All I’m ever going to write about pimp canes

Certain occupations require tools that are particular to that occupation, like the firehose (firefighter) and the hackey sack (unemployed). Usually these job-related tools are used for some clear purpose, but sometimes you’ll see tools that have no discernible use, and are carried around “just because.” Case in point: the pimp cane.

Description

Pimp canes are similar to regular canes, except tackier, sillier and more likely to act as a sign that the owner has contracted some sort of venereal malady. According to Google Images, they often have decorations on the handle akin to car hood ornaments that are shaped like dice, 8-balls, and snake heads.

My honest guess at the price range of pimp canes

$35.99-$25,000. The low-end models you could probably find at a costume shop, whereas the more expensive brands are reserved for rappers and the Pope. I guess you could pick up a fallen branch from the park and use it as a pimp cane for free, but then you run the risk of people thinking you aren’t a true professional.

Me trying to deduce what pimp canes are actually used for

Well, canes are traditionally used to aid people in walking, such as the elderly and people with bad legs. But I’ve never known pimps to have bad legs. I’ve never seen a pimp with a limp. So I assume pimp canes are employed much like a king’s scepter: as a shiny symbol of power to let everyone know that the owner has the authority. However, in a democracy such as ours authority comes from the consent of the governed, and very few people would consent to be governed by a pimp. Therefore, the pimp cane is nothing more than an expensive item that symbolizes that the owner is, indeed, of the pimping persuasion.

It’s possible, though, that the pimp cane contains DARK MAGIC.

A musing on the pimp’s acquisition of his cane

Do pimps buy their pimp canes themselves, or is there a head pimp that awards lower pimps their canes after a job well done, like a pimp earning his wings?* Because it seems like if you allowed just any random individual to purchase a pimp cane, they could all claim to be pimps without doing anything to earn the prestige.

Burn in hell, whitey.

Another theory is that all pimps are trained from an early age at a secret school in the English countryside. The kids start out with miniature pimp canes and receive the real deal upon graduation.

This would also confirm the DARK MAGIC theory from earlier.

Now let’s just say, hypothetically, that I own a pimp cane.

People I assume would respond positively to me owning a pimp cane

Teenagers
Children who think I’m the king of some far-off land, or a gaudy wizard

People I assume would respond negatively to me owning a pimp cane

My friends
My family
My neighbors
Myself
Random passersby
Businessmen
Policemen
Firemen
Politicians
Religious figureheads
Parents
Teachers
Other pimps
Owners of whichever pimp cane stores I didn’t buy it from
Everyone else

It's really not my fault that the best pimp canes all come from Disney.

Things I might tell people if they asked me why I was walking around town with a pimp cane

“I’m not entirely sure.”
“I’m sorry.”

Things I would rather have on the top of my pimp cane than a diamond or a snake head or whatever

A pencil eraser
A Monopoly wheelbarrow
A hand giving a thumbs up
A sign that reads “Help!” that I would use to convey fear to the audience when I realize I have accidentally walked off a cliff
A ring, so I could wear my pimp cane on my finger when I got tired of carrying it
A Pez dispenser
A sign that reads “My life decisions don’t always look so great in retrospect”
A rope. Holy shit if I could swing my pimp cane around I’d never be bored

Lesser-known pimp-related things

Pimp cone
Pimp coins
Pimp Cannes (a film festival for the more cultured pimps on the pimp spectrum)
Pimp crane (purple vehicle with fur trim used to construct pimp buildings)
Pimp code (like the Konami code, except instead of granting you thirty lives in Contra it only give you one stupid real one)
Pimpicide (also known as pimp murder)
Pimp-action shotgun (you don’t want to know)
Herpes

A picture I found while looking for pimp cane images

Closing thoughts

There’s something to be said about modern society when a man can walk down the street dressed like King Lear and make you think nothing other than, “That guy must have herpes.”

*There should be a pimp version of It’s a Wonderful Life that involves a man about to commit suicide by jumping into Smakaho River, only to be saved by a pimp with a heart of gold. And it ends with the line, “Every time a bell rings, a pimp earns his cane.” Someone should make this movie. Not me though, because it’s a really bad idea that I don’t want to be associated with.

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Komodo Dragon Facts

I’m in the middle of moving right now, so I haven’t had time to update this thing I call a bl*g. I felt this was obligatory.

Also, notice the Twitter thing to the right and do with it what you will.

Now, time for some Komodo dragon facts.

Komodo Dragon Facts

1. Komodo dragons are not dragons, just big, stupid lizards

2. Komodo dragons do not breathe fire

3. There is no record of a Komodo dragon slaying a knight or guarding a mountain of treasure or doing anything cool

4. More children become prematurely jaded and cynical from Googling a picture of a Komodo dragon than from any other life experience, including finding out Santa isn’t real and that Walt Disney was a racist

5. Komodo dragons cause an average of 7,000 human deaths a year: eight from untreated bite wounds, and 6,992 from suicides of people who realize that if it’s alright to take something that is clearly not a dragon and call it a dragon, the universe is truly a senseless space of random events and nothing has any meaning

6. They don’t even have wings. Seriously, did any research go into this? No book in the world describes a dragon as “a fat, flightless iguana that bites a cow and waits for it to die a week later.”

7. No, I’m not done. Who is the asshole who gave it such a misleading name? It’s like if I invited everyone to my house and said, “Now I will reveal to you an actual living pterodactyl! Behold!” and they said, “That’s just a peacock,” and I said, “Well yeah, what did you think it was going to be, a pterodactyl?” I’d get lynched.

8. Because of facts 1-7, Komodo dragons are the worst animals

9. In all likelihood, Komodo dragons caused the holocaust, AIDS, and original sin

10. Komodo dragons assassinated Archduke Ferdinand and caused WWI

11. Komodo dragons staged the moon landing

12. A Komodo dragon is the lead singer of Fallout Boy

13. Komodo dragons kill Dumbledore

14. Komodo dragons are why we can’t have nice things

15. Komodo dragons suck.

YOU FRAUD

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Lyrics to Today’s Top Music Hits, as Interpreted by Me

“Dancing,” by Insufferable Troll

Dancing
Dancing
I love dancing
I love to DANCE
Dancing rocks, yo
Holy shit
You know what
I think guys that I really really love DANCING
At the club
Clubs
Dancing at the club
Unce unce unce unce unce unce unce unce

“Pretty Drunk Lol,” by Smashley

Last night I went to a party
Damn was I drunk! Lol
Someone was like “Hey Smashley you’re pretty drunk lol”
And I was like, “Hey, I’m pretty when I’m sober too!”
LOL
I’m a riot
What did I even do at that party I was drunk at?
Dance, but that’s a given
Dance at the club
Also I broke some shit
God I’m interesting
Oh, I think I kissed a guy for a stick of gum
In most societies that would make me a whore but
Well
I don’t know what was I talking about again lol

“I Dance Better than Insufferable Troll,” by Talkshit McGee

Hey, I know you heard that one bitch who likes dancing, but
Shit
I love dancing more than her fat ass
Bitch
My club’s better than her club
Bitch
Her club plays music that goes unce unce unce unce unce
That’s old news
Mine goes unza unza unza unza unza
Bitch

“I Like it that Your Ass is Large,” by Child Support Check-Writer

Damn baby girl
Let me be honest with you right now
I find you sexually appealing
I would love to have sex with you
Hey
Let me have sex with you
Let’s copulate
Unh
I like it that your ass is large
Because that’s what my reproductive system tells me I like
I’m just relating that information to you, in song
Unh
Damn, girl
My mating ritual involves wearing shiny things and strutting around in front of women, sort of like certain species of wild birds
Kick it
Also I really like money
Too bad I spend it all on child support, damn

“Another Song About Dancing,” by Zero Personality

Those sluts know nothing about dancing
I’m the dancing queen
Not the ABBA kind though, that’s gay, but just know that I can really dance
One time I danced for 35 hours straight
Not even joking
Animal Protection had to use elephant tranquilizers on me or I would have danced to death
I’m hardcore
Obviously I have nothing interesting to say, but
Damn
Listen to that beat why don’t you
Ounce ounce ounce ounce ounce ounce

“The Latest Fashion in Dance Music,” by DJ Unce

Pants-a pants-a pants-a pants-a pants-a pants-a pants-a
Pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasts pasta


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Shut Up About Cthulhu

“I just don’t understand what makes him so popular,” said the Loch Ness monster.

“Oh, I know. Is it his Escher-esque city, terribly located in the middle of the ocean? His wings that probably can’t even lift his fat ass three feet off the ground? His tentacles? I have tentacles too, but you don’t see me flaunting them around everywhere.” The Kraken sipped on his French-pressed coffee, and then sipped on his nine other French-pressed coffees. “And another thing: that book of his. The Necronomicon.”

“Oh, here we go.” Nessie bit into a scone.

“So it was a New York Times bestseller. Look at my face: does it look like I care? That was the most dull and pretentious book I’ve ever read in my life. That ‘even death may die’ line everyone keeps spouting makes me want to puke. My comedy memoir, ‘What’s Kraken?’ is a thousand times more entertaining, and your book … What was your book again?”

“Weight Loss for the Working Woman.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m sure it’s a more effective weight loss guide than the Necronomicon at least.”

“Not really.”

“The point is, that guy doesn’t deserve all the praise he gets. Get over him, already.”

“Yeah. Seriously, everyone needs to shut the hell up about Cthulhu. He’s not that cool.”

“Seriously.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping drinks and listening to the old pop songs playing over the venue’s speakers. The lunch rush was over and the coffee house’s crowd had thinned, but there was one person sitting alone on a nearby sofa, facing away from the Kraken and the Loch Ness monster as he read a coffee table book about Paris. The Kraken was bobbing his head to Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Songs” when that person finally stood up and revealed himself to be hundreds of feet tall and covered with scales. He turned around, and the two monsters froze when they saw the tentacles bedecking his face.

“Cthulhu,” said the Loch Ness monster. “F-fancy meeting you here.”

“Huh? Oh, hey guys,” said Cthulhu. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“Yeah,” the others replied.

“After all this rain, it’s refreshing to have a little sun.”

“Seriously,” said the Kraken, who had paled.

“Well, I’ll see you later.” Cthulhu ambled loudly and violently out the door, and for a moment Nessie and the Kraken felt relieved he hadn’t heard them gossiping about him. They flashed haughty smiles at each other, which looked very strange on the Kraken especially.

But Cthulhu, after a period of indecision, reentered the coffee house and said, “By the way, I just want you to know that I’ve heard ‘Release the Kraken!’ so many times that it’s given me brain damage. So you’re a squid that’s bigger than most squids. Great. I’m completely unique in every way. And you,” he said to Nessie, “at least I don’t have gift shops selling my likeness on t-shirts and mouse pads, you sellout. Go to hell, sea creatures. I didn’t ask for my popularity.”

Cthulhu let the door swing shut, hopped into his Ferrari, placed his sunglasses on his face, and drove away to the city of R’lyeh at top speed. The Kraken and the Loch Ness monster sipped and nibbled in complete awkward silence.

“Seriously,” said Odin, the coffee house manager.

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Buy these books.

The Time Machine Did It by John Swartzwelder

The Internet is a Playground by David Thorne

Get them.

What do you mean “why”? You like to laugh, don’t you? Have I ever steered you wrong before?

You have to stop arguing with me in public.

Seriously, it’s rude.

The neighbors are starting to look at us funny.

Just get these books dammit.

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Frank Speed

When I was still a rookie on the force, there was a guy called Frank Speed. I don’t know if that was his real name. Somehow I doubt it. Anyway, Frank was a bank robber, and we could never, ever catch him in a car chase.

Not that he was fast. Not at all. Actually he was quite slow. That was his trick, you see: he would go excruciatingly slow, driving at speeds that made you wonder if he was even driving at all, and then we cops would be stuck behind, waiting, waiting, waiting, and waiting. And then waiting, and also waiting.

Damn that Frank Speed. We would sometimes be out there for days following Frank while he went one mile an hour. He’d lean out of his car and shout, “You’ll never catch me, coppers! Haha!” and we would all have the opportunity to engage in a lengthy debate on whether anybody really said coppers anymore. Six hours and two blocks later, we would come to the conclusion that it was just Frank Speed who said that.

We had guys set up roadblocks, sure. Unfortunately we would always set them up a few miles away, according to copper protocol. By the time we chased that dirty Frank Speed to the location, the roadblock would be gone, the guys who had set it up naturally assuming that Frank Speed had slipped past them sometime in October.

He always got away. Even the most diligent cop would fall asleep sooner or later, whereas Frank Speed seemed to be on something. Something speedy. My guess is energy drinks. Not to mention he was probably the only criminal in history who drove a Smart Car, meaning by the time we ran out of gas he still had half a tank. That rat Frank Speed and his crafty green ways.

Why didn’t we just walk up and open the door, then? Shows what you know. You don’t go playing around with a madman like that Frank Speed. For all his crazy, he’d probably press down on the accelerator as soon as you grabbed the handle, making you fall down and scrape your knees. That’s what happened to Officer Mendoza the one time he tried it: he grabbed the handle and blam! he’s on the ground crying. When his embarrassment had receded enough for him to stand up and put band-aids on his legs, he said, “You know what? I didn’t sign up for this. I quit.” And I don’t blame him, either: I would have too. A cop can only deal with so much danger before he loses it. The door was locked, anyway. That Frank Speed was one clever devil.

The other day me and my partner Bruce were in the bar after our shifts, and I says to him, “Hey Bruce, you remember that guy Frank Speed?”

Bruce said, “What made you think about Frank Speed?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t read a book in a while. I used to read them all during Frank Speed’s car chases. One time I read all of War and Peace from 3rd to 8th Avenue, remember that?”

He nodded. “Well, I can’t say for sure what he’s doing now, but last I heard, he’s been working as a plumber.”

My eyes opened wide in astonishment. “You mean Frank’s gone straight?”

“That’s the rumor. People call him about an emergency toilet leak and there he is eight days later, ready to fix it. Aside from some fines he’s accumulated for parking in no-parking zones—usually while he’s driving—he’s clean.”

Wow. As I sat there with my beer, I couldn’t help but brood about the fickle nature of man. That’s to be expected, since I had brooding duties that week. People say I’m the best brooder on the force, and one time I even won Broodiest Cop of the Year award at the regional police award ceremony. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. The nature of man. Wow, how fickle.

Bruce and I paid for the drinks and headed home to get some sleep. When you work a beat like ours, you always gotta be at the top of your game.

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I Think Angry Birds Might Be Losing Popularity

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