Kenny Keil is a writer and artist. His work has appeared in MAD Magazine, Vibe Magazine, and The Devastator. His other works are Rhyme Travelers, Death Trip, and Tales to Suffice. He's also a stay at home dad and gangster movie enthusiast. He lives in the Los Angeles area with his wife and son and 0 cats. Kenny has received numerous awards, including a spelling bee trophy in 2nd grade.

Stay at Home Scarface by Kenny Keil

Everyone thought Tony Montana died when his mansion was raided, but it takes more than being shot in the back and falling off a balcony to stop ol' Scarface. So what really happened to Tony? He retired from the drug game and became a stay-at-home dad. Say hello to Tony's new little friend: His newborn son! In this adult activity storybook, Tony now has mountains of baby powder on his desk, and when he takes someone for a ride, it's the Dumbo ride at Disneyland. The only thing that gives Tony orders is babies. Babies, you got that?


"When I was growing up, I read a lot of MAD Magazine, and I bet you did, too. There are many great comedy minds associated with the long running parody mag, such as Sergio Argones, Don Adams, and Mort Drucker. Look through a current issue and Kenny's gut-busting work is practically on every page. This might be Kenny's era of MAD, but instead of giving him a handful of pages, we gave him his own book. Your move, Mr. E. Newman." – Geoffrey Golden



  • "Kenny Keil is one of MAD's funniest writers. Granted, that's a low bar, but you should buy this book anyway!"

    – John Ficcara, Editor-in-Chief, MAD Magazine
  • "Stay at Home Scarface is f***ing brilliant. Every stay at home dad with kingpin dreams should own this."

    – Combat Jack, The Combat Jack Show
  • "Tony is babysitting my kids right now!"

    – Big Boi, Outkast
  • "A genre-blurring and gut-busting experience that employs coloring, activities, and comics to evoke all the anguish and elation of modern-day gangster parenting."

    – Patrick Reed, Depth of Field, ComicsAlliance



Tony Needs Help

Parenting ain't no duckwalk, let me tell ju.

My back hurts. I haven't slept in months. Sometimes I'll leave the house with a dirty burp cloth on my shoulder and I won't even realize it. The other day I accidentally baby-talked a bank teller. Called him "my little tinker-doodle."

My whole fucking life is falling apart, mang.

I gotta make a move and I gotta make one quick. I gotta put this baby in daycare.

Just one problem: All these daycares got waiting lists a mile long, mang. Since when ju gotta be on a list to get into a fucking daycare? What is this, the Babylon Club?!