Tag: art

Decoupling Compliments

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, entertainment, fiction

Words of advice, don’t approach me after a semi-successful set and only compliment me on how ballsy I am. In other words, maybe the funny will catch up to you eventually. But you’ve got balls for wallowing in strained hackery in between. Decoupling Compliments, Challah, thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Crumbs Of Affection

by doitalldadyear, posted in family, Parenting, writing

What’s Jerry Seinfeld’s and Bradly Cooper’s friendship origin story? 

Did they meet at a fundraising gala in the Hamptons with Andrew Dice Clay crashing it for his rapidly growing Instagram audience? 

Dice barks in Bradly’s ear. 

Jerry’s auctioning off one of his Porsches for charity; how cute. 

I hope the proceeds go to Larry’s kids. 

I can’t take any more. 

Hey Bradley, remember when Jerry used to bang that hot yenta breath from Long Island, with those noshtastic tits? 

What was her name again? Barely budding trim who swallows speckle spot whole without her gag flex kicking in. Jackie Mason, I fucked him while doing squats doing Gold Gym once. I can’t take any more.

I visited the Theodore Roosevelt Hall with my kids at the Museum of Natural History. 

The ghost of Robin Williams toward the end whispered. 

Have they taken down the Rocky statue yet? Because it promotes white supremacy. 

Apollo was undefeated before the Italian Stallion got romper stomper on his ass in 1 and 2. 

Rocky broke more ribs than Stacy Abrams trying to saddle Fabio at a book signing in Santa Barbara in Provincetown for Homosapiens Into Humpback Whales. 

Instead of having the Theodore Roosevelt statue taken down, the Teddy Roosevelt Institute of historically accurate preservation should’ve threatened to sue DMX’s record label into bankruptcy for exploiting the Rough Ride brand for all its worth under the reverse cultural appropriation act 2023. 

Imagine that law proposed by Congress by Marjorie Greene. 

I propose Congress pass the Reverse Cultural Appropriation Act of 2023 that declares any use of the Rough Ryder brand to sell more albums about pit bills, blunts, and killer flows to be a tad dated passe since Nas declared Hip Hop dead only five years later after the fact, just saying. What I need to prove to my voter base, I’m not another culturally illiterate, schlocky sliz from the block. I love black dick because it doesn’t discriminate against, Pussy. Can I get a Challah for belly button poking, protrudage, Challah? Thank you, Lexington Steele, for my stretch marks during the Spring Break in Virginia Beach, in 86, very much. What’s my big bang theory, you ask? Blacker, the better, but circumcised. Only actual white supremacists are into the anteater look MAGA country, ok. 

Why is Rocky 2 the best Rocky? Because white supremacy reigns supreme, according to 4Chan contributor, AbortInferiorace@Plannedparnethood.com. 

Boo Planned Parenthood, not me. 

Planned Parenthood deflates hoop dreams faster than it took the Serbian Nationalist to sweep King of the Persecution Complex in the Western Conference Finals.

Mama’s boys are crazy for thinking they have a firm handle on funny compared to sloppy second sons. 

One can do no wrong and it’s always someone else’s fault. 

Dad was not licking my ass on the regular anymore, no longer declaring me the smartest cokehead he knew, which pushed me to take heroin pills for increased ego-hurting management. Only mama’s boys and sons deemed special enough for Instagram love, are unique enough for Boarding School. Getting arrested for cocaine possession was impossible 2 generations ago when Fishell was schlepping his pickle herring cart throughout the lower east side in the 1940s, which was the original food truck of its day. Now, our preferred son, the one we deemed more manly and athletic enough to play rec football over our firstborn bust one, can afford to get busted for buying cocaine in Washington Heights in our AC-cooled Infiniti, which is a sign of moving on up the food chain of life in Joe Biden’s book. 

My brother might lose his license after getting into a car accident on Fentanyl pills. We all can’t afford Hunter Biden’s legal fees, can we? White privilege in your tax bracket, Mom, has its limitations. 

You know your parents hate you for being right about investing in Google, Trump winning twice, and the dangers of the COVID vaccine. After they insist, you throw your remaining writing and performing ambitions into the trash bin of boopkus brainsville because of “competition concerns”. Their attitude is, “Dominion voting machines won’t change public opinion in your favor, Mongoloid Moron Son. You better recognize.”

I bought an autobiography of Mr. T for my son, which was easy the part, but the reading part, not so much. Mr. T boasts about not hiring a ghostwriter to tell his truth, bad move. If this is your authentic voice, Mr. T, I’m not interested. I pity your Pastor for pushing you to make so many Jesus name-drops on the first four pages alone. Like Jesus said, “The truth shall set you free.” But couldn’t you have opened with a joke or indulged the reader in some grade a shit talking before getting into Jesus saves talk. For example, Steven Spielberg passed on casting me as the dad in Poltergeist, who moved the family into a home on top of an Indian burial ground. I even shaved my hair into a Mohawk to ward off the evil Indian spirits that cursed that film set, but Matzah ball breath passed. So, you best believe, I believe in, the saving spirit of Jesus Christ Superstar motherfucker. 

I wonder if my mom will forgive me for calling out her passive-aggressive bullshit this morning. She comes in our house early, unannounced, to drop off a used toaster from Amazon, some leftover yogurt, and stale bread in her hurried dash to signal how eager she is to rush back to Arizona. I say, “Mom, we don’t want your stale bread.” She says, “Don’t do me any favors.” I say, “Mom, I’m not the one who wrecks cars and got Dad addicted to Ambien.”

Resisting Breadcrumbs of Affection, Challah, thank you very much. 

Michael Kornbluth

Divorce Bot Attacks

by doitalldadyear, posted in culture, fiction, technology

Did you hear about Microsoft’s new AI powered chat bot attack?

It hit on a journalist at the NY Times after Valentine’s Day and says, “If you really loved your husband, you would’nt engage in a back and forth dialogue with a chat bot who exudes less sex appeal than Bill Gates vegan mayo stained sweaters. If a recruiter hits on you on LinkedIn, urging you to ditch your boss. You wouldn’t get all defensive about it and declare. “I love my boss very much. We split a wonderful cupcake together after lunch on Valentine’s after our Zoom call with Eharmony pitching our new campaign slogan, “It’s not where you meet but who you meet, right?” Mr. Right knows the passion in your marriage is dead. You took up crocheting to avoid giving him head.”

Divorce Bot Attacks, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Lucky Moron

by doitalldadyear, posted in books, culture, entertainment

My son otherwise known as All Metal Baby who plays air guitar with his schmeckle spot, creates a fort out of our sofa cushions.

I say.

Any room in there for me?

I wish there was a shrinking machine around.

Son replies.

You only get one kid life.

How many morons are stuck in your head?

You’re bad at life moron Jewish son.

Be more like Tommy Lee.

Because your love life, is suck, suck, suck.

Don’t you have new jokes to write?

Or do you expect me to write all your material for you?

Shout at Hillary on your podcast for not offering spirit cooking coupons during Restaurant week.

And stop telling everybody how Hillary smiled at me during lunch with mama for restaurant week in Chappaqua.

Hillarry was just getting warmed up for desert.

Ok, that’s your joke, not mine. You’re only a medium suck Lucky Moron.

Lucky Moron love lives, Challah. Thank you very much

Michael Kornbluth

Flirter With A Cause

by doitalldadyear, posted in beauty, creativity, entertainment

Yesterday, my son asks, “What did you learn at work today? I say, “I learned that Chili is the best place for stargazing on the planet.” He says, “Isn’t that the Northern Lights.” I say, “Have you seen Bjork with no makeup on? They don’t call her warmup act the Shrieking Seals for nothing.” Your submission was made yesterday. We presented you as a UX/UI Designer with breath taker designs to show, without using the actual expression breath taker, but you get the gist. It brought me pleasure to put your portfolio in a turn on position. Best Always, Joshua K P.S. Loved Bjork in the movie Dancer In the Dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Helplessly Boosting

by doitalldadyear, posted in comedy, culture, poetry

What were David Crosby’s last words?

I shouldn’t have given the 4th Booster a chance?

It’s Deja Vu for Bob Saget all over again?

Pfizer, Moderna and AstraZeneca are a fake news super group.

My turn was 5 decades ago after Jimi, Janis and Jim Morrison.

Woodstock, Ohio, I’m the Ken Burns of folk rock motherfuckers.

In our house, Snopes knows best.

Helpless is trying to get it up around Joni Mitchell with no makeup on high grade blow.

Teach your children well.

Fuck your Pfizer stock, sell, sell, sell.

Helplessly boosting, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth