I haven’t been updating The G Manifesto too much lately as I arrived in a new city and have been in “Pipe-Building Mode”. Real successful.
And now, I am just enjoying the fruits of my labor. Girls are exiting out the back door of my building and right after, girls are entering the front door. Pretty sick. Girls flights leaving at 11am and lunch swoops with a different girl at 2pm type sh*t.
I have even had fly Sioux and Pawnee girls creep me in their teepee.
And pushing out all the weesh guys in my way with their “Econo-Spray” game.
My biz prayers were answered today too.
Even white girls from the suburbs are are starting to call me “Mugabi” because I have been such a straight up beast.
Hopefully, I should be dropping some more heavy duty Montreal Sheets soon.
16 Things I Learned In Montreal After Living There
1. Student Protests. Before arriving in Montreal the Internet was ablaze with thoughts that the Student Protests “would screw up Game in Montreal”. This was 100% false. (Typical weesh Internet data that you find outside The G Manifesto.) The protests actually went down my street two nights in June. They might have slowed traffic a little here and there, but had no effect on nightlife and swooping as far as I was concerned.
2. Hockey. It’s true, pretty much everyone in Montreal loves hockey. Even the girls. Maybe this isn’t a surprise to many, but I thought it was just a stereotype, like American’s all love football, which we know is not the case. Personally, I don’t really dig hockey. I like the fights, but since that is the case, I will just watch boxing. Or box. No ice skating in my future.
3. History of Montreal. I realized that Americans don’t learn any history of Montreal or Quebec in school. Basically, an American school teaches you that: “The French came over from France to Quebec and started fur trading things like Beaver Pelts. And now we have modern day Montreal!” That’s about it. Hell, I didn’t even know the capital of Canada. I felt like an idiot. That is until I asked all my friends if they knew the capital of Canada and I think only one knew it on a second guess. And a lot of my friends are legitimately smart and well traveled. Or at least smarter than me.
4. Americans in Montreal. Americans that come to Montreal are really low-budget Americans. Most are from weesh 3rd and 4th tier cities in America or crap cities like DC or places in New Hampshire or Maine or something*. A bunch of busters. Montreal is definitely not invaded by solid West Coast Playboys from the beach towns. Hell, I might have been the first person from Southern California to ever set foot in the place as far as I could tell. Don’t worry, I straight up represented. Hell, the next person that comes from Southern California should send me a few G’s for all the positive ground work I laid, so to speak, for them. I personally know at least 10 Montreal girls that want to go to California soon, because they think the place is chocked full of guys like me. They are in for a rude awakening though, as I am top tier in that place.
5. The Old Port. I like the Old Port. I like the buildings, some of the restaurants, some of the clubs and getting in my roadwork there. It can be great for swooping girls on dates and workouts. However, it can be touristy, you can get hosed on prices, and there are no real neighborhood joints. I had plans to chop up Cherry and St Paul Hotel non-stop last summer. Both changed on me. Club Cherry Closed, St. Paul Hotel Changed. Got unlucky. Not sure if I would live in or near Old Port again. But it still is pretty dope.
6. Québécois not Canadians. When you make sweeping statements about the people in Montreal, even if it is a compliment, don’t refer to them as “Canadians”. Refer to them as “Québécois”. Thank me later.
7. Northfield Cigarettes. These are the Canadian version of American Spirits. Smoke them. They are not as good as American Spirits, but they are pretty dope. In fact, whenever my boys visited, I had them bring me a carton on American cigarettes. Thanks boys.
8. Safety. Montreal is safe as f*ck. The chances of you slipping on some maple syrup and breaking your neck are way higher than you shanked in a street fight. The only thing that is dangerous is the hipsters on bikes. I almost got wacked by one on a sidewalk. If I wasn’t so damn agile, I would have gotten smashed. I had to dive out of the way, in a Custom Suit mind you, all stunt man style one night when I stepped out. It was pretty damn athletic if I may say so myself. Probably only an “in his prime” Allen Iverson, Floyd Mayweather Jr. or your humble author would have been able to avoid that hipster on a bike.
9. Hipsters VS Douchebags. I thought Montreal would be 100% hipster. But there were plenty of Douchebags too. Who would have known?
10. Construction. There is mad Corruption in the Construction industry in Montreal. It won’t affect you though.
11. Cabs. Like many cities on the globe, the cab drivers in Montreal are pretty retarded. You have to know where you are going, because the cab drivers don’t. And they try to drive you up St. Laurent all the time as well. Learn to use Rue Berri. Way quicker and more smooth.
12. Nightlife Districts. There are mad sections of Montreal with great areas to go out at night or get a grind on. Probably, 10 different “districts” that I could discover. Pretty amazing for a city of Montreal’s size. Especially when you consider a large West Coast city like San Diego has like 2 streets that you can party on.
13. French Language. Speaking French no doubt helps your cause. But it can also confuse girls when you tell them you are from California and then you can speak French. A couple of girls thought I was from Montreal and I was lying to them or something. It was not catastrophic, but something for a G to keep in mind.
14. Terraces. It’s all about Terraces in Montreal in summer. Find them. Live them. Love them. Spark up smokes on them. Swoop at them. I did.
15. Smoking. People in Montreal puff grits. Those gross images on cigarettes to deter smoking don’t work at all.
16. Perfect sized City. Montreal is really the perfect sized city. You can walk most of it, or take a 10 minute subway ride and be anywhere you want. Smooth.
17. Toronto. People in Montreal hate Toronto. I mean really hate it. Say you do too. Trust me.
18. Girls. The girls in Montreal are mad fly. However, they are not as easy as I thought on my first trip. I will explain more later, but there are plenty of thin, well dressed, high heel wearing, French accented dope girls to keep any International Playboy sedated. There are some good mixes. Black girls. Lebanese girls. Asian girls. Russian girls. Italian girls. Irish girls. Dark haired, blue eyed French girls. French Moroccan girls. I like them all. I regulated every shade of that *ss. On the real. Really developed an addiction to the French Moroccan girls. I may go to Morocco soon.
19. Partying. Partying in Montreal is fun as f*ck. You can go out seven nights a week there. Drugs are easy to come by, or at least they were easy for me to “sniff out”, so to speak. I almost got myself into trouble actually. But I am The G. I know what I am doing.
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
*Not everyone from those places is weesh of course. There are tons of cool cats from those places. I am just saying the people that visit Montreal from those places are weesh. Fair enough?
So after years of un-official case study, I am going to tell you about The Best Hangover Cure For International Playboys. And when I say “Hangover”, I am not talking about that weesh movie where Mike Tyson was the only saving grace either.
Well it is more of a “Hangover Prevention” than a hangover cure, but that is neither here nor there. The outcome is the same.
But first a little context:
Over the years, I have messed with every hangover cure or hangover prevention out there. Hell, I meet a complete stranger on the street that has a hangover cure, I give it a shot.
I have even tried Robert Mitchum’s, Frank Sinatra’s and Jim Morrison’s favorite hangover cure: The Ramos Gin Fizz. (a mix of gin, egg white, orange flower water, lemon juice, lime juice, sugar, cream, and soda water.)
None of them work.
I also want to give you an idea of what kind of drinker I am, because there are a lot of fools out there that claim to be “drinkers” and they only throw down 6 drinks per night and they are crying in the morning.
Where I come from and the circles I roll in, we drink. Heavy. I have typically 4 heavy duty Vodka, Sodas with Lime before I even leave my crib for dinner.
Then at dinner, I usually wack down another 3-4 Vodka, Sodas with Lime and another 2-3 Glasses of Vino Tinto.
So I am anywhere between 9-11 Drinks deep before I have even really rolled out into the night.
And then I start to really get live. I usually push into the 15-20 drinks in a night level by swoops end.
You will never get hungover again. If I was over at Now Foods, I would repackage these as a “Hangover Cure” instead of a Multi-vitamin, they would probably make more dough.
I even started giving these to girls so they feel good in the morning as well and so they are ready for some heavy duty morning sessions.
Side note:
Dean Martin said his hangover cure was to “Stay Drunk”.
That has also been known to work.
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
Diana Ross – Love Hangover, Live on The Midnight Special 1976
“The secret of success is making your vocation your vacation.” – Mark Twain
One thing I have learned in life is that success is The Ultimate Revenge on your rivals. That also includes anyone that has ever doubted you, held you back, or tried to slow you down.
I would like to say I don’t feel pleasure when my rivals feel pain, but I do. And it is pure torture for them when I travel the world, swoop fly girls and do it while smoking cigarettes and wearing Custom Suits when they have to sit in their cars in hellish commutes or trap themselves in excruciating relationships with weesh girls.
“Success” however must be defined differently for everyone.
Personally, I don’t play the Game of “who ever has the most money wins”. That is a losing Game to play.
Money only gets you so far. I would rather have time and freedom at the cost of a little money.
In fact, I don’t know too many out there that make as much scratch as I do and works as little as I do. It’s a good niche that International Playboys have, and they mostly fall into two camps:
1) Cats who travel tons but stay in hostels and have no cake or
And as you know, over here at The G Manifesto, we bring the Custom, specific moves For The People. Not like those other sites that bust out a bunch of vague bullsh*t and/or “PUA” theory that doesn’t do anyone any good.
Here is The Breakers Seafood Room Swoop Move:
1. So you got a fly girl in Palm Beach on hook. Set up the meeting for The Breakers Seafood Room at 9:30pm to 10:00pm. No need to rush. This isn’t The Police State of California. Full menu is served until 11:00pm. Smooth.
2. Roll in Custom Suited Down. Of course. What I will do, and you should too, is roll a little early. “Insta-lock™” the place. Get the waitresses and bartenders on lock. This way when the Palm Beach girl comes to meet you, and everyone knows your name, she will ask, “Wait, you are from California. How does everyone here know you?” Right here, the duck is cooked. And I am not talking about The Police State of California banning Foie Gras, either.
3. When she meets you, all high-heels and flowing dressed out, give the “two-kisses” greeting, as per usual. Settle in for a couple of cocktails. Maybe let her get a martini. But make sure she only has one.
4. “No-look” the menu, for style points. Keep in light and agile. Go with the oysters, shrimp cocktail, or crab cake. Keep in old-school. All are excellent. No need to f*ck around.
5. Bust out a Bone-Dry Sauvignon Blanc with the oysters. Invariably, she will say, “Shouldn’t we have the oysters with Chardonnay?” Correct her and go with a Bone-Dry Sauvignon Blanc. Power move. And she will thank you for schooling her to The Game.
6. Keep the cocktails pumping with the bartender you have on lock. You are sitting at the bar, right? Enjoy the aquarium bar counters and watch small fish and other marine life explore the coral stones.
7. Go outside for a smoke and check the ocean with her.
8. She won’t be able to resist kissing you with the moon shimming off the ocean.
9. Now the deal is really cooked.
10. If you want to “carry” her a few more rounds a la Manny Pacquiao, roll to Cucina with her for a little dancing. Any way you slice it, you are swooping.
And there you have it.
I have done this move with five different fly girls.
“I remember you in The Godfather. And I remember you beat up some guy with the garbage cans or whatever the story was, but you’re not a tough guy. You may think you’re a tough guy because you’re wacked out of your mind on coke, but you’re just an asshole in flip-flops.” – Jon Roberts to actor James Caan.
“I didn’t care if what I did was respected by society or not. My idea of a party was a bunch of Playboy Bunnies on Quaaludes in the back room of the Forge.” – Jon Roberts, American Desperado
“He made a new table for us in the middle of the restaurant, and we finished breakfast all by ourselves. I felt invincible. There I was, twenty-two, and I’d just f*cked James Bond’s girlfriend in the toilet.” - Jon Roberts
So I am chilling outside the Yoga class waiting for it to start and I am reading the most “un-Yoga” book of all time: American Desperado.
I am reading about how Jon Roberts, who you may know from Cocaine Cowboy’s Fame is talking about skinning people alive in Vietnam when a fly girl sits down next to me and says, “hello”. I am pseudo-startled and I was so entrenched in reading stories about the correct way to gut someone so their intestines popping out like “Jiffy Pop”.
I put my book down and commence to Game spitting as I can tell it’s on. Although, who knows with these Yoga girls.
Class begins. It’s a “warm restorative class” so I definitely enjoy it.
I am waiting for the fly girl I was talking to before class to just get up and split, but she waits around for me to get all my stuff together.
We walk outside.
“Where do you live?”, I say.
“Just a few blocks that way”, she responds.
“Cool, I will walk you home”, I reply.
“Great”, says with a smile.
We roll towards her house, and I can tell that she is down. However, my Game is way subdued. Minimal aggression. If this was a girl I met at a club, I probably would have swooped her in Public by now.
But instead, I am just chilling, responding with a lot of “yeah, that is so cool” and “yeah, that is so beautiful”. I almost want to slap myself for being such a Yoga dork.
However, I get myself out of my Yoga stupor for a minute, and say, “You should come with me to Sushi on Saturday night”. She thinks that is a great idea.
So I have been to about four of five of these Yoga classes so far. It’s pretty dope.
I haven’t swooped any girls yet, but the ratios are mindblowing and there have been some pretty fly girls.
I feel good from it, and it’s a pretty decent workout. I feel centered.
However, I kind of feel like this stuff is kind of making me a little “peace and love” which is a drastic change from my default gear of “Violence and Sex”.
So I roll into my first Yoga class. I have no idea what to wear to this gig so I go with the black wife beater, Wild Card Boxing Club t-shirt, Everlast hoodie and Quik boardshorts. You know, the height of Fashion for Yoga G Set. Or at least that is what I think it should be.
As I step into the arena, I mean, the waiting area, I see a fly girl that is as hot as the bullet that went into Abe Lincoln. So what do I do?
I go and sit next to her and say, “hello”.
She smiles and says “hello” back.
The atmosphere is very relaxed and subdued, but I get a good back and forth dialog going on with her. She can tell I am The G.
She is down. I will swoop her after class on the real.
Class starts.
I grab a spot in the back, just like when I was in school, because I have no idea what the f*ck is going on.
This was actually a good move because I can spock all the fly girls in the class. And it is basically all girls.
Minimal guys, only two others. The competition is non-existent. One guy is probably suspect and the other is softer than a soft serve cone in Venice Beach in August.
Street-hardened, well-traveled, International Playboys that survived The Extacsy Wonder Gang Wars, like your humble author, these guys are not.
We bust out the class, and I did pretty well actually. The fly girl teacher asks me, “Was that really your first class?”
When it ends, I feel great. I almost want to yell, “Let’s all get some cocktails and have a smoke!”, but I decide that it would be inappropriate in the Yoga Dojo.
Then the fly girl that I was talking to at the beginning of the class just gets up, rolls up her mat and splits.
When you are a young up and coming G on a Budget in Southern California Beach Towns you need to focus on four places to swoop fly girls:
1. House Parties (although the California Police State has cracked down on these heavily since the “bad old days”, rendering them almost insignificant.)
2. The Beach (Although, I am not talking Topless Beaches here.)
Swooping fly girls at the 7-11, is just like mountain climbing: you have to put your time in.
What my old school crew and I would do is park the drop top Cadillac at our local 7-11 and just post up. Thankfully, there was a bar next door to our local 7-11 so girls would always come out of the bar to buy smokes or some crap.
We were just like crocodiles in wait for zebras, girls would come up and we would bite like the crocs do in The Gremeti River, Serengeti, Tanzania. “Crocodile Game” if you will.
Chronic Smokes and 40oz Dreams
In between girls rolling up, my crew and I would just chill, take monster hits of Chronic and take huge pulls of well concealed 40 oz bottles.
You would be surprised how many fly rich beach girls would open us with, “Do you have any more weed?”
Game on. Then we would just transform into the Original Game Spitta.
It amazes me how you hardly ever see young G’s chilling out in the open smoking Chronic and Drinking Malt Liquor any more. I really don’t know what is wrong with kids these days. Maybe it’s the video games. Maybe it’s Facebook. Who really knows?
Either way, if I saw kids posting, smoking and drinking at a 7-11 today, I would probably throw them on the pay roll and mold them for the future.
We can always use more International Playboys of The Apocalypse.
Anyways, I am starting to confuse myself.
Before I get too off track, here is a little story from back in the day when fly girls hit me on the Pager like my name was Stojaković to explain how it’s done:
I was chilling with my clicka at our local 7-11 smoking Chronic and drinking St. Ides when we saw a super fly girl get into an argument with her boyfriend outside the bar next door. It got pretty heated and the guy walked away in a huff.
The girl was older (about 27-28 I am guessing) and a mad fly blonde girl. Dressed to the nines.
The super fly girl rolled up to the 7-11 and she walked right past us and ignored my advances.
My homeboys were heckling me because I blew it. Or so they thought.
I just leaned back against the Cadillac and re-sparked up another Chronic Roach.
I could tell she was pretty heated from the argument with the guy earlier, but she had a very seductive and enchanting look in her eyes.
As I killed my Chronic Jay, she asked me with dilated pupils, “Do you have any more weed, I could really use some right now”.
Although we were all holding Chron (as always), I replied half jokingly since she dissed me earlier, “I do, but it is at my crib close by.”.
I thought she was going to laugh and diss me again, (keep in mind this girl was hotter than Venice Beach asphalt in summertime in a long form fitting dress and high heels) but she said, “Let’s go. Your driving.” and threw me her keys.
I looked at the keys: Porsche
Smooth. (And not one of those lame ones. A legit one. Payed for by her boyfriend no doubt).
I grabbed her hand and I replied, “Let’s roll” and started walking away while giving a wink to my crew who all were flabbergasted.
We rolled to the G-Spot, for a smoke session and swoop session. Illmatic.
Still maybe the best blower of my life. (And not to sound cocky or anything, but she has long competition to be measured up against, so to speak).
She needed me to drop her and her ride off, so we split.
As we pulled out of my block, I passed my friends rolling back from the 7-11 and gave them a loud honk as they gave me the “jealousy finger”.
We rolled a few miles into the sickest houses in the hood by the beach. I am talking don’t even step unless you have $3 mill min. (And that was in those days, nowadays, some go for $25 mill an up, of course).
We pulled up to a super sick crib and she said, “This is it…”
The cat has taken some heat on the Internet for his work and has plenty of doubters and haters (not unlike your humble author).
This guy has mad talent and is meeting a monstrous need in today’s media landscape . And when I say “meeting a monstrous need”, I mean like a coke dealer meets a monstrous need of a Hollywood Hills Mansion after party with 20 fly girls and 4 guys in attendance at 2:30 am.
His work is basically a flame that burns within the soul of The Modern Day International Playboy: its a complex overture that delves into the psyche of the male mind; part dazzling fantasy, part demonic nightmare, part vibrant dream, part jagged reality and he mixes it and puts it in a pot like Gumbo.
Hell, he is bringing to fruition an idea I have had for many years in grand royal style that I lacked the aptitude for. My version would be a little more Drug ridden, Crime Ridden, Cigarette smoked out, Boozed out, more Street and with the machine gun sound of the speed bag and clicking of the money counter as the soundscape, but that is neither E-tab dreams nor triple beams.
(Sometimes I really do wish I was born with talent for the camera or video camera instead of talent for Smoking, Drinking, Swooping fly girls, and separating people from their money. But then again, you can’t have it all.)
He has a new video called New York Episode 1.5 – Fails, extras & pick-up tips, peep it below.
First off, anything that can hold my attention for 10 minutes is in and of itself, astonishing. But more than that, it is really entertaining. And I think young cats getting into “The Life” can learn a lot from it. Furthermore, he plays up the “player on a budget” angle, which we all know has mass appeal like Guru of Gangstarr (RIP) said.
This video is all about Pick Up Failures. Watching this reminds me of myself as a young prototype G on the rise on the beaches of Southern California.
I have said it before and I will say it again, no one, and I mean no one has gotten rejected by girls more than me.
In this video Andrew Lindy breaks down rejection. He has fun with it. Bottom line, you have to love rejection.
To the young cats reading this, it really does make you stronger. Hell, I get rejected still all the time, and guess what? It is the funniest thing to me. Especially since I know that any girl that rejects me is making the biggest mistake of her life.
Straight up, if you take yourself too seriously, and you can’t have fun when you are swooping fly girls, then The International Playboy Lifestyle is not for you.
