cared enough to emote in his honor, intent on draining him dry in the most primal, non-fighting about the same bullshit again sense possible. This slut in a straight jacket, needed to break free from his rusty cage in pursuit of toner, sexier, more loving arms fast. But Joshua was a family man and couldn’t wreck his marriage because his sweaty sex period with his wife was over. Plus, the idea of any of male figure raising his kids killed him fast. Still, it didn’t mean Joshua couldn’t get his hardcore flirt on, flex with his magnetic might around those fetching, older, Jewish or not loving babes, who could be the dreamy fill in Jewish Godmother MILF for his kid while making his wife get jealous and more appreciative of just his children being so wonderful due to his handy work so far. But as Joshua always pounded into his kids craniums, money equals freedom and it was time to get this Do It All Hero Food Truck on the road to Kansas City for the World Series of Barbeque championship, to test market their star Kosher smoked brisket, plant based cheese wiz hero. But first Joshua needed to partner with a star Chabad hipster in Crown Heights 1st.

Chapter 33 The Jewish Super Angel

                                                                         Chapter 33

 

The Jewish Super Angel

 

Growing up conservative Jewish in Edgemont, NY, Joshua was never entirely comfortable around Angel ornaments of any kind. For example, when his wife’s best friend got his daughter Matilda fairy wings for Christmas one year, insisting she try them on immediately, lead to Joshua freaking out instantaneously, stating, “Take the fairy wings off my daughter now. She looks like an overdose at the Limelight waiting to happen.”  The Limelight was an abandoned church turned into a clubby, rolling paradise throughout the late early 80’s, mid 90’s, making Macaulay Culkin look like a rapidly aging, embalmed, cadaver in fairy wings in the movie Party Animal, draining him of any old school, age of innocence charm left.

 

You would think Joshua’s mother from Louisville, Kentucky converting to Judaism would make him a tad less tense around angels on Christmas Trees, without feeling the need to deride some Christmas trees as, “too overtly churchy.” It didn’t help knowing his father would constantly shoot down his mom’s requests to get a Christmas tree every year during the holiday season, because they already had Christmas Stockings full of clementines and they put Christmas gifts from their relatives down south on the piano, nobody ever played.  Randy Newman piano playing, Jewish pride was devoid in this Kornbluth household on Glenwood Rd.  Every year, Joshua would push on his mom’s behalf, sticking up to his dad for a change back then saying, “Dad, get mom a tree already. She only abandoned her relationship with her lord and savior Jesus Christ to marry into your putzy DNA. It’s the least you can do, don’t you think? Dad says, “Joshua, Jews don’t buy Christmas Trees, unless they convert into a Tree House and flip it for a profit.”

Finally, Joshua’s dad relented one year, but only allowed the placement of a dwarfish scrubby bush within the cob webbed laden corner of the darkened, inside side porch. Still, Joshua marrying a gentile, did his best to get more comfortable in Church, even taken his 3 kids to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral during the holiday season, to ask God for a favorable review from the NY Post after he got the book editor there interested enough to give his debut book, Controlling My Kids With A Comedy, A Love Story, a read.  Joshua never heard back from the NY Post editor yet Hail Mary’s only work for Doug Flutie. Also, Joshua didn’t perceive a glowing review from a book editor at the NY Post, as an act of God in need of a miracle, because the all mighty was already channeled through the book, flush with A plus jokes and poetic prose, enough to give King David who first became famous as a big time singer songwriter musician, sustained stiffage long time.  But in Church, Joshua made it clear to his kids, “Just address prayers to God and not Jesus, and your still Kosher in the Old Testament’s book. Bill Maher could give a shit either way. “

 

Joshua had starting brushing up on angel literature, learning Joshua was Moses’s number one assistant, which is more daunting than the last one working for Harvey Weinstein trying to secure a meeting with a new hot actress on his old casting couch at the Four Seasons. Joshua decided to give the Hebrew name Jeremiah for his son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, because he wrote the Book of Lamentations. And Joshua was always a huge Hair Metal power ballad guy, whose songs similar to the Book of Lamentations were always sorrowful but full out poetic longing and fleshed out feeling. Later, Joshua gave his son Samuel the Hebrew name Isaac, Yitzhak in Hebrew literally,  which Joshua loved because even the Koran gave Issac props, granting him immunity from ever being charged with intentional Islamophobia. And if Joshua were to rank the best prophets on Ranker, he’d put Isaac in the top 5 after Moses, and Abraham and King David, knowing he was no minor side character like the Tim Meadows of prophets, because he was the grandfather behind the 12 tribes of Israel. Nostradamus wouldn’t make Joshua’s list of top prophets on Ranker because he converted to Catholicism, so he wouldn’t be lumped together with all those dirty, crumb hoarding, Christian blood eating, ratty looking  Jews, for being the main culprits behind proliferating the fucking Plague, how convenient.

 

Now, Joshua was buzzing with heady anticipation knowing he destroyed during his audition for the family friendly Porsche SUV campaign, as he sipped his Macchiato at a swanky, modern, high tin ceiling covered coffee shop in the West Village; which could belong in Park Slope, Brooklyn if it ever attracted stylish, zero frump, 8 plus trim and above.  Joshua addresses the Barista who made the Macchiato at the coffee bar after he savors another sip, “Phenomenal Macchiato, it’s the most hydrating, non-burnt Macchiato I ever had in my life outside of Melbourne, Australia. I just feel like a moron for having to fly 5 million miles across the globe at 35 years to finally try a Macchiato for the 1st time in my life during my honeymoon in Australia. After dropping 2 Ambien and 2 mini servings of Jack before good night Irene on Quantas, farting up fumes of clam chowder from our layover in San Fran prior. The Macchiato is a circumcised Cappuccino, with half the foamage in my book. I wanted to marry my wife in Australia in Mother’s Beach in Victoria, where she grew up for a bit, yet my mom calls me on the phone one day and says, “Australia is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.” And I said, “Mom, just tell dad to drop another Ambien to sleep on the plane, which won’t be a radical departure from him doing the same at home after work on the couch for another 6 hours stretch at a time.   Finally, I reached a compromise with my wife, I said, “If we have a boy, instead of hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision, we’d hire Crocodile Dundee, just so we could hear a roomful of Jews, say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.” The grey Canali draped Jewish Super Angel, sporting a black power CAA power tie, finishes laughing, “Shouldn’t you be performing at the Cellar or at Caroline’s on Broadway? Your delivery is even better than the A plus material itself.”

“Joshua perks up immediately, turns his body toward the Jewish Super Angel and says, “Thank you very much. I appreciate the praise long time. I’m actually banned from the Comedy Cellar for going over my allotted time by 5 hours after getting the one minute warning sign to wrap it up, only 2 minutes into my killer set showcasing killer Heather Mills material, only after I invited  my own well-paying private militia. Taunting management, with that actual militia line, didn’t make management there hate me any less either. I did audition for the New York Comedy Festival and for a reality show titled America’s Next Great Roaster at Caroline’s, after an older comic gave me the idea to audition; who used to attend an open mike I hosted in the downstairs of a belly dancing, Moroccan restaurant along bumble fuck, most derelict slab of real estate remaining in Manhattan, on the corner of 99 cent pizza store on 40th and 10th. My roast subject was Justin Timberlake. I said,”Justin Timberlake is like George Michael, he sings, dances and sucks.” I also sampled some Park Slope stroller mom material. I said, “Do kids in Park Slope make your mama so stupid jokes about Stroller moms in Park Slope like your mama’s so dumb she can’t complete the crossword puzzle in the Monday New York Times? That joke is so elitist, Hillary just got moist for the 1st time in years. “The Jewish Super Angel finishes laughing and says, “Yeah, I hate that evil wench also. Remember, when it took her 5 times to get her MetroCard to work? Joshua says, “I do. With the all camera crews hovering around her, Hillary says to herself before swipe number 5, super predators, I mean black people are watching. You can do it.  Nice Windsor not, add that to my never ending learn how to do list.”  The Jewish Super Angel says, “You mean Seinfeld hasn’t done an entire laugh free, Driving in Cars episode on the subject with George Lopez yet?”  Joshua says, “I just read about Jerry selling one of his porches at a charity function in the Hamptons. I just hope half those proceeds went to Larry’s kids.” The Jewish Super Angel says, “What brings you to the West Village? Joshua says, “I just finished an audition to become the new family spokesperson for the new line Porsche Cayenne SUV’s. I could use the startup money for my Kosher food truck business, selling the Do It All Dad Hero, the first ever Kosher Cheesesteak truck, made with Kosher smoked Brisket and a plant-based cheese wiz. I got a Kosher cheese wiz master working on the recipe for the wiz right now, who graduated John Hopkins before I could complete my untimed SAT. The Jewish Super Angel says, “Take my card, consider me your Jewish Super Angel. I invest in startups for a living. But what I really invest in is people. Ashton Kutcher stole that line from me for the record.” Joshua says, “I’ll be in touch in then. Played Ashton Kutcher in a game of pick up ball at Fairfax High School once. He looked way prettier than Demi Moore when I saw her in person outside the Century City movie theater. She had a droopy, elongated, stretchy neck and the figure of undeveloped, 12 year-old boy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29 The Path of Most Resistance

 

 

Chapter 29

The Path Of Most Resistance

 

Joshua never underwent Psychoanalysis.  Still, it didn’t take some fake news deep shrink who majored in Psychology at Tufts, to realize Joshua pursued the comedic pursuit of making strangers laugh for a living because being shipped off to sleep away camp in Kent, CT 3 months a year every summer, without any burning desire to attend, never gave him the impression of being the center of his parents universe.  It’s not as if Joshua was such a perpetual drag on his parent’s time after they came home from work. He’d hear them talk about their workdays over dinner and then retreat to his room to play with his blocks, bang his GI Joe toys together way past the appropriate age to do so, as he used to Gung Ho to turn Cobra Commander into his personal gimpy, bitch in his own innocuous, pubescent form of Pulp Fiction. When Joshua got a bit older, he’d organize his Basketball card collection, consisting of almost every rookie who played for the original USA Dream Team, MJ an the Bird, MJ combo rookie card excluded, because together they cost more than ounce of Maui Wowie. That’s so good, you take only one hit of delicious, crystal flecked green, watch the entirety of Pink Floyd Wall Sophomore Year in college and think you comprehended all the symbolic nuances from start finish, back when Roger Waters was more pro wall but no so much in Israel’s case to prevent more blatantly unnecessary death. Later, after Joshua in Junior High, he’d decorate the walls of his bedroom with an unoccupied top bunk, with cut out pictures of all his Hair Metal Gods from Circus Magazine, which included non-pretty boy faces such as the Freddy Kruger of shredding Mick Mars from Motely Crew. But sometime in the early 1990’s, Joshua’s parents decided to repaint his lost in fantasy island room. The Italian painter took one look at Joshua’s wailing wall of metal and says, “There’s a lot of dolled up men on your wall.” In Joshua’s Heavy Metal High pilot trilogy, which he pitched to the EVP of VH1 Classic in Manhattan, his character replies to the Italian painter with, “I’m sorry are blush covered cheeked Bret Michaels from Poison not manly enough for you Dominick I Ain’t No Fag Scholanti.”

Joshua would never forgive himself for letting his father bully him into inviting his friend Ari to see Motley Crew in the 6th grade at the Nassau Coliseum, during their revitalized, hit heavy Dr. Feelgood tour, with Warrant as the opening act, after promising his closer friend Coop, with his far deeper ties at the time.  Coop didn’t talk to Joshua for a solid 5 years afterwards and they hung out plenty in Elementary School, going to movies at Movieland in Yonkers all the time because Coop was an only child, whose parents were both Lawyers, at the same law firm, the father owned, so the could afford a pair of smoking hot, au pairs from Switzerland who tasted good inside and out guaranteed.  Coop was a mensch. Before he became a top realtor in Manhattan, he was the Nino Brown of weed dealing at Hartford University and would let Joshua’s younger brother, sell major weight for him back home and let him off the hook no problem if he was ever light 500 here, 800 bones there. Plus, when Joshua had his stand-up comedy bringer show at the New York Comedy Club, Coop’s presence among his high school class of 99 caused the biggest stir. Coop also delivered the most touching, emotive praise after Joshua’s friend Ari, who was still a mensch in his own right, simply stating in a stupefied, teetering on awe inspired state, “Awesome.” Coop approached Joshua outside the New York Comedy Club and said, “Great show, very funny stuff bro” with all knowing stony Buda assurance. Joshua replied, “Thanks Coop, but I’m still so broke my Hebrew name is under Judicial review.” Coop refused to give into Joshua’s feeble attempt at self-deprecation, which never captured his true funny man essence entirely and says, “Stick with it, you’re funny.”

Understand, this is more emotive encouragement Joshua ever received from his own flesh and blood, being his younger brother and 2 parents. But as they says, the 1st hilarious Bat Men Lego movie, you get to chose your friends, not your family and Coop’s push for Joshua to continue down the pursuit of getting Lady Laugh off long time was a noble pursuit worth fighting for with all this funny Jew bone, God blessed might.  Joshua developed a later in life, cast iron dense strong friendship with adopted valley brother Jay from Southern California, who knew the real him inside and out and gave him an even more rousing, inspirational, Mick type pep push from Rocky when he said, “Never lose your edge JK.”

 

Now, Joshua was 43 turning on 44, still pursuing the path of most resistance. His parents wouldn’t acknowledge his debut comedy record nor would his younger brother. Joshua’s wife claims to overhear portions of his Do It All Dad Year Podcast from downstairs because he’s such a loudmouthed, crazy man Jew, but 150 episodes in, had never listened to one from start to finish.   When Joshua had moved back from LA after living out there for 6 years, in West Hollywood, Hermosa Beach and Sherman Oaks in the valley, another old school high bud saw him do an open mike set at some shit hole bar east of Madison Square Garden in Midtown east, total no man’s land and he said with stupefied bewilderment, “You’d be ok with dying alone. You’re really in no rush to be in a relationship again ever.” The reality is, ever since Joshua fell in love with making Lady Laugh, laugh, he never felt alone again.  God didn’t give Joshua 3 unplanned kids to have panic attack over it. If Joshua was out with his 3 kids by themselves, which was often, a stranger would say, “You got three.” And he’d say, “All 3 were unplanned. Obviously, I never planned the art of the pump fake.” Then, Joshua would hear the same random stranger comment on how pretty his lucky number 3 Samuel is and he’d reply in a relaxed manner because he was accustomed to the unsolicited praise so often by now, “He’s a very pretty he. I envision a future where he’ll be fronting a Poison cover band no problem” These lines would generate streams of laughter every time. Joshua wasn’t ready to relinquish his God given edge just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29 The Path of Most Resistance

 

 

Chapter 29

The Path Of Most Resistance

 

Joshua never underwent Psychoanalysis.  Still, it didn’t take some fake news deep shrink who majored in Psychology at Tufts, to realize Joshua pursued the comedic pursuit of making strangers laugh for a living because being shipped off to sleep away camp in Kent, CT 3 months a year every summer, without any burning desire to attend, never gave him the impression of being the center of his parents universe.  It’s not as if Joshua was such a perpetual drag on his parent’s time after they came home from work. He’d hear them talk about their workdays over dinner and then retreat to his room to play with his blocks, bang his GI Joe toys together way past the appropriate age to do so, as he used to Gung Ho to turn Cobra Commander into his personal gimpy, bitch in his own innocuous, pubescent form of Pulp Fiction. When Joshua got a bit older, he’d organize his Basketball card collection, consisting of almost every rookie who played for the original USA Dream Team, MJ an the Bird, MJ combo rookie card excluded, because together they cost more than ounce of Maui Wowie. That’s so good, you take only one hit of delicious, crystal flecked green, watch the entirety of Pink Floyd Wall Sophomore Year in college and think you comprehended all the symbolic nuances from start finish, back when Roger Waters was more pro wall but no so much in Israel’s case to prevent more blatantly unnecessary death. Later, after Joshua in Junior High, he’d decorate the walls of his bedroom with an unoccupied top bunk, with cut out pictures of all his Hair Metal Gods from Circus Magazine, which included non-pretty boy faces such as the Freddy Kruger of shredding Mick Mars from Motely Crew. But sometime in the early 1990’s, Joshua’s parents decided to repaint his lost in fantasy island room. The Italian painter took one look at Joshua’s wailing wall of metal and says, “There’s a lot of dolled up men on your wall.” In Joshua’s Heavy Metal High pilot trilogy, which he pitched to the EVP of VH1 Classic in Manhattan, his character replies to the Italian painter with, “I’m sorry are blush covered cheeked Bret Michaels from Poison not manly enough for you Dominick I Ain’t No Fag Scholanti.”

Joshua would never forgive himself for letting his father bully him into inviting his friend Ari to see Motley Crew in the 6th grade at the Nassau Coliseum, during their revitalized, hit heavy Dr. Feelgood tour, with Warrant as the opening act, after promising his closer friend Coop, with his far deeper ties at the time.  Coop didn’t talk to Joshua for a solid 5 years afterwards and they hung out plenty in Elementary School, going to movies at Movieland in Yonkers all the time because Coop was an only child, whose parents were both Lawyers, at the same law firm, the father owned, so the could afford a pair of smoking hot, au pairs from Switzerland who tasted good inside and out guaranteed.  Coop was a mensch. Before he became a top realtor in Manhattan, he was the Nino Brown of weed dealing at Hartford University and would let Joshua’s younger brother, sell major weight for him back home and let him off the hook no problem if he was ever light 500 here, 800 bones there. Plus, when Joshua had his stand-up comedy bringer show at the New York Comedy Club, Coop’s presence among his high school class of 99 caused the biggest stir. Coop also delivered the most touching, emotive praise after Joshua’s friend Ari, who was still a mensch in his own right, simply stating in a stupefied, teetering on awe inspired state, “Awesome.” Coop approached Joshua outside the New York Comedy Club and said, “Great show, very funny stuff bro” with all knowing stony Buda assurance. Joshua replied, “Thanks Coop, but I’m still so broke my Hebrew name is under Judicial review.” Coop refused to give into Joshua’s feeble attempt at self-deprecation, which never captured his true funny man essence entirely and says, “Stick with it, you’re funny.”

Understand, this is more emotive encouragement Joshua ever received from his own flesh and blood, being his younger brother and 2 parents. But as they says, the 1st hilarious Bat Men Lego movie, you get to chose your friends, not your family and Coop’s push for Joshua to continue down the pursuit of getting Lady Laugh off long time was a noble pursuit worth fighting for with all this funny Jew bone, God blessed might.  Joshua developed a later in life, cast iron dense strong friendship with adopted valley brother Jay from Southern California, who knew the real him inside and out and gave him an even more rousing, inspirational, Mick type pep push from Rocky when he said, “Never lose your edge JK.”

 

Now, Joshua was 43 turning on 44, still pursuing the path of most resistance. His parents wouldn’t acknowledge his debut comedy record nor would his younger brother. Joshua’s wife claims to overhear portions of his Do It All Dad Year Podcast from downstairs because he’s such a loudmouthed, crazy man Jew, but 150 episodes in, had never listened to one from start to finish.   When Joshua had moved back from LA after living out there for 6 years, in West Hollywood, Hermosa Beach and Sherman Oaks in the valley, another old school high bud saw him do an open mike set at some shit hole bar east of Madison Square Garden in Midtown east, total no man’s land and he said with stupefied bewilderment, “You’d be ok with dying alone. You’re really in no rush to be in a relationship again ever.” The reality is, ever since Joshua fell in love with making Lady Laugh, laugh, he never felt alone again.  God didn’t give Joshua 3 unplanned kids to have panic attack over it. If Joshua was out with his 3 kids by themselves, which was often, a stranger would say, “You got three.” And he’d say, “All 3 were unplanned. Obviously, I never planned the art of the pump fake.” Then, Joshua would hear the same random stranger comment on how pretty his lucky number 3 Samuel is and he’d reply in a relaxed manner because he was accustomed to the unsolicited praise so often by now, “He’s a very pretty he. I envision a future where he’ll be fronting a Poison cover band no problem” These lines would generate streams of laughter every time. Joshua wasn’t ready to relinquish his God given edge just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28 You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Chapter 28

You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Joshua never cared for Scientists too much. When he dozed 2 minutes into the Making Of The Dark Universe at the Museum of Natural History, his daughter Matilda whacked him in the rib with her forearm hard with menacing disgust, prompting her Do It All Dad to yell in his defense, “God only made Neil deGrasse Tyson interesting in 2 minute bursts all right.” Albert Einstein helped make the Atom bomb, which put an official end to World War 2. The “Big One” also resulted in make out moments galore along the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway, honoring, America’s greatest generation and our last large scale, big deal military victory against a formidable foreign power, cranked up on Crystal Meth, pre-fake news and the era of HBO becoming must see TV for more resistor hued, Nazi revisionist, fictional TV series fare because she lost despite getting the debate questions in advance, so Joshua didn’t hate scientists all together.

Atheist know it all, twats like Stephen Hawking, didn’t make Joshua warm up to bean breath British physicists either. But Obama gave Stephen Hawking the Presidential Medal Of Freedom despite the award being the highest American civilian honor possible, so Joshua must possess a very low opinion of star fuckers from Kenya, I guess. But what really turned off Joshua from scientists besides the computer ones, who worked for IBM to develop technology making it easier for Nazi’s to identity European Jewish ancestors as they were shipped off to death camps, AOC compared to AC chill, border detention centers, was the dweeb brewer of Six Point Brewery in Red Hook, Brooklyn, who during the tour of his brewery, touted himself as the improv chemist genius of hoppy amalgam fermentation. But back to IBM for a second, Joshua lived in Croton Falls, NY with his wife anna and 3 kids, who would’ve been thrown in the gas chambers in Auschwitz, which AOC refused to take a tour of back in day, so knowing IBM had a major R&D facility in nearby Somers, NY, he was quick to point out IBM’s Nazi profiteering past, at the local brew bar upstairs at Italian grocery store DeCicco’s, if he overheard some IT folk talk about programming or coding of any kind and impose his material on them, regardless if they were engaged in a dialogue prior or not, “Hey guys, this is my impression of a computer scientist at IBM testing the artificial intelligence of Watson the Super Computer, who won at Jeopardy. Hey, Watson, are you aware of being named after the scientist Dr. Watson, who developed technology for the Nazis, who made easier to identify European Jewry before they were shipped off on trains to slaughter. Watson compute replies, “No shit Sherlock.” But if you didn’t know that, you probably didn’t know Hitler had a framed picture of Henry Ford on his desk, despite the Model T, being a poor man’s Mercedes Benz, Hitler’s preferred drive by car of choice.” Climate Scientists alarmists trying to give his 3 children eco anxiety didn’t inspire him to embrace the scientific community at large either. On Joshua’s debut comedy record, Resist This, he did a bit about imagining a debate on climate change between Trump and Greta Thunburg, which any NPR devotee believer would have a psychotic meltdown over, his wife included, in a NY Minute. Trump says, “Fracking reduces our carbon emissions Greta.” Greta says, “So Neil Young is full of shit now? Trump replies, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint. So, that much you share in common babe.”

Again, Joshua was waiting to meet with the Rabbi’s highly touted, master brewer brother Schmendel but this time it was at the DBGB Kitchen & Bar on the corner of Bowery and Houston, which is easily confused with the CBGB bar of yesteryear, when model turned singer song writer, ambient rocker Debbie Harry pleaded on stage, to her latest hunk on a stick, “call me”, pre-smart phones and Steve Jobs inventing nothing but casual Friday. One time, Joshua’s kids discovered a gift from mama for dada, including a pile of cue cards with typed written notes and heart and froggy stickers placed on them throughout including loving homages in his honor such as, “I love the depth of your soul.” I love the way I can’t imagine a day without you in my life.” “I love how you kiss blondie.” After Joshua’s 9-year-old daughter discovered this card in particular, she asks her dear Dada, “Who’s Blondie Dada?” Dada replies, “Easier on the eyes than the Ramones, next question.”

Schmendel makes eye contact with Joshua at the bar, sporting the Hassidic beard, a Kippah and a rocking Faconnable bomber, black leather jacket. “Joshua get’s up from his bar seat, “Schmendel, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Schmendel says, “Thank God, another too tall Jew exists besides me.” Joshua says, “Growing up my Jewish father from the Bronx would always kvetch, “Joshua, why can’t you have taller friends? And I’m thinking, because all of them Jewish or Japanese American. Plus, you didn’t ship me off for 3 whole months every summer to a big man basketball camp in Zaire.” Schmendel says, “What beer are you drinking? “Joshua says, “I like to try local beers, because I’m obsessed with freshness, so I went with some IPA from Queens. But can we stop calling Queens hot. Compared to Manhattan and Brooklyn, Queens is the sloppy 3rd Kardashian sister. You know the extra greasy one, whose actually OJ’s daughter, who’s easy to pound at 3 in the morning like a lamb gyro in Astoria. And I don’t buy the fact Bruce Jenner when married to Kris Jenner was asexual. But I’m positive, Bruce stayed harder longer, after he convinced his wife Kris Jenner to cut her hair short, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio. And if I see Transgender father’s day trend on Father’s Day one more time, I’m breaking my Chic Filet strike for good. Either you’re involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Getting shafted shouldn’t be such a shock to your system anymore either.” Schmendel finishes laughing, “You don’t have many friends do you?”, Schmendel says. Joshua laughs, “The majority of old ones are gone, that’s correct Schmendel. Apparently, certain fake news friends who only like you when they can feel smug superior, east coast elitist in comparison.” Schmendel says, “Join the club. You can’t be a self-loving, Trump supporting, funny many Jew in New York these days, without being looked down upon like some blissfully ignorant, uninformed degenerate, deplorable of Jew of the lowest order.” Joshua says, “So your parents hate you more than ever? Join the club. So, I need a mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero Kosher cheese steak truck. Can you help me? I know you’re a master brewer, but I figured your background in organic chem, food sciences and microbiology at John Hopkins University, could figure out a killer recipe in no time. I’ve been stalking on you LinkedIn in case you’re wondering. It’s my old school IT recruitment agency background shining through.” I can still help you come up with a killer viral campaign for your great, American Jewish Pale Ale in exchange.” Schmendel says, “Joshua take it easy. You had me at mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero kosher Cheesesteak truck. I’m a father of 7 myself.” Joshua says, “And I thought I was stuck up shits creek without a paddle.” Joshua orders an IPA for his Jewish brother in arms and raises his glass for a toast, “To meant to be chemistry, L’Chaim.”

Chapter 26 The Non-Religious Hipster

Chapter 26

The Non-Religious Hipster

The only time Joshua ever got into real trouble with his parents was during a family trip to Montreal, when he insisted on sending his younger brother back to the hotel in a cab, so he could pass out on top of a Canadian girl’s mountain of muff, unable to get it up for some boom, boom because of all the strip club day drinking prior, before those high octane Canadian Labatt Blues came back to knock him on his ass, after maintaining the same rock steady, pounding pace at the dance club soon after. Joshua had attended Ithaca College in upstate NY, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor, located only a 4 hour drive from the Canadian border. So, he spent many weekend getaways in Montreal with his college buds to wreck more brain cells and feel more retarded than usual, tearing through an eighth of outdoor Tompkins Country weed every other 3 days wasn’t helping. If Joshua could do it all over again, he’d bribe the DJ at the strip club in Montreal with a 50 spot, so he could play the 20 minute version of the Allman’s Brother’s Whipping Post from the their famed Filmore East show, so he could maximize his erect, arousal, one lap dance per song moment for all it was worth like any good, shrewd, predatory Jewish New Yorker, not bright enough to pass the Series 7 to become a Investment Banker would. Joshua was never obsessed with getting lap dances from strippers, but clear memories of blowing off his homework in the 9th grade to watch the Cherry Pie video on MTV, the VHS Kiss doc Exposed with lead singer and songwriter Paul Stanley philosophizing on the art of being a playmate bedding rock star on a bed flush with nothing but perfect busty tens. In addition to endless repeat showings of the equally titillating, Motley Crue doc, Uncensored, including plenty of clips from the their slickest, most arousing, rock star affirming video, Girls, Girls, Girls, which takes place in the actual strip club on the Sunset Strip, where Joshua used to live down the street among the more homoerotic, rent controlled land of boys town in West Hollywood. So Joshua never got discouraged from pursuing the glittery, stripper’s embrace, before he got married, if he had the money burn, one bit.

But Montreal wasn’t all about the icy, cracked out looking, vixen, strippers for Joshua. Because he loved his out of nowhere, fluffy, thick, succulent, locally sourced, in retrospect, Canadian ham loaded Omelette at some random greasy spoon diner 10 times more. This omelette in particular gave Joshua more long lasting joy than any fleeting, blue balls destined lap dance, assuming he was wearing jeans and not sweat pants. Joshua also learned during a trip to Montreal hungover the next morning again, how the French Canadian’s just don’t serve you a regular egg and cheese sandwich there. Instead, they’ll throw in some tasty baby spinach greens, on top a mayo slathered Croissant, if you weren’t eating pork again, which Joshua wasn’t because some psychic in LA prior told him his Chakras were more clogged than his freshman one hitter. The same psychic who Joshua paid in what felt like the entirety of his inherited Pfizer stock from his Jewish Grandmother on his dad’s side, insisted Joshua abstain from pork and beer for a 30 day purification period. Joshua wasn’t complaining about the final results, looking slim and trim doing something more constructive with his time than binge, like DMX before he got into character at the recording studio that day, to rap, “I m slipping, falling and can’t get up.” At the same time, Joshua will never forget about how he relished his In and Out Burgers in LA, animal style, which is twice the cheese, twice the patties, on top of their specialty, never burnt or syrupy sweet, fried onions nestled between their buttered, specialty sauce slathered buns. Actually, Joshua had an old high school bud, another groomsmen at his wedding who visited him in LA during a work week, so he just drove Joshua to and from work, while smoking plenty of primo icky, sticky, California loving weed, from his contact in the valley, when he wasn’t revisiting In and Out, on back to back to back days, winning the tubby bitch, trifecta, New York style. Also, Joshua will never forget how delectable scrumptious his behemoth of a triple cheesed burger was from Fuddruckers in Palo Alto to celebrate the completion of his 1st purification feast, as he inhaled one yummy bloody bite after another.

When living in stroller mom central in Park Slope, with his girlfriend now wife, Anna, he couldn’t resist the idolized worship of thick cut, Applewood country, smoked crisp Bacon served at all the various, overpriced, never sexy enough for his standards brunch spots, sprinkled throughout the Brooklyn enclave, referred to famed novelist turned boxing Journalist Norman Mailer, “as the most secure place” for a Jew to live on our planet earth. Still, Joshua growing up in a Kosher household always felt a tad uncomfortable frying up any piggy in their apartment. Which still didn’t stop him from throwing a 12 inch Kielbasa on the grill in their garden outback, from the drab, bare bones, stuck in 1940, utterly colorless and humorless Ukrainian meat shop on 4th avenue, only a 2 avenue stroll down the hill one bit either. And when Joshua went on the Kornbluth European vacation in college with his parents and younger brother to Italy, which included stops along the Amalfi Coast in Italy, right off the mighty Mediterranean coast, he wasn’t kvetching about breaking God’s commanded law to not eat pork, as he suckled down one more mound of svelte, Prosciutto di Parma with more fresh, crackling sesame loaded, Italian bread with bits of semi-hard, mind blowing fresh, put hair on your chest provolone either.

But now Joshua was 43 going on 44, eating kosher and getting closer to God every day, yeah, yeah. So giving 2 shits about projecting any cool man foodie, over the hill Park Slope hipster cred among other piggling sucking, bearded hobbits, to conceal their drooping neck fat, in their best Paul Bunion gear, held out less appeal for him than liking and encouraging more pics of Lena’s Dunham’s frumpy, let it all hang look on Instagram. These were the type of thoughts swirling in Joshua’s head, as he took in the dinning scene at Mile End in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, waiting to meet with the Rabbi’s much touted brew master genius Schmendel any minute. Losing patience with Schmendel, Joshua decides to start ordering at the counter but has some questions first. “Hi, the smoked meat Montreal Pastrami sandwich on Jewish rye is Kosher, right? The lady behind the counter with decked out tattoos hanging on for dear life off her droopy, too cool for school flabby arms says with immediate repulsive, disgust, “No, we don’t serve Dr. Browns cream soda or offer complimentary Kosher spear dill pickles either.” Joshua barks back with menacing, pissed off, slightly disproportionate in return fury, “But you’re a Sunday Morning Bacon Jew, who believes only wolfing down more locally soured bacon on top of your fucking fries and poutine, makes you the more progressive, evolved, Jew. Who watched the Daily Show with religious devotion throughout your time at McGill, so you’re too sophisticated to ever identify yourself as a mere religious, old school, easily duped, observant, proud Jew, got it, FLAPS.” The cashier burns a death stare through Joshua’s swelling noggin and screams, “Get the fuck out of our store. You’re banned permanently, no smoked Canadian meat for you.” Joshua begins to leave and fires back one last time with, “I was already leaving. Good luck finding a reformed Jewish cemetery plot big enough to wheel barrel your fat ass into the ground, FRUMPS. Fucking Canadian Hipster Jews are so, off the list.”

Chapter 12 The Herring Cart Provider

 

                                                                   Chapter 12

The Herring Cart Provider

Joshua’s family wasn’t flush with entrepreneurs but his Great Grandfather Fishil was one, who could afford to take his 4 daughters to the Yiddish theater every Sunday during the Great Depression because of his successful Herring push curt business, the food truck precursor of his day.  His 4 daughters would heckle the actors boring them to death at the Yiddish theatre, for doing another annoying reenactment of Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters because the writing in it was more dronish dreary than crowd pleasing funny. “Jewish doctors aren’t funny.” “You call this high art.” “Russian dramatists are overrated.” “Where is Milton Berle when you need him?”  “This play stinks more than an egg salad sandwich on the subway.”  At the time, Joshua’s other great Grandfather’s was out of work during the depression because there wasn’t much work for Horse Collar makers in the Lower East Side in the 1920’s either, knowing the Budweiser Horses weren’t even conceived yet. As a result, all his Great Grandfather Murray could afford to feed his family during the Great Depression was potatoes 3 times a day. Once the depression was over Murray, couldn’t stomach the idea of eating another Knish at Yona Schimmel’s ever again, let alone swing by McSorley’s for a beer and complimentary cup of potato leek soup, for Saint Patrick’s Day.

Joshua definitely got his height and abnormally large hands from his Great Grandfather, Fishil. Some would say, Fishil was larger than life, who enjoyed a hearty laugh and a crisp, German pilsner more than most of fellow Jewish brethren after schlepping his herring push car from Houston to Essex and back, especially knowing he didn’t have the luxury of sporting orange crocks like a wannabe Mario Batali in the making. Out his 4 daughters, Joshua’s grandmother, Ethel looked most like Fishil, inheriting his huge, beamish smile, firm, pronounced cheery cheek bones and special glint filled light.  Ethel tried to follow in his father’s Entrepreneurial footsteps when she was retired from working as high-ranking assistant for Pfizer and went on an art buying spree, during her manic yet happy and productive bi-polar high, years. In particular, she was found of southwestern Indian American art with her only son Steven, who was celebrated for his cannon of an arm on the stick ball streets of Pond Place in the Bronx but uncoordinated in other ways, earning the boyhood nickname, Trips on Curbs, before his best friend Sil who became the head DA leading the Office of Special Narcotics, reporting directly to head DA, Robert Morgenthau himself, renaming my father, the Colonel, after he fell in love with Joshua’s mother at Lake Forrest College on full paid scholarship who hailed from Louisville, Kentucky.  Growing up, Joshua’s mom told her son, “Kentucky is known for 2 things, horses and pretty woman.” Joshua replies, “Keep your sundress on mom, before you tell me Dad is hung like Seabiscuit.”

Joshua was staring at picture of Fishill standing tall and proud over his herring pushcart one day in his home office and an idea emerged. Why not create a food truck business for his kids to get involved with, but what could they sell, now that Joshua was following God’s commandments, sticking to a Kosher diet only? Last time, Joshua checked only 1.7 million Jews lived in New York City and in the year 2020 they were about 34 practicing Jews left, after all the older altacockers eventually died out. All of Joshua’s old school buds from High School, talked a big game about identifying with being Jewish because of their heightened appreciation of Marc Marcon’s Jewy, neurotic neurosis on display podcasts or with Albert Brook’s push over laced self-hate, in Defending Your Life.  But they didn’t perform Shabbat, keep Kosher or even fast on Yom Kippur for that matter. All they did was act smug superior in all spheres of life, claiming a connection to the use of humor for a persecuted group of people, despite never having to make a cold call in their life or exhibit even a smidgen of balls, by trying out their so called exalted funny man, chosen status at an open mike sometime in their ho hum, I do ad sales to encapsulate my whoopty freaking do existence. Some sold life insurance, others were financial advisors, or non-trial paper pushing lawyer peons, in the grand, whatever, who cares,  sweep of their lives, who had less interest in eating Kosher than a radical Jihadist has for Madonna’s stretched out beyond repair, camel toe dipping snatch, looking like it dipped onto a landmine in the occupied territory while fantasizing of being stuffed by former Miami Heat’s center Ronnie Seikaly for old times’ sake. But those old school high school buds still appreciated barbeque brisket from Virgil’s in Times Square or their grandmothers for that matter, assuming, she wasn’t a full blown Jappy Grandma from the five town in Long Island who never met a takeout menu she didn’t like. Joshua missed cheese steaks the most since he started his Kosher diet. But what if Joshua could find a hipster science wiz from Bronx Science or a Yeshiva school in Crown Heights, to create a killer mock cheese wiz substitute for brisket smoked cheesesteak and only accept exact cash, ten dollars a pop for the Do It All Dad Hero. Joshua’s son genius artist son Jerimiah could design the truck, his bashert agent Daughter Matilda, could be his PR agent, running his social media feeds, booking him appearances on the Today Show to promote and sell the shit of out it. And his youngest, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, could co-star in the commercials, Joshua would craft, funny, scripture inspired, commercial for, who would help minimize Joshua’s New York bred assholeishness, ensuring he’d come as more commercial friendly and less Crazy Eddy than before. Plus, Joshua could put his handsome mug to good use and be the face of the franchise, becoming a new age, food personality like the late great Anthony Bourdain in the process, without going out of his way, to display his erudite, hyper articulate, punk rock culture rich leanings in your face nearly as much. Plus, Bourdain adopting New York City as his adopted hometown, originally hailed from New Jersey, whereas Joshua was born in NYU Hospital on the day of Easter no less. Carrying on the spirit of Fishill as a Do It All Hero Pusher personality, could be his way of making his indelible, big deal mark, getting him invite to tables at Rao’s in East Harlem one day after all.

 

 

Chapter 11 The Spoiled Sheltered Bum

                                                                     Chapter 11

The Spoiled, Sheltered Bum

Growing up Joshua’s father was very fond of the expression, “You’re very generous with my money.” A very funny line indeed. Still, Joshua never asked his Dad for a fancy Bar Mitzvah party with strobe lights, a smoke machine, accompanied with a twice as smoking, inhalable, Italian looking, big haired MC with the boobs to match. Nor did Joshua ever grow up demanding his working parents, to pay his tuition at a private, posh,  liberal arts college off the sandy, pristine, deep blue, dreamy shores of Lake Michigan because he felt entitled to exploit his parents combined 400K annual income for all it was worth. That’s what younger brothers are for, who ask Mom and Dad for wedding money without getting married yet to finance his restaurant in Colorado to support his big shot, lifestyle, in order to keep his self-serving ego afloat.

Reality is though, growing up in the well off suburb of Edgemont, NY only 30 minutes north of Manhattan, while being shipped off to sleepaway camp in Kent, CT to bunk with even more well off, spoiled rich kids, from yenta breath country in Long Island, who owned multiple tennis rackets and had California Rolls and fancy tins of flavored popcorn, caramel always being the best, brought up by their parents during Visiting Day, didn’t help counteract the perception of Joshua’s blessed, young man existence so far in life, being pampered, spoiled from the start.  Alright, so Joshua was never shipped off to Military School like a young Donald J. Trump or ever confused with the spoiled rotten, kid Eric from the Toy who during his time back from military school, asks Ned Beatty to wrap the black man nighttime janitor played by Richard Pryor, insisting, “Daddy, told you to get me anything I wanted in your store.”  But it was impossible for Joshua to not feel lazy compared to his fellow bunkmates at Sleep Away Camp, who were all amazing 4 sports star athletes, that excelled in baseball, soccer, tennis and basketball without ever coming off across overtly putzy nor appearing to break much of a sweat in the process, always remaining, cool under pressure.  Chad, who could smack a tennis ball with his eyes closed, with extreme top spin to the point, where you’d throw out your vertebrae trying to land a racket on it as it roared over your head like a fucking Blue Angel during an Air Show in Stewart Airport for Christ sake.  Mitch, could dribble the soccer the ball with both feet just as good, Harlan could go yard from a first pitch fastball from both sides of the plate and Matt Plotkin who do the same while also putting on a pump fake clinic in the post, if he wasn’t burying more high arching jumpers from all corners of the court from way downtown during Color War or winning intercamp Championships like a future Danny Schayes in the making, with the sporty Jew fro top to match.  Still, Joshua was capable of showing heart, despite faking an ankle sprain injury one summer because his fat ass reared on bacon and egg cheeses, jars of  Oreo cookies, in addition to chicken cutlets sandwiches with Russian Dressing, and non-stop servings of frozen pizza bagels and slices with double cheese from Genaro’s couldn’t handle the grind of endless suicide drills without coughing up a lung.  One year during Color War, they reenacted the World Cup, Joshua playing for Team Cameroon, proving even back sometime in the late eighties, white privileged Jew boy camps were more inclusive than you think.  One the camp counselors Lloyd from Australia, whose body was no temple either, looking like a slightly taller, balding Elton John on holiday only his early twenties I’m assuming, even commended his scrappy, slide tackle heavy hustle. “Joshua, normally, I see watch you spend more time trying to swat away gnats in left field than trying to run line drives hit in your direction. Plus, I don’t know you who taught you table manners, but you eat cereal like a total, slurpy slob. Still, today, you’ve shown some actual hustle and no longer such as spoiled slob in my eyes.” Joshua replies. “Thanks Lloyd. I always wanted to impress Elton’s John’s zero talent body double, who can’t afford hair plugs just yet.”

Joshua had rekindled a friendship with his bud Perry, who he met while working as a Production Assistant on World’s Wildest Police Videos, back in Manhattan, after bumping into him a bookshop on Crosby Street in SOHO, after he got let get go as well paid editor for the LA Times, during the recession post 911. Perry being more than familiar with Joshua’s severe lack of job stability, was still impressed by his more impassioned worth ethic involving his own writing passion projects he wasn’t getting paid for yet like his American Dad spec script, Death of An Astronaut, about the only astronaut who never made to the moon after Obama pulled the plug on NASA, inspiring Perry to proclaim. “I’ve never met anybody more self-motivated than you are.”  If I wasn’t getting paid to work, I would smoke weed all day really.” Perry was being modest but complimentary and good friend all the same time.  Joshua had no choice but to be self-motivated. Lenny Bruce had a showbiz Jewish mom who booked him club gigs. Don Rickles had a doting mother who supported his showbiz ambitions every step of the way. Joshua had banker mother, who didn’t think enough of his creative abilities to make it as writer or comedian despite his ability to make her laugh constantly without even trying. Perhaps, his mom assigned too much value to her son’s learning-disabled status in elementary school, which prematurely branded him as a knock kneed, mental slow poke, with penmanship on par with a heroin addict dozing in and out.  Joshua was always very sensitive about his less than stellar handwriting, at times wishing he attended a Catholic private school growing up, so the Nuns could’ve have smacked his handwriting into tip top shape. Just to avoid the brutal exchanges on the subway, heading back to Brooklyn once, where some little Hassid kid next to him, glances at his chicken scratch scrawl in Joshua’s notebook as he tries to develop more jokes about how if he took PHD’s at camp, he would’ve have struck at a more accelerated speed, before he hears. “What language is that Hebrew.” Joshua fires back with. “Yeah, it’s Hebrew Schmendel, I write deli reviews for the Kosher Planet.”  At the same time, when his mom told her son a restaurant in Park Slope one day, she couldn’t respect his decision to purse a career in comedy, she thought, “He can’t write his name legibility, after having 30 years of fucking practice but he thinks he’s talented and funny enough to be a big deal comedy writer, now that’s hilarious.”

Now, Joshua was a stay at home dad and father of 3 for almost a whole decade, still working on his writing craft, writing pilots, spec scripts, books, blogs, endless jokes, recording hundreds of podcasts, commercial video scripts, and thousands upon thousands of jokes with still no financial relief in sight. But Joshua’s father was more old school. He didn’t care for the term stay at home dad. He preferred the expression sheltered bum. But until Joshua became a financial provider for his family, bringing home more than Morning Star veggie bacon to make bomb BLT’s on good old fashioned country white, with a dollop of homemade sage infused mayo on top of diced olive oil bathed cherry tomatoes with ample salt and pepper spreadage on top, he couldn’t entirely disagree with the prognosis.

 

 

 

Chapter 9 Art Sells Genius

                                                          

Chapter 9 

Art Sells Genius

 

Joshua loved getting laughs because every laugh was a win and on again, off again stay at home dads, 3 unplanned kids later for the past 9 years could use all the wins they could get.  He also loved how a winning joke screamed touchdown because the desired result is “ha, ha”, not, “interesting or I didn’t care for it.”   Getting laughs also made Joshua feel unique, because he had dedicated almost 2 decades of his life to assume mastery of his craft, taking workman like pride, in maximizing his funny man essence and powers of imagination to best of his God given ability. Also, on a baser level, Joshua became addicted to scoring laughs from rehearsed one liners or inspired riffs in the moment, synthesizing the scattered observations and punchlines of years past, because it made him feel like less all over the place Jew. Feeling less out of control was important to Joshua because since being the only schmuck with a stutter, who graduated from a top communication school at Ithaca College in 99, he’s been fired than a Palestinian Sling Shot.  Joshua overcame his stutter through cold calling through the entire Los Angeles Business Journal Book of Lists, for 12 hour a day for 6 months straight, with any supreme confidence horizon in sight. Joshua was already sensitive by nature to begin with, so cold calling IT directors twice his age at 22 grew hair on his sack and transformed him into the funny man father he is today. The reality is, when he met his future wife as a digital sales rep for Citysearch in Manhattan, on Barry Diller’s balcony overlooking Central Park, above Carnegie Hall, he was fearless, literally hitting on at least 3 other girls before starting a conversation with Anna, as unromantic as that sounds. Anna was just out of college, working for Barry Diller’s SVP Of Mergers and Acquisitions.  Actually, Anna was engaged when their eyes first met, which Joshua had no clue about, till months after the fact. Still, it’s a testament to how the love train isn’t something, which is booked in advance. Anna dropped the L bomb first, one sweltering August night, in her one bedroom in Greenpoint, on Monitor Street. The best Joshua could muster in the moment was, “I have very strong feelings for you but.” Later, Joshua’s heart finally too the bungee jump lunge and told Anna he loved her to, as the walls in her old Brooklyn apartment began to pulsate with actual heart thumping motion, you see on a half an eight of magic mushrooms in college, minus the Jim Morrison black light posters.

Anna used to invite all of her friend to Joshua’s bringer shows at various comedy clubs, throughout Manhattan like the New York Comedy Club, Broadway Comedy Club, even the Comedy Cellar, before Joshua got banned from performing there, for going over his allotted time by 5000 hours. For once, Joshua got off to super strong start, doing Heather Mills material and how he doesn’t miss all the driving in LA but he did miss road head, especially along the Pacific Coast Highway, once you enter Malibu, where you see a sign that says, Malibu 27 Miles of Scenic Ball Blistering Bliss. Soon after, Joshua scored a huge crowd work inspired laugh, after pointing out a girl in the audience, stating, “Did you just call shot gun?” The crowd roared with approval and laughed even more after Joshua stated in playful, carefree manner, “Just playing, I wasn’t getting any c stares up here.” But then Joshua got into trouble once he started ignoring the light, which is a sign to wrap it up, and got cocky feisty, saying, “The light already. I only invited my own private militia.”  It would be one thing, if Joshua wrapped up is set in the next minute but he went prodding on and on, till after he wrapped up his set, the MC, got up in his face, cursed him out and told him he’d never perform at the famed Comedy Cellar again. He was correct although after Joshua got his TV writing break writing all the TV host intro’s for America’s Hard 100, ranking the greatest hair metal and hard rock videos on VH1 Classic, he decided to drop by the Cellar and grab a drink. He ordered a Wild Turkey. The bartender asked Joshua, would you like it neat? Meaning no ice, and Joshua replies, “A Wild Turkey neat, who do you think I am Nick Nolte?” Another dude behind the bar took a sudden interest in Joshua and asked, “Are you a comedian? Joshua replies, “Open miker turned Hair Metal Historian is more like it.” It turns out the guy behind the bar worked the door and is the guy you see greeting Louie at the start of his show Louie, before he enters the Comedy Cellar. He told Joshua, “The drink is on the house.”  All of a sudden, Joshua felt like a real comedian again because art sells baby. Still, this was 14 years ago and Joshua’s stand-up comedy album, recorded from home, Resist This, consisting nothing but A plus jokes, cherry picked from his 156 Do It All Dad Year Podcast episodes, was getting him nowhere fast. Plus, his two self-published books, Do It All Dad Does Jokes and Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story weren’t flying off the shelves of Amazon’s online store either. Joshua needed to “innovate or die” again like his old recruitment sales owner boss Terry used to pound his cranium, stressing the importance of picking a race to win and sticking with it, so Joshua wouldn’t constantly feel like such an emotionally drained, tumultuous, all over the place Jew. The exact words of wisdom Terry imparted to Joshua almost 18 years ago was, “Joshua, you’re very eclectic. And from a guy who grew up on a ranch, I can say with the utmost confidence you have the makings of a star race horse, but pick a race, stick with it, and stop being such an indecisive, all over the place Jew for once in your life.” But now Joshua had experienced the freedom of being his own boss for too long and been spoiled rotten on the stay at home comedian dad front, enveloped in the most beautifying circle love from his 3 pitch perfect kids, who’d stroke, his now grey specked beard, after another all-star meal creation, to be later, promoted on his father son dish review show Better Than Boobie on YouTube, like his latest and greatest Mexican Lasagna dish, made with corn tortillas, homemade tomato salsa, sautéed black beans, shredded pepper jack and specs of Cabot habanero cheddar, promoting yummy dances galore from his 3 biggest fans in the universe outside of God, who he must have made laugh hard for giving such a special circle of love, only the funny man righteous clowns could be blessed with in the face of so many family members and other ex-friends, relishing him being off the success, money making radar of life but not just yet. Once, Joshua made a homemade pizza for kids with some roasted cherry tomatoes from their garden, with fresh cut specked shards of scattered basil on top of the cream filled, burrata cheese, which didn’t get too gooey or messy on top, inspiring his 9 year daughter Bashert agent, to ask, “Daddy, I know you still really want to be a stand up comedian, but can’t you be a pizza maker in heaven instead. Maybe, there was way where Joshua could still make his mark in his world ,marrying his love of creating yummy dance generating meals, scoring laughs, all while creating a family business, all of his kids could be involved with, so he could become a true Do IT All Dad rising from unemployed slug to paid stud in his dream Comedy Gold Porsche SUV mobile just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8 The Beshert Talent Agent

                                                        Chapter 8

The Beshert Talent Agent 

 

Joshua’s, Beshert, daughter agent wasn’t done selling The Jewy Manhattan Book Club on why her do it all dad would prove to be an MVP addition to their book club in no time. “Look, I understand, all you are you high powered, big city woman, who formed a book club, you don’t have to hear the opinions of know it all blah breaths who still read op-eds in the NY Times, expecting any type of deepness enlargement in the process. Does my Dad suffer from loud man’s disease? Yes, what interesting New Yorker worth spending any quality of time with, isn’t? Does my dad have a temper? I wouldn’t compare to Tony Soprano, considering the fact he grew up the rough section of Scarsdale, NY, Edgemont to be exact. Actually, his parents raised him in Forrest Queens before buying a colonial in the Edgemont, NY school district because now, he’d have a room to cry himself to sleep upstairs, which always makes the moans of despair easier to bear. My dad looks like Hugh Grant on stilts, minus the horse teeth, have I mentioned that yet? He actually gets confused for being English plenty because he dresses, dapper, business casual British, rocking Ted Baker button downs, both short and long sleeves better than duh face Orlando Bloom ever could. Plus, my dad thinks Yiddish but delivers, not just hilarious, but hysterical trains of thought in nothing in perfect annunciated English, minus the nasal, dronage prominent in Paul Reiser and yenta breaths like Jerry Seinfeld or even weird, weak Howard these days for that matter. The summer before I started Kindergarten in North Salem, NY, where we live now, daddy enrolled me in comedy camp at home because summer camp wasn’t an option because Daddy was still so broke, his Hebrew name was under Judicial Review. We made a bunch of commercials together for his creative tech staffing firm, Standup Staffer, Been Talent Hooking Since Y2K and all them are hilarious from start to finish. He made a great director and my all-star performance in F The PC Police, Say Goodbye To Palo Alto and Blond Power were all big hits. I only required 2 takes max, for each, one in case you’re wondering. You’ll love this bit. What’s a mentor Daddy? Someone who points out your flaws to work on to help you become the best version of you.  Does that mean mommy is your mentor? Because she’s always pointing out your flaws? Like, how you’re so selfish, loud and annoying. I got it kid. I don’t need a mini clone of mommy in my life right, thanks.  The Rev Bob Levy, even completed the comedy work we did together, who used to be a head writer for the Howard Stern show, before Howard fired him because he didn’t like the Rev plugging his stand up comedy shows on the air despite him paying him a paltry salary to make Howard come off as punchier, edgier and less blah brained, fake news deep in real life. You throw Hillary softball questions on your show because his ghoulish, tranny conjuring wife, would dump him to the curb, if he stopped getting invited to Jimmy Kimmel’s house for more 2 bite Chicken Parm dinners. The exact compliment from the Rev Bob Levy, always the funniest and most vicious roaster on the Howard Stern Show, outside of Nick Dipaolo, who also sucked my Dad’s Louie spec script, was, “You got it kid. Funny, relaxed.” And Nick Dipaolo, you know smarter, smoother, just as hilarious Dice, who only drops f bombs for occasional emphasis like my Do It All Dad, doesn’t go out his way to stroke funny man Hebrew descendants of Abraham either.”

Ester, the gorgeous, exotic, long black haired, black leather panted fitted, bootylicious recruitment owner of Silicon Alley Staffers, dares to break up Matilda’s killer flow. “So, Matilda, do you need a job? You’d be animal on the phone and even more impressive in face to face meetings with CTO’s in Manhattan, who couldn’t resist your irresistible mix of punchy, Punk Brewster panache and zero bullshit directness, via Tatum O’Neal in the Bad News Bears. Granted, we’d have to work on the taking breaths between your long-winded pitches, to assess whether the other side is still listening or hasn’t been overwhelmed by sheer force of personality overload yet. Matilda replies. “I appreciate the offer Ester but the only talent I represent is my daddy. I have zero interest in selling the billable brain of power of coders for a living, even though I like to code, during computer lab at school because I’m also wired like that. Once, my grandfather on my mom’s side, big referral for my dad when worked for Robert Half in Manhattan, was an ABAP developer who needed subtitles in order be understood. My father would’ve had an easier time penning a Bollywood Musical than making a placement fee on this guy.”  Also, Big Tech firms like Google make it impossible to be a patriotic, loving American these days who support Israel’s right to defend itself against radical Islam’s non stop kidnapping of Jewish Children in UN funded tunnels and nonstop rocket attacks in their backyard, whenever the whim washes over their demented, twisted souls again.  Also, enough with Israeli aggression, if you shoot 700 rockets into Israel’s backyard, don’t expect an edible gift basket in return, with a thank you note written in Farsi.  Alte, the comedy club owner interjects.  “Have you considered doing stand up comedy for a living kid? Your timing is impeccable, and your material is A grade all the way.” Matilda replies. Thanks for the offer, but my killer comedic timing is direct result of spending so much time with stay at home dad for the past 9 years and counting. Plus, he’s always sampling material on strangers at the post office, deli, bookshop, anywhere outside of the house away from Mama really. Dada always says the world is your stage like Shakespeare says, so there’s no reason to limit your gem joke dissemination to Park Slope lesbo coffee shops or at some townie Irish bar among a bunch of burn out, hicks in Northern Westchester either. Did you know the mayor of New York City is married to a woman who used to be hard core Park Slope lesbo? Yet we’re supposed to believe garlic breath converted her? Golda, the woke, libertarian radio host interjects. “Matilda, your voice projects so well. Would you be interested in being my intern this summer? I hate the mayor of NY more than Jim Acosta wannabes at CNN. Does CNN just shove a mike in front of anyone with good hair? Who doesn’t look too Tommy Lee alt-rightish?  Matilda replies. “I plan on getting a sports scholarship and dunking out in school by the 6th grade, so I’ll have to pass because all that time on my bum will take away from basketball camp and my rigorous box jump schedule my dad plans on doing me with this summer, to help conquer his white man’s disease once and for all.”  Freida, the star Soul Cycle Instructor of SOHO Equinox, interjects. “Matilda, you’re core physique is fantastic and I don’t think you’re capable of running out of breath. Would you consider teaching a Soul Cycle Class for our older baby boomer clientele, so they’re not easily intimated by much younger instructors, with already filled out hard bodies? But before you answer I wanted to thank for emailing me your proposal to meet with you on the behalf of your father. In all honesty, prior, we never considered adding another member to our Jewy Manhattan Reading Club, but we don’t get cold emails from 9-year-old requesting a face to face meeting with our club, ever either.” Matilda replies. “Teaching Soul Cycling sounds fun but not if I’m just teaching baby boomers on how to feel better about being out of state, virtual grandparents, who refuse to identify with even the part time occupation of Grandmother, because it infringes upon their spacious lifestyle away from Uni Brow Maddow on MSNBC.  My dad always blames Facebook for making Baby Boomers, the laziest grandparent generation of all time. Lifting a finger is liking a picture.   My dad also just another piece published on the Good Men Project, The Last Self-Loving Jewish New Yorker, securing his good guy non-divisive status but not really. The piece is a letter to God about my dad apologizing for breaking his spiritually elevated, Kosher diet as of late, because mommy, a gentile, pushed the issue and he didn’t want it to become one, ruining their date to see Cheap Trick at the Capital Theatre on Valentines’ Day.  Can I borrow someone’s phone? I’ll read the piece to you right now.  4 phones come flying at Matilda and she manages to catch every single one. Matilda says. Just one is fine, here we go. And don’t worry about my Dad, he got a great spot. He’s with my two younger brothers now at the Lego store by 30 Rock.  He wrote a 30 Rock script that made him a Recommended Writer on TV Writer ages ago, back when he used to live in Brooklyn with mommy, then girlfriend, when Lena Dunham had much skinnier arms and wasn’t so full of herself.

Not To Marry Gentiles (Deuteronomy 7:3-11)

3 unplanned kids later with my gentile wife, it’s a little late for that God, sorry. I never mastered the art of the pump fake. I did marry the mother of my 3 kids under a Chuppah, built by my hippie bud Marshall from Ithaca College. You know Cornell’s mentally challenged, next door neighbor. I even had Jewish naming ceremonies for three of my kids, my last one being for my lucky number 3, Samuel Teddy, Yitzhak Kornbluth. Because I love the story of a hundred-year-old Sarah getting knocked up well past her eggs’ expiration date, like Sarah Silverman 10 years ago. And unlike other, so-called brilliant comedians like Sarah Silverman, I at least outgrew, my truly tasteless jokes phase at sleepaway camp in Kent, CT. Despite me needing the comedic relief, knowing I was the 2nd worst athlete after the Sheik’s son from Great Neck and to had endure the insufferable elitism of the blah breath kid from Dalton on the Upper East Side, who thought reading a book on Jim Morrison at 15 was the height of deep probing thought. Compared to portly, freckle faced Stork, who read op-eds by Peggy Noonan on how Regan wouldn’t be anybody without her writing his aw-shucks, smile inducing witticisms because he was just an over the hill pretty face, yokel from Northern Cal, who looked good on a horse. If stand up great Bill Hicks wasn’t impressed with Regan’s speaking prowess, then Regan must have been a zero-talent dope, with or without Peggy Noonan pushing for him to name our space missile defense system Star Wars over Space Force instead.

I’ll get to the point now God. I broke my Kosher diet streak of 4 months at a gastro pub in Portchester, NY 1 hour before seeing the legendary pop rock band Cheap Trick with my wife for Valentine’s Day and I feel awful about it, sick to my stomach really. I don’t care how scrumptious my wife’s Shrimp and Grits were or the Duck Roll wrapped and fried in paper thin won ton paper, stuffed with the most non-sour pungent, highly delectable shreds of Sauerkraut nestled inside each bite from Gentile heaven.

It all started with my gentile wife, originally hailing from Brisbane Australia, urging me to try one bite of her Shrimp and Grits, knowing full well, I’ve been a proud beneficiary of my spiritually elevated, Kosher diet regulated meals as of late. We wanted to get married in Australia on Mother’s Beach, yet my mom shot down that dream. On the phone she says to me, “Son, Australia is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.:”

But back to my Gentile wife pushing me to take a bite out of her Shrimp and Grits. I wouldn’t say it felt like she was trying to hard sell me on still giving the Passion a shot after all these years, knowing my younger Jewish brother broke his Mel Gibson movie strike and rushed to see Apocalypto opening weekend. Now, I wouldn’t say my wife’s repeated attempts to make me try her succulent forbidden, Gulf Shrimp felt like total overkill. But her big, bulging eyes became more enraged, the more I resisted a bite out of her deveined, broth rich, fleshy, chunky cooked morsel of southern love accentuated Shrimp.

I know you’re the one and only true God, who I worship with all my fighting, loving, funny man heart. Still, the Capital Theatre has been a tremendous source of joy for me, starting with seeing the final Grateful Dead show via simulcast from Soldier Filed there with an old school bud from High School, making me feel like I was at the actual concert in Chicago along with every other over the hill baby boomer, who loves to name drop celebrities they bump into at Dead Shows like the famed Bill Walton, to feel cooler by association. Truth is, Cheap Trick rocks out way harder than the Grateful Dead, they’re twice as melodic on most songs, explaining why they’re called the American Beatles for a reason. Plus, being a big Dead Head set list guy, I searched online for some recent Cheap Trick set lists, giving me the distinct impression they were going to replicate almost the entire set of Cheap Trick at Budokan, which is a legendary live album, that will transform the most hardened Gen X adult today into a true believer of the kick ass restorative powers behind hearing live, rambunctious, soul man blasting rock and roll.

So, while my wife just urged me to try one bite of her shrimp. Implying, it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re out on a date, while my mother was in town to babysit our 3 kids, which is a biannual production, so I should feel morally obligated to relish my Gentile blessed, Jesus approved Shrimp and Grits, more than growing closer to God through sticking with my Kosher diet, knowing I don’t have to do any of the slaughtering or blooding draining of cows myself. Still, all I heard in my stoned, semi paranoid head at the time was, come on, come on, try the Shrimp and Grits already, you uppity, fake news believing Jew. Then, I started to justify why taking a bite wouldn’t be the end of the world, stating, some married couples in Miami Beach go to swinging clubs on Valentine’s Day, so our thing can be my wife force feeding me shrimp and andouille sausage but having me act like I love it. For all the talk of us chosen people being the pushy ones Lord, I don’t feel gentiles get enough credit for being just as guilty of this charge if not worse. And I’ll take the Crusades for 500 Alex.

So knowing my mom was in town to babysit our 3 bundles of sunshine and my wife had gotten us the tickets to see Cheap Trick in the 1st place, I relented and tried her super scrumptious Shrimp and Grits because I feared it becoming an issue. Ruining our time together to see Cheap Trick at the famed Capital Theatre, where Janis Joplin performed her last show, which I wanted to avoid at all costs. This issue being my wife branding me as the obstinate, all knowing, morally exalted, big headed Jew. So I divorced myself from my ego, thinking, one bite of shrimp away from the house wasn’t indicative of me turning my back on you Lord because of my commitment to resume my Kosher diet the following morning, with dreams of duck rolls becoming a glorious remnant reminder, of the thrill offered by being a bad boy non-conformist, living to rock out to Cheap Trick without a worry in the world, living for the killer opener of Hello There and Come, Come On while not sweating the loss of my chosen, funny man father status just yet.

Still, when we got the Capital Theatre on the main floor, to see Cheap Trick blow the roof off the building, I lost my airy, spiritually elevated lift as of late. Granted, the fries, duck roll and vanilla bean porter, followed by an Anchor Steam on tap for old times sake before they assumed the stage didn’t help. But we had a great time together at the show Lord and I grew closer to my wife as a result, despite her nudge, playing a slight role in me veering me away from your Moses transmitted commandments. And deep down I know your main concern for us chosen people marrying Gentiles, is them driving ourselves away from you Lord, because of the odds of raising our children Jewish, falls dramatically in half, especially when our wives refuse to convert to Judaism, because they don’t believe your Jewish putz embedded DNA is the end all to the be all either.

But again, my gentile Australian wife was cool with the Jewish naming ceremonies for all three of four kids, which not every Gentile would. So, I’m not going to freak out over this gentile terror alert moment just yet. Still, my beautiful, super funny, ultra-chill wife from the land down under, also made me potato latkes from scratch for Hanukah with parmesan, which does wonders in addition to making me a Kosher Matzoh ball soup, using a real-life Kosher chicken for the stock, despite her being a veggie loving, practicing pescatarian 99 percent of the year. Thereby, proving my Gentile wife is capable of seeing through loving Kosher eyes. Even Kid Rock will give my wife an Amen on that one. More importantly, the night where I said goodnight to my Kosher diet and hello to intermarriage peer pressure at 43 years old, was more of a direct result of me not respecting your law for the night, versus fearing my wife’s semi- pushy wrath, which I didn’t want to ruin Cheap Trick, 42 years after they caused a tsunami of teenage shriekish joy at Budokan back in the day, which I wanted to experience on my own live in person, without rocking the Hello Kitty purse in the process.

Abandoning my Kosher diet for a night for Cheap Trick was a shame. It still taught me how much I need your love Lord, which requires me to make you the center of my universe, instead of the reverse. I should’ve shown your dietary laws as much love as my love of not wanting my wife to ruin Cheap Trick for me on Valentine’s Day. Surrender Shrimp and Grits, I must because I want you to love me back twice as much for making you feel like the center of my universe instead of Cheap Trick, as much as they rocked out with such divine powered authority.

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club is left enraptured in head spinning awe and incredibly moved in the process after hearing such a fresh, assertive, original, funny Jewish, disruptive, literary voice, that got them off from start to finish and Joshua’s 9-year-old Bashert agent feels incredible sense of calm and intense prideful satisfaction in knowing her reading of her dad’s piece helped seal the deal.

Matilda adds. “But the real reason my dad wants to join The Jewy Manhattan Club is to find a potential Jewish Godmother for my and 2 adorable, hilarious younger brothers and if anyone can appreciate my dad being the last funny man self-loving Jewish New Yorker in this age hysterical, resistor, kiss ass resistance, it’s you fab 4.”

Ester speaks on The Jewy Manhattan Book Club’s behalf.  “We’d be honored to have your dad join The Jewy Manhattan Book Club. But I actually like boozy, highly alcoholic, overpriced cabs from Napa. I’m pretty petite so they go straight to my head, but they also take forever to breath, so I like the anticipatory self-discipline it gives me. We just cracked open a delectable Polly Fume from France. Would you like to take a sip?”

Matilda says. “But it’s not spring break yet.” The entire room cracks up. Alte the comedy club owner replies. That’s hilarious Matilda, Ivanka Trump’s daughter would’ve just said something boring in Mandarin.”