And we're back! Your third installment of Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked. If you missed the beginning, go back in time to catch up.
Although I have seen pimps on television, I'd never actually met one up close and personal. That is until I was introduced to one D. Magical, arguably the most infamous purveyor of women as a commodity in the Tenderloin District of California.
I will admit I was nervous about this interview. It wasn't so much the subject or the man as it was the place where we were to meet. His secretary, or D.'s Ho as she announced herself, informed me he would only allow me an audience if I came to his office.
Turns out a pimp's office is in reality a seedy motel room behind an abandoned Salvation Army. Despite my general aversion to seediness in most forms, I'm a professional. I asked myself, WWCCD, and off I went. (What Would Connie Chung Do?)
Mr Magical, or Sweet Daddy as I was instructed to address him by 3 large men with diamonds where their teeth should be, wasn't there when I arrived. Instead a full half hour before his arrival was spent preparing me for my time with him. I was instructed not to ask any questions about his alleged link to a recent homicide involving a rival Pimp and a trombone, or about his Momma. It was also recommended that I try not to look him directly in the eye. I didn't ask why.
In his own good time he strutted in the room decked out in fur, gold rings, diamonds and a purple hat so cliche I almost laughed out loud. He sat down across from me and in an effort to take control, he asked the first question.
Sweet Daddy: Sobriquet?
(Clearly he thought Sobriquet was the French word for cheap wine served in a plastic cup.)
Sher: Thank you, but no. Mr. Sweet Daddy, I'd like to start our interview by thanking you for agreeing to sit down with me. This is important work we're doing. There is some chatter about a Pulitzer.
(I smiled at him only to have one of his diamond-toothed posse firmly shake his head NO at me.)
Now, would you mind telling me in your own words what exactly it is that you do?
Sweet Daddy: This concludes my question and answer session.
Sher: What the hell? That was my first question! I've visited with lots of other men and they've all answered my questions.
(The biggest in the posse walked over to put his hand on my shoulder. I became alarmed that he might in fact pull my head out by the stem.)
Sweet Daddy: If I was a completely uneducated hillbilly type, midwestern, tobacco chewing, wife beater wearing, Nascar watching, beer drinking, good ole boy I would.
Sher: So why are you even here if you aren't going to talk to me? Would you at least answer a couple things?
(The grip on my shoulder tightened signaling it would be best to change my approach.)
Please Mr. Daddy? Just one or two?
Sweet Daddy: I'm working and must sometimes spring to action at a moment's notice.
Sher: I understand. You're like Super Pimp. Gotta jet off to rescue a ho any time Commissioner Gordan sends up the bat signal.
(No one laughed. I thought I might throw up, but I chewed it back.)
Let's try this again Sweet Daddy. Without mentioning your business specifically, let's talk a little bit about the kind of woman you most appreciate having in your employ. What might she look like?
Sweet Daddy: A Georgia peanut farmer with bucked teeth. Dirty white dress. Fake boobs are out of the question.
Sher: I see. It sounds like you know exactly what you want, or perhaps more to the point, what men want.
Sweet Daddy: The thing for cool boys.
(This everyone in the room thought was hysterical as they high-fived each other and congratulated Sweet Daddy on his brilliant & insightful comment.)
Sher: It's my understanding you have one special lady in your stable. Is that correct?
Sweet Daddy: The One. The most perfect woman in the world. No longer here.
(I thought I saw a single tear run down his cheek.)
Sher: What happened to her?
Sweet Daddy: An unfortunate smelting accident.
Sher: Wow. I did not see that coming. Sounds tragic. I'm sorry.
Sweet Daddy: Makes you feel dirty, doesn't it?
(He leaned in toward me, leering as though telling me the love of his life was dead might somehow have flipped my on switch.)
Sher: It does not! I don't know why you think it would.
(The smallest of the scary men now folded his arms and cleared his throat. Signal received.)
I can't help but notice your beautiful ensemble. Is this how you always dress? Is there like Pimp casual when you're not working?
Sweet Daddy: Cloth diapers.
Sher: That sounds both disgusting and ridiculous.
Sweet Daddy: It makes for a fun time had by all. Why become aghast in public at a man's sexual misconduct only to be secretly causing intentional sexual arousal under a table, in a darkened hallway, at a different time etc?
Sher: I can assure you that I am aghast both in public and in private. There will be no misconduct on my part Mr. Daddy. There is absolutely nothing you could do that would warrant my ever causing you intentional arousal in any way. Ever.
Sweet Daddy: I will not ask for a penis prosthesis.
(The posse all nodded in agreement as if he were somehow making a huge concession just for me.)
Sher: What the hell are you talking about? What is a penis prosthesis anyway?
Sweet Daddy: Knowing the definition of the word kinda takes the fun out of it.
Sher: Mr. Daddy, please just answer the questions. If not, I'm going to have to bring this interview to an end.
Sweet Daddy: Makes you feel dirty doesn't it?
Sher: Stop saying that! That's it. I don't see anything further we can gain from this exchange. Before I literally burst into a dead on run and flee, is there anything additional you would want my readers to know about you Mr. Daddy?
Sweet Daddy: Two part answer. Strangers, friends, and acquaintances are strongly encouraged to enlarge their breasts and not be afraid to share them with me via text/picture messaging.
Sweet Daddy: Thanks to my many friends for making "Operation Shake-a-Ho" a complete success.
Shake-a-Ho indeed, Mr. Daddy. Consider this "ho" completely shaken.
Come on kids. What else could today's music be?
Copyright © Sherri Bailey
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