The Jolt Felt Around The World

It was 1986, Metroid came out on the original Nintendo, which had a female protagonist alien destroyer who reveals her bushy Red Sonia hair at the end after tossing off her futuristic, intergalactic helmet with bad ass, nonchalant, superhero flourish, as if Molly Ringwald and Stan Lee had a dreamy comic book baby creation come to life.  Matilda, Singing Rose Kornbluth was in the 4th grade, spending more time now star gazing with her new telescope she got for Hanukkah than playing Metroid because she saw how tweaky, sketchy her younger brother got once he got addicted to winning Metroid before his big sister did. Her younger brother Arthur, would now sneak downstairs to the basement to pound his secret stash of later discontinued Jolt cola, which was the equivalent of 6 cups of coffee, resulting in him becoming the most sleep deprived 1st grader since Sam Kinson hooked up Drew Barrymore with his coke dealer at the Comedy Store. But her younger brother didn’t finish off all of his Jolt stash in the garage because Matilda had snagged the rest to stay up for Haley’s Comet, which she couldn’t afford to miss, because she had to write a paper about it for class. Actually, Matilda’s 4th grade teacher, Mrs. McCracken, gave her a permission to stay up late for Haley’s Comet by any means necessary, saying, “Isaac Newton wasn’t sent to jail for proving the earth was round, for her to punk out and be a lazy brain, Goody Tushu square.”

Now, Matilda is pounding more Jolt and noshing on some leftover Milky Way’s from Halloween she discovered hidden in the garage, eagerly awaiting to spot the world’s most famous comet blaze across the sky, knowing she won’t be able to see it again till 2061. By then, Matilda saw herself as a retired, famous Astrophysicist who would eventually go viral, despite the Internet not being invented yet, when she tells Carl Sagen on Real Time With Bill Maher her big bang theory, which was, “His mother was an atheist cunt to.”

Matilda realizes she’s out of Jolt and in a frenzied spurt, darts downstairs to grab one more Jolt despite in her inner square telling her she was getting more into the tweaky sugar rush high than catching a twice in a lifetime event, if you’re lucky, knowing it was still 1986 and Wonder Bread still ruled everything around us, before Benjamin’s become common vernacular after Puff helped Bigg blow bigger up than you know what. Meanwhile, Matilda’s younger brother Arthur was on his final stage of finally winning Metroid downstairs in the TV room, with his eyes two feet from the TV as he sits Indian style in sweats and his NY Giant Mark Bavaro Rambo shirt from Big League Threads. As Matilda zooms down the stairs, she spots Arthur still up playing Metroid. Normally, Arthur would be oblivious to all other action around him while playing Metroid, especially in his pursuit to finally the win the game before his big sister, yet unfortunately, she inherited her dear Dada’s clunky, heavy feet, which made it impossible to ever stay out late past curfew when she got older, especially knowing the creaky, old wooden, colonial steps weren’t helping her stomping trail of sound subside anytime soon either.

Arthur turns his head and spots Matilda and yells, “You didn’t see me. Don’t tell Dad. I’ll tell him you drank Jolt on a school night to.” Matilda says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Arthur. I’m not Matilda, you’re just hallucinating from major sleep deprivation.  I’m actually surprised you’re not partially blind like Hon Solo after Leia unfreezes him from Carbonite in Jabba’s place actually.” Arthur adds, “Don’t BS me Tilda. Wait a minute, I didn’t press the reset button to pause it.” Now, Arthur’s Metroid character gets his marrow sucked to death from a giant green forcefield enclosing, brain eating Alien bug. Arthur freaks out as expected, yelling, “I got killed Tilda. I’ve never been this close to winning. I’m to get you back for this. Can your telescope fly out the window? Let’s find out.”

Matilda says, “Don’t even think about it touching Arthur, I haven’t even seen Haley’s Comet yet. Matilda and Arthur bolt upstairs to his big sister’s room to wrestle control over the telescope, waking up her dad in the process. They barely squeeze in through her bedroom door together, almost becoming crazy glued together like a pair of tweaked Siamese twins. As they finally push loose through the door, they trip over each landing on top of her red, waxy bean bag with discarded Milk Way wrappers on it. Dad comes in and says, “What’s all this commotion about? And why is everyone still up? Haley’s Comet just flew by 5 minutes ago. The show’s over baby.” Matilda has Arthur in a headlock on the bean bag while giving him a brain drilling noogie, look ups to her Dad and asks in a perplexed, enraged disgust, “Why didn’t you grab me for Haley’s Comet Dad?’ Dad says, “But then I’d miss it. Plus, these telescopes don’t grown on trees. Besides, you get to grow up with Alf. He’ll provide you all the comic relief you’ll need. “

The End

Michael Kornbluth

Mr. San Diego

Grilled fish tacos are lame, especially the ones from Baja Fresh, a popular health-conscious LA fast food chain, where your sense of charming individuality and personalized edge flat line to death and die. Are grilled fish tacos healthier than battered fried ones? Did Tony Gwynn strike out less than a teen George Brett at Daytona Beach on Spring Break?  Also, did the 8-time batting champion, who batted .391 in 94, who hit .412 against the equally nerdy Greg Maddox in the post season, ever leave the impression, he’d spray even more doubles all over Petco Stadium if he went on a diet with Kirby Puckett and only ate In and Out Burgers ATKINS style, using lettuce as buns instead?  If you’ve never made your own homemade Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter Baja Fish Tacos or never sampled the all-star goods from San Diego founded, famed fast food Tex-Mex chain Rubio’s, to inhale their battered fish burrito in 7 bites max, then your life sucks more than the snotty clogged Lupus from the Bad News Bear, before he snags a high fly ball over right field and chants with sudden clear voiced, take no shit bravado, “Just wait till next year”, before pouring beer on Miguel who looks like the uncoordinated Latino Tony Gwyn in the making.

Now, I’ve fried up Icelandic Cod using the standard, eggs, flour and panko breadcrumbs, or from using homemade discarded breadcrumbs ones, blah, blah, blah, yet all those crispy exteriors, even the non-blotchy, all covering coating jobs were flimsier than Wade Boggs power numbers against Roger Clemens during batting practice compared to my Lagunitas infused beer battered one. Regardless, if Nolan Ryan drank the cocksure Roger Clemens under the table the previous night and beat his ass in darts with overpowering, clutch precision, only to throw the upstart hothead into a crippling headlock for trying to call fake news bullseyes one too many times over a high stakes game of darts during All-Star weekend in Houston, when Robert Redford was deemed young enough to play the Natural because the casting director wanted a more stoic, wooden version of Kevin Costner if possible.

Big Ups Batter Up Beer Batter slams all other breaded exterior concoctions out of the park by providing far superior crunch, snap and pop like Barry Bonds on the HGH, before his balls become the size of gumballs, better suited for the kid in the Bazooka Joe comic strips back in the day. Still, the added juicy, crackling oomph my Lagunitas IPA beer batter, mixed with rice flour, flour and baking powder required more rounded out flavor to make this Baja fish taco, the go to hot dog substitute to snag at the ballgame in Petco Field where the San Diego Padres play because HGH alone wasn’t responsible for Barry Bond’s breaking, Hammering Hank’s homerun record, knowing if I took steroids at sleepaway camp, I just would’ve struck at a more accelerated speed. If you’re going to make a consistently clutch, hit heavy Baja fish taco from home, you must add more boogie down balance and funky snap by rounding out the lineup  with a homemade pickled, purple cabbage slaw with jalapenos and Mexican oregano in addition to spreading the mini warmed flour tortilla with plenty of sumptuous, chipotle adobe mayo crema love, lined with plenty of chili powdered, in your face, spiky kick like the edge of Ty Cobb’s extra sparkly cleats up your ass, as he flew home like a bat out of hell in another blaze of natural born killer glory.

The Baja Fish tacos were a real hit with my kids, earning plenty of, “delicious nods”, so much so that I decided to make it a double header and serve them on back-to-back to nights this past weekend, doing my best hit heavy, consistently clutch, Mr. Sand Diego impression with endless joy spewing, Spring Training is almost here cheer.  For back-to-back nights, in our humble east coast Abode, Tony Gwynn, Mr. San Diego, the 1st ballot hall of famer, who would’ve most likely hit 400 or higher similar to Ted Williams during the abbreviated 94 strike seasoned lived again, especially knowing he didn’t become so pleasantly plump like fellow high average hitting sluggers such as John Kruck in the 90’s from sticking to protein shakes and black bean soup for after double header game feasts to. Even Don Mattingly, Mr. Neat, would’ve gotten his mustache and pristine pinstripes drenched in the crema from these Big Ups Batter Up Beer Battered Baja Fish Tacos, to eat his little hometown blues away, especially after the 94-strike season killed his shot at playing for the Yankees in the World Series, only to rip the ball off its seams into his favorite go to right field pocket in the House That Ruth Built, to make his own childhood Natural fantasy come true to.

Michael Kornbluth

Naughty By Nature Chili

He who controls the spice controls the universe.”
― Frank Herbert, Dune

You want to make Chili with legs? Then, look less gross making it in your oversized red and black checkered flannel shirt and trim your poor man’s ZZ Top beard. You’re a hot sauce sales rep from Long Island, not an oil rig owner’s slacker son from Odessa, Texas.

Being naughty adds zest to our days and has no age. For example, for lunch today I offered my son a mini-Diet Coke if he promised to not pound it in one sip and put it away back in the fridge to sneak in other sips once night falls the way he normally does. Although this time, my 7-Year-Old son says, “It’s not any fun that way. I’d rather sneak in the sips behind your back as usual.”  Understand, my son isn’t a problem child, who’s way sweeter than naughtier by nature compared to his old man. Granted, he’s only 7 and his Internet search history searching for Harry Potter Lego building videos on his Amazon Fire doesn’t make him Kid Rock calling 1st dibs on the barebacking train with Gianna Michaels at the AVN awards after party in Vegas, without bothering to pull out to leave those jizz freeing beauties a pearl necklace in redneck paradise.

But how do we get kids into chili who associate spicy food with drawn out, unsolicited agony on par with commercials ruining their cloud free TV?  First, make your chili out of love, imbibed with generous heaping’s of layered spiced flavor like any Kid Rock album where he sings, “I’m going to New Orleans, someone is going to treat me right and going to have a crawfish pie to start my day.” You never had crawfish before? Imagine shrimp with personality.  Chili devoid of spice is hot Gazpacho soup with depressingly dreary beans. Still, you can’t make spicy Chili for your kids, without raising their tolerance for spice or risk 1s,t, or they’ll be less likely to trust your urgings to take a walk on the wild side again, like the time you pushed your 3 kids to power through the watering hole in Woodstock with an unexpected, far from chill current on your tail or the time you encouraged your son to jump off the swing to freak out the local moms at Roselle Park in Pleasantville, NY after singing at the top of your lungs, “I’m going to take you higher.” Only for your son to take a mini tumble, skinning his knee a tad yet still finding the fortitude to bounce right back up before Dad asks him, “When you fall off the horse, what do you do?” And your son says, “Call Child Services.”

Being naughty sometimes means doing things in secret, because without any element of surprise, there ‘s no arousing, joyous lift, that makes the moment stick out from the same old situation. To achieve my goal of raising adventurous, risk taking kids who don’t flinch at the sight of a Jalapeno popper on Superbowl Sunday, I’ve been sneaking in doses of heat throughout all their meals for years like a Stay-At-Home Shaman Comedian. Since all my kids ate more than just Strawberries and boobie milk, which tastes like a regrettable, non-fate latte, I’d slip in red chili pepper flakes into my homemade penne vodka, knowing it would open them to a world of more tongue tantalizing, mind blowing, life enriching possibilities, by helping foster a sense of semi risking taking adventurism, versus me catering to their every request, so they’d become another entitled, enabled, fussy eater toddler twat like the rest.

You have to take baby steps, similar to me starting with Budweiser in high school, pale ale’s after college and double IPA’s in my forties for more fully loaded, concentrated blasts of a happiness in a glass. Now, every time I drink a pale ale again, I regret the decision immediately, because my taste buds have graduated to greener, more sumptuous pastures ever since. I have to bite my lip enough around a name calling, door slamming, f bomb hurling, always right wife, who threatens to kick me out of the house away from my 3 biggest fans in the universe, if I plan on following through with writing another book again. So, at this stage of my life, I’ve lost all desire to circumcise my happiness, which is denying myself the pleasure for the sake of trying to live out a calmer, less bombastic version of myself, because my opinions and passion for comedy gold generation are too aggressively edgy cheery for their tastes.

Now being naughty isn’t exclusive to cheating or being a sketchy, secretive fuck either. For example, one time, I won my son a big inflatable bat at Rock and Jump and as we left the building, my 4-year-old son thrusts the inflatable bat between his legs and says, “Daddy, check out my new penis. It’s bigger than Big John Stud.”  

Naughty is spicing things up, which can be as simple as using the Shishito peppers I discovered at the last minute in the freezer , which my wife’s friend gave us to throw into the chili as an inspired, improvised, las minute thrown in, after I realized the regular Jalapeno peppers didn’t pack enough collective oomph to turn my kids on to the expansive, soul penetrating powers of good heat circulated Chili, enough to raise their eyebrows and blow their minds with explosive edge like when I actually explained what OPP means, before writing this piece. I explained both versions if you’re wondering.

I used Kosher turkey meat for my Naughty By Nature Chili and threw in continuous sprinklings of mortar pulverized black ground pepper because added spice adds more uplifting rocking edge to our days. Also, make sure you don’t plop in the red kidney beans until the last 15 minutes or else they’ll become deflated shells of themselves like Rebel Wilson’s tits.

Eating chili doesn’t have to remind you of your perpetually broke twenties or early forties now, if it’s made with spicy, spontaneous, over the top love, which increases your tolerance for risk and adventure like Christopher Columbus after his 1st VD shot.

Michael Kornbluth