Chapter 38 Eyes Of The Comedy Booker

 

Chapter 38

Eyes of The Comedy Booker

 

Any wannabe paid set comedian, who created an email address such as killerset@gmail.com like Joshua did 15 years ago never outgrew his insatiable need to dominate on stage and finally deliver the elusive, teasing, killer laugh wave set from start to finish for 5 minutes straight.  When Joshua told his dad about his new showbiz hued email address, his expected reply was, “I’d create a new email address, that sounds more professional because any employer will think you’re crazy. I don’t even know how we’re related. Killerset@gmail.com, is a good email address if you’re joining a sex cult in Waco, Texas, genius.”  But Joshua was way past giving a shit about acting in accordance with so called bounds of normalcy within the eyes of hiring sales managers and HR humpbacks littered throughout corporate America because becoming a professional comedian, who got paid to write funny or perform the funny you wrote on stage, was a giant fuck you to the straight, corporate hack, professional world, versus the world of entertainment, which rewards you for being excellent at getting your funny man freak on for a living.

It brought Joshua tremendous joy and prideful satisfaction to impress major comedy big wigs with his writing such as headliner great Nick Diapalo, who Joshua fondly remembers always  laughing the hardest from out of all the Comedy Cellar comics on Tough Crowd, which he used to get stoned and watch with his Ithaca bud JT who had just moved down to Hermosa Beach nearby back in the day. The same JT, who made tasteless Holocaust jokes, who peed himself constantly, but he was a solid drinking, weed smoking buddy, who had a shit together enough to end up graduating from Babson and score a job in SAP finance at Raytheon in nearby Redondo Beach. Joshua tolerated the occasional Holocaust jokes, because some Gentiles are more tasteless degenerates than their fellow Jewish friends, who weren’t blessed with the funny Jew bone either, so they can’t discern what’s really funny versus truly tasteless either.  JT and Joshua would love blasting the Motley Crue album, Too Fast For Love, together, after they got their drink on at the Poop Deck in Hermosa Beach after work with some other buds, right off the strand, where everyone would get picture of cheap lager beer for 4 bucks each, and you were allowed 2 pitcher each, so the amassment of pitchers grew quite large if they were 10 deep that night at the Poop Deck. During one of those nights, pounding cheap beer, soaking up the joyous youth of their mid-twenties, no longer freezing their balls off back east, JT tells Joshua, “Your short term memory is embarrassment to your people but you’re a social genius man.” Another of one of their drinking buds, who was a Marine, once told Joshua, “You can be the next Larry David man.” And Joshua wasn’t even that funny back then or even grown the ball sack to try being funny on stage yet.   Joshua missed his friend JT. They passed out at a 311 concert together in Long Beach, only 10 minutes in. Last he heard, JT got stone cold sober, after his ex-roommate and friend Jerard died from cancer at 32. The same good guy Jerard, from Indiana, who booked our hotel room at the Marriot by Times Square, insisting, he was always wanted to celebrate New Years Even in Manhattan, the place of Joshua’s birth, despite getting drunk and sluty desperate in the city for New Years being yesterday’s news for Joshua at this stage in his life.  It was impossible to not think of dear Gerard, when Joshua finished writing his script for America’s Hard 100 at Viacom Headquarters blocks down from the same Marriot in Times Square, where he saw his jubilant, edge free, rock solid, good guy face ever again. It was Greenwich Village, which held a longer lasting, special clasp on his heart than Times Square ever was, regardless if it being the site of his TV writing break, which was 12 years in the making or not.

Greenwich Village was another universe, within New York City, always more intimate, poetic and romantic than the now Salesforce building tainted skyline in Midtown Manhattan, yuck.  Herald Square by Madison Square Garden was still a dump at large, upper east had seen better days, upper west was still for single cat depressed cat ladies, Chelsea was overpriced, bland, and nothing to write home about.  Hells Kitchen, now nicknamed Hells Kitty on the outskirts of the Time Square and the Theatre District, possessed a quaint, quiet charm but never exuded a posh, I have to live here no what matter what, or I’ll die a creative failure.  The Lower East Side, south of Houston on Mott or Ludlow was cool, but cramped and Ronan Farrow lived there, in one of those luxurious condo high rises so how rock and roll was the former cruising ground of William Burroughs after all.  SOHO was gorgeous, the Euro trash in decked out Prada smoking American Spirit cigarettes, lingering outside the Mercer Hotel not so much. But Greenwich Village. The cobble stone street and Tribeca lofts off Battery Park were sweet, but it was impossible not to contemplate the avoidable spectator of large scale death still hovering in the air from ground zero, now replaced with sparkling Freedom Tower, as a heart crushing reminder, of America’s never ending war against terror, when W fucked up everything he touched without fail.  The East Village had Jones Street and Saint Marks, where Joshua used to get his bootleg Dead tapes in college, but now all he saw around these parts were fresh of the womb, zero style, nerds, who worked as coders, product managers or UX designers for good will hoodie at Facebook. Greenwich Village by NYU outside of Washington Square Park and the Comedy Cellar and Bitter End, is what gave Joshua sustained stiffage long time, that’s where action was, to chase down open mikes, bringer shows or paid performer gigs anywhere else was nuts. All of Joshua’s comedic heroes of yesteryear got their joke hitting practice at dumps such as Bitter End and within the basement bunker known as the Comedy Cellar. Joshua was still enamored with Joan Rivers, Rodney and the new school cast of big deal clowns like Jim Norton, Chris Rock, the late Greg Geraldo, and Nick lick my white Italian nuts Diapalo, knowing they all earned their pro stripes within these hallowed, better not suck walls.  The more fairy book tree lined, gas lit, stoop heavy streets of the West Village along Perry Street where Sarah Jessica Parker wrote her Sex In The City Column on HBO was and always would be magical in Joshua’s eyes, yet he wasn’t a fabulous, gay Investment banker with a personal MMA trainer at his beck and call either.

Joshua had good sets at the Comedy Cellar when he used to work as IT agency recruiter on 39 Broadway, using his office to fax copies of his Always Sunny In Philadelphia spec script, “The Gang Get’s Outsourced.” There was super cute, always perky up top Holly in his office, who he totally could mounted on top of his desk after work with real drill attack fury. They’d got out to lunch together for cheese steaks and her friends on Facebook in their early twenties compared to Joshua being a 31 at time, were even hotter, banging professional baseball players. Joshua was always into Italian gals and they felt the same. Holly even help Joshua develop his signature seeing eye dog bit at work one late night. She says in a friendly, helpful, way, “Why you don’t you try acting out the seeing eye dog on stage instead? Joshua took her advice and did his bit in front of beautiful, spastic laugh spewing Holly, “Do Blind Men get the beer googles? Assuming they do, does the seeing eye dog ever offer a second opinion? We better pass on this one Stevie. You can feel her face, but I can smell her snatch, woof, woof.” Holly finishes laughing and says, “I love you getting down on all fours. You’re going to kill at the Comedy Cellar tonight. I can feel it.” Holly was the best. If Joshua wasn’t a nice Jewish boy living with his girlfriend now wife Anna at the time, they could’ve made a hot to trot couple together. Holly even recommended Joshua write books for a living, without even reading any of his story scripts similar to his Summer wind Summer in Hermosa Beach, what a woman.

It was hard to not think of Holly as Joshua greeted Este, at her comedy club the Laugh Yanker, a new addition the Greenwich Village stand-up comedy scene, only blocks away from the Comedy Cellar, whose comedy booker was Isralie born also.  Ester greets Joshua outsider her comedy club, finishing smoking her Camel Wide cigarette, Turkish blend.  “Hi Joshua, you’re strutting the city like you’re in a NY groove again”, she says. Joshua says, “Your presence makes my mojo rising Ester.” Ester replies, “So I heard your comedy record, Resist This. You got it kid, very funny stuff. I just don’t know if New York City is ready for you yet. You can be a tad overwhelming. Have you ever considered writing a novel? You can let your imagination run wild and use a narrator voice, so your singular, larger than life personality doesn’t overwhelm all your senses at once the way it does on your comedy record Resist This. The seeing eye dog bit was one of my personal favorites. I see you a dreamy crossbreed of Richard Lewis, Dice and Rodney Dangerfield.” Joshua’s smart phone rings. He says, “You’re too kind Ester, just give me a second.” Joshua picks up his phone and hears, “Hello Joshua, this Pierre, the Creative Director at Porsche SUV. We loved your audition and want you to be our new face and voice for our family friendly Porsche SUV campaign.” Joshua replies, “That’s great news, Pierre, but you’ll have to talk to my agent Matilda, to hammer out all the business details.” Pierre says, “You mean you’re 9-year-old daughter? I already have Joshua, that’s why you’ll have your own comedy gold, Porsche SUV as a signing bonus as an act good faith to secure your services for this campaign. She insisted. Congrats again, or as your people say, Mazel Tov.” Joshua says, to Esther, “Feel my face, I just got my Comedy Gold Porsche SUV. Do my cheeks feel flush with untapped possibility? Still, why do I want to an open mike set at the Comedy Cellar right now and be the most patronizing asshole imaginable?” Ester says, “Sounds like you’re in the mood for a victory lap to me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30 Second City Envy

Chapter 30

Second City Envy

A native New Yorker like Joshua, who only grew up only 30 minutes north of Manhattan in the suburb of Edgemont, NY, should never have been jealous of the Second City in Chicago but he was. The Second City in his eyes, was a tougher city, given birth to Isiah Thomas, a huge theater town staging David Mamet plays up the wazoo, the Improv training ground for Belushi, Farley, John Candy and the Midwest muse for screenwriter director great John Hughes in addition being the breeding ground for electric blues, slide guitar greats who all inspired Jimi Hendrix to jack his guitar like there’s no tomorrow such as Muddy Waters, Albert King and Buddy, I made a guitar down south growing up as a share cropper’s son out of fucking, busted porch door Guyyy. Also, let’s not forget Joshua was a hardcore Knicks fan, so every winter growing up, he was left with no choice but to look up to MJ and Scottie Pippen in enraged awe as they lit up the Garden like the tree at Rockefeller Center every year, despite New York bred annilaters from Jamaica Queens such as Anthony, deltoids strong Mason, manhandling them in post whenever they took the ball to the hoop strong with all his, I can wrestle 20 NYPD cops down hard to the ground, without breaking a sweat while resisting arrest might.

The late great Bernie Mac hailed from sweet home Chicago, who Joshua admired for his hardcore suck up your ego jobs, like driving a Wonder Bread Truck throughout the south side of Chicago when he was an aspirational stand up comic, who hadn’t won the Miller High Lite Amateur Comic competition just yet. In particular, Joshua loved how Bernie Mac didn’t limit his joke slinging to just the mere open mike stage, turning the bus or subway in Chicago into his own performance space the way Dice would launch into his act before movies started playing in Westwood by UCLA, proving the “world is your stage” like Shakespeare said back in the day. Joshua adopted a similar approach since becoming an unplanned stay at home comedian, using his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, as a platform to perform his topical jokes on how Michelle Obama claims it was racist to flee the South Side of Chicago, acting as if the South Side of Chicago, always the city’s most violent part, was only 1 crepe food truck from Gentrification. Joshua would add, “Gentrification, you know liberal talk for less black people. The other day, I’m driving on the Deegan past the new Yankee Stadium and I point to my daughter, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee stadium, the house that gentrification built.” Joshua would also never shy away from sampling jokes at the local post office, where Joshua picked up his mail, aiming his comedic blasts on the Mayor of New York City, Mayor De-Blasio saying, “Did you know Mayor De-Blasio’s wife used to be a hardcore Park Slope Lesbo yet were supposed to believe Garlic Breath converted her? Also, the Mayor eats pizza with a fork and knife. So, you can really see Big Bird burying his beak into wife’s slippery snatch with such sloppy abandon? It sounds like a plausible theory to digest. Now, thanks to Mayor Putz Face, you can be fined 250 thousand dollars for using dehumanizing language on an illegal alien such as, “No speak English.” Whose translating these insults for Juan exactly? Now, an illegal alien in New York City gets a NY license to vote and a hate speech translator to bankrupt Apu at a Bodega in Flushing. And enough with banning ICE. Because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. Last, on the anniversary of Amy Winehouse’s death, has Minnesota congressional rep Baby Face Omar referred to the anniversary has something happened to a beehive, horn hiding, Benjamin Lover who exploited the great Palestinian song book for all it was worth. Can I get a holla for a big time raising the roof, because I’m just getting started and you can only hope to contain him Challah?

Joshua also took Improv acting courses at Second City when he lived in LA, and got to inhale Harrison Ford’s assistant practically whole at a bar dark lit, bar in Korea town before David Chang got to drop f bombs for a living on the Food Network, coming off as super deep, enlightened cool in the process. Easily, Joshua’s most sexually arousing Karaoke bar performance was at a local Karaoke joint down the street in Korea Town, was when he performed the song Soul Man by Sam and Dave, getting the random girls in the audience quite sticky steamy in process, to the point where they were gyrating and shaking to his best Wilson Picket Man and a Half “It’s the other half, that knocks woman out. That’s why I’m a man and a half”, impression. Prior Joshua was used to sticking with his developing Baba O’Reiley rendition, including various jump heavy but still barely leaving the ground windmill guitar strumming kicks. But the Who’s most kick ass, recognizable, teenage wasteland homage song, didn’t rouse any of the ladies at the townie valley bar the Barrell, to get their sexual dance freak on, in attempt to win over his attention before either. In retrospect, Joshua realized he had what they call in show business, “stage presence.” But back then, Joshua was just doing Karaoke to get more comfortable performing in front of strangers to make bombing in front of various open mike audiences throughout Studio City, Santa Monica, West Hollywood and Venice Beach a tad worrisome laced daunting. In short, Joshua was forcing himself to become a less cerebral, worrisome, Jewy, neurotic bitch, really. At the same time, Joshua getting into Karaoke, performing songs, he loved like Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi or Roadhouse Blues by the Doors was a reflection of his inner rock star, in a desperate dash to break on through to other side because like Richard Belzer, known more his poker faced, dry as cotton mouth witticisms, on Law and Order Special Victims Unit, when he said, “All comedians, are frustrated rock stars.”

Joshua also attended Lake Forrest College for 2 years on the north shore of Illinois because he just wanted to get out of New York and try something new, but it really came down to him hooking up with some upper classman during his trip to the college, which influenced his decision the most. Joshua had an older, platonic friend, Shannon who had a place in downtown, Chicago, and he enjoyed getting his puff on with his other hippie buds down there plenty, yet what he really longed for was Chicago city life in bars and clubs such as Walter Payton’s, which closed at 1:30, which sucks out loud for any native New Yorker. For all the talk about how progressive LA is, the last call is even earlier at a hard 1. Plus, all the girls in Chicago, look like prettiest faces from Indiana, which is fine, but failed to give Joshua sustained stiffage during his time in the Midwest either. The energy of Chicago wasn’t on par with his dear Manhattan, not even close. It was impossible to not feel like an outsider when Joshua when to college for 2 years in the midwest, knowing it was the 1st time he developed a heightened awareness to Jews being a miniscule minority in this country at large, while most preferred to keep it that way. And boy could those Midwest girls drink. He used to party with these girls from Illinois who would haul a case a Bush light on each shoulder before hitting the bottle of Beam in honor of Kid Rock as the clock truck midnight to more Cheap Trick on the old school dorm CD player. and Joshua was no lightweight, accustomed to closing down bars at 4 in the morning back in Manhattan with his old school high school crew, never running out of breath as they maintained a steady steam of busting balls throughout. Still, did Joshua love Kayne West? Yes, but did he love Kayne more than the soulful, cinematic powered, lyricism of Notorious Big? Not even close. Did Joshua love Harold Ramis films like Ghost Busters and Ground Hog’s Day? Yes, but he’d watch most Woody Allen films before he learned he kept polaroids of Soon Yee in his top sock drawer, because the Time life photo of her wasn’t enough. Did Joshua revere bands who hailed from Chicago like the Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam? Yes, but he revered bands such as shout it out loud Kiss, from Queens and the boogie Bronx even more. Bernie Mac was great in Joshua’s eyes, but he was no Chris Rock, Eddie, Dice, or Kennan Ivory Wayans for that matter. Overall, Joshua loved his New York heroes more because they exuded superior style, gravitas and larger than life charisma, only the Island of Manhattan engenders the most. The prettiest, sexist, most diverse collection of ladies populated the streets of SOHO, the West Village and parts of the Lower East Side in NOHO in his eyes. The only city he ever wanted to live in was Manhattan, not Chicago. Still, Manhattan could feel like a very lonely place at the bottom and Joshua wasn’t a big shot macher just yet. Still, Chicago represented the American heartland, which was important to Joshua, especially knowing that those working artists who strived and thrived in the Second City, compared to their more uppity, elitist New Yorker yenta breaths were tougher than the rest.

Chapter 28 You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Chapter 28

You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Joshua never cared for Scientists too much. When he dozed 2 minutes into the Making Of The Dark Universe at the Museum of Natural History, his daughter Matilda whacked him in the rib with her forearm hard with menacing disgust, prompting her Do It All Dad to yell in his defense, “God only made Neil deGrasse Tyson interesting in 2 minute bursts at a time, all right.” Albert Einstein helped make the Atom bomb, which put an official end to World War 2. The “Big One” also resulted in make out moments galore along the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway, honoring America’s greatest generation and our last large scale, big deal military victory against a formidable foreign power, cranked up on Crystal Meth, pre-fake news and the era of HBO becoming must see TV for more resistor hued, Nazi revisionist, fictional TV series fare because she lost despite getting the debate questions in advance. So Joshua didn’t hate scientists all together.

Atheist know it all twats like Stephen Hawking, didn’t make Joshua warm up to bean breath British physicists either. But Obama gave Stephen Hawking the Presidential Medal Of Freedom despite the award being the highest American civilian honor possible. So Joshua must possess a very low opinion of star fuckers from Kenya, I guess. But what really turned off Joshua from scientists besides the computer ones who worked for IBM to develop technology, which made it easier for the Nazi’s to identity his European Jewish ancestors before they were shipped off to death camps, was the dweeb brewer of Six Point Brewery in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Who during the tour of his brewery, touted himself as the improv chemist genius of hoppy amalgam fermentation. But back to IBM for a second. Joshua lived in Croton Falls, NY with his wife Anna and 3 kids, who would’ve been thrown into the gas chambers in Auschwitz, so knowing IBM had a major R&D facility in nearby Somers, NY, he was quick to point out IBM’s Nazi profiteering past, at the local brew bar upstairs at Italian grocery store DeCicco’s, if he overheard some IT folk talk about programming or coding of any kind and impose his material on them, regardless if they were engaged in a dialogue prior or not. Joshua says, “Hey guys, this is my impression of a Computer Scientist at IBM testing the artificial intelligence of Watson the Super Computer, who won at Jeopardy. Hey Watson, are you aware of being named after the scientist Dr. Watson, who developed technology for the Nazis, who made it easier for the Kraut breaths to identify Jews being shipped off on trains to slaughter? Watson compute replies, “No shit Sherlock.” But if you didn’t know that, you probably didn’t know Hitler had a framed picture of Henry Ford on his desk, despite the Model T, being a poor man’s Mercedes Benz, Hitler’s preferred drive by car of choice.”

Climate Scientists alarmists trying to give his 3 children eco anxiety didn’t inspire Joshua to embrace the scientific community at large either. On Joshua’s debut comedy record, Resist This, he did a bit about imagining a debate on climate change between Trump and Greta Thunburg, which any NPR devotee believer would have a psychotic meltdown over, his wife included, in a NY Minute. In the bit Trump says, “Fracking reduces our carbon emissions Greta.” Greta says, “So Neil Young is full of shit now? Trump replies, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint. So, that much you share in common babe.”

Again, Joshua was waiting to meet with the Rabbi’s highly touted, master brewer brother Schmendel but this time it was at the DBGB Kitchen & Bar, on the corner of Bowery and Houston, which is easily confused with the CBGB bar of yesteryear, when model turned singer songwriter, ambient rocker Debbie Harry pleaded on stage, to her latest hunk on a stick, “Call me”, pre-smart phones and Steve Jobs inventing nothing but casual Friday. One time, Joshua’s kids discovered a gift from Mama for Dada, including a pile of cue cards with typed written notes and heart and froggy stickers placed on them throughout, including loving homages in his honor such as, “I love the depth of your soul.” I love the way I can’t imagine a day without you in my life.” “I love how you kiss blondie.” After Joshua’s 9-year-old daughter discovered this card in particular, she asks her dear Dada, “Who’s Blondie Dada?” Dada replies, “Easier on the eyes than the Ramones, next question.”

Schmendel makes eye contact with Joshua at the bar, sporting the Hassidic beard, a Kippah and a rocking Faconnable bomber, black leather jacket. “Joshua get’s up from his bar seat, “Schmendel, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Schmendel says, “Thank God, another too tall Jew exists besides me.” Joshua says, “Growing up my Jewish father from the Bronx would always kvetch, “Joshua, why can’t you have taller friends?” And I’m thinking, because all of them Jewish or Japanese American. Plus, you didn’t ship me off for 3 whole months every summer to a big man basketball camp in Zaire.” Schmendel says, “What beer are you drinking? “Joshua says, “I like to try local beers, because I’m obsessed with freshness, so I went with some IPA from Queens. But can we stop calling Queens hot? Compared to Manhattan and Brooklyn, Queens is the sloppy 3rd Kardashian sister. You know the extra greasy one, whose actually OJ’s daughter. Who’s easy to pound at 3 in the morning like a lamb gyro in Astoria. And I don’t buy the fact Bruce Jenner when married to Kris Jenner was asexual. But I’m positive, Bruce stayed harder longer, after he convinced his wife Kris Jenner to cut her hair short, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio. And if I see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter one more time, I’m breaking my Chic-Fil-A strike for good. Either you’re involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Getting shafted shouldn’t be such a shock to your system anymore either.” Schmendel finishes laughing, “You don’t have many friends do you?”, Schmendel says. Joshua laughs, “The majority of my old ones are gone, that’s correct Schmendel. Apparently, certain fake news friends who only like you when they can feel smug superior, east coast elitist in comparison.” Schmendel says, “Join the club. You can’t be a self-loving, Trump supporting, funny many Jew in New York these days, without being looked down upon like some blissfully ignorant, uninformed degenerate, deplorable of Jew of the lowest order.” Joshua says, “So your parents hate you more than ever to? Join the club. So, I need a mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero Kosher Cheesesteak Truck. Can you help me? I know you’re a master brewer, but I figured your background in organic chem, food sciences and microbiology at John Hopkins University, could figure out a killer recipe in no time. I’ve been stalking on you LinkedIn in case you’re wondering. It’s my old school IT recruitment agency background shining through.” I can still help you come up with a killer viral campaign for your great, American Jewish Pale Ale in exchange.” Schmendel says, “Joshua take it easy. You had me at mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero kosher Cheesesteak Truck. I’m a father of 7 myself.” Joshua says, “And I thought I was stuck up shits creek without a paddle.” Joshua orders an IPA for his Jewish brother in arms and raises his glass for a toast, “To meant to be chemistry, L’Chaim.”

Chapter 27 Hungry For Successful Livin

Chapter 27

Hungry For Successful Livin

The best Cheesesteak Joshua had ever was at some random place in New Jersey on the border of Philly, during a road trip back from Washington University outside of Saint Louis, with his far smarter, more infinitely together friend Ari and some of his college buds, including a cuter, prettier, less pale freckled, smokier eyed, sultry looking version of Parker Posey, minus the Richard Linklater film credit. In high school, during lunch breaks in Scarsdale Village at the local Muller’s Deli on Garth Road, the cheese steak was your standard array of warmed up roast beef, with some American cheese melted on top, nestled between a respectable hoagie, with some occasional grilled onions on top, nothing to give Joshua and his buds sustained stiffage long time, but it did provide some much needed variety from their standard chicken cutlet on a roll with lettuce, tomato and mayo or Russian if the Edgemont crew was feeling more indulgent that day instead. But nothing had prepared Joshua for the Philly style cheese steak with shredded thin lettuce, edible, well sliced, non-Subway conjuring, Jersey tomatoes, on top cut of delectable pieces of rib eye steak, with semi-strong melted provolone on top with even layered, smothered mayo throughout the bomb warm, Jersey hoagie, which got more inhalable scrumptious per bite.

Later in life, when Joshua was working as a journey man IT agency recruiter/still wannabe sitcom writer scribe, on 39 Broadway all the way downtown in Manhattan, south of Wall Street, post 9/1l, when nothing but the haunting, swallowing hole of death lingered forever over Ground Zero, until the Freedom Tower was built many years later, his boss from Jersey took him to a cheese steak institution transplant from Philly. Insisting ordering a Cheesesteak with cheese wiz and fried onions was the only way to live. Joshua agreed, whole heartedly. When Joshua sucked down his 1st Philly style cheese steak in downtown Manhattan with nothing but cheese wiz and grilled onions, he thought of the time, the Security Guard at the Y in Park Slope told him he looked like Vince Vaughn. Joshua had heard this before, so he replies back with, “I get confused for Vince Vaughn pre-insomniac.” Understand, Swingers came out a decade ago and Vince had packed on some major poundage since then, promoting the security guard at the Y to shout out loud in the great, Vince Vaughn’s defense, “Good living, good living.” Although if Joshua had to choose, the more legendary line uttered at the same Y in Park Slope, Brooklyn, was the time Joshua was showing flashes of a scrappy, Larry Bird minus, the eyes behind his head and impeccable ball dishing skills but his relentless hustle on defense and tearing down of rebounds anyway he could, prompted the line of all lines from a brother on his team, who never played with Joshua before, declaring, “That boy’s hungry.”

Nothing has changed too much since that time in Park Slope Brooklyn 15 years ago. Joshua was hungrier than ever for sustainable big city success. Gene Simmons says, “Men crave 2 things woman and success.” And Joshua knew, he’d always be deemed another so called bitter, raving, crazy man lunatic, until he made his mark in this world and brought home more than veggie bacon to provide for his family. He recently read a book distilling the Book of Proverbs, which highlights the absolute necessity of joining forces with a business partner to achieve big deal, long lasting success. Forever, Joshua equated such a business partner as a literary agent or TV agent, to get Joshua in a room with studio heads to pitch his latest and greatest pilot like Horsing Around With Hinduism. But now, things have changed.

Joshua had hosted his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, Dad friendly entertainment for you and me, for 3 years straight since, his son Samuel Chosen Curls was bound to woo was born. He grew accustomed to being his own boss, marketer and star content creator by himself, without being overly reliant on anybody for his awe inspiring comedic output outside of giving thanks and praises to the all mighty above, for granting him with the continued ability to make others laugh, warm hearts and bring God’s children closer to him in the process. Now off the Adderall, Joshua wanted more than the high of laugh generation and the ego tickling stroking, which ensues. He wanted to build a family business, to grow closer with his 3 unplanned kids, which he equated with growing closer to God, which meant more than pulverizing all the myriad of highly poundable muffs on display in Paul Stanley’s bed in the Kiss Exposed video back in the day.

Now Joshua wanted to please God and his 3 glorious, beautifying, consistently, buoyant, hilarious children more than anything else in this world. Getting a hack Creative Director in Manhattan to take a peak at his writing portfolio, so he could slave away for some soulless, ad agency conglomerate, who puts fake news fro, cop hating fermenting, Collin Kaepernick on a fucking pedestal, after he got the NFL to cut him the largest unemployment check ever recorded in the name of fucking “collusion”, was so yesterday’s news. But being able to marry Joshua’s killer comedic instincts, promotional flair, imaginative thrust, idea machine power and shishy bitch leaning tastes toward the development of the most outrageous, hilarious, religiously sound, food truck business to sling his Do It All Dad hero, kosher style cheese steak was just what the doctor ordered.

But without a Kosher Cheese Wiz brother in arms, partner, he was up shits creek without a paddle. Joshua will also relish the 1st time he showed his 1st born daughter Matilda the Blues Brothers movie, only for her to quote the movie at the refreshed, modernized Pizza and Brew on Central Ave the day after, “Daddy, have you seen the light?” Do It All Dad Joshua had. What Joshua wanted more than anything in this world now was to please God, his children and grow closer to both in the process. Making the Do It All Dad Hero Truck become an undeniable success could please all his favorite beings in the universe and make them feel the most high. He just prayed, the Rabbi’s master brew maker Schmendel could put his degree in organic chemistry and microbiology to good use in helping him create the killer Kosher String Cheese in a can, to make the dreamy Kosher cheese steak truck a monster success and turn his dreams of at oneness with God and increased time with his blessed, pitch perfect children, on the food tuck front come true. So Joshua could make enough money from his family business, to forgo paying 75 grand a year for his kids to attend Cornell University to defend Israel’s right to exist more than making Dean’s List.

Chapter 25 Persian Puss Fever

Chapter 25

Persian Puss Fever

Joshua had a very successful friend from Edgemont High School, who now lived in SOHO on West Broadway, clearing almost 400K from doing ad sales for companies at the ideal time in their maturation such as FX, when they became the new air apparent to HBO with smash, genre bending hits such as the Shield and It’s Always Sunny, which he revered as the most dynamic comedy to advance the art form post Curb without having to be overtly Jewy one iota in the process. His friend, also a groomsmen at his wedding, was the superior basketball player in high school, who he’d battle hard in games of one on one basketball and in legendary games of HORSE made a splashy move to the city of angels and worked for Hulu, selling advertising to all the dream factories in Century City and Burbank, before Harvey Weinstein’s wife finally divorced him to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. 3 kids later, Joshua
didn’t get out much to see his old school high school bud, but if they did connect over the phone, making his wife jealous at how much rollicking, laugh producing fun he was having without her, he’d always end the conversation the same way every time with his old school basketball bud in arms, “Bang a Persian girl for me already, because I can’t.”

The 1st time Joshua got sexually charged around a mountainous chesty, pursed lipped, dark tan, olive smooth skinned, slightly broad shouldered, bootylicious Persian minx was during interoffice meetings with one his IT recruiter agency colleagues who worked in Westwood, California on Wilshire down a couple of blocks for the nearby Boylston Group. She had graduated Georgetown University and was the brightest, bustiest yet classiest, highest biller in her team who placed mostly Oracle DBA’s among various Internet startups through Southern California by far. Joshua learned not to place too much value on someone’s undergrad college education but he was a tad more east coast elitist back then, and knew Georgetown wasn’t accepting any dummies, so him being a tad of a college snob, touting the Bachelor pedigree degree of his past summer wind love Katy who graduated Duke in 3 years as a double major, so this Persian beauty in his eyes, who wasn’t petite by any stretch of the imagination, who was a brainy busty sweetheart rainmaker on top, turned him on longtime. If Joshua had any major balls back in the day, he would’ve made a move on her, but upper management told their naive, cultish minions getting jiggy with it with their fellow coworkers was a fireable offense, and Joshua was finally enjoying being off his parents nip of dependence, so he never did. It was only after he got fired, did Joshua learn the rule was fake news bullshit, and managers were banging co-workers at will left and right, but at least he developed a modicum of character building self-discipline in the process. The Bhagavad Gita lists the 3 portals to hell being lust, greed and anger and at the time Joshua wasn’t even aware of being fooled into passing on such a prime opportunity to pounce on his 1st Persian bombshell beauty, so he didn’t have too much to be enraged about in the process either. Still, Joshua had one month on the job at nearby Remington International, where he did deals with Coke O Cola, Zenith National Insurance and some obscure Internet startup Creative Planet, placing a gazillion Unix Administrators, earning his firm almost 100K in placement fees and a seat at the all-stars dinner at the Sunset Room. Which made Joshua feel like a hot shit for the 2nd time in his life after his 1st sales raise dinner at Morton’s on Beverly Hills, inhaling a porter house for 2 and shrimp wrapped in Bacon, thinking, life doesn’t get better than this on top of what the fuck what was my dad thinking, denying me exposure to what scrumptious heavenly sales promotion dinners awaited as a result of sheer hard work and self-possessed determination, despite at the time being the only schmuck in a headset to graduate from a top communication school in the country with a career crippling stutter. Which Joshua eventually overcame, through relentless, repetitious, around the clock cold calling heavy, exposure therapy.

Joshua’s escalating, all consuming, fixated desire to mount the scrumptious, highly inhalable, star Persian IT agency recruiter reached peak interest on their drive to work together the morning after their All Star Sales award dinner at the Sunset Room, that she attended of course. Because today, he wasn’t driving to work in his used yet cherished hunter green Honda Accord but in her BMW,l but she was still only 22 max, so this means she came from money also, schwing. Never before had any sexy gal Joshua fantasized about titty blasting had offered a leather interior BMV to drive, so he knew the sexually charged interest was mutual. But as Robert Dinero says in the movie Copland, starring the holy trinity of actors Harvey Keitel, Ray Liotta and Sly Stallone, “I gave you a chance and you blew it.”

It was impossible not think of hot to trot love, at the Polo Lounge Restaurant on 5th Ave, as Joshua was surrounded by a myriad of oil paintings of mo-money making star race horses like Man O War and other Arabian race horse beauties, as Joshua also took in the tall, slender, sculpted, high cheek bone pronounced, Persian beauty, Ester has he continued to scroll, through the menu, trying to decide what limited Kosher items to choose from on the menu during their 1st power lunch together. Joshua get’s his Kosher inspired rant underway, “Ralph Lauren, baby, I love your overpriced Polo shirts because they’re sturdy, classier alternatives to schmatta Tommy Hilfiger wigger polos, weird sized numbered, instantly shrinkable, Lacoste shirts and Vineyard Vine shirts because I’d rather dress for old school, scrappier, Bronx bred, pre-smart phone success. Still, what the fuck were you thinking, making your marquee sandwich, a corned beef sandwich with swiss on marbled rye, knowing pastrami rubbed brisket is ten times more soul tantalizing scrumptious 8 days a week? Also, marble rye, are you freaking kidding me? Was pure rye too overtly Jewy for your country club, Gentile loving tastes?” Esther, the star executive search owner of Silicon Alley replies, “You’re too funny Joshua. How are you not working?” Joshua replies, “Because God has a wicked, sense of humor. But I appreciate the invite here, to be surrounded in such a posh, clubby, wannabe be a rich gentile setting.” Esther says, “I feel like an unwanted outsider in here also, for what it’s worth. I don’t care that Giselle is sitting next to Tom Brady one table over.” Joshua says, “Eli Manning is a bigger pimp daddy than Tom Brady for ruining his shot at perfection. So, Tom Brady is married to Giselle, big deal, she’s 80 in model years. Also, why isn’t Terry Bradshaw even mentioned among the best quarterbacks ever? He won 4 rings and never lost in the Super Bowl once. Plus, he was also known for airing it out. Fine, that much he shares in common with Brady. I read some article recently about how Tom Brady did some comedy sketch on Netflix about Patriots owner Bob Kraft’s fondness for happy endings, denying the jokes were about him. Because his ex-owner could never be guilty of exploiting underage sex trafficking, because he only insists on using older happy enders who weren’t yanked off the boat yesterday.” Esther finishes spitting out more mouthfuls of laughter and says, “I’m an LA girl, born and raised, so I’m a Raiders fan myself, but I don’t care for Tom Brady’s personality all too much either. He also dumped his pregnant ex actress wife, the moment he fell in love with Giselle’s uppity, lispy snatch, just saying.” Joshua says, “I’m glad you found my contact info on LinkedIn like any Executive Recruiter with a brain would. I love the fact how you became a consummate rainmaker in the startup tech recruitment agency game, I was much more of a trickeler.” Esther says, “I envision mucho dinero money shots in your future Joshua.” Joshua says, “Well, I do have this idea for a food truck. Would you know of any super angel investors you can get me a meeting with? My vision is to create a food truck, which sells the Do It All Dad Hero, which is a Kosher rib eye, cheese steak, with a mock cheese wiz substitute. And I’d launch a viral bash campaign against the Hallall guys, about who would you rather submit your cheese steak urges to, all mighty God or all the blood thirsty, rape happy, throw gays off roof tops preaching Allah? I read on Chowhound.com, Hallall guys have to pray to Allah, before their ritual slaughtering, versus Kosher slaughtered cows, who don’t use the stun gun, who unlike the Hallall guys, aren’t required by law to give any praise worthy shout outs to a God who instructs his true believers to treat woman like disposable bee keeper punching bags.” Esther says, “I agree with everything you’re saying and would recommend softening your viral attack campaign against the Hallall guys just a bit. Still, I love your fierce, fiery, fighting style. You’re more Bronx bred scrappy than you think big boy.”

Joshua spots Spike Lee waiving his hand up in the air causing a scene in front of his white privilege waiter, clearing 400 a day before 2 easy and excuses himself from the table. “I’ll be right back Ester. I want to pay homage to the Knicks jilted mascot Spike Lee.”  Joshua hovers tall over Spike Lee’s table, only learn he’s dining with Chris Rock. “Hey, Spike, sorry to hear about the Garden not letting you into employee entrance way. I’m positive it had nothing to do with your Resist This shirt, or your portrayal of all Jews in your films not being such fine people in the face of your insistence of sucking off Jew demonizing Farrakhan for all his signed bow tie collection is worth.  How does it feel knowing, still your President, Donald Trump directed the construction of Wollman Rink under budget and ahead of schedule, knowing you couldn’t do the same for Malcolm X? Malcolm X was bisexual but why didn’t you portray that in your film Spike? I thought you were all about celebrating the beautiful, strong, totality of the black man inside and out? And thanks for giving your impressionable brothers the encouraged permission to riot and burn a second generation pizza joint to the ground because they didn’t care for fake news, underprivileged Chuck D from yenta breath country in Long Island, rapping about how Elvis was no role model of yours, but Chuck Berry installing a secret female bathroom cam in his Missouri restaurant was Kosher in your book because they were just stupid white bitches, who you should’ve know better, right Spike?” Chris Rock says, “You’re move Spike. I don’t know who this crazy ass cracker is but is shit talking game is tight.” Joshua adds, “Huge fan Chris, I stopped watching the Knicks after they traded KP for a box of Cotton Candy.” But the garden faithful like yourself know deep down Uni will fly high again. And tell your boy Stephen A his take on his why they traded KP was lame. KP’s brother agent made Dolan uncomfortable because he reminded him too much of the Russian gangsters in 25th hour? Now, that was a great film you directed Spike. Positive it had nothing to do with you not writing the screenplay, the book was based on. Last, Chris, you don’t believe KP raped a neighbor in his Manhattan apartment building, the day he tore his ACL, do you? Do you see Harvey Hair Clumps Weinstein trying to rape Wonder Woman played by Gal Gadot only one good leg?” Chris Rock replies, “Who are you again? And why have I never seen you the Cellar before ever?” Spike interjects, “Rock, I love your like a brother from another mother, but if you suck off his big headed Jew’s ego for one more second, our friendship is over, you dig?”  Joshua throws down his Do It All Dad Year Podcast business card for Rock on the table and says “Call me some time Chris. I’d love to write a movie or create a new TV show with you some time. Oh, and congrats on your 40 million stand up deal with Netflix because the white man, can no longer get away with paying the great Chris Rock with only one rib.” Joshua heads back to his table with Esther triumphant, after showcasing his Bronx bred scrappy, fighter instincts, back, back in a New York groove once more.

 

 

Chap. 20 The Crown Heights Connection

Chapter 20

The Crown Heights Connection

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club represented Jewish pride, pride in New York City being the muse for many successful, celebrated Jewish working artists, including singer songwriters like Lou Reed, Neil Diamond, novelists such as Ayn Rand, stand up comedians such as Don Rickles, Broadway playwrights like Neil Simon, Arthur Miller or Tony Kushner if Upper East Side society fixture business gals were in a more forgiving, generous mood than usual. Tonight, the focus was on Ayn Rand’s highly controversial novel, Atlas Shrugged, which clocked in around thousand plus pages, which made Tony Kushner feel terse in comparison for the 1st time in his charmed, theatre penning life.

Golda, the fire breathing, conservative radio host got the book club discussion of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged, underway. “First, I hate this title. Atlas Shrugged, I bet it made Jack LaLanne limp at 1st glance of it. Also, why would an author write a one-thousand-page novel? Does she enjoy time working with her Editor at Random House that much? Did Ayn Rand think her writing was in the same league as Tolstoy? Filling 4 hours of dead air on the radio every five days a week, in the pursuit of never boring your audience to sleep is much more difficult feat to perform. Now, I’m thinking David Foster Wallace wore all those bandanas to cover his initial misaimed, self-inflicted gun shout wound, resulting from trying to plow through this heap of philosophical nihilism, to justify her scruple free existence during some writing retreat at Kenyon College, all expenses paid. Ayn Rand found a married man to bang her and struggled so much at the end she had to collect social security, just saying.” Alte the comedy club owner interjects, “Ayn Rand’s writing is like Joan Rivers on Adderall, minus the colorful, punch flourishes of schtick along the way.” Frieda the Soul Cycle teacher star of SOHO Equinox expresses her opinion on the book, “I think everyone is being hyper critical of Ayn. She was no beauty by any stretch of the imagination. Still, she became a successful screenwriter in Hollywood in the 40’s, way before Nora Ephron, divorced acne scar face Bernstein, and wrote her divorce tale, turned Hollywood snooze feast Heartburn. I like Angelica Houston better when she looks sheik dowdy, rolling perfect joints in West Anderson films.” Ester, the Persian owner, of star executive tech staffing firm, Silicon Alley in NY moves the conversation toward the positive attributes of the ideas expressed in the book itself. Ester says, “I love the line, “wealth is a product of man’s capacity to think.” Personally, I’d prefer she’d use the pronoun woman, but nobody’s perfect. Joshua enters late to the Jewy Book Club meeting, with a bottle of Cab Franc from Rutherford, California in hand. All the woman stand-up the moment once they hear Joshua knock on the door awaiting his presence, knowing he’s running behind a couple of minutes for his first Jewy Manhattan Book Club Meeting. Ester, answers the door. “Hi, Joshua, for a second, I didn’t think you were coming.” Joshua replies, “And miss the opportunity to give you grand dames a chapter sample reading of a lifetime from my upcoming Novel, The Great American Jew Novel, Chapter 3, Gimmel Be Good. Joshua is so anxious to read the sample chapter Gimmel Be Good, he doesn’t bother to take off his prized leather bomber Faconable jacket, which he bought from the 1st writing check, he ever received, after getting paid to write all the TV host music video intros for VH1 Classic’s America’s Hard 100 in Manhattan. Joshua says, “I brought a cab franc from North Fork Long Island, it’s pretty young, so it won’t need time to breath like Hillary Hammer Time Cankles on the campaign trail in 2016.” All woman the woman in the Jewy Manhattan Book club, crack up in unison, sharing zero love, for that evil, cackling wench. After Joshua places the Cab Franc down on the kitchen counter, he whips out his smart phone and stars to read, Gimmel Be Good. Gimmel Be Good is a story about the kid who invented the dreidel game to distract the Romans from his forbidden Torah stories, so they’d think, another degenerate Jew gamble kid, nothing out of the ordinary here. All the grand working gal dames of the Upper East side spit out gobbles of laughter again. Joshua starts to read a sample chapter from his upcoming novel, Gimmel Be Good.

Gimmel Be Good

Once upon a time there was nice Jewish Boy, Michael the Greek Kornbluth. Every day, he’d study his Torah as God commanded him to do so. He’d refrain from intermingling with fetching looking gentiles like the Princess of Persia because he didn’t want to turn away from God, which was guaranteed to happen, whenever the porcupine puss princess interrupted his Torah studies again, forcing him to blow off Tefillin to mount her booty luscious round of mound from behind instead. Michael The Greek Kornbluth’s only vice was betting on the Greek Chariot Racehorses. He’d study the Greek Chariot Racehorses Forums, detailing, past racing performances and odds with divine powered zeal on par with his Torah study. Because one day, with his winnings, he’d wanted to become the head financer behind restoring the great 1st Temple destroyed by the Romans, because following in his father’s footsteps selling quicksand maps and Hebrew Alphabet blocks wasn’t going to get the job done.

One day, the Hellenization of Israel got ugly fast. Now, there was a new Greek Ruler in charge who claims to be a descendant of Arie’s Anti-Semite brother, who had a worse credit rating with Jewish money lenders, than Alexander’s Great, trust fund baby with Cleopatra, Lenny Kravitz Junior, no Jewish lender in Israel wanted to show any royal respectful love his way because he already blew through his fortune on the loser Chariot Horseraces and on a wind powered hashish farm in Damascus, resting on top of a pile of quick sand. The new Greek ruler in charge of Israel now, Pontificutus The Putz was in charge. A new hot shot Rabbi, Rabbi Mason, moonlighting as standup comedian on the rise came up with the nickname and it stuck like the fake news rumor of Jews heckling the Romans into crucifying Jesus despite Twitter not being existence yet.

Now, with Pontificutus The Putz in charge, any Jew caught studying the Torah at home was sentenced to death. But first those Jews would be forced to eat ham and cheese sandwiches for 20 days in a row, washed down with rotten camel’s milk, till they puked up their innards, establishing the roots of Greek hazing to be used on the American Greek university level centuries later. Circumcision was now banned, despite Alexander the Great, never being into the Greeks at the spa, sporting the inch worm hiding its head in its holster look. But Michael The Geek Kornbluth loved to study his Torah because he knew it made God Happy and he loved to grow closer to God every day, yeah, yeah. What’s a poor white Jewish boy, who can do long division equations with eight zeros in his head like a young Donald Trump without any startup investment money growing on olive trees in his favor to do? Michael had to come up with a diversionary tactic, a new gambling game to play at home, to divert attention from his cherished Torah studies, but knowing his stellar reputation as betting advisor to top Greek Senators around, coming up with a new gambling game for kids to shift focus away from their forbidden Torah studies wasn’t enough.

So why was Pontificutus the Putz such a Jew hater again? Because he was a slower runner than they? Because he was bankrupting his kingdom from all his non-stop gambling losses on Chariot Racehorses and loser bets on the Gladiators versus gangs of rock throwing Palestians from the neighboring Syrian Slingshot League. Never being confused as a professional gambler great like future great, Arnold the Brain Rothstein. Pontificutus the Putz also got herpes from a half Jewish prostitute, just like Hitler did before his herpes sores inflamed his desire to annihilate all of Europe on Crystal Meth. Also, similar to Hitler, Pontififcutus the Putz, had artistic ambitions, he even applied to art school in Athens, but he got rejected because his sculpture creations were crude like the Swastika symbol for instance. I don’t care that it was a photoshopped Hindu symbol. The Swastika still looks like a 2 stick figures doing a sixty-nine on Crystal Meth. Still, Pontificutus the Putz, bulldozed his way to the top and became a ruthless ruler of the Greek army for a guy who can pass for a little Greek landlord Astoria in Queens, NY any day of the week. What made Pontificutus the Putz such a killer warrior turned general, was his color blind, condition, so all he saw in life, was black and white death. Plus, the herpes always seemed to flare up before every major war against the Turks, he’d pierce with a spear as easy as an inserting a skewer into a fresh out the womb piece of Lamb Shawarma.

So how does a nice Jewish boy from Tel Aviv earn the nickname Michael The Greek Kornbluth. Well, he was genius at picking the Chariot Horseraces, making fortunes for all Greek senators who would ask him for race advice, in exchange for wine and challah for his hapless Dad, Joshua Kornbluth, who was known as the Willy Loman of quicksand maps and alphabet blocks. Michael’s father Joshua would get too wrapped into telling Gentiles Versus Jews jokes, to be taken seriously by even Jewish customers. He’d say, “What’s the difference between Jews and Greeks? Jews are in no rush to pledge their allegiance to the God of loud rain. Too soon for Zeus jokes. I don’t know why I waste my breath.”

Today, was different, because the Super Bowl of Chariot Racehorse races was happening and Pontificus The Putz needed a winner, or else, his army would take him out Marc Anthony style for backing such a perpetual loser after all these years, regardless if he’s related to Arie’s anti-Semite brother or not. Pontificus the Putz, enters Joshua’s, humble hut abode, which made a young Luke Skywalker’s adopted home on Tatooine look like Trump Tower. Michael The Greek Kornbluth, hides his Torah underneath his pillow and replaces it with some alphabet blocks his father carved himself but with Greek letters on it instead of Hebrew ones. Michael spins the dreidel. Potififcus blurts, “What are you playing with there Michael? Is your dad selling Hebrew Alphabet blocks that spin now? You do realize that’s not Kosher anymore kid? Then, Pontificus picks up the dreidel an says, “Oh, the letters are Greek.” Michael replies, “With you in charge, everything is Greek to me.” I tan nude at the beach like I’m a Greek senator on Holiday at the Red Sea.” “Alright, enough small talk, Michael, I a sure bet for the Chariot Race this Saturday”, Pontificus the Putz says. Have I got a horse for you Pontificus, named, Gimmel Ge Good. You haven’t heard of him yet because he’s a black horse from a Kibbutz in the Golan Heights, they say he’s faster than Hermes with a horny Medusa on his tail. He’s a 15-1 long shot, let it ride.”

Gimmel Be Good did good and won the race. And Michael the Greek Kornbluth was able to resume Torah studies without any interruption again. His father Joshua was granted a performance space to do a one man play, Greeks Versus Jews, which received much nonstop praise, Plato’s grandson, called the one-man act, “Socrates smart, flush with big time, funny man Jewish heart.” More importantly, Michael The Greek the Kornbluth, later changed the lettering on the Dreidel to Hebrew Lettering, knowing Greeks were on the look-out for Bibles whenever they raided Jewish homes and had a harder time recognizing Mythological bullshit than basic Hebrew lettering for that matter. And pretty soon, the Maccabees had enough of submitting to the Greek way of life, and reclaimed Israel as their Jewish homeland again.

Michael The Greek Kornbluth wasn’t able to parlay his billion-dollar betting brain and help finance the restoration the great Temple of King David. But more importantly, he was able to help preserve the roof over his head, that he shared with God and his dear Aba Joshua, which was that much important, since their mom died from childbirth along with his newborn brother, who he never got to study the Torah with. At least now, every night, dear Abba, Hebrew, for father, could study the glorious reflection of the all mighty in his son’s Michael’s, worry line free face, and give thanks and praises for the most high, for giving him the divine gift of fatherhood, which made dear Abba feel more blessed than the rest.

The End

Ester is the first one to speak. “You’re a really talented writer Michael. Are you represented by William Morris Endeavor?” Joshua laughs. “I wish Ester. I wanted to make a strong 1st impression, proving a funny man Jew writer is who has every justified right, bash less punchy, fake news deep, Jewish writer luminaries sucked off the literary establishment back in the day at large. Golda interjects, I know a very funny, hipster rabbi in Crown Heights, who fashions himself as a less marble mouthed Jackie Mason, whose chummy with the editor of Tablet Magazine, who I can totally see publishing your historical short story with a mix of magical realism thrown in. His name is Rabbi Levite, he’s also a real foodie and loves his double IPA’s to unwind after intense Zohar tutorials with Ron Pearlman’s kids, you know the CEO of Revlon, Ellen Barkin’s West Village Townhouse bequeather. He’s not as hardcore Hassid as other rabbis in Crown Heights. Plus, he’s a too tall Jew like yourself, so he won’t resent your big man funny stature from the start either.”

The Cape Cod Interloper

Chapter 19

The Cape Cod Interloper

Joshua was never intimidated by wealth or overly impressed with Ivy league degrees, mainly because he knew at least 4 kids who got into Harvard out of his high school graduating class of 99 students, and the 4th kid, mush mouth, Sanket Bulsara, only got in through class petition only, despite him boasting the lumbering, personality of a sinus challenged Mr. Snuffleupagus. Al Gore, another Harvard Alum, couldn’t even beat W by a wide margin because he couldn’t even be bothered to project an aura of patriotic, God loving sincerity without barreling into his portly yet pretty faced wife for a kiss more at the Democratic National convention more forced than Michelle Obama’s befuddled look of appreciation after Melania gave her a beautiful, turquoise, Tiffany gift box at the White House on Inauguration day with the number of her hair stylist inside, considering she couldn’t even bothered to have her army of 5 stylists, prop up her hair, regardless of her no longer being proud of her country or not.

It wasn’t until Joshua attended the wealthy enclave of Lake Forrest College, on the North Shore Illinois, until he was in the presence of real descendant wealth. All his friends, there either attended private schools in Honolulu, Manhattan or in boarding schools back east in Connecticut or the Berkshires, which boasts more rehab centers per square foot, than Portlandia has safe spaces for shooting up heroin or even Lens Crafters for that matter, knowing how slamming high octane, IPA’s at 8 percent in rapid succession will put strain on any four eyed hipster’s eyes trying to make out the chalkboard written specials for fried Kale Pickles that tames the smokiness of Rogue’s Shakespeare Stout on tap better than you think. In college, he learned his Hawaiian roommate for 2 years there attended Punahou on the big island of Hawaii, which Obama attended prior. In his act Joshua would dare to make the fun of the hopeful one, insisting, “Obama renamed ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times. So that’s an Obama accomplishment for you. Also, if Obama is such a good baller at Basketball. Then, why did her ride the bench an all Asian private school in Hawaii. Last, did you most Americans think Obama a was a better president than George Washington. But I don’t see good old Georgie gifting Iran 150 billion dollars out of the freaking blue with nothing but power of his phone and pen, for more overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal products for the Kardashians. Kim Kardashian will be taking the bar soon to become a criminal justice lawyer. Criminal Justice Lawyers are so hot right now. Also, Bruce Jenner wasn’t asexual when he was married to Kris Jenner, but I’m sure he stayed harder longer, after he got Kris to cut her short eventually, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio.”

Joshua’s friend Cling, another boarding school kid, who was total preppy stoner, who knew how to use his fists, worked as chef in Nantucket for the summer, so he was never hurting for cash either. Paone, who also loved Dice, attended a private school in St. Louis, who never met a Birkenstock’s he didn’t like or the even more well-off Pam who rode equestrian horses out of the freaking womb. Joshua did have a friend Jim, who was from Wisconsin, who didn’t drip inherited wealth compared to his other buds but in retrospect, could’ve easily attended some prestigious, private, Catholic school there, knowing he wasn’t enough of a Brainiac to get into Lake Forrest on a full scholarship, but was literate enough know hair metal shredder’s White Lion, were at their core, a Christian metal band, citing lyrics, which proved his assertion and everything, which made hair metal crooning loving Joshua feel like a bigger, degenerate, spiritual bankrupt, clueless Jew than before.

Joshua also had spent the one summer in Chatham, in Cape Code, Kennedy country, during his 1st summer of self-reliant independence after his sophomore year of college, paying his own way, outside of the leased, Forrest Green Grand Cherokee, his parents decided to lease him out of the freaking blue. Joshua loved blasting I Found A True Love by man and half Wilson Pickett in that car, especially the part, where he can’t contain his sheer electric state of ecstatic rapture, declaring with the utmost pride and loving tender satisfaction, “I can shout about her, yeah, yeah.” Because after Joshua made his 1st ever big time hook up request of God off the sandy white shores of Cape Cod by his lonesome, heart reeling self, stating, “God, I need a romance of some kind already God. Please, thrown me a bone already, I’m dying over here.” Only days, later, the original striking beauty in his life, Katie King, glided into his heart in one beautiful seamless motion, as her silky, smooth, blond straight hair draped over his muscular yet feminine shoulders, looking the most statuesque southern beauty imaginable, with sultry, rounded lips, who was a double major at Duke University, the Harvard of the south, who could kick the shit out of Reese Whitherspoon during a debutant spelling bee in the 9th grade guaranteed. Joshua was rocking his semi long, fluffy long haired look, practicing a guitar chord his friend Sam just taught, him as she entered the back patio of Skyler’s parents house who had a beer delivery man who came twice a week, including Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, the pale ale that never gets stale, Harpoon IPA, Pete’s Wicket summer brew, you name it. Actually, back then in the summer of 96, there were only a handful of specialty craft, breweries, which Joshua became intent on sucking down with divine commandment commanded fervor. This didn’t please Joshua’s stiffy snot roommate from Williams College, an athletic, tall, waspy, blond haired 6 by east coast liberal arts standards, would introduce him to casual forms of Anti-Semitism, dropping lines such as “Take your banged up Jeep and go back to New York already.” Translation, Jews aren’t welcome in Cape Cod Kennedy country moron. She also expressed her disdain for Joshua drinking the lion share of the beers despite them remaining untouched by the 4 other housemates, Joshua was rooming with temporarily at Skyler’s parents house for one free month, before they all moved into another house, they’d all contribute rent for that summer. Joshua was doing his drunk hand thing with Katie, where he starts touching a girls hand without being intentional or predatory about it, as he could feel the collective gentile gaze look of abject horror despair among his other female roommates also who attended McGill College, up in Montreal, as they thought, “Who does big head Jew, think he is, flirting with such a ravishing, southern belle beauty in our midst like he’s fucking Jeff Goldblum crushing on Laura Dern in Jurassic Park for Christ sake. Reality is Katie was way hotter, prettier, sculpted, towering blonde dame than Laura Dern, considering the fact Katie’s mom was Miss South Carolina for a reason. Then, out of nowhere, when Joshua wasn’t sending tingles of sparkly summer love through tips of Katies’ classical pianist trained, beautifully elongated, strong tan fingertips, the Williams Wasp hits him with, “Put the beer down already. Haven’t you had enough already? There’s 5 other people who live here you know. Translation again, “You don’t belong here, you grubby, greedy, lushy Jew.” Still, Joshua got the last laugh, because his summer romance with Katie bloomed, and his friend Sam from Lake Forrest, found him a cheap room at this older ladies house off the main drag of Chatham, as he spend the majority of his nights in Katies’ arms in her spacious, air apartment way closer the beach with her cute, feisty, southern fierce smart, roommate Briana who chose to forsake AC for the topless bra look whenever he was around. God couldn’t have made Joshua a bigger believer in his divine powered giving grace, by ushering Katie King into his heart during the summer Fugees hit the airwaves, to wash away any remnant of heart beaten scare tissue for being a sad, single romantic, lost at sea prior, which was killing him loudly more than ever before. Joshua and Katie were love birds; his heart had finally taken flight to heaven on earth. The could kiss for hours, held hands in town instantly, even compelling his own mother to comment after they took them out to dinner once, saying, “Son, seeing you with Katie, blissfully in love, put me at ease, making me think my son will be ok after all.” Although the real show topping highlight during the Summer of Katie was his southern belle angel, tell her sweet Joshua, “I love how happy you make me feel.” Joshua felt the same because thanks to God, answering his 1st , big time favor ask prayer, he could shout about her, yeah, yeah.

Chapter 17 Summer Winds

Chapter 17

Summer Winds

When Joshua used to live in Hermosa Beach, on Monterey Avenue with a view of the pier and the mighty, majestic pacific from his stairway outside he developed a Summer romance, with Summer, a ravishing, tan beauty from the big island of Hawaii, who he didn’t give enough time for their love to bloom. Truth is, he got scared, one day, when she stood up on her perfect, petite toes to kiss get closer to the much taller, Joshua and made love with her eyes, which killed him inside, knowing he was unable to mirror such a ravishing, heart thumping gaze just yet. But he had every reason to be in love with the Chinese American beauty because she represented the dreamy woman Chris Rock claims who doesn’t exist who enjoyed Seinfeld, Wu Tang and her case old school Metallica, which is friend JT from college who later moved to Hermosa Beach nearby was smitten with from the start. They drank Pyramid Apricot bees by the beach, took romantic day trip wine getaways to Santa Barbara and had lavish Veal Piccata meals in Joshua’s Hermosa beach apartment abode while watching the Soprano’s way before the black screen ending, which would you make you think today, the damn Internet is out again, fucking cloud. At this time, Joshua was working for an IT staffing firm in nearby Manhattan Beach, which was great outside the fact Summer lived a tad father way closer to Long Beach, which was a schlep. Still, Joshua couldn’t resist the seductive charms of Summer, he had zero problem inhaling on the spot. She didn’t even enjoy smoking weed but would do shotguns with him on occasion in front of his friend JT, which drove him crazy with jealousy but got Joshua ultra-aroused long time. So, when Joshua had the opportunity to ditch out on a networking event in nearby Torrance, CA early, he took it. Actually, he had to wait for Rick, to give him permission to leave, who wasn’t owner the company Terry, nor his direct supervisor boss, so he bolted to Long Beach, into Summer loving’s arms. The next morning at work, Terry, the owner of the Thor staffing group, a hulking, constantly sweaty, bald yet distinguished grinder of solid stock, Norwegian descent from Iowa done good, burned holes into Joshua’s eyes with his all-encompassing, stare of disgust filled infuriation before pointing out how unacceptable his behavior was under his watch. “Fucking New Yorkers, you’re all the same. Where your does monstrous ego come from exactly? Rick told you stay and you fucking leave 2 seconds later. If you get wise with me and tell me it was actually more like a New York Minute I will rip both of your arms feed them to my father’s pigs back on the farm in Iowa, are we clear? I should have my head checked hiring another New Yorker. You’re all the same. The world doesn’t revolve around you. The sooner you understand that the better. Now get out of my face before I fire your ass and send you crying back to mommy and daddy to bail you out again.”

Joshua had to take it because he blatantly disrespected Ricks authority when he told him to stay until he gave him permission to do otherwise. Plus, Joshua respected Terry’s killer worth ethic and couldn’t get enough his farm analogies about the farmers who did well were the ones who woke up early and tended their land, who planted various seeds, giving them all the time love and attention needed to grow up to their full potential. Joshua was burnt out on IT recruitment after doing it 4 years straight without ever taking a vacation more than a night time trip and back to Tijuana, only for him to decide picking out a hooker to bang in a line to chose from was too much indecision, for his neurotic, more nice than always naughty, Jew boy fixated on dying of HIV prematurely could bear. After getting fired at Thor, for spending time on Monster.com looking for a job, which had anything else to do but IT recruitment, he started to do wine sales, focusing on the regions of San Fernando Valley and Pasadena. Now, he felt like glamorized Schleper, spending more time in the car on the 405 than he did in wine shops and restaurants actually selling wine. But he did meet anther girlfriend after Summer from Indiana, who also tasted great, especially ice wine in her innards from Lake Ontario. It was impossible not to think of this girl Melissa from Indiana, with her huge beamish smile, and mountainous, juicy, not too droopy round of mound, breast as Golda the conservative talk show host at the Jewy Manhattan Book Club, offered him some Ice Wine from Canada she picked up at a new wine shop on the Upper East Side, before their talk about Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrug ensued. The Jewish Godmother hunt had just begun. Summer also suggested she’d day trade while he wrote novels for a living in Santa Barbara, ah, those were the days.

Chapter 16 The Natural Birth Coach Bust

                                                                Chapter 16

The Natural Birth Coach Bust

 

Prayer wasn’t a central fact of Joshua’s life throughout Hebrew School, after his Bar Mitzvah and especially not during college. Praying the porcelain God of puke control was never his style either, opting instead to pull the good old fashioned trigger finger instead, whenever the uncontrollable hiccups emerged like the time at Ithaca when he puked out a lung after polishing almost a handle of Bacardi rum with his old metal shredding loving bud JT seconds after listening to Jimi Hendrix blow the amps out to pieces as his paratrooper buddy from the army, drummer Buddy Miles sang with soul man bursting bravado, Them Changes, on the famed Band of Gypsies show from the famed Filmore East before Jimi choked away his dying of light, ironically enough.

When Joshua’s daughter Matilda was only 4, she stepped on her new pink Disney guitar, promoting her dad to say, “You never step on a guitar Matilda.” Matilda replies in a nonchalant yet bare bones, direct manner, “But Jimi played with his teeth.” When they used to live in Scarsdale Village, Joshua would push Matilda on the swing, which overlooked Metro North train tracks heading into the village, which always inspired her daddy, to start singing, Here My Train Coming from Jimi Hendrix, blues, his second favorite Jimi album after Band of Gypsies, singing, “Pretty soon, I’m going to buy this town and put it all in my shoes. It’s what I’m going, to do. It’s what I’m going to do.” Then, the funniest girl in the universe, without it even being close, says “How can you fit an entire town in your shoe?” We’d roll in Target in nearby Mount Kisco, NY and she’ take one look at the Target logo and ask, “Daddy do people shoot arrows at Target?”  They used to make Vine videos together, when she could only string 2 words together. Daddy asks. “Matilda, do you have a nookie problem?” She’d take out her nookie and with pitch perfect timing say, “I’m a little obsessed.”   Before she was born, after mommy was in labor for felt like five years, after mama’s attempt at a natural child burst turned out to be total debacle from the start, Joshua prayed to God that night, asking God, to make sure his wife survived child birth and to do everything in his power  to make sure his knock knee putzy, white man’s disease plagued DNA skipped a generation God forbid.  Now, Matilda is breaking high jump records in the 3rd grade at PQ in North Salem, NY and the best athlete in her class is crushing on her hard, whose grandfather turns out to be a hall of famer NHL star who played for the New Jersey Devils, never having to endure the brutal, taunting chants of 1940 heard at Rangers Devil Games in the early nineties before the mighty Messier, called out his shot and won game 7 at the Garden, before being serenaded down the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway as bigger Hockey God in the Big Apple than even the great one Wayne Gretsky would ever be.  Joshua and his wife Anna should’ve had their doubts about the likelihood of her giving a natural childbirth after learning halfway into their natural birthing class, that the teacher never gave birth before, to nothing but more breathing mantra bullshit. Still, Joshua does recall an intensely real meditation exercise class in once, where he envisioned typing in his home office off Hermosa Beach, as heard the waves crash, as his yet unborn daughter hopped on his lap out of nowhere, in a state of pure, happiness spewing, snuggly, bonding bliss.

Hebrew prayers never did anything for Joshua in Temple growing up, because he could only read Hebrew back then but had zero idea what the translation was, without reading the English translation in his prayer book, which was instructive but at same time stripped the holiness packed oomph of the communal experience at large, even at reformed synagogue in Scarsdale, NY, where the command of Hebrew language was on par with the basic car mechanics 101 like not knowing how to change to a tire as Clint Eastwood whispers in your ear fumy disgust, “Worthless Jew.”

Now, Joshua was married to girl who was raised in a Catholic household by a mother born in Manchester, England, who since moving to Delaware with her family, attended a rundown yet quaint, Ukrainian Church in Delaware, who she made fish balls for out of cod and almond meal, which Joshua enjoyed plenty, whenever the price was right at Shoprite. What Joshua didn’t enjoy was his terse, borderline mute at the diner table future English father in law getting his panties in a bunch of over his future son in law in the making scoring big laughs from their guest, showcasing star powered charisma at it’s finest, only to hear, “He talks more than the other one.” Meaning, shut this fucking loud-mouth Jew up already, so I can back to hating resenting my wife’s never-ending ballooning ass in my head again. Why did my daughter have to dump her borderline catatonic, blond, Nordic fiancé from Indiana for this Howard Stern wannabe?  Joshua also didn’t enjoy his mother in law forcing his kids to grace in their own fucking home back in NY because A) It wasn’t her home B) She knew Joshua was raised Jewish C) Her opportunity to instill a religious education for her own children had passed D) It wasn’t very Jesus like when she chucked a butcher knife at her husband, when they lived in Australia because, she couldn’t handle being a stay at home mom, fondling avocado’s the size of Babar’s nut sack D) Her grace prayers not once included any shout outs in his own parents honor and E) The grace prayers were very general and bland, lacking all personal, zesty pop on par with every other birthday card she ever wrote for her grandchildren, with the salutation God Bless, nothing more nothing less.   God bless, yes Joshua being a father of 3 who achieved his dream of writing for TV in Manhattan on Vh1 Classic’s America’s Hard 100 made this do it all dad feel more blessed than the rest, but not in the mother in law department, especially after learning from his kids about the time they were forced Eucharist behind his back once, which isn’t even Kosher in Bill Maher’s book. The Christian kid prayer books and Fisher Price Little People Christmas Toy action figures didn’t warm Joshua up to his mother- in-law’s, domineering, Jehovah Witness type pushy ways either.  One year for Christmas, Joshua’s mother-in-law went out of her way to get her granddaughter, a giant plastic toy chest with no toys in it. Joshua immediately empathized with his daughter’s awkward, perplexment, assuring her, “Don’t worry Matilda. When we get back home to Jew York. Will up the toy chest with your 8000 Chanukah gifts. Joshua’s daughter also scored some white socks from the bargain bin at Target that year, which screams grandma’s heart wasn’t into again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15 In A Loudmouth NY Jew Way

Chapter 15

In a Loudmouth, New York Jew Way

 

Josh’s ex from LA, who graduated Columbia University, no dummy, who also played volleyball for them, was the one responsible for planting the dream of him becoming a big deal writer success one day, even using expressions like him becoming the voice of his generation before Lena Dunham uttered the exact line on her hit HBO series Girls, stripping the sentiment of any cool, inspirational, empowered, titillating lift it was once offered. After President Trump beat Hillary Hammer Time Cankles, he recalled Lena promising to move out of the country. His only wish now was Lena refraining from moving to Montreal specifically, as he prayed for a big, beautiful wall to be erected around all the high end strip clubs in Montreal, so Lena Dunham wouldn’t repulse all the strippers and drive away all college students back to wake and baking, duck taping their college dorm room to keep the smoke out at Oneonta instead.

Joshua was very fond of his ex, because she saw a special creative spark to be exploited for all it was worth. She had them writing spec, sample scripts for Malcom and the Middle and Curb, sending them off to contents and various paid fellowships, which made Joshua happy because he loved getting lost in play imaginary land, because it was a pleasant respite from cold calling his brains out 10 hours a day, lucky to get 7 IT Directors on the phone for less than 4 minutes a pop max before he came home at night, ready to create new story worlds with his 1st live in girlfriend and eventual love at the time.  Back then, the feedback he received from the lit agent, Erica worked as assistant for was that their writing as whole veered more towards dramatic than comedic, explaining the Star Wars themed costume party, where Brenda get’s molested by her stepdad in a Six Feet Under spec they wrote before he gave her the rent controlled apartment on Harper Street in West Hollywood, only a block down from the more posh, less in your face, wife beater sporting gay, King Street, where the far prettier, SAG card owning actresses lived and roamed, assuming, they were actually out in public in the street, running late for an audition in Studio City.

Joshua’s ex, Erica, was smart, fierce and funny. He respected her opinion plenty. Erica’s favorite book was the Invisible Man and he liked all her friends, none of them were pretentious, mousy, East Coast chicken heads or frumpy, ragged, manly sounding, bone dry, colorless, prickly, blah bores either, despite all of them coming from money, attending a ritzy private catholic high school off the Sunset Blvd.  Erica went to prom in high school by herself, which wasn’t too different from Joshua. Joshua, would joke in his act, “Last year, there was an all Muslim girl prom in Detroit, Michigan, so the prom was like mine then, pork free while I continued to fight the irrepressible urge to cry under my sheets from dusk till dawn.”   Joshua also learned from Erica how at Columbia, you’re forced to receive a comprehensive education in the arts, which meant, you studied Shakespeare inside and out.  Joshua on the other hand, never got Shakespeare in high school, although he learned enough to know his English father in law calling the Hugh Grant character in the movie Paddington a Shylock, wasn’t kosher, despite his claims of compulsory clarification, after Joshua went off on his father in law at the time without losing breaking his enraged tinged rhythm one bit. “Matilda, Shylock is what anti-Semites call Jews, because we control the Federal Reserve and all the banks in the south pole to. Also, the religion of Islam forbids the practice of paying interest on loans, so of course they love the UN for giving them blank checks to build death tunnels to kidnap and murder, innocent Jewish children, without having to make any loan interest payments in return. Plus, before the Holocaust, the anti-Semitic trope took form, about Jews being predatory money lenders who lived to suck off the debut drowning, mathematically challenged, green beer drinking Irish brogue, for all the potato skins he was worth. But what Nazi apologists fail to point out is how money lending was the only profession Jews were allowed, to partake back then yet according to gentiles at large, they were under the impression, Jews were chosen to do nothing but spread disease, hoard money, tax you with interest to death and live to come up with inventive ways to heckle the Romans into crucifying Jesus, so they’d have Martin Luther, the founding father of Protestantism, could rally support around burning down every Jewish synagogue in sight, because  famed Jewish artist, Marc Chagall didn’t care for cluttering up his awe inspiring stain glass window fixtures at Temple Beth Israel in Paris with even more memorializing pictures of Jesus hung on cross, deeming them a tad too churchy, because Jews for Jesus Synagogue offshoots hadn’t gone viral yet.”

Once Joshua recalls, Erica getting a too much East Coast pretentious for Joshua’s taste, stating in a very pissed, matter of fact manner, “How can you expect to be successful writer, whether it’s writing TV sitcoms or not, if you haven’t read any book of fiction besides the Godfather?” Joshua replies. “I can think of worse writers to read than Mario Puzo, but I did take anthology of American Short Stories Senior Year in High School and I don’t recall Faulkner, or Flannery O’Conner, being major page turner’s babe. The forced, broken up Southern imbibed English was more brutal to read than Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn combined.”  The best gift Joshua had ever received before his children started making him cards, between him filling out his own card Father’s Day insisting to his wife, “You’re always telling me how I’m the writer in the relationship”, was tickets for a live tape showing of Friends at the Warner Brothers’ lot in Burbank. They used to watch Friends together between Joshua lubing himself up for more strap on sessions to ensure his diminishing manhood was rammed up his rosy rear for good. During the taping, you’d see the writers on Friends, talk to the actors, and give them new ideas for lines, which they’d incorporate later. Joshua will always cherish the moment, his ex-girlfriend, Erica, his 1st love in live, in girlfriend, whisper in his ear, “You can be that writer one day.” What a move, Joshua had never been more touched or moved so deeply back then, having someone who believed in becoming somebody more than just schmuck in a headset. But many would argue this sudden feeling of entitlement became a recurring career hampering problem for him.  Joshua recalls, Erica watching him source one day, spending entire weekends, reading newspapers and business journals, sorting through resumes and references, trying to put together new lists of IT manager and decision makers to cold call the following week back in the non-top, thankless, non-builder existence grind again and she says, “I wish you didn’t have waste your time doing all this sourcing. Your writer, never forget that.” All of these memories flooded Joshua’s memory as he drove past Columbia University on his way to his 1st Jewy Manhattan Book Club meeting, prepared to do more than just impress the pool of Jewish Godmother candidates with emotive prowess about the vastly underrated, gaggy chewy, Cab Franc grape, normally used as a blending grape in France, for Bordeaux wines, which he’d take over a burnt soil drenched Malbec or an excessively dehydrating Zinfandel any day of the week in a New York minute.