From what I can glean from your, admittedly, dashing threads, you are one of two things: A pimp dressed-to-the-nines in what can only be described as stereotypical splendor; or a very late arrival to–or a very early revivalist of–the Zoot Suit riots. Your garb vis-à-vis the aforementioned riots is spot on, but I question your commitment to/your knowledge of the Mexican-American riots that made your suit famous…so pimp it is! Although, and now I’m just spitballin’, you could very well be colorblind. Given the motley collection of colors you are currently representing, I sort of hope so. You are not, however, mute. I know this because, despite my attempts at whatever the opposite of eavesdropping is, I now know more than I care to about the size of your pit-bull (hella big); your evaluation of the Mayan calendar (whack shit); your aspirations and estimations for the future financial growth (cha-chingity-chang and it ain’t no thang); and how you feel about being stared at on the bus (they pointin’ they peepers my way like I’m something to see). Point is, you are one of those rare spirits whose physical essence appropriately reflects your personality. You are, as the trench warfare saying goes, over the top. You are a collection of exaggerations coalesced into a caricature. More cartoon than man, really. And I love you for it. You are unabashedly every conceivable stereotype of a pimp–and you must know it–yet you don’t give a shit. You are struttin’ around with a completely unnecessary cane. You are dangling all sorts of medallions from your neck. Your shitty phone has a bedazzled case. And, I would gladly bet the proceeds from my next blog post that if you have a business card, then it declares you an “Entertainer” by trade. Hell, you’ve entertained me. I guess what I want to say is this: Thank you for being you, inside and out.
A Secret Admirer