Download iceberg slim pimp for free

Trade Paperback eBook. Table of Contents Excerpt Rave and Reviews. About The Book. I will lay bare my life and thoughts as a pimp. I regret that it is impossible to recount to you all of my experiences as a pimp. Unfortunately, it would require the combined pages of a half-dozen books. Perhaps my remorse for my ghastly life will diminish to the degree that within this one book I have been allowed to purge myself. Perhaps one day I can win respect as a constructive human being.

Most of all I wish to become a decent example for my children and for that wonderful woman in the grave, my mother. I was only three years old. Mama told me about it, and always when she did her rage and indignation would be as strong and as emotional perhaps as at the time when she had surprised her, panting and moaning at the point of orgasm with my tiny head wedged between her ebony thighs, her massive hands viselike around my head.

Mama worked long hours in a hand laundry and Maude had been hired as a babysitter at fifty cents a day. Maude was a young widow. Strangely, she had a reputation in Indianapolis, Indiana as a devout Holy Roller. I have tried through the years to remember her face but all I can remember is the funky ritual. I vaguely remember, not her words but her excitement when we were alone. I remember more vividly the moist, odorous darkness and the bristle-like hairs tickling my face and most vividly I can remember my panic, when in the wild moment of her climax, she would savagely jerk my head even tighter into the hairy maw.

I remember the ache of the strain on my fragile neck muscles, and especially at the root of my tongue. Mama and I had come to Indianapolis from Chicago, where since the time when she was six months pregnant, my father had begun to show his true colors as an irresponsible, white-spats-wearing bum. Back in that small town in Tennessee, their home town, he had stalked the beautiful virgin and conned her into marriage. Her parents, with vast relief, gave their blessing and wished them the best in the promised land up North in Chicago.

Mama had ten brothers and sisters. Her marriage meant one less mouth to feed. Mama was put on as a waitress. My idiot father had come to the big city and gone sucker wild. At the hotel one night he vanished from the kitchen.

Mama finally found him thrusting mightily into a half-white waitress lying on a sack of potatoes in a storage room, with her legs locked around his back. Mama said she threw everything she could lift at them.

They were unemployed when they walked away from the shambles. After my birth he got worse and had the stupid gall to suggest to Mama that I be put on a Catholic Church doorstep. Mama naturally refused so he hurled me against the wall in disgust.

I survived it and he left us, his white spats flashing and his derby hat at a rakish angle. It was the beginning of a bitter winter. Mama packed pressing irons and waving combs into a small bag and wrapped me warmly in blankets and set out into the bleak, friendless city to ring door bells, the bag in one arm and I in the other. Please give me a chance. The sight of me in her arm on a subzero day was like a charm.

She managed to make a living for us. We stayed there until nineteen twenty-four, when a fire gutted the hand laundry where Mama worked. There were no jobs in Indianapolis for Mama and for six months we barely made it on the meager savings.

We were penniless and with hardly any food when a tall black angel visiting relatives in Indianapolis came into our lives. He fell instantly in love with my lissome beautiful mother. He took us back to Rockford, Illinois with him where he owned a cleaning and pressing shop, the only Negro business in downtown Rockford. In those tough depression times a Negro in his position was the envy of most Negro men. Henry was religious, ambitious, good and kind.

I often wonder what would have happened to my life if I had not been torn from him. He treated Mama like she was a princess, anything she wanted he got for her. She was a fashion plate all right. Every Sunday when we all three went to church in the gleaming black Dodge we were an outstanding sight as we walked down the aisle in our fresh neat clothing. Only the few Negro lawyers and physicians lived as well, looked as well.

Mama was president of several civic clubs. For the first time we were living the good life. Mama had a dream. She told it to Henry. Like the genie of the lamp he made it a reality. It was a four stall, opulent beauty shop. Its chrome gleamed in the black-and-gold motif. It was located in the heart of the Negro business section and it flourished from the moment its doors opened. Her clientele was for the most part whores, pimps, and hustlers from the sprawling red light district in Rockford.

They were the only ones who always had the money to spend on their appearance. The first time I saw Steve he was sitting getting his nails manicured in the shop. Mama was smiling into his handsome olive-tinted face as she buffed his nails. I certainly had no inkling that last day at the shop as live billows of steam hissed from the old pressing machine each time Henry slammed its lid down on a garment.

It was hot in that little shop, but I loved every minute of it. It was school-vacation time for me and every summer I worked in the shop all day, every day helping my stepfather.

Now I whistled my favorite tune, shines were only a dime, what a tip. I would press five-dollar bills into the palms of shine boys. There was really nothing out of the ordinary that day. Nothing during that day that I heard or saw that prepared me for the swift, confusing events that over the weekend would slam my life away from all that was good to all that was bad.

Now, looking back remembering that last day in the shop as clearly as if it were yesterday, my stepfather, Henry, was unusually quiet.

Even I, a ten year old, knew that this huge, ugly, black man who had rescued Mama and me from actual starvation back in Indianapolis loved us with all of his great, sensitive heart. I loved Henry with all my heart. He was the only father I had ever really known.

He could have saved himself an early death from a broken heart if instead of falling so madly in love with Mama he had run as fast as he could away from her. For him, she was brown-skin murder in a size-twelve dress. I was confused and shaken when he put his massive hands on my shoulders and drew me to him very tightly just holding me in this strange desperate way.

My head was pressed against his belt buckle. I could barely hear his low, rapid flow of pitiful words. I knew he was going to burst into tears. We love you too, Daddy. Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. Pimp : the story of my life Item Preview. EMBED for wordpress. Want more?

Advanced embedding details, examples, and help! Donor alibris Edition [Reissue ed. Reviewer: ExtraKnowledgeCoKno - favorite favorite favorite favorite favorite - February 7, Subject: This isn't the only copy on this website! There's another copy of this same book that has a shorter waitlist. Go to that one instead. Saved you the estimated 2. Reviewer: ziprun - favorite favorite favorite favorite - November 16, Subject: Audio Book.

Can't wait Reviewer: Pbelles - favorite favorite favorite favorite - October 3, Subject: For those waiting to borrow the book: Just to let people know, there were hundreds of people ahead of me. Just to be clear UBM is one of my favourite blogs so my comments weren't aimed at my dear brother. Keep it comin'. By the way, Ice-T should be ashamed to even think about this. Though it does confuse celebrity with achievement.

Just a sign of the times I guess. Looking forward to checking it out. I cancelled my subscription after The Wire ended. Can't wait! Are the stupid, the hateful, the greedy, the lazy If a black person does bad things are they letting down the race? Is this message just peculiar to minorities living in western countries. Compelling discussion, but regardless of Ice T's agenda, Iceberg slim is an absolutely brilliant storyteller, capable of evoking texture, grit, elegance and pain. He tells brutal fables learned hard on the streets.

He's simply phenomenal. Also, to Jack J. Post a Comment. Friday, December 5, A free Iceberg Slim download.