Qatar Rocks

Can I move to Qatar? You don’t have to worry about getting your Android phone rammed up your anus hole outside of Grand Central at 2 in the morning. Then again, it’s my year without beer, so I wouldn’t be in a desperate dash to catch the last train heading back to Westchester.

Thug Lives Matter Most knocks out the lushy, disgruntled ad executive for Ogilvy and Mather with just one viscous right hook to the ground. Ad Executive crunched up on the sidewalk in noggin swelling agony says, “I can hook you up with a SAG card you know. Our biggest account is Optimum. All you need is proof of vaccination, and I’ll hook you up with commercial work for them. J.B. Smoove makes Tracy Morgan sound like Sidney Poitier.”

Thug Lives Matter kicks his teeth into the pavement and says, “Fuck Optimum, they won’t let me watch individual Knicks games on NBA TV in Yorktown Heights unless I subscribe to Optimum or get MSG through Direct TV. And I only do the Cloud motherfucker. Kayne for President, you media hording heeb. And fuck your Truvada commercials on Hulu. I don’t want to see that whack ass gay shit while babysitting my sister’s son during commercial breaks after Lego Masters. With no bail laws you can’t be in jail long enough to get HIV induced hemorrhaging now. It doesn’t matter if I sell dimes or bricks of H. “

So, you can’t tongue some random bloke’s balls during a match between Mexico and Poland during the World Cup. Aren’t those games standing room only anyway? Plus, what self-respecting gay guy would book a trip to Qatar after watching the Sex In The City movie, blotchy old hags on the rag with nothing else better to do since the United Arab Emirates and China bought up all the primo posh real estate left in Manhattan that’s skunk weed smell proof. Outside of those apartheid imperialists in charge of Israel, isn’t being gay the number one cause of death in the Middle East after suicide bombing and heart attacks from rock throwing paralysis after getting booster shots in exchange for more nudie pics of Jennifer Love Hewitt in the dressing room lot for Disney Kids coupled with Brittney Spears sandy clean snatch. Singing summer loving, having a blast till his good rock throwing arm goes limp from the clot shot and has to switch jerking with his left, assuming he’s got any juice left or decides to become a kite surf instructor for John Kerry and his new world order friends to pump that family fortune for all its worth.

Michael Kornbluth

Family Friendly Pitch

November 15, 2022 

Dear Ramona Pina, 

Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories is a comedic showcase of flash fiction stories that’s made for these punchline topping times. I wouldn’t mind being translated in France and beyond. According to my Soundcloud stats, I’m huge in Lahore, Pakistan. These stories are rooted in real life struggles yet also flush with magical realism within the crossover adult space, which is why I see this material hitting the sweet spot for you.  

My target audience for Waste Height are members of Gen X, who do more than audiobooks and the Joe Rogan Podcast. Who will relish my pop culture heavy references throughout Smackdown Satan, When The Shredder Frets and in Radioactive Resume Theories. Understand, I don’t shy away from media criticism in middle age reinvention tales such as Trucking To Zion and The Zamboni Artist. 

Being a busy mom of 2, I can you see you gravitating toward do it all parenting tales about wanting to raise drug free children in Regaining That Cuddly Feeling. 

Other stories of interest that are reflective of my queer leanings include Slut in Straight Jacket, Busted Beauty and Perverted Science.

Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories, is broken into different story sections: Stand Up Short Stories, Do It All Dad Stories, Funny COVID Stories, American Made-Up Short Stories, Stand Up Staffer Stories, Sloppy Second Stories and Do It All Dad Does Kid Stories. I incorporate every genre from magical realism, The Headless Headhunter, YA, Trading Birthdays and absurdist adult humor, Hop Farm Footsie Scare of 1859.

I refuse to have Louie yuck up the space for funny man adult stories involving hyper articulate children, especially when his kids choke on my kid’s star dust, long time, all the time, Judd Apatow’s included. Challah, thank you very much. 

I’m looking forward to your reply. 

Best Regards.

Michael Kornbluth 

Waste Of Height Pitch

November 15, 2022 

Dear Michael Bourret, 

Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories is a comedic showcase of flash fiction stories that’s made for these punchline topping times. I wouldn’t mind being translated in France and beyond. According to my Soundcloud stats, I’m huge in Lahore, Pakistan. If offbeat writing gives you sustained stiffage, then I’ve got a long-lasting treat for you.

My target audience for Waste Height are members of Gen X, who do more than audiobooks and the Joe Rogan Podcast. Who will relish my pop culture heavy references throughout Smackdown Satan, When The Shredder Frets and Radioactive Resume Theories. Understand, I don’t shy away from media criticism in middle age reinvention tales such as Trucking To Zion and The Zamboni Artist. 

Other stories of interest that are reflective of my queer leanings include Slut in Straight Jacket, Busted Beauty and Perverted Science.

Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories, is broken into different story sections: Stand Up Short Stories, Do It All Dad Stories, Funny COVID Stories, American Made-Up Short Stories, Stand Up Staffer Stories, Sloppy Second Stories and Do It All Dad Does Kid Stories. I incorporate every genre from magical realism, The Headless Headhunter, YA, Trading Birthdays and absurdist adult humor, Hop Farm Footsie Scare of 1859.

Thanks for giving my material a read and for the opportunity to give you sustained stiffage from it, long time, all the time, Challah. Thank you very much. 

Best Regards.

Michael Kornbluth 

Debunking Dunking

George Bush calls Zelensky the Winston Churchill of his day.

Stand up to the Azov Nazi’s in your own country and will talk.

New world order piece of shit, whatever happened to ex-presidents not getting involved in current politics ever? Especially, the only one who allowed 9/11 to happen on his watch while ducking a rip off Berkenstock soon after.

Construction on Obama Be Good’s library was halted because of a noose was found there.

They really want to start a race war, after the Jussie Smollett bust.

It’s bad enough that jail spillage is the motto of do-good Democrats these days.

I have to get hate stares at the Nordstrom Rack for buying some discounted Hot Wheels racetracks with my 3 white privileged cloaked kids. Hate on the FBI for planting the noose in Bubba Wallace’s garage after all lives matter became the new N word. For the past 6 years, I couldn’t buy a job interview if my rich pure blood depended on it. Finally, that changes starting the day after my wife’s birthday next Sunday. So, fuck anybody, who claims systematic racism still exists. Because guaranteed money in the NBA, regardless of injury or a reliable left hook, is so oppressive.

I feel bad for Kyrie Irving. NBA commissioner is forcing him to attend sensitivity training. So, don’t retweet anything Alex Jones ever posted. I don’t recall Alex Jones ever sucking off the alter of Paul Mooney by insisting how everything great originated from Africa only or push conspiracy theories like how Moses, God’s favorite prophet on Ranker, concocted the plan of getting future homies hooked on blunts and forties, so they’d space on how black Israelites were the original chosen people. Who were presented the Torah in full, from Moses on Mount Sani. As if Moses or God for that matter, would’ve gotten a word in. Black Israelites, being the original chosen people just got debunked dunked on yoh. Debunking Dunking, Challah. Thank you very much.

But seriously I feel bad for Kyrie. He’s also being forced to meet with heads of the ADL.

I’d rather play for China and come off the bench for Stephon Marbury.

All the ADL is going to obsess about is Kyrie associating himself with Alex Jones.

ADL fumes.

Alex Jones is Stalin.

Kyrie says.

Has the FBI ever prevented a school shooting from happening?

You’d think their dereliction of duty is what they shoot for in target practice.

Debunking Dunking, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Chipmunk Hucksters

I love telling Hair Sniffer supporters left how Democracy is dead.

You’d think I barged into a crowded theater and yelled, “He took showers with his daughter.

And forced her to talk like Buckwheat in the pursuit of hair follicle raising paradise.”

Rock Journalism is dead when Steph Curry graces the cover of Rolling Stone.

That’s like putting a young Cameron Crowe on the cover of Rolling Stone and just as lame.

Why not put Stephen A. Smith on the cover Rolling Stone?

He can complain about not getting paid more than Skip Bayless.

Because of his inferior character after getting Max Kellerman kicked off 1st Take for refusing to kiss Lebron’s ass as if his clot shot hush money from the CCP was riding on it.

About to resume my IT staffing career again.

Dad says.

Mom told me that there’s plenty of money on the table.

Now, will see if you can get it.

Tony Robbins can retire his headset now.

A new life coach motivator is in town.

My dad might as well say, “If you only had Hunter’s contacts. I’m only calling because mom guilted me into it. I still don’t know how were related. My tennis buds still know you as a sheltered bum.

Dad adds.

My old sales boss Norb says, “If you make a mistake, just fess up to it and explain your logic behind your dumb fuck decision.”

I reply.

So be a thoughtful salesperson and don’t be a defensive asshole whenever you fuck up in the process.

Got it pops, I don’t think Poopy Pants in the fake news White House got the memo, Trumpy Poo Tits included.

Lebron’s kids are on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

Headline reads Chosen Kids, chosen to what? Hock Lebron’s Tequilla when they turn 21 on Instagram as brand evangelists.

What does Lebron know about Tequilla again?

I thought his body was a temple and only flopped down into the faceplant position for mere show.

At least Mark Wahlberg was the inspiration behind Vincent Chase on Entourage.

Lebron just culturally appropriating MJ’s out of this world clutchness in Space Jam 2.

If John Fetterman is presidential material, Democracy is capable of being revived in our county through a Narcan only.

A cool dad buys his son a drum set at the Guitar Store. His wife says, “Hope you can handle the noise.”

Husband says, “Whatever it takes to drown you out bitch.”

Brother says to my mom, “Football is Brady’s life mom. You can’t expect him to leave it behind for Giselle’s uppity lisp. Besides, at this point, she’s 80 in model years.”

I say, “That’s my material. Do you identify with Carlos Mencia now? If my book United, We Laugh wins some contests and goes on to become an international best seller, I can afford to buy my wife her Range Rover or just make a move on Giselle because I can afford to for a change. What, I’m same age as Tom Brady. Plus, he didn’t win Grooviest in High School. Last, I can make Giselle my latest and greatest, Impossible To Top Cheesesteak that’s made from Impossible Burger Meat which will guarantee immediate lock jaw love in return long time, all the time. I also don’t recall Brady being blessed with the funny Jew bone. And mine is more endowed than the rest. I could mount her standing up versus my German speaking trainer on the Peloton and scream, “Do you feel it in your belly button yet? I’d drink Pineapple Chili hard Kombucha out of your slippery sly snatch during my next fast for carb free week. You can use your Super Angel wings on my daughter for Christmas. I won’t give a shit about her looking like an overdose at the Limelight waiting to happen. I’ll suck on your toes like they were Empanadas stuffed with Duck Confit. I’m down for a three-way Giselle. I’m better at multi-tasking now, off Adderall, I promise. Although if you really want to piss off Tom, you’d be better off banging Pete Davidson. My name Michael Kornbluth is too long for your lisp to wrap around it, it’s a total mouthful. Kim Kardashian can’t wrap her mouth around it. Who would pay money to see that sex tape? I’d rather watch Jared Leto pleasure himself with one working arm in Requiem for a Dream. What’s their idea of pillow talk? So, Kim, what do you think of Steph Curry being on the cover of Rolling Stone? Does Kayne blame the Jews for killing rock journalism too? Kim says, “I’m sure you were on Jan Wenner’s short list Pete.” Chipmunk Hucksters rule everything around us, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Master Set Record

Do It All Dad kills. #ComedyRecord136MasterSet

Master Set

Sounds of Dronish Cuntry

Over Faking Happiness

Chosen Curls

Vaccinated Buzz Kills

Antioxidant Kids

Danish Dicks

Hardcore Hilarity

Placation Nation

Fame Whore Ho

A Plus Alter Ego

Master Set Sample

Rape Enablement Party

Lesbian Licking Losers

Cock Blocking Party

Placation Nation

If Kyrie Irving hated Jews so much.

Then, why would he play basketball in Brooklyn?

The only thing Jewier than Brooklyn are fag hags like Lena Dunham.

Who’s the biggest reason why birthrates are an all-time low in New York.

Over the hill hobbit hipster hacks are pulling out early due to excessive meat sweats.

But the Hunchback of Bushwick during Restaurant Week, rocking the arm flapper look on Instagram isn’t helping.

But seriously, if you hate Jews so much, why would play in the Barclay’s Center, when it’s only a 10-minute walk to the heart of Park Slope?

Schillinger from OZ would last long, working as barista in Park Slope, as part of his new worker release program since Ari Emanuel from Endeavor Talent Agency took over for Leo Glynn as the new Warden of Ozwald State penitentiary.

“You know, I’d feel safer if you wore a wool hat in July like the rest.”

“Yeah, I asked for a double macchiato, not burnt espresso with a flaccid facade of foam on top.”

“So, try again. You don’t want to circumcise my happiness again, do you?

Schillinger cracks the coffee cup over the customers face.

And yells.

“Send me back to The Hole Ari.”

“I’d rather lose my mind on my own time.”

“Of course, this sniveling shit took a knee for BLM.”

“He drained them dry till Yom Kippur.”

“I bet Squid and The Whale was read Bi-Curious George growing up while being reared on Lou Reed Records?”

“I’d rather hear BLM do a Ted Talk on how Turbo Tax is some culturally biased shit. Then, serve fancy fagalah coffee drinks to these neutered nincompoops. What, I grew up on the Upper East Side on York, in the heavily German section while it still lasted. Who do you think was chasing Tony Curtis down a fire escape? It wasn’t Kyrie Irving’s grandfather; I’ll tell you that much. That part of Manhattan didn’t reek of shit weed from blunted nation yet either. Fuck this placation nation bullshit, I’m out of here.”

Placation Nation lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Triggered Tearjerker

“I can’t believe you didn’t cry at the end of Rudy!” Dr. Tearjerker says. Fred, a bald, bearded, stumpy forty-year-old recently remarried furniture salesman from Nyack, NY replies, “Was I supposed to cry? It’s just a movie, doc.”

            Dr. Tearjerker takes a deep breath to compose himself and says, “I think you’re incapable of experiencing joy for others.”

            Matt the furniture salesmen replies, “How you can say that from only talking with me now, after I paid you 300 dollars an hour to watch Rudy for the past two hours?”

            Dr. Tearjerker says, “My sports movie crying therapy bought me my house in Nantucket, a spacious 3-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side on York, and a Victorian mansion in Mount Vernon, NY.

            That’s Denzel Washington’s childhood stomping ground, by the way, and I’m not a Long Island hack like yourself. That’s how I know, motherfucker.”

            Matt says, “Doc, take it easy. You sound like my ex-wife already, and we just met. Look, I’m only here because I just got remarried; yet my kid from my previous marriage is already causing a strain on our marital relationship.

            “All the melatonin gummies in the world can’t help my daughter sleep better at night, regardless of whether she thinks my new wife was pretty enough to replace Mommy or not.

            “My new wife hates how I can’t cry at the end of schmaltzy, happy movies like Rudy, too, and questions whether I really want to have a do-over baby with her, after all.”

            Doc says, “What the did movie Rudy make you think about?”

            Matt says, “I don’t know, doc. How Vince Vaughn let his looks go to shit? I was never too into Sean Austin Green’s melodramatic lisp, regardless of whether The Lord of The Rings franchise was huge for his career or not.

            “I thought about my Dad spending more time watching the Knicks stink up a joint, as a kid, than helping me develop a halfway decent hook shot or believable pump fake, in the post.

            “I thought of how my parents reserve their most emotive cheerleading efforts for my younger brother, instead.

            “I thought about the time my mom had me get her phone, which she left in my car, only to glance at a text for my younger brother to realize that she uses a nickname for me, Scoops, and for my younger brother, too.

            “If your mom regifted a nickname to younger brother, the mama’s boy, because he’s always been her idealized romantic partner based on her sloppy slow dance display at his wedding, wouldn’t you have issues crying at the end of Rudy, too?”          Dr. Tearjerker says, “How did that make you feel, to learn your mom uses the same nickname on your younger brother?

            Matt the furniture salesman says, “It made me feel like a used furniture salesman; a nobody; an unwanted futon with bedbug bite marks after college.

            “I’m open to more sports movie crying therapy, doc. I just want to start resenting my mother less than my wife.

            “Since I became a dad, I started morning prayer; yet I’m worried about God taking my good fortune away, since giving me a daughter, because I don’t respect thy mother’s opinion on how and what I should be doing with my life when she’s barleying around to help with my kid in the first place.”

              Dr. Tearjerker says, “Why do you resent your mother, besides her not being around to help with your daughter as much as you’d like?”

             Matt says, “Whether I visit her in Florida or she visits me back east, she’s always sulking whenever my daughter gives me another jump hug. This saddens her because our bond will never be as close, I guess.

            “Fuck radical empathy, Doc. My mom’s default sourpuss mode around my happiness-spewing daughter will always piss me off, more so than her misspelled texts inquiring about how I’m handling the weather back east after I regrettably text her another video of her granddaughter sledding on her Snow Screamer with hardcore funky smoothness from start to finish.

            “Either you’re excited about your firstborn raising a girl who won’t turn into the cum bucket-drenched girl from the Fallen Angel video, or not. 

            “I get it, Mom. You really wanted your favorite to have given you a grandchild, instead, but he was too busy snorting coke for four decades straight, developing a mysterious stomach irritation out of the blue, and yet somehow blames it on being lactose intolerant.

            “When all else fails, don’t look yourself to mirror or change your depraved ways. Just scapegoat fucking Lada Lakes. But I’m glad my mom decided to keep the crib for my daughter Matilda around their house in Florida to symbolize positive thinking and wish fulfillment at it’s finest.     “And my wife calls me the unstable one for yelling at my mom the last time she visited, after insisting I get a maid, which I can’t afford, or that I express my displeasure with my younger brother personally for not acknowledging my daughter’s 10-year-old birthday whatsoever.

            “Bet he’s got distracting demons to contend with; got it. All I know, Doc, is that my mother would never break into a constellation of canker sores over worrying on my behalf.”

            Doc says, “Why do you resent your new wife? Didn’t you just get married?”

             Matt says, “I love her, Doc, but it’s not my role to criticize my daughter so soon. Four years down the road, sure, but my daughter will be out of the house by then.

            “So, if she chooses to live like a slob then, it’s her business, not mine. And no, I don’t want to get my daughter tested for ADD. I talk this much off Adderall, Doc. I actually stopped taking Adderall during my first marriage to focus less on how annoying my wife could be. It didn’t make a difference, really.”

            Doc says, “Looks like our time is up.”

            Matt replies, “So, what movie magic do you have planned for me next week, Doc? Remember The Titans, or Hoosiers, perhaps?”

            Doc says, “So you feel nothing when Dennis Hopper fills in for Gene Hackman as the basketball coach after being found in his home, waddling in drunken squalor, before his son locks his beamish, proud, piercing eyes into his pa’s soul and says, “I’m proud of you, Dad”?

            Matt replies, “I can’t believe you get paid for this shit.”

            Doc yells, “Get out of my office. You’re banned permanently, you deplorable piece of shit.”

            Dr. Tearjerker ended up in an insane asylum because his revolutionary sports movie crying therapy didn’t work on the furniture salesman from Nyack. This made him feel like a fluke and another vastly depreciated, average nobody, too, despite his own mother never reusing his nickname on his younger brother to project the aura of equally distributed, encouraged love.

            Now Dr. Tearjerker sports a permanent straightjacket after trying to kill himself with a basketball pump needle once, during outdoor play. He spends all his days, now, in a white padded room, running suicide sprints with a look of extreme determination on his face and chanting, with increasing force, “Rudy, Rudy, Rudy,” only to add, “I still shed tears of joy for you, Rudy. And if I’m deemed crazy by New York State standards for deriving happiness from other’s people’s success through the silver screen or not, I don’t care. At least I know that I’m not among the walking dead, yet.

            “Rudy, Rudy, Rudy.”  

Michael Kornbluth