Who's the Bitch Now?!

Where ever there is a ho there will be a pimp just a cadillac and a back hand away... Which is why we can not overlook the benefits of the grandmaster of swag in your post apocalyptic community.   They almost have a certain omnipresence, otherwise absent in the end of days.  You pick a John, they're watching you.  You eat a hot dog, they're watching you.  You try to gyp their money, they know.

We recently revealed the many benefits of the itchy-crotched lady of the night but a hooker without a pimp is no more than a dirty slut...  and nobody wants a dirty slut around.  What gives the ho meaning?  A Raison d'être?  Your neighborhood flesh peddler extraordinaire!

To some, the Pimpious Maximus is nothing more than a purple and fur clad stereotype.  Parading around with cubic zirconia and gold chains and the human embodiment of an STD clinging to each arm... and probably a real STD in the pants.  But they are actually so much more...

Willie Dynamite... Gordon?  You's a pimp too?

Let us first evaluate the sexolicious bizness man.  The pimposaurus can negotiate and cut a deal to get exactly what it wants.  But Kitty, nobody is gonna look for a hooker during the apocalypse!  This is all rubbish!   First, you did not read "God Save the Ho's."  Second, It's not about getting a good hourly rate in the Motel 6.  This is so much greater.  It is widely believed that there will be warring factions amongst the survivors.  People with different ideals or even survival methods competing for their own well-being.  Enter the Pimp Panther and suddenly your enemy is unloading their weapons and rations at your camp and parading around in a tutu infront of the hungry horde.  This is how I imagine the conversation going:

Pimpalufagus:  Bitch you need to re-cog-inize my authorithai in this immediate jurisdiction and           relinquish those fine ass weapons and mouth watering cheezeburgers before I shank you, FOO'!

Captain of the losing team:  Whaaaaaa......?

Pimpalufagus:  *One eyed sideways stare*

Captain Loser:  Ok *hands over weapons and powerbars*


Pimpalufagus:  Thank you for your co-operation.  You will now be shown gratitude by one of my skankiest hos.

Nobody knows where the pimpopotamus gets it's one-eyed negotiating power.  They only know it is to be feared and has molded civilization since the beginning of time.   Not only does Count Pimpula posses the great stare down but upon the wearing of his finest feathered fedora,  he also possesses great backhanded strength.  Many experts believe that come zompoc, pimps will be able to behead up to 7.34 zombies with one polished backhand(this is science, bitches! so stop questioning my stats!).   No longer would a battle of bullets vs blades ensue.  Travel will now consist of the Pimpperoni leading the way, backhanding zeds effortlessly while it's army of fine bitches trails behind scavenging for treasures on the undead remains.  Is it just me or does this seem way easier than living on the run always terrified and constantly being covered in blood?

Most of us are hoping for a semi-permanent place to set up, possibly to feel secure with other survivors.  If security were a simple matter we would not be fleeing from our homes in the first place to find refuge in a strange land... So how does one find safe harboring in the new world?  Pimpzilla, bitches!  It doesn't take a city planner to recognize the pimpinators claim to land.  Google maps has even documented that shit.

Even their boundaries have flare!

When the provider-of-hos claims an area, he sets up a magical forcefield that makes warring pimps implode and bury their OWN body under a patch of marigolds that is also magic.  It keeps the environment safe for the bitches to flaunt and frolic.  Many scientists believe this magic actually comes from the sunglasses.  Possibly, the glitter in the rims are creating a sparkly razor sharp barrier, killing you from the inside.  Unfortunately, no one knows for sure making the inclusion of the Pimp even more important to your group.  If we could harness its power, our group of survivors would have the ultimate security!  Just imagine all the time we would have to relax in our plush heart shaped bed...

no joke, I have those shades.

Now that we have secured our safe-zone in pimpilicious glitter, we will need certain supplies: food, water, tools, porn, weapons... Do we send our most skilled protectors out into the "wild" to get our supplies?  Nah, baby...  we send in the ho's.  And who them ho's gonna report to?  The Pimpalottapus. of course.  Bitches bring the goods back and no one gets smacked!  Sure, the pimp will most likely haggle with you before those antibiotics are released to the group. But you can't expect him to go soft because of a few zombies lurking around.

Gotta keep that pimp hand strong!   Even if the group is depending on you!

Many of you pretty people are slightly concerned that with all those flashy outfits, feather hats and the occasional "yo bitch, where my money at's" going on, we could be bringing unnecessary attention to our compound.  Oh but never fear!  The Grand Swagolicious has been able to operate on the down-low for years.  Eluding law enforcement and hiding in our PTA meetings while we make cookies and stock up on ammo.  Blending in and staying inconspicuous will be like just anoter day at the strip club!

"Act cool, act cool!... Ok, you wanna take the next left and then you will see a building on the right... ok,  50 bucks."

In truth, the value of the purveyor of sexytime is pimpfinite!  So while some will make friends with their local doctors, scientists and muscle men, Kitty Pimpdemic will be getting to know her Pimp... and some fine ass ho's!  So as always my dear ones, stay pretty and prepare!

**Quick shout out to all my awesome Facebook peeps who proved to be quite the cunning linguists!  Without you, I would have nothing but a big ol' pimp!**