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.”
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.
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.
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.
Dallas Winston, the “tougher, colder, meaner” greaser in The Outsiders was a master of Cigarette Game. Especially from a young G’s perspective.
In the opening scenes of The Outsiders Movie, you can see him spit Game at Sherri “Cherry” Valance at the drive in movie theater.
Finally Hollywood gets something right. (These days Hollywood is knuckling under from pressure to have no cigarette smoking in movies. Which makes you wonder how they are ever going to make a movie about me with no smoking.)
He busts the Strike Anywhere Match Move and then let’s the lyrics and Game flow. Listen and learn:
Dallas Winston: Some cute redhead.
Dallas Winston: Are you a real redhead?
Dallas Winston: Are you real?
Dallas Winston: How can I find out
if this is your real red hair?
Dallas Winston: If this is the same red hair
that you have on…these eyebrows, too?
Johnny: Cut it out Dal.
Cherry Valance: Get your feet off my chair
and shut your trap!
Dallas Winston: Who’s gonna make me?
Johnny: I’m gonna get a Coke
Dallas Winston: Who, your boyfriend?
Pony Boy: Leave her alone, Dal
Other Chick: That’s the Greaser who just
got out of jail.
Dallas Winston: Sure, whatever you say, honey
Cherry Valance: Better leave us alone or
I’ll call the cops.
Dallas Winston: You got me scared to death.
What am I gonna do, Pony?
Dallas Winston: This girl is making me shake.
Cherry Valance: Why don’t you be nice and leave us alone?
Dallas Winston: I’m never nice.
Dallas Winston: Can I interest you in
a Coca-Cola or a 7-Up?
Cherry Valance: Get lost, hood!
Dallas Winston: I’m sorry.
Dallas Winston: I didn’t know…I didn’t know you had this problem
of yelling in my face.
Excellent opening salvo, that to the untrained eye seemed like it didn’t work.
Until, start watching at 7:44 (or hell, you really should watch the whole thing):
The Outsiders part 2
Cherry Valance: I hope I never see Dallas Winston again.
If I do, I’ll probably fall in love with him.
And…Cherry is cooked.
This movie was from back in the days of my youth, when Hollywood actually had Alpha males in movies. Not like all this non-smoker, Forgetting Sarah Marshall sissy, beta crap these days, that is just not believable to your average ex-street hood.
Another Manhattan summer is upon us. But I don’t dip for the Hamps.
There’s something about the concrete jungle that keeps me comfortable.
Red ribbon players give off a doubtful vibe. No worries. I know the competition is tapioca.
Been a busy summer at the High Line, thus far. I’m posted, naturally. Swagger drippin. Gettin that brie. Curb servin like American History X. Carryin the 8 like Jon and Kate. Sockless. Purple Label because Ralph’s a friend. Rubber band money clip keepin me grounded. My equity givin haters heartburn. And no, these aren’t Tums I’m bundlin. Brushing up on RICO precedent. The pre-paid cell keep the Feds panties in a bunch. Startac. I’m so retro. Shielding risk like a fideicomiso. Look it up. My LLC’s LLC’s got LLCs. They’ll send your lawyer back to undergrad. His public school undergrad.
(Here is my Facebook, New Twitter and The G Manifesto Facebook Page)
Ahhh…NYC summers. Humiliating wannabes who “heard Shake Shack burgers are sweet”, and “have boys who can get us into TenJune”. Meanwhile, I “have boys who know your PIN number”, and I “break bread with U.N. security personnel”. Twisting up lavender fauna on the hour. Puffin those Barney farts. I maneuver best when I’m over levered. Like Linens N’ Things. Summertime, so I keep things in the linen. Pulling fire alarms at Soho House. Bending flat brims on hipsters’ 90′s Starter caps. Bet they can’t name one Charlotte Hornet. Morimoto is a hack. Lunching down the block at Son Cubano with a third-stringer
that’ll make your Dad leave your Mom. And then tell her “keep the kids”.
Enjoy the sharehouse, Neil. I’m at the Core Club. Ask for me.
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