 Vegas, Baby, Vegas! by Grover Manheim, Syndicated Columnist
Yo, ho-bags and homeslices! How’s it hangin’? Sorry to leave y’all high and dry and shit, but tha Grove has been a busy boy. And you mos def know I mean gettin’ busy! But y’know I wouldn’t be here unless I had a fuckin’ bomb-tastic story to drop on your asses!
After hearing about Britney tyin’ the knot with the luckiest ess-oh-bee on the face of the planet, I packed up a suitcase full of my finest Perry Ellis threads and headed over to Sin City. It was like, “Shit, if some whack-ass Creole retard can get a bitch like Britney to marry him, why can’t I?”
I know you’re thinking, “G-dawg, why’re you trading your Cool Water and Astroglide for the ball and chain? Why disappoint all the ladies lookin’ to get all up in your Green Lantern Underoos?” Simple, bros: it’s a well-known fact that some serious freakity-freakin’ happens on your wedding night, and you know I’m always down for that kind of shit, y’dig?
When I arrived at my hotel, I knew it was on: that shit was paid for by the hour! My pimp suite was right next to the ice machine — care for a drink? They ain’t free, sluts! — and across the street from a 24-hour Hardee’s. I was straight trippin’ when I saw the free SpikeTV and turbo-charged king-size bed! I was all like, “Daaamn, nothing says sugar-daddy like a bed that jiggles for quarters.” I guess the ladies and my bed have a lot in common! Hollah!
 After I got myself all settled, it was time to check out the casinos and find me a Mrs. Manheim or three to push Lil’ Grove into. Thanks to some phat connections on the East Side, my boy Jared hooked me up with a pimpin’ fake ID before I left A-Town, but there were something seriously whack about tryin’ to pass myself off as Abujadari Kareem Nahatalusibiddum’s. But I played it cool like Abu, and in no time, I was sippin’ a Sex on the Beach, givin’ every fine fuckable in the place a look-over. I tried to show some love to one ho, but some suckah claiming to be her boyfriend told me to get lost. I was like, “Good sir, I should warn you that I have a weak bladder and my mother on speed-dial.” Snap! Captain Cock-Block didn’t say shit to me after that, fo’real! But I could feel some major hatin’ — Grover’s a lover, not a hater — so I did myself a favor and biggity-bounced it to Vegas’s number-one slut-spot: the Little White Chapel!
When I got out of my taxi, there were three fine, horny sluts hangin’ outside the Chapel, givin’ me a look that was all like, “Daaaammn!” They walked up to me and asked if I was lonely. “Shit, no, baby,” I said, all smooth. “I ain’t lonely when I got my favorite sock and a bottle of Lubriderm — but I’m lookin’ for something kinkier, baby. How ‘bout we make like a trailer and get hitched?” They were all like, “You got money, honey?” I guess they hadn’t heard that Grovah got tha bills. “Shit yea, baby,” I said. “I gots a summer job workin’ the cafeteria line at sleep-away camp. Sometimes they let me take home the extra chicken tenders.”
Then, out of nowhere, one of ‘em got all up in my face like “Sleep-away camp? Are you a cop? Are you a motherfucking twelve-year-old-looking cop? This looks like a bunch of bullshit to me.”
I was all like, “Naw, baby, I’m just tryin’ to find a beautiful woman like you to settle down with so’s we can get freaky with a tire iron, a baby bonnet, and a lifetime subscription to Entertainment Weekly! I’m just lookin’ for some sweet suckins!” You shoulda seen me, suckahs. I was playin’ it totally cool, but these nasty nymphos must’ve thought I’d be too much for ‘em. I guess I’d be pretty scared, too, if I saw a hot playah like myself struttin’ down the Strip. So, I was all like, “let’s blow this popsicle stand,” and went back to the Best Western to find my sock.
It’s all good, though. I still had a kickin’ time in Vegas. I saw a magician and one of those shows where all the ladies wear tassels on their funbags. It was totally like, “What the fuck? When do they take ‘em off and start eating bananas out of a pipe?” But it was still sweet — they had some tig ole’ biddies!
Yeah, I had a pimpin’ break. Too bad ya’ll couldn’t hang with tha Grove, but I got an image to maintain, y’dig?
Shout-outs to all of my homies and hos keepin’ it real in the WC — that’s thug for “West Campus,” boyee. Peace!
It's a Manheim's World appears in 1,108 newspapers and magazines nationwide. Email him at: grover@texastravesty.com or chat online on AOL IM, screenname GroverManheim. |
