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Who is ‘Grant,’ the Infamous IV Rabble-Rouser? The Black Sheep Investigates

Teeth were a-chattering and keyboards were a-clattering this past week about a post on UCSB’s Free & For Sale about a Mr. Grant Gaucho. Obviously that is not his real name but we’d prefer not to piss off a guy who has a history of breaking into houses. Before, tales of his misadventures had only been heard through whispers from more weathered Isla Vistans. Now he is the talk of the town, and the only way to perfectly commemorate the legend that he is, is through a tall tale, before he probably gets sent to jail for like, a long time. 

When Grant Gaucho was born, five raccoons carried him to his mother.

A three hours old he tattooed himself with his own ballpoint pens, and after a week of life on this planet, was wearing his neighbor’s clothes. His lungs were so strong that he could smoke an entire gram in one inhale.

Grant’s clothing was so swag by six months they had to use live rats to chew holes in them. They used a longboard drawn by a team of bikers as a baby carriage. When his coolness outgrew this his parents put him on a raft off the coast of California.

It is said that rocking in his sleep is what caused the waves that so many rappers have dropped their dank beats to.

He would smoke forty bowls just to whet his appetite.

As a child, Grant played with a butterfly knife and bong like other children played with toys. On his first birthday his father gave him a pet blue raccoon named Dank. Dank grew to be seven handles and a plug of tobacco wide between the eyes, and would eat thirty Buddha bowls for a snack.

Never having to pay for Uber or Lyft rides, a teenaged Grant would instead charm people into believing he’d “Venmo them right away” before disappearing in a puff of weed smoke.

By his early 20s, Grant was so suave he could charm his way onto any couch. He would spark up a chat as easily as lighting a match with two young lads, then keep it ablaze even as the men left the party and strolled to their cabode, where he would welcome himself inside. Uninvited, he’d take a seat on their couch and chat until the sandman visited him.

He would continue to do so for days until the locks were changed. Some said he would even continue to reappear at the same house even after they had exchanged to new owners, much like how a stray cat may continue to return to the same place even though they may have only been fed there once.

He was so clever that he knew just when to break into homes as the residents were away and how to orchestrate the raddest of parties. His parties were so swell. They bumped the most fire jams, flowed with the most lit alcohols, and brought in the hottest chicks like moths to a flame.

The only man who would dare attempt to quell the flames of the party was one who had yet to acquire a wristband but demanded entrance. When asked whom he knew here, his reply was himself and that there was no hoedown planned.

A man of many words, heard by the many in Isla Vista. Grant is a legend who will not soon be forgotten for truly bringing the wild west back to the west coast.

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