Monday, August 07, 2006

I have a confession to make

I'm not really a pimp. I never have been, and despite my best efforts to look the part, people seemed to have noticed my lack of pimpage. I don't have a cane, a hat, or even a tiger print trimmed purple velour suit. I guess even more telling is my lack of hoes. I know ladies, even some gals who have a questionable level of selectivity in the men they chose, but none are hoes, and they certainly aren't my hoes. I guess my inner capitalist and my innate desire to be cool has driven me to my pimp ambitions, but they've done little to lead me to a successful endeavor as an entrepreneur of the flesh. Am I not savvy enough? Not cool enough? Perhaps I just don't know the right gals (I hesitate to use the term ladies when describing gals who put a price on nookie).

Maybe I just have trouble with the whole institution when you get down to the nuts and bolts of it. Sure the pimp rides and groovy attire are alluring, but the real intent behind it all is just a bit much for even me. I wouldn't let someone rent my kitties, piggies, puppies, or bunny so why would I do the same with a friend. I guess I could employ gals I didn't give a shit about, but to be honest, I can't stomach girls I don't give a shit about. Girls just aren't worth the trouble unless I can at least be friends with them.

So there it is. I'm just a poser who wants the superficial accoutrements of pimping without the harsh reality. Kinda like some redneck who'd rather get fatigues from some Army/Navy store or US Cavalry than enlist. Even if I had a pimp suit, a fly-ass hoopty, or a dope cane, I'd be no more than someone who'd buy a 4x4 to haul their mountain bike to and from a city park and keys stowed upon a carabineer. A sad collection of heavy duty equipment destined for a sad life on pavement and in the safety of pockets.

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