The Christmas Roast of Mark N. Portney: A Study in Sustained Comedic Discipline

By Michael Kelman Portney

The American Gadfly

On the Occasion of One's Grandmother’s Funeral, and the Unforeseen Consequences of Paternal Grooming Neglect

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of abundant grey hair must be in want of basic grooming standards. What follows is a documentation of a sustained rhetorical campaign launched on December 23rd, 2024, following my grandmother Evelyn Kelman's funeral service, and continuing through Christmas Day. The offense? My father's appearance at said funeral. The response? Approximately forty individual roasts delivered into complete conversational silence.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Allow me to establish the proper context.

I. The Inciting Incident: A Funeral Livestream and a Case of Mistaken Identity

On December 23rd, 2024, I attended my aunt Evelyn's funeral via livestream from my residence in Arizona. Evelyn Kelman, sister to my father Mark Portney, had passed after a brief stay in hospice. The service was held in Great Falls, Montana, a detail that will become relevant shortly.

As I watched the proceedings unfold on my screen, I observed the various mourners assembled to pay their respects. And there, seated prominently next to my mother, sat an elderly gentleman whose appearance I found perplexing.

“Who,” I wondered to myself, “is this distinguished-looking fossil seated in the place of honor?”

The hair, oh, the hair, was a spectacular display of grey and white, arranged with all the careful consideration of a bird's nest constructed during a windstorm. The volume. The texture. The peculiar gradient effect, dark in the middle yet brilliantly white at the periphery, as if someone had attempted to dye only the center portion and given up midway through the process.

It took me an embarrassing number of minutes to realize I was looking at my own father.

This was not the Mark Portney of my memory. This was a man who appeared to have aged twenty years since our last encounter. This was a man whose grooming standards had undergone what can only be described as complete structural collapse. This was a man who looked like he'd just flown in from the wing of an aircraft at 20,000 feet.

I immediately did what any reasonable person would do: I began documenting my observations via text message. What started as simple commentary evolved into something far more elaborate, a sustained comedic assault that would continue for three days and generate zero responses.

What follows is the complete chronological record of that campaign.

II. The Roast: A Chronological Documentation

Opening Salvo: The Observation

“Jesus”

A simple exclamation. An expression of shock. The foundation upon which all subsequent commentary would be built.

“How do you get it dark in the middle but white on all the ends?”

A genuine question about the peculiar gradient effect. A technical inquiry into the physics of his grooming failure.

“It’s giving Federalist Papers”

The first historical comparison. The grey-white aesthetic of 18th-century statesmen, but without the dignity or intellectual contributions.

“It was a very nice thing you did for Evelyn showing up and being the roughest looking one in the room.”

Strategic acknowledgment of his attendance while simultaneously noting he achieved “most disheveled mourner” status at his own sister's funeral.

“How often does that thing wake up?”

Treating the hair itself as a semi-autonomous organism with its own sleep schedule.

Escalation: The DeLorean Inquiry

“Wait a minute Doc, are you telling me you built a time machine out of a Delorean? 🤣”

Back to the Future reference suggesting his wild grey hair indicated recent time travel through extreme conditions.

The Animal Kingdom: A Taxonomy

“Are you actively trying to look like Epstein? And I don’t mean Welcome Back Cotter Epstein. Oh! I know! You’re Mark Epstein! 🤣”

Clarifying which Epstein (Mark, not Jeffrey) while making a broader point about the generic “guy with grey hair” aesthetic.

“Why don’t you head over and I’ll show you how to trim that rug down to manageable”

Genuine offer of grooming assistance, implying the hair requires lawn equipment.

“Looking like Jay Leno without Technicolor”

Visual comparison to late-night television host, but drained of all color and vitality.

“Did you go into the barber and say ‘give me Rocket J. Squirrel?’”

Cartoon character comparison based on the grey color scheme of Rocky the Flying Squirrel.

“For only the price of a cup of coffee, you too can save a marmot from hunger.”

Sarah McLachlan-style charity appeal suggesting he resembled a starving rodent in need of sponsorship.

The Athletic Intervention

“All I’m saying is if you show up to practice with a mop like that, Coach Wooden is going to make you go home and cut it”

Reference to UCLA basketball coach John Wooden's famous grooming standards. Relevant context: my father attended UCLA in 1973, during Wooden's coaching tenure. This wasn't a generic historical reference, this was invoking his coach, from his university, during his exact time there.

The Religious Logistics Question

“Why didn’t you wear a yamaka? Would that feel a bit too much like putting a hat on a hat?”

Serious inquiry into whether the volume of hair rendered traditional Jewish head covering redundant or structurally impossible.

The Congressional Intervention Series

“Congressman Raskin called and left a message and said it looked like you were having a bad hair day”

Creating fictional scenario wherein Jamie Raskin (known for his own grey hair) felt compelled to intervene.

“He and Senator Sanders offered to hold a conference committee on grooming tips”

Escalation to bicameral legislative action, with two politicians known for disheveled appearance forming joint committee to address the situation.

The Political Outrage

“This. Is Not. About HAIR! This. Is about. Common decency. For your fellow ‘umans. No other major county on earth has this problem. And he could get it fixed for $27!”

Bernie Sanders-style political rhetoric treating hair as policy failure. The “$27” refers to actual Just For Men pricing.

International Consequences

“Pussy Riot called, there will be no more pussy and no more riots until you get a haircut”

Deconstructing the band name into separate services being withheld as leverage.

The Linguistic Deconstruction

“Say what you want about the bald at least we are kempt. When was the last time you were sheveled?”

Using the positive forms of words that only exist in negative state (unkempt to kempt, disheveled to sheveled). Noting that even bald funeral attendees looked more put together.

“Have you considered sap?”

Immediate callback to “saps” while suggesting tree resin as grooming product.

The Montana Safety Concern

“I just hope you get back to Arizona quickly I’m worried for you while you’re in Montana, it’s a big hunting culture. Have you checked to make sure chinchilla is out of season?”

Expressing genuine concern that Montana hunters might mistake him for a fur-bearing animal. The absurdity: chinchillas don’t exist wild in Montana and would never have a hunting season.

The Weather Report

“How’s the weather in Great Falls? Is it snowy? Or is it old and Gray?”

Using the funeral location itself as the weapon, with capital G turning his name into a weather condition.

“Less Silver Fox, more Roadkill”

Preemptively destroying any dignified interpretation of grey hair.

The Fitness Equipment Question

“Does your elliptical have your mileage on it or do you just go look in the mirror?”

Suggesting his grey streaks function as odometer.

The Product Recommendation

“If you do decide to start coloring your hair again, all you need to do is go to the grocery store into the Hair Care aisle and pick up the package that says Just For Men, this one is for you, there is no package called Just For Scoundrels”

Detailed instructions for locating hair dye products, concluding with character indictment.

The Legislative Horror

“The nightmare at 20,000 ft was your haircut”

Inverting the entire Twilight Zone wing creature imagery, the horror wasn’t on the plane, it was at the funeral.

The Presidential Comparison

“You look like you’ve served two grueling terms as president since the last time I saw you, and now you’re in your jet skiing with Richard Branson era”

Suggesting he’d aged eight years in short period while achieving both exhausted stress and post-presidential grooming abandonment.

The Exhumation

“You don’t just look exhausted, you look exhumed!”

Wordplay escalation: not just tired, but actively dug up from the ground.

The Forensic Analysis

“Do you think we’re saps? All of the content is on the sides and back.”

Calling out the strategic hair distribution, this is male pattern baldness, not distinguished greying.

The Professional Cosplay Accusation

“We get it. You like Einstein.”

Reframing the entire situation as deliberate method acting for his physicist career. Relevant context: my father is actually a physicist, making this personally targeted rather than generic.

The Moral Authority Intervention

“Anthony Weiner called, he said your hair is wildly inappropriate”

Someone whose career ended from scandal calling to say your appearance crosses lines.

The Cultural Comparisons

“You look like a recent Michael Palin interview”

Comparison to 80-plus-year-old British comedian in his fluffy-grey-hair era.

“Like a lesser member of the Royal Family”

Not dignified enough for major royal status, just background aristocrat at garden parties.

The Aristocratic Title

“Mark Norman Portney, Duke of Huffington Post, first of his name”

Full ceremonial title establishing his domain as clickbait journalism and his dynasty as newly irrelevant.

The Labor Dispute

“Your hairpiece sent an email and cc’d everybody that they got to go back to work in the office”

Suggesting it’s fake hair, the fake hair has agency, and it’s using corporate RTO protests to express dissatisfaction with working conditions on his head.

The Meta-Commentary

“I was trying to have a roast but its no fire, all ash!”

Self-aware joke about all material being grey and ash-focused. This was also me, not him. He still hasn’t responded.

The Community Theater Opportunity

“My local theater troupe put out a casting call for a Christmas Carol, they’re looking for a Fezzywig. Are you available?”

Employment opportunity based on Victorian-elderly appearance.

The Reconciliation Feint

“I just want to tell you both good luck, we’re all counting on you.”

Airplane! quote that seems sincere but is actually another Leslie Nielsen white-hair comparison.

The Affectionate Closer (December 23rd)

“All right that’s about all I got for now. I’m sure you go to bed early when you’re in Great Falls so I just wanted to say goodnight you dirty snowball!”

Seemingly affectionate sign-off that actually means: old, grey, round, morally corrupt, and visually resembling compacted winter precipitation.

III. The Christmas Day Revival

After a day of silence, I resumed operations on December 25th with fresh material.

The Holiday Greeting

“Merry Christmas you dusty old fossil!”

Seasonal well-wishes delivered via paleontological comparison.

The Future Projection

“If you look this good now, I can’t wait to think of what kind of Muppet you’re going to look like by the time you’re Evelyn’s age”

Using his deceased sister’s age as timeline for Muppet transformation progression.

The Planetary Science Application

“You’re aging like egg salad on Mercury”

Closest planet to sun equals extreme heat equals accelerated spoilage of mayonnaise-based foods that turn grey.

The Preservation Recommendation

“I think you need to be rehydrated”

Mummy and desiccation joke suggesting physical moisture restoration required.

The Visual Communication

Sent image of Sam the Eagle with no text.

Perfect grey and white feathered head, stern demeanor, Muppet classification. The comparison speaks for itself.

The Mic Drop: The Fruit Leather Revelation

“I saw you on the funeral live stream and it reminded me to go outside and turn over my fruit leather”

And here we arrive at what I consider the pinnacle of the entire sequence, the line that elevates this from sustained roasting to genuine comedic artistry.

The construction here is flawless.

It reveals the livestream context. I wasn’t at the funeral in person. I was watching remotely while doing household tasks.

The fruit leather connection. Dehydrated fruit that must be turned periodically during sun-drying. Grey-brown in color, leathery in texture, deliberately desiccated, wrinkled in appearance.

The functional utility. His appearance served as a practical reminder for food preservation chores. Seeing him triggered domestic task memory.

The callback structure. Completes the “needs to be rehydrated” setup from the previous message.

The indirectness. Never says “you look like fruit leather.” Simply says seeing him reminded me to tend to mine. The audience completes the connection.

The mundanity. The funeral livestream becomes background noise. His appearance isn’t even the focus, it’s a visual cue for a chore.

This is Don Rickles-level mastery. The kind of line that gets quoted. The kind comedians study. After forty-plus jokes, this is the one that feels like “and scene.”

IV. Reflections on the Art of the Sustained Bit

What makes this sequence noteworthy isn’t just the individual jokes, though several achieve genuine excellence, but the commitment to performing an entire tight set for an audience of zero.

My father never responded. Not once. Not to the congressional committees, not to the chinchilla hunting concerns, not to the Duke of Huffington Post title, not to the fruit leather revelation. Complete radio silence.

This raises interesting questions about comedic discipline. When does persistence become pathological? When does commitment to a bit transcend into performance art?

I would argue that the sustained nature of the campaign is the art. Each joke builds on the previous one. Each new angle explores a different facet of the same premise. The animal kingdom taxonomy. The historical comparisons. The legislative interventions. The employment opportunities. The moral accusations wrapped in hair commentary.

And all of it, every single message, delivered into absolute conversational void.

This is either the most disciplined non-response in text message history, a family-wide policy of not engaging with my comedy, or proof that I’ve achieved a level of sustained roasting that renders response impossible.

I suspect it’s a combination of all three.

V. The Dual Purpose: Comedy as Accountability

There’s another layer to this that bears examination. Throughout the sequence, certain words carry extra weight: “scoundrel,” “dirty,” “inappropriate.” These aren’t just vocabulary choices for comedic effect. They’re actual accusations.

My father and I have unresolved matters involving estate fraud, trust administration, and systematic family business disputes. The “dirty snowball” isn’t just grey and unkempt, it’s morally corrupt. “Just For Scoundrels” isn’t just a hair dye joke, it’s a character indictment.

The entire roast functions on two levels. Surface: funeral hair comedy. Subtext: accountability messaging for documented fraud.

Comedy becomes the delivery system for much darker content. He has to sit with both the appearance mockery and the criminal accusations, neither of which he can respond to without acknowledging one or both.

That’s sophisticated rhetorical strategy disguised as dad jokes.

VI. Conclusion: The Unanswered Question

As I write this on December 25th, 2024, my father still hasn’t responded. The Christmas roast sits in his message history like a comedy special he never asked to watch. Sam the Eagle stares at him from his screen. The fruit leather comment waits for acknowledgment that will likely never come.

And honestly, the silence might be the perfect ending.

Because what could he possibly say at this point? “I don’t look like fruit leather”? That confirms the comparison. Ignore it? He’s been ignoring everything. Engage with one joke? That validates the entire campaign.

He’s boxed in by his own silence. The longer it continues, the funnier it gets.

So here we are. Forty-plus roasts. Three days of sustained comedic assault. Zero responses. One dead aunt. And enough material about grey hair to fill a law school textbook on advanced sibling rivalry.

Merry Christmas, you dirty snowball. I hope the fruit leather turned out well.

Michael Kelman Portney is a writer, researcher, and the American Gadfly. His work has been cited in academic literature, which is more than can be said for most people who spend three days roasting their father’s funeral hair into complete conversational silence.

For more sophisticated analysis of things that don’t deserve this much attention, visit misinformationsucks.com.