Flawless Light

Pro abortion on demand posts proclaiming it’s the greatest thing since hand sliced Nova on LinkedIn have tampered off dramatically off since Friday. What happened? Oh yeah, you remembered that nobody gives a shit about corporate activism since your evil-siding scumbag overlords mandated forced clot shots since the day Democracy died. Who only 2 years prior, acted fake news outraged about a Russian collusion tale with less legs than Lieutenant Dan, right Buzzfeed? Use your head America, Trumpy Poo would never hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on each other because he’s a notorious germaphobe. And could always hire a bunch of Ivanka look likes who sound more like Melania who could pee on each other at his hotel in DC sporting nothing but mink hats from Spies Like Us whenever he likes.

I know, without your abortion you’d never be a proud homeowner at 33. Or know what it’s like to be on the receiving end from endless streams of yummy hugs after blowing your kids away with a chive specked, farm fresh, scramble mushroom supreme. Or be motivated enough to make your year without beer count. So, your sons can aspire to follow your lead with a follow up series of launch parties on top of the Box Jump that you just made your blast off bitch while blasting Take Me The Top by Motley Crue. Is that parenting rich premise worthy of intellectual contemplation Ayn Rand, self-serving cunts are us?

Have fun with your empty, drab, lifeless home in Northern California with no hardcore hilarious kids to brighten up your endlessly beautifying day with slacker prevention talk like this.

“Daddy, why didn’t you go on the Peloton yet?”

“I got food poisoning from the Hallal guys and never-ending long COVID from 5 booster shots in a row. I got full blown AIDS from Andy Dick through Zoom.”

“Enough with the excuses daddy. You’re worse than Hillary.”

Flawless Light shines on, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Sloppy Second Son

If you laugh at the idea of your dad ever learning sign language to speak with his son, then you might be a sloppy second son.

If your mom gets the humpty dance on to a slow song at your brother’s wedding with her idealized partner in love to prove Freud still maters, then chances are you’re the sloppy second son.

If you brother remains the focal point of your parent’s existence, who continues to encapsulate all their best hopes and desires, despite making Hunter Biden look like a slacker, underachiever in comparison, then you’re mostly likely the sloppy second son.

If your mother insists you become a garbage man, because you’ve been on shit detail as a Stay At Home Dad for the past 4 years after writing for TV twice, then you’re the sloppy second son. Especially when mom’s attitude is, “At least my son has on the job experience to cite for a steady, six figure salary. It would finally mean he had his shit together for a change versus being another burnt out IT agency recruiter whose been fired than a Palestinian Sling Shot.”

Postponing the dildo talk with my 10-year-old daughter after discovering’s mom’s dildo stickers for an upcoming bachelorette party. Daddy, “What’s this sticker supposed to be?” I say, “Look, you already know about the Holocaust and 9/11, but I’m still not prepared to have this conversation now. For now, let’s just agree to call them, symbols of self-sufficient love, when your partner loses all interest in pleasing you without being guilted it into first because that same person supports kids being forced to wear masks, which kills off any chance of sustainable stiffage in their presence, naked or not over the long run.” Eagle’s lives, Challah, thank you very much.

UPenn Swimmers getting uncomfortable with Trans Phelps in the locker room.

“If he’s really a girl, then why does he flaunt his man meat in front of us? And are you sure Joe Rogan didn’t slip him boner pills laced with CBD? Because those estrogen pills aren’t working. Plus, I thought trans between middle leg mutilation, had a hard time keeping it up without being pumped with enough DNC fundraiser crystal path to keep the party going. Last, why is Trans Phelps immune to the gravitational pull of post pool shrinkage? How does that even work, you identify as being a girl yet pop boners around a bunch of flat-chested nerds? If Trans Phelps is really a big, backed lesbo in the making, shouldn’t he she be more turned on by four eyed slobs in hand me down wool sweaters on Chestnut Street who have less interest in scented bathing salts than dieting during finals week on Adderall, avocado balls and fish oils alone? Assuming, Trans Phelps is bisexual, what kind of girl does he fashion himself to be? A cross between Suge Knight and the Showrunner from Orange Is The New Black? I don’t get it. You’d think Trans Phelps would have a Go Fund Me Page to complete the gender reassignment surgery already yet he’s dragging more than his balls in our girl’s locker room floor. I’d tell Trans Phelps to cut out the act and just admit he’s undecided on cutting off his link to manhood but I’m not holding my breath like Joe Rogan taking a gravity hit for old time’s sake either.” Old school weed references rule, Challah, thank you very much.

It’s hard to bring up an article about fellow UPENN swimmers complaining about the Trans Swimmer from UPENN showing off his dick in the locker girl’s locker room without injecting your kids into the conversation one bit. I say to my wife, “Babe, I don’t want any dick, straight, bi, or Trans around my daughter when she didn’t ask to see it or actively seek it out in the 1st place, do you? Besides, aren’t you the one who told our daughter about artificial insemination? Trust me, I love the idea of no penis ever entering the gravitational pull our daughter but look how Hillary turned out. At the same time, our daughter as a lesbian doesn’t have to worry about getting Aids because she can take a licking and keep on ticking. I’m not enthralled with what limited options she has for celebrity role models either. Ellen admitted on her show that she’s actually friends with George Bush after being caught palling around with him at a Cowboys game because regardless of political affiliation, Ellen is pro Bush all the way. And how patriotic is Meghan Rapone for siding with fake news Collin Kaepernick who made every day in the NFL kicking Nazi Destroyers in the nuts by taking a knee day. What, Collin Kaepernick sports a fake news fro? Have you ever seen a bi-racial afro that large before? Slash tried to grow it out and it was a total flop. Lenny Kravitz, my favorite bi-racial Hebrew could never make his fro bounce that way. And do you really see Meghan Rapino running for President babe? What’s going to be her campaign slogan? “Penetration is overrated.” That’s the same line she used on her prom date at the Enchantment Under The Sea Dance. Or will her campaign slogan be, “Fuck Spotify Obama, and bring back the L Word to Netflix. Your our only hope. I can make a cameo in a new TV show starring Michelle Obama about a Drag Queen Tina Turner tribute act in Martha’s Vineyard called, “What’s Talent Got To Do With It? Just don’t expect me to be chill about our son’s wanting to get their dicks chopped off because pee hard-on blues in elementary school are more embarrassing to shoulder than pic pen spills into their progressively ripping Bugle Boy jeans. At the same time, I don’t see baby samuel wanting to part with his dick anytime soon, when he says to his big brother, “Arthur, sit on my penis.” Before I say, “Not Kosher Baby.” Challah, thank you very much. Just don’t expect me to buy any Meghan Rapino endorsed products at Victoria Secrets since she became their new spokesperson babe as tempting as it is to blow 80 bucks on pair of edible shin guards that taste like hair fish sticks.” Sloppy Second Son shoots and scores, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

The Dishonorable Front

Best way for Obama’s half-brother to downplay his Terrorist ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. Ditch the Islamic head cap for a MAGA hat during a Facebook livestream on the 4th of July, while blasting the Kayne West portion of Black Republicans in the background. Before wishing Soccer Mom Nation, a Happy 4th, immune from low-income housing from radicalized Sunni refuges from Somalia like Minnesota did for congressional rep Baby Face Omar gonna work it out. Then, Malik, no I wasn’t the swing forward star from St. Johns, Obama, says, “Kenyan lives don’t matter, unless you’re Barack Obama, Christians decapitated by ISIS excluded. But you got to give Barack props for rebranding ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times during March Madness. That’s an Obama accomplishment for you Tucker, that boasts thousands of likes under the Muslim Brotherhood fan page on LinkedIn. And if my half-brother is such a baller at basketball Tucker, then why did Barack ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?”

You ever get a LinkedIn connection request from an impossible to annunciate Arabic name which you’re only uncomfortable with because their profile shot is a headless one?

You don’t want to be accused of Islamophobia, so you’re forced to feel like an asshole for questioning whether this a warning shot from the Muslim Brotherhood for spreading disinformation on your WordPress comedy blog about Public Enemy and The Bomb Squad being bigger Elvis haters than lovers of Farrakhan’s use of poetry slam intended rhyme.

“I’m not an anti-Semite. I’m anti-Termite”, is an ok turn of phrase to try out at an oxygen bar open mike in the valley within the stench laden bowls of North Hollywood. But it’s no, “Emancipate our minds from mental slavery.” Or the demonic Jew in charge of CNN will praise ANTIFA for their unheralded bravery. Farrakhan isn’t my number one pick for prophets above Bob Marley on Ranker is all I’m saying.  Although I’m positive Snoop Dog would disagree, despite Wine Spectator claiming, “Snoops’ Cabernet tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell.”

Did you know Hitler was born on the pot smoking holiday 4/20? I haven’t felt this duped by the satanic Jews in charge of green lighting Cheech and Chong films since they allowed Sly Stallone to sneak Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.

Has Don Lemon interviewed Ziggy Marley on 420 yet to discuss the plunging birthrates in NYC because of Lena Dunham’s encouraged arm fat flapper look on Instagram? Don Lemon asks, “How did your dad have so many kids Ziggy? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marley says with an extra lit powered grin, “Fake News Man.”

Michael Kornbluth





Platypus Puss Attack

What’s more despicable, going on a J Date with Al Franken or supporting the candidacy of Liz Cheney for anything besides HR Manager for Halliburton? She doesn’t even bother checking references.

“Are you cool with the US military taking out Pablo Escobar? So, Hunter can smoke crack freely without any drug enforcement collusion like he’s auditioning for the white privileged version of New Jack City? Yes, my younger brother makes Hunter come off as a slacker underachiever in comparison. Alrighty then. You start on Monday. The Taliban is in the market for some new escape pods for Kwanza. I voted for Trump twice. Get the fuck out of my office. Office, your chained to a vending machine out of Baby Ruths in a boiler room below Dante’s Inferno, below Penn Station. Get out. Fine, I’ll move to the Ukraine and get a job for a sports energy drink company that will pay me 52 grand a week to push borscht as the new Kombucha.”

But seriously, why would Al Franken throw his support behind Liz Cheney? Does he sell Spanx now for a living? Did Rebel Wilson tell him to piss off after he tried to squeeze her for a selfie in front of Jamba Juice? Rebel snaps. “You’re not Instagraming shit Al. The Alt Right will think I’m playing Liz Cheney in Oliver Stone’s new flick for Newsmax, The Day Democracy Died. Plus, the only reason pussy grabbing eludes you is because you’re only 4 foot 2. I mean what kind of self-respecting Jew supports Biden after he lied about visiting The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh? The Rabbi vehemently denied ever meeting Mr. Groper there ever. He even went on record stating, “Do you think I hang out much at Ben & Jerry’s these days?  Rocky Road To Peace will create peace in no time. Newsflash United Nations, when Hamas terrorists in charge launch 5000 rockets into Israel’s backyard. Don’t expect an edible gift basket in return, with a thank you note written in Farsi, with all the hardened pineapple tops chucked into the Dead Sea.  Platypus Cheney could use all the tough love she could get, before resuming her job as the HR Manager for Halliburton next Monday.”

Platypus Puss Attack, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Short Lived Nirvana

I dislike any rock journalist or cultural critic who still lives in Portland, Oregon or in Seattle, Washington, ANTIFA apartheid represent. Especially those intent on selling us why Kurt Cobain was destined to become another rock casualty cliche due to a stomach irritation aggravated from too much soy. But at the height of his popularity, with all the f-you money in the world to avoid touring if he wanted to, after becoming a proud, doting father no less, Kurt Cobain wanted to pull an Ernest Hemingway after his shotgun marriage to sloppy seconds hole? Because Kurt Cobain couldn’t bear the burden of being branded as the voice of Generation X by Kurt Loder, when Sonic Youth had less brand name recognition on MTV than the Fine Young Cannibals or Midnight Oil throughout the early nineties for that matter?

Kurt Cobain admitted that their records sounded closer to Motley Crue records than punk rock ones, which doesn’t make him sound like the overgrown kid in the Jermey video on the verge off blowing his brains out over his Trapper Keeper in AP Bio either.

And Kurt Cobain killing himself at 27 no less, which is when Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison died from accidental overdoses is too cliche ridden planned for a rock star who raided his dead grandma’s closet for her most unflattering, wool sweater to sport on MTV Unplugged.

In the song In Bloom, Kurt Cobain sneered at meathead jocks with hardcore sardonic disdain, more likely to be first in line to see the Foo Fighters play the first MSG show post pandemic for the privilege of seeing big pharma sell out shill Dave Grohl perform in front of a vaccinated only crowd, to mark another monotone milestone through their edgeless, ever long lives. Yet were supposed to believe Kurt Cobain would give those same homophobe faggots in University of Maryland hats, who like to sing along to his “pretty songs”, the satisfaction of killing off his legacy as being the most kick ass, wildly popular non-conformist artist of his generation by proving to be another unoriginal, poser artist burnout tale of premature, blatantly avoidable ruin on VH1 Behind the Music like the rest. Yeah, and Eddie Vedder met his smoking hot second wife at a lesbo coffee shop in Seattle for slam toxic masculinity night.

All I’m saying is that Kurt Cobain was not one to do cliche, outside of doing his best Sid and Nancy impersonation with Courtney Love for a bit. And in the end, his overhyped stomach pains cited as the main driving force behind blowing his brains out after framing his vision of becoming a middle-aged junkie artist like a modern-day William Boroughs to Courtney Love as an easily attainable goal to shoot for, has been blown way out of proportion, like the working effectiveness of COVID 19 vaccination shot, which works less than an Alice and Chains cover band today at BYU, with Mitt Romney in town.

Personally, I love the Courtney Love Hole album, Live Through This, even more than Nevermind, even if ex-boyfriend Billy Corgan penned the lion share of her monster lyrics on it like, “I shit my bed from doing too much H, so I might as well die in it.” Plus, I can’t hate someone who called Linda Sarsour a fake news feminist who had no business attending the Woman’s March on Washington because of the Palestinian freedom fighter’s support of clitoral mutilation to ensure Muslim housewives receive zero pleasure on earth before being stoned to death for the crime of being spotted in their full-length Burkas in Sex and The City 2. So, if siding with Courtney Love for calling Linda Sarsour a fake feminist, makes me alt-right, then I’m alright with it. Challah, thank you very much.

Truth is, Kurt Cobain wouldn’t be caught dead in Starbucks if his Sonic Youth record collection was riding on it. So, I don’t buy Kurt Cobain feeding into the packaged brand of brooding depressive consumerism by killing himself at the height of his popularity who caused a bigger eruption in Courtney’s Love pants than Eddie Van Halen ever did. Nor do I buy into the forced fed, media manipulated assertion that Kurt Cobain was too much of a gun-shy pussy to persist rocking in a hyper focused Internet world of do or die capitalism man. A victimized Twitter Twat, he wasn’t it, “Here we are now, entertain us, I feel stupid and contagious because I shared a needle with Magic Johnson’s number one groupie in Seattle.”

Last, did you know Kurt Cobain predicted that an outsider who never worked in politics could become President of the United States like Trump one day? Ok, so maybe Kurt Cobain killed himself for a reason, knowing that the eventual advent of social media would unearth the A Plus narcissist in us all. Neither Republicans nor Democrats have a monopoly on messianic right, God does. The sooner were all able to unite around that absolute truth of one love, under one God, who knows when you’re being an insufferable, know it all twat, on the alleged right side of ethical moralism, the better.

Shit, at least I’m self-aware enough to proclaim Jesus doesn’t want me for a sunbeam yet. But thank God, I still have time to seek absolution for being the biggest prick in the east, since Alec Baldwin admits no fault for acting like an all-over the place Jew since he quit self-medicating by getting loaded. Short lived Nirvana lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Spirit Of Internet Radio

What’s racist about Voter ID? Does Julio have to pass a height requirement, I don’t know about yet?

Aren’t white boy’s plagued with white man’s disease, more marginalized in the NBA than their fellow brother man? Who knew that guaranteed money despite zero moves to the left was so oppressive?

And what’s racist about not wanting to wear a mask? Unless John Kerry’s wife demanded the mask mandate be lifted at their Illuminati gang bang retreat in Sun Valley because she considers banging faceless Jew nerds like Good Will Hoodie at Facebook beneath her.

Who wears masks past Halloween, besides serial killers like Leather Face in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or Jason past the NHL playoffs? Rob Zombie isn’t wearing one unless he’s attending an open house at Marilyn Manson’s house after making a killing off the Halloween film’s he directed while slicing Wes Craven’s ego into pieces.

And what’s racist about refusing to get vaccinated with an experimental, potentially deadly vaccine, fake news hippie in the tie dye hoodie? I don’t think doctors in the Nazi party who pushed deadly, experimental vaccines on Jewish kids, gays, and cripples with no regrets are no better than physicians today who don’t condemn the FDA wanting authority to give clot shots on little girls, so their wombs become more polluted than Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface. How can I be racist if I’m against vaccine mandates, especially on kids, if I think doctors of all creeds, who push an experimental, deadly vaccine on kids to avoid catching an itchy esophagus instead, deserve to be hung at the exact same time Fauci is after’s he’s kicked off his booster seat for Fauci Fright Feast Ends directed by Rob Zombie on Pay-Per-View. Plus, you’re the one that said, “Don’t N lip the Philly blunt like you never got your crack pipe addition under control since the Regan years either. Democrats pushed for Jim Crow, founded the Klan and gave us Obama, the most divisive, Jew hating president of all time, so why don’t you shine your war of the hoodies spiel, and jam it up your Rock loving ass, who endorsed Mr. Groper who called Obama “clean” for an African American by the way. The same Rock who’s also guilty of cultural appropriation for exploiting the Rocky brand name 6 movies later, 8 if you’re counting the Creed’s, for all the HGH it’s worth. You’re the racist one for acting above highbrow, historical fiction humor. Or else you’d retweet this a plus gem joke blast to the Rock on Twitter immediately, “Why wasn’t DMX ever accused of cultural appropriation for thuggin up Teddy Rosevelt’s brand of Rough Riders for all it was worth?” But Biden got more votes than Obama Be Good ever did. Yeah, and DMX gave up weed for catnip for Lent, Challah. Yonker’s finest lives, Yonker’s is getting black as shit up here, Challah, thank you very much.”

Spirt of The Internet Radio: Take down anyone who thinks deplorable is anybody who’s glad Jussie Smollett took a shot.

How is masking up our kids in school the right thing to do like my wife on her birthday? Masks are the new condoms, not. I can’t cream in my wife wearing one either, screaming, “Woo, sex is fun again.”

Masks on little girls, don’t scream Woman’s Lib. They cry, “I’m afraid to die. And my parents haven’t even exposed me to Ingmar Bergman films with subtitles about the random, inevitability of heaven free death yet.”

New York City’s only shot of rescinding all vaccine mandates is if Woody Allen comes out as an anti-vaxer on the View. Can you imagine, the most famous neurotic New Yorker of all time, comes out on the View and says, “I’m not an anti-vaxer. I’m just against turning into you Joy.” Whoopie says, “What does that mean Woody?” Woody says, “It means I’ve got a Soon-Yi and won’t die alone after annoying my partner to death like a bat shit crazy cat lady on the Upper West Side like booger face Joy Whoopie? Plus, I’ve been exposed to more deadly threats than COVID? Like waking up next to the head of Seabiscuit after Mia accused me of molesting all the kids on the UNICEF box after her family. Sure, and Joy Behar is going to picked as the new chief happiness officer for Breitbart.”

I interview for an internal recruiter position with Westchester Jewish Community Service in White Plains, NY. Later, a funny thought emerged. It’s hard to recruit candidates in this climate because Florida and Anti-Semitism are so hot right now.

I’m the only Jew I know who takes Adderall before attending synagogue because organized religion makes me feel so disorganized. Normally, I’d lose my place easily during the never-ending prayer service and peak at other congregation member’s prayer books to see what page we’re on like a direction challenged peeping tom.  Now, I just speed reed at my own pace on Adderall in Synagogue to feel like a more focused Billie Madison in Back to Hebrew School. Who’s more at one with pleasing God by making an effort to focus on his holy presence within his transcribed book to Moses more so than being in tune with the ebbs and flows of hyper organized Jews who can sing these, intended sung, sung prayers without the aid of congregational sing along assistance or use of Karaoke machines to drive greater engagement during Shul singles mixers for Neil Diamond appreciation night.

Nowadays, The Guitar Center should be right of center instead of left. Instead, all their guitar technicians and sales personal wear masks like Buckethead without the career gimmick excuse to hide from in the process. How does the Store Manager for The Guitar Store in Danbury, CT consider himself a rock and roll deviant of any kind by forcing his employees to wear masks at work? What’s his justification exactly? Joni Mitchell got my back, so I don’t have to strangle myself with her haggard hippie shawls from the Capital Records Building while screaming, “Free Falling Mom.” The wildflower crooner from Gainesville lives, Traveling Wilburys forevermore, 2 out of 5 left ain’t bad, Meatloaf shines on to, Challah, thank you very much.

Not everyone at The Guitar Center sucks. The guitar tech on staff laughed when I said, “Becoming in tune with what clear tonalities sound like throughout the neck of my guitar is still a work in motion like trying to get a grip on jerking off with my left for vigorous 15-minute stretches at time, which feels less natural than Neil Young singing about opening the Keystone Pipeline again during Farm Aid because he’s another cheap rocker who prefers cheap gas over demonizing fracking on Twitter, knowing all the Mountain Dew consumption down south will offset all those deplorable low birth rates in no time. At the same time, fuck Spotify and Lisa Simpson. Imagine Trump debating Lisa Simpson through Zoom on the Joe Rogan podcast before it gets killed off permanently. Trump says, “Fracking actually reduces our Co2 emissions Lisa. Lisa Simpson shrieks like Daryl Hannah after Neil Young bruises an avocado from throwing it at the TV after Fox News shows a protest sign from the vaccine mandate trucker protest in Ottawa that says, “COVID Damage Done”, before replying to The Donald in dejected disgust, “”So, Neil Young is full of shit now to?” Trump says, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint, so that much you share in common babe.” But say hello to Greta Thunberg for me Lisa. Feel free to tell her I don’t sweat global warming because Al Gore’s film career has cooled considerably. Plus, this winter in Palm Beach is colder than Harvey Weinstein’s casting couch at the Four Seasons. Last, I don’t see your messiah Obama Be Good sweating rising water levels at his beachfront estate in Hawaii or in Martha’s Vineyard unless Jimmy Kimmel filled up his bong with extra Smart Water, which add extra bounce to your step, making you feel like Jennifer Aniston on the rebound, but hey, that’s what friends are for. Especially for Obama Be Good Joe, because if Obama is such baller, then why would he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii? In case you’re wondering Lisa, the debate is over like whether Obama run Netflix would ever do a remake of the Bush Dynasty to make Nazi war profiteering great again.   The librarian wife isn’t a fan of me Joe. At least, Hillary took a risk to get rich or die trying bitch. And who saw Ellen coming out as friend of W? Joe says, “Ellen is friends with W?” Trump says, “Joe, I know you smoke a ton of dope, but how do you blank on the image of Ellen palling around in the VIP seats with W at a Cowboys game? You live in Texas now for Christ’s sake. Let me make your standup comedy act a thing of beauty for a change. Ellen’s friends with W, she even admitted it on her show to prove what a non-divisive comedian she is because Ellen is pro Bush all the way.  But what do they do together for fun Joe? Invite Michelle Obama to play a game of Operation, Gender Reassignment edition, if W isn’t too busy inspiring his art apprentice Hunter Biden, the Queen calls him Sir Snort A Lot, with painting more water colors of maimed vets bleeding red and white and blue that he gave PTSD to, since Collin Powell shilled for the war machine, like Kareem Abdul Jabbar does for Big Pharma by pushing vaccine mandates on NBA players like his Pharma mutual fund at Prudential was riding on it. Joe interrupts, “But aren’t you being a fence sitting cunt Donald, by espousing individual choice while pushing booster shots on stage with Bill Oreilly, despite your Operation Warp speed approved vaccine working less than Donald Westbrook running the Triangle Offense? Plus, Dr. Malone, an infectious disease expert, claims kids don’t have to sweat COVID like a pool party invite to Tony Podesta’s house, which has enough pedo installation artwork on the walls to make Marilyn Manson blush. More importantly, if you follow the science or read independent research done by our own military doctors, it’s been proven how these COVID vaccines are responsible for causing enlarged hearts, higher fertility rates, even increased cancer rates, that’s causing young athletes in their prime to collapse and die of heart attacks on the field. If ESPN wasn’t just a safe space for Lebron James’s ego, they’d be reporting on these soccer players being dropped faster than Obama on Broadway after Bruce invites him on stage to Dancing In The Dark. Granted, American’s don’t watch soccer, and Fox News cares less about dead Europeans than OJ’s golf handicap, so how else would Americans know? Have you even contemplated condemning all the doctors pushing these dangerous clot shots on kids Donald, or in some cases, mandating them to attend school like they do in California, when the survival rate for COVID is 99.8 percent? Or are you afraid to be associated with vaccines you put a spit shine on ad nauseum because you prefer to have Dr. Gnocchi be associated with playing fake news God by forcing us to sacrifice our children’s lives to prove our undying love of tyrant Nazis doctors in bed with the FDA and the CCP, Sucking?” Alex Jones lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Career Suicide Train

What’s more depressing? Scheduling a Zoom connection call with a woman who uses terms like “positive energy”? Or to learn she’s booked solid till early February? When you just pitched the possibility of doing craft beer jokes at her brewery in Wildwood, New Jersey and not dying faster than Christopher’s male modeling career after he became a paler junkie than Kate Moss on a model shoot in Iceland.

“Normally Jews aren’t big craft brew beer drinkers, unless they’re degenerate shishy bitch dads like me who describe 21st Amendment’s Watermelon beers as 5 sippers max. That go down easier than your wife on pure MDMA on your birthday after insisting Obama Be Good ordered you to leak it. I actually gave up drinking beer last summer, because I got embarrassed, spending so much time hungover recycling, endless reminders of my lushy littered past, as entire Rocky marathons on AMC passed me by. Has anyone tried Sammy Hagger’s Tequilla yet? I hear it tastes Van Halen light. And Nirvana didn’t kill Hair Metal, Aids did. Before Magic made HIV disappear. Jesus would impress me if he turned bong water into wine that tasted better than Snoop Dog’s new cabernet wine that tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell. It’s hard to get kinky with your wife when you’re a stay-at-home Dad because you’re already choking her too hard financially. And it’s impossible to feel like your own man when you’re a stay-at-home dad whenever your wife’s smart phone sends her an alert after you make another questionable purchase. Wife calls, “Hey babe, so how was bride of Chucky?” Bruce Lee triggers my hyper competitive kids. Daughter says, “Daddy, did Bruce suck at anything?” I said, “Fart control, because Bruce Lee ate too much soy.” The one show Netflix won’t reimagine is Richie Rich unless Juno plays Richie Rich and blows his entire inheritance on financing brewery scholarships at Berkley for advanced chemistry majors who were too young to be influenced by Snoop Dog video promos for Old English, Death’s Row’s go-to ho sprayer of choice. I’d buy an IPA hop bomb made from a black brewer hipster from Northern Liberties in Philly with promised hopes of its special brand of hop juice helping me cure my chronic white man’s disease by injecting the malt, hops concoction with Cardi’s B’s perpetually rising yeast infection. I went to Ithaca college myself, otherwise known as Cornel’s retarded next-door neighbor. But I was in the distinguished school of communications, so I can take bongs hits of extra strong outdoor weed and manage not to stutter every other 2 seconds. Bonding with Ithaca alum in Ithaca hoodies is off the list, because it’s a connection fail every time. I’ll say, “I went to Ithaca.” And they’ll say, “Unless you went to Cornell, I’m not interested in what your limited network on LinkedIn can do for me asshole, so go fuck off 8 days a week buddy because you obviously need an extra day to rest your far from blooming burnout head for thinking I’d care to entertain everything you can’t do to improve my social standing in life already jerkoff.”

Imagine He-Man reimagined as a Mallrat in Kevin’s Smiths next woke reimagined sequel. He-Man says, “I love the smell of Newbury Comics in the morning when Little Nas, Pete Davidson and the Mandalorian actor dominate the social media airwaves with super imposed pushed upon authority. But God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it, which is more than I say for Pete Davidson, the voice of Generation Z, the boy toy rebound king of Staten Island who looks like Annie Liebowitz and Barnie from the Simpsons had a baby going through a goth phase while smitten with Kim Kardashian’s porcupine puss. Social Justic Lawyers are so hot right now. Yesterday, my daughter says, “A girl in my school says, “Fairy Club is only for little girls.” I said, “Fake news, Superman is into fairies now to. Now the man of steel will drain Little Nas’s balls faster than a speeding bullet.” Resist this woke Wolverine, Challah, thank you very much.”

Frank Miller on moderate Islam. Join my army to rape our enemies’ wives is a tad extremist for even devilish white boy limey crusaders as a whole.

David Crosby on finger tapping Joni Mitchell. If I can’t be Eddie Van Halen, at least I can try to cause an eruption in Joni’s droopy dry snatch for old time’s sake.

Imagine Bruce Springsteen inviting Obama to dance on stage with him on Broadway to Dancing in the Dark to prove his soul glow limitations have no bounds.

Tree of Life Rabbi claims he never met Joe Biden after the massacre there. He adds, “Do you really think I’d hang out much at Ben and Jerry’s these days?”

If Hunter Biden was the least favored his son, he’d be stand-up comedy’s answer to Charlie Sheen. January 6th was some armed rebellion to make Joan of Arc shake in her tunic top. The only thing Trump supporters were strapped with were MAGA hats, credit card bills from Walmart and water guns full of discontinued Trump vodka to ease the leftover pain since the day Democracy died. Did I ever tell you about the time my dad lifted the travel ban on my 15-year-old girlfriend for shoplifting a gold-plated coke spoon in France? Of course, my dad can sniff out a pay back opportinity when it presents itself.”

Michael Kornbluth

Holy Time Shines

I think it was Socrates or Plato who said, “Happiness is fleeting pleasure.” Fleeting, disappearing pleasure for me is my kids losing interest in hang out time with daddy. This explains why my youngest son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo was busy at work drawing pictures of us hanging out together once I started bonding with his big sister over her new favorite show, Never Have I Ever, been a bigger fan of Johny Mac, he’s the narrator than I am now. Fleeting pleasure for Do It All Dad over here, host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, recently renamed Pause Daddy Podcast, funny fast stories, for you and me, is me losing interest in earning respectful impressiveness from my 3 adoring Koshertarian Comedian friends.



Now the kids are in a Delaware for the next 3 weeks while I do everything in my power to stop a decade long streak of co-dependent bitchy dependence on my wife and parents since my Stay At Home Comedian Dad journey began. Sure, I got to write some cool host intros for a couple of music video countdown specials that aired on Vh1 and VH1 Classic. Only to make my producer a Bruce Springsteen mix while doing my best to assure him soon after, “This doesn’t mean, I have a crush on you, Boss.”

Jokes aside, I rely on the kindness of others to feed my family, those others being my parents and wife. By feed, I mean those with the means to finance grocery shopping for my 3 Koshertarian comedian friends, that being my 3-fuss free, endlessly glowing, holy light time shining children.

They say man can’t eat live on bread alone. Well Daddy can’t eat the shit sandwich of shame for failing to earn bread for his family of 5 for the past 5 years without wanting the chance to rectify.

But applying for jobs doesn’t guarantee job interviews. Nor do job interviews result in immediate job offers soon after. Despite the Marketing Director at the Chef’s Warehouse nodding with respectful impressment after you referenced your 41 thousand page views on your WordPress blog. Marketing Director adds, “I saw that on your Writer Got Game Resume.” And I’m thinking, “At least, somebody is fucking reading it.”

But how do you cope with your mother resenting you making a yummy pesto mozzarella sandwich on bomb sesame loaf on her dime during her visit back east? How do you black out your mother-in-law calling you “pathetic”? How do you cope with a nurse wife who feels taken advantage of because you’ve been choking her too hard financially?

You become committed to becoming the best Koshertarian worshiping Comedian, who’s ever lived. Granted, Jerry Lewis, ate crab’s benedict, Woody Allen should’ve stuck to just eating Tuna Tartare at Elaine’s. And who gives a shit about what David Steinberg eats or what Paul Reiser orders at Nate and Al’s besides, “How was Hollywood ever mad crazy into you ever, So-So Special Sandwich number 5000?” Fine, Paul Reiser was mildly amusing in Bevery Hills Cop, but Gilbert Gottfrid funny he wasn’t. On the set of Beverly Hills Cop Gilbert Gottfrid says, “Paul, what’s the difference between The Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher and your comedy career? They both blow. Is Helen Hunt cute enough to be reformed Jewish? I can’t tell. If Helen Hunt is as good as it gets, I’m Lenny Bruce’s tailor in comedy heaven. Lenny says, “Easy with the needle Gilbert. You’re shakier than Eugene after cumming to the sound of his cousin’s shitting out Kreplach. And based on Albert Brook’s ballooning girth and highly developed sense of dark humor resulting from his father dying form a heart attack after killing at a roast of Lucile Ball prior, I don’t see the west coast Woody rocking the Koshertarian diet any more than a MAGA hat prop on the set of Curb Your Enthusiasm for episode 7, “Seinfeld Auctions A Porsche For Charity, Hope Half the Proceeds Went To Larry’s Kids.”

Again, how do you cope with being dependent on your wife’s sweat labor on her feet at the NICU while she checks for vital signs on blue faced newborns? When all you do is check for retweets? You shoot for perfect laugh lines on your Do It All Year Blog to recycle on your last and greatest comedy album, Watching Hacks Cry.

“I don’t like Snoop Dog claiming he culturally appropriated Ric Flair, so freely, during his 30 for 30, titled, “You’re A Boy and I’m Not.” Iceberg Slim was Pimp Of The Year for 6 years in a row at least and we got Ric Flair, 16-time World Champion. Don’t get your pigments twisted Dog. If you want to beat the man, don’t get bent over by Suge Knight in the can. No offense Snoop, but you don’t hear Ric Flair yelling, “Dog Fighting, woooh! That’s a MAGA country thing. Don’t be culturally appropriating our shit.” Watching Hacks Cry, Challah, Thank you very much.”

You cope with being a dependent by perfecting perfection in the kitchen with your heavily workshopped pesto ribbon pasta with Kosher air fried chicken thighs and sliced cherry tomatoes on top. And you grow closer to God and your 3 Koshertarian Comedian loving kids through the more “Yummy Dances”, you make. “What the hell is a Yummy Dance?”, my father says. Stop acting like your anything more than sheltered bum, my father adds in my mind. Glad you asked. Yummy Dances are standing ovations, curtain calls and victory laps in your dishes honor all combined into one as your 3 biggest fans in the universe run around the living room through the kitchen yelling, “Best Daddy ever.” That’s a Yummy Dance. It puts you in touch with the divine because God gives kids to only the lonely and this funny man giant is lonely no more. Watching Hacks Cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Yummy Dances are why holiness rocks. Yummy Dances get you addicted to achieving such holy powered highs. But how do you cope with your son wanting to meet your old friends when they can’t be bothered to comment via text or state emotive love online about your 123 comedy records posted on LinkedIn to shake up the corporate controlled thought in the straight world? The same so-called friends of yesteryear who left for you dead. You decide to befriend Sean Lennon by sharing your book Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story or nudge him to check out your comedy record Laugh Yanker Love on SoundCloud, where you showcase some A plus stay at home dad material in his honor. “This is John Lennon 2 days into being a Stay At Home Dad. Choke on a fucking cucumber scone Paul. Even Primal Scream Therapy has its limitations mate. But Kate Spade wins the award for writing the most passive aggressive suicide note for her only daughter to read ever. Note reads, “It’s not your fault, Dad will explain.” Dad explains, “Explain what, how I was the one who was impossible to live with? What a bag of shit Kate. The other day my son says, “I prefer vaginas with no hair. I’ve seen mamas before. I add, “Big boobs compliment better.” Soon after, Sean Lennon is financing my recording sessions at Electric Lady Studio’s to release my box set of comedy records before I’m famous that will be 124 in total, titled Totality Of Me or Watching Hacks Cry. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But isn’t holiness being a monk? It’s my year without beer and I’m almost 5 months in. So go woke yourself. Holiness kills hackery, Challah. Thank you very much. Isn’t holiness perfecting perfection? If God represents otherness holiness and the children from Isarael and Forrest Hills Queens are molded in his likeness, then shouldn’t I want to dress up my son like nature boy Ric Flair for Halloween because he already whips out his schmekel spot whenever he likes while I yell in catchphrase bliss, “Not Kosher Baby.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

Mind of a yummy dance works like this. Your goal is similar to getting laughs at the local farm to pick up some fresh eggs, whenever another MILF hits on your youngest son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo again, “Your son has such nice hair. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I’ll say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.” Laughter fills the air. Daddy kills again. So, the goal of a yummy dance similar to scoring another laugh is simple, Respectful Impressiveness, that’s your reward for not making any bread off your creatively jacked dome, relentlessly innovative might and shishy bitch dad leanings just yet. I know this is my 2nd time using the expression respectful impressiveness, but only Shakespeare can invent words like “thoughtless”? While Dice coins expressions such as I’ve got a friend, one of these “Trans-Testicles.” Personally, I’m against Drag Queen reading hour because fluorescent library lights aren’t flattering on anybody, especially on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator, no offense. One time my daughter asks, “Daddy was Shakespeare Trans because he dressed like girls in all his plays.” I say, “I don’t know if Shakespeare was Trans. But I think Kevin Spacey is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.” I sampled that joke on the character Billy from Six Feet Under at the local Target in Mount Kisco. The joke got a big laugh from Billy. He even slapped my outstretched hand that I placed there to receive a high five of approval in return. That’s a Yummy Dance. That’s holiness killing hackery. Watching hacks cry, Challah. Thank you very much.

Holiness killing hackery is best whenever I receive some help from my Koshertarian Comedian loving friends. I use my 1st born, Matilda Singing Rose Kornbluth, AKA, Effortless Magic, AKA, 10 Homer Daily as my creative sounding board for all of my comedy record titles if her 2 younger brothers Art Show USA and Hardcore Hunga Rocks aren’t in the room with her 1st. Matilda says, “I like Year Of Dragon Lungs a bit better than Half Heeb Crazy. Sloppy Second Stories is a good title for your debut collection of flash fiction short stories, but I still love the original title, Waste of Height, Really Short Stories the best.” Art Show USA enters the room and interjects,” Am I going to design your record cover for Greatest One, Daddy? But all your records are great, so isn’t Greatest One, a tad one note redundant for your tastes?” Youngest son, Hardcore Hunga Rocks points an imaginary remote control in my direction and says, “Pause Daddy. I write the jokes for your comedy records, got it, Moron Son.” Daughter adds, “You should do that Greta Thunberg bit on Greatest One daddy where the dad freaks out on “burry brow”, your words not mine, for keeping his twin daughters up with eco-anxiety despite popping melatonin gummies like Nerds at 10 o’clock on school night. Because a doorman can’t keep a typhoon out of their townhouse duplex on the Upper West Side.”

But how do you cope with your kid outgrowing their broken-down rusty bikes on a hot August day while taking them out for a spin? Knowing you can’t afford to replace those bikes anytime soon because you’re so broke, your Hebrew name is under judicial review. You include them in the making magic time in the kitchen by sticking your son on pistachio de-shelling detail before making their farewell pesto bow tie pasta supreme before leaving for Delaware, which was a bust last time, because you decided to get funky fresh and add excessively bitter sages leaves to the basil, pistachio nut mix which was bad idea like Hunter making a crack cocaine in his bungalow at the Chateau Marmont because it forced him to give up blow for blow painting, which is a bigger cock tease than a lap dance with a no touch policy on Kid Rock’s yacht, called Harpooning The Most. You cope with being a dependent dad by savoring the sheer joy in all 3 of your children inhale what’s being hailed as your “best batch yet daddy.” While your youngest one comments in ultra-focused manner, “Too yummy for yummy dance”, before resuming his role as Belushi 2.0 in Koshertarian House. Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

But how do you cope with having to dip into your daughter’s Tooth Fairy droppings, that she haphazardly left on the kitchen table before camp that your parents paid for again? So, you could pay for your kid’s slushies at 7/11 without having charge more fun time on the credit card before mommy gets paid again when your cellphone is due to get deactivated the day your family leaves for Delaware? You throw the Rodney Dangerfield No Respect CD on in the car your parents lease to use when they visit only to hear your eldest son says, “Daddy, your comedy records are way better than this.” Daughter adds, “Yeah, Daddy, Rodney just sounds boring depressing here. And his 1st joke was about being on the Tonight Show prior, so Rodney shouldn’t be so unenthralling from the start.” Respectful Impressment lives, Challah. Thank you very much. I add, “Jimmy Fallon’s writers hate him now. Because when Jimmy Fallon tried to rub Trump’s hair off, a real-life skinhead never emerged. But if I’m still not scared of Trump. Then, I’ll never be into my mother as much as Seth Meyer’s. Then again, I’m the sloppy second son for a reason. If Jimmy Kimmel cares so much about the environment, then why is he so wasteful by only using Smart Water for some post show bong hits because his gal pal Jennifer Aniston hooks him up in bulk? At the same time Smart Water adds bounce to your step. All of a sudden, you feel like Jennifer Anniston on the rebound. 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, O’Reilly gave Colbert gravitas before Comedy Central executives resigned Trever Noah for the foreseeable future. Hey Trever Noah, Conan Obrien wants his good luck maroon hoodie back from the Harvard Lampoon.” Holiness killing hackery, Challah. Thank you very much.

On the other hand, you might be thinking, “Shouldn’t you only focus on getting a decent paying job in Corporate America? Sure, but like Frank Zappa said, “Magic is what happens between the notes”, and nobody is stopping me from creating more magic time on my time between new job interviews on the horizon come rain or shine. Sinatra lives, Challah, thank you very much.



Well, more yummy dances and random hugs from my son behind can buy me some more holy time to shine.



When your son takes a bit out of your Koshertarian Wings with a homemade barbeque sauce that’s made with a pomegranate glaze and states with divine powered authority, “Always Kosher Daddy.” Holy time shines.

Getting fired up to please your favorite people in the universe is when holy time shines.

A man can’t live on bread alone, but he can by on laughs and yummy dances in between with a little help from his Koshertarian friends.

So, stop thinking children don’t appreciate extra effort.

Stop thinking aiming to please your children through cooking is antiquated fun.

Stop thinking your kids are a less worthy audience to impress.

Stop thinking that doing things for love alone don’t matter.

Stop thinking your life is fantastic without your kids adoring you in it.

Stop thinking kids are an impediment to middle aged fun.

Stop thinking kids don’t sense half-ass love from a mile away.

Stop thinking technology has zapped your kid’s ability to emote in your honor.

Stop thinking you can’t inspire your children to follow your lead, “Always Kosher Daddy.”

Holy shine time is holy bonding time.

And that’s as good as it gets.

Holy Shine Time shines on.

Watching Hacks Cry.

Lennon lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.



Michael Kornbluth