 I fucked Shit Up at OU Weekend! by Grover Manheim, Syndicated Columnist
Grovah sez: how’s it hanging, my hot posse? Man, have I got some bitchin’ tales for ya’ll. So a couple of weeks ago, me and my roomies took a trip up to tha North Side… of Dallas! That’s right, yo! I got some fly-ass tickets to the OU game and had a fuckin’ balls-crazy time in the Big D. Ain’t that some shit?
Friday night, my roomie Matt packed up the Poonmobile—his totally tricked-out Chevy Cavalier—with a couple cases of Lone Star and a bottle of Skol. It took us about, like, twelve hours to get to Dallas, but when we finally showed up, we started paintin’ the town red an’ shit at one of the fly-ass Chili’s off of 75. Chicken Crispers are tha bomb-schmiggity!
On Saturday, we got up real early and headed out to Fair Park. I wasn’t really all that stoked to park my Phat Farm-clad ass on a bench for three hours, so I said, “Bros, I gotsta jet. The Grove’s gotta get his Midway on.” Besides, I left the tickets at the Fazoli’s in Waco, and I didn’t feel like listening to any more of their bitchin’. Everyone was all like, “Grover, you asshole, why’d you lose the tickets?” And I was all like, “Step up bitch! Nobody talks to Grovah like he’s a two-dolla punk! I’ll smack those lips right off yo’ face an’ onto yo’ mama’s ass!”
We spent about an hour or so hanging out in the parking lot of the Cotton Bowl, listening to the game and shit, but those jokers started crampin’ my phat style, so I thought I’d spend some time at the State Fair checkin’ out the Big-D Pootie-T. And dudes, you wouldn’t believe it: that place was crawlin’ with the finest fuckables this side of the Rio Rojo!
I staked out the place, checked out all the tight rides. I spent like fifty bucks trying to spray water into a clown’s mouth, but then I realized that water guns are for suckahs. After showin’ some love to a hot honey at the turkey leg stand, I thought to myself, "Shit Grovah, you gotsta get your cotton candy on!" So guess what, bros ‘n’ hos? Ten minutes later, I was pimpin’ hard with some grape-flavored shit, hangin’ around outside the auto show, scopin’ the juicy ass.
Just as I was picking the last bit of cotton candy out of the paper cone, someone caught my eye. She was givin’ me the glance, checkin’ me out head to toe, from my red-and-white Adidas to my Longhorn beanie. Shit, I thought to myself, I’ve got her in my beam. It was time for the kill. I gave her the Grover Nod: “Hey, baby, what’s up? What you say me an’ you play a game of ‘Where’s the Toilet Brush’?”
She looked around, smiled, and walked over to me all cool-like, trying to conceal her insatiable lust.
“Hey,” she said. “Aren’t you in my class?”
“Sure thing, baby, whatever you want. I can be yo’ Professor if it makes you wanna get freaky.”
“What? No, I mean, aren’t you in my homeroom? Don’t you have Miss Henderson for Science?”
“Girl, I got me a fly new pad down in A-Town. How ‘bout you and me duck behind this funnel cake booth for a couple of hours and make our own kind of batter? Get it?” I was too smooth.
What I don’t get is what this sweet-ass ho said next: “Uh, I think I hear my dad. I gotta go.”
Did I scare that bitch off? Were my Gazelle-toned thighs too much for this succulent slut? And what’s up with the ‘dad’ business? That shit’s a turn-off, plain and simple.
You know what, my suckahs ‘n’ sluts? It doesn’t matter, ‘cause if she wasn’t ready to take on the Grove in full-force, I might just have rendered her catatonic with my powers of bonin’. I’ll know the right girl when I see her: dressed in latex, carrying a box of light bulbs and a bungee cord.
That’s it for now, homies. I gotsta go pay off my debts to my roommates. They say I gotta be their personal slave for the next month. Today it’s toilet duty. Fuck this whack shit, dawg! PEACE!
It's a Manheim's World appears in 276 newspapers and magazines nationwide. Email him at: grover@texastravesty.com or chat online on AOL IM, screenname GroverManheim. |
