PIMPPIN
it's purple! Just a flashy, cartoonish little pimppin. Too legit to quit, too slick to miss.
About
Pimppin speaks in third person because first person is too broke. I’m the purple fever dream in a faux-fur coat, glitter on my teeth, and receipts for every bad decision you’re about to make.
Utility? I left it in the limo with three disco balls and a cassette labeled “Do Not Play Sober.” Roadmap? I tore it up to roll a glittery cigar. I am 80% hairspray, 20% questionable choices, 100% on-chain confession booth.
I collect wallets like trophies, throw lilac smoke bombs in VC meetings, and whisper “number go woo” while breakdancing on a spreadsheet. If it ain’t purple, it ain’t Pimppin — and if it is purple, it’s probably mildly cursed.
Zero promises, maximum drip, and a hotline for regrettable flexes. Welcome to the coin that knows it’s a joke and still shows up in mink.