My body cast isn't the only thing that's stiff!Stop! Collaborate and listen, 'cause tha G is back with a brand new edition! Haha, that's right, boyz 'n' toyz, Grovah is back. Sorry about my recent absence, but everybody's favorite homeboy—me!—was livin' it up in the hospital, pimpin' his piece up and down the trauma ward.
As always, you better believe that the G-Man was in full effect up on the fifth floor. Maybe it was the fact that they were all unconscious, but damn, the bitches were speechless when they laid eyes on my package slippin' out of the paper gown when I rolled over for a sponge bath. Too bad I didn't get any play while I was there—too bad for the ladies, that is! I've got a sayin': They wouldn't be croakin' if they got some pokin'! Shit yeah, you know it's true. If those bitches had been up to playin' doctor, the nurses woulda had to call the maternity ward the Manheim ward…'cause it would be full of my kids! From the ladies I boned!
So you gotsta be askin' yourselves why a healthy young stallion like me wound up in a place like County General Hospital. When a famous hotass like myself goes MIA, rumors fly, so it's time you heard the truth about my disappearance.
A coupla months ago during winter break, me and my roomie Paul were chillin' it old school in the Big D—I hate to disappoint da hoes, but that's my nickname for Dallas, not Grover Jr. We were cruisin' around, trying to score bud from some community college kids when all of a sudden, a dude in a white Tahoe rear-ended us. I was thinkin', "Shit, man, don't nobody mess with the Grovahmobile! That muthafucka gonna have a Grover tornado all up in his trailer park. I'm gonna get all Billy Blanks on his ass with some high kicks and shoulder stretches!"
So I got out of my Tercel and went up to him and was all like, "Excuse me sir, but it seems as though you have rear-ended my car. Accordingly, I would like to exchange insurance information—if you don't mind, that is. A name and policy number shall be sufficient, I think."
Hoes 'n' bros, you ain't gonna believe what happened next. The guy in the Tahoe was Brett Pittman, this guy from high school that pulled off my gym shorts, stuck them in the urinal, and made me wear them on my head like a hat while I ran the track everyday for four years. It's cool, though, 'cause that was just his way of tellin' me that we were bros.
I was all like, "Whoa, Brett! What's up, dude? Nice Tahoe!" I don't think he remembered me, 'cause he got out of his car and kicked me right in my ass. He told me that he liked my glasses and then peeled off. I woulda asked him if he wanted to hang out some time and maybe buy me some beer, but I couldn't talk through the searing pain in my butt.
Anyway, turns out that Brett broke my tailbone when he kicked my ass, so I had to spend a few days chillin' in trauma, watchin' some fly cartoons and eatin' grape Jell-O. And damn if that place wasn't full of kinky bitches dressed like nurses wanting to strip me naked and rub Little Grove with sponges. They hooked me up with some mad painkillers, too. This Tylenol shit is krunk tight, yo! When you're flyin' high on 'T,' you just don't give a fuck! It's like the world is melting into a puddle of pure energy that sings colors!
Looks like it's time for another tab of Ty. I'm gonna go get my donut pillow and turn on some Dark Side before this shit kicks in. Catch you on tha flip side, yo!
It's a Manheim's World appears in 1,108 newspapers and magazines nationwide. Email him at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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