Friday, April 18, 2014

I'm gonna be a cool dad.

Alberta is introducing new tanning bed legislation this year that might restrict people under eighteen from using them. That's fucking bullshit. I want my children birthed under a tanning bed. They've gotta work on their tans as soon as possible. I'm gonna have the sexiest goddamn babies that have ever walked the earth.

As soon as they're pushed out and they're left to soak up those glorious rays for about -- I'd say four hours -- there won't be any time left to mop up the blood or carefully cut the umbilical cords. I'll just chew them right off, 'cause I've gotta get them down to the gym for some P90X, and real fucking fast. Gotta work those pectorals.

Now, I know what you're thinking at this point.

Jesus Christ, dude.

That's fucking awesome. How much will your kids be able to bench?

I'll start them off at around forty pounds, give or take. By the end of the workout, we'll have worked our way up to four hundred. Think whatever you want about that, but I'm not raising any fucking pussies.

As soon as that's over, I'll quickly dunk the kids into a prepared bath full of Giorgio Armani, 'cause then I've gotta haul their asses down to Le Chateau. Gotta get them some tight-fitting collared shirts and pop those collars straight the fuck up, as they should be. The kids won't have much hair, obviously -- but there's no harm in some product to make whatever's there look fucking fabulous. Torn, faded jeans? No shit. Sports sunglasses with orange tint? You bet your fucking ass. And dope-ass silver watches just like Jordan Belfort's. If the kids haven't spent enough time under the bed, it's nothing a spray-on tan can't fix.

Then it's straight to the night clubs to load the kids up with absinthe shots, parade them around and get them some sweet-ass poon already. Then we'll get home and if they've gotten ten chicks' phone numbers by the end of the night, I'll throw on Wolf of Wall Street for them as a reward before I put them to bed. I think that it's important for kids to have strong role models. If they start to fall asleep, I'll just press their faces against the television and duct tape their heads to it. If they've gotten fifteen numbers, I'll buy them Grand Theft Auto V on the way home. They can play that for a few hours after the movie. They'll need their rest for the beauty pageants and UFC cage fights that I'll have signed them up for.

I just want to be a cool dad, you know? It's hard to walk the line between a cool one and an irresponsible one, but I think I've found a balance.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Children's Story Writing

Hey, guys.

So, with Arby 'n' the Chief over and my new game review show apparently tanking, I've made a significant career decision today. I've decided to write stories for young children. People have considered my subject matter too sensitive and extreme in the past, but I'm determined to prove them wrong by demonstrating my versatility! Let me know what you think, and please share it with your children.

Love,
Jon.

Cuddles and the Kite
A Children's Story
Written by Jon Graham

There once was a bright-eyed and delightfully fuzzy young rabbit named Cuddles. He lived in a cozy little wooden cottage in a beautiful meadow.

One sunny morning, he awoke excitedly in his bed. His eyes darted to his rabbit calendar on the wall of his room. It was his birthday today!

“Oh, boy!” Cuddles shouted joyously.

With a happy bounce to his steps, he hippity-hopped his way out of bed, out of his room and down the stairs in the cutest way possible.

At the foot of the stairs, he found his mother and father waiting for him.

“Happy birthday, Cuddles!” they exclaimed at once. Cuddles’ mother was holding a gift. Cuddles beamed.

She handed him the gift. He looked at it as if unwrapping it with his eyes. “Go on,” his father said. “Open it!”
Cuddles opened the gift excitedly. Inside, he found a kite.

“Golly, a kite!” He blurted out with glee. “A kite of my very own!”
Cuddles’ parents exchanged smiles and loving nuzzles.

His mother then gave him a light, encouraging nudge towards the front door of the cottage. “Go outside and play, Cuddles!” she said. “Just be back before it gets dark!”

Cuddles, hugging his new kite as if it were the most precious thing in the world to him, giggled like mad as he hippity-hopped his way outside and across the meadow.

“The breeze is just right!” Cuddles said to himself as he released his kite to the wind. It soared towards the bright blue sky and its fat, fluffy clouds.

“This is my new favorite toy!” he said loudly, at the height of happiness.

But then Cuddles suddenly lost his grip of the kite’s string, and the kite began to fly into the distance.

“Oh, no!” Cuddles whined as he hippity-hopped after it.

The kite then flew into the top of an enormous tree and got stuck. Cuddles hopped to a stop at the foot of the tree and looked up at his trapped kite. His eyes welled with tears.

“My kite!” He croaked, his voice broken with grief. “How will I get it back?”

An ear-piercing bang then echoed through the meadow, and Cuddles squealed in pain as his torso was suddenly blown apart by a speeding hollow-point bullet. The surrounding grass and flowers were showered with darkened blood and chunks of his entrails.

Cuddles, only barely clinging to life, his limbs twitching ever so slightly and his eyes wide, teary and slowly being drained of life, fought and choked for every last bit of his breath as a hunter then emerged from the nearby woodland, jogging towards Cuddles as he reloaded his rifle and guffawed with twisted pleasure.

He gazed hungrily at his downed prey before turning towards his two hunter friends who then also, in pursuit, scuttled into the meadow from the trees. “Hah!” The shooter shouted with pride. “Told you fucking faggots that I’d get him!”

He then picked up Cuddles by his rear feet. Cuddles’ body dangled limply as the young rabbit continued to choke for air.

With tremendous force and a loud grunt, the shooter then swung Cuddles over his head and cracked the bunny’s skull against a large rock. Cuddles’ neck snapped sickeningly and his skull was cracked wide open like a giant egg, causing his brain to plop out messily onto the grass like a yolk.

The shooter then dropped Cuddle’s corpse and turned to face his two pals as they caught up to him. He proceeded to unfasten his belt, and then dropped his cargo pants and underwear. “Alright, a bet’s a bet,” he said. “Now get on your knees and suck my cock.”

The two hunters groaned as they then got down on their knees. One of them cupped the shooter’s scrotum and sucked on his larger testicle, as the other ran his tongue up and down the length of the shooter's formidable, pulsating shaft and stuck his finger in his anus, sensually massaging his prostate.

“Ah, yeah,” he moaned in pleasure. “Just like that, bitches. Just like that. You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard.”

It wasn’t long until he did, and Cuddles’ bloody, fractured face was splattered with a copious amount of semen.

THE END