pimp sheets

These sheets are not as innocent as they appear . . .

Deep in Evil’s lair is a bed forged from the bones of my enemies—and just the softest flannel sheets you’ve ever felt! But summer approacheth, and I needed thinner sheets for my bed o’ bones. Searching the interwebs, I found these sheets at Target. Tan, 60% bamboo . . . these are sheets under which Henry Livingston might have slept.

So I schlepped over to Target and purchased said sheets. Once home, however, and freed from the pummeling glare of fluorescent lighting, I discovered something: these sheets are not tan. They are not brown. They are not mahogany, or chestnut, or burnt umber.

They are a deep, metallic, burnished gold. Solid gold.

Pimp sheets!

I-I think I might like them. But I’m not sure I should.

I never asked for this. But it seems pimpin’ is my dessssstiny.

I’d definitely have to overhaul my entire personality to deserve these sheets. And while that prospect might thrill some who know me—well, you might not like what I become. You know the drill:

I’ll have to walk differently, as if I’m on the verge of collapsing in a drunken stupor—yet infused with a pantherish grace.

I’ll have to dress differently. More purple. Animal prints. All-white suits. Hats!

I’ll curse a lot—lot—more. Muthafucka this, muthafucka that. But I’ll also laugh more.

I just don’t know. What do you think? We all buy furnishings to project aspects of our desired personalities. But I’ve never bought a furnishing that projected its personality onto me. What should I do?

Huh boy. They say pimpin’ ain’t easy, but apparently not pimpin’ is just as hard.

Enjoy the weekend. If possible, watch me twirl an ivory cane as I adjust my wide-brimmed, leopard-skin hat.


4 thoughts on “pimp sheets”

  1. natty e don’t take no advice. he gives it. along with smackin’s.

    we calls them “honey smacks”.

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