Mr.Al's Blog

Oh Kristi, I’d like to be Ken to your ICE Barbie. My lust for you is as big as an endless blue sky. From the moment I saw you in that TV commercial for Department of Homeland Security, I lost all control. You know the commercial Kristi. The one where you ride a horse with Mount Rushmore in the background. Your long brown hair flowing under your cowboy hat. The ultimate American fantasy. “You cross the border illegally, we’ll find you. Break our laws we’ll punish you.” Sex

Vinnie Pizzeria My name is Vinnie Pizzeria. No this ain’t a joke. That’s really my name.                 I got a pizza joint in the Belmont section of The Bronx. It’s where Dion and The Belmonts came from. Now I know you youngsters don’t know Dion and The Belmonts from prosciutto, but I do. At my joint we still serve pizza by the slice on wax paper. When you eat it, the orange oil created from the sauce and cheese runs off the wax paper.                 And if

If I were president of the United States of America, not king, not prince, not duke, not earl, I’d go to Minnesota. And the first thing I’d do is deport the entire starting lineup of the Minnesota Vikings. The Vikings are so bad, I’d outlaw football in Minnesota. And I’d prohibit the Minnesota Twins from signing Latino baseball players. Not a one. Not that I’m prejudiced or anything. And I’d name White House Border Czar Tom Homan manager of the Twins. We interrupt this blog

I just woke up. Still half asleep and dressed in nothing more than a green T-shirt and underwear. Try to control yourself ladies. I’m one of those people who believes climate change is very, very real. If that makes me a left wing radical nutjob, so be it. Go get the nutcracker.                 That’s why I’m launching right here and now, Mr. Al’s first ever Disheveled Woke Weather Report.  Move over Al Roker. Get out of the way Rob Marciano. Fuggetaboutit Ginger Zee. Tune i

There aren’t any good Venezuelan restaurants inside the MDC Brooklyn where Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro and his lawyer wife, Cilia Flores are locked up. I feel really bad for them. They’re used to the high life. They used to be very cosmopolitan. Now they’re in a place packed with lowlifes.                 Poor Nicolas Maduro. Poor Cilia Flores. I mean where are they going to get a good arepa? Those cornmeal pockets stuffed with meat are to die for. No pabellon criollo