Recently, I was at a Charity Gig during the Summer Blitz and separated a fly Mexican Girl dip with pretty lips and hips from her amigas as we were walking to the next venue. I popped my head into this dope lounge bar that I have on lockdown and saw one of my friends spinning that ill old-school soul and hip-hop sh*t on vinyl and suggested we stop by for a drink.
This move was two-fold: 1) We could hear some dope beats and enjoy some pro-bono cocktails and 2) I knew that the lounge had no cell phone service so when the friends of the fly Mexican girls were calling, they were going straight to voicemail.
This in turn, bought me a lot of time to spit Game and Swoop. Smooth.
Another benefit of knowing “no cell phone service” places is when you take a young American “text bonkers girl” to a restaurant, you can actually enjoy your Vino and apps (and I don’t mean Iphone apps either) in peace without the girls constantly Facebooking, Tweeting, BBMing or Texting.
If you are anything like me, you have a tough time watching crap American movies. I can’t even remember the last one I sat down and watched.
Recently, I saw Johnny Mad Dog. Its pretty dope and it’s filmed in that manner that makes it look like a documentary although it isn’t. Without ruining it, it is about Child Soldiers in Liberia. These kids are heavy and make the droogs in A Clockwork Orange look like a bunch of accountants on a work retreat.
Johnny Mad Dog is the leader of a crew that terrorizes, plunders and pillages towns all the while doing drugs, drinking booze and dressing in crazy gear (which I am guessing is the height of fashion for the Child Soldier set).
Peep it. It is the best movie I have seen all year.
Now, look, I have had dope rides in my day; a mint 1963 Lincoln Continental with Suicide Doors (and I don’t mean Suits VS SuicideGirls, either), a 72 Cadillac Coupe DeVille and a 2005 Cadillac DeVille (in 2005) so I am up on what I am putting down. And I can tell you that the lion’s share of the attention you get from dope rides is from guys not girls. Usually it is some skippy “congratulating” on how “sick” you ride is followed by tales of how they “used to own” a dope ride similar. Sh*t gets tired real quick.
If you think having a dope ride will get girls stepping to you, you are in for a surprise. Even in Southern California.
Doubt me?
Next time you see a Ferrari roll by, 99 times out of 100 you are going to see it with some solo dude or some cat and his weesh buddy. Rarely if ever will you see it with a fly girl attached.
Ferrari’s and other rides at that price point simply aren’t with it in regards to swooping girls. Hell, you would need to swoop like 30,000 girls to even make it pencil out. A highly unlikely occurrence, even for the most G of International Playboys.
Another word on Ferrari’s: max you can only fit one or two girls inside. Personally, I like rides that you can fit three or four girls in, hence the need for a Lac.
Hell, when I was a young up and coming Playboy on the rise, I drove a Ford truck (mostly for low-profile purposes). Granted, I was in my heavy “transport” days and uncrowded point breaks in Norte Baja days but I still peeled fly girls like a fresh Papaya in Panama.
So what do I do these days?
Truth be told, I don’t drive much anymore. I am usually waxing too much of a headbuzz and driving is the easiest way to get yourself caught up in the “Shitstem”. Nowadays, I mostly spend my time traveling, primarily in cities where having a car is more hassle than it’s worth.
Now I never get parking tickets, get towed, get DUI’s, get busted with 100 lbs of grass in the trunk or have to pay for car washes, oil changes, new alternators, or gasoline.
If I do need a ride, I have drivers on call. My cell is literally full of town car drivers and cab drivers. In fact, the only thing I have more of in my cell, is numbers of fly girls.
I just came across this poem by Robert W. Service called “The Men That Don’t Fit In”. My Grandfather, like many Irishmen, used to recite this poem to me, among others, when I was a young cub. Check it:
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
I haven’t really been keeping up with these as I have been busy swooping fly girls in Cartagena, and despite the description of the Heistman in the Hollywood heist, “The man, described as well dressed and with slicked-back hair”, and “smooth manner and debonair appearance” my ski mask has remained in my dresser drawer as of late.
Daring Heist at Poker Tournament in Germany
A heavily armed group stormed a poker tournament in a German luxury hotel Saturday afternoon and made off with a jackpot, a police spokesman said.
Several participants at the tournament in Berlin’s Grand Hyatt hotel were slightly injured when they panicked and fled following the daring afternoon heist, Carsten Mueller said.
German Poker Tournament Robbers Still on the Run
Mueller said four robbers in disguises forced employees to hand over money, and then managed to escape. Mueller declined to give details, including how much money the men got away with.
The jackpot for the tournament stood at euro1 million ($1.36 million), according to a European Poker Tour Web site. The EPT confirmed the heist on the event’s blog in an official statement, saying there had been ”an armed robbery executed by six men.” It was unclear why the number differed from the police count.
Four Seasons Robbery: Billionaire In Town For Oscars Robbed In Hotel
A well-dressed man who talked his way into a Florida sugar baron’s hotel room and stole tens of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry is believed to be the same person who pulled similar scams on a Mexican soccer team, a salsa band and an Israeli basketball team when they visited Los Angeles, police said Tuesday.
The man, described as well dressed and with slicked-back hair, posed as a Four Seasons hotel employee when he struck up a conversation in an elevator on Friday with Jose Pepe Fanjul and his wife, Emilia, according to police. Later that night, he showed up at the couple’s room and told them he needed to fix a problem with an air vent. After he left, they discovered more than $45,000 in jewels missing.
“I haven’t seen any pictures yet but I’ve had many calls and I’ve had a description, and his appearance and M.O. sounds very much like a man we’re calling Ricco Suave,” said police Lt. Paul Vernon.
Authorities gave him that nickname because of his smooth manner and debonair appearance, he said.
In a Hollywood-style heist, thieves cut a hole in the roof of a warehouse, rappelled inside and scored one of the biggest hauls of its kind — not diamonds, gold bullion or Old World art, but about $75 million in antidepressants and other prescription drugs.
The pills — stolen from the pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly & Co. in quantities big enough to fill a tractor-trailer — are believed to be destined for the black market, perhaps overseas.
“This is like the Brink’s pill heist,” said Erik Gordon, a University of Michigan business professor who studies the health care industry. “This one will enter the folklore.”
The thieves apparently scaled the brick exterior of the warehouse in an industrial park in Enfield, a town about midway between Hartford and Springfield, Mass., during a blustery rainstorm before daybreak Sunday. After lowering themselves to the floor, they disabled the alarms and spent at least an hour loading pallets of drugs into a vehicle at the loading dock, authorities said.
“Just by the way it occurred, it appears that there were several individuals involved and that it was a very well planned-out and orchestrated operation,” Enfield Police Chief Carl Sferrazza said. “It’s not your run-of-the-mill home burglary, that’s for sure.”
Experts described it as one of the biggest pharmaceutical heists in history.
For 20 years, investigators have been chasing down hundreds of leads. They’ve interviewed countless witnesses all over the world, and still the central questions remain: where is the art and who did it?
What happened on March 18th, 1990 at Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum? A a new portrait is now emerging about the famous heist, with some tantalizing details.
Investigators say at precisely 1:24 a.m., two men disguised as policemen knocked on the side door of the museum, saying they were called to look into a disturbance. The night watchman let them in.
Once inside, the thieves handcuffed both of the guards on duty, tied them up with duct tape and then, with free reign of the museum, they went to work.
But the question remains, who is behind the biggest art heist in history? Over the years there have been wild theories. Was it a fugitive mob boss? An eccentric art collector? Or just the work of local criminals?
“There are so many good suspects, it’s like an Agatha Christie novel where everybody’s sitting in the living room and everyone has a particular motive as to why they committed the crime,” says Kelly.
On the case for eight years, Kelly says DNA testing is now in play, but he won’t reveal details.
The Boston Globe reports that investigators may be analyzing the duct tape used to silence the guards. If there’s sweat on the tape, there’s a possibility of a DNA match, and the break investigators have been hoping for all these years.
The FBI has taken out ads, placing billboards on the highway, offering a $5 million reward for any information that leads to the safe return of the artwork.
There are two crimes in the matter: the actual theft of the artwork, for which the statute of limitations ran out in 1995.
And then, there’s the second crime: possession of stolen art. There is no statute of limitations on that, which is why the U.S. Attorney’s Office is now offering immunity. Prosecutors say if someone comes forward with the art, all will be forgiven.
Sol Price, a retail magnate who three decades ago altered both the American landscape and the American way of shopping by founding Price Club, the first nationwide members-only discount warehouse, died on Monday at his home in La Jolla, Calif. He was 93.
With Robert, Mr. Price started the first Price Club in 1976 in a cavernous former airplane parts factory in an unfashionable part of San Diego. The business, which offered consumer goods as varied as tires, books and household appliances at extremely low prices, proved to be the leading edge in the multibillion-dollar influx of discount big-box stores, among them Costco, BJ’s Wholesale Club and Sam’s Club.
I am a couple of days late on this story, as I was busy swooping fly girls in the Caribe, getting mad shoulder rubs, while puffing on Marlboro Gold’s.
I was deeply saddened by the news of Mr. Price’s passing, as I have some ties to the family. My heart goes out to them.
A True G, top tier biz cat, Democratic powerhouse and always gave back. And did it with Style. People’s Champ if the ever was one.
The main lesson from him: Keep overhead to an absolute minimum.
You know your G when Sam Walton bites your steez:
One of the chief beneficiaries of Mr. Price’s legacy, Sam Walton, acknowledged the debt in his 1992 memoir, “Made in America” (Doubleday, 1992; with John Huey). Mr. Walton, the founder of Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club, wrote, “I guess I’ve stolen — I actually prefer the word ‘borrowed’ — as many ideas from Sol Price as from anybody else in the business.”
Thieves in Brazil have stolen more than £5m ($6m) from a cash delivery firm, taking advantage of the nation’s passion for football, police say.
Police believe the robbers
in Sao Paulo – who had dug a tunnel into the firm’s building – struck when season-ending football matches were played on Sunday.
A security guard later told local media he had heard a loud noise but thought it was fireworks lit by fans.
The theft was only discovered on Sunday evening – after the matches had ended.
Sao Paulo police allege the thieves rented a house in the area about four months ago and then painstakingly dug a 100m-long (110 yards) tunnel to the office of the company.
Officers believe the robbers struck late on Sunday afternoon – as millions of people across Brazil were watching the football season’s finale.
Firefighters later inspected the tunnel and found abandoned maps and tools, the police said.
During their stay in the house, the thieves disguised themselves as residents, even putting a Christmas tree in the window, the Globo website reported.
Like Irish G Manifesto Hall of Fame Member, Willie Sutton supposedly said, “because that’s where the money is.”
4 months, $6 million in cold CASH. Who says you can’t make money in a Down Economy?
These guys kind of took a page out of The G Manifesto Playbook. I often “heist” guy’s girlfriends while guys are watching American Football with their friends.
And believe me, I diss enough stuff, that you know I would say if it sucked.
I typically read ten books at once, so the fact that I finished it in a few days is testament to the quality of the narrative.
For those of you unfamiliar with Roosh, A Dead Bat in Paraguay is about his decision to quit his corporate job in Washington, DC and roll down to South America to check out every country down there. And of course, swoop girls in every country down there.
A Dead Bat in Paraguay is full of the trials, tribulations and mistakes of traveling on a budget and trying to swoop girls. Roosh takes quite a beating. But he is a likable character and you find yourself rooting for the guy throughout the story.
A couple of reasons to buy this book:
One, if you have traveled or if you are planning on traveling to South America, this is a must read.
Two, I like this book because it is written from the perspective of Game and trying to swoop girls. If you like to swoop girls, you will like it. If you don’t like girls then you won’t.
Three, the book actually had me laughing out loud a few times, which is rarely done by anyone outside of Danny King.
Let’s make things nice and sparkling clear, I have said before that The G never uses drugs to inebriate girls, and considers doing so, a horrible crime. But since it has never been done before, and people keep on asking me, I put together an EZ reference sheet for the up and coming G to know which drugs are best to be on for Picking up Girls.
(Disclaimer: I am not admitting to any drug use, and this reference sheet is best read with the word “allegedly” in front of every sentence.)
Cocaine: On paper, seems like a great drug to be on while picking up girls. But it’s not. Even caine filled Kools suck. Beeks are the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled on the G (next to convincing the world he didn’t exist). You get way too tweeked out, it is highly addictive and it hurts sexual performance. Your Game goes up the dollar bill as well; you get more into the drug than you do girls. Plus, it makes you look older; like using cologne on your face. Careful with this one. I have lost many a droog from the mirror, the razorblade and the straw.
Extasy: Fly girls are always trying to get next to me, and I have had some beautiful experiences on Extasy. You can spit mad innovative Game flows on Beans. The man of the hour has an air of great power. Chemically, it makes you glow, so girls sweat you like a sparring session at The Wild Card in summertime. Beans also make your pupils dilate which makes girls fall in love with you. Downside: Makes your back feel like a wind up doll. And you think every fly girl is the greatest girl ever. Once you come back down to earth, you usually change your opinion. But what’s some spinal fluid between you and a fly girl?
Crack: Sure, Rick James swooped mad girls while puffing rocks and base. But this stuff gets you way too out of your mind to spit coherent Game. And it will send you on a downward spiral. You remember what happened to G Money, right?
Rick James – You and I
Heroin: Back when Mark Walhberg was Marky Mark, there was an era when lots of fly rich girls and models were on H. I avoided that scene, although I think I smoked that shit once. Gets you too dozy to swoop girls. Careful with this one too. I have lost many a droog to the spoon, the flame and the spike.
The Velvet Underground – Heroin
Marijuana: I have given my thoughts on Weed before. And already told The Greatest Pick up Line of All Time. You can definitely swoop girls while high on Chron. But you can get too high on heavy duty Chronic if you take huge rips out of glass bongs and your Game can suffer. Puff Jays instead.
Meth: Not really good for much except if you want to chill in crappy towns, heist crankster gangsters and go on a collision course with a jail cell. Or a desert grave. I have seen many a Southern California Prom Queen turn into a Southern California Prom Fiend on this stuff.
Special K: Back when Strike used to Clock and drink Chocolate Mousse, I always swooped mad girls on Special K in NYC at NV and Match. But I think it had to do more with my tight Game than it did the drug. All in all, I don’t recommend. Too trippy.
GHB: GHB can be similar to Beans if you take the right amount. If you don’t, you can end up more twisted than cornrows. Avoid.
Vicodin: I have swooped girls on Vikes, but generally speaking, they flip my head too bad and make me want to sleep. Like Amsterdam Nap style.
Hashish: I am a city slicker, I ain’t no townie, and right now I wish I had another hash brownie. But I always liked puffing it more. When I was a young prototype G, I put on some of the most dynamic Game performances high on Shish, swooping topless girls on French, Spanish and Portuguese beaches in summertime. I was mildly surprised that Time Magazine didn’t put me in “Most Influential” in those days (I would have respectfully declined) under the builders and the titans. With Rupert Murdoch, the Billionaire Boys and some dudes you never heard of.
Opium: ?
Acid: Acid is another drug I swooped fly girls on, but I don’t think it was because of the drug. These days, you are apt to say too many weird things and get too many strange visuals to properly chop up proper Game.
Mushrooms: I have met some “Shroom Gurus” in my day, and I can safely say I am not one of them. I had one friend that said he could “read girls minds” on Shrooms. Although he swooped mad girls on mushys, I tend to doubt he could tell what girls were thinking. All in all, peaking is too heavy duty and too confusing on shrums.
Peyote: I think I did that shit once. Just playing. Who knows? Ask Jim Morrison. Probably, good if you want to go on a Vision Quest though.
PCP: Good for drive-by’s with Latinos and Eses, rolling on Pico with Fredrico, not for swooping girls.
Rohypnol: Gets you way too faded. Menace II Sobriety like O-Dog and Caine to your Game.
I have said it before, and I will say it again, this decade’s Nightlife is in bad need of the new Ecstasy. And by “bad need”, I mean like a person who has been stabbed 20 times with a shank is in bad need of some pressure, some gauze and a blood transfusion.
Best to stick with The Holy Trinity: Cigarettes, Vino and Vodka if you want a long career in this Game.
And throw in Double Espressos if you missed out on your Vampire Nap.
