November 2002 (v5 i3)
Hogging All the White Meat Since 1997
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It's a Manheim's World
This Hairy Test I Call "My Pen is Dried Up"
by Grover Manheim, Syndicated Columnist

During my most recent misogynistic mishap, a curious thing happened. I was preparing a meal for a young lady on my George Foreman Grill—I'm sure you all remember my commentary regarding the purchase of the culinary accessory in my September 2002 column—when I realized that I had run out of offensive things to say. I found myself suddenly at a loss, desperately grasping for words.

I could not refer to her as an "assnasty ho-ho kumquat," for I had used the phrase in my June 1999 column, titled "Grovah Gotsta Get Krunk on tha Rizz-Tizz-Tazzy, Yo." Nor could I refer to her appearance as looking "like a fucktasty love vacuum," for that particular gem has appeared over forty-seven times during my career as a writer. Besides, I didn't even coin the phrase. I read it on a bathroom stall next to an instructional diagram of sexual congress.

And let us not forget "I Gotsta Get Me a Ford Aspire," where I successfully used the term "biznitches-nutz" twenty-seven times as a noun, an adverb, and even as an onomatopoeia. Yes, "biznutzes-nutz" was a dead horse that had been beaten too many times.

The words that I found leaving my mouth included things like, "ma'am" and "You look very nice today. Do you take your Ballpark with or without mustard?" I couldn't even make a hot dog joke! Not a single, "would you like to see my footlong?" or "how about a Grover sausage smothered in underwear?" Not even a pithy giggle acknowledging the fact that hot dogs look like penises.

Needless to say, the evening ended shortly thereafter, whereupon I was forced to abuse myself to keep from crying.

For inspiration, I dusted off my scrapbook and looked up my very first published piece: "See Jane Turn Tricks." Yes, my faithful readers, I went all the way back to preschool to rediscover my roots. The prose seemed trite through older, more matured glasses, but it reminded me of why I first delved into the cutthroat world of the essayist.

"See Jane run," I wrote. "See Jane be all up on my nuts. See Spot run. See Spot watch Jane get freaky with an Atari and some Beta copies of Dallas." Ahh, the innocence of youth!

Tears pooling in my eyes, I put the scrapbook away. I was tired of nostalgia. I was tired of living in the past. And most of all, I was sick to death of using "gotsta" instead of "must."

So, my faithful readers, I have decided to make a change. This is the last column I shall write under the title It's a Manheim's World. From this point forward, I shall title my monthly dispatch Estrogenuine. My focus will shift from my profound lack of social skill and exaggerated sexual escapades to matters concerning women and the mysteries that make them such enlightened, complex spirits. Next month's column will explore Georgia O'Keefe and her exquisite use of vaginal imagery to convey the inherent beauty of the female anatomy.

Shit no, cocksucks 'n' mofucks! Haha! Grovah had yo' shit trippin'! You best believe my sexy ass will be all up in this piece month aftah month, mackin' on tha finest ranch hand hobags the Lone Star State has to offer! You gotsta have faith in tha Grove. Peace, suckahs!

Haha! Georgie O'Keefe, man. That shit is wiggity-whack!

It's a Manheim's World appears in 276 newspapers and magazines nationwide. Email him at: or chat online on AOL IM, screenname GroverManheim.

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