The Mask Shaming Inquisition

It’s impossible to act pleased whenever my wife takes pictures of our 3 kids wearing masks when it’s not Halloween; in a post woke, China placating universe gone wild. In these moments, I become what I detest the most, a triggered snowflake, yelling out to my daughter Matilda, “Smile, you can be America’s Top Belly Dancer now and wear a mask wherever, whenever you like, assuming you train hard enough on your core to become a Peloton instructor in junior high. Because at that point the entire restaurant industry will have been dead for a decade already. So, all the bankable babysitting money will be kaput by then to. You’ll have zero clubs to rave in fairy wing looking like an overdose at the Limelight waiting to happen. Smile, Matilda, you’re going to be America’s Next Top Belly Dancer, assuming you put your mask on between meals to avoid snacking and socially distance yourself from carbs.

Who are these kids that love to wear Covid masks? Do they identify as moderate Muslim housewives on Casual Friday? How do I get my kids used to wearing masks? I host burning mask parties.

The only way a Feminist can get you to eat her pussy is by forcing you to wear a pussy hat mask on in public. Do these altruist mask monitors who yell at strangers to wear a mask outside on the street, offer junkies clean needles to shoot up with at the local dose off wall park bench in downtown Portlandia?  Are these mask crusaders at large on triple condom wrap detail, next time Charlie Sheen rolls the dice in Vegas at an AVN wrap up party and forgets again how only Magic can make HIV disappear?  

Only 6 percent of Covid linked deaths are by Covid alone. So can we unmask this pandemic sham by getting Rudy Giuliani to grill some Medical Examiner under oath for making every Death Certificate list Covid as the final main cause, instead of China?  Giuliani says, “Let me guess.  You took one look at your last corpse and said, “He stinks like Walmart in August. I’ll dump in the Covid death pool with the rest.”  

Wear a mask. Only if you suck off my super soaker for a super spreader deluxe. Pretend Obama ordered you to leak it.

In Hatti, they’re too poor to lockdown their mud mask resort economy. As a result, only 19 out of a million Hattians have gotten Covid.  Wyclef could shake off the rust and clean up on New Year’s Eve in 2020 there. Wyclef does a remix cover by REM and sings, “It’s the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine about my solo career post Fugees, which didn’t include jail time for tax evasion because I don’t view the IRS as the Jew devil spawn like Lauryn Hill, which is fake news man.”  

The CEO of Costco says, “Safety is worth the inconvenience”, of wearing a mask to buy more paper towels. Smile America, Alex Jones isn’t so nutty after all.

Michael Kornbluth

The Mask Shaming Inquisition

It’s impossible to act pleased whenever my wife takes pictures of our 3 kids wearing masks when it’s not Halloween; in a post woke, China placating universe gone wild. In these moments, I become what I detest the most, a triggered snowflake, yelling out to my daughter Matilda, “Smile, you can be America’s Top Belly Dancer now and wear a mask wherever, whenever you like, assuming you train hard enough on your core to become a Peloton instructor in junior high. Because at that point the entire restaurant industry will have been dead for a decade already. So, all the bankable babysitting money will be kaput by then to. You’ll have zero clubs to rave in fairy wing looking like an overdose at the Limelight waiting to happen. Smile, Matilda, you’re going to be America’s Next Top Belly Dancer, assuming you put your mask on between meals to avoid snacking and socially distance yourself from carbs.

Who are these kids that love to wear Covid masks? Do they identify as moderate Muslim housewives on Casual Friday? How do I get my kids used to wearing masks? I host burning mask parties.

The only way a Feminist can get you to eat her pussy is by forcing you to wear a pussy hat mask on in public. Do these altruist mask monitors who yell at strangers to wear a mask outside on the street, offer junkies clean needles to shoot up with at the local dose off wall park bench in downtown Portlandia?  Are these mask crusaders at large on triple condom wrap detail, next time Charlie Sheen rolls the dice in Vegas at an AVN wrap up party and forgets again how only Magic can make HIV disappear?  

Only 6 percent of Covid linked deaths are by Covid alone. So can we unmask this pandemic sham by getting Rudy Giuliani to grill some Medical Examiner under oath for making every Death Certificate list Covid as the final main cause, instead of China?  Giuliani says, “Let me guess.  You took one look at your last corpse and said, “He stinks like Walmart in August. I’ll dump in the Covid death pool with the rest.”  

Wear a mask. Only if you suck off my super soaker for a super spreader deluxe. Pretend Obama ordered you to leak it.

In Hatti, they’re too poor to lockdown their mud mask resort economy. As a result, only 19 out of a million Hattians have gotten Covid.  Wyclef could shake off the rust and clean up on New Year’s Eve in 2020 there. Wyclef does a remix cover by REM and sings, “It’s the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine about my solo career post Fugees, which didn’t include jail time for tax evasion because I don’t view the IRS as the Jew devil spawn like Lauryn Hill, which is fake news man.”  

The CEO of Costco says, “Safety is worth the inconvenience”, of wearing a mask to buy more paper towels. Smile America, Alex Jones isn’t so nutty after all.

Michael Kornbluth

The Wailing Wall Of Metal

Eddie Van Halen is the reason I’ve finger tapped endless Friday nights away, whenever my wife is out of the house, leaving me free to blare Eruption on Vinyl and use my kids like mini air guitar appendages, which is what dreams are made of. In these moments of high kicking, rip roaring delight, I’m able to let my hair down, relive my age of innocence and become in touch with what made my unsure, pubescent putz plagued self, come roaring to life like no other, Heavy Metal music.

But it was pictures of Heavy Metal guitarists such as the late great Eddie Van Halen who received prominent placement throughout my childhood bedroom, which I affectionally nicknamed The Wailing Wall Of Metal, in the pilot episode of a TV show I tried selling to VH1 Classic called Heavy Metal High.

The first time I heard the haunting, stuck in time, Church bell clang on Hells Bells by AC/DC, my pubescent soul, no longer felt like an amorphous void of scaredy-cat goo. It was as if God came down from Heaven himself through my boom box of yesteryear to tell me, “You’re more metal than you think kid. And you’ll only start living, when you get out of your self-esteem strangling head already, which is what Heavy Metal is doing to you right now. So stop acting like another Richard Lewis in the making.  As you can see, I also breath renewed life into knock kneed, putz prone kids like yourself through AC/DC to. Your manly metamorphosis has begun. You’re welcome.”

So it was only fitting for me to eventually receive my TV writing break, which was 15 years in the making, when I was hired by VH1 Classic to write all the TV Host reads for America’s Hard 100, which ranked the greatest hard rock and heavy metal videos of all time. But the 1st time I heard the song Eruption at my all Jewish sleepaway camp in Kent, Connecticut, it felt like a meteor shower blasted through my Hanes Tighty Whities, which amplified my Heavy Metal loving soul with a higher octane surge of propulsive might than ever before.

The most special thing about Eddie Van Halen’s music making career, is being blessed to play with his son Wolfgang for a living. His son Wolfgang, who was taught to play piano, bass and drums posted on Instagram, “I couldn’t have asked for a better father.” He got to make magical metal with his dad, which is what made Eddie Van Halen feel most in touch with the divine. He was quoted as saying “I couldn’t wait to make music with my son.” Because from what I’ve read, Eddie Van Halen wanted to transfer his love of creation through songwriting and guitar playing, which is what made him feel most alive, knowing he constantly made comments about wanting to make the most of his God given blessed talents.

No wonder the late great Eddie Van Halen kept running to his son Wolfgang to play more majestic metal music again and again.   Also, the name Van Halen is an homage to the family name, because Eddie’s brother Alexander Arthur Van Halen, their longtime drummer, was also one of the founding members of the band, responsible for the band’s signature funk filled, pounding backbeat, which I got the entire world off its feet.

Long live Van Halen’s wailing wall of metal. Van Halen ruled on top of the metal world for more than a while. Wolfgang’s professed love of his dearly departed father on Instagram really got to me, strumming my heart strings ever so light, because his dad gave him the opportunity to dream and boy did he love his dad back for it, for making him feel like the center of his universe, instead of the reverse. And that’s how you know when it’s love. Sammy Hagar lives.

Michael Kornbluth

The Koshertarian Diet

Before my kids take another reluctant bite out of mama’s lentil pie, which was good but still needed some savory, mouthwatering sautéed mushrooms nestled inside with speckled sage to counterbalance the borderline al dente lentils stuck between a rock and a fluffy pastry place, I tell my son Jeremiah, “Before I overrule mama’s law of return to eat one more obligatory nibble bite from her lentil pie, tell me one new thing you learned at school today, which you didn’t know before.” Son says, “My teacher learned I’m a vegetarian.” I said, “Don’t you mean Koshertarian?” Son laughs long time. Can I get a holla? For birthing a new A plus catchphrase, which I can exploit for all its worth in the form of a family reality cooking show based around my famous family if I ever become a famous comedian already, titled Keeping Up With The Koshertarians, holla!

So, what is the Koshertarian Diet exactly? It’s not boiling a lobster in the Kosher infused kitchen I grew up in along the Tudor home lined streets of Edgemont, NY, 30 minutes north of Manhattan, before Kevin Durant chose to play for the Brooklyn Nets over the Knicks to exert more control over his social media narrative and give Lena Dunham a good run for her money as the less overtly confessional voice of their Millennial Mouseketeer generation. My wife’s gentile friend actually bought a lobster to boil in my parent’s kitchen one summer with zero hesitative motion without seeking approval from my parents. I can’t demonize my wife’s dear friend completely for doing so, knowing my parents weren’t even half ass Kosher anymore, compared to when our entire family use to eat pork dumplings outside of the house, if we weren’t scarfing down more delectable, heaven sent bites of veal stuffed with prosciutto coated in a white wine mushroom sauce before my younger brother and I moved out of the house for good.

But once famed supermarket chain Stew Leonard’s moved to town in nearby Yonkers, NY, my parents scrapped their in-house kosher obeying diet only because the tastier, lumper servings of shrimp cocktail at Costco prices were impossible to resist. Still, the image of my wife’s friend barging into my parent’s kitchen with crusade possessed fervor with a lobster in hand doesn’t make my blood boil as much anymore because of parents ho hum embrace of me becoming a full time Koshertarian this past year, which has made me more at one with God than ever before while my 3 kids have derived a vicarious sense of pride from embracing my new soul man infused spiritual path along the way. Still, I don’t think my wife’s friend would whole heartedly embrace me barging into her parents kitchen on Good Friday to sell them on trying my Do It All Dad Hero creation from my new book The Great American Jew Novel, which is the 1st ever Kosher cheesesteak, using a plant based cheese wiz either. Especially, if I ate the Kosher cheesesteak in front of them and continued to push with divine powered zeal, “You have try one bite. “It’s holy shit, good.”

I know my wife wants me to not put restrictions on my happiness at times like when she urges me over an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives as I salivate over the Indian spiced Lamb Burger draped in a Paneer cheese and Jalapeno infused mango chutney, to forget eating Kosher, when she says, “ Just eat cruelty free, hormone absent, local meat. Kosher dietary laws are more dated than Yiddish, yada, yada, yada.” Because God forbid, I don’t half ass my Kosher diet like my parents did. Instead, I want to lead by example and stick with my full time Kosher diet because for once in my life, I feel like a less over the place Jew. Plus, by sticking with my Kosher diet come rain or shine, it eliminates my second guessing of ordering at restaurants because I now only have so many options to choose from. So now, whenever I’m out eating, I no longer feel more indecisive than Jared Kushner at the salad bar at the Bellagio.

On a holier, deeper level, I love my commitment to uphold my Kosher diet to repay God’s continued heaven on earth granting favor, for blessing me with the 3 sweetest, funniest kids in the universe, who make me howl with unrivaled laughter like no other. For example, my 3-year old son Samuel, AKA, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, developed a new routine which kills me, so he performs it for me all time now, where he walks away from me for a couple of feet, only for him to stop in his tracks and say “Wrong way.”  But everything about my kids growing up Koshertarian, feels like the right way to me. Mama is a pescatarian, so she can have all the buttered Lobster Rolls she wants, which are overrated, and way overpriced compared to more funk filled, personality loaded clam rolls in my book anyway.

Moving forward, I’ll continue to experiment and perfect my kosher chicken breast stir fry in a scallion, ginger based sauce and generate more yummy dances galore from my Mexican lasagna made with corn tortillas and homemade salsa to inspire my kids to follow my lead and assume more wholehearted ownership of their diet as they get older. So one day, if they decide to have kids, because I finally made it, resulting in mama and daddy not fighting as much anymore, our eventual grandchildren, wow that’s heavy, can grow up Koshertarian to.

So, for all those jowl jingly bearded hobbit hipsters in Bushwick, who identify as being non-religious Jews. Who are struggling to be fruitful and multiply because they’re being forced to pull out prematurely from excessive meat sweats. My message is clear. Come on man! And give the Koshertarian diet a chance.

Michael Kornbluth

Back To Hebrew School

Selling my 3 kids on Conservative Hebrew School today is a hard sell because they’ve grown up in the era of cloud-powered, commercial-free TV shows, where a drag on their time is the Internet going out again, prompting my kids to bemoan in collective unison, “Gevalt”, as if they just realized their egg and cheese order from the deli was served on a drab regular roll versus the expected, not supposed to specified for, standard Kaiser Roll instead. Once, my 5-year old son grew frustrated with our voice-powered assistant Cortona, not recognizing the Johnny Cash song he requested, “I’ve Been Everywhere”, to be exact, prompting him to yell with surging palpable, huffy disgust, “Cortona, you’re useless. Throw yourself out the window already.”

In order to draw attention away from all the various screen distractions which exist today, Conservative Hebrew Schools in America need a disruptive restructuring of their teaching style, which doesn’t sound so old world, Charlie Rose dronish. If they stand a shot at making the study of Torah, a wondrous, awe-inspiring, less obligatory, steady slog of mote memorization for sheer studying stake.  I propose the use of comedy, to achieve this purpose of making Hebrew School greater than any Simpsons on-demand episode on Hulu could ever offer.

Famous humorist Victor Borge said, “Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.” So I recommend Hebrew School teachers at Conservative Synagogues to start using comedy as an engagement tool to turn their students on to learning about all of our big deal biblical Jewish figures through using Internet speak like leading a classroom discussion on the best Jewish Prophets on Ranker for starters.  This past Saturday for my own version of Hebrew School, I got my son excited to learn more about his Hebrew name Jeremiah, by emphasizing the fact how Jeremiah is considered one of the major prophets in the Bible, which perked his interested immediately by just emphasizing the word, major. Especially, after pointing out how the Bible has minor prophets to, which are closer to supporting characters like Rob Schneider who serves the useful purpose of making Adam Sandler look like a major leading star in comparison, despite his perfected schlump star look.

I couldn’t even tell you the name of one of my Hebrew School Teachers at our Reformed Synagogue growing up, which is a shame like not learning in US History in the 8th grade how IBM developed technology that made it easier for the Nazi’s to identify European Jewry. Right now, IBM’s Watson Supercomputer is thinking, “No shit Sherlock.”

The only thing memorable about my reformed Hebrew School experience growing up was my friends from our school district in Edgemont, NY district feeling a tad tougher than the suburban softer Scarsdale kids in our class, because they’d throw endless streams of candy Nerds at Danny Farber from Scarsdale while never fearing any form of hardcore retaliation in return. The other way to make time pass by in Hebrew School was my friend Ari and I upstaging one another by writing new obscure Heavy Metal band names on our denim three ring year binders of yesteryear such as Danzig, Man O War and Overkill.

I’ve always been committed to raising my kids Jewish to ensure my cousins didn’t get exterminated in the Holocaust for nothing. I want my kids to live out dreams they never could as proud and loud, unapologetic Jews all the way. I refuse to be another slacker assimilator and allow the spirit of Judaism to die out in my family on my watch, in my quest to become more mensch like than the rest.

So, I’m assuming ownership of my kid’s conservative Hebrew school education this year during the year of Corona by relearning Hebrew while teaching my kids the holy language of kings for the 1st time in the process. I plan on making the teaching of Hebrew to my kids interesting and more stimulating than my Reformed Hebrew School past by tapping into my funny Jew bone and putting my imaginative powers to work by crafting short stories about made-up historical characters based on all the Hebrew letters such as Gimmel Be The Good. Gimmel Be Good being the nice Jewish boy who invented the dreidel gambling game to distract the Romans from their forbidden Torah studies during the hardcore Hellenization of Israel at the time.

When my 3 pitch-perfect, angelic, blemish-free children repeat the prayers in Hebrew for Shabbat after me, it brings tingles of unbridled joy down my spine. Because in this special glowed, light-filled moment, we become at one with the divine, which makes our sweet Jewish home, truly shine.

Michael Kornbluth

Kosher Klaus Sushi

Once upon a time there was a Kosher sushi chef prodigy Art Show USA who opened Kosher Klaus Sushi on Christmas Eve in 1994 before the Internet became mainstream and Asian elite Yelpers went hog wild.  Kosher Klaus Sushi was located in the heart of Scarsdale Village, which earned immediate rave reviews in the Scarsdale Inquirer from local food critic Debbie Wasserman, who described Art Show’s mind blowing specialty roll creations as “Orgasmic before they reach the back of your throat good.”  What made Art Show unique outside of his unmatched imaginative heft and juggling sushi knife work at the bar were his God given star powered looks, which commanded legions of groupie Yentas to schlep from the far reaches of Long Island to wait on line in the dead of winter to just catch a glance of the new age pretty boy bad ass Sushi Chef through the window, cranking out one swoon worthy, inhalatory Sushi specialty roll after the next, like his signature one, Living On The Edgemont Edge, which had smoked salmon, Cream Cheese, capers and caramelized shallots throughout to inject an extra special loaded lift.   

Every day, Art Show USA would sharpen his Sushi Knives together made from Israeli steel used in bullet proof vests made for their special force’s unit Mossad, which would woo, with sparkly, dazzling delight as patrons at the Kosher Klaus Sushi Bar gave impromptu standing ovations throughout.  Art Show USA was a 6 foot 4, spikey blond haired, blue eyed, lean, mean, Sushi slicing machine, who made Tom Cruise from the movie Cocktail look like a stumpy, homely hobbit hipster hack, in comparison, regardless if he kept his rolled up sleave button shirt, tucked in or not.   But one day, a bunch of rowdy Irish wiggers, entered Kosher Klaus Sushi to track down a hot yenta breath from Syosset, Long Island Rachel Weinstein, who rocked swinging, booby beauties, 36 D’s to be exact, who was also a solid 5 foot 9, making her mountable from behind standing up, assuming you weren’t a stumpy Irishman, unlucky in the height department.   Rachel was full lipped, Sephardic Persian tan busty beauty, even Roger Waters from Pink Floyd would pulverize her fetching snatch until he was comfortably numb.  The leader of the wigger Irish pack was Liam O’Reilly who sported a Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus, which scared off most, but not Art Show USA. Art Show USA was a black belt in Judo by the time he was 13 for his Bar Mitzvah. For Art Show’s Bar Mitzvah Party, he played Siamese Dream by the Smashing Pumpkins on the guitar with his feet and teeth.  So Art Show USA was never sweating the prospect of losing a fight or a girl to an Irish wigger moron from Long Island, who thought stamping a permanent Newport cigarette tattoo on his esophagus was a bright idea, regardless if it ensured him a truck driver job for Killan’s Red or not.

Liam and his crew of Irish wiggers came down from Long Island to start a fight with Art Show USA because they attended the same high school as Rachel Weinstein and only had eyes for inhaling her whole. Plus, they weren’t enthralled with the Rachel wearing an underground, circulated hoodie with a picture of Art Show USA on it, sporting an American flag bandana and star of David gold necklace around his neck, showcasing well earned, non-banking job related bling.  

Liam cuts the line with his Irish wigger posse and bursts into Kosher Klaus Sushi like Mark Wahlberg on the set of SNL after Andy Samberg did a sketch about Marky Mark talking to farm animals. Liam bum-rushes the sushi bar and says, “Hey, faggot. I’ll kick your ass right now, to show all your groupies what a pretty boy faggot, gay pussy bitch you are in real life.” Art Show ignores Liam’s Alpha Dog attack. Liam jumps over the sushi bar to strike. Art Show does a look away kick to middle of his forehead, which sends Liam flying into the ceiling fan, which knocks him out senseless. Art Show USA says, “Alexa, play Jump Around by House of Pain.” Kosher Klaus Sushi erupts into instantaneous jubilee, Jewish pride pounces the air, inspiring Rachel Weinstein to flash her tits at Art Show USA as the entire restaurant throws their gold necklaces with Stars of David’s on it in her general direction, in honor of all those sweet, harmless Jewish boys who were never taught to defend themselves like the Hebrew Hammer, Bugsy Siegal or Art Show USA.

The End

Michael Kornbluth