Tag Archive > Brazilian Girls

South Beach: Lion of Lincoln Road

» 01 March 2012 » In Dope, Game, Girls, Guide, Nightlife, Travel » 18 Comments

South Beach: Lion of Lincoln Road

“If your trap is attractive enough, the turbulence of your enemies’ emotions and desires will blind them to reality.”Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power

“Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favors by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.” – Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658

After straight up detonating Fort Lauderdale with my friend who runs a Hedge Fund for a few days, I get dropped off in Miami Beach.

I feel lethal, manic, on the verge of frenzy. I am foaming at the mouth. My nose is starting to bleed. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.

I throw down my luggage in my apartment, hang my Custom Suits and I get the call:

This Super Fly Argentinian girl, who I met at Mint and haven’t swooped yet, wants me to meet her at her clothing store. She is getting off work soon. And she and her Brazilian girlfriend want to roll out with me. There are innuendos of a Ménage à trois. The evening has promise.

I jump in my steam shower for a dose of aqua-therapy. When I step out, a Custom Suit literally appears on my body. I shadow box for a bit. I am ready.

I step out and roll into the CVS on Lincoln Road to grab some chicle. I roll in the line to pay, and a Fly Blonde Russian girl on her cell phone looks at me and mouths “Hi” to me. How often does that happen when a girl is talking on the phone?

I pay for my gum and step outside and light up a grit. I am feeling invincible. I have been sparring a lot. It tends to do that to me.

The Fly Blonde Russian walks out and continues up Lincoln. I quicken the pace, and open: “Do you know which way Sushi Samba is?”, I ask her. (Of course, I know where it is, but it was the first thing that came into my mind.)

“Hi. I do. It is just up there.”, the Russian girl says pointing up Lincoln.

“Wait, my name is Michael Mason.” I say and give her a “two-kisses” greeting. I spit some Street Game and Number Crunch, as I am supposed to meet the Argentinian and Brazilian girls.

Game is on though.

I keep heading up Lincoln and get a text from the Argentinian:

“Are you coming?”

I jump up on the planters of Lincoln Road with Undefeated Gucci Loafers on and yell to no one in particular, “I am Young, I’m Handsome, I’m Fast, I’m Pretty and Can’t possibly be beat!”

Most people ignore me, but some tourists look at me strange. I have a fleeting thought and quickly dismiss them as from Red States.

I need to settle down though and light another smoke. I am checking my phone and smoking, when a Fly Cubana Girl rolls up on a bicicletta. (She is 21 years old.)

She asks me for a cigarette.

Looking down at my phone, I ignore her for a few beats (real artistic), and say, “Sure.” Hand her one. Then say, “You need a light?”

“Yeah”, she says. I bust out a sick reverse Zippo trick for style points.

We start talking. She is fly. Mad fly. No make up on. But then again, I have a thing for Fly Cubanas.

I start walking with her as she rides her bike. She is kind of hipstered out. But still, stunningly fly. You know the type. Since it is kind of awkward talking to her while she is riding her bike, I say, “Let’s have a seat over here”.

I start rapping out in Spanish and English mixed with her and she tells me she is breaking up with her boyfriend.

Perfect.

I am still supposed to meet the Argentinian and the Brazilian (and I get another text), but I want to hedge my bets like only a true International Playboy does. I tell her to go home and change clothes and meet me at Sushi Samba as I have to go to a “business meeting” right now. She is down. When we part (two kisses salutation) I tell her, “Remember, high-heels and a skirt.” She replies, “I know, you don’t have to tell me.” with a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while. My nervous system goes haywire for a split second. A drag of nicotine sparks my synapses and mellows me.

My mind is the enigma filled with broken pictures. The spiritual International Playboy can see clearer now.

I move up Lincoln and get another text from the Argentinian. I respond back, “Almost there”.

I finally get to the Argentinian and Brazilian. They are looking dope. But everything is off. I can’t get the young Cubana out of my mind.

I split as they are both being too difficult.

I roll into Sushi Samba and lock the place down as per usual. I met a cool Argentinian kid from Cordoba at the bar and we both start spitting mad Game at all the fly girls rolling by.

I shoot a text to the Cubana:

“Buisness meeting went perfect. Come meet me at Sushi Samba to celebrate”. (Smooth text).

She responds back right away, “Yaa! Getting out of the shower. See you there soon.”

It’s on. Got to like a girl that loves your success. And Glad I hedged my bets like Kyle Bass.

When she arrives, she is a vision of youthful beauty. She looks like a Cubana Pin-Up Model (which actually happens to be her job). We enter through the side door, as I have the doorman on lock. Her her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Salsa dance in Havana.

She has shed the hipster clothes and looks stunning in high heels like all Miami girls do.

We hit it off in dope style. She digs the young-dashing-handsome-mysterious-false grinning-soft spoken-with a wild side-well dressed-millionaire-smuggler type vibe that I give off. Like all Miami girls do.

She knows the DJ and tells him to play this track, which just came out at the time:

She dances by herself for me as every guy in Sushi Samba is checking her out. I stand at the bar, smoking a grit, Custom Suited Down; the envy of every guy in Sushi Samba.

She can really dance.

We get a few more drinks and split. She gives a little resistance, but I come with the “Above is the black poison clouds, You only got one life so enjoy it now” type illmatic Futuristic Game that even top players will finally catch on to in 5-10 years. So I’m not really sweating it.

On my exit, I shake a bunch of hands; guys giving me props, and people I know.

Am I Apostle or Beast? Either way, I am Colossal on Streets.

We get to my apartment. The key goes in the door and

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The Rest is Up to You…

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA GFK, Jr.
AKA The Sly, Slick and the Wicked
AKA The Voodoo Child
The Guide to Getting More out of Life

http://www.thegmanifesto.com

M83 ‘Midnight City’ Official video

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Brazilian Girls, Los Angeles and Custom Suits

» 14 December 2010 » In Game, Girls, Guide, Luxury, money, Nightlife, People, Style, Wine » 21 Comments

Brazilian Girls, Los Angeles and Custom Suits

“Let your greatest cunning lie in covering up what looks like cunning”- Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658

“Winning comes down to two things: Taking advantage of your opponents mistakes and perfect timing” – Michael John Mason VI (Father to son boxing advise when I was a young amateur)

This year, when I haven’t been traveling, I have been spending a bunch of time in Beverly Hills, working on some big “heists”, so to speak. So after Entering The Dragon at The Wildcard and a beautiful day at the Getty, I find myself at a Private Club in West Hollywood for dinner and drinks.

Here are the attendees at the dinner:

• Entertainment CEO, who I have never met
• Oscar nominated Producer, who I have met
• My friend in the Horse world and girlfriend
• My friend who works at big corporation putting it all together
• Some young Hollywood Actor, who I don’t know
• Hollywood stylist guy (British), who I don’t know
• Two Brazilian model girls, who came with Producer guy
• And Your humble author, AKA Your favorite International Playboy’s favorite International Playboy

It promises to be a pretty vague affair, and I have no real purpose being at the dinner, I was just invited by my friend, the corporate cat. It’s a meet and greet with a little biz on the agenda. You know, your typical Tableaux de mode turning into a Fête galante with potential to be a Bacchanale.

It should be noted that I feel slightly un-centered, possibly because of the fact that I completely out-gunned (so to speak) at this dinner, as almost everyone, save the girls, are more accomplished than I am (at least in a mainstream sense) and have longer dough. And it doesn’t exactly comfort me when I start having flashbacks of knuckle-ups “on the cobbles” with big Russian guys with bald heads and leather jackets, from a few weeks prior, either. It also should be noted that I have been increasingly been finding myself in these types of situations as I move up The Layer Cake of life.

However, I am dressed in a sick Custom Suit: jet black, peaked lapels, one-button, side vents and interior so crimson that if we were in South Central you might have thought I was Brim or Piru. Pocket Square the color of Colombian Blow.

The conversation at the table starts off cordial and loosens up as vino consumption is increased. I stay in the cut, and only add comments where necessary and when I can add value as I am well versed in many subjects these days (not bragging, just keeping it solid gold like 1oz American Eagle coins for you). Doing this keeps an air of mystery around me, and the table really starts coming around. Entertainment CEO double takes after I drop a few gems and asks me, “What is it that you do again?”

The Brazilian model girls take notice, which, of course, is not lost on me. Also, what is not lost on me is that the weesh Young Hollywood actor guys starts hating on me. Which, of course, I ignore and continue to stay in the seam.

Surprisingly, it is actually shaping up to be a great dinner; Entertainment CEO guy is running the show and is actually super cool, Oscar nominated Producer guy spins some good tales, my horse world friend and his girlfriend drop dimes, Stylist guy busts some hilarious tales that everyone loves, the Brazilian Girls are having fun and my corporate friend is gluing it all together. It is one of those rare occurrences: The whole table is gelling.

Well, maybe not Actor guy, as he is trying to “close talk” one of the Brazilian model girls (which is a weak move) but I notice her “body languageing” him away as I am busting out a story. I spit out a little Portuguese which the Brazilian Model girls love and the actor boy hates as he does not speak any.

Feeling good now, I drop some good lines:

I use the phrase, “like that guy from Wikileaks” multiple times, and even drop this one: “Oh you mean, Rahm Emanuel’s brother?” to check everyone as the discussion topics are a little too Hollywood-centric for my liking.

I also get involved in this one:

“…just got back from Latvia”, I say

“Where?”

Latvia

“Where?”

“Latvia. Kind of near Estonia”.

Since there is a lot of name dropping (albeit legitimate name dropping) going on, I comtemplate busting out my Wesley Snipes Story, but decide against it.

When Entertainment CEO guy asks me what I think of his favorite wine, I reply, “It is rich and decadent with seamless overtones of violets and homemade country jam, and it really has a Harmonious finish…” which sends the crowd wild. (Little did everyone at the table know, save my corporate friend, is that I always use that response when asked about the wine at dinners such as these.)

Hollywood stylist guy, throws out, “Who made your suit? It’s phenomenal…”
Entertainment CEO even shoots out a, “OK, that’s it, this is the best dinner I have been to all year!” after Stylist guy, who is a true raconteur tells another hilarious story (and I am not talking about those cats that made that dope movie Cocaine Cowboys either, or maybe I am).

“Camilla” the flyer of the two models, a true Beauty of monumentality and vulnerability, follows me for a smoke when actor boy is in the bathroom.

It’s on.

She starts asking me questions as I tell tales of Mediterranean courtyards and terraces and her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Samba dance at Carnaval.

I bust a Double Cigarette Light Move, I kiss her and notice the tactility of her Brazilian curves.

We roll back to the table and the dinner is still frolicking along at a decent pace. Some owner and GM type cats roll by as well as plenty of West Coast style Hipster/Douchebag fusion types that Los Angeles is leading the world in producing these days. They are probably actors if I am hard pressed to guess.

Actor guy, vanquished, leaves in discomfiture with a couple of Hipster/Douchebag fusion types, I am presuming in search of Beaks.

Entertainment CEO has to go home to the wife and kids and the extravagant meal kind of breaks up. Some go to smoke weed, some merge with other tables, Camilla and I split for a drink.

Back at my dope hotel (which my horse world friend hooked me up at a discounted rate, I may add), Camilla plays the part of a young girl defending herself against Eros.

I play the part of Mischief and Repose.

Camilla and I sip a glass of wine and admire the sensuous textures of my suite: marble, fur, tile, silk, flesh…

The Rest is Up to You…

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA GFK, Jr.
AKA The Sly, Slick and the Wicked
AKA The Voodoo Child
The Guide to Getting More out of Life

http://www.thegmanifesto.com

Disclaimer: Some of the above characters are merged and/or changed to protect the innocent. And the guilty. But then again, if you have a brain, you knew that already.

Ya Boy & Dr. Hollywood – We Run La( with lyrics)

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