Shout Outs from Rivahsiiide!
Sup sup sup, my mutha’ mutha’ fucks? Grovah’s back with a brand new ‘tude and a bitchin’ new poon-pad. That’s right, homeboys and hoes, I’m pimpin’ it up madskillz in my brand new furnished apartment in University Park College Commons off of North Rivahside!
I don’t know about ya’ll, but my summer sucked some major diz-ock. After a pretty chill freshman year—shouts to Jestah West!—I moved back in with the ‘rents. Talk about a boring summer. My dad was all like, “Son, you need to get a job and help out around the house,” and I was all like, “Shut ‘cho mouth, you ignorant old man, ‘fo I step on your throat and make you beg for yo’ soul.” Needless to say, I wound up getting a chump-ass job tearing movie tickets in a pink and neon green vest for $6.50 an hour. That shit’s for suckahs. But daaaamn, that popcorn butter’s better than Jergen’s. But now I’m back in A-Town representin’ all the ballers and shot-callers on the East Side!
These college apartments are the fuckin’ bomb. Mine’s got this bigass pool with, like, a dozen little fountain things and a krunk-tight spa where all the big-tittied slutz come to pimp their shit. I was hanging out by the pool one day last week, sipping on a can of Natty Light that I found behind a dumpster, givin’ the ladies a glimpse of the merchandise, when it occurred to me how bitchin’ apartment life is. I got my own bedroom, my own bathroom, a full kitchen, cable TV… all to impress the cock-crazed freshmen ladies I plan on bringin’ up to the third floor of building twelve (a.k.a. the Slut Suite). They’re gonna drop their high school boyfriends like a bad habit when they see how a real gangsta lives!
Next week, I plan on asking out this sexy bitch from my History class. I got my moves all worked out in advance ‘n’ shit, too. I’m gonna walk up to her all smooth-like, lean in real close and say: “Shit, girl, you lookin’ so fine. How ‘bout you come over to my place Friday night for some sausage smothered in Underoos?” Then, in case she doesn’t comprehend my fly innuendo, I’ll just point at my crotch and whisper, “I’m talkin’ ‘bout my dick.”
Then, come Friday night, I’m gonna give my roommates 20 bucks to get lost for a few hours, and I’m gonna make her squirm as I fry up some plump, sweaty hot dogs on my pimp-ass George Foreman grill. After we dine, I’ll put on some John Mayer, and we’ll get freaky with a garlic press and some Husky torque wrenches. But don’t worry, suckahs, ‘cause I gots all my bases covered. If it turns out she don’t like my man Mayer, I’ll just turn up the heat, put on a Nelly video, and we’ll take off all our clothes! Shit yeah! Just like in that song. You know, the one about taking off clothes?
I know this is, like, a non-sequitur and shit, but it’s got to be said: Nelly looks like a badass with that band-aid on his face. He is setting trends the likes of which we have never seen!
Well, my bros ‘n’ bitches, I gotta go get my shit together for Friday night. I’d tell ya’ll to wish me luck, but ya’ll know I ain’t gonna need it! If you’re ever in the neighborhood, just look me up—especially if you’re a fine-ass ho looking for a good time courtesy of some blackberry Boone’s Farm (but not a whole bottle, baby, ‘cause Grovah ain’t made outta money). Just go down Rivahside past HEB and look for the place near College University Parks behind Canyon College Commons Place. If you pass Commons University Jefferson College Phase II, you’ve gone too far. Mine’s the one with the gate. Pizeace!
It's a Manheim's World appears in 276 newspapers and magazines nationwide. Email him at: firstname.lastname@example.org or chat online on AOL IM, screenname GroverManheim.