Root Down Mixes Rule

3 months into our relationship, girlfriend now wife says, “I won’t covert to Judaism.”

I said, “Fine, but if I forget to ask if you’re the pill because I’m stoned again. I want to raise our kids Jewish.”

She says, “Only if we raise them pescatarian”, which includes a vegetarian based diet with fish like crawfish, which is shrimp with more personality.

I said, “Why not? Jesus was the original super Jew, deal. He worked as a freelance fisherman when his carpentry business for giant crosses hadn’t caught on like wildfire yet.”

Now, we rock the Koshertarian Diet at home, and I perform Shabbat prayers by throwing in an occasional, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”

Granted, my gentile wife can’t fight the urge to inject our house with Christmas forced cheer through tainting our Jewish home during Hanukkah with Oreo Candy Canes, Gnomes and paint your own Gingerbread homes from Michaels. Because Catholic High School girls are more colorful holiday celebrators than their ho hum waspy counterparts.

But you know your wife doesn’t think Jews are the root of all evil if she tricks out the Gingerbread house with a Star of David on top.

I told our kids the Gingerbread House converted.

Daughter asks, “What does converted means?”

I said, “Kicking it Old School Testament style.”



Beastie Boys live, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth





Root Down Mixes Rule

3 months into our relationship, girlfriend now wife says, “I won’t covert to Judaism.”

I said, “Fine, but if I forget to ask if you’re the pill because I’m stoned again. I want to raise our kids Jewish.”

She says, “Only if we raise them pescatarian”, which includes a vegetarian based diet with fish like crawfish, which is shrimp with more personality.

I said, “Why not? Jesus was the original super Jew, deal. He worked as a freelance fisherman when his carpentry business for giant crosses hadn’t caught on like wildfire yet.”

Now, we rock the Koshertarian Diet at home, and I perform Shabbat prayers by throwing in an occasional, “Can I get a holla for some Challah?”

Granted, my gentile wife can’t fight the urge to inject our house with Christmas forced cheer through tainting our Jewish home during Hanukkah with Oreo Candy Canes, Gnomes and paint your own Gingerbread homes from Michaels. Because Catholic High School girls are more colorful holiday celebrators than their ho hum waspy counterparts.

But you know your wife doesn’t think Jews are the root of all evil if she tricks out the Gingerbread house with a Star of David on top.

I told our kids the Gingerbread House converted.

Daughter asks, “What does converted means?”

I said, “Kicking it Old School Testament style.”

Beastie Boys live, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Scrumptious Specials

DMX as a drug sales rep for Pfizer

Get that COVID money. Were exempt from the stab.

Will be the only ones alive left to collect.

JFK, Richie Valens and Roberto Clemente go to a bar.

JFK says.

Hey Richie, why is Roberto being such a puta ass bitch?

I’d slide head 1st into Marilyn on my downtime between gangbangs with Frank.

Bruce Lee’s wife bumps into Tarantino at a film festival in Israel.

Linda Lee says.

Brad Pitt kicking Bruce Lee’s doesn’t make Kill Bill any better than Enter the Dragon.

Tarantino says.

Linda, with all due respect.

Lauren Holly’s feet weren’t pretty enough to be casted in Kill Bill, sorry.

Plus, you have to admit.

Brad Pitt in the midst of kicking Bruce Lee’s ass was hilarious.

Comedy needs an element of surprise.

And nobody saw Brad Pitt smashing Bruce’s Lee smirk off his face with flee flicker ease, even if you saw Snatch five thousand times babe.

Michael Kornbluth

Scrumptious Specials  

DMX as a drug sales rep for Pfizer

Get that COVID money. Were exempt from the stab.

Will be the only ones alive left to collect.

JFK, Richie Valens and Roberto Clemente go to a bar.

JFK says.

Hey Richie, why is Roberto being such a puta ass bitch?

I’d slide head 1st into Marilyn on my downtime between gangbangs with Frank.

Bruce Lee’s wife bumps into Tarantino at a film festival in Israel.

Linda Lee says.

Brad Pitt kicking Bruce Lee’s doesn’t make Kill Bill any better than Enter the Dragon.

Tarantino says.

Linda, with all due respect.

Lauren Holly’s feet weren’t pretty enough to be casted in Kill Bill, sorry.

Plus, you have to admit.

Brad Pitt in the midst of kicking Bruce Lee’s ass was hilarious.

Comedy needs an element of surprise.

And nobody saw Brad Pitt smashing Bruce’s Lee smirk off his face with flee flicker ease, even if you saw Snatch five thousand times babe.

Michael Kornbluth

Moses Lives

A Moses nutcracker comes to life in a highchair, supposed to be a prop piece resembling Mount Sinai for a Hanukkah Holla Day exclusive version of Kornbluth News, starring Do It All Dad’s 3 beamish, fuss free, hardcore hilarious kids, Samuel, Arthur and Matilda. Thank God their 1st image in this world wasn’t Daddy cutting mama’s umbilical cord with a nappy mask on, which would’ve been grossly misleading. Because nobody was ever confusing Do It All Dad in high school as medical school bound material despite his overtly Jewy last name Kornbluth. Dr. Kornbluth spotting a surgeon mask on in the delivery room wasn’t in Do It All Dads’ destiny because by the time he finished his untimed SAT, his friends declared their majors at Washington University.

Moses says.

613 commandments are a humongous number of commandments to remember. I know how much baby Samuel loves the word humungous.

4-Year-Old Samuel

It’s Hardcore Hunga to you Moses. Besides, I’m almost 7. So, when I’m 10, don’t babysit me Daddy.

10-Year-Old Matila

Our dad indulges Samuel’s egomania, sorry Moses.

7-Year-Old Arthur

Daddy calls me Millionaire By 10 Moses.

10-Year-Old Matilda

Big deal, Daddy calls me Billionaire Brain.

Do It All Dad

My dad’s shoulders collapse when I go in for a hug for old times sake so were even.

Moses

Like I was saying. 613 commandments are a humungous number of commandments to recall.

Matilda

Daddy reads to us from the book The 163, by Archie Rand, which is an art book that illustrates pictures for all 613 commandments Moses. God’s photographic memory must be exhausting.

Do It All Dad

Am I disrespecting thy father for wishing I could’ve learned about these 613 commandments earlier? Before I blew my Grandma’s Pfizer stock on the counsel of a gypsy fortune teller in West Hollywood. Only to learn how my chakras were more clogged than my freshman one hitter.

Moses

God and I talked it over Michael. And we like you sticking to just edibles now.

Hashem appreciates the Lenny Bruce Double RIPA beer reminder in your fridge.

To not be no-show alcoholic bum like the rest.

Lenny had a way with words sticking into your creatively jacked cranium for a reason.  

Lenny appreciates his homage in your piece Shoulder Rides on The Shoulders of Funnier Giants in Do It All Dad Does Jokes by the way.

Lenny Bruce was a stuttering jerkoff like yourself once to Michael, despite Lenny never having the privilege of graduating from a top communication school in the country after a 5-year vacation from earning a living in this life.

God doesn’t take offense at you calling Ithaca College, Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor either.

But to answer your most recent question nagging your soul. I think you’d rather be considered smart ass successful deep, versus just flippant funny, so your social worker now hate speech therapist can insult your intelligence for thinking you ever gave a shit about his opinions or forays into standup comedy. The man doesn’t believe in you know who, thinks Mr. Groper won by more than hair and believes the COVID vaccine is the mark of enlightened tolerant elitists. Yeah, and bogger face Behar is the new Chief Happiness Officer for Breitbart. And Samuel your daddy is right, asking your brother to step on your penis, isn’t kosher baby, Challah. Thank you very much.

Do It All Dad

Moses is my new number one fan. My head is spinning. How can Hannukah get any sweeter than this?

Moses

I can help with your bit for Hanukkah Holla Day for Kornbluth news about your least favorite commandments.

I’ve talk it over with God, it’s all good.

10-Year-Old Matilda

God isn’t made at me for picking Thou Shall Not Murder.

Nazi destroyers who signed up for the Army to kill Nazi’s were on God’s side right Moses?

Moses

Nazi Destroyer’s would fall into the Dexter category of killing off evil for future goodness preservation’s sake. That’s correct.

But I didn’t come to life through this Moses Nutcracker to delete God’s commandments or debate their absoluteness firmness of them all. That’s what the Talmud, Lenny Bruce and the Showrunner of Dexter is for.

Do It All Dad

Is adultery such a big deal Moses?

Matilda

Yeah, what if you fall out of love easily like Trump?

Samuel

My penis is bigger than Big John Stud.

Moses

Look, all successful Jewish comedians like Don Rickles sucked up a ho hum sex life at home with the same woman so they could get off strangers on stage for a living, which is a pretty good deal in my book 5 later.

Arthur

Does God get mad at my Daddy for writing jokes on Saturdays sometimes during the Sabbath?

He wouldn’t feel compelled to do so if he became accepted as an a plus joke gem cutter by the Freemasons already.

Matilda

Yeah, and Moses, Daddy creates all his jokes in the spirit of generosity.

He even asked his accountant if he could write all of his a plus gem dissemination on Twitter as a hefty charitable donation.

Plus, Daddy cares more about finding common ground with strangers than other meh comedians. United we laugh, my daddy proves it every day, yeah, yeah.

Moses

But this Kornbluth special for Kornbluth News was supposed to be called Moses Lives, not Chicago Lives. Hanukkah Holla Day, Challah. Thank you very much, Lord. For the Kornbluth family keeping your spirit alive, by at least acknowledging how you’re the one and only Lord, capable of easing pained scar tissues through the miraculous gift of comedic song. Thanks again Lord for coping through clowning, very, very much.

Michael Kornbluth  

Gorgeousness Galore

Why have Jews written so many Christmas songs over Hannukah ones?

Because Adam Sandler wasn’t born yet.

Writing Heroin Hanukkah was a vein of humor not in Lou Reed after all.

Carole King was too busy playing wiggle toes with her cats.

Billy Joel didn’t marry Christie Brinkley because of her grandma’s brisket.

Because Adam Levine’s tatted up corpse can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery.

Lenny Kravitz was too lit to care.

Ira Gershwin stuck to WASP placation.

Randy Newman was stuck in detached irony land.

Barry Manilow’s nose don’t play that.

Leonard Cohen wouldn’t be caught dead in a skull cap if his Unisex hat collection depended on it.

Beck was lost in thought at Griffth Park on extra strength opium.

Dylan converted to Jews for Super Jew Jesus.

Leonard Bernstein considered Gustav Mahler overblown gorgeousness.

Art Garfunkel would’ve been sued by the Christan Right for sounding too angelic rich for their tastes.

Paul Simon would’ve triggered Woody Allen if Lorne Michaels helped pen a funnier Happy Hannukah song than the golden Jew Adam Sandler.

Michael Kornbluth

Dumb Drunk Daddy

I say, “Matilda, tell me about the Bath Bomb mama got you last night for
Hanukkah. She says, “It’s almond winter mint.” I say, “Sounds like a coffee drink
Michelle Obama strong armed Starbucks to make for Kwanza.”

I support defunding the United Nations. They only exist to give Hamas a veneer
of diplomatic stature like Kamala Harris in a Burka made from Ann Taylor.

The Left today has less use for proud practicing Jews than abortion on
demand because nobody would get smoochy with Booger Face Behar disciples without
a nappy mask on to puke up their pro-Antifa innards 1st.

Leftist Jews today reject everything today Jewish. Why else would they rush to
tat up their arms to rock the Lena Dunham arm flapper look for all it’s worth?
And you wonder why New York birth rates have sunk into China rat ruining
earth.

Mocking full of themselves, fully vaccinated dicks from my Generation X, who got an itchy esophagus from COVID, who still think Mr. Groper won by a hair, who had no problem with the Democrats using mail in voting to jack an election to hide their crimes
against humanity is more than kosher in my book.

They moan, “I can’t believe I got COVID. I’m vaccinated for Christ’s sake.
But you’re still the Mongoloid Moron for trusting your natural immunity over
Dr. Gnocchi, Obama Be Good and Nancy Denture Breath Pelos, who have less use
for lockdown-imposed rules than consciousness clearing confession.”

More pretentious moans of despair continue.

“How could I get COVID after being fully vaccinated?”

“Because you’re a glamorized lab rat, immune to self-corrective inspection like
your baby boomer resister parents, because insufferable, wholly destructive, baby
boomer arrogance never dies. And you’re the delusional, a plus narcissist who
thinks the real America kicked off Twitter already, gives a flying shit about your opinion’s inflated sense of self-worth since you’ve done dick to speak out against censorship and
silencing of any pro-self-defense sentiment since your jerkoff media pretended, they acted in good faith by calling a child rapist released from the loony bin in Kenosha as a peaceful, victimized protestor who only punctured his victim’s age of innocence with guided meditation music on Amazon music, indefensible pricks.”

Kurt Vonnegut was right; the US media is the one to blame for dividing everyone
into either a liberal or a conservative. Why can’t someone just launch a Burning
Mask Party already? That’s right, black men have been wearing a masks for
years according to Dave Chappelle. Yeah, Kamala, the Ugandan Giant wore one in character from 84 to 86, but that’s it. We all know Kamala Harris was a useless cackling
whore before she was assigned border visitation duty to see if the Donkey show is
keeping the dreamer alive in us all. Unmasking Kayne as an opportunistic showboat
fame whore didn’t require a tremendous leap of faith either.  So, Drake accused the infallible Kayne West of writing strictly secular rap music these days. Fucking own it Kayne. Don’t sling me shit like how Bound 2 You, was secular music, when you banged Kim on the sink, while getting some gunk on her mink. Unless you’re framing Kim Kardashian in
your eyes as top of the Porcupine Persian Puss chain, who could turn
your prick into wine to pour over Taylor Swift’s country ass white dress at the
MTV music awards because only Beyonce can get away with wearing ray of light white
after Labor Day in St. Barts.

I can’t wait to give up all forms of overpriced wine and IPAs for the year.
So, I could feel like a less bloated, blowhard hobbit hipster straining to
give any bangable woman sustained stiffage based on their Grateful Dead and Company
shirts and Dancing Bear masks since everyday became mask up Sharia Law appreciation
day.  Without those freedom loving deplorable Dead Heads making a peep about the fascist Democrats hacks in charge of these draconian policies otherwise. What a depressingly dreary, fake news patriots unmasking it’s been. But Hillary doesn’t have evil energy like Trump, Carlos Santana? But Hillary is the best-selling voodoo doll in Haiti, year after year. Plus, I don’t need to drop acid in this instance, to see who’s full of shit Carlos.

Did you know you can reverse all form of brain damage impairment by refraining from alcohol for one whole year? You experience improved memory and better
executive reasoning for a degenerate Jew like myself, with a long, shameful
history of alcoholic bumps into furniture in the middle of the night after
pissing himself while passed out in his daughter’s bedroom prior because he
possesses no feel for measured pounding pace of Kentucky bourbon on the 1st night of Hanukkah, that he’s only been planning for all year, whatsoever.

87,000 people die each year from Alcohol overdosing. I must have 87,000
lives then. Because I’ve drank enough bourbon one winter in my parent’s attic
with my wife to make Charles Bukowski feel like a lightweight pussy poet,
guilty of excessive hyperbole like Hitler’s claim to be Marc Chagall in the
making despite never leaving you with a magical dreamy, impressionistic
impression.

Hanukkah Challah Day Joke:

A Cardinal’s finishing line on altar boys next in line.

“It’s all holy meat juice to you kid.”

Lenny Bruce Lives.

Hannukah Challah Day, Challah.

My brother’s response to this joke was a plug for an old school Public Enemy
video. He says, “Despite your political affiliation. I know you can still appreciate
some old school hip hop.” I say, “Why, because Public Enemy predates the
Thugs Lives Matters Most protests during last year’s Summer of Love? I should still
love Public Enemy because the Jewish Forward insists on framing Professor Griff
as a “victim”, whose career was gunned down by the Jewish Mafia over his comments
about all the Jews controlling the slave trade at the height of Public Enemy’s
popularity despite Jews heading up the Holocaust being banned from land ownership
in Europe while being stripped of any incentive to love thyself as thy neighbor,
when you’re surrounded by nations of mini-Hitler’s mouseketeers.  Why would I listen to Public Enemy after my best friend’s mother claimed I looked like Elvis growing up as a kid? It feels good to be compared to rock royalty while your best friend’s mom drools at the prospect of unleashing your hound dog side inside of her for some totally worth it rib rattling, jail house bound rock of her own. Professor Griff is a fucking moron. Calling Jill
Biden, Dr. Biden, doesn’t make her any less of a lying, trashy, small-town ho, who
never met a brush she liked for Scarecrow Appreciation Month. Professor Griff
accused the Jews of controlling the entire drug trade to Rolling Stone. I’m positive
Frank Lucas would have an issue with that white supremacist blanketed assertion.
If you saw the movie American Gangster, you know Denzel’s character believes, “Whatever those dumb mooks can do to poison my community, I can do better. Just wait until the Saints of Newark comes out motherfucker.”

How does Farrakhan celebrate Holocaust Remembrance Day? Spray Jard Kushner’s
Twitter feed with nothing but termite emoji’s, from dawn till night, but throw
in the hashtag, but Natalie Portman is alright.

New theory behind my compressed nerve: Losing my nerve to offend LinkedIn by
posting more comedy records bound to keep me out of Corporate America forever.

Future father wisdom 1st time Dads can look forward to on text conversation threads from their friends in the same boat already.

Increased wiggle room can be a deflating experience.

Unlike Glue Guns, your sweaty sex period won’t stick.

No looking back once mama’s semi-tight snatch of yesteryear tears apart at
the seams.

You won’t know whether you’re floating in space or landing on an aircraft carrier
museum strip in Chelsea Piers, unable to achieve blast off without fantasizing about
new Bermuda Triangle’s to have your super soaker disappear in.

Give hell hole sex a chance, for a tighter topping experience all around.

2 kids later, Goose would rather spike Wilson half naked around other sweaty
slick Top Gun gunners, instead of taking another nosedive headfirst into Meg Ryan’s
sunny shine snatch. Because sex with Meg Ryan after 2 kids resembles playing musical
triangles in the high school band as you flail your metal rod stick against Tom
Hank’s romantic movie library collection stuffed inside.

Before you know it, your 10-year-old daughter gets breast buds. And you get
mad at your wife yelling, “Why haven’t yours sprouted yet.”

But you can’t get mad at your wife for converting a gingerbread house into
a tricked -out Hanukkah blue one with a Star of David out front for the 3rd
night of Hanukkah. The only thing missing on front door was a sign that said, “No
Liberal Jews allowed, who think Farrakhan’s admirers in Public Enemy are held back
from demonizing Jews any more than Deshawn Jackson only needing to be properly reeducated on Hitler.  You know, Obama’s most admired leader according to the Source Magazine. Obama would give Hitler 5 mics if he could. I’m not even exaggerating. Obama’s the one who loves Hitler. Obama wishes he was that organized. Mass extermination, of all his nosy pestering journalist critics, who dared to criticize his billion-dollar nuke time out deal with Iran would be a gas. Dumb Drunk Daddy, no more, no more. Aerosmith lives, Hanukah Challah Day, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Favoring Mars Attacks

Daughter get’s a tad freaked after watching Aliens blast congress to skulls and bones in the movie Mars Attacks. Later, I calm down my daughter and say, “Matilda, Sci-Fi means it takes place in the future. We can only be so lucky. I’d want Rand Paul to get out alive though. So he could conduct an experiment on Dr. Gnocchi, by forcing him to dress in a Fred Perry polo at gunpoint by an Alien Aids blaster to see if he’d morph into a Proud Boy and tell ANTIFA to go pound sand for once in his weasel laden, extremist wicked life.”

All of a sudden, Fuck Face Fauci morphs into a sexist pig after being forced to wear a Fred Perry Polo shirt at gunpoint by an Alien Aids blaster immune to Magic Johnson’s HIV inhibitor secret stash. Fuck Fauci tells AOC on CNN, “To get knocked up and shut the fuck up about being a non-essential Betty Draper cranked up on Joe Biden’s high grade Adderall already. That get’s Hunter in the zone whenever he does more blow painting, between snorting more lines of Ritalin at the local Chateau Marmont under new alias Brandon Lee Biden, since he got kicked out for baking crack cocaine in their bungalows, getting tweaked on more crank, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall. Can I get a holla, for some high octane blasting , Challah? Tim Burton lives. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

All-Star Stuff

All-Star Stuff 

Wife says, “Samuel, loves Space Jam 2 because it’s a father son story. I say, “Unless Lebron’s son triggers his dad by killing off Michael Jordan’s legacy from becoming the 7 ringed man, I’m not interested. My name is Bronny Bronny from Bel Air. Your zoom call with your 6 trophies in the background killed off my father’s surging sense of self-esteem during the fall of 2021. Prepare to die of an aired out heart in 15 years after I became the 7 ringed man. It’s gotta to be the bat shoes made in Wuhan, Wuhan.” Wu Tang lives, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Shell Shocked Snappy

Wine Coolers, Jello Shots and reluctant repeat sips from your 1st can of Budweiser help melt teen shyness away. But pet Snapping Turtles aren’t 9th graders in junior high, who haven’t got into the puberty party yet either. At this point, Matilda a 12-year-old entrepreneur and inventor of a suction sticking party ball strobe light machine called Party Magic, was willing to blow some of her Kickstarter startup money on a Past Life Regression consultation with an Animal Communicator at a nearby Crystal Shop in Ridgefield, CT to get her new pet Snapping Turtle Snappy to come out of his shell already because changing his name from Waxy to Snappy wasn’t helping. More than anything, Matilda wanted to boogie board in Australia, her mama’s home country, along Mother’s Beach, 30 minutes north of Melbourne for her parents 10 year anniversary yet she didn’t feel safe in those Jelly Fish infested waters without a trustworthy, Snapping Turtle to ward off attacks by her side, knowing their preference for scarfing up electric, purple haze stingers.

The 70 something, bushy haired, frumpy, shawl strangled, Sedona sun wrinkled transplant, Animal Communicator, Talks With Toads, lounged out in her cubby size room office within a crystal shop in nearby Ridgefield, CT, and takes of her bi focal glasses to examine Snappy The Turtle more closely. Who Matilda reveals hiding in her old beat up backpack, knowing his tendency to fart uncontrollably, especially around strangers, which she considered a reason for why Snappy The Turtle’s head was hid in perpetual shame so often.  Talks With Toads says, “Matilda, over the phone you said, Snappy won’t come out of his shell around strangers.” Matilda says, “I’ve offered him Lobster Rolls from Stew Leonard’s, smoked Nova from Russ and Daughters, bought him the Tony Robbins audiobook boxset, which wasn’t cheap either, so I’m running out of options hêre. Our first Kornbluth family vacation to Australia is tomorrow and I don’t know what to do, because Snappy is my 2nd line of defense against all those Jelly Fish in Australia after the Jelly Fish nets which aren’t even available in the beaches in Bondi, and that’s where all the serious boogie board action happens anyway. My parents wanted to get married in Australia, where my mom is from originally yet my Grandma shot it down. She calls my dad and says, “Australia is a long trip from New York Scoops and your dad doesn’t love you that much.” Then, my dad made a compromise with my mom and says, “If we have boy one day, will hire Crocodile Dundee for the circumcision, just to hear a room of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”

Talks With Toads spits out a deep, weighty laugh, opening up her throat chakra more than any downward dog pose ever could and says, “Does Snappy ever come out of his shell around your daddy or does he get intimidated by larger-than-life comedians to? I saw his performance at the Montreal Comedy Festival on YouTube and coughed up a lung in he process. He made such a strong, funny man impression the last time your family dropped by the crystal shop. And I don’t care for most stand-up comedy these days. Plus, how creepy is the comic Anthony Jeselnik, knowing that he considers psychic surveys on how many missing children they’ve seen through their Carrot Cards as being the height of God loving hilarity today?” Matilda says, “In Anthony Jeselnik’s defense, God commands his chosen people to forsake the counsel of psychics in Deuteronomy, but my dad told me is was Kosher to make an exception in Snappy The Turtle’s defense.”

Talks With Toads does her best to shrug off a smart-ass Jewess rubbing God’s law in her face with such effortless fluency and decides to plow forward with her Past Life Regression reading for Snappy The Turtle, so she can get back to watching some bestiality horse on man porn on her lunch break, which now can’t come soon enough. Talks With Toads grabs a sapphire crystal from a cramped, unorganized drawer, representing the entire kitchen sink of healing, past life reading gemstones known to mankind and places it on Snappy The Turtle’s shell. Talks With Toads says, “I see a Deadhead at Giant Stadium in a Soup Truck RV called Terrapin Soup, blowing high grade, 75 dollar an eighth weed into Snappy The Turtle’s face again and again as the live version of Scarlet Begonia’s from Cornell 77 blasts on the tape deck in the background. I stopped going to shows after I stopped smoking weed myself.”

Matilda says, “After my 2nd birthday, my Dad took me to a Dead Show in Bethel Woods, in upstate New York. I pointed at a dinged up looking Deadhead sucking down a Nitrous balloon and said, “Birthday.” And my dad says, “No, Burn Out Day.” Talks With Toads unleashes another full throaty laugh again and says, “Wait a minute. No, he can’t be.” Matilda’s interest in Talks With Toad’s Past Life Regression Reading has reached peak interest and says, “What do you see now? Is the Deadhead owner feeding Snappy The Turtle’s head with a sheet of acid or what?” Talks With Toads takes a deep breath, doing her best to conceal her startled state as she pulls back her long, tangly grey hair and utters in a whispery, barely audible tone, “The Deadhead owner is serving Snappy The Turtle’s family for dinner.”

Matilda jumps out of her chair in a bewildered state of dígust and yells, “I thought Deadheads ate Grilleđ Cheese Sandwiches after Dead shows when they got the munchies.” Talks With Toads says, “Munchies don’t happen when you’re on 4 tabs of acid dear. Hold on, I see a line of Deadheads around the parking lot in Giant Stadium waiting for this Terrapin Turtle Soup Truck to serve bowls of Turtle Soup to cure more endless bad trips on Hêrculean amounts of acid. The Merry Pranksters used to spike garbage cans full of fruit punch with Acid during 3-hour Dead jam sessions back in the day before you tripped over shit throughout the Cable Car lined streets of San Francisco. Eventually, the college dropout hippies who weren’t banking on replacing Santana anytime soon, became howling, starved lunatics, left with no other choice but to eat stray cats behind the dumpster at Mu Shu York’s. Soon after, a famed chef from New Orleans, Gumbo Greg, who went on to become the executive chef at the Philly Club for years before opening his own restaurant in North Beach, Chowder Panisse, gave Jerry Garcia the idea of serving one of his freaked out tripping groupies some Turtle Soup in their house on Haight Ashbury to cure her bad trip, after doing the same for Dr. John during Jazz Fest once after he crawled himself up into ball on stage, thinking, he’d turned into psychedelic, night tripping crawfish. Crawfish, you know Shrimp with more personality, similar to John Mayer teaming up with Grateful Dead and Company, injecting scruffy smooth with a dose of much needed personality.” Snappy The Turtle finally snaps out of his shell and yells, “Thanks for the flashback bitch.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth