Again, we’ve turned the blog over to Subcommandante Wayne, the dean of tOSU fans, for the day. He will now updates you on the condition of his precious Grand Am.

So now that Mom’s been dropped off with her new cane at the Permits office, I gotta apologize for no updates on the condition of what I like to call “Grey Steel,” also known as the sweet Grand Am I drive.

You might recall that as of last week, the Grand Am’s side looked like someone had polished it with Paris Hilton’s twat after ol’ Subcommandante Wayne took it on a mad spin behind the permits building and WHAMMO hit some ice and banged my baby into a recycling dumpster. (Fucking environmentalists…) I was all skeevy waiting that afternoon to pick up Mom from work, because I knew she was gonna chew my ass out real good, like worse than the time I got caught in high school tapping the Griffin High School AC lines for Freon to huff with my buddy Andy. (That Andy! He’s so wild man. He moved to Tampa. That’s how wild he is.)

So I pull up around the building all Casino Royale and shit because I hit the dumpster on the driver’s side. I’m thinking: maybe we can pull the wool over Mom’s ears here. I drive over on Route 87 the long way around so I can pull up with the driver’s side away from Mom, since she just sits there reading Us Weekly and smoking while she waits and totally won’t notice. I pull up like Daniel Craig and just smokescreen her. She seemed a little suspicious why I wouldn’t turn the radio down, though.

She’s like, “WAYNE TURN DOWN THE RADIO GODDAMMIT!!!”

And I’m like, “WHUUUT I CAN’T HEAR YOUUUU?”

And she’s like “WAYYYYNNNEE GODDAMMIIIIIIIT.”

Mom says that a fuckton a lot. Anyway, double-oh-buckeye in charge all the way home. She gets out, I kill some time, and then Mom passes out with her nasty boyfriend Lee on the couch. (Lee’s on disability, which is the only cool thing about him.) They’re all out there, and then the Subcommandante adopts his latest disguise…

The frickin’ Bondo Bandit, baby.


Like new, man.

Anyway, Mom hasn’t noticed shit yet, and that’s aces high for the Subcommandante and his faithful fans who like watching me tear ass in the parking lot of the Permits building. I’ve gone this whole post, though, without mentioning how much OSU rules, so here’s some haikus to tide your Buckeye hunger over a little:

Troy Smith is so good
When you see him throw the ball
Your dick will fall off.

Buckeyes, Gators, both
On the same field. The guys
in orange and blue? Gay.

You know what else I like? The song Copperhead Road. I could totally run weed with tricks I learned from Charlie in the bondoed-up and better than ever Grand Am, man.