Servicing Boring

A candidate recently emailed me, “I’ve never had such a fun conversation about work.”

And this was through LinkedIn Recruiter, which isn’t synonymous with fun.

The LL Bean Catalog is fun.

Buying Houses of The Holy on Vinyl at Newbury Comics on a Friday afternoon after work at the Westchester Mall for only 30 bucks, it’s a steal trust me, is fun.

Your son admitting in the bubble that Led Zeppelin is his new favorite band over Motley Crue at 5 years old is fun.

Son says, “Daddy, Shout At That Devil was my favorite, but my new favorite is the one with the naked mermaids on the cover.”

Helping your daughter overcome her sleeping issues at 11 years old is fun.

“Matilda, I’ve got the perfect solution for your sleeping troubles. Have you ever heard of a channel called the BBC? Ted Talks might get the job done too.”

Later my daughter says, “Daddy, I saw one of the Ted Talks. Did you know that more people die from falling asleep at the wheel than from drunk driving”?

I say, “But Vince Mcmahon who only averages 3 hours a night for the past 4 decades and counting doesn’t care. Because he can afford to take the company limo instead.”

Presenting my daughter, a Squish-Mallow that resembles a sleeping Unicorn pig from Newbury Comics is fun.

I say, “This is only the sleep aid you need Matilda, but nice try Ted tries.”

Tonight, I spoke with a candidate about his interest in competitive weightlifting.

He laughed when I said, “Ok, so you’re not oiling yourself down at work.”

My youngest son asked his older brother, Arthur, “Who’s your favorite YouTuber?”

I felt a combination of cringy embarrassment and sucks to be you pity for his generation. But he’s only 5.

Plus, he’s way funnier than I’ll ever be.

Also, despite my assertions of every YouTuber sounding like a spurned intern for Reddit.

They’re still stimulating my son’s imagination, and making him laugh, which is more than Saved By The Bell ever did for my Gen X Generation.

Your Favorite YouTuber Personality is like your favorite Recruiter.

Neither take themselves too seriously.

Plus, they entertain, enlighten, and sell with fun filled relish.

I don’t know any of these Youtuber Personalities by name.

I’d like to think I’m still cooler than my kids.

Maya Angelou says, “People will always remember the way you make them feel.”

So, service fun I say.

I’d rather be remembered that way.

Servicing boring has a time and place.

But even accountants laugh.

I make them laugh all the time in my office.

I rest my case.

Ted tries.

But flashing subtitles on LinkedIn don’t make you laugh or rattle your insides.

Service fun over boring.

Be gratefully different.

Be overwhelmingly fun.

Like Jim Morrison on Morrison Hotel amongst the scattered sun.

Servicing fun is money honey.

I’m a knockout artist like Gene Tunney.

I swear your honor.

My next swing is a goner.

Just stop telling me how Brian Cranston is must-see TV Boomer.

Your cred is shot.

I’d rather jerk off to Laura Loomer.

Michael Kornbluth

Not Working LinkedIn 

I hate the #OPENTOWORK hashtag badge on LinkedIn.

It feels like white-collar panhandling.

It’s the worst networking innovation since Meetups for out-of-work Cup Scout leaders.

And who chose that puke moss green color?

It’s not an inviting sea foam green or handsome conjuring IVY.

It looks like some target sign that appears in Predator’s headset.

Plus, the dark olive-green badge drains your profile pic of all-electric edge.  

Slap that #OPENTOWORK badge on Gweneth Paltrow’s pic and still evokes stained Avocado pits.

Mug shots offer more color contrast.

It looks like a sign you wear around your head in Game of Thrones while having apple pits thrown at your head. Shame on you, LinkedIn, shame. 

Badges should scream earned respectability like one on a racehorse for winning the Derby.

Does the #OPENTOWORK badge feel like a prominent brand plug to you?

For me, it screams, please wait to swipe past my profile.

Good recruiters don’t need permission to make the 1st move on candidates. They’re not sweating the prospect of being charged with unwanted aggression through LinkedIn Recruiter. 

Also, if the candidate is out of work due to recent layoffs in the tech space, isn’t the #OPENTOWORK badge option rubbing it in?

If my future wife wore an #OPENTONEWLOVE badge on her shirt when I approached her on Barry Diller’s balcony, it would’ve stripped the moment of all spontaneous charged lift.

“Hi, I’m Joshua; I work for CitySearch. I couldn’t help but notice your #OPENTONEWLOVE badge on your shirt. In other words, yes to flirty.”

Yes, to flirty, Challah. Thank you very much.

Your Favorite Headhunter Writer, 

Joshua Kornbluth 

Happy Birthday Israel

Yesterday, I got a cake for the last night of Hanukkah. On it I had them write Happy Birthday Israel.

God appreciates the gesture, especially on Jesus Christ’s birthday. It’s not fair that God gets lop-sided love on Jesus’s birthday. Doesn’t the Old Testament guilt us to death into honoring thy father and mother? And all money shot good stems from God’s do it all tree trunk. Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

I don’t want God to feel like the sloppy second son on Jesus’s birthday. Nobody takes a week off from work for God’s birthday. And on Hannukah, practicing Jews left, honor Jewish pride in honor of God being on their side. I tell my kids, “The last night of Hanukkah celebrates faith in Hashem the Most-High for inspiring his band of Maccabees to fight for every inch of their great Temple defiled by those Greco Roman Polytheistic whores. King David’s line of cosmic perfectionists have more of a booty call relationship with God, who only call him up for some hook up love whenever they’re in the mood to pray. Assuming they have some bitcoin to short before the next crypto kid gives Bernie Madoff a good run for his money.” Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

God. the original old G prevails in my heart and in our Jewish loving home, which makes every day Hannukah Day. Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you much.

Gloomy in the corner is cheapness on Christmas. “Thanks for the socks, Bell. Now, I can postpone laundry for another week. And you wonder why my son wants to punch Santa hard in the stomach.”

Son confronts Santa at the mall.

“Where are my ice skates Santa? You don’t have my size in the North Pole? But I’m not any bigger than your average Elf. Plus, Biden would never pull this shit with Zelensky. Zelensky gets a blank check from Uncle Sam for Christmas. And all I get is half baked truths about you running out of my size due to supply chain issues. Now, I know why Hanukkah Harry calls Santa the real cheapskate. But thanks for the Fisher Price toy chest with no toys in it. I’ll fill it up with my eight thousand Hannukah gifts.”

Happy Birthday Israel, Challah. Thank you very much.

I don’t like kids in Steph Curry jersey’s, unless they’re mom won Miss Washington Heights.

Or was hot enough 5 years ago to charge the price of Hamilton Tickets for some high-end Chlamydia.

I only want kids from the Bay area sporting Steph Curry Jersey’s, because chances are; they’re not bandwagon fans.

And those mini ballers on the rise, know what’s it’s like to high step over shit throughout the streets for San Francisco.

When will Penn State Alumni realize how sporting their school colors in public is in poor taste?

There’s nothing vague about taking showers with disadvantaged black kids in the shower on Penn State grounds.

Paterno and crew failed to call cock block interference with the school’s integrity on the line.

So, to still wear your Penn State hoodie in public means you’re siding with the rape enablement, open borders party. It’s like whipping around a ladle on Halloween used from a spirt cooking class taught at 92 street Y, signed by Hillary Hammer Time Cankles.

Is wearing a Penn State Windbreaker to Cracker Barrel after Church on a lazy Sunday afternoon equivalent to blitzing Fat Albert from behind? After he’s already weak in the knees from wind sprints for Kit, Kat’s, no.

I hate to be excessively judgmental on Jesus’s birthday. But I’d chuck the Penn State hoodie already. Would you wear a priest collar in public if you didn’t have to?

Fuck the MAGA hat, the Penn State hat is the real symbol of white supremacy. Those poor black kids who got felt up in the shower by Sandusky didn’t get paid like the Neverland kids. The judge awarded 52 million to those victim’s families. And that was after the parents got paid hush money with green cards, houses and diamond encrusted bracelets. Those Neverland white kids got a splashy doc on HBO with big billboards on Times Square throughout Fake News Black History Month. What did Sandusky’s victims get? Stiff arm talk from Al Pacino while playing Joe Paterno on HBO?

“Those kids never had so it good. At least those kids had a strong male role model around who took an interest them for change.”

Then, during one take Pacino slips into his coach character from Any Given Sunday after having one too many spritzers in trailer between takes.

Pacino screams.

“You want to climb out of hell, then fight off that inchworm kid. But Joe Pa don’t preach.”

Happy Birthday Israel, Challah!

Thanks for a glorious Hanukkah year Lord, very, very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Mitzvah Moves

It’s your fault if you don’t make Hanukkah more festive than Christmas. I get it. Most likely Jesus himself who celebrated Hanukkah with his apostles, even invented Christmas to make the holiday season feel more festive. When the strongest drink offered was Manischewitz before eggnog was invented. Spinning Beastie Boys records while blaring Intergalactic planetary to honor the Aliens in helping his fellow Hebrews build the Great Pyramids wasn’t a thing yet. Can’t all the Jews, Muslims and Christians unite on the 1st night of Hanukkah on the premise behind Home Depot never being erected in the Israelites’ honor? Growing up, I’d push my dad to honor my mom’s Christian side after she converted. I say, “Dad, mom dumped Jesus to marry into your putzy DNA. The least you can do is let mom throw up a tree. Dad says, “The only time a Jew from the Bronx would get a Christmas Tree is if he planned to convert it into a tricked-out Treehouse and flip it for a profit.”

Finally, one year, my year my dad budges and allows my mom this pathetic, sorry excuse for a bonsai tree relegated to the side patio covered in cobwebs that got less touches than a St. James Bible at a bath house colony in Pronvincetown. But seriously, can’t you see Jesus recognizing the festive limitations of Hannukah after receiving one carved dreidel too many? Jesus says, “Thanks for the Dreidel, Judas. I’m glad that my carpentry session on dreidel building 101 at The 92 Street Y paid off so handsomely. But why don’t we make Channukah a more drawn-out celebration that’s ten times festive by celebrating my birthday for the entire month of December after Hannukah.”

Matthew says, “Yeah, but Jesus wouldn’t Hannukah then be considered a forgettable warm up act, that gives you blue balls just thinking about it.  You were born by immaculate conception, right? Yet by the time your 4 brothers James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon were born, the magic was gone baby gone.”

Jesus replies, “Yeah, but I had a vision in the desert last night about a future comedian named Billy Crystal bemoaning in his autobiography, Baby Boomer Arrogance Never Dies, about how Jews bend over backwards to adopt Christmas traditions, so they don’t feel so old world clingy Jewy.  Nobody cares anymore about the rocking band of Maccabees reclaiming the Great Temple of Solomon because they’re not the polytheistic whores like the rest. Taylor Swift is the number recording artists in the future, and she grew up on a Christmas Tree farm for Christ’s sake.” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles strikes again, Challah. Thank you very much.

Matthew asks, “What’s a Christmas Tree Jesus? “Jesus says, “A camouflaged cross, but it’s going to be tricked out in lights that run on electricity, which will outshine any burn a mile of minute candles on a Menorah.  Any Jewish record executive would jam a pinecone up their ass if they promised Taylor Swift more inclusiveness gayness spirit to be produced on her next Christmas album.

Now, I used to get very tense about the mention of Jesus, but not anymore, since my invention of a new tradition, Jesus Fridays, which allows me to break my Koshertarian diet of the past 2 years and counting. Understand, I’ve been following the Koshertarian Diet for 2 years now. Finally, I’ve allowed myself the inclusion of shellfish for a special occasion because who cares about eating soulless shellfish? Plus, Jesus, the original super Jew rocked the Pescatarian diet. So, if it’s good enough for Jesus, then it’s good enough for me. I also like the idea of acting less like an all-knowing exalted prick. And celebrating Jesus Fridays inspires me to connect with my fellow Gentile like a retired fireman who runs the best deli in Westchester in North White Plains. Outside my new office, after just resurrecting my IT Headhunter Writer career. Where I’m getting paid to creatively sell job opportunities for Software Engineers, digital designers, and Information Technology workers in general, whose job prospects have more legs than Lieutenant Dan. I like Jesus Fridays because it divorces me from perpetuating any messianic complex of my own, which screams, the original version of the Bible is better than second part that I’ve barely dabbled in for the most part. And I’m tired of being that old timer Gen X guy that just bemoans new age Simpsons episodes as woke filler compared to season 1 through 7 without even dabbling in the newer versions to make any ultra judgy informed decisions of my own. Like when I saw Juno, ages ago and got angry about how everyone was hailing the hardcore hilarity of it, when I saw Juno as nothing more than a poor girls’ Jeanne Garafalo. I wrote a blog about the movie being overhyped, yet I told myself afterwards, don’t be a critic, hack breath like the rest. It’s way better to originate, then merely pontificate. So, I wrote mini porn parody that I turned into my 1st screenplay, Juno Does Williamsburg, later named Brooklyn Blogger. Edgeless titles suck pinecone dick, Challah. Thank you very much.

At the same time, I’ve worn Jewish pride on my sleave for the past 5 years and change as host of the Do It All Dad Year Podcast, responsible for banging out comedy records such as Big Mouth Moses, Koshertarian Offensive, and the Pig-Headed Jew, Challah. Thank you very much. I’ve also written and published The Great American Jew Novel, which Diane Sullivan from the Midwest Book Review described as a “Hilarious exploration of New York Comedy and Culture.” Which proves that my material wasn’t too overtly Jewy pushy annoying for the Heartland’s tastes. And for the past 2 months, I’ve renamed my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, the Shabat Shalom Ramble, in honor of my dad accusing me of never being on point, despite him proclaiming 5 years ago before I launched my podcast, how nobody cares about my political opinions anyway, 45 thousand page views on my Do It All Dad Year blog later.

 Well, I haven’t read the news since Dominion Machines won. And I don’t see Kari Lake recruiting Linda Hamilton as her VP to take down the new Sky Net For good. Plus, how much more can we stomach talk of Alex Jones being bad Santa versus John Fetterman being a burnt out offering of the Democratic party who looks like the Good Will Grinch who showers in Bong Water. So, more than ever 3 million Jews in the US, according to Alexa, which is most likely an inflated claim, like Antifa still being nothing more than an idea in Patton Oswalt graphic novels, about a gang of wannabe Punisher vigilantes, in hoodies, could use some miraculous ways to modernize Hannukah and make it more festive than Christmas than Google ever would. Because I want other Jewish American Dads to derive extended Nachas from pronounced Jewish pride from their offspring when they proclaim to Daddy how they get butterflies in their stomach every day before each night of Hanukah begins, which was the opposite of my experience growing up. Getting a Pinball Machine one tear one year for Hannukah was unbelievable, despite being woken up every night prior to Hannukah because dad couldn’t resist the urge to play with it himself and break it in personally. Which made my younger brother and I believe that Aliens from Space Invaders were raining Gama Rays on top of our house eight nights prior to Hannukah because my dad was making his best Hannukah gift all about his own self-enrichment over ours. Still, my dad was raised an only child, so you can’t blame him for occupying his inner loneliness in his forties the week before Hanukah, because playing Dreidel by himself, gets played out faster than trying jerk off with your left in honor of shortest-lived New Year’s resolution yet. Which only leads to more played out blue ball’s devastation. So, here’s 8 ways to start making Hannukah more festive than Christmas. There are 14 million Jews worldwide. So, if this post goes viral, my Hannukah wish of 8 million butterflies can come true. And you can’t knock the miracle of mitzvah moves, Challah. Thank you very much.

  1. Understand, I haven’t collected paychecks in 8 whole years till this past December after resuming my IT Headhunter Career, where I can drop lines like, “Michael Kornbluth here, Recruiting Manager for Digital Unicorns USA. With a last name like Kornbluth, I specialize in mind control, in Kayne’s mind. So, when my wife tells me, “Don’t get carried away with getting the kids gifts this year for Hannukah.” I fire back with, “New tradition kids, when you get 3 Big Kahuna gifts on the 1st night of Hannukah. You each declare loud and proud, “Hannukah Hatrick, Challah” I add, “So, in this instance, go woke yourself babe, Gentile Grinch.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  2. 2nd way to make Hanukkah more festive is to start the tradition of Hannukah Halloween. And force your son to dress up like Van Halen with a pack of candy cigarettes in hand. Who cares if your mini air guitar appendage looks like an overdose at the limelight waiting to happen. Party Monster spirits live, Challah. Thank you very much.
  3. 3rd way to make Channukah more festive is to play Dreidel for Bitcoin versus more fake news Gelt. But explain the rules in humorous ways. For example, when the dreidel lands on Hey, you sing, “Hey, hey Paula, I want to marry you. Now give me half and full custody of the kids. I don’t want you coughing your natural immunity all our kids anymore, you anti-vaxer piece of shit.” Challah, thank you very much. Shin, means put it in, think Cardi B on a slow Tuesday. Nun, means nothing, goonish. Remember our routine at the Deli Matilda, when you could only put 2 words together? What did Tyson Chandler give the Knicks Daddy? And you’d say,” Bookpus, Boopku. And Gimmel means, give me everything because we control all the blockchain technology, Federal Reserve and all the banks in the North Pole too. Son says, “Samuel, don’t even think of stealing my bitcoin, or I’ll sell your pure blood on the Dark Web along with your vintage Cobra Commander with the blue mask and eyes holes in it that looks like Gung Ho’s bottom bitch in Robot Chicken remake of Pulp Fiction.” 8 million butterflies Challah, thank you very much.
  4. 4th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to play the Adam Sandler Channukah song on Vinyl backwards only to hear the latest and greatest chorus addition, “Linda Sarsour, not a fan.” Challah. Thank you very much.
  5. 5th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to Jewish guilt Software Engineers at Amazon into seriously questioning the state of their moral compass by sending them LinkedIn Inn-Mail messages through LinkedIn Recruiter that read, “Tell Bezos to make the Hebrew Hammer available on Amazon prime already despite Florida and antisemitism being so hot right now.” 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  6. 6th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to sign your kids up for art classes that teach your kids how make masked morons made out of clay for fuck the CDC day. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  7. 7th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas, permit your kids the freedom to pile drive mommy’s white Guido, non-denominational tree while dressed as Mr. Wonderful for Channukah Halloween instead. 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.
  8. 8th way to make Hannukah more festive than Christmas is to launch your Burning Mask Party already, for eight glorious nights while throwing some of mama’s Gnomes on top because they look like Santa’s burn out Trust Fund Babies on Social Security. What’s another burnout offering after making Goodwill Grinch Fetterman the new face of the Democratic Party. So, what difference does it make? 8 million butterflies, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Top 10 New Work Intros

  1. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. Consider me a less annoying matchmaker than Kris Jenner or the sloppy third Kardashian sister.
  2. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m like Match.com without the doctored photo. It’s not how you met but who you meet, that matters, right?
  3. Joshua Kornbluth, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m a professional flirt for a living. Think Vince Vaughn in Swingers minus the SAG card.
  4. Joshua Kornbluth calling. Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I’m a poor man’s Tony Robbins who doesn’t overcharge for my life coaching expertise.
  5. Joshua Kornbluth here, Recruitment Manager for the Human Edge. I bring dead resumes to life like an EMT worker who moonlights as Dr. Frankenstein on LinkedIn Pulse.
  6. Joshua Kornbluth here, I’m a Recruiter for the Human Edge. I’m not an edgeless putz or else I’d still working for Robert Half.
  7. Joshua Kornbluth here, I’m an IT recruiter who specializes in mind control in Kayne’s mind.
  8. Joshua Kornbluth here. I’m an IT recruiter whose been talent hooking since Y2K. So, I wasn’t born with a vape pen in my mouth yesterday.
  9. Joshua Kornbluth here. Before I launched my IT staffing career. I worked as the number one assistant for Moses. Because I didn’t complain about my developing carpel tunnel after transcribing the Torah into stone.
  10. Hi Mary, Joshua Kornbluth here. I’m an IT Recruiter who wrote The Great American Jew Novel. So, you know I’m not your middle of the road schmuck in a headset either.

Michael Kornbluth

Qatar Rocks

Can I move to Qatar? You don’t have to worry about getting your Android phone rammed up your anus hole outside of Grand Central at 2 in the morning. Then again, it’s my year without beer, so I wouldn’t be in a desperate dash to catch the last train heading back to Westchester.

Thug Lives Matter Most knocks out the lushy, disgruntled ad executive for Ogilvy and Mather with just one viscous right hook to the ground. Ad Executive crunched up on the sidewalk in noggin swelling agony says, “I can hook you up with a SAG card you know. Our biggest account is Optimum. All you need is proof of vaccination, and I’ll hook you up with commercial work for them. J.B. Smoove makes Tracy Morgan sound like Sidney Poitier.”

Thug Lives Matter kicks his teeth into the pavement and says, “Fuck Optimum, they won’t let me watch individual Knicks games on NBA TV in Yorktown Heights unless I subscribe to Optimum or get MSG through Direct TV. And I only do the Cloud motherfucker. Kayne for President, you media hording heeb. And fuck your Truvada commercials on Hulu. I don’t want to see that whack ass gay shit while babysitting my sister’s son during commercial breaks after Lego Masters. With no bail laws you can’t be in jail long enough to get HIV induced hemorrhaging now. It doesn’t matter if I sell dimes or bricks of H. “

So, you can’t tongue some random bloke’s balls during a match between Mexico and Poland during the World Cup. Aren’t those games standing room only anyway? Plus, what self-respecting gay guy would book a trip to Qatar after watching the Sex In The City movie, blotchy old hags on the rag with nothing else better to do since the United Arab Emirates and China bought up all the primo posh real estate left in Manhattan that’s skunk weed smell proof. Outside of those apartheid imperialists in charge of Israel, isn’t being gay the number one cause of death in the Middle East after suicide bombing and heart attacks from rock throwing paralysis after getting booster shots in exchange for more nudie pics of Jennifer Love Hewitt in the dressing room lot for Disney Kids coupled with Brittney Spears sandy clean snatch. Singing summer loving, having a blast till his good rock throwing arm goes limp from the clot shot and has to switch jerking with his left, assuming he’s got any juice left or decides to become a kite surf instructor for John Kerry and his new world order friends to pump that family fortune for all its worth.

Michael Kornbluth

The Mustard House Is For Sale

Once upon a time, in 1903, there was a Stay-At-Home dad, Bukowski Kornbluth, who lived in the derided Mustard House within the hamlet of Croton Falls, NY, forty miles north of the original Yankee stadium known as Hilltop Park in Washington Heights. This was before it became a cocaine pickup haven for suburban kids in the eighties throughout Westchester Country, who required more stimulation that what the leafy suburbs and colonial house-populated streets offered, knowing that the only thing getting blown on a regular basis, there, were leaves.  

            Every day, Bukowski Kornbluth would stare at his newborn son Arthur and bemoan, “I can’t believe Hasbro rejected my game Condiment Land and chose Candy Land, those anti-Semite bastards.”  

            Before, Bukowski Kornbluth had worked as a shoeshine boy outside of Grand Central, making enough to live off Hebrew National dogs. But that was it. Now he was developing a stomach ulcer at ripe old age of 25, and was married to an Irish nurse, Chloe Duffy, whom he got pregnant by mistake (because pulling out on time was physically impossible, knowing that Bukowski Kornbluth blew his load in 1.1 seconds flat).

            After Chole Duffy’s prominent fireman lieutenant dad died, she inherited some money and made a down payment on the Mustard House, while using her collection of rare Irish whiskies that her father collected (tracing all the way back to Rob Roy times) for collateral because Bukowski Kornbluth was still so broke, his Hebrew name was under judicial review.

            Even during his shoe-shining days, Bukowski had dreams of becoming a professional songwriter, because growing up in a cramped tenement on the Lower East Side with nine other siblings, it was the radio which filled him with dreamy, big city success wonder. This made going to sleep still hungry again a tad more tolerable, knowing that his dad’s career as a pickle sales rep for Kosher Dill Delights wasn’t getting them a townhouse on Park Avenue anytime soon, either.

            Now, more than anything, Bukowski Kornbluth wanted to write a better song than ‘The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous’, to take him out of his Mustard House jail so he could finally enjoy some bright lights and big city success for himself.

            But one day, things changed when Bukowski had the radio on at home to hear the Yankees play, after he started throwing Cracker Jacks at his newborn son Arthur because he was hungover from drinking too many Rob Roys alone; because his nurse wife worked nights and he was stuck at home with his son again on Shabbat, with nowhere else to go but down self-pity lane (which was getting tiresome and beyond boring at this point in his life).

            Growing up in the Lower East Side, Bukowski Kornbluth was a solid stick ball hitter, which earned him the nickname Yard Blaster (which certainly beat the nickname his putz prone, younger brother earned on those same streets, Trips on Curbs).

            What if, instead of writing songs about ex-loves and depleted dreams, Bukowski Kornbluth could refocus his attention on baseball and dreams of being a big shot at the ball game for a much cheerier, less depressingly dreary change of pace? 

            Bukowski Kornbluth continues to pelt his son with more Cracker Jacks, yelling, “Duck! Cracker Jack attack!” Then an idea ẻmerges, and Bukowski Kornbluth says, “I finally got it this time, kid. I’ll write a song about going to the ballgame for anything except more fucking hotdogs, to remind me of this damn Mustard House.

            “But what if the object of universal interest I focus my song on is Cracker Jacks?

            “Old Bet, the famous circus elephant, was buried ín nearby Sommers outside the famed Elephant Hotel, so I’ll write about grabbing some peanuts at the ball game in his honor, too. There’s no reason why I can’t write a hit song about America’s favorite pastime and pigging out at the ball game. It’s a home run, kid.

            “Where can I find a pencil? Arthur, give me those crayons, if you haven’t eaten them up already.

            “Despite me being miserable about being an unemployed Stay At Home Dad out in the sticks, it doesn’t mean I love you any less, Arthur. But Stay At Home Dads can’t survive unless they have something grander to aim for in life besides being a loving, proud dad; and this is my last shot to hit one out of the park, kid.

            “Never stop swinging hard for the fences, Arthur. You’re an all-American slugger like Daddy. I can feel it in you just by the way you made me partially deaf from smacking me in the ear with your rattle, once.”  

            Bukowski Kornbluth wrote ‘Take Me Out To The Ball Game’ as his son Arthur finally got to sleep in a pool of his own Cracker Jack vomit.            One year later, Bukowski Kornbluth got introduced at Yankee Stadium (then known as Hilltop Stadium) and waved his Yankee hat to all the adoring fans in attendance, raining down hollering praise for the man who wrote the official father/son bonding anthem for baseball games in America.

            Now his son Arthur pulls on his dad’s leg as the cheers grow even more vociferous for the Do It All Dad done good, and says, “I got a Honus Wagner rookie card, Dad.”  

            Bukowski Kornbluth says, “Stop ruining the moment, kid. They just sell you the cards for free gum.”

            Arthur says, “I think it will be worth something someday, Dad. Also, can you remind me why I can’t stomach the idea of eating another Cracker Jack, again?”

Michael Kornbluth

The Zamboni Artist

“No friendship is an accident.”

O. Henry

If a husband googles an ex-girlfriend 3 kids later, does it mean he’s officially divorced from great expectations at home? At the same time, what man isn’t guilty of reflecting fondly on spoiled summers past? Especially, when you’ve had to suck up another frigid east coast winter in the face of permanent career stagnation suckitude again. The same winter and so-called comedy career that felt colder than Harvey Weinstein’s old casting couch at the 4 Seasons when you’re not laughing all the way to the bank yet. But at least, Harvey Weinstein’s wife of the past 12 years finally left him, to focus on her lifetime battle with amnesia. Now, Solomon Kornbluth, a proud stay at home podcast comedian was on thin ice with his wife of 12 years for failing to make any money off his sheets of comedy gold, despite him urging his accountant to write off such an awe inspiring, sparkly array of A plus gemry dissemination on his Do It All Dad Time Blog and Do It All Dad Time Podcast as a generous charitable donation. What 45-year-old non-industry represented, so called Comedian Solomon Kornbluth wanted was a win, but not just any win, like getting another comedy record Mega Dumb Daddy reposted on Soundcloud again by some random, faceless music promo service, but an actual trophy, symbolizing how in this instance Solomon Kornbluth was best of the rest.

Solomon Kornbluth had won some awards in the past, but they weren’t a result of superior mental toughness, sustained physical dominance or a result of outperforming his competition for number 1 champion bragging rights either. Winning Most Improved Basketball player at Sleep Away Camp was an incredibly moving moment for Solomon Kornbluth because despite not knowing the full extent of it yet, he was an overly sensitive, lonely, shy, nerve plagued fag, who blew off Canteen mixers with the fellow female camp members to shoot hoop and read his Cracked comics in bed alone instead after cranking one out to freckle face specked Alicia Rody, a counselor for the female camp who wore University Maryland boxer shorts, creeping up her supple, spry ass as Dice would say back in the day. And her mountainous cleavage formation was a thing of immovable, feast worthy beauty as those gorgeous melons dangled like luscious lobes of mouth drooling inducing perfection. Ok, so maybe Solomon Kornbluth wasn’t 100 percent gay yet, especially knowing how a fellow bunkmate tried to shame him once for owning a jar of Vaseline while having no idea what that meant. Bunkmate Jordan from New Jersey says in a crackling, just a day over puberty voice, “What do you need that Vaseline for Solomon?” And Solomon says, “I don’t know, for an itchy ass. My mom packed it for me.” Bunkmate Jordan laughs in a slightly demented, pseudo bellowing manner and says, “You can’t blame your mom for being a fudge packer dude.”

Later, on his Do It All Dad Year podcast, Solomon Kornbluth would do a routine about Sex-Ed in Sleepaway Camp throughout the late eighties before Magic made HIV disappear. He says, “Do 3rd graders today really need to know about scented lubes after using good old-fashioned Vaseline became passe already? When I was 13-year-olds at Sleepaway Camp, but still not into the puberty party yet, one of my bunkmates gay shamed me for my mom packing me Vaseline yet I still didn’t get gay lube joke connotations used at my expense till watching shemale porn decades later on 3rd Legged Beauties.com, if you really to know. It’s hard to develop any surge of self-esteem at Sleepaway camp, when you’re the 2nd worst athlete there after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck in yenta breath Seinfeld country. Seinfeld otherwise known as the “Joke Doctor”, just auctioned off one of his vintage Porsche’s for Charity. I hope half of those proceeds went to Larry’s kids. I also don’t want Seinfeld smirking for at least 5 years till he gives us a semi-credible excuse on being completely oblivious to Bill Cosby’s 4-decade reign of rape throughout fantastic LA, up high in those Hollywood drugging hills. Where were your powers of observation, then, Jerry? Also, why isn’t Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame already? They were already Hall of Fame bound when I used to collect their cards at camp. Plus, if I took HGH, Testosterone shots or any form of performing enhancing drugs at Sleep Away Camp, I just would’ve struck out at a more accelerated speed.”

Solomon Kornbluth never got into collecting hockey cards until his friend Jared got him into the NY Rangers in 93, encouraging him to buy all the hockey cards he could so he could snag an Eric Lindros rookie card of his own, bound to be worth big money one day, who was being hyped as the new great one post Gretzky, who had a bigger mark on his back than Trump did after he triggered the Swamp with fits of despair for relegating good old Jeb Bush to another low energy, halfwit hack for hire like the rest. Solomon Kornbluth targeted Laura Bush in his debut comedy album Resist This when he said, “Fuck Laura Bush for thinking the world gives a shit about her memoir, Texas Librarians Know Best.” At least, Hillary Hammer Time Cankles was willing to get rich or die trying bitch. And this is an impression of Stevie Nicks backstage at MSG, “Hillary, tell me lies, only sweet little lies. Versus humongous bitter ones, like how you lost to Trump because of Russian collusion, involving fantasy tales of Drago Holograms emerging in your voting booth only to threaten you with impossible to ignore ultimatums like, “Vote Trump or I’ll break you.” I thought you lost to Trump because you’re an unhuggable cunt, my bad. You must have deleted that memo to Hillary. And why would Trump hire 2 Russian hookers to pee on him at a hotel in Moscow, when he can hire a bunch of Ivanka look-alikes to do the same thing at his hotel in D.C whenever pussy grabber likes?”

One time Solomon and Jared got caught shoplifting Hockey Cards at Child World, yet the security guard let them off with an ominous warning, when he said, “I’m going let you 2 go, but understand the only reason I caught you 2 was because you came back to steal again and got greedy.” This damning, ominous indictment of greedy self-serving behavior always stayed with Solomon Kornbluth who obviously didn’t pay homage to the commandment Thou Shall Not Steal one iota for some time after. Even his younger brother shamed him into stop stealing Turkey Jerky at Gelson’s as the ultimate Shishy bitch life enhancer back in the day. Little bro says,” “Never steal, it’s wrong bro.” And this is years after his younger brother, AKA. Sir Snort A Lot, was caught on a security camera stealing thousands from his parents ATM to buy more blow at 13 years old in Washington Heights from Julio Silver Blade The 3, which resulted in his parents shipping him off to boarding school with a bunch Jew picking on Hocky jocks in Avon, CT, which wasn’t really thought through on their part. So, Solomon Kornbluth knew what a steep price his parents had to pay for his younger brother’s crimes of incessant, serially serving selfishness like a pseudo slacker underachiever Hunter in the making, who never had the privilege of being able to collect 52 grand a month from a Ukrainian sports drink company for pushing Borscht as the new Kombucha.

One day Solomon Kornbluth got burnt out on making the world laugh for free on his Do It All Dad Time Podcast again and went to the local hockey rink for a cheap Happy Hour special and was greeted by an Italian bartender, Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, who’s known to stir memories of ex-girlfriend’s past. Vinnie notices how Solomon Kornbluth is a tad low energy, hunched over his phone without much fiery glint in his eyes. Vinnie says, “Is that IPA stale champ?” Do you want something a tad lighter that’s more poundable like any yenta breath from Long Island on Spring Break.” Solomon Kornbluth laughs and asks, “What’s your story? Bartenders never make me laugh, unless they’re sporting a winter wool hat in summer.” Vinnie says “I’m Vinnie Zamboni the 2nd, my great, great, grandfather invented the Zamboni machine. I do the light shows for the hockey rink. My Zamboni driving days are behind me, cool job though when your 16. I plowed my fair of share of ice queen boxes on top of that puss plower machine. Solomon says, “What type of light shows do you produce? The one at Hayden Planetarium is boring, I felt asleep 2 minutes into it. Daughter woke me with a sharp elbow in my ribs and I yell, “What, God only made Neil Grase Dyson interesting for 2-minute spurts at a time.” Vinnie Zamboni The 2nd laughs and says, “You’re a pretty funny guy yourself. So, what’s bringing you down champ?” Solomon Kornbluth says, “Just longing for some fun in the sun again, 2 unplanned kids later. That’s what I get for being a degenerate pothead who keeps on forgetting to ask his girl if she’s on the pill. What’s bringing me down is realizing how I’m getting bored of my kid’s company and need to get back on stage again. Plus, my pinched nerve in my back is killing me since my wife forced me to see a Hate Speech Therapist since I stopped taking Adderall to focus less on how ahead of the curve annoying my wife can be after droppings lines such as, “I’ve sacrificed. She acts like an aspiring comedian in his early thirties wanted kids ever. I’m doing a Google search for a chiropractor, and I end up finding my ex in Hawaii who I met when I used to live in Hermosa Beach. How could I ever forget Summer King beyond those Hermosa skies? Then, I googled a comedy festival in Hawaii, but realized it’s been canceled because of this COVID damage done bullshit, so it got me down because I know I can win it. The only awards I ever won was Grooviest my Senior Year in High School and Most Improved Basketball Player at Sleep Away Camp. I was also wined and dined after leading my IT agency sales office in billing one month and got to party it up in the Sunset Room in fantastic LA once but that’s it. But I want to win that comedy festival and blast off away in my comedy gold mobile wave runner, which nobody will ever be able to take away from me. George Gershwin lives, Challah, thank you very much. If I can’t afford to get my son the SS Flag GI-Joe Aircraft Carrier for Hanukkah, at least I can let him ride my comedy gold mobile wave runner. How much would gas cost to ride that wave runner back to New York exactly? I’m still so broke, my Hebrew name is under Judicial Review.”

Vinnie says, “So I produce light shows flush with holograms of hocky legends both dead and new like Bobby Hull, The Mighty Messier, and reenact legendary fights like when Ty Domi fought Bob Probert in 94, when he poses with the belt around his waist, boy were those the days, pre-social media, before you had to hear lines on kids shows about some character being the Lebron James of stem cell research. What the fuck does that even mean? Is he a celeb Scientist that has his own brand of tequila spiked umbilical cord stump smoothies that he sold to Bill Gates for a cool 500 million or what? Can you believe kids today get Beyond Meat tattoos around these parts? I freelance as a Tattoo artist for my brother’s Tat Parlor in Danbury, CT called Body Art USA.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “I’ve been telling my local Pizza owner Frank to make an artichoke slice using an alfredo cream sauce, versus just a boring white slice with flaccid, deathly off-white artichokes on it, that will inspire hipsters from Bushwick to make the schlep down to these parts just to Yelp all about it. Plus, I’m getting pissed about Bill Gate’s equestrian riding daughter already owning half the real estate in North Salem already. So, I love the idea of Frank being able to grab a meatier slice of that synthetic pea protein, beyond meat pie.” Vinnie says, “So whatever happened to your Summer Wind? Solomon says, “She smiled at me one day with her soul blasting eyes that screamed I love you, and for some strange reason, my eyes didn’t love her back. One time she died her blond, when I took her out to meet up with a friend of mine in Napa and everyone thought she was a high-end prostitute, because she dressed real classy sexy with the tight dress, creeping up her ass. I loved kissing Summer King. We’d do weed shotgun kisses together, which were the best. We made veal piccata while watching the Soprano’s together, drank Pyramid peach beers by Hermosa Beach and nobody sported prettier feet in the sand than Summer King. Vinnie says, “Summer sounds like a real trophy wife material.” Solomon says, “Yeah, she even said, “Why don’t we move to Santa Barbara so I could write books and she could day trade to make us money for the time being. Boy, did I fuck that one up. Vinnie says, “I hate to bring you down more than you already are Champ, but you’re right.”

Solomon Kornbluth says, “Summer liked Metallica, Wu Tang, the Sopranos and loved everything about me. She thought I could be a big-time writer just from reading my Friends spec script for Christ’s sake. Vinnie says, “I already told you fucked up bro. I’m known as the ex-girlfriend stirrer but you’re just progressively pissing me off for being such a dumb fuck for expunging her from your life jerkoff. You don’t think I want to kick back in the sand with a hot Asian gal from Hawaii in pebble free Hermosa Beach with a gal named Summer King no less for Christ’s sake? I had to suck up summers in an ocean full of seashells and fucking nets of seaweed in Norwalk, CT for Christ’s sake. Plus, my brother owns this rink and its our family tradition to keep it family operated. You’re a little old for it, but do you want a job riding a Zamboni? We’re already running around in circles, so why not take your sad sack sob story around the ice for a couple of laps because you’re bringing me down and enraging me at the same time. I’m paraphrasing but Mark Twain said writers write interesting stories who’ve possessed a series of interesting, varied jobs, so why not a give the Zamboni driver job a shot champ? You obviously have nothing else better to do with your time on a Sunday, ultra-wise King Solomon you’re not.”

Solomon Kornbluth took the job and smoothed over the rough patches with his wife at home before being promoted to chief Zamboni manager, who worked on his MC skills as the host of a weekly Karaoke night, rocking out renditions of Baba O’Riley with real deal star powered authority. Then, one year later, Solomon Kornbluth got his trophy and won the Aloha Comedy Festival, coming in 1st place and was able to take his wife, and mother of 3 children for endless, killer spins in his new comedy gold wave runner mobile for one memory rich victory lap after the next after delivering a killer set for the ages that was made for these times.

Solomon Kornbluth Kills

“It’s hard to keep cool when your kids were forced to wear masks like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain.”

“If Michael Jackson were alive today, how would he defend himself against all his Neverland accusers exactly? Would the King of Popping cherries say, “All the Beatles royalty points in the world, can’t buy me love?”

“Anyone try Snoop Dog’s new wine? According to Wine Advocate, it tastes like mouth wash used in porn hood hell”

“Actually, gave up drinking beer last summer. It got humiliating spending so much time, hungover, recycling, endless reminders of my lush, littered past, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.”

“Did you know 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday? I haven’t felt this betrayed since Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.”

“I stopped smoking weed till I discovered weed edibles, which are half CBD because I felt like a total moron trying to answer my daughter’s questions on the pure sticky stuff. Daughter asks, “Daddy if God created the universe, then who created God? I say, “God went back in time in a Time Machine made by Elon Musk. Daughter says, “Do more edibles Daddy. Thanks for making me an Atheist at 4.”

“This is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Time Magazine. Reporters says, “Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t ganja drain your ball sack dry? Ziggy Marely says, “Fake news, MAN.”

“And if Obama is such a baller, why did he ride the bench at an all-Asian private school in Hawaii?”

“What if Bob Marley became President of the United States, so Obama didn’t have to? For starters, there’s no more trouble and it’d be a punky reggae party tonight and we’d be jamming in the name of the Lord, not in honor of Allah’s Gangster ruining paradise, especially since the hopeful one rebranded ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more start up friendly in the NY Times.”

“And ISIS Headhunters aren’t good recruiters. All they do is target other lonely virgins on Face Book Messenger like Good Will Hoodie/AKA Zit Face Zuck, who wish their phones blew up.”

“But how did killing the number 2 in charge of ISIS make it easier for ISIS to recruit? Like the head of recruitment for ISIS would ever honor a non-compete agreement with Al-Qaeda”

“And why are radical jihadists so into deflowering virgins in Allah’s hymen hacking Paradise? Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already”

Solomon Kornbluth was later blown up into smithereens on his Comedy Gold Mobile Wave Runner in the Red Sea by Hamas terrorists after headlining a comedy tour there called, “Solomon Kornbluth Kills”, because a 2-state solution is impossible if Hamas keeps fucking. Still, what’s better than a 1st place Trophy is a new award in your honor, given every year at the Standing O Laughs Festival in Haifa called the Killer Set Kornbluth Award, which honors the most hardcore hilarious comedian who exhibited the most fearless, killer shtick from start to finish. All 3 of Solomon’s killer Koshertarian Comedian kids won the Killer Set Kornbluth Award in their dear dada’s honor. So comedic royalty in the mold of King Solomon Kornbluth did live through Do It All Dad’s big three after all.

And Solomon Kornbluth had his new Zamboni Artist friend to thank for his victory laps in his custom made, stretched Comedy Gold Wave Runner Mobile with his 3 biggest fans in the universe as they squeezed on to their dear dada with all their loving might. The same home team who always stood by his side, especially when his comedy career was ice cold, when mama would threaten to kick him out of the house if he ever gave his kids the common cold through COVID. And not even Hamas, despite them trying, could ever that away from thee. Unplanned favorites rule, proving once again how no friendship is an accident. O. Henry lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Trucking To Zion

“Daddy, Jews for Mormonism doesn’t make any sense. So why are you converting to Mormonism again? Is it because you hate your people since you got fired from your intern blogger position for The Times of Israel for insisting China has resisted Wuhan lab investigations more than AquaFresh?, Little Samuel says. Do It All Dad takes his right hand off the steering wheel of his giant rig renamed Misinformation Machine and rubs his son’s head and says, “Your mother has a younger brother in Utah who’s a high ranking, Generation Z preacher of the Mormon Church, who with a little convincing, can grant me a religious exemption for the COVID vaccination after I convert. Then, I won’t have to worry about the fake news vaccine shot killing me more than the prospect of receiving a career consultation from LinkedIn ever again, my chest. This is an impersonation of Dr. Dre telling Eminem about Microsoft paying 4.5 billion for LinkedIn. Eminem says,” Worrddddddddd, LinkedIn, is lamer than ever yoh!” Thank God, I trusted my gut, cut myself off from Mimi and Papa and got my trucker License instead.”

Little Samuel says, “I’ll always be on your team to make more comedy records daddy, because more comedy records for you is more comedy records for me, moron Son. When will you record comedy record 91, putzy moron butt carrots?” You’re taking forever already. Mama wouldn’t want you to put the brakes on your comedian career on my behalf, not that it hasn’t stopped you before, but you get the gist Boozy Beer Daddy.” Do It All Dad gets a tad misty, overwhelmed with a surge of heart aching emotion and says, “Her dreamy blond looks live through you kid, which should help bolster our case when we ask her Mormon brother Blair Rittenhouse Square The 3rd to give us that religious exemption after he converts me to Mormonism. How can you not get big love in Utah kid? One time, a MILF bum rushed you at the supermarket when you were only 2 and says, “When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” And I said, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative.”

Little Samuel says, “Do most mommies die of heart attacks at 42 Daddy?” Do It All Dad says, “Not unless they’re employed by the WWE kid. Mama died from the COVID clot shot and she didn’t have the strained heart I had from all the cocaine I did in my twenties throughout my thirties, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall while yelling, “Where’s Hunter?” Who is else is going to pay for this shit? Shit, we’re running low on gas. You know the routine Samuel. Money equals freedom and we can’t make it to Utah if we don’t sell some bumper stickers fast. The GPS says there’s a Shell station in 1.2 miles, we should have enough to make it. Still not banking on Obama Be Good lickers like Dave Chapelle getting his cousins Trump voiced GPS systems for Kwanza. On your far left, is Mohegan Sun, Elizabeth Warren’s home away from home. Now, grab the COVID Damage Done bumper stickers and get ready to sell with divine powered authority like Kevin Hart’s agent in convincing Universal Studio’s anyone who calls him a poor man’s Eddie isn’t a jealous hater, just a short on laughs spectator.”

Little Samuel approaches a Karen type going to the bathroom at the Shell station and says, “Hi, can I interest you in a bumper sticker to support the Freedom Trucker Convoy, called COVID Damage Done?” Karen says, “Is that supposed to be a stupid Neil Young reference kid?” As far as I’m concerned you can’t vaccinate kids young enough. Thank God New York state doesn’t allow you to attend Pre-K without wearing a mask on. Wear the damn mask kid, they still work. Do It All Dad interjects, “Hey Karen, why don’t you suck the hate speech and white privilege out of my chosen person schlong first. Consider it elongated love. Pretend Justin Trudeau ordered you to leak it.” A group of truckers overhear the commotion and crack up in unison. One of the truckers raises his voice among the deafening shriek of laughter and says, “I’ll take 100 bumper stickers kid.”

Do It All Dad and Little Samuel arrive at Zion National Park to have a moment with God before plowing forward with the Do It All Dad Does Mormonism pitch to his dead wife’s brother preacher. Do It All Dad says, “God, I’m half a fag, so the polygamy thing isn’t that much of a driving force behind my decision to forsake my Jewish side for Mormonism. Plus, most Mormons voted for Mitt Romney, so their judge of good character is questionable at best. The exalted, all-knowing Mitt called Trump the Anti-Christ for Christ’s sake. But in the Bible part 2, Jesus returns from heaven to defeat the Anti-Christ. So have some faith, in the Jesus comeback story, won’t you, people?” Little Samuel says, “Does this mean you’re not converting to Mormonism now Dad?” Do It All Dad beams with divine powered light and says, “Looks like it doesn’t kid. How many more bumper stickers do we have left?” Samuel says, “We got 52” and one hardcore hilarious joker.” Do It All Dad says, “That should be enough gas money to get us to Vegas. There’s a new Stand-Up Comedy Festival there called, “Seriously Clowning”, the winning comedian gets 25 grand and a co-hosting audition for the Russell Brand’s podcast. I’ll take those odds kid.” Little Samuel looks up to his cherished, Dear Dada and says “You’re going to kill them Daddy, you’re going to kill them. Don’t forget to open with your bit about me confusing Grandma for Kurt Cobain on the TV, which isn’t the most flattering look.” Do It All Dad says, “Nirvana didn’t kill Hair Metal, Aids did, before Magic Made HIV disappear. Courtney Love is Mia Farrow with better husband selection. If Kurt Cobain killed himself at the height of his popularity, then Woody Allen just got a book advance from Random House on a book about hands off parenting, called Crimes and Misdemeanors, The Early Years. I miss Trump’s relentless optimism and over the top salesmanship. If Trump was stabbed with the deep state needle used to take out Easy E, he’d tweet the next morning on whatever hate speech platform he’s allowed to rumble on next, “Do I have HIV? Yes, but my t-cell count numbers have never been stronger. Can I get a holla for some Challah? Mongoloid Moron lives, running on schtick till the end of the time and I feel fine, Challah. Thank you very much.”

Michael Kornbluth