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

I'd prefer a girl

Whenever you tell a casual friend, overbearing mother or complete stranger that your having a kid, the immediate response is, what sex is it. You just announced the most natural, divine act that mankind is capable of yet the mad obsessions with sex already begins, this kid won’t even know how to play with his private parts for the next decade yet the so called grown ups are already fixated on the sex of your sperm scoring, fetus forming infant. I don ‘t care what sex the kid is because were committed to having it, abortion was never an option because it was sort of planned and my wife turns 30 next month and her eggs aren’t getting any fresher, so the sex of the kid is insignificant at this point and has no impact on my satisfaction level, sanity, sex life or sure-fire sperm shooters that got her pregnant after only firing of a couple of initially construed practice rounds by a cornfield while hippies blared Grateful Dead tunes like Not Fade Away which hummed outside our baby creating, top the line, just broken in, tent.

If I had to chose, I’d prefer a girl because then the kids will stand a better chance of becoming more like it’s mommy. I don’t want to pass down my knocked knees, can’t sit Indian style comfortably limbs to a boy that can’t go to a yoga class without feeling like he got the deformed end of the stick. Also, if we have a boy, I just know that he’ll inherit my trip over paved sidewalks while digging into my wife’s back heal, level of coordination which he’ll resent me for forever. I’m also not even close to closing that gap between being a shishy bitch and being a man’s man so at this point, I’m unprepared and unsuited to teach my kid how to be a real man let alone end my own humiliating, pussified, panic stricken state around power tools, bar fights or under the hood of a car while an oil covered mechanic hovers over me, raping me for all I’m worth from behind.

How can I teach my kid how to be a man when I’m barely clinging on to that title? I don’t know how to throw a punch, change a tire or avoid getting raped by an Italian Mechanic as stated before, so what type of man defining wisdom do I have to offer my potential baby boy? Thank god that your tall because nobody really messes with you even though they don’t know that your father’s only contact with boxing was him experiencing a boxer’s fracture after he punched a stationary door after missing an easy pool shot in some loser, sightless, bar outside of Hermosa Beach on the day of Rosh Hashanah where he had no business day drinking in the first place. What other pearls of man exerting knowledge can I can teach? Triple A is the most dependable friend a Jewish man can have. If you want to become a real man, you’ll tell me to not pay for your Bar Mitzvah and take you shopping at Home Depot instead.

I’ll also make to sure to prevent my kid from listening to all of my old hair metal records and to ban him from reading any collectible issues of Circus magazine so his bedroom doesn’t look like a house of She- Males, pursing lips, doing splits and licking their guitar shafts. If you want to be a real man kid, I’ll send you to Wilderness Ventures so you can learn how to hone your outdoor, survival instincts, scale mountains, start fires and stare down bears without trickling pee down your leg like a tepid tranny caught taking a pee in a back alley in the Meatpacking District in front of a group of drunk, horny, frat boys, about to strike.

I also hate this half a fag notion that you receive whenever I tell someone that I’d actually prefer a girl over a boy as that’s the most repulsive, sexually repugnant, hell damning statement an alleged straight man can make. I’ve always gotten along better with woman, and always found for more woman than men to spend my free time with. Having a warm, juicy, glory hole for me to nestle my macho man, maligning, monster inside certainly helps but once I’ve surpassed that sweaty sex period of the relationship, I’m spending what, five minutes a day inside there, tops.

Besides blah brained, vacant, yenta yuksters, woman are more interesting conversationalists than men because the majority of men are about as deep as the eighteen hole and as humorous as the blank faced, dead eyed, sleepy time, emotionally numb skulled Andy Roddick.

 Let’s face it guys suck. Guys cheat, get fat and try to get co-workers fired for challenging their corporate authority like humorless shriveled up pee, pee heads. In my previous piece, I placed slight emphasis on the female reaction to our baby announcement which was far from storybook but what these woman fail to realize is that I just expect a better showing from them in comparison to dudes who are supposed to be the ones that act stupefied, confused, and emotionally ambiguous from such uprooting, Christopher Columbus, new world opening discoveries.

I hate guys that drop lines like, I got to have a boy like an extension of them is crucial for the advancement of mankind or that his holy seed will give birth to the next incarnation of the Dali Lama. These guys always demand to know what the sex is ahead of time so they can mentally prepare themselves for the prospect of not generating more of them which was pretty sleazy, cheap and thoughtless last time I checked but brace away for not being able to perpetuate such a lovely, refreshing, concoction.

The main concern any father has for a girl is her being sexually assaulted yet my potential daughter will be well versed in the martial arts and will be shoeless until she earns her black belt so I’m not sweating out that outcome so I can wish for an annoying, loud, unsophisticated, run of the mill teenage boy. Wishing for a boy just seems beyond cliché and not all that unique. If we have a daughter, that kid has a strong chance of becoming a bad ass, long legged, hilarious, artistic, laugh out loud, balling beauty. Child Molestation has nothing to do with my desire to bang out a girl by the way. In the end, I’d prefer a girl because the world needs more super sweet, cool, funny, tree hugging, big hearted, gentle yet strong, love filled spirits that shine inside my wife and with some luck will be passed on to our child.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Were having a baby!

Were having a baby! That’s the most mature, decisive, life changing announcement you can make. The only comparable proclamation a couple can make is: Were getting divorced, were adopting an Asian baby or were going to form a comedy team, move to Australia and form a love triangle with some exotic, wildly erratic, multi-lingual beauty that Woody Allen would claim credit for creating.

We didn’t tell our parents about the incoming baby till after we got married . In short, we didn’t want our unformed, colorless, turnip size baby to steal any attention from us because in five months we won’t be able to make a purely selfish decision ever again. We also held off on telling them because we didn’t want to deal with any potential, worrisome resistance, unwelcome, dreaded, I don’t think your capable of raising it, silence, or unpleasantly surprised sighs of disbelief. Telling our friends, siblings, parents and other close family members about our first, incoming, bloodline perpetuating, family creating love child has given us an immediate feel for how freaked out it made them in both the positive and encouraging and deflating, resentful, you don’t know what your getting it into sense.

First, we told my wife’s friends because her bachleorette party was coming up and she thought it was the respectful, thoughtful thing to do considering their shared history of lushing it up together since college throughout their high liver living, mostly care-free twenties in Brooklyn and Manhattan. So based on her friends shocked reaction to our baby announcement it seemed that we just yanked the plug out of their non-stop party machine existence yet to them it felt more like last call as the light at the end of the baby tunnel illuminated the stale, past its expiration date, binge drinking life that we just left behind and blew off for good. Two of my wife’s friends don’t plan on ever having kids while the other one does but struggles to find a man that worships her enough to give the middle finger to a lifetime of freewheeling, non committal brushes with lust while also granting her exclusive play rights to his penis pounder for all eternity.

My friends were a little shocked by the announcement but there is nothing comical about their responses that is worth exploring here. Yet I do derive a sense of perverse power over not sharing the news with former friends that I don’t value enough to share my blessed fortune with. At the same time, my friends as opposed to wife are older and already have kids and are mentally checked out from that spontaneous hook-up, hot pursuit lifestyle already. The only remnant of their unscripted, exploratory single city life is the bottle openers on their key chains although those probably went out the window along with their surging self-esteem when they finally decided to ditch a life of loneliness for a life of sharing blankets, meals, lube, rent, and in-law, scarring angst, myself included.

Now, her parents reaction to us having a baby was less stellar than I expected which wasn’t much. My wife tensed when I signaled for her to make the announcement so I came to her immediate rescue, my husband protect mode kicked into full gear as I said: Were having a baby, your going to make wonderful grandparents, congratulations. At that point, the mom who was already sitting on the couch, let out a confused, don’t know how to take this sigh and leaned her head back on the coach in a dramatic slow motion like we just told her that we couldn’t decide on the name of our kid because it’s going to be a cross eyed, Hermaphrodite. What do we call this cross eyed sex monster, beaver or butch? As her mom let out another surprised, tiresome sigh, I wanted to shake her out of this dumfounded, non motherly, emotionally retarded comatose state that was tearing my wife apart at a painstakingly, awkward, heart burning pace. At this point, it was up to the father to make up for her mom’s stupefied, incredibly annoying, glaringly inappropriate, sloppy reaction, no such luck. The man was tongue tied, speechless, all he can garble out was, I didn’t expect to hear this. Well, I didn’t expect you to instantly ruin the most special announcement of our lives with such clumsy, thoughtless precision. I know that your not excited about the prospect of having to spend any more time me than you have to but can you at least make an effort to conceal your glaring disappointment and displeasure in our family founding, soul lifting, divinely connected, humanity cementing announcement. If I knew you’d react like this, I’d have your daughter hide the pregnancy till the third trimester so you’d have even less time to cope with being such an unwilling, unsupportive, under whelmed, un-grandstanding granddaddy.

You might think I’m being overly sensitive or a tad judgmental for accusing the father of intentionally ruining what’s supposed to be a classically wonderful father, daughter, Hallmark scene or for making no attempt to heal such a broken, can never take it back moment.

As the extended awkward aura of bewildered silence hovered over the room like the ghost of spooked out past, her father rose the insensitive stakes and made a remark about how my father should be happy about being a Grandfather considering that he just had a heart attack and didn’t expect to see a grandchild before he died. Well, thanks for the pep talk there pops, just because you run marathon’s, doesn’t mean you can outrun the Grim Reaper. But I appreciate the projected highlighted contrast in reactions because it gives your daughter one last chance to be given an all loving, all enveloping, non judgmental, deserved, overdue, expecting mother embrace. As usual, my wife’s brother picked up the emotional load and infused much needed empty space with love and palpable excitement. My parents shed tears of joy when we told them that they’d be grandparents real soon which became that much more special knowing how much my wife’s parents squandered this insanely joyous, pro life-affirming, starting our own family announcement. Her parents must think it’s a rushed, non-thought out, financially unsustainable idea without their financial assistance. Apparently, having kids doesn’t stop you from always thinking about yourself after all.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bill Clinton's Secret Weapon

Bill Clinton saved two Asian Journalists from death camps in North Korea before Hillary could squeeze into a pair of old pantyhose. I know that Bill is a master salesman but what did he negotiate with exactly? Maybe, he let Jong take a look at his presidential package while he dressed up like Dirk Diggler from Boogie Nights. Bill was like: You want a peak, don’t you Jong, well hand over the pretty Asian girls and you got yourself a deal but no pictures until later. I bet that’s why Bill looks so uptight in that photo which looks like a yearbook photo for the Nuclear Arms Society of Korea.

The juicy part of this story is not Hillary flashing her fangs at the Congo student who asked about her husband’s way of dealing with things. It’s the way she greeted Bill after he saved the day and came home on a Gulfstream that was provided by his billionaire friend Steve Bing whose known more for star schtupping than producing. I’m pretty sure Bill has used the Gulfstream for picking up Asian girls before. Can’t you see Hillary lashing into Bill, the moment; he got back to their sleeping quarters in Chappaqua: How did you get those journalists out so fast Bill? Did you show Jong my sex tape with Oprah and Madeleine Albright? Beaming Bubba goes:  I had to show Jong the secret stash. My mojo was riding on it.  Hillary responds: Your pathetic Bill, you care more about your mojo than those journalists. Bill tunes out: I’m going to party in Vegas with my billionaire friends at the MGM Grand, Obama can reach me there if he needs me.  

I understand that Hillary feels slighted, marginalized and overshadowed by her husband’s star studded shadow yet she can use that as fuel to top him in the game of diplomacy. Maybe, she can negotiate the release of Ann Coulter’s soul from Lucifer’s bitch box. She can also convince Putin to put the suspected terrorist ringleaders from Guantanamo Bay in Siberian Death Camps while being tortured with stand-up routines by Jimmy Fallon.  There has to be a way for Hillary to exert her authority again, she almost beat Obama in the primary despite her husband’s, racially charged remarks that compared Obama to the Jew dissing Jesse Jackson. If Hillary has anything to learn from this diplomatic mission it’s that, every dog has its day even in North Korea.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

 

 

To convert or not that is the question

I just got engaged. Now, the million dollar question is whether my fiancé will convert to Judaism without holding it against me forever. My mom converted to Judaism, she did it out love for my father. Plus, it was her only shot of developing a relationship with his parents.  Marrying a gentile was off limits. It was either the Hebrew way or the highway. Back then, Anti-Semitism was strong, it experienced a slight dip after the Holocaust, but it came back with a vengeance after the war, forcing Jews like my grandparents to work that much harder for their limited success as they scrambled for their piece of the American pie, although they preferred sponge cake.  

 Jews had a stronger sense of identity post holocaust, being a Jew meant that you were a survivor, I can’t say that sense of pride is there anymore, it got lost on my generation, we didn’t have to overcome discrimination in the workplace like my grandfather who got denied chemical engineer jobs at the major companies because they didn’t hire Jews, it was considered bad for business when your major clients are of the Arab persuasion. My point here is that my generation of Jews got off easy, we didn’t grow up with depression level poverty, we didn’t have to worry about getting the shit kicked out us for drinking in Irish bars while dancing to House of Pain and we didn’t have to be a dreamboat student athlete like Brendan Frazier in School Ties in order to get into Harvard University.

If my fiancé refuses to convert, will that be a deal breaker on the entire marriage pact thing, no. At the same time, I don’t want to hear my kids say: Daddy, why did your people kill Jesus while I go, have you been watching Mel Gibson films again, how many times do you I have to tell you, the Passion of the Christ and the New Testament aren’t real, their just crude forms of Anti-Semitic propaganda, now eat your bagel and watch more Adam Sandler films, he’s richer than Mel Gibson remember that.

Jews my age don’t make the conversion pitch anymore. The entire concept seems ancient and increasingly irrelevant. But the real reason why Jews don’t do it is because their pussies in this day and age, they’d rather fit in than be politically incorrect. They choose ignorance over pride and acceptance over tradition. God for bid, these Jews show some balls and go, no, I won’t hang a bloody crucifix on the bathroom wall, instead of grabbing a piece of toilet paper, I’ll reach for a tampon, the bathroom should be a place of relaxation, not crucifixion.

This past week, my Jewish Aunt asked my fiancé about converting to Judaism, she said, it’s not going to be a big deal for you is it, I mean your not that into religion are you as if any intelligent, forward thinking person would. What she really meant was: You can’t be that blinded by Christian faith and its prophetic actors? If the whiff of Pedophilia doesn’t want to make you, run for the nearest synagogue, I don’t know what will. You can’t be that attached to something that doesn’t really exist. Besides, I’m sure you outgrew things like confession and not taking birth control ages ago.

If the conversion pitch is going to work, I need to find more role models for my fiancé to emulate like Ivanka Trump. My mom is a solid role model in the sense that she plays the Jewish wife well and that she does it for the sake of her husband and children. Outside of that, my mom never offered much in terms of spiritual guidance but who does besides Shaman’s? It’s been some time since my mom has been to Synagogue but that’s doesn’t define her relationship with that invisible being in the sky, all it means is that she’s values her downtime away from work and that Jewish prayer never really did it for her. I’m sure that she has her own way of expressing thanks, appreciation and praise to the all mighty above. If there’s a lesson, that my fiancé can learn from my mother is that conversion is a cultural change, above all else, especially when you’re a southern belle from Louisville Kentucky that get’s transported to the suburban sprawl of Westchester County that’s more Jewish than Woody Allen’s glasses.

Let’s talk about that culture change for a second. My fiancé won’t be buried in old world Jew Dom like my mother was thirty plus years ago. The reason why is because my generation is soft, remember, were less intense, we don’t wear the Jew Card on our sleeves, we hide it under our sleeves instead. Culturally speaking, I don’t see my fiancé, burning her Old Catholic high school uniform yet. At least not until, we carry out that Nun, molesting student fantasy of mine.  I don’t see her ditching her gentile college friends in favor of yenta Jewish friends for the sake of finding a more nasal group of woman to go tanning with while they spend their husband’s hard earned money on laser treatments that never seem to remove their permanently bushy brow. Then again, my fiancé might opt for that nose job or long awaited boob job, the more time she spends with these yap birds.  Thus far, I know that the services at synagogue on Yom Kippur wear her out, they run longer than the proceedings at Church. Plus, she’s not used to standing for long stretches of time, at least in church you can squeeze in kneeling when you pray. She already loves Israel, because she saw a Discovery special on how they have best hydroponics systems in the world. Ultimately, Jews and Gentiles define their cultural identifies through the two major gift giving holidays Christmas and it’s glossed over, warm act, Hanukah. I’ve budged on some conversion points like allowing a Christmas tree as long as there’s no baby Jesus related paraphernalia or angel props in the same room with it.

 Jewish law states that the mom must be Jewish in order for the kid to be an ordained, certified, official Jew. It turns out that Judaism is not only the religion of the chosen people but a religion for anyone willing to convert for it. If my fiancé, refuses to convert, we can’t raise our kids Jewish, but there has to be loophole to exploit somewhere, there must be some morally loose, out of work Rabbi’s that give babies back alley conversions for the right price, if not my future offspring are screwed, no Hebrew school for you, good luck making it in Hollywood now.

When you convert to Judaism, god says, welcome back, I knew you’d come to your senses sooner or later, got any good Mel Gibson jokes for me.   I kid around but raising a Jewish family is important to me; that’s why I want my fiancé to convert to Judaism, there you go I said it and it only took me six paragraphs to state it. I want to raise a Jewish family because I’d like to carry on that tradition, I don’t want to hide the Jew card up my sleeve; my Jewish identity is a source of pride that I will carry to the casket.  My parents taught me how to respect and love other human beings, animals not included, these are the values I’ll impart to our children, conversion or not. Do I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior no, do I accept him as the son of god, sure, does that make him the messiah that cures the world of all it’s horrors or least track down Osama Bin Laden, probably not. My fiancé might have a different take on it the Jesus Messiah thing, but at least she’s not a hard line Jesus freak whose anti-birth control pill. Jesus doesn’t have to leave her life after she converts, I say the more prayer mates, the better.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

She Nodded Yes

The moment I got down on one knee, the place erupted.

It’s as if the whole room was in on the proposal before she was.

I felt like a real life Beatle as shrieks of joy bounced off the walls into our giddy hearts.

She covered her eyes throughout the entire proposal pitch, unable to handle the intense spotlight on what will go down as the happiest, most picturesque moment of her life.

She even hurried me when it came to sliding the ring on to her trembling finger that froze with transfixed delight.

We rushed outside so she could take a breather from the tsunami of warmth and good will that trailed behind.

She flashed her sparkling hand and looked at it up close the way woman pinch themselves to check if their dreaming.

Soon after, I scolded her for not uttering I do. At the time, all she can do was cover her eyes while getting lost in the rush of love that washed over her heart like a soothing clear wave.

In the end, all she can do was nod her head in a state of sublime submission.

We glided back to the dance floor for a triumphant slow dance that swept every weary soul off its feet.

They twirled around the dance floor like figure skaters on ice, lifetime partners in love on their engagement night.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

Real Swingers

Swinging is tempting until the other guy makes the proposal. This happened to me and it ruined my rosy concept of swinging forever. The proposal was: Do you want to swap girlfriends, but don’t worry our dicks won’t touch. And I’m like: Where do you get off, calling dibs on my girlfriend. And touching dicks is the least of my concerns because if we did swap girlfriends, I’d be wearing fifty thousand condoms.  I’m bringing this story up because my girlfriend and I just watched a documentary on a famous swing club in the 70’s called Plato’s Retreat, it was a run a by hairy Jewish guy who blew coke as often as he got blown which was about every two seconds. The most intriguing character from the documentary was this heavy set, 70 plus Jewish woman, they showed many nude shots of her from back in the day, when her boobies were more firm and appetizing to look at. She wasn’t classically good looking yet she looked so calm in those pictures, she was at ease with being naked and free and along with that came a certain confidence that emanated from her all knowing, ultra partying, swinging pair of boobies. During her interview segments, she talks about going to the sex club, Plato’s Retreat, three, four times, a week, normally during weeknights. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, that’s one horny mama, she’s definitely committed to humping her brains out, but it was more than that.  The deeper reason people went there was because of the sense of camaraderie, the sense of acceptance by others no matter what you looked like, and the sense of unlimited possibility where inhibitions were banged out and where fantasies became true.  Plato’s Retreat played a staring role in the pre-aids sexual revolution, it housed some of the greatest post Greek Orgies the world has ever seen, the only thing you had to worry about then was catching crabs, either that or catching a serious case of the Monday Morning Blues after you’ve partied like Dionysus on a Sunday Night which is a bigger high than watching Sixty Minutes last time I checked.

I’m watching this documentary Plato’s Retreat and I felt extremely undersexed and it’s not like I’m a monk either. If anything, I was drawn to the large scale partying at this place, I loved the total absence of pretension and that Plato’s Retreat became this hip party room where all walks of life gathered, regardless of class or race, for those who felt at ease with large scale displays of nakedness and primal pounding in every corner of the room. The man, who ran, Plato’s Retreat, said that he would fall in love with a new girl every time he made love to them but that he was able to freeze out those feelings of intimacy and keep them separate from how he felt about his life partner, who oversaw the sex pit with him. I find this statement hard to beleive, for starters, love is a heavy duty word as George Carlin would say, I’ve only said it once in my life and really felt the full force of it, so to toss around the word so casually, seems misguided and dare I say inapproiate, boy did that sound prudish.  I’m nit picking, after all were talking about a major league coke head who ran the biggest swing club in New York City during the hey day of the drug fueled 70’s so I have to give the guy a little leeway, but saying you fall in love with every girl you spray down or fill up is total bullshit.  There’s something about being offered vagina, buffet style that  makes you fall out of love with the idea of being in love when the other option is doing rails all night long as you rail your way from end of the orgy to the other.

 

 I guess the major concern for all couples that consider swinging is whether they can control their partners falling in and out love, swingers say, sex is just sex and that it’s separate from the relationship but how much of their relationship is based on just sex?  What if a person who prides their relationship on sex, finds someone else that they love to have sex with that much more? Will the love of sex with a tighter, warmer vagina wash over the initial wave of love that swept their pre-swinging relationship?  My other concern is whether swinging can consume my relationship and take into a less healthy direction. Also, my attitude is why mess with a good thing.  At the same time, I’m drawn to the occasional act of sexually depravity and aura of freedom that surround its.  The other concern about swinging is that you blow off your partner and shift your complete attention on the other girl which is only natural especially if you’ve been doing the same moves at the same pace with same the girl for a fixed period of years. My biggest concern is not being ok with the idea of passing along my girl to any swinging dick that fancies her. The only guy I see myself being ok with my girlfriend sleeping with is the perpetually tan, famous Jewish Archaeologist JoshBernstein, the man is the perfect blend of brawn and brains, deep down she’s a science geek, so this guy would be her dream romp, but there’s only one Josh Bernstein. 

 

Is swinging my future, probably not, I don’t want any guy to think that my girl is up for grabs, that was made clear when that guy made me an offer, I gladly refused. Hookers are always an option, because with them it’s business never personal unless you’re  Patricia Arquette in True Romance or Elizabeth Shue in Leaving Las Vegas.  My 33^rd birthday is around the corner, and on this day, I’d like to indulge in some sexual depravity, but that’s just my old self talking, I can’t say that would make me any happier or more fulfilled. Chances are, I’d regret putting my girlfriend in that position in the first place, she deserves more than that. The more I talk about swinging, the less I want to do it, besides I’ve never been very strong at multi-tasking.  Face it, Josh, you’re not a swinger; you don’t have that sort of sex drive anymore, you have a hard enough time putting a condom on, let alone fifty thousand.

Written By

Josh Kornbluth

Children of the Korn

Last weekend, my father says, Josh, when I was your age, I already had a kid and a mortgage.  And I go, but I’m learning disabled, I took untimed tests in High School, by the time I finished the SAT, my friends were getting in college early admission.  I want to have kids,  I’m just nervous about the impending deadline, if I can only take all the time I wanted just like I did for the SAT.  I have a new job now and my confidence level is high, but having kid after being out of work isn’t what I would call a recession special.  I’d like to get a steady stream of income flowing into our household before we decide to have a kid and unleash my learning disabilities on the world. But if not now, when, will I ever be ready?  Besides, more money, buying my girlfriend an engagement ring and proposing, and getting married, what am I waiting for exactly, for God to peak his head through a cloud and wink at me like it’s my time to create more me, so my kid can put out of work Tutors to work at Princeton Review.

My girlfriend’s always fantasizes about having babies; it’s a constant longing that she carries inside of her 24 hours a day, she dreams of babies all the time, I’m lucky to make a cameo appearance in her dreams these days. I don’t want to step on her dreams of motherhood, that would cause a nuclear meltdown similar to when that guy got tongue trashed for stepping in front of Christian Bale’s light.  Apparently, all women have these maternal instincts, actresses don’t count.  Guys on the other hand, aren’t born with such instincts; we just plug a hole until it’s full; that’s our instinct.  Do gay guys fantasize about babies or they too preoccupied with filling holes of their own?   I don’t think about having babies, mainly because that would involve me focusing on someone else besides me, that’s a major mental hurdle to clear.  I write tough, but deep down, I’m scared of having kids, because I need to prove that I’m a capable provider who can do more than spring for diapers at the Mexican 99 Cent store down the block.

They say, the greatest gift you can get from your father, is him loving your mother, so by that definition, I hit the mother load, the man adores my mother and worships the ground she walks on.  Sounds simple enough, I love my girlfriend and worship the ground she walks on and she has bunions, but I massage them tenderly with Tiger Balm , similarly she spent six months of our relationship, shaving off the warts on my feet while applying an ancient, shaman, anecdote called Titri Oil. As you can see, we love each other, warts, bumps and all.  This is the type of love my kids will receive.  Fatherhood does get more appealing with age; closing down bars, doesn’t pack the same punch anymore. My liver needs to throw in the towel and recognize the fact that it’s past his prime like Apollo in Rocky Four.  Ready or not, here I come fatherhood, all I have to do is fill that hole with life. I won’t stress over this like I was filling in bubbles on the SAT.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

Slut in a Straight Jacket

 

I used to go bar hopping with the sole intention of getting inside a girl later that night, and if I did, I’d pass out on them after a couple of minutes of uninspired condom sex which cut off all the pleasure centers in my penis.  The hook up life consumed me, my ego pushed me to hook up with as many girls as possible.  My ego craved that stroke job, it got him off long time. But that’s in the past, now, I’m a domesticated live in boyfriend whose been dating the same girl for almost four years.  The hook-up life died without putting up a fight. After I get married, I'll visit the grave and place empty condoms on it as tribute to my lost youth. Don’t get me wrong, I love the relationship life, it’s just that I’ve been in a sentimental mood since I started working in Manhattan again, which  is  hook-up city, that was my playground during my drunk and confused years.

Hooking up in Manhattan is central to NY city nightlife, it’s the cornerstone of social culture, people are out becasue they want action and they want to get their grind on. Now, Brooklyn is more sedate, especially my neighborhood in Park Slope. All of the guys sport beards and wear glasses like were competing against each other in a Allen Ginsburg look alike contest. All of the girls sport extra baggy college sweaters from high end liberal art schools like Vassar and Bates, they tend to overnalyze everthing, and they'd rather wrestle with the NY Times Crossword Puzzle than mud wrestle with Jessica Hahn. The lame part of my neighborhood is that nobody hooks up in bars, the guys are to busy looking smart while girls are to busy playing board games like Trivia Pursuit, my 90’s vagina doesn’t feel so young anymore edition.  Once in a while, I’ll strike up a conversation with some gal while my girlfriend is in the bathroom which has nothing to do with hooking up whatsoever. All I’m doing here, is extending my penis for a second, going, want it, can’t have it, nice talking to you, bye. These random flirt fests make me like the half the man I used to be.  

Hitting on woman is no longer my way of life but that doesn’t excuse the rest of you guys , especially if you live in New York City which is like a giant ligtning rod of sexual electricity, that's flashing itself twenty four hours a day.  The key to hooking up is to embrace the pursuit and not be ashamed of it, pretend your black, that should get the job done.  Also, don't forget, that hitting on girls is a numbers game, I hit on three girls at an office party before I found my special somebody. About a month into the relationship she told me to stop hooking up with other girls, and I did.  At times, I fantasize of breaking free, but that would ruin my happy commited life. I'm better off as a slut in a straighjacket.

 

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth

How does marriage improve a relationship?

I’ve been dating my girlfriend for almost four years now and we’ve lived together for the past three, but still no ring, the only thing on her finger is the mark of dissatisfaction. I want to spend the rest of my life with this girl, so getting married is a no brainer. It’s not only about my success now; it’s about being a success for the both of us, her happiness is mine, the more multiple orgasms I pump out of her the better, even though they sound twice as much fun as my two second one.  But how will marriage improve our relationship exactly?  What special ingredient will marriage add to the mix?

Everyone says that marriage is great and that it changes everything. Does that mean once I’m married, I’ll want to do the dishes and have sweaty sex in the dead of summer, probably not. I can see marriage spicing up our sex life in the sense that we’ll be truly committed to juicing on each other for all eternity. I can defiantly see marriage adding some heat to our romp fests, especially at first, because we’ll be determined to prove to each other that were horny for each other till death do us part. Marriage will inject class into our relationship because wife sounds more respectable and long lasting than girlfriend.   My married friends tell me that they get hit on more than ever before, it’s something about the ring, and appearing unattainable to casually, loose woman. These woman will improve our relationship because I’ll be given fresh does of fantasy material to get lost in, when I’m having sex with my lovely new wife.  When you get married, you get gifts from the wedding registry like two hundred dollar espresso makers so that can add some real fire power to our lovemaking sessions, next time my wife wants to pull an all-nighter.  Last, marriage will improve our financial condition because it will give us more motivation to make more money so we can afford children.  Does my girlfriend want to spend the rest of her life with me yes, does my girlfriend only want to have sex with me yes, does my girlfriend care about that stuff more than using me to generate babies, no.  Marriage results in babies, it will in my case, so that’s something that will cement a firmer bond between us, the babies will be our crazy glue, and I’ll drive my wife less crazy because the babies can entertain her when I’m not around.

Marriage will change our relationship for the better; it will make it deeper, richer and more satisfying than before. They say woman experience their peak level of horniness in their mid thirties, so mid-life nymph syndrome will improve our marriage significantly. Calling my girlfriend my wife brings chills down my spine and when we get married, she will truly be mine.  Marriage will bring back the honeymoon phase again, but our love will be stronger than it’s ever been.

Written By,

Josh Kornbluth