Do It All Dad Does China

Stop spreading disinformation about COVID, it was made in the offices of the Capital Building with China through Zoom.

What major adjustment did the Chinese make post COVID? Didn’t they all wear masks to begin with because the air quality there is more polluted than Michelle Pfeiffer’s womb in Scarface.

Seriously, what major adjustment did the Chinese make post COVID? Hire the Tiger King to manage their new social distance bat petting zoo through Zoom?

The Last Emperor of China was made emperor at 2? Is that in dog years?

When the kid become the last emperor of China at the advanced age of 2, rice farmers muttered in their pre commie censored heads, “I don’t care about the 1 kid policy anymore, if I’m still allowed my monthly ration of Mongolian Barbeque, that includes all the frozen meat packed Lassie I can eat.”

The Dali Lama was already distancing himself from Richard Gere after Sharon Stone’s birthday bash at his crib, when he said, “Those prayer beads didn’t come in red Gere.”

Why is the Delta virus so contagious again? Does it contain the distilled essence of real life patriots from past Trump rally’s of yesteryear? I don’t get it.

But seriously, why is the Delta Virus so contagious again? Is it easily catchable like jungle fever from Pamela Grier retrospectives on IFC for Queen Latifah’s lesbian awakening month?

The Washington Examiner insists all it’s employees wear a mask in the newsroom if they’re not vaccinated . Failing to call out blatant election fraud as the audits roll on, hasn’t made their bullshit detection ability any sharper with their swamp thing siding masks off.

New York City will now require proof of vaccination to dine inside. But your never ending, beyond played out, politized lockdown already destroyed the greatest city on earth and put the Oyster Bar out of business in Grand Central. So at this point, what difference does it make? Like a Jon Hamm donation to pearl necklace Harris for her failed presidential campaign, because Dominion had Mr. Groper’s back regardless, despite his failure to instruct to Hunter to cut out crack, knocking up strippers and creaming into his dead brother’s wife seconds after the cremation ensued.

But the unvaccinated will be allowed to dine outside, harassed by BLM and ANTIFA knowing the unvaccinated resisters are more easily identified to terrorize for the grave offense of sticking up for election integrity laws and for still remaining on Trumpy Poo’s side to, despite him doing less to stop election fraud in advance than ensure Ivanka inherited a shot of his colorful personality through sheer osmosis already.

New York City will now require proof of vaccination to work out at Equinox fitness in Chelsea. I don’t think the fabulous high gay furniture designer is sweating the prospect of catching an itchy esophagus before he goes down on Charlie from accounting in the men’s steam room there either.

Mayor De-Blasio says, “It’s time for vaccine ID mandates. We’ve offered everyone incentive to get the shot in the world, Shake Shack for life, VIP passes to breath on Bruce Springsteen backstage on Broadway through one of Steven Van Zandt’s silk scarves made in France, riding the train on Cardi Bi while waiting for the Lex line to resume it’s normal working business hours again, anyone out there, Mueller, Mueller.

The band Offspring fired their drummer of 14 years because he followed his doctor’s advice and refused to get the vaccine because the potential side effects put him at greater risk considering his pre-existing conditions like being a closeted Trump supporter before the day he allowed Democracy to die under his Tweet topping watch.

Kicking a drummer out of a band who refuses to get the vaccine shot is anti-establishment rock at it’s finest. What does the lead singer of Offspring do for an encore now? Bite off the head of a fake news Chinese Bat to prove non FDA approved vaccines are nothin to fuck with.

In related news Pearl Jam is reported to be playing at Obama’s 60th birthday party at his Martha’s Vineyard’s estate. Will Eddie Vedder blather on about rising sea levels overlooking such pristine oceanfront property. Will he make a plug about global warming despite Al Gore’s speaking career cooling considerably since Pearl Jam socially distanced themselves from Ticketmaster till they couldn’t find a better ticket seller around? Will Eddie Vedder dedicate the song Last Kiss to every Italian Grandma who to give the ghost of her dead husband one last last while dying alone under COVID lockdown arrest because Cuomo couldn’t let all those extra body bags ordered go to waste? Despite all those spacious hospital beds shipped in by Trump that got less touches than a bible at a bath house colony in Provincetown. Will Eddie shy away from singing the song Black, because Obama can’t identify with being a black baller knowing herode the bench an all Asian private school in Hawaii? Eddie Vedder performing the Jeremy song would be done in poor taste, knowing more kids died from suicide than from COVID this past year. Plus, the song loses it’s dramatic oomph knowing Jeremy under remote learning circumstances would’ve gone out with a less of a bang by blowing out his brains on top of his school issued laptop with 13 Reasons on Why on Vinyl playing in the back of his head.

Speilberg dropping by to celebrate Obama’s 60th birthday isn’t the best look for our Jewish people. Obama Be Good only nuke gifted Iran 150 billion on his way out the door to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal creams for the Kardashians.

Interesting fact: If you’ve already gotten the COVID virus, it increases your immunity to fight off charges of fear mongering bullshit like catching an itchy esophagus from a Trump rally retrospective on Newsmax for old times sake.

Can’t you picture George Soros reluctantly watching another huge Trump rally in his one world headquarter palace in Beijing and blurt out loud, “That’s it, get me the Wuhan Lab institute. Time to unleash the Franken Bat on MAGA country once and for all. Is Andy Dick done experimenting with our bat hicky, blood draining treatment yet? With all the blow flushed out his system, I’m positive Apple TV will insure his next film The Adventures Of Tranny Sitting now.”

The Chinese show more blatant disregard for COVID birther stories than free samples of AquaFresh.

Did you know the Great Wall of China is more than 4000 miles long? That’s what Pamela Anderson said.

I’m dropping my kids off at camp and the crossing guard said, “Slow down.” I said, “That’s why Hunter’s dealer said.”

I read the 1st paragraph of 1984 to my 3 kids last night. Daughter asks, “What’s Big Brother daddy?” I say, “A bunch of fake news good will hoodies, Zit Face Zuck included.”

More lockdowns and mask mandates are living, breathing trophies to mark China’s never ending winning streak since the day Democracy died. And the never ending shit show rolls on without a peep from Bruce, who wrote Death To My Hometown. Ain’t that a shame, Fats Domino lives. Thank you very much.



Michael Kornbluth





Dreaming On Past Covid

Dear God,

I’m dying of Covid-19 alone allegedly, yet I don’t think smoking 2 packs a day of Turkish blend, extra wide Camel cigarettes fended off my surging lung cancer either. I’ll never forget how top of the world scrumptious that Camel extra wide tasted after losing my virginity to Katie King in the Cape. If there was ever a reason to take up smoking again, so I could enjoy sucking face with my summer wind love who enjoyed her Camel extra wide smokes even more than I did, it was for my sweet darling, inhalable on the spot always, pitch perfect southern belle, the always magical, chills down my spine inducing from mere memories of walking hand in the hand throughout Main Street in the Cape, my dear Katie King. Especially, knowing how my bitch roommates at the time, hated how the Jew boy from New York struck a summer romance with such a striking, statuesque gentile from North Carolina, who ended up graduating Duke as a double major in 3 years flat. Oh yeah, that’s right, one of those girls went to McGill in Canada, which was a safety school for stoners obsessed with free healthcare and Justin Trudeau’s purple specked socks. So, it looks like I’m one who came out on top of Katie’s perfectly plump, never draggy dumpy, 36D tits.  

So, my parents, younger brother, friends, and ex-girlfriends can’t visit me, but I’d sure love to kiss the never annoying, always pleasantly plump on top, Katie King again. The last time I kissed her was when I surprised her while driving cross-country to California for my last semester of college, with an aching in my heart. She was more than a friend of mine Lord, Katie was a guardian angel as you know, who was sent down from Heaven to make me a true believer in the power of prayer and modern-day miracles, which benefited my love life immensely for a change. I remember praying to you alone on the beach in Cape Cod Kennedy country, during the summer when the Fugees broke big, finally giving me a woman to cry about in my heart after our romance came too a sudden, crashing end. I said, “God, I love Hair Metal ballads because they’re hopeful songs full of longing, and I always longed to have a real-life girlfriend to walk hands with at Rye Playland to win stuffed animals for, as I drained more basketball shots from way downtown with effortless, in the zone, choke free ease.”

You’ve always provided me with divine intervention comfort Lord, so I’m not going to fret against my dying of the light this late into the 9th Inning, with me going up against Mariano Rivera with a 5 run lead at the new Yankee Stadium, otherwise known as The House That Gentrification Built. Gentrification Lord, you know, liberal talk for less black people. I wouldn’t have written that a plus joke gem without your divine powered assistance as usual. Has my sadness enshrouded heart weighed heavily on my weepy, hurting inside soul in Synagogue some years on Yom Kippur, knowing it’s another year, where I ask for another shot to be a productive, functioning member of the Jewish race versus another schmuck in a headset, whose been fired more than a Palestinian Slingshot. I’m also not going to bitch about certain friends or family members not always being there to consistently support my comedic ambitions, which lead me to killing at the Montreal Comedy Festival, thanks to your steady, unrelenting support in me doing me all the way. Those friends came to my bringer shows in Manhattan at the New York Comedy Club, when I was an average nobody putz, because they believed in my potential, which you always have Lord, back when my pursuit of getting lady laugh off long time, all the time began.

My parents raised me in the snuggle soft confines of Westchester County, performing well at high paying jobs, which were no labor of love either.  Plus, acting like an excessively obnoxious, supremely spoiled, entitled twat, never felt right with my labor of laugh lust pursing heart either. You made me grow up and become a man in LA, when my parents cut me off, forcing me to overcome a debilitating stutter as an IT Headhunter, cold calling through the Los Angeles Journal Book of Lists like a man possessed to be a pushover putzy no more. I got to sing Karaoke in the valley and perform high kicking, windmills to Baba O-Reilly, proving to myself I was meant to strut my stuff and sing the gift of comedic song on stage for a living one day.

Should I order Chinese for my last meal to earn myself social justice righting props on Twitter, instead of insisting how those bio-chemical warfare starting commie bastards have resisted investigations into the origin behind the Wuhan lab originator of the virus more than Aquafresh? The only time I ever feared dying was from weed induced panic attacks, thinking, I’d stop breathing, because I was being a degenerate Jew again who was bound to lose his gift of gab sooner or later.

Dying semi-alone through Zoom, doesn’t appeal to me much Lord. I say semi-alone because you’ll always be the bursting source of light in my laugh loving heart come rain or shine. Also, I prefer to say goodbyes to my parents, friends, ex-girlfriends, and younger brother through emotive, giving letters like this, which touch the soul far deeper than any belabored, drawn out Zoom call could, while our new Chinese slave masters monitor our every last show of vigorous, in your face emotion.

Dying prematurely at 44 bites, only if you never got to fall in love or get to be cool like Neil Young blares with rollicking empathetic flourish like no other on Rocking In The Free World. I’m positive that song gets plenty of play in stage performer heaven, which I wouldn’t mind entry into, knowing Lou Reed could use some added some levity up there from time to time, next time he showcases the insufferable gaul to insist on charging Billy Idol for the priveledge of recording with him while waiting for his man Marlon Brando again off Broadway upstairs for A Streetcar Named Desire, now that’s he’s love with the act of on-stage creation again.

I’m not worried about being a pseudo homo preventing me, from being embraced by your loving light in afterlife. Desmond Child isn’t dead yet, but there’s no way a loving God would damn the writer behind Livin’ On A Prayer to endless agonizing hell on par with forcing him to to act like he enjoys hearing the Fleet Foxes live in front a log cabin, on his one ordained night out for his birthday in homo performer hell, year after year.

Thanks for the thrill of killing and for the heart soothing memories involving my dear Katie King, oh, sweet Lord. Dear Katie King, the magic fairy dust beneath my wings, who took me to the other side on earth, where us oh so fortune, cosmic comedic perfectionists roam. All the bombing in life was worth the thrill of killing at the Montreal festival, especially with my dear Katie King in attendance front row to make love to my soul with her Oceanic blue blasting eyes again, conjuring our last departed goodbye kiss, when she said in the Cape, “I never knew someone could make me so happy before.” I do, it’s you Lord, all the great good in my life stems from your miraculous handy work on my behalf. I must make you laugh more than yenta breath Seinfeld ever did, to be blessed with such infinite beauty in my life, because like your other star creation Billy Cox, Jimi’ Hendrix’s old school paratrooper buddy sings with number 1 soul brother authority at the Filmore East New Year’s Eve in 1970, “With the power of soul, anything is possible.” Being blessed with the funny Jew bone, which you gave the obsessive drive to develop to the best of my God given ability helps to. I’ll love you forever Lord, for my summer wind Katie King and for making such an out of this world beauty, beautify my life, with such a majestic, soul tantalizing sweep that summer wind dreams are made of.  

All My Love,

Michael Joshua Kornbluth

The Sun Butter King

North Dakota was only state in the country which enjoyed full employment and Do It All Dad wanted in. North Dakota was also the least visited state in the nation yet Do It All Dad was used to seeing his parents only twice a year and also accustomed to not seeing any of his former friends since his 3 fuss free children were born, failing the friendship litmus test every time. So, the isolating nature of North Dakota didn’t bother him one bit, especially knowing how much Do It All Dad hated to navigate around lost in time, tourist hicks in Times Square pre-Covid, on his way to work when he used take the subway there for his IT Recruiter job in Midtown East for a living.  But the majority of the jobs in North Dakota were within the farming and energy industry, which Do It All Dad had no experience with whatsoever. Granted, his mom grew up in Kentucky and had an Uncle Jim who owned a farm, who even wore overalls to his Grandpa’s funeral, because that’s how he rolled. And Do It All Dad would have a bit in his old act about how Kentucky gal Ashley Judd wasn’t an actual victim of rape. He’s say, “Ooh, she refused to watch Harvey Weinstein shower himself down at his 5-star suite in the Four Season. At the same time, Ashley Judd had plenty of experience judging fat pigs at the County Fair.” Still, Do It All Dad wasn’t expecting to be working headliner comedian at the non-existent comedy clubs in downtown Fargo, North Dakota. Microsoft had 100,000 employees based in North Dakota yet Do It All Dad was no fan of Bill Gates’s Dad being the head of Planned Parenthood either, whose founder was intent on carrying out Hitler’s eugenics solution, one fetus flicker, mostly of color at a time. North Dakota was also voted the least female friendly environment because it had less abortion clinics than Oxygen bars for the Persian Iranians to act urban sheik smug in, like tanner, humorless Whitney Cumming clones in those Hollywood Hills, who were too uptight for Do It All Dad’s tastes, whose blah brained personalities offered him nil.

Do It All Dad had an old Headhunter boss in Manhattan Beach, CA who drilled into his cranium the do or die mantra, “innovate or die.” Innovate he must, because Do It All Dad had to invent a new job title besides Stay At Home Comedian. Do It All Dad just wanted to write more books from home and cook more yummy dance meals for his family but needed a paying job of some sort to finance finishing his next book in progress The Koshertarian Diet, so his wife wouldn’t bust his balls about it.  Do It All Dad was also working on a new short story book collection, Waste Of Height, which forced him to be tad less political and overtly sexual in his writing for a change. Still, as famous English novelist Virginia Woolfe once said, “A woman must have a room of her own and money to write fiction.” Now, Do It All Dad being a stay at home she male rocker mom of sorts, could identify with this stone cold sober truism, even more than being a shishy bitch who would get dressed up on Shabbat Friday nights to stay in with his 3 kids while his wife went back to work at the hospital in the NICU to check on the vital signs of blue faced babies, which made Do It All Dad feel like an insufferable narcissist at times, because all he checked for was for retweets, before he got banned from Twitter calling Governor Cuomo, the Blanch killing, cold blooded, Italian Reptilian inside.

Now, Do It All Dad couldn’t even justify his IPA intake after a Peloton ride anymore, because his family was barely affording the monthly payments on their mortgage and nothing had changed too much since he started chasing down open mikes throughout Southern California 15 years ago, after getting the laugh chaser bug, which no amount of widespread bombing or martial bliss disintegration or threat of complete financial ruin could cure. Also, Do It All Dad’s office, was in his bedroom, which a recent jilted audiobook reviewer, derided as “Tiny and cramped”, based on the lack of reverberating echo in his Chapter reading for “The Last Temptation of Adderall”, I assume.  Also, Do It All Dad had given up hope on securing a lit agent to take a chance on an eccentric Jewish comedian satirist, reinvented literary novelist, who used his books for extra long stand up comedy monologues, he couldn’t afford to do during open mikes throughout Manhattan, because he couldn’t justify the 40 dollar Metronorth train fare to wail with his arms on stage for the pleasure of trying to entertain the 2 millennial mousketeers in the audience with such a jade free, joyous, giving heart anymore. Now, Do It All Dad didn’t desperately seek strangers funny many approval as much on stage, since he launched his successful podcast and blog 3 years ago, which for him was the greatest open mike on earth. But it pained Do It All Dad to still not be in a position, to buy his son, Art Show USA the GI Joe, SS Flagg, Aircraft Carrier for his son’s 7th birthday, snowboard lessons, a vintage pair of Freezie Freakies on eBay with the Thundercat’s on it, anything but more copies of his impossible to find books on Amazon.  Reality is, Art Show USA provided book cover color consultation on all 4 of Do It All Dad’s books so far and he adored his Do It All Dad book’s so much, he took a screensaver picture for his remote learning school issued computer, holding all 4 of his his dear dada’s books, exuding a beamish prideful through association inside and out. 7 years on this earth after Art Show USA was born, almost a decade, and Do It All Dad needed to fight harder than ever to keep his elusive dreams of comedic literary superstardom alive. Do It All Dad’s son loved his Dad’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast to and didn’t want his dad to perform more sheets of comedy gold on it without having to worry about mom threatening to kick him out the house again because of his lack of money generating power.

So, Do It All Dad got an idea while making lunch for his son one day, The Sun Butter Challenge. What if Do It All Dad went into business with his gorgeous son who could smile on cue without breaking into hives in the process and daddy became his Agent, booking him as the new face for Sun Butter Gold foods, located in Sunflower country, Bismarck, North Dakota, which could lead to Do It All Dad snagging enough loot sack to buy his family the Porsche Comedy Gold Mobile, a new lake house summer home in Lake George, NY for his son’s GJ Joe SS Flagg and enough money to fiancé writing more books without ever having to bite his tongue while being offered a career consultation email from LinkedIn, considering the gaps of wrath of his corporate America resume ever again. Do It All Dad’s son, Art Show USA possessed the sunbeam smile, few other kids could match with such star powered gleaming light. So if Do It All Dad couldn’t get a job interview for a junior copywriter position at let’s say Sun Gold Foods in Bismarck, North Dakota, which boasts full employment to the point, where they could use some extra creative firepower, knowing it’s also the least visited state in the grand old USA, then Do It All Dad could create a job for himself as his son’s personal manager, calling himself on LinkedIn the Sun Gold Hunter, so he can finally capitalize in a big time cashing in way off all of his new business development, cold calling centric, IT headhunter background in both in LA and Manhattan, where he slaved weekends away when he wasn’t trying to write new scripts or jokes, researching new IT Directors or Chief Marketing Officers to cold call the following week, again and again.

Do It All Dad was old school and had no problem cold calling men and woman in powers of authority who controlled staffing budgets in a NY Minute. Plus, Do It All Dad took perverse pleasure working around HR humpbacks, which as a whole were major business to business cock blockers, who ruined the love connection potential between a hurting hiring manager and staffing solution specialist Headhunter to the rescue like Do IT All Dad fashioned himself to be in this instance.  Do It All Dad also learned from his headhunting days, how passion is always picked up over the phone, so he’d have no problem conveying the head of Sun Butter Gold products in Bismarck, North Dakota, what a gross disservice to mankind, they’d be doing for refraining from making his American made beautiful boy, Art Show USA, the permanent franchise face of Sun Gold Food products, which would double annual sales from 4 million to 8 million in the first week alone, guaranteed.

Now, Do It All Dad is pitching his son as the new face for Sun Butter with the Chief Marketing Officer through Zoom. Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer looks confused. Do It All Dad says, “You look confused Cheryl. I want my son to star in The Sun Butter Challenge campaign across America, similar to what they did with the Pepsi Challenge back in the day, when kids had stronger immunities to bullying, Kurt Cobain excluded. He longed to retreat into his pre-fame bubble without having to rummage through his Grandma’s closet for another ugly, lime sweater to wear at the MTV Music Awards, I get it.” Cheryl, the CMO for Sun Butter Gold products says, “So, where’s Art Show USA? How do you expect me to hire you 2 as a packaged deal to do the creative and performing in these Sun Butter Challenges campaigns, without me seeing, the sun butter smile to light up a thousand suns? The same smile which will double our sales in a year, according to your fuzzy Math estimates, knowing you still have to count with your fingers for simple arthmitic, which I read in one of your blog posts, in case you think we just ignored the totality of your digital fingerprint on the Internet all together, because your son is the star smile attraction, we’re really after.”

Do It All Dad says, “Art Show, come in Dada’s office for a minute. “Art Show says, “You mean you’re bedroom Dada? Do It All Dad says, “Thanks for reminding me and for destroying what little sales leverage I have left without you flashing your smile through Zoom for the Sun King Maker to see.” Art Show hops on his dear Dada’s lap, and smiles. “Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer says, “Wow, you’re Dada isn’t another full of shit New Yorker after all. Are you ready to be a star kiddo?” Art Show USA says, “Just give my Dada 10 percent of everything I make for a finder’s fee and give him final cut approval on all commercials and print campaigns starring my Sun Butter Smile and you got yourself a deal.” Can I go back to building my Harry Potter, Astronomy Tower now? Dada starts singing with jubilant heart, “Sun Butter King’s stock is rising, rising.” Next Do It All Dad adds, ” King Arthur, my kid eclipses his star power limited to Disney fable books, nobody reads anymore, oh, I can’t take no more.” Cheryl, the Chief Marketing Officer, says, “Would you mind if we put Sunflowers in your son’s hair, the LBGT community will lick it up, lick it up, oh, oh, oh! What, you think you’re the only Kiss fan who resents how Nirvana’s Nevermind was the death blow shot heard around the world that killed off carefree Hair Metal Pop rock forever.”

The End

Michael Kornbluth