Un-Pimp My Ride
Yo, it’s X to the Z Xzibit here. Welcome to Un-Pimp My Ride! We’ve been off the air for a little bit, but we’re back, reppin’ the West Coast and West Coast Customs like we never left. But we did leave. And we learned. Now we’re older, wiser. Just like our clientele, who are now mostly elder millennials who can’t afford new cars. So they’re stuck with the monstrosities we gave them. But now we’re going to make things right and undo all the crazy stuff we did in the mid-aughts. Here come the owners. Let’s un-pimp these rides!
*Air Horn*
Alex — VW Beetle
The Beetle is a really small car. Filling it completely with flat-screen televisions has certainly made driving more entertaining—but also exponentially more dangerous. You guys only left a tiny sliver of space in the windshield for me to see, not to mention you programmed the screens to only play The Fast and the Furious—my favorite movie… in 2006.
Now it feels more like high-level psychological torture. I would do anything for you to un-pimp my ride. Please.
Kevin — Toyota Corolla
Back in ‘07, you guys absolutely tricked out this reliable Japanese workhorse. At the time, I thought the mini fridge where the center console used to be was sick—but it turned out I never drank more than one drink at a time while driving, so there was really no need for all that extra storage.
Plus, my interests have changed a lot since the early-mid aughts. Back then, I thought it would be so sick to convert the back seats into a fully functional DJ booth. I was right, despite the fact that I received several citations for DJing While Driving.
But now I have a family! My wife is really annoyed that our car doesn’t have room for a car seat, and also that it does have room for several smoke machines. Not safe! This is serious. My wife is threatening to leave. She’s currently dismantling the trampoline you put in the trunk (still awesome in my opinion).
Please, West Coast Customs—un-pimp my ride. For my family’s sake.
Taylor — Subaru Outback
I’ve gotten to a point in my life where all I care about is comfort and convenience. That ethos extends to my transportation, too. I just want to get from Point A to Point B as smoothly and efficiently as possible. That is really hard to achieve with the hydraulics you guys installed on my Outback. As you may recall, any time I hit the break (this is LA, so… a lot) my Soob starts dipping and yoking, up down, up down. It has nearly sextupled my commute time.
I’m on thin ice at work, I have no time for hobbies or leisure. It’s destroying me.
I will admit, I have traded on the cache my pimped ride affords me. I’ve earned a lot of cred, in a lot of hoods, but enough’s enough. My life is in shambles. I beg of you: unchain me from my Soob!
Brandon — Cadillac Coupe DeVille
I actually lost my job recently. I don’t have much, but I do own my Cadillac, which has aged into collector status—and I desperately need to sell it. Only problem is back in ‘06 you turned my front seats into swings. Knocked about 95% of the value right outta this beauty. If you don’t un-pimp my ride STAT, I’ll have to sell my organs! They’re Wurlitzers.
Paul — Nissan Altima
Initially, I was shocked to see all the Neon Genesis Evangelion decals on my Altima. I don’t even like anime! I mentioned it in a passing comment and you guys seized on it. Like you’d been waiting for someone to say it. The bright neon billboards covering every square inch of the vehicle are completely blinding while driving and impossible to turn off without turning off the engine. That is some shoddy engineering. You turned me into a mobile Times Square.
I’ve had no choice but to mold my whole personality around this car. I’ve watched every anime there is to watch. I make appearances at conventions because of this car. I’m Instagram famous. And the irony is I’m still not an anime fan! I never grew to enjoy it.
You’ve turned my life into a Greek tragedy.
Sure, I could afford a new car. And let Pimp My Ride win? I don’t think so.
Jason — Mercedes Benz 380 SL
This was already a nice car. I’m not really sure why I submitted an audition tape for Pimp My Ride in the first place. You said, “We’ll chop the roof and doors.” I kept asking, “What does ‘chopped’ mean?” You just laughed and took off the hood. You stripped my beautiful car bare and you built a replica of a Roman Imperial palanquin. Little ionic columns; grape vines, sturdy wooden handles wrapped in calf leather—the whole package.
I drove that car off the lot that day in 2007—well, I should say I was carried off the lot by a phalanx of legionnaires—and I went to a Dollar General. I bought sheets. I fashioned a toga and garland, and I lived as a Roman emperor.
My life went off the rails from there.
At first the adoration of the masses was playful. It was a postmodern joke; performance art, maybe? The novelty of it all! People would shout “Hail, Caesar!” I would wave. Eventually, as you all know, things got out of hand. There were the cult leader accusations, and then the feds shut down my city-state by the freeway.
After all these years, I still want to know: why did you do it? And can you please render unto Caesar a new car? The Palanquin is wanted as evidence in several racketeering investigations.