Pimp master pyro. He lives way up in boston. Very rad accent. He likes that crappy "candy" boston baked beans. It's like a regional thing. But no i swear he's not as crappy as that "candy"!
By no means is he down with the man. Pimp master pyro is a skinny white boy with a crooked afro. Not a real afro, mind you. He went crazy with liquor store weave and elmers glue. Everyone laughs at his hair but i know that it's really an artistic statement.
I searched everywhere for a rad person to talk about. I found him strutting around in his leaisure suit and [dead] goldfish platforms. I gave him my version of a pimp slap and said "oh you silly boston baked bean eating fake afro wearing pimp wannabe, why must you strut in front of me while i search for someone rad?" and he said "um, what?". Poor pyro, still getting over the effects of my pimp slap. I took smuggled him back to philthy in my suitcase. He was pass stage on radinecity by now, could he survive stage 2?
He was broke! Idiot! Spent all his money on bad weave and glue! I made him get a job. He was fired the next day because he didn't want to be down with the man. I threatened him that if he didn't make money, he would have to haul his wannabe pimp ass back to boston. I found him selling pretzels in front of my house. People were a bit psychotic about his pretzels. He made two grand in on day. More than he would make trying to pimp his hos, who were nothing more than inflatable dolls he got for free after buying 10 packs of weave.
I wondered why his pretzels were so addictive?
Ah, i found him mixing some powder in with the pretzel dough. This powder wasn't flour. COCAINE! sucka! People were addicted to master pimp pyros pretzels. They sold by the thousands. Pyro just couldn't keep up. The pretzel stock depleted and pretty soon people were trying to get underground pretzels.
For a fee i let pyro sell his pretzels from my basement.Suckas would try to buy these pretzels for 5 dollas but they were 995 too short. We were swimming in dough by the end of the week.
Then, tragedy struck. Pyro realised that by giving me money to use my basement for these pretzels he was selling out to the man. No good pimp can be down with da man. One snowy thursday morning i woke up and he wasn't in his room. (SEPERATE room, sucka). I found his cowboy jammie jams on the floor and a note:
"Hey yo c, buisness was crucial but i gots to be on my own. Back to boston to buy my weave. Maybe i'll use less glue. yo pimp masta... pyro"
I clutched the note to my bosom. Tears formed in my eyes.
I'll miss you pimp master pyro. You and your fake fro.
*this is a true story. no names have been changed.