A Complete List Of The Reasons Pimping Ain’t Easy
As a young, single man living on my own and earning enough money to keep strangers from laughing at me, my predecessors have always led me to believe that I should be living my life untamed by the restraints of a woman.
“Sow your wild oats,” they’d say.
“What does that mean?” I’d ask.
“Shut up!” they’d respond.
Men are constantly encouraged to treat women as instruments of sex and pleasure, tromping through panty after panty, leaving only a collection of stains and mischievous stories in their wake. I have spent a great deal of my time attempting to master these teachings; and I can say, first hand, that this pimp-like lifestyle is not nearly as simple we are lead to believe.
Below is a gathering of just a few, of the many challenges, young “pimps” face every day:
1. Not loving hoz is hard.
Sure, they may be unclean and mostly insincere, but touching my junk for a nominal fee is what I’ve always liked most in a woman. Not loving hoz is like handing me a plate of really gorgeous waffles, and saying, “Hey, after you’re finished adding syrup and butter, make sure you slap the waffles around, and laugh at their father issues.” I can’t do that to waffles.
2. Pimp uniforms are expensive.
Pimps always wear very colorful clothing. Colors that you can’t find in the average department store: Sweet Tooth Yellow, or Smother-A-Bitch Blue. The rarity of these fabrics makes shopping for a pimp one of the most daunting tasks on every mother’s Christmas list. Looking like you’re celebrating Easter in space doesn’t just happen by accident, and it certainly doesn’t come cheap. Sure, underwear made out of alligator and peacock feathers sounds classy, but it is quite the investment.
3. A strong pimp hand is difficult to come by.
Admittedly, I have very gentle hands. Some would say slightly ladylike. I would say, yeah, but a really strong lady. Either way, it’s hard to change these soft hands. There’s no elective surgery, or machine at the gym for developing your calluses. I’ve learned very quickly that these are not the open palms of punishment, but more the open palms of moonlit massages and molding crab cakes.
4. Beating women isn’t nearly as gratifying as my heroes led me to believe.
When my favorite mediocre rappers told me to keep my hoz in line, they failed to mention that hoz sometimes shed human tears. Also, some hoz call the police, or their older brothers, who have names that look good as a neck tattoo. I’m not a fighter, which makes me a lover, if only by default. It is in these moments of danger that I most often find myself quoting the late Rodney King, when he said, “Ouch! Ooohhhh! Stop hitting me, please!!”
5. It can take years to speak pimp fluently.
Pimps usually use very complicated metaphors and colloquialisms to express how much they want their money. Pimp language is meant to both terrify, but also impress with its magical phrasing. When I want my money, I write a softly worded email. Also, I cc Human Resources in the email, as to protect myself from any future complications. Even in this technologically advanced world, I’m not sure if, “To Whom It May Concern” is the best way to get a trick in line.
We are not all meant for the glamorous world of pimping. Some of us should just settle for the lackluster lifestyle of lunch dates, and Burn Notice marathons. No, we may never have our story eloquently repeated in rap songs, or police reports; but in the end, we just might find that special someone, who holds us closely, and doesn’t wince at the missing gold from our smiles.
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So many of my relationships in life — when I was more insecure, when I didn’t like myself, when I didn’t think I deserved much — have been about proving, over and over again, that I am okay.
Today I began an essay: For as long as I have known how to be, I’ve been ashamed of my body. My publications all live within this same confessional territory.
Almost there. But not quite.
I know that people – all people – are victims of humanity; we are all broken.