Tag: selfimprovement

Hacks With Words

by doitalldadyear, posted in comedy, faith, humor

Our state of the union is like Colbert’s handle on funny these days, shaky, it’s too bad Bill O’Reilly is no longer important enough to impersonate. At least, Bill O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas.

Last night, I tried the melatonin gummies that my wife has pushed on my kids as mommy vitamins for a bit.

Because nothing screams hands on parenting than Ambien with training wheels for kids.

The melatonin gummies for kids tasted like Marty making out with his mom.

No, it tasted like I just made out with one of the Flintstones kids after being put on puberty blockers.

Doing wrong for laughs, Gallagher lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Dave Chappelle on SNL

Kyrie Irving wasn’t near the Holocaust. Playing in Brooklyn surrounded by hipster Heeb nation is harrowing enough.

What about claims about Black dudes being the real chosen people spoken down to from the top of Mount Siani Dave? Like God could’ve have gotten in a word otherwise.

Do you still think Black Hebrew Israelites are the real chosen people, Dave? Sure, like King David is showing up on Kyrie Irving’s ancestry.com, Shaka Zulu.

You’re a moderate Muslim, right, Dave? Because you tolerate Obama Be Meh, banging What’s Talent Got To Do With in the Lincoln Bedroom after the new woke, She- Hulk pissed on the ceiling fan after Trumpy Poo Tits got inaugurated. Hours later, Trumpy Poo gets pissed on for real from the ceiling fan above and says to Melania, “Is this, what’s talent got to do with it meant? When the woke she-hulk said, “When they go low, we aim high?”

But nowadays, Michelle is packing on the pounds because of Menopause. And Adam Schiff never clicked on SoapyBottoms@Nothingtoseehere@moveon.org.



Accusing the crafty Jews of stealing their chosen people identity from the black Israelites is in poor taste, don’t you think so Dave?

Being a proud Muslim, would you be happy if Alex Jones accused Allah of culturally appropriating the child wife compounds from Mitt Romney country? I didn’t think so, you hypocritical, black supremacist, entertainer protector like the rest, King of The Prosecution Complex included.

Do I think Kayne should be denied a living? No, I support freedom of speech. Plus, I didn’t demonize Kyrie for refusing to take the clot-shot because your boy Rock plugged for Cuomo during the height of his pin up prime, despite always looking like Mama Fratelli from the Goonies and the Thing had a baby. If the King of Popping Cherries were still alive today, Dave, how would he defend himself against all his never land accusers again? Would the king of popping wood on Pee Wee’s Playhouse confess, “All the Beatles Royalty Points in the world, can’t buy me love.”

Hershal Walker is, “observingly stupid”, Chappelle. Hacks like you are making me return back to IT headhunting with an open, jade free heart, if you’re considered the apex standup comedy these days, my chest. You’re a race baiting piece of shit like the rest. Lebron and the CCP, SUCKING, but you’re glued to Obama’s dick way more, sniffing his sandals after Ramadan bike rides through Martha’s Vineyard if born again Muslim John Brennan hasn’t called 1st dibs 1st. You and Obama are nothing more than hacks with words.

Hershal Walker, “Has to think before Tic Tac Toe. That’s the best dumb joke you could steal from Kevin Hart’s writers Dave, you has-been, hack? Jim Brewer’s eyes and Steven Wright upholstery on your futon in Half Baked are twice as funny as you’ll ever be, Obama off the teleprompter included hacks with words, Challah. Thank you very much.



If Republicans want greater voter turnout for the Midterms moving forward or have any desire left to preserve election integrity, then they should showcase a shred of originality and counterattack the big tech machine with bound to trend hashtags on Twitter such as Late Term Abortions, Disinformation Dissing or Red States Bleed George Thorogood.  Lazily calling them the Midterms won’t get Democrats to do anything more than bone up on the basics the night before them. “Dr. Oz, neutered nincompoop. John Fetterman, Tom Segura after a chemo induced stroke.” So cut the Hoodlum Hack some slack.”

Hacks with words, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Racist Alien Attacks

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, comedy, culture

“Nobody ever wrote the song ‘Waiting for A Fallen Angel Alien Like You’, tweets a frenzied 10-foot-tall alien, RH Negative 5000, from a Mars espresso bar with excellent WiFi as he looks down on Earth with a mix of surging envy and desperate urgency, knowing that if he can’t find a virgin Earthling with RH negative blood to get him pregnant by midnight tonight, then his race of Fallen Angels Aliens from Mars will disintegrate into the cosmos, as would’ve been superangel contenders, forever.

            This secret race of fallen angels on Mars aren’t allowed to abduct and rape any old Earthling into getting them pregnant, either, despite Andy Dick’s repeated offers on dating sites such as Intergalactic Beams Up My Anus Hole.com.            Finding a virgin Earthing with RH negative blood is hard enough, knowing that those creatures are normally emotionally evolved and blessed with superior physical prowess in the sack, compared to their medium-length Earthlings, including stars such as Leonardo DiCaprio, Jim, MOJO Rising, Morrison, and Bob Marley, for starters.

            “Bob Marley banged out twelve kids, but isn’t ganja supposed to drain your life shooter dry?  It’s fake news, man,” RH Negative 5000 tweets in a race against time to save his race of fallen angels of imminent ruin. He knows all the weed in the world won’t get Seth Rogan’s kid brother to knock up RH Negative 5000, even though he could transform his body into any dream physique he wanted, despite looking like an erect serpent and guitar god Steve Vai had a baby, when he didn’t have to change his appearance to get a virgin Earthling into sticking it into his alien procreation hole.

            The other problem for RH Negative 5000 is how only ten percent of the Earth’s population was RH Negative. Due the advent of the Internet, dick-pick swiping sites, and online porn, virgins are pickier and more selective than ever before, and I don’t recall ‘alien porn’ being a popular hashtag category on Youporn.com. Nor was Pete Townsend ever caught clicking on Soapy Alien Bottom Boys.com in the name of new song research about a pinball wizard who gets probed by a race of white, pureblood, RH-negative aliens for his out-of-this world, old-school arcade game prowess because playing guitar hero on the XBOX gets played out fast when you can do mind-blowing Pete Townsend solos from Live At Leeds, with five arms doing non-stop windmills out of your ass.

            Little did RH Negative 5000 know that one his followers on Twitter was a nine-year-old girl from horse country in North Salem, NY, who believed in fallen angels; especially since her father was conspiracy theorist comedian Michael Kornbluth, named after the archangel who applied the final smackdown kick on Loose Lipped Lucifer, which kicked him out of heaven to his new liar in the Hollywood Hills behind Bill Cosby’s house, for good.

            Actually, Matilda had just got her family tree report from Ancestry.com and confirmed ancestry with RH Negative. He lived in Boswell, New Mexico (otherwise known as the Mecca for UFO landings on Earth because Fallen Angels aliens from Mars knew that Val Kilmer owned a ranch nearby—which was cool enough for them, knowing that he played one of their kind in the Doors with such believable, otherworldly authority.

            Now, Matilda was always intrigued by the Twitter handle RH Negative 5000; especially the profile shot of what looked like an extra scaly, greenish guitar god Steve Vai after puking his brains from breaking his one month fast with In and Out Burgers, animal style, in his attempt to pen a sequel to his masterful magnum opus guitar swansong for the ages ‘For The Love Of God’.            Stop letting Twitter teach your kids. Dr. Seuss is racist—he’s not.

            Matilda loved that her father read Dr. Seuss books to her, especially when he’d make up his own rhymes if Dr. Seuss got a tad repetitive again (because he’s guilty of peaking early).

            The other night, actually, her Do It All Comedian Dad did some riffing, to her extreme delight, to unearth some comedy gold material after the latest and greatest Dr. Seuss cancellation movement from the side of tolerance, unity, and joy, spreading peace, saying, “Dr. Seuss drew a picture of a topless African in a grass shirt. He’s a racist, then: that’s set. But I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion, yet.”

            What Matilda loved most about her daddy reading her Dr. Seuss books was how he adopted his infectious love of rhyme, always pointing out how Walt Clyde Frazier, NBA broadcaster for the Knicks, was in the fact the slickest tongue-twisting cat of his time.  

            More importantly, Matilda loved how her school was celebrating Dr. Seuss’s birthday this week for national reading appreciation month. He was born in March, like herself, which, in her book, was extra cool.

            This coming Friday was ‘silly switch day’ in honor of Dr. Seuss, which Matilda found extra comical because’ despite having two working parents and being on all the Adderall in the world, she could never find a pair of matching socks for school, ever, which made every day, for her, Mismatched Socks Day.  

            Matilda’s comedian father encouraged Matilda to open a Twitter account for her tenth birthday, to use as a humongous open mike to test out her poems because she wanted to become the female Dr. Seuss, with a PHD in Counseling Psychology.             In her final paper, she’d argue how time-release Adderall is actually legalized cocaine, in addition to being a gateway drug to weed and to high-octane IPAs to chill out your aggravated, easily-avoidable added noise, in their minds. She would do this while also making the argument on how a time-release dark chocolate smoothie can help maintain these kids’ inner, sparkly essence while helping increase their powers of concentration (in addition to being much lighter on the heart, compared to big-pharma-cranked-out speed, too).

            Now, the moment Matilda got a Twitter account, Twitter suggested she start following RH Negative 5000. So she did.  RH Negative 5000 was already on his 5,000th cup of espresso, without any clue as how to audition, let alone recruit, virgins for RH Negative, to impregnate him to keep his race of Alien Fallen Angels alive.

            So, in a desperate Hail Mary attempt, he sends a direct message to Matilda on Twitter and says, “Do you have any virgin cousins who are RH negative in Roswell, New Mexico, who are interested in knowing what Fallen Angel Alien Love is?”

            Matilda, being a huge Foreigner fan (because her Daddy pushed the band on her early and often, in his pursuit to be a podcast comedian hero of his own) replies to the DM and says, “I have a Cousin Jonathan, who’s still a virgin at age fifteen. He’s very picky. Plus, his Dad homeschooled him through the ME Too movement, and only sent him packing for junior high with his Kiss backpack, flush with pre-poundage release forms. My cousin Jonathan is also really into Joe Satriani, and played ‘Surfing With An Alien’ for his Bar Mitzvah party from start to finish, so it’s worth a shot. “

            RG 5000 replies, “I have to get pregnant with a virgin Earthling with a RH negative blood, or my fallen angel race will never be given our wings again to swoop down to the Kennedy compound to seduce the next Marilyn Monroe impersonator they hire for another July 4th annual barbeque retreat.           “Marilyn had RH negative blood, which makes sense because her slamming bod is impossible to clone, let alone replicate. But we’re not too picky, and are used to sloppy seconds on Mars (for the past 5000 years, actually).

            “Also, I have the power to turn into any female form your cousin desires, if he isn’t into having sex with an alien Steve Vai drag queen look-alike.”

            Matilda ponders this big ask request and replies back, “I’ll make the call, but you have to do me a favor first.”

            RG 5000 says, “Whatever you want, just name it.”

            Matilda says, “Abduct Spike Lee and threaten to anally probe him before giving him an intergalactic tossed salad if he doesn’t stick up for Dr. Seuss and buy the movie rights to ‘And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry St’ starring Chazz Palminteri playing some second-generation pizza maker in the early eighties in the Bronx. He gave Grandmaster Flash the freedom to play his demo tapes in the pizzeria on his boombox on Frank Sinatra’s birthday, to make every day feel like Black Appreciation Day. Deal?”

            RG 5000 replies, “I better morph into Pam Grier from the seventies, snag Richard Pryor’s old strap-on from eBay, and tap Bill Cosby’s old quaalude dealer in the Hills to make Spike loosen up to the idea before he pens the screenplay ‘Racist Alien Attacks Boy’, instead.

            “I’m in no rush to get canceled and kicked off Twitter before my planet implodes.”

Michael Kornbluth

Withering Ties

by doitalldadyear, posted in family, happiness, humor

Dad says, “Can you believe it? Mom stayed up with Sil and Shelly till 11 playing Pinochle.”

I say, “It’s too bad Me Me, can’t score points by crashing around her grandchildren at a hard 7 without fail. But sucking off the fake news legend of her 2nd born 24/7 would suck me dry Dad. At this point, I’m positive you’re used to feeling like sloppy seconds in the relationship. I know you question how were related, join the club, but at least now at the height of Jonathan Gina Mania, 2 wrecked cars, and one narc gun blast later, you can identify with being the sloppy second one after all. I know you’re the only child and you became an A plus narcist to overcompensate for your cold, distant, 10 -blocks away mother in Queens who never offered to babysit me when I lived next door, surprise, surprise, but you get the gist. Still, can’t believe you can’t recall one nice thing my old maid Mosey would say after looking after me for 3 years in a row in Queens before you moved to the suburbs in Westchester, so I could have my own panic room to cry it out in. Because fuck the overrated school system in Edgemont, New York. You and every other parent who moved from Queens or the Bronx to the more snuggle soft confines of Westchester County, just moved there because in a house in the burbs, the buttressed cries despair are easier to bear.” Withering ties, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Perfecting Greatness

by doitalldadyear, posted in philosophy, poetry, writing

Brother says, “Lapping Losers, that’s pretty funny. I say, “I know it’s a funny comedy record title. You’re only 113 behind. You’d think taking 100 milligrams of Adderall per day would keep you up to speed. Perfecting greatness, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Bob Saget Lives

by doitalldadyear, posted in celebrity, entertainment, poetry

Growing up, my father called me a waste of height because the highlight of my high school basketball career was scoring a whole 10 points against an all-Japanese team. Scoring at will wasn’t a stretch. Every time I drove to the hoop, their players ran away from me like frightened movie extras in a Godzilla film. But instead of saying, “Look Godzilla, they’d say, “Look, Hugh Grant on stilts.”

I wish Lavar Ball was my substitute coach dad growing up because he’d ensure I lost my virginity before my younger brother did. Then, I’d strut down the court with more big pimping Jay Z ease. And my substitute coach dad LaVar Ball wouldn’t have to worry about me shaming the baller brand name for prancing down the basketball court on my tippy toes, looking like I was sporting high heels, instead of high tops while yelling, “We’re trying to sell Baller-Wear son, not Jimmy Choo’s.”

Lavar Ball wouldn’t let my younger brother lose his virginity before me. Lavar Ball would get Rihanna to pop my cherry 1st by offering her future participation profit points in Baller Wear, so I’d feel like a big baller on the rise inside. But 1st, Lavar Ball would throw me house parties and only invite stuck-up Jenny from the block. 2 seconds in the party LaVar Ball yells, “The Yoo-hoo Bottle doesn’t spin itself, bitch.”

LaVar Ball as my substitute coach dad wouldn’t actively depreciate my star player potential on draft day to snag higher caliber players and say, “Let’s be honest folks, my son is soft. I’m not talking regular soft, he’s more like Snuggles, 3000 thread count type soft. My son is a perpetual nervous wreck. He jams his fingers while struggling with the can opener. His only go-to move is a stationary, hurried, half formed hook shot that puts less fear into opposing defenders than an all-Japanese team who think the pic and roll means their choice of fish.”

But at least I can question my dad’s predictive prowess and talent assessment ability within the right, told you so authority today after I told him to invest in Google, bet him Trumpy Poo would win and that I’d write for TV one day, which I did. Does questioning my father’s talent assessment abilities count as disrespecting thy father, just because he already fears my 1st born son being a superior athlete compared to his defective offspring in comparison? Granted, I was shipped off to an all-Jewish sleepaway camp for 7 years and was the 2nd worst athlete after the Shieks son from Great Neck. Plus, my younger brother makes Hunter Biden come off a slacker underachiever in comparison. Still, it would’ve been nice to hear pops make a favorite forecast prediction on the behalf off his grandson after I talked about his 1st basketball practice. Instead, all I heard was, “You’ll learn soon enough if he’s an “average talent” or not. I said, “Your boy Biden’s talent was never under question pops because he never had any to begin with. And if Obama’s such as baller, then why did he ride the bench at all Asian private school in Hawaii.”

I’ll just follow Jimmy Valvano’s advice when he said, “My father gave me the greatest gift in the world, he believed in me.” Oh yeah, I also told my dad these booster shots are less secure than Joy Behar retaining the job as the new Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart.

RIP Bob Saget. Dirty Work was pure hilarity from start to finish. Wish I could’ve opened for you instead of B.J Novak. I’ve met Lobotomy’s with more sparkly personalities remaining. Say hello to Greg Giraldo for me and tell him that the roasts suck without him. Although in comedy heaven, I’m sure Giraldo already busted your balls and said, “Of course I die in a hotel in New Jersey while you died in a Ritz Carlton in Orlando. Look on the bright side, at least you got to die in style Bob.”

Michael Kornbluth

Speed Angel

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, storytelling, writing

Dad says, “I don’t eat steaks anymore.” I reply, “I’ve been burnt out on your burnt steaks before I bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms Dad. And I’m the one who was diagnosed as a learning-disabled learner in High School. Granted, by the time I completed my un-timed SAT, my friends had already declared their majors at Washington University. At the same time, you did nothing to speed the development of my non-existent self-esteem as my basketball coach Dad like LaVar Ball could. He’d throw me house parties at our crib in the 9th grade to help ensure I got to 1st base before my younger brother did. My star substitute coach dad would only invite Stuck Up Jenny from The Block. Two seconds into the party, super sub coach dad barks into her hoop heavy, dangling ear, “The Grape Crush soda bottle, doesn’t spin itself bitch.”

But we can’t be defined by our self-esteem strangled, fight adverse past selves forever. Which is why none of those pinko buds of yesteryear who attended Washington University 23 years ago, will ever come close to producing 111 comedy records in 11 months flat like a Speed Angel out of hell. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his Stay-At-Home Dad Years. And Quicker Dick Wins, comedy record 113, is coming up right up your juice box hole, Challah. Quicker dick wins, Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Radioactive Resume Theories

by doitalldadyear, posted in fiction, poetry, writing

Son says, “Daddy, don’t leave me for New Jersey.” I say, “But desperate times call for desperate actions, when you’re 46 years old with a marriage to hold together and have 3 kids to feed after a 9-year vacation from life to work on finding your voice as a Stay At Home She Male Comedian Podcast Host Author Blogger who’s been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot.”

Son says, “Why, can’t you get a job again moron son? And when can we start selling your comedy records this summer? I get to sell Flipper Bird Baby and Not Kosher Baby because I’m on the cover licking Finn’s butt Daddy, deal? But seriously Daddy, do you have 10,000 morons stuck in your head, Ancient Moron?

I say, “I don’t need a resume coach or a climate scientist to tell me why my writing career is colder than Harvey Weinstein’s casting couch at the 4 Seasons. In fact, I’m capable of formulating some radioactive resume theories of my own Scientific American, for starters, 9 Gap Years +No Proof of Vaccination =Twice fucked at getting a job in Mr. Groper’s America Jack.

Others culture clash fit theories that come to mind are. You’re too full of yourself to judge your talent assessment skills objectively. In other words, you’re blinded by narcissistic right, like the rest.

Outsiders don’t see daddy as a real man or as dependable provider of any kind, especially when mama’s smart phone sends her an alert whenever I make another questionable purchase. Mommy calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?”

What else makes my resume lack all form of gravitational pull kid? The glaring expanse of gap years on my resume is bigger than when Sandra Bernhardt says cheese.

HR won’t even download my resume on to their desktops out of fear of it eroding their belief in the common good after learning through one of my podcasts how I’m another domestic terrorist dad who protested against the masking of our children like Michael’s Jackon’s kids on holiday in Bahrain during the July 4th release of my Burning Mask Party Record.

Wendy in HR almost chokes up her Shroom Burger from Shake Shack after reading my desired salary preference of 85K per year when I haven’t had any form of steady taxable income to report since hate speech was invented to silence anyone who questioned whether the Russian collusion tale used to spy on Trump while running for office had less legs than Lieutenant Dan.

Listing Allah as a character reference, only to accuse a prospective employer of being Islamophobic, if they don’t respect my religion of peace knowing my last name is Kornbluth is a new low like Baby Face Omar Gona Work It Out describing the death of Amy Winehouse on the anniversary of her death on Twitter as something happened to a devil horn concealing, beehive sporting, colonial imperialist who exploited the Great Palestinian Song Book for all it was worth.  

It’s hard to engage in foreplay with a new lover of me on the open market as a stay-at-home dad when your wife can’t even get excited about kinky foreplay of any kind anymore because you’re already choking her too hard financially.

Talking about yourself in the 3rd person in your resume bio for a copywriter role in South Carolina is crossing the ego mania gone wild line even in Kenny’s Powers eyes.

Big Bang Theory, Do It All Dad Does Jokes is no Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman regardless of it being gay about celebrating my Do It All Dad Tree Trunk that claims to blow crystal-clear streams of beautiful mind spewing hilarity, come rain or shine. Sinatra lives. Challah, thank you very much.

The universe didn’t take a collective breath after you post on your WordPress blog how Guaranteed Greatness, would be your last comedy you’d give to the deprived masses away for free.

Force feeding schtick on your resume is more off putting than laughing at your own jokes in person or texting one to an employer with an emoji clown horn that follows.

You can’t win over HR by conserving your best work in the service of making MAGA country laugh over us.

So, I’ll rebrand myself as a scene stealing supporting player and aim to win the 6th Man of Year Award like Anthony Mason on the Knicks before you’re good enough to be deemed trade worthy, only to be voted by your news fans and old as a 1st all-time star the following year, which beats wasting away in some dumpy ad agency in Union, New Jersey away from you kid.

Son says, “Does that mean you’re not leaving me for New Jersey?”

I say, “Not unless I’m calling my next comedy record, “Do It All Dad Does Martha Dump Truck. Can I get holla for some Challah?”

Son says, “Thank you very much.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Gen X Comedian

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, humor, Parenting

I like coffee like my comedy, dark and bitter.

Nirvana didn’t kill Hair Metal. Aids did, before Magic made HIV disappear.

Courtney Love is Mia Farrow with better husband selection.

I want to get my wife pregnant by mistake again. Just, so I can name my kid Zevon Zappa Kornbluth.

According to Wine Advocate, Snoop Dog’s Merlot, tastes like mouthwash used in Porn Hood Hell.

Russell Simmons addressing rape allegations with Gayle King. Read my lisp, I didn’t rape any, of those vengeful, over the hill hos.

My daughter finally got breast buds. Wife says, “She’s the last person in her class to get them. I said, “Then why have your buds taken so long to sprout?” Titty shaming jokes are too offensive for your taste? Then, go woke yourself to, Challah. Thank you very much.

Book Store Worker says, “Are you in our system?” I say, “All of a sudden, I feel like a registered sex offender. And being busted with a Woody Allen’s autobiography in my hands isn’t helping. For what it’s worth, I’ve only allowed my daughter to watch Woody Allen films that came pre-Soon-Yi like Crimes and Misdemeanors, the Early Years, Challah, thank you very much. At the same time, I only expose my daughter to Michael Jackson music that came out pre-Jackson 5 to ensure my pedophile playlist stance is black and white. Book Store Worker laughs long time, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Overachieving Disabled

by doitalldadyear, posted in entertainment, humor, writing

It’s hard not to think my mother is being passive aggressive by giving gushing praise to Elvis through individual post cards sent to all 3 of her grandchildren while failing to use any of these glowing superlatives in my honor, 121 comedy records later, Greatest One for comedy record 122 coming right up. Granted, I was designated as learning disabled growing up and by the time I finished my untimed SAT, my friends from high school had already declared their biology majors Sophomore year in college.

Elvis was a game changing artist. He was the 1st white man who didn’t sound, look or move like Perry Cuomo.

Elvis was a loving family man in the mold of pubescent plowing kings of yesteryear like Errol Flyn. Personally, I think a family man is a part time Slut in A Straight Jacket versus a fulltime around the clock hound dog around barely budding trim, but that’s just me.

Elvis lived a full life but a short one. Yeah, that much more reason to spend a smidgen of your time tickling your 1st born’s ballsy ass ego over here.

Many people thought your daddy has a resemblance with Elvis. But the similarities end at your daddy rocking a leather jacket.

Elvis was a great original artist. It’s not as if he wrote and performed 121 hours of highly original A plus hilarity from start to finish over the past 13 months alone, but nobody’s perfect. John Lennon wished he was this productive during his stay-at-home dad years.

Elvis became the most famous person in the world. And Chuck Berry was left with his dick in his hands while drilling a hole in his restaurant bathroom with a spy cam on for shits and giggles.

Elvis was a big lover of home and cars almost as much as his family. Unlike you’re sheltered bum Daddy despite claims of going on a triumphant victory lap in his eventual Comedy Gold Mobile Porsche SUV after scoring a book deal from all his future all-time best-selling books and comedy records allegedly. If I could dream with the overachieving disabled, I wouldn’t be the Queen of Passive Aggressiveness.

Overachieving Disabled, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth