title: america is a pimp and is also sexy
authors: a negative eleven and meanwhile
genre: humor, kind of. crack. could be seen as a parody, except not really.
warnings: incoherent. excessive usage of the word "pimp". pornstaches.
authors' notes:
meanwhile - i fail at humor. there is nothing that could make this worse except metrosexual hipsters. and i am not pointing fingers at anyone but romano.
eleven - unfortunately romano died, so boo hoo hoo. hoo. anyways, let's get out of here before china's kids take over the world. kk? kk.
A blond, stunningly manly pimp, who pimped prostitutes, strutted down the hot and sexy street. It was a nice street, he thought. It reminded him of those other streets. Like the one with the giant yellow bird and red furry midget. He liked that street. Not because he was a furry, oh no, but because it was a . . . nice street. With nice . . . furry people. Yeah.
So America continued on under the hot summer sun, his five layers of saggin' jeans and basketball shorts weighing him down. Not to mention the love-handles protruding from under his gangsta longshirt. He winked to all them bitches as he passed, and watched as they gagged lovingly at his chunky swagger.
One of those bitches happened to be England. He was dressed in a leotard that made him look fabulously flaming. He was flaming, as a matter of fact – flaming homosexual. And also on fire.
"Help, America, you dashingly sexy beast!" said England. "I'm burning!"
America laughed a pimp laugh. Then he pulled out a pimp cane from between his oversized pants and smacked England, who flailed around on fire like a tuna. A leotard-clad, delightfully homosexual, soon-to-be-smoked tuna. "You're right, England, you are burning – burning with the passion of a thousand suns."
"Oh, but for whom?" cried France, who was apparently there all along. England died a little, meanwhile.
America stroked his pornstache. With another pimp laugh, he said, "Why, for me and the gay smut fanfiction I frequently star in!" And then he adjusted his saggin' pants and continued on his merry way.
A flat and very womanly woman stood in his merry way, though, surrounded by several small children, many of which wore rhinestone-encrusted diapers. They were the pimpin'-est little bros and hos America had ever seen.
He immediately recognized the woman as a man, and one of his bitches (of course, the entire universe was his bitch; shame she didn't make him much money, with all that intergalactic prostitution and stuff).
"Aru! Aiyah aru shinatty aru aru!" the man shouted, giving birth to yet another child, and shoving it into a glittering, saggin' diaper. The phrase roughly translated to "You devilishly sexy pimping man-whore, you. Impregnating me with seventy children, and never paying child-support! You're lucky I'm still dropping these things like eggs, or I'd make you fuck me more with your magical phallus of infinite pleasure!" The Character With No Plot Importance seemed happy to see the pimp.
"Daaaayum, girl - er, brotha'," America said, "me no habla engles, or something." And he stepped pimpishly around the gender-confused Asian, who dropped another few kids as he passed.
America began walking again, strutting his assilicious junk. He walked like that for a long time but we cut that out because if we didn't it would go something like "America began walking again, strutting his assilicious junk. He walked some more, more sexily. And he walked. And walked. And walked sexily. And strutted a bit. And walked some more. It was very sexy." and that would be ridiculously boring, even with the amount of sexy gangster swagger that would involve.
Suddenly, a wild CANADA appeared! America gasped a very manly gasp, as if to accentuate the fact that he was manly, unlike his brother, who was wearing a very ridiculous outfit. "Goddamn, Canada, my brotha, why the hell-izzle are you wearing a very ridiculous outfit, fo sho?"
It was because Canada was dressed in a . . . flaming tuna suit!
"Oh, my insanely attractive pimp brother of mine! I merely wanted to impress you with my tuna-ocity, so perhaps you would love me and we could perform acts of fanservice for the twincest fans reading this, rather than have you fuck the other flaming tuna you seemed to be far more interested in - oof!" Unfortunately, the utterly un-pimplike sibling of the pimp-lord of the swag was knocked to the ground by said amazingly gangsta and swag-tastic owner-of-hoes.
A breathtaking sight about two miles behind his utterly swagless brother caught the pimp's eye, and pulled it right out of his eye socket. His eye bounced for a bit before flying down the sunny, ho-coated street - right towards the breathtaking sight ahead.
In two magnificently gangsta steps, America stood before the most take-breathing sight he'd ever seen with his one remaining eye.
It was . . . a mermaid!
The majestic creature sat within a giant clam placed precisely in the middle of the street, blocking traffic in such a lovely way. The American pimp was so mesmerized by the mermaid's beauty and beautifulocity that he grew a new eye to replace the old one.
The mermaid looked down at the gangsta with green like emeralds, or... some other green stone; he was too shocked and amazed and astounded to think of anything with his shocking, amazing, astounding swagga' mind.
"Hey bro," the mermaid said, taking a hit from the bong beside him, "got weed?" America then vaguely recalled that slogan being used in a pro-stoner ad. He also vaguely remembered that mermaid being the poster boy for that pro-stoner ad. Damn, that mermaid was sexy in that ad.
But he was much sexier in person. He ran a hand through his magically stiff and erect hair, which was as stiff and erect as America's penis.
America the Pimpmaster dropped to one knee before the cephalopod and its cargo, and pulled out a beautifully wrapped box from within the confines of one of his many layered pants. He proceeded to unwrap it gracefully, revealing more beautiful wrapping beneath, which he removed to show more beautiful wrapping. This went on for the next four and half minutes before the box was finally reduced to a long, velvet, jewelery-type box.
"Yo, my dear pretty fishy water ho," he said, with the voice of a pimp. "I offer you this - " he opened the box, revealing a premium joint " - a blunt as lovely as yourself, with enough swag and fine-grade, sextuply-refined pot for only the most deserving of bitches. I ask that you, uh . . . " America paused. "Name please?"
"Netherlands," the mermaid answered.
"I ask that you, yo, Netherlands, be my bitch, my hoe: my formerly pregnant female dog, my gardening tool."
"Hmm." The stunningly stunning mermaid thought for a moment about this offer, taking the blunt with his chunky feminine fingers and inspecting it. It truly was a finely crafted drug wrapped in paper.
"I'm afraid I must decline," he finally said, curling his fishy, fishy tail beside him as the clam began to creak shut. A chorus of angry drivers behind it sighed in relief.
America the Pimplord Of All Gangstas and Swagmaster began to cry manly, pimpin', sexy, manly, gangsta, and manly tears of deep sorrow.
"I'll be taking this joint, though."
With that, the clam shut, shook, and blasted off into the blue, blue sky - leaving the sexy beast pimp behind.
And then France consolingly spanked America's butt and told him it would be all right, for there were more fish, better fish with larger penises, in the traffic. Then they lovingly banged. The end.