Defeating the Nightclub DJ (or the Club Owner, bouncer, bartender guy, etc.)
In the life of a G (or commonly referred to as “The Life”), you will run into competition constantly. This competition will come in the form of business mogul guy, Sport Star guy, Musician guy, phony player guy, mortgage broker guy (actually, they might be extinct), investment banker guy, hedge fund guy, regular guy and of course, other G’s and International Playboys. You will also run into “nightlife workers”, that can at times, give you fits.
The nightclub DJ, the Club Owner, nightclub managers, bouncers and even the occasional bartender guy are characters that are typically, all up in The Game and don’t deserve to be a player. Personally, I have a problem with these guys because if they can play their cards right, they can swoop a lot of fly girls with minimal effort. Fly girls come to their place of work every night. How easy is that? This is in sharp contrast to your humble author, who has to use his wits, charm, skills, dope word play, style, technique and innovative maneuvers to get Fly Girls. In short, I have to use Game. It’s not like I can give my number to some fly teller girl on a Heist, right? (Although, I was tempted once.)
The Nightclub Worker gets a lot of fly girls by doing jackshit. Girls today, are so misinformed, that they actually think these guys are “so cool”. And truth be told, not many of these guys have true Game. Witness the “so cool” Club Owner guy when his Nightclub goes out of biz (and it will). The “so cool” Club Owner guy now couldn’t get a girl if his life depended on it. His “game” goes out the window with his Nightclub.
Personal jealousy’s aside, I do have many friends in the nightclub world. I have many friends that are dope DJ’s, hell, my little brother Nicholas Alfonso Mason, AKA The Jaguar, is a prototype up and coming DJ/International Playboy/G. And I am friends with many Club Owners. But the vast majority of nightlife workers are backstabbers. Meaning that, when you are not looking, or not on your Game, they will try to swoop on any fly girl you are swooping on. Thankfully, they are wasting their breath on girls I roll with, because my Game is so strong. But still, it is an issue of etiquette and respect for me.
The OJAY’s Back Stabbers
So, Kick back, light up a smoke, pour a Goose and Soda, and let me tell you a little story about how to defeat these guys and break down their whole structure, Oh my Brothers:
There is this very well known Club DJ that we will call “DJ Super Magnetic” (not his real name, but you do know who this guy is, he is pretty famous) who really fancied himself as some kind of pseudo-playboy. And DJ Super Magnetic is much better than your average, he does have some KO’s of some high-profile actress girls on his record. He is a top notch DJ, and spins dope cuts (although his scratching skills are way below par in my opinion), so I would always say “what up” to him and give him a pound when I entered the spot and often introduced the girl I was with to him. I noticed out of the corner of my eye on a couple of occasions that he would try to get the phone number of the girl I was with. Sneaky bastard. Putting holes in his manners. So I figured I would set a little trap for our little friend DJ Super Magnetic.
Let me take a step back:
I had recently swooped a very fly girl named “Dana” out from under a Trust Fund Playboy (TFP is what we call them in the industry) I knew named “Chris”. I had originally met Dana when I was cutting up Celler de Can Roca and El Bulli in Spain. Dana was a sometimes model/ Nightlife Princess with some decent pedigree and healthy poitrine. Her Mom was a relatively famous Model and her dad was a well known photographer. Dana, however, was as crazy as she was fly. Which means she was mad crazy because she was crazy fly.
One day, I was chilling with my friend Nikolai, AKA The Cobra, at the beach with a bunch of associates. Chris pulls up in his brand new Jaguar. At this point, I thought that the whole “swooping Dana from Chris thing” was top secret so I didn’t think he would make a move on me. See, Chris is from, I think, Brentwood or Beverly Hills or something. And I was born in a City post-MLK Jr. Riots in a Blue Magic Heroin chokehold only soon to become a Crack War Cauldron, so it wasn’t like we were in the same “weightclass” anyway. Rayful Edmond III was running the other side of the City. I was also a key player in the days of The Ecstasy Wonder Gangs, in case you didn’t know. Plus, I was with Nikolai, who has connections up the kazoo with the Eastern Block outfits, so I knew Chris wouldn’t make a move. Chris might be a Trust Fund Jerkoff, but he is no dummy.
I then noticed, that Chris’ Jaguar has been “keyed” up and down the side (and I don’t mean “keybumps” either). Keyed real bad. Chris points to his Jaguar, pats me on the back, says “Dana did this, G” and winks at me. I was going to get pissed off a Chris for touching my linen, but I had to give it up to him for his show of class. He knew The Game, he knew his girl just chose me.
At this point, I knew I had to offload “Dangerous Dana” as quickly as possible. Quicker than sitting on hot keys in a Ramada. Understand, that my Cadillac with Candy paint looked fresh without any scratches. So I got an idea.
8ball & mjg – just like candy
I called Dangerous Dana and told her I would take her out to the Nightclub where DJ Magnetic spun. She was of course, smitten (who could blame her?). We then rolled into the spot (I don’t have to tell you I skipped the line, do I?) and we got a couple of drinks. Goose, soda, lime for me, something retarded for her.
I was in an ice pick sharp, black two button Paul Smith with side vents, Lilac Prada shirt, Duncan Quinn pocket square, Chrome Desert Eagle and Prada shoes, understated yet illmatic. My pockets on creatine and green like a bunch of fresh basil. Dana was in a red Roberto Cavalli V-Neck dress, Christian Louboutin Satin d’Oray sandals, I think, and holding a Birkin Bag, looking like some kind of slightly less ill Hillary Rhoda. She looked incredibly fly, flawless even, but truth be told, I probably looked doper than her.
Anyway, I then introduced her to DJ Super Magnetic. I saw DJ Super Magnetic was up to his old tricks, trying to swoop Dana, and who could really blame him? Dana was extremely easy on the eyes and probably the flyest girl in the spot. I left her by the DJ booth and Number Crunched for a little bit. Pretty successful Number Crunching session I must say, but that is neither Ruger nor Luger.
When I came back to where Magnetic and Dana were, I said to her “I have an emergency and need to go. Why don’t you just stay?” She said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” not very enthusiastically. I said, “No, have fun, let’s talk later.” As I was leaving, I looked back to see Dana in the DJ booth dancing with Magnetic (and she could dance, especially for a white girl). The trap was set, and I am not even from the ATL, either.
It actually took longer than I thought for the trap to spring on DJ Magnetic. But when it did, it was better than I had envisioned. See, DJ Magnetic and Dana started dating. She was up in the booth with him kissing and dancing every night, you know, typical DJ game (or so I heard, I stopped going to that spot, it was getting wacker by the night).
Then two months later, their relationship crumbled. Dana got sick of DJ Magnetic’s faux-playboy ways. And, truthfully, his game was pretty weak. This time, Dana really out did herflyself. She torched DJ Magnetic’s mint condition drop top 1961 Lincoln Continental with Suicide doors. Checkmate and toe tagged. Michael Mason -1, DJ Super Magnetic -0.
Eazy E – Real Muthaphuckkin “G”s (explicit version)
Later, when I ran into DJ Magnetic, he also had scratches on his face and a black eye. Better him than me. You should know by now, I play the Devil’s Advocate and if you play me sideways I am not having it. Don’t feel bad for DJ Magnetic, in fact, he could count himself lucky I didn’t spit things that left him hollow with a chrome nozzle.
You can also do the above move to Club Owners, club managers, bouncers and bartender guy when they try to step into the ring. And I have.
The Rest is Up to You…
Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
The Guide to Getting More out of Life
(Want to see something in The G Manifesto? Send suggestions to firstname.lastname@example.org)
Leopard Kills Jackal