hey derek jeter, you’s a pi-yamp fo sho.

I just spent five minutes asking Jimmie how to spell pimp with a twang.  What I’m trying to accomplish here is the use of the word “pimp” with a gangsta lean.  You feel me, right?  Jimmie didn’t.  All he could do was shake his head and look at his feet.  What?  Like he doesn’t know I’m gangsta.  We’ve been in this phase for a while now.  You’d think he’d get used to it.  Notsomuch.

So last night, we happened upon Barbara Walter’s most fascinating people show in between DVR’d shows I actually want to watch.  It was the part with Yankee’s baseball star Derek Jeter which prompted Jimmie to tell me a little story he heard on the radio about DJ.  Apparently, he is a baseball star by day and a straight up P.I.M.P by night.  What he is ladies (and gents,) is a man-whore.  Sure, he has dimples that make a girl’s toes curl and a bank account the size of Yankee Stadium, but I prefer my men of the non-whore variety (unless it’s birthday stripper night, then… whatever.)

{Ohmygod if I continue to use the words pimp and whore on my blog I am going to have google searches out the wazoo landing on my doorstep.  And you guys, it is straight up creepy the things you people are googling.}

Anywho, apparently when “DJ Woop Woop” invites a lady friend home to show her how he swings his bat, he sends her home with quite the parting gift.  This gentleman, with a capitol Douche, likes to send his laydies home with his personal car and driver and a lovely gift.  Picture it with me if you will…

You awake in the home of DJ Happy Pants with breakfast croissants, fruit bouquets and fresh squeezed oj accompanied by a card that reads:

Dear _{handwritten name here}_____:
Thank you for a magical evening.  Please allow my driver to escort you home in my klassy  towncar used exclusively for this occasion.  I’ve left a lovely parting gift for you inside. {not inside you, inside the car. don’t panic.}

Sincerely,
Jeter.  America’s Sluttiest Allstar.

You eat your complimentary breakfast and head down the elevator for your walk of shame through the lobby of his high-rise apartment building.  At the curb, a silver town car awaits with that driver from Pretty Woman ready to escort you home.  As you slide into the car, you spot the most lovely gift basket with flowers and chocolates and… oh no, wait.  The basket is full Yankee gear and baseball memorabilia.

Derek Jeter, America’s most prized ladies man, leaves his darlings with a gift basket containing a giant foam finger and a signed baseball.  Because nothing says “thanks for playing with my balls” like an autographed baseball.  Am I right?

No one claimed DJ Romance could hit a home run off the field.  Not even Minka Kelly.

Keep your douchey gifts, Derek Jeter.  You suck.

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6 thoughts on “hey derek jeter, you’s a pi-yamp fo sho.

  1. Holy shit, you never cease to make me laugh, I am sitting her at work, filled full of the lawyer type laughing my arse off!!!!

    I can just picture Jimmie looking at you all crazy trying to find a GANSTA way to spell pimp! LOL! Thanks for the morning chuckle.

  2. My husband attended Michigan with Jeter. He went to a few parties and shit with him and all the girls were all like ‘this guy is soooo hot and he’s gonna be a huge baseball star someday!!” and my husband is all like, ‘Yeah, wtf ever, bitches.”

    Lulz.

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