3. In Bogota, Colombia earlier this year, I broke my cell phone charger while I was closing a big deal back in The States. I had to turn my phone off after every call just to save juice. I now travel with two-three cell phones for back up.
6. In The Beaches of Spain, I spilled a full glass of water on my computer, in the middle of closing yet another huge deal back in The States. Luckily, it only ruined a few of the keys on the keyboard. For instance, whenever I typed a “t” it would type “t5”. It did the same with some other keys. You would be surprised how often you need to use the letter “t” when you type.
9. When I lost my Passport, I re-injured my back again, while lifting up a super heavy dresser from a weird angle in my apartment that I thought it fell behind (a book I had fell behind it). Then, my back went out while boxing a week later. I literally couldn’t stand up.
I had to get carted to the hospital in an ambulance! (First time in an ambulance).
My life might seem easy sometimes, but trust me, I take heavy punishment.
But I keep on punching. And if I said this Lifestyle wasn’t worth it, I would be lying to you.
Although, I think I am going to take it mad easy for a while…
Boxing Champion Manny Pacquiao To Visit White House Today For Lunch With President Obama And First Lady
Manny Pacquiao continues his whirlwind tour of the United States on Tuesday with a trip to the White House. He has made appearances in Las Vegas, Los Angeles and New York before making his final stop in the nation’s capital yesterday.
The best way is to follow The G Manifesto to a “T”, if a Model Girlfriend is what you so choose to attain. Although, following The G Manifesto will get you a lot further than that.
Another way to get a Model Girlfriend?
Be born Latvian.
The guys you would see rolling with Model quality girls in Riga, Latvia were the type of guys that if they came to the beaches of Southern California (or almost anywhere decent in America), they would get blanked. For years on end.
But I did well in Riga, Latvia also, so you can’t say the girls have bad taste.
Riga also has this weird vibe about it. It seems like the place could use some more people. I mentioned before that during the Occupation, something like 550,000 people died, were murdered or disappeared. About 1/3 of the population. It seems like Riga could use about 33% additional heads on the streets. All girls would be nice.
Riga, Latvia is not really a “cheap” place to roll around. Especially, in the old city, unless you know where to roll. Or where not to roll. Refer to my Riga, Latvia: Nightclub Data Sheets.
Riga does party pretty heavy, but really only goes off on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. However, compared to a decent or good city in America (with its draconian smoking laws and early closing times), it rages pretty hard.
There are not a lot of prostitutes. I heard this would be pretty prevalent, but I think I was solicited only once.
Drug use isn’t very prominent. I was offered drugs once on the street during the day. The guy had no teeth and when I told him I wasn’t interested, he asked me for money. So I kind of doubt the guy had the Manchurian Connection to the Afghan Opium pipeline. Or had Francisco Rafael Arellano Félix on speed dial.
Things I would do different
Next time I go to Riga, Latvia, I would go when it was warm. The cold weather really threw me off. Keep in mind that I am someone who’s coldest night in the last few years has been a summer night in San Diego. I also failed to listen to my MOM’s advice she gave me as a young pup and went out at night with wet hair. That, coupled with all the raging and swooping girls, almost gave me a cold (my first one in almost 5 years) by the end of my stay. But my rugged constitution staved it off.
I would also try not to rage too much early in the week especially before you have the place wired. Raging early in the week makes you more susceptible to scams. Next time, I would Street Game heavy early in the week and save your bullets for the weekend.
I have literally made a career out of Going for Dolo, however in Riga, Latvia, it would have been smooth to have some backup (even just one homeboy with heavy hands will do). I wrote about my Judo Throw and a Karate Chop I received from a Russian cat earlier, but I actually ended up in one more fight before I made my exit.
Here is how it went down:
I was outside a night spot spitting some ill Game, mad melodic like Mandolins and Violins, at a fly Russian girl that was digging my moves cause she smooth while I was smoking a grit. A big Russian cat rolls up to me says something I don’t understand then, breaks my cigarette.
I had no intentions of fighting, but after two earlier altercations, I am more than ready. I try to calm him down but Russian cat swings on me.
I am a little faded from boozing, but my reactions are still sharp and I “catch and throw” on his mug trying to rock his face and stab his brain with his nose bone.
We end up in a “leather jacket tangle” and I have some leverage so I continue to torque uppercuts into his mug. At this point things are working out pretty well, until he gets his weight behind him and slams me, like Onyx, into a 600 year old stone wall, which wouldn’t have been so bad except there is like some 600 year old stone protruding from the wall which spears my back and almost knocks the wind out of me.
I am in pretty phenomenal shape right now and my senses are heightened since I feel real danger, so I recover pretty quick and keep on drilling him in the mug until his face looks like a plate of Latvian food with some spilled Claret.
Luckily, two big bouncers from the club separate us and I am thankful that they don’t take his side and play it straight up.
I bone out of there as soon as I get a moment. Girl vanished.
(Keep in mind, I am not writing these fight stories to make it seem like I am the second coming of Muhammad Ali, and Bruce Lee mixed with a healthy dose of Jack Dempsey. I have written The G Manifesto for 5 or so years and I have never mentioned Street Fighting before and I really avoid it at all costs.)
Another thing I would have done different is roll to some of the smaller cities like Jelgava. The first girl I swooped in Riga was actually from Jelgava and I would bet my last 1oz Silver Eagle coin that she wasn’t the only one from there that was mad fly.
Update: In my haste of writing this Data Sheet, I forgot another great tip that I have written about before: Language Lessons. I would definitely bone up (so to speak) on some Russian and Latvian Language Lessons with some fly tutor girls before rolling to Riga. I hate when I don’t follow my own advice.
Side note of sorts: African American G’s, from everything I saw there would clean up in Riga. I would just make sure I got some rounds in before going.
“The first and best victory is to conquer self; to be conquered by self is of all things most shameful and vile.” – Plato
So how did I finish up in Riga?
After all the trials and tribs, I ended up swooping two more insanely fly girls in addition to the fly 19 year old from Jelgeva. I really started wiring the place like copper. Every day, I continually stuffed the pipe with new fresh leads. In fact, on my last night there, I had two different girls that were mindblowingly fly both calling me and texting me to meet them out. I was pretty tweaked by then and ended up shutting off my phone as I had an early flight.
Now that I am back in America, I really wish I could have that night back. But that is how it goes sometimes in The Life of a G.
“Flawless victory, you n*ggaz can’t do shit to me
Physically, lyrically, hypothetically, realistically
I’m the epitome of catching wreck
catch you when you cash your check
Smash you when you pass then jack you for your f*cking Lex.” – Big Pun
Here is the info you can’t find anywhere else (I really wish someone else had written this before I went). I will break down the main Nightclubs, Bars, and Restaurants in Riga, Latvia. Following this guide will prevent you from many scams and potential beatdowns. Trust me, I made almost every mistake in the book in Riga, Latvia. And yes, I do accept thank you cards.
I Love You Bar: The place was pretty heavily hyped to me by people before I went to Riga, Latvia. In my opinion, the place is pretty weesh. Every time I walked by the spot, it was dead. And I checked the place out on Friday, Saturday and some weeknights. It’s possible that this place is mindblowing at 3:30am on a Tuesday or something and I missed it, but I highly doubt it.
La Belle Époque: This place was heavily hyped also. La Belle Époque is a pretty cheap college bar, but it’s pretty wack. I would skip it unless you want a cheap beer. Minimal girls.
Skyline Bar: This is one of the supposed “crown jewels” of Riga Nightlife. Higher end scene, sweeping views of the city etc etc etc. I thought the place sucked. Mostly UK tourist fools. Expensive. Not worth it, except for the view. Which is not unusual for places known for the view.
Essential: This is the main dance club in Riga. There are a lot of fly girls here although I only stayed a few minutes (I was with a fly girl from Riga, and she wanted to stop by to see her friend). I can’t really speak on the place, but there are horror stories about rip-offs in this place.
Push: Another big club similar to Essential. I never went.
Babylon: This place has “scam” written all over it. Even from the outside. Steer clear.
Scandal: This place is dope. Decent DJ, smoking room upstairs with a second DJ, high energy and tons of fly girls.
Kalku Varti: Dope spot that kind of gets rolling late night. Definitely worth checking. No scams here.
A13: Can be a scam joint, I think, although I was never scammed here. Enter at your own risk.
Shot Bar: Heavy scam spot. Fly girls. You make the call.
Cuba Cafe: Dope spot to start off the night. Good intel from the bartender girls.
Celsjus: Younger crowd, fly girls, and possible beefs with large Russian cats. Fun spot.
Studio 69: Another big club in the Essential and Push vein. I never checked it. Only Friday’s and Saturday’s I think.
Pulkvedim Neviens Neraksta: Pretty dope spot, all locals. Cheap club that lacks a little punch. Downstairs is open on Friday’s and Saturday’s.
Blow Style: Greatest name ever for a bar/clip joint. Never rolled in, but I contemplated stepping in and getting scammed just because the name is so dope.
Guaja: Tiny cafe good for a little grind session or a double espresso.
Black Magic Bar: Place that is Black Balsam Bonkers. Seemed kind of touristy so I never stepped foot.
Milk: Local spot outside the old city. They typically don’t let tourists in. This rule did not apply to your humble author. Good on Wednesday’s.
Carpe Diem: Good restaurant for an upscale grind.
Restaurant Bergs: Located in the Hotel Bergs, this place is dope. Kaspars Jansons, who I am told is one of the hottest chefs in the Baltics, man’s the stove. It was also designed by Latvian architect Zaiga Gaile, who I am told is one of the hottest architects in the Baltics. And I went here with one of the hottest girls in the Baltics so it all worked out for me.
Fabrikas: Stoney spot on the other side of the Daugava.
Macaroni Noodle Bar: Sushi spot that a lot of Latvian girls hyped to me. Riga girls love sushi. I didn’t step to any sushi in Riga though.
Dada Restaurant: Good mid-day grind spot.
Lido: Good Latvian food.
Steakhaus: Overpriced Latvian take on a Texas steakhouse. Real weird. Not bad for a cocktail with a couple of fly Latvian girls though.
Double Coffee: Multiple locations that doesn’t only serve coffee. Decent, not great grinds. Had some fly Russian girls step to me in this place, so I can’t hate it.
That is all I can remember off the top of the dome piece (I know I am forgetting a ton of spots, mostly because I don’t speak Russian or Latvian too well, so it was hard for me to remember the names). If you have any questions about some other spots, leave a comment and it might joggle my memory cord.
There is no doubt that George Bush damaged America’s reputation Internationally, as anyone who has travel the world extensively since the 1990’s will tell you.
This year however, I have noticed that the once great “Image” of Americans has also taken a header like Cisco did recently (and I am not talking about that weesh R&B artist, that wack food supply company, or that low-end booze that makes fools jump out of windows either).
Anyways, after consummating the relationship in my dope apartment in the Eixample, she started off an interesting conversation:
Fly Catalan Girl: I am surprised you are American.
Michael Mason: (Not really in the mood for conversation, but I decide to bite) Why?
Fly Catalan Girl: Because you seem cool, and you have good style.
Michael Mason: Most American’s that come to Barcelona don’t?
Fly Catalan Girl: No. Most American’s are wankers.
(Side note II: She learned her English while modeling in London. Hence the use of the word “wanker”).
I really thought nothing of the exchange at the time.
Then fast forward to London Fashion week, when I was hanging out with a fly rich daughter of a Colombian mining family. We were taking a leisurely stroll near Wellington Square in Chelsea, puffing on jacks.
Michael Mason: Where have you traveled to in America?
Fly Rich Colombian Girl: NYC, California, DC, Miami Beach, New Orleans, Las Vegas etc (continuing a long list).
Michael Mason: Do you like America?
Fly Rich Colombian Girl: Yes, its nice to visit. But I am am always surprised by how fat the people are. Especially the girls.
This conversation was pretty interesting, as I aways thought that America had pulled one over on the rest of the world making them think our women were tops through our Media and Hollywood Hype Machine. But I didn’t think too much of it, as this fly rich Colombian girl had actually been to America, and thus “pulled the curtain back”, so to speak.
This whole thing really came to a “head”, so to speak, on my recent travels to Riga, Latvia.
I had no less that 5 different girls in Riga, Latvia say to me: “American Girls, they are really fat, yeah?” And only a couple of them had actually been to America.
I continue with my routine of Entering The Dragon to get ready for the beautiful evil that nighttime brings. It’s Saturday night in Riga, and I notice that the energy levels on the street are a little lower than Friday night. (Note to self, Friday is the big night in Riga.)
I need to Fuel The Dragon, so I step into a little Latvian joint and get a grind on. The bartender girl, who is of course fly, gives me some pretty good Data Sheets on where to go for the evening. I appreciate her info, as some of my Nightlife choices so far have been a little off-point.
I get a few more “warm up” drinks, spit some Street Game, help and old Latvian Lady cross the street, and head over to one of the Latvian bartender girls’ recommendations. I enter the spot, and the place is dope (I can’t believe I never noticed it before, I think it was closed earlier in the week), but I can tell I am a little early. I need to find something better so I store the spot in my gulliver and head to another spot.
I arrive at the bartender girls’ other recomendation, and the place is on. Finally, I am in a dope spot in Riga: some hip-hop tracks, tons upon tons of fly Latvian and Russian girls, an upstairs smoking room with another DJ, and did I mention tons upon tons of fly Latvian and Russian girls?
I start spitting Game with a quickness. Girls are down. I start dancing with a couple of Russian sisters, both fly, and bust out some Salsa Game to some psedo-wack Pitbull track. The Russian sisters pick up the Salsa pretty quick and ask me, “Are you a Salsa teeecher?”
After making some rounds in the spot, I see a smooth black guy (one of the first I have seen in Riga) nod at me and I ask him, “American?”
He replies, “No mate, UK. You from America?”
I reply, “Yeah, mate. California. The beach.”
He then introduces me to some of his friends he is with. They are rolling five deep or so, and I figure it can’t hurt to have a little “insta-crew” since I keep finding myself in Karate Chop and Judo Throw situations in Riga.
His friends are all from UK and some are pseudo-Indian and Pakistani cats, and are all pretty cool. I have never hung out with any pseudo-Indian and Pakistani cats before, so its all new to me. These guys actually have some Game and are getting some girls cooking. They say they have been to Riga a bunch of times so they seem to know the score.
With a little “back up” I start doing what I do best: Swooping Fly Girls. I am feeling 120% off of my fresh swoop and Entering The Dragon session and my Game is coming real clean with no filler. Puro like Colombian Snow.
Moving from fly girl group to fly girl group, I am looking to swoop tonight. A few of the girls are so beautiful, my heart skips a beat a few times, but I am so seasoned at this stuff that I stay ice cold like a snow cone.
Outside the spot smoking some grits with some more fly Latvian girls, I notice a curious thing: A group of the Latvian girls are dying to have their pictures taken with the homeys from the UK. And they have no interest in taking a photo with me.
I ask one of the UK cats what its all about, and he says, “I think they like people with darker skin, Mate. It’s new to them I guess.”
We all roll back in and get back to work.
On second thought, the DJ sucks. He is playing tracks like this:
Instead of what he should be doing and spinning tracks like this:
Either way, there are still tons of fly girls in the spot. High Heels. Short Skirts. Thin. Fly.
My Game is on like Vietnam. (And I don’t mean that ETF, Market Vectors Vietnam (VNM), either).
I keep making solid, dynamic approaches, non-stop. Then I realize something: I have literally tried to swoop about 30 different girls in the spot to no avail. It’s really strange. If I am in America, and my Game is this tight, and I am feeling this good, I would have banged out two different girls by now, and back at the club ordering another Goose Soda Lime. All I have for my efforts is a couple of “loose” Number Crunches.
I kind of feel like Miguel Cotto must have felt in his fight with Antonio Margarito; I am landing clean shots, moving well and winning the fight on the cards, but I feel like I am ultimately going to end up in a bloody heap on the canvas.
Like I said before, it’s Strange.
I keep plugging away. (So to speak).
After a bunch more Game spitting sessions, I end up empty handed. By my count, I am something like 0-49 on the night. Unreal. A “Reverse Rocky Marciano”, of sorts. I literally don’t think this has ever happened to me. In my whole life.
The spot is still dope, but I ditch the UK cats and head back to the earlier spot. I need to switch up speeds like Bruce Lee riding the Fuji in that movie. It’s more on, this time.
I make a good love connection, as if my name was Chuck Woolery, with a fly Russian girl name Jekatarina. I get pseudo-stepped to by a big Russian guy, but Jekatarina helps and translates me out of another potential Karate Chop situation, and I smooth it over.
Jekatarina is pretty down, but I can’t close. She kisses me before she steps into her cab. I will have to swoop her tommorrow.
I can’t believe after one of the sickest, award winning Game performaces I have ever put on in my life, I am empty handed again.
“I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
It was a large bare warehouse room, dark and damp with concrete everywhere. It was difficult to say whether it was intended as a storage facility or a shipping and receiving area as it was dark and my vision was hazy as I started to come to.
There was a table in the centre under the alabasterine ceiling light with all types of power tools and other instruments of torture.
I sat, tied up, in an incongruous-looking throne-like chair in carved maple with a ripped blue velvet seat. My wrists were bound to the arms of the chair and my ankles to the legs of the chair. A rope was passed three times across my chest, under my armpits and through the back of the chair. I could barely move. The knots were tight with very little “give” in them.
I was a prisoner, completely defenseless.
Regardless, I still looked smooth in my Cookie Monster Blue Custom Suit with the interior so purple, you might have thought I was from Grape Street. And some gators from Barbados and I have never seen anyone else play those.
Four large Russians in leather jackets stood around me smoking jacks and drinking.
I struggled, chafing my swollen wrists and contemplating with myself how much energy I would waste by resisting.
One of the large Russians lit up a cigarette, picked up a mini sledge hammer and smashed my knee cap.
My whole body went into an excruciating spasm, as I screamed and my whole body knotted up and perspiration flowed down my face, dampening my Custom Suit.
I deeply groaned in pain, from a place in my body that I never knew existed, and all I could think of was having a cigarette.
Another of the large Russians, who seemed to be the leader, walked up to me and said, “Tell us where the money is, and we can put a stop to this unfortunate trouble you have gotten yourself into.”
I have no idea what the cat is talking about as the last thing I remember is a 19 year old Russian girl giving me a shot of Black Balsam in a nightclub earlier in the night. At the current moment, I was really regretting coming to Riga, Latvia as I felt reminded of my fast life ventures.
He then says, “If you are not going to talk, the Game is over. This is the end.”
The Russian then nods to the sledge hammer Russian, who picks up a Dewalt power drill and turns in on, drill bit whirling…
I have been having some trippy dreams on this trip.
Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA The Seventh Letter
AKA Your favorite International Playboy’s favorite International Playboy
The Guide to Getting More out of Life