Off the List

Dada's Dirty Little Secret

 

“She never worked a day in her life”

Hilary Rosen

I’m a stay at home Dada and don’t consider it work. I’m not saying that because I don’t mind rolling up my sleeves and getting my hands dirty. I’m saying that because my baby isn’t a big baby. This makes my work load barely detectable. I feel less worked than any of the Kardashian kids. And since when is working from home considered work? Since when is dancing with your baby to Bob Marley at eight o clock on a Monday morning a heart palpitation waiting to happen?

If raising my baby was work, would I be happy to greet her in the morning before my coffee kicked in? If looking after my baby is a job, then why am I not hiding out in the bathroom for twenty minute stretches at a time that blocks out the smell of victory all together?

The idea of looking after two babies stresses me out yet taking care of a behaved one is literally child’s play. I get to play with blocks again and showcase a creative side that my parents never saw strong enough to build a career on. Every day my daughter’s Fisher Price Farm is something different. Today, it’s a revitalized Hop Farm in Upstate New York, tomorrow it’s a Belgium Farmhouse that produces monk patented, sour ales.

They say if you love what you do then you never work a day in your life. I’d like to revise that sentiment and say that if your baby isn’t a bossy asshole, then the pressure is off because there isn’t that much tension to manage; which makes the job of parenting less work and more of an act of love if you don’t resent their time sucking existence. If I didn’t have the option of dropping my baby off at day care twice a week so I can get writing done I’d be singing a much angrier, Rage against the Machine tune.

Managing my baby is a walk in the park compared to managing a sales desk that has to be constantly replenished with leads and prospects to pounce and exploit for all their worth. Updating my wife on what our baby bit or spat out isn’t updating manger info in Salesforce. I’m also not making up made up activity to show my wife that I’m not jerking off on the job either. Placing my daughter in her high chair isn’t hustling to place core Java developers with Directors of IT by making cold calls all day like a glamorized telemarketer.

For me work is a laborious, passionless, time robbing job that you do to just get by while constantly fretting about getting fired and having to ask your parents for help with rent. Still, when Hillary Rosen said that Romney’s wife never worked a day in her life, I said to my wife: Should I be offended? How dare she demean my 24/7, smoke free, Punky Reggae Party with my daughter and infer that’s its mere play time devoid of all resume building potential. Where does she get the balls to characterize all stay at home parents as sheltered bums? I don’t aspire to maintain my status as the most spoiled, boastful, stay at home dad of all time. But getting to learn, play and grow with my improved twin during my time away from the real working world has been ten times more enriching than any dollar generating job I’ve ever had. If there is a golden trade, parenting is it. Just don’t call it work, or labor of love, its 99% joy, especially when your kid gives love pecks on your cheek like Matilda Rose.

Written By

The most spoiled dada in the world

Josh Kornbluth

Legend of Levon

Levon Helm was the most charismatic, soul stirring, heart pulsating, rebel rousing, authentic southern rock star that’s ever lived. Greg Allman is perpetually dour; Elvis was the king of hip shakes, karate chops, lip furling and rocking out in glittering robes while Jerry Lee Lewis always looked like an albino on fire.

John Fogerty from Creedence Clearwater comes real close, but he never performed the greatest recreationalist, southern stand against greedy union pillaging in, "The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down." Nor could the Unfortunate Son creator ever match this howling, rallying cry with such reverberating, defiant, chills down the spine producing, southern, accentuated verve.

Johnny Cash is the master southern stud when he owns the song, "Been Everywhere Man", yet he never made me feel like I missed out on god cementing nature bonds with mother earth nor did he make me feel the hushed, uplifting mountain air chill and sheer contemplative impact from living in such pastoral, farm forest surroundings.

The lead singer from Lynyrd Skynyrd soared like an American Flag bandana wearing Eagle in "Free Bird" and bitch slapped Neil Young in "Sweet Home Alabama" yet never crooned lines about longing for the land of Coca Cola on the Spanish Steps with such heart wailing, non-cheesy sentimental stylings. Plus, Levon never had to sell his southern cred by rocking out in a Confederate General Hat either.

Only Levon Helm could make the dirt caressing, live off the land, Walden Pond penning existence seem like a lively, spirit filled, transcendent topping; self revealing experience without being bored to death by it. Rest in peace Levon, only a legend like you could paint such a lovely masterpiece.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

Rodney Dangerfield as Stan Van Gundy

EXT: Hallway outside the Orlando Magic Locker Room

Stan Van Gundy

Yes, it’s true. Dwight Howard tried to get me fired. Van Gundy’s get less respect than a bad toupee.

Reporter Number One

How you do feel about your franchise player backstabbing you, trying to destroy your reputation and ruin your livelihood in the process? Isn’t Dwight Howard supposed to be a giving, charitable Christian?

Stan Van Gundy

Dwight, is as charitable as it gets, if Precious ever ran out of Tampons, I’m sure he’d offer up one of his shoulder pads.

Reporter Number One

We all know Dwight isn’t generous. If he was, he’d piggy back Jameer Nelson back to respectability, but we all know that the promise of that one two punch has passed.

Stan Van Gundy

Let’s save the biting commentary for the coach, Mike Wallace. But yes, Jameer Nelson is Dwight’s, backwards ass, side show clown. He’s doesn’t hustle, play hard or listen to direction either. Together, I call them Kris Krossed.

Report Number One

Do you think Dwight Howard has what it takes to win a title?

Stan Van Gundy

I don’t give a shit anymore. The black superman tried to get my ass fired faster than a speeding bullet. Nate Robinson can sneak up from behind naked and give him a flying tea bag for all I care.

Dwight Howard comes out of the locker room and greets Stan with a lumbering, forced, ultra awkward, Octopus wrap around, squeamish hug with his extra long, slime conjuring, tentacle size arm. Dwight Howard forces that goofy, loveable, all American big man smile that has worn thin.

Dwight Howard

What’s the game plan against the Knicks coach?

Stan Van Gundy

Suffocate Carmelo, force him to hurl jumpers from midcourt, bear hug Steve Novak until he drops the belt routine and keep Chandler off the boards. Make sure he doesn’t reach over you and grab those loose balls which are a tall order because the size your balls are hard for even NBA big men to grasp. Ok, I’m done here guys. Take over Dwight. Good luck with Jameer Nelson leading you to NBA immortality.

Stan Van Gundy wobbles out of the locker room with a look of clammy, disgust like he just got molested in public on set of OZ.

Reporter Number One

So Dwight, we just heard that you just asked management to fire Stan Van Gundy repeatedly.

Dwight Howard

Who’s your source?

Reporter Number Two

Uh, your coach just validated it for us. Why else do you think that forced affection arm sling hug was more awkward than the time his brother clung on to Alonzo Mourning like a sand blown Palm Tree during a hurricane?

Dwight Howard

(Playing dumb, not a stretch)

Who’s your source?

Reporter Number Three

Dwight, your own coach just said that you tried to get rid of him throughout the season and that it came straight from the top. Do you care to comment on that?

Dwight Howard

I don’t know what you’re talking about? Who’s your source?

Reporter Number One

Just continue to play dumb, Dwight, it’s worked out so well for you so far. Who’s you’re source, who’s your source, you’re a giant baby.

Dwight Howard

What if I did try to get him fired so what? Carmelo just did it, MJ and Magic before him?

Reporter Number One

Carmelo was our third best scorer in the Olympics. MJ is MJ and Magic made HIV disappear. Your ‘e not in the same class because you have none to begin with. And you’re the source of that, not Stan Van Gundy. As we fade out.

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting sold, played and touched by the WWE

Watching WrestleMania 28 on Pay-Per-View last Sunday made me realize how much I was sold on this being a must-see, can’t miss event. I fell victim to the once in a lifetime hype that super charged the Rock, Cena throw down, in Miami, home of the millions, and millions of fans that love to chant Rocky and rip off Stallone’s legendary creation in the processs. The end of an era headline used to sell the Undertaker, Triple H match worked on me so good, I actually cared about the legacy of Triple H for a change.

And the build up to the Chris Jericho, CM Punk face off, fed into my longing for reliving those high flying, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon years of the WWF when wrestlers like Super Fly Jimmy Snuka, Ricky the Dragon and the always dapper Tito Santana, reigned supreme. You ever notice how Tito Santana’s mame of hair never got wrinkled no matter how many times he charged into an opponent off the ropes with his driving, clothesline? Tito Santana's record at WrestleMania was 2-9 by the way. That’s lame considering his competition, Greg the Hammer Valentine looked out of shape even back then. Mr. Wonderful had that awesome pile driver and the most glittering, star worthy robes and a name that edged out Mr. Perfect. So you know what I take that back. Tito didn’t get screwed. He held on to the Intercontinental Championship Belt for a long time when belt changes in the WWF were about as common as Elizabeth caught not wearing any makeup.

Just like Alec Baldwin says in Glengarry Ross, the WWE is always closing. Critics bash the WWE for now becoming more about smack talk than actual wrestling. But how else do you expect the fans to get consumed into the ongoing drama leading up to WrestleMania? The typical tough guy, scared guy, weasel guy posturing and signature match ending moves offer little surprise on weekly television airings of Raw and Smackdown. Pay-Per -View time is must see time because that’s when feuds are settled, legends are made and when Vince deposits another money load into the bank. That’s the way it’s always been and always will be; it’s Capitalism 101, WWE style.

WWE is always pitching, pushing and packaging its sports entertainment product. It’s pretty awe inspiring for anyone that’s ever worked in sales or entertainment for a living. It’s also quite overwhelming knowing that the WWE machine was back in action on Monday for Monday Night Raw right after the four hour Wrestlemania extravaganza Sunday night. Letting the WWE take a night off after its own Super Bowl event would be a nice touch and allow fans at least one day to soak in what just happened, but that’s not how Vince rolls. The show must go on and they don’t shut down money making Broadway shows the day after the Tony Awards either. I don’t know that for a fact but it sounds like a convincing argument.

Being played with by the WWE is a humiliating feeling, knowing that I wasn’t any different from the millions of teenage wrestling fans that got tricked into thinking for a fleeting moment that Shawn Michaels sweet chin music was going to end the dead man’s undefeated streak at Wrestlemania. I beat myself up over how gulible I felt all night. It felt like I was duped into buying a bag of oregano from an underclassman in high school all over again.

Logically, there was no way the Undertaker was going to lose this match. The guy is immortal for Christ sake. He’s never lost at WrestleMania. He’s outlasted all the other scary, haunted characters like Mike Meyers without the mask. Yet all of a sudden, he’s going to lose to Triple H because the ex-Playgirl Centerfold bails him out with a stiff kick to the chin. Like that’s going to be the difference maker in the match after the Undertaker got crushed with a sledgehammer for what felt like the entire duration of the Peter Gabriel video twelve times in a row. Yes, we all thought that the Shawn Michaels kick would be that difference maker in the end. Joining forces with Triple H was the only way to end the winning streak and what better pair of wrestling buds to do it we thought.

When Shawn Michael’s dropped the Undertaker with the swift, elongated chin kick that reached for the heavens, my heart jumped out its chest and came slinging straight back up like it just went bungee jumping without expecting it. You can’t beat this level of high drama anywhere, not even on Broadway. If you were a fan of the WWF as a kid, you can’t help but be emotionally invested in this type of high stakes, modern living folklore.

The Undertaker is a role of a lifetime and he’s milked it for everything its worth. My generation has such deep rooted connections to this type of entertainment. Are ties to characters like the Undertaker have been in place for some time and are impossible to replicate. Tony Soprano had a run that was Big Boss Man long but that’s it. If Don Draper choked on his puke while passed out on his desk, I wouldn’t be bothered by it, is all I’m saying.

Everything after the Triple H, Undertaker match was anti-climatic. I didn’t care if CM Punk closed the casket on Chris Jericho’s career for good. Chris Jericho is a successful, rock star that has had a better second act than 99% of all professional wrestlers once they left the wrestling business. So how much empathy is Jericho going to drum up exactly? It was exciting to see to CM Punk and Jericho face off knowing that they became marital artists and hot shot tamales from their fighting days in Japan and Mexico during their formative, wrestling years. The alcoholic dad insults that were supposed to make CM Punk lose his cool so he’d get disqualified was unnecessary knowing that their mere athleticism and wrestling talent alone would make the fight legendary as is. Making references to CM Punk’s alcoholic dad was so cheesy, it made Virgil’s sleeveless white tuxedo blush.

Rock beating Cena didn’t pack an emotional wallop because Cena is new school, a tad clunky and doesn’t stimulate the imagination the way old school livings legends do. Plus, the Rock always wins at everything and I was much more interested in what he had to say about being victorious instead.

After Triple H got pinned, his best friend and guest referee Shawn Michaels and his arch nemesis, the Undertaker put him between them and escorted him out of the ring, with his dead arms draped around their shoulders looking like a swelled up Jesus post crucifixion.

Helping Triple H out of the ring with his dead arms flung over Shawn Michaels and the Undertaker was such a natural expression of manly brotherhood that was as real as it gets. But the most heart pulsating moment of the night was when the Undertaker, Shawn Michaels and Triple H held each other close for a collective embrace as the crowd stood on their feet, showering them with love for giving them the most heart splattering send off imaginable. You couldn’t help but feel a surge in pride and renewed respect for such a classy gesture from legendary wrestling royalty.

There’s only been 17 Hell in the Cell Matches and I think Triple H and Undertaker killed each other in like twelve of them. I don’t see Daniel Bryan, Cody Rhodes or any other of the new age, small men, absorbing that level of punishment without being shattered to pieces on the spot. This match really was the end of an era and better than advertised. How rare is that?

Steamboat versus Macho Man, Hogan versus Rock, Hogan versus Andre were all electrifying Wrestlemania matches that were flush with emotional peaks. But none of those events came close to touching me the way this band of brothers embrace did. It was a privilege to be a part of this living legends tribute as they made their last gut spilling charge toward wrestling immortality. Tito Santana's hair from the nineties never knew perfection like this.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

Sandler as host equals Oscar gold

I’m sick of everyone calling Billy Crystal a real pro. A pro that’s past his prime, a pro, that’s lasting on fumes from Analyze That and a pro that’s more dated than mob bosses using pay phones to avoid wiretapping. His edgiest joke during the Oscars was about Jonah’s Hill’s weight loss and how they were offering cupcakes after the show. Sly take down there City Slicker. And why did Jonah Hill bring his Mom to the Oscars? To show the world that he forgives his mom for raising a fatty. Billy Crystal is a war horse but a worn out one, that shouldn’t be put out to stud when he looks like a piece of Pickle Herring, in moldy, cream sauce.

This year, the Oscars felt real pathetic to me because it felt like everyone was so desperate to relive the glories of the nineties when comedies ruled, when comedic turned dramatic actors like Tom Hanks, John Cusack, Michael J. Fox, Steve Martin and Michael Keaton were peaking, big time. Back then, Hollywood was pumping out classic star vehicles for all the comedic studs like Murray, Candy, Chevy, Eddy, even Jim Belushi for Christ sake. But now we have to get excited about Jonah Hill getting dramatic, an overabundance of Paul Rudd, an overreliance on Jason Bateman, endless hyped, Judd Apatow, anointed productions, unwelcome Kristen Wiig bra shots, and Zack Galifianakis silly toned punch-lite musings. As Billy Crystal, pussy footed throughout the remainder of his final lap as Oscar host, it was impossible to not think of what Hollywood star could take over the hosting reigns and put crack-less Crystal out of his misery.

Jack Black would work if he could sing jokes, the entire time. Sarah Silverman would be great and make Ricky Gervais and Chris Rock seem like unik’s in comparison. But she’s not a movie star, got dumped by Jimmy Kimmel and is losing her slacker, hot Jewess, appeal which is strike three against her. What host could advance the art form of hosting, be edgy about it and ooze tremendous, bankable star power all at the same time? Will Ferrell, not unless he dressed an as Elf or got immersed in some character which doesn’t fly because then the show is more about his performance and not about the nominees themselves. The Rock would knock it out of the park yet letting him host would be Hollywood’s way of acknowledging WWE wrestlers as actual actors so that’s not happening either. Rosie O’Donnell would be funnier than Whoopee Goldberg and not nearly as predictable or preachy. Plus, her personality has more pop than Ellen and she outshined Larry David in every scene from Curb this year which Tina Fey isn’t pulling off, anytime, sorry. Wanda Sykes would be great at hosting but unless you’re a black, academy award winning actress that has done one woman shows on Broadway and Ted Danson in black face, you’re not getting that chance. At this point, I’ll just get to the point considering you already know my preferred Oscar host selection if you read the title up top and could stomach my pro-feminist rant in favor of new female comedians hosting the Oscar’s. The man that would make the greatest Oscar host of all time is a bomb proof, gold weaving comedic overlord. He’s the movie mogul that never gets enough credit, the miracle worker that made Hanukah sound like a cool inclusive event for a change, Adam; show me your cock and balls, Sandler.

Adam Sandler is the biggest movie star of this generation. Screw Will Smith, Sandler doesn’t need to play off aliens or be a drunken super hero in order to pack fans in the seats. If anyone has the embraced the concept of Hollywood family it’s this guy. His comedy buds are in all of his films and everyone wishes that they could get in on the action because nobody is having more fun than these guys. He’s also consistently reaching out to comedians that he wants to include in his growing fraternity. Sandler contacted Nick Swardson after seeing his stand-up special on Comedy Central. Years later, Nick co-wrote Grandma’s Boy and is a proud, proflic member of the Happy Madison family which is a farm team that everyone envies like the Yankees in the early nineties. Sandler also recruited Russell Brand from overseas after he was interviewed by him on MTV right before he got fired for dressing like Osama Bin Laden and consuming half of Afghanistan’s poppy crop that Arab spring. Moving making is a collaborative art form, which is the real glue that keeps the Hollywood family together and Sandler is the coolest overseer and fixer of that.

Sandler’s speeches at award shows and prepared jokes for talk shows are always funny. The only other star that delivers that much charisma and consistently funny goods on talk shows like Letterman is Howard Stern. Yet deep down, Howard is jealous of Sandler because Sandler has been racking in twenty million pay days since the early nineties and has more money than he does. And he didn’t have to wake up at 4 in the morning and fill up five hours worth of radio for the past thirty years while doing it either.

Also if you’re going to host the Oscars, it’s important that someone be able to quote lines from the movies you were in. For Steve Martin that would be check, Chevy Chase check, David Letterman, nada. Chris Rock gets a half a check for the line, “how much for one rib.” Adam Sandler has more quotable lines from Billy Madison than from all of the Judd Apatow produced films combined, including Funny People which managed to strangle out every last drop of funny in his DNA.

At the Oscar’s, Sandler could verbally abuse, Clooney and Tom Hanks and not sweat any career repercussions because of it. If Sandler hosted this year, he’d attack Clooney and say: Say what you want about my stoner slacker attire but I rock a Hawaiian shirt better than you do Clooney. And nobody is calling me a genius for it. Spielberg is a great director but he’s not known as a great comedic director who managed to strip Belushi of any funny in him in 1941. It would be great if Adam made fun of his spit filled, lisp or the fact that he hasn’t hooked up his wife with an acting role since the Temple of Doom. If he gave his wife one more juicy role to play, she’d at least have a higher a social standing than Tom Hank’s wife. I also hear that Sandler can throw down with the best of them in real life so watching him make fun of Vince Vaughn or Mark Walberg without holding back would be a joy to behold.

Eddie Murphy would've been a great Oscar host yet he blew that chance by backing his new boy, Ratner. It would’ve been poetic justice if he made fun of the academy for firing Chris Tucker’s meal ticket, but that time has passed. Its Sandler time, no Oscar host can go down smoother. Everyone wants to be a bud in his crew. Sandler as host would be Oscar gold. It would cement his legacy while Jim Carrey prays for someone to write a sequel to Ace Ventura, Nature Calls or Liar, Liar. Given the chance, Ben Stiller would try too hard and be unable to match Sandler’s irresistible mix of silly, sweet and profane. Fuck you EDDY, Sandler is the real Golden Child.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

Knicks Pocket Dictionary-Modern Edition

 

Knicks Pocket Dictionary-Modern Edition

Ewinging-it (v)

Butterfingers caused from excessive flop sweat over facing superior talent that consistently overpowers you, diminishes your legacy and uproots any sense of security on your home floor.  

Gundy (v and n)

Studying game film all night,  know it all intuitiveness, lofty, New York superiority,  refreshingly honest, unfiltered, criticism, an articulate, informed David Stern basher and clinging on to a tree trunk or NBA center for dear life.

Houston’s (n)

An upper, middle tier steakhouse chain but not in the same league as Morton’s or Ruth’s Chris and an injury plagued, salary cap hogging, lame excuse for a franchise player.

Leeing (v)

Wanting to stay but being forced to leave your team and make way for more freakishly athletic players that don’t have the weak white boy stigma attached to them.

Linergy(n)

Elevated, unified state of basketball team play that produces maximum, pun productivity, courtside celebrity awkwardness and nauseating levels of bandwagon fever.

LJ (N)

Damaged goods, sudden loss of all explosiveness and accelerated physical deterioration that plagues ex-All stars turned Knicks like Steve Franics, Kiki Vandeweghe, Rolando Blackman, Glen Rice and Amare Stoudemire.  

Marvonize (v)

Smooth, ratatat, play by play banter, that oozes charm, has plenty of bite and leaves an indelible mark on NBA broadcasting, wearing woman’s panties while not breaking character to answer the door for room service.

Mason-Cut (n and v)

A hair style that promotes an NBA team logo in a stylish, subtle, creative way and flashy, impressive coast to coast dribbling skills for a snarling, out of nowhere, undisputed, NBA tough guy.    

Melonate (v)

To contemplate lost fortune, lose all faith in an elite scorer and to become bitter over a failing savior.  

Nate-gator (v)

When forced shots and out of control play outweighs any previous, offensive feats.

Oakley’s (n)

A carwash that can charge whatever it wants because nobody dares to call an offensive charge on its owner, Charles, strong as Oak, Oakley.   

Starbury (v)

To close the deal in the back of a truck, fulfill promise in China, break free from the curse of Isaiah Thomas.

Stark-Wall (n)

The most painful reminder of talent limitations, a harsh grounding in reality, where mental toughness dissipates and the point where you exceed your capacity for zone type play during an NBA championship.  

Spree (v)

To flee from a menacing, impending choke hold.

Thomultuous (n)

An undeserved, drawn out period of stinking up the joint and taking everyone else with you down the toilet including offspring that get accused of being the one who overdosed on Lunesta, allegedly.

X-Man (n)

A super human bad ass, known for a penetrating, eye popping stare that freezes NBA players into lifeless stone figures like a bald Medusa.

 

Written By

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

 

How my painter painted me as gay

I hired a painter to paint my apartment. My manhood was under siege right after he saw the paint I chose when he said: “So you chose the purple. Was that not manly enough for you Dominick I ain’t no fag Scholanti.”  

He said so you chose purple like I chose to be gay instead of taking my life. “So you chose the purple. You might as well have painted a bull’s eye on your asshole. I respond with: “But it’s not your normal purple it, its purple haze. Your still abnormal and might as well have had me paint purple veined cocks on the wall as far as I’m concerned.

The End

By

Josh Kornbluth

Why should we respect Joe Paterno now?

Why is everyone so afraid to say it? Joe Pateno was a creep of the highest order and main protector of one monster mugged pedophile. He is the all time winning coach in college football yet he’s also the biggest loser in the humanity and empathy department. When you’re deemed bigger and powerful than the school itself and do nothing to usurp evil for the greater good of innocent children then you’re a spineless snake that isn’t good enough for pet food in Slash’s snake pit.

What’s so legendary about a coach that didn’t blow the whistle on a pedophile that raped school boys on Penn state grounds? What’s so legendary about a coach that always looks like he never showered? That’s why Sandusky practically got away with murder in the showers because he knew that he’d never find Paterno in there.  If Paterno was such a legendary coach he’d know when to play a prevent defense when his integrity and legacy was on the line? If Joe Paterno was such a legendary coach that why couldn’t he read the through the Pedophile Defense, “Just soaping them down Joe, nothing to see here but sparkling scrotums.” If Joe Paterno was such a legendary coach then why couldn’t he take down the tackle dummy coach that ripped underprivileged children apart by the seams? Even the Jackson Family thinks that Paterno should’ve called a play for pass interference. They say Joe was a real fan of the Greek classics. I guess his defense was: The Greeks did it to young boys, so can Sandusky as long I beat Bear Bryant in all time wins.

Why should we respect Paterno now, knowing that he clung on to Sandusky like his decrepit windbreaker even though he was accused of molesting an entire pee wee league? I’m so tired of hearing how Paterno was a molder of men. Let’s call him a great sculptor of scruples while we’re at it, NOT. If he was such an honorable man that instilled such stand-up character then why didn’t he stand up to Sandusky and boot him out of the Penn state family once there was an eye witness account of him wrestling with boys in the shower like it was OZ for pedophiles.  Paterno did nothing to throw Sandusky into the dog pound or put him under. Instead, he gave him a longer leash than Michael Jackson’s jailed doctor. And for all the talk of him creating such classy men from Penn State, not one has rebuked their allegiance to Joe papa don’t preach to me, about protecting pedophiles Paterno.

I just don’t get why the media insists on portraying this sack of moral-less bones as an innocent by-stander like he was some hairy lipped Italian grandma that got flashed in the middle of Times Square but was too freaked out to point the pointy headed perpetrator.

Paterno was a coward, a fraud and despicable figure for any university even by divinity school standards in Boston.  Screw Joe Paterno, screw Penn State and screw anyone that insists on calling him a legend after he dropped the ball during the most crucial stand of his life. Legend, butter fingers is more like it.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

My very last meal

Picking a last meal is hard knowing that it’s your last chance to pick
a winner.  For my last meal, I just pray for enough confidence in my
own ideas so I don’t rely on message boards like Chowhound.com for any
last minute suggestions. “Any suggestions for my last meal on earth,
but please, don’t say In and Out because I’ll just think about my
dreams that never materialized in LA and how this was the New York
Winter that finally killed me.”

For my very last meal, I’d resist the urge to get the white fish salad
bagel sandwich at Russ and Daughters that comes with Horseradish cream
cheese and wasabi infused roe. Nobody wants to burp up white fish and
have that smell be their last dying breath
.
Getting something sweet as a last meal like a Red Velvet Cupcake from
Magnolia Bakery at the original location in the West Village is
tempting. If I’m lucky, I can cause a traffic jam as I lie dead on the
street with cream cheese icing on my chin and cause the Sex and City
Bus Tour to fall behind schedule.

I’d have to consider a porterhouse for two at Peter Lugers to make up
for the time I went to Craft for my anniversary with my vegetarian
wife and had to settle for the Normandy duck instead.

I’d also have to give the Peking duck at Peking Duck in Chinatown
serious consideration, but only if the Chinese waiters agree to roll
up the entire duck in pancakes for me. If not, I’d get duck sauce all
over my hands which would make me a sticky corpse and I wouldn’t want
Andy
Dick to get any last minute ideas.

For my last Italian meal, I’d get the Veal Osso Bucco from Enzo’s.
It’s voluptuous and mature yet I’d think of veal scaloppini after my
first bite knowing that she’s the one baby that I never outgrew.

Getting Fried Chicken at Sidecar for a last meal would be a stupid
move. I’d turn cold before the chicken cooled.

A homemade meatball pizza from Lombardi’s on Spring Street on the
border of SOHO and Little Italy would be sweet. It would be like dying
between the intersection of Italian heaven and tourist hell.

I’d love to get a seafood risotto from Lupa for my last meal just to
show death that I’m not afraid of keeping him waiting. If my waiter
knew that risotto was my last meal, he’d push for a quicker order so I
didn’t die in his section which sucks up all his tips. The waiter
says:  “Sir, the risotto takes forever. It’s like Keith Richards. By
the time it gets nice and cooked, the party is over.”

If I got ribs for my last meal, I’d get the salt and pepper ribs at
Blue Smoke. They don’t have any sauce so I wouldn’t have to clean up
with a tarp. Plus, Blue Smoke is a dressed up joint that leaves a
cleaner, more everlasting high.

How can I get a Lobster Roll at Mary’s Fish Camp and not feel shorted?
It’s a one song lap dance with a no touch policy.

I’d love to get the Pastrami on Rye at Katz for my last meal but that
sandwich always piles on the guilt. It’s the highest level of
gluttony, literally.

Weed brownies could be the best of both worlds. But weed brownies are
also major creepers.  I won’t know when, I’ll be flying or dying.

But if I had to choose a last meal; I’d get a Founder’s Breakfast
Stout which is that Irish, pouragy Guinness meal experience that
everyone talks about except you don’t have fly to Ireland and pretend
that you like Collin Ferrell either.   Founder’s Breakfast Stout is so
good, the idea of sharing it with loved ones hovering around your
death bed, will kill you.

Written By,
Josh Kornbluth

Long time Eli fan, first time caller

INT: WFAN-DAY

(Mike Francesa, Josh Kornbluth)

Mike

We have Josh from Edgemont, NY. 

Josh

Long time Eli fan, first time caller Mike.

Mike

I wonder who this call is going to be about.

Josh

How could you bet against Eli Manning against Aaron Rodger’s?  He’s silenced more sportswriters than the papers that can no longer afford them? What happened to your NY pride? Did you swallow it along with the Mad Dog’s broadcasting career?

Mike

I saw Aaron Rodgers play at a superhuman level all year. I don’t know what happened.

Josh

I tell you what happened. Eli bent Rodgers over and got all the play action he wanted for four whole quarters, that’s what happened.  The baby faced road warrior lead another powerhouse victory that power slammed MR. Perfect into the ground.   How you can bet against Eli? Did you think that his performance against Atlanta was just a peak of bigger things to come like another intercepted text from Brett Favre?

Mike

Aaron Rodgers just had one of the best seasons in NFL history. And they hadn’t lost at Lambeau field all season.

Josh

Eli isn’t intimidated by a bunch of cheese heads. He lives in Hoboken New Jersey which is as cheesy as it gets. Plus, Eli is a member of football royalty. What is Aaron Rodgers a member of besides the NRA and the local elk club? You never bet against Eli in the post season, Mike. He already out-dueled a Greek God when he won his first ring. All Aaron Rodgers had to do was overpower a peg legged, predator in the Super Bowl in order to get what Eli already had. 

Mike

Look, I’ve always said that Eli’s legacy in this town is secure no matter what happened after he beat Brady and the Pats. But Aaron Rodgers only had six interceptions this year.

Josh

You screwed up Mike. Unlike the other deferential douche bags that call this show, I’m not concerned with getting your professional opinion on whether Eli will win it all now, because you’ve lost that privilege for making no effort to pump up our prospects of winning again in Green Bay. As usual, you insist on dragging out that dronish, sobering, admonishing tone with any New Yorker that dared to believe in Eli getting the job done again. Yet according to you the difference between 2008 and now was about as pronounced as the difference between a three and five year Wisconsin Cheddar from Trader’s Joes.

Mike

Eli is an elite quarterback yet Aaron Rodgers had an awful game which the Giants exploited.

Josh

Why are you still so rock hard over Aaron Rodgers? Eli beat the freaking Silver Surfer that get’s ridden by a perfect ten every night.  The only thing Aaron Rogers is linked to our Wisconsin Bratwursts tailgating parties, rotten cheese and paper champions like Stallone before he beat MR. T in Rocky III.  He’s also an inferior commercial spokesperson that doesn’t even get any lines in his commercials which is more than you say for the lines that form on Giselle’s coffee table.

 Mike

Normally, I’d cut you off five rants ago but we don’t seem to have any other callers today.

Josh

They don’t care about your opinion anymore Mike. It has as much creditability as Peyton’s Manning’s chiropractor.  Now if you promise to never undersell Eli again, I’ll let you have your listener’s back even though you treat them like a collection of dumb girls that you make no effort to charm or take seriously.

Mike

I’ve been the voice of New York sports radio for twenty plus years.  The New Yorker called me the man with Brent Musburger’s brain. I even co-hosted a radio show with Bill Parcels for Christ sake. And you are going to trying to intimate me, Josh, from Edgemont, NY?

Josh

I think I already did.  Eli for President, Baba Booey, click.

 

                                                                    The End

 Written By,

 Who else but Josh Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

David Stern hates Purple and Gold People

Since David Stern shot down the trade that would have brought Chris
Paul to the Los Angels Lakers, celebrities and famous athletes of all
stripes have been acccusing him of hating Purple and Gold People. “He vetoed the
trade for Chris Paul to prove who owns who according to gangsta rap
pioneer turned family friendly mogul, Ice Cube. He never said it but
by vetoing the trade he is one upping Obama going: Who’s got the
vetoing power now, biatch”, Ice Cube added.

When you hate Purple and Gold People you hate show time. “For David
Stern show time was the time at fat camp in the showers when everyone
showed off their fresh crop of pubic hair while he had nothing to show
which was way too much to bare”, according to Hall of Fame, HIV hurdler,
Magic Johnson. “If David Stern is so concerned with adopting the city
of New Orleans and helping out the disenfranchised then he should have
arranged a sale to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie”, says: former LSU star
and hoop collapsing dunk king, Shaquille O’Neal.

“Who does David Stern think he is, adopting ownership of the New
Orleans Hornets like he was Mr. Drummond trying to prevent a massive molestation at the Superdome”, says, last cast star standing, Todd Bridges. “If David Stern wasn’t so stingy;
he’d give the Lakers a shot to rack up more glittering rings yet they
don’t call him the Small Tipper for nothing”, says ex-Laker, Wilt the
Stilt otherwise known as the Big Dipper among his 100,000 lady flapping fans.

“He hates Purple and Gold People because they get access to the most
magnificent concentration of beauties in the world yet he’s always had
zero moves to the hole which is why I think he’s such  a hater”, says,
former hooker haggling, hoop legend, James, ten times faster than
McHale, Worthy.  When David Stern went to camp, his bunkmates, sky hooked
his swimming goggles into the bunk hamper every week during Laundry
Day which is why he’s so insistent on wrecking havoc on the Lakers
according to the NBA’s all time leading scorer and biggest loser in
stock market history, Kareem Adul Jabbar.

“He is a joyless toad that is intent on denying joy to the sunshine
state as he rots away in the staid suburban enclave of Westchester
county while our best and brightest stay up late bedding playmates”,
says lifestyle icon, Hugh Hefner.  “Just when the Lakers were on the verge of scoring big, David Stern got in the way which makes him a cock blocker of the highest order”, added free speech icon, Larry, loose lipped Flynt.

The hardcore courtside fans know foul play when they see it.  “From where I stand, David Stern shouldv'e beem charged with a lane violation every time he stepped out of his commissioner booth to shoot down the series of arranged deals”, says Jack, Cookoo for cocaine, Nicholson. Other purple and gold cheering, courtside celebrities believe that he is punishing their fan base to make up for his own sexual shortcomings. He’s the only guy that went to Mardi Gras in college who got all the purple and gold beads for promising to keep his cloths on says, Dyan can barley afford these tickets anymore, Cannon. “This nasty little warlock thinks he’s so smart yet he has no idea how to score in the triangle offense”, she added.

According to Nickki Finn at Deadline Hollywood, David Stern’s hatred
of Purple and Gold people reached a boiling point when his son was
denied an internship at DreamWorks. Steven Spielberg wrote his son
off as a substandard dreamer; David Geffen didn’t find him nearly cute
enough and was overheard at Calvin Klein’s pool house in Southampton
by the bilingual cabaña boy saying he had no interest in hiring a dumpy, uninspired version of Jeffrey Katzenberg’s kid.

Purple and Gold People aren’t used to such overt racism. They have keys the city of LA yet deep down they know that Stern wouldn’t trust them to valet his Audi. “Even purple and gold people have feelings says MJ stalker, Kobe Bryant.”

Even after offering to pay their wages, Lamar Odom can’t pay a camera
crew to film his reality show in Dallas. “If you think World Peace
went nuts when he attacked the fans at Auburn Hills, just wait and see
what Lamar does to the fans in Dallas when opposing fans start calling
Chloe Kardashian Leather Face which could lead to modern day Texas
Chainsaw Massacre”, says, horror movie maestro,
Robert Rodriquez.

Purple and Gold People are accustomed to being envied but never
snickered at yet haters including Stern can’t help themselves now that
their calling LA, Lob City in honor of Paul and Griffin. Now, this capped duo is a bigger draw than Kobe and Gasol otherwise known as me and my bitch. According to Laker management, fan support is pretty shaky these days. “Fan support is about as firm as a limp handed handshake from Perez Hilton”, says Knick fan lifer, Chris Rock.

By negating the Laker deal for Chris Paul, David Stern has shown how much he hates Purple and Gold People, particularly, the self-proclaimed Mamba who’s now coiling in fear at the prospect of never slithering away from MJ’s shadow.  Recent reports claim that a stand-by room service agent at the Mercer Hotel for Kayne West overheard him yelling at Stuart Scott on Sportscenter saying: “Stop dancing around it Stuart, just say David Stern hates Purple and Gold People, particularly, Kobe.  Even your glass eye can see that.”

Written By

Josh Kornbluth