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

All Metal Baby

Dear Billy Corgan,

I’m Ric Flair literally, woo. I’m writing a thank you letter like Curious George taught me to do. I want to thank you for bringing NWA wrestling back from the dead. My daddy bought me the NWA All Access Pass for my birthday and I’ve never been happier. I love watching new wrestling matches with daddy. But I want to return the favor and give my daddy some love on his birthday to. I’m his best friend and best friends get each other gifts, right? And he didn’t even get a card from Mimi and Papa this year, so I want to make it up to him in a humongous way. Daddy is a really funny comedian, who’s due to record comedy record 94 this Sunday Less Garbage Lines, yet he’s beginning to feel like an imposter for having no paydays to show for it. He also looks after my older sister Matilda and older brother Arthur. We make a great home team and want nothing more than for daddy’s comedy career to achieve blast off time already. Would you be willing to let my Daddy do five minutes of Nirvana material at Lollapalooza this summer as your opening act? You won’t be disappointed. I’m sending you a demo record he recorded last summer called Burning Mask Party Record. United we laugh, my daddy, proves it every day, yeah, yeah. Daddy is a fan of old school jamming out Chicago to.  I’m guaranteed you’ll be impressed and you better play Rocket if you say yes, or I’ll be pissed Billy. Last, my father is feeling like a mega dumb moron for passing on spending 40 bucks on your debut album Gish, in favor of Deep Purple’s Last Concert in Japan for only 22 bucks on Vinyl instead, which he thought was the deal the century, until he realized soon after that Deep Purple’s Last Concert wasn’t Deep Purple Made in Japan. Don’t get me wrong, Daddy and I are huge David Coverdale fans and adore his live album In Heart of The City that he did with White Snake after he left Deep Purple. Still, I know deep down this mix up brought Daddy down because he loves your band and didn’t buy your album Gish because he was trying to be a frugal pragmatist on his birthday for a change. I hate to end on a down note, but nothing would make daddy happier than get blown away by a sea of laughs this summer in Chicago at Lollapalooza after being stuck like a rat in cage as a Stay-at-Home Shemale Comedian for the past 5 years and counting since I was born, with no grandparents in sight. At the same time, being under house arrest post COVID hasn’t been that much of a radical departure for daddy. Regardless, it’s his time to shine this summer and nothing would make me happier than to see my daddy flying high again.

Your Biggest 5-Year-Old Fan,

Samuel Teddy Kornbluth

P.S. My big sister helped me write this letter. But I can still do more one armed pushed than her. Plus, my big brother did the artwork for Daddy’s record cover Burning Mask Party Record, which is beyond overdue at this point already. Let’s launch a burning mask party on stage together Billy. I know you can do it. Billy Madison lives, Challah, thank you very much. That’s my daddy’s catchphrase by the way.

Dear Samuel Teddy Kornbluth,

I heard your dad’s record Burning Mask Party Record. And you’re correct, it rocks. It would be an honor to help break your father big at Lollapalooza this summer. I can offer him one thousand dollars for five minutes, which should be enough to pay for travel expenses. Although, I see him scoring a recording holding deal after this. Tell your dad that will have a booth set up for him to sell any of his, comedy records and books at the show soon after although I have an idea for a grand entrance that will drive the audience wild for the overall presentation. I’m a big-time wrestling promoter who knows a thing about putting on kick ass show for reason. Stay cool All Metal Baby.

Best Always,


All Metal Baby descends from a helicopter on a zipline down to the Lollapalooza stage, dressed like Van Halen angel baby from their album 1984 with a cigarette behind his ear. The 500,000 plus crowd goes wild as The Smashing Pumpkins play the intro to Rocket in the background as Billy croons, “Love.” All Metal Baby makes a perfect landing on to the stage from the helicopter. First, he faces the audience and flashes the bird with both middle fingers behind his ears, as if he’s sporting Devil horn middle fingers. Billy Corgan howls, “All Metal Baby in the house, Ronnie James Dio, lives, Challah, thank you very much. Crowd screams with holy shit Joe C lives to, as the crowd roars, “We like to party, rock the party.” Next, All Metal Baby launches into a series of one-armed push-ups while flipping the bird with his remaining free hand. Next, All Metal Baby grabs the cigarette behind his ear, which isn’t a real one but flammable nonetheless, and lights it up before throwing it on top of a pile of masks, which takes this Burning Mask Party that much higher. Then, All Metal Baby hops into a drum set behind his cherished daddy, who always wanted his son to dress up like the Van Halen angel baby for Hanukkah Halloween, so wishes do come true. Then, Do It All Dad launches into his act that was made for these times, starting with, “Nirvana, didn’t kill Hair Metal Aids did, before Magic made HIV disappear.”

The 500,000 plus crowd laughs in one love unison, which screams a Refrigerator Perry touchdown of yesteryear, which is drawn out even longer, after All Metal Baby does a one-handed headstand rim shot on the drums after his daddy’s opening punchline, while sucking on a Scorpion lollipop to boot.

All Metal’s Baby daddy completes his short-lived Nirvana set, made for these times.

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 Tabitha Soren, 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 banger pretty 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. You want a remake of Sleepless in Seattle post Kids you got it.

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 above all else, 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.

The following day, Rolling Stone Magazine called All Metal Baby the ultimate smash hit at Lollapalooza during the summer of 2022. At the same time, his daddy now nicknamed by Billy Corgan as Killerset Kornbluth wasn’t chopped liver either. And for those about to rock, All Metal Baby salutes you, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth