Sunday, July 18, 2004

Pimpin' Ain't Easy - Especially at Nine

Cool summer nights mean the old neighborhood starts a-hoppin'. People walked, laughed and cooked out, enjoying the cool, breezy night. I returned home and decided to enjoy it by taking Trudy for her walk.

We followed our usual route and closed in on home when we came across five boys playing in a front yard. They all had dark, mostly unkempt hair and wide eyes. At first, I thought they were brothers, but they were too close in age to be brothers, unless Dad was going in for some serious extracurricular activity.

"Vat's your dog's name?"

"Vat's his name? Vill he bite me?"

"Her name is Trudy, and no -- she doesn't bite."

"Oooh. She's nice. Ken I valk her around the block?"

"Uh. No." Much as I bitch and moan about the dog, she's still my dog, and generally, the happiest two minutes of my day is when I walk in the door and she greets me. I don't want her being carried off by some kid to God knows where.

"Vere do you live?" they asked.

"Up the street."

"How many kids do you have?" they wanted to know.

"None." This threw them for a loop.

"None? Do you have a wife?"

"Nope." Now they were flabergasted.

"Do you want one?" Now I was flabergasted. "I know a 17-year-old."

I didn't feel like explaining consent laws to these nine-year-olds, not to mention the whole dirty old man thing that would come up. So I kept from laughing out loud and said no thanks.

"How about a 27-year-old? I know one who vorks at poosline." (I really don't know what the hell he said, but I figured out what he meant really fast). "You know, where they dance." And he stood up and started writhing while rubbing his hands all over his body -- doing a passable stripper impersonation. That in itself was a little shocking -- I'm not sure I knew strippers even existed until I was 13.

"That's allright. Thanks, guys. We're going to go." And I headed home.

So basically, opportunity came knocking in the form of a bunch of nine-year-old pimps. Except at that age, I used to enjoy ringing doorbells and running like hell before the homeowner could answer the door, so I decided to let them keep knocking.

In any case, it's nice to see that the entrepenurial spirit is still alive in the area's nine-year-olds.


4 comments:

Lime Girl said...

I wonder if they were friends with the 9 year old that tried to sell me some weed the other day? In general, i do not give off the impession that I imbibe in marijuana....wonder what made him think I'd like to start?

Anonymous said...

what's poosline?

ajay

Brian said...

As for the weed, I'm guessing it was nothing YOU said or did, Lime Girl. The stuff was probably burning a hole in his pocket, and like all new and crazed salesmen, he was just looking for the first available target.

That, or nine-year-olds think you're a pothead; kind of like they think I go for 17-year-olds. Who knows?

I have NO idea what a poosline is for certain. Guessing from how lil-pimpin' acted, I can only assume it was some sort of strip joint. But I don't know any with a name that sounds remotely like that.

Not that I've ever been to one of those places.

Gordon said...

I've tried doing some online research: I can't find any reference to "poosline". Of course, it could be 1) some obscure drug thing or 2) a hip new strip club...

...although a strip club named "Poosline" doesn't sound appealing.