 Peace out, bitches! I�m graduated by Grover Manheim, Syndicated Columnist
My hoes! My bros! What is up like a slut? Like a slut's bumpin' butt, that's what! Sheeeit. I still gots the rhymes aftah all this time.
Been a long time, dawgz, but what can I tells ya? Ain't enough of the Grove to go around. I gots too many bitches up in my shit for writin' these punk-ass articles or whatever, so fuggit! Jus' be glad I got the ladies off my dizock long enough to spit some flow atcha, comprendayvoos?
So dig this: Grovah is graduatin'! Raise the roof! Can I get a "what what"? Where my dogs at? Who let 'em out? Hahahahaha I'm jus' playin'. That old-skool shit is whack like a heart attack, Jack.
Check out my new threads! I gots me a fly-ass hat. The Man calls it a "mortar board" 'cause, like, hippies used to wear it to protect themselves from mortar attacks during Vietnam protests in the 50s or some shit.
So anyway, I got my pimp-ass new threads down at the Co-op for Prepubescent Boys the other day, and I was all like, "Sup my peeps and dig my shit. My ass be graduatin', so's you gotsta hook my fine ass up wit that bathrobe BOOSHEE and PRONTO. I gots da honeys wit da moneys linin' up to ride on my nuts like a camel eatin' a box full of hairy apples. Aight?"
But this ole' bag behind the counter, she was too busy checkin' out my Little Grovah to pay attention. She was all like, "Of course. May I ask with what degree you'll be graduating?"
Like, WTF? For real.
"I'm graduating University Austin in Texas. Open yo fuckin' ears."
But I guess she was having her PMS or whatever, 'cause she just looked at me all funny and said: "I need to know you degree in order to outfit you with appropriate stole and tassel colors."
"Yo, I get a color?" I asked, and she was all like, "Yes."
So I was lookin' at the row of tassels on the wall, tryin' to figure out which one I wanted.
"Yo, so who gets chartreuse?" I said.
"You mean purple?" she asked.
I was thinkin': Damn, who ain't down wit chartreuse? "Whatever," I said.
"Oh!" she said, all smiles. "You're graduating from the law school!"
At first, I was like, Old Bag, you are TRIPPING. But then somebody tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned 'round real fast like Bring it! I was ready to launch into a patented Manheim Karate Explosion, but my expert fighting reflexes chilled muh shit just in time: behind me stood the tiggest ole' biddies you ever saw.
"Hey," she said. "I'm applying to law schools next semester. What did you think of UT Law?"
She had this big grin on her face like I just whipped it out or sumpthin', so I played it cool. I knew it would take more than my looks to get under this chick's skirt, so I thought of sumpthin' I overheard in a library while looking at nekkid tittays in an old National Geographic.
"To be perfectly honest," I said while scopin' that corn-fed rack, "I found many of the professors rather pedantic and, frankly, unengaged. But I suppose that's to be expected in programs with such large instructor-to-student ratios."
After that, homies and blow-mes, she was totally creamin' for me. And she was a freak! This snitchity snatch-basket was talkin' dirty right in the middle of the store. She was all "I'd love to study torts" and "I ab-whore capital punishment."
Then she was like, "Have you passed the Bar yet?"
And I was like, "Aw, hell yeah! I pass the bar every day, but they won't let me in 'cause they say I look like a 12-year-old boy."
She got this funny look on her face and started laughing. "Oh, I get it," she said. "You're very funny."
But just as I was about to get my suckins on, the cock-blockin' hag behind the counter was all like, "Hey, are you gonna pay for this or not?" So the chick gave me her number, and I bought my sweet new threads.
Now, I'm just keepin' it tizight 'til graduation. I ain't called that chick yet 'cause I heard somewhere that chicks get all slipp'ry when you ignore 'em. If she calls, I'm gonna be all like, "Stop suffocating me, slut!" and then she'll probably gimme a BJ just for bein' so damn fuckable.
Anyway, I gotta jet. My mom just showed up with clean laundry. I gotsta have clean drawers, yo! It's been real, homies. Peace IZ-OUT!
(Shout outz to muh boyees in Jestah Wesside! I'll be seein' ya'll at commenzemint.)
Grover Manheim�s syndicated column appears in over 4,000 publications worldwide. |
