In the expert opinion of your humble author, I have found that the key to South Beach is Swagger.
You really need to “taunt” South Beach, “clown” South Beach and “own” South Beach.
Kind of like this:
If you hang out in South Beach in winter, you might have even see me jump up on the planters on Lincoln Road, Custom Suited Down, grit in mouth and shout, “I am Young, I’m Handsome, I’m Fast, I’m Pretty and Can’t possibly be beat!” to no one in particular.
Now I am not saying you need to disrespect the people of South Beach, I am saying you need to simply be a Nightlife Maestro: Dress Razor Sharp, Carry Big Bankrolls, Display mad Language Game and don’t take any shorts.
Stick your chin out to South Beach, make it miss, and come back with flashy combinations.
Basically you want to harness Pernell Whitakers boxing steez into your Nightlife Steez:
Give it a shot.
And watch your Model swoop and fly Latina girl swoop numbers rise accordingly.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
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
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.
I’m lushin Russian women, via satellite I’m watchin
I dare a n-gga say he want to battle me, I’ll crush ya
Even blind girls rush next to Hammera and scream out
“Oh my gosh, get the camera
~ Slick Rick (w/Rae), Frozen
These Russian Models (FTV, FYI) are mad, mad fly and I’ve been running into them (so to speak) more and more on the international scene. The distinguishing feature about Russian women is they are women in every inch. They dress for men, they expect gentlemen to be gentlemen, and they don’t take any bullshit. Unlike other haute couture model types, these enigmatic girls have a unique modus operadi that I dig. Or maybe it’s the sinister accent. Maybe it’s the ice cold attitude.
So cold I need theraflu,
I’m so high I need parachutes,
I’m error proof, I’m never spooked,
and my suit, heaven blue.
Let me share with you some personal maxims I live by when swooping these krutay dorogaya’s… check the technique so you can come correct:
• You have to have G appeal. Scratch that, you have to be G… 24/7
• Always be a polite and well-mannered G. Real Russian women dislike men being rude and ill-bred.
• You are intimidated by nothing. Fearless. (Russian woman do not tolerate weesh suckas.)
• Thick bankrolls & pockets stuffed like Thanksgiving; ability to flash cash like Coltrane brass, but not sweatin’ it like trendsetting it. (side note: don’t count $$ in front of them — cream on the inside, clean on the outside.)
• Grits. Keep it pugilistic (or ballistic, in the case of my .38 snubby), ie. Must be able to kick-ass in a fight, because with girls this fly it’s gonna go down (frequently) with douchebags attempting to cramp your style.
• You have to be able to drink like a man, as in, you have to be able drink more vodka than a Russian Grizzly bear (and still be able to handle yourself). Zapoi.
• Russians, much like the French, have an admiration for outlaws, mafioso types and G’s.
• Your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness.
• Stay unpredictable (but thinking of a Master Plan, like Chilly Tee said, gotta keep ahead, gotta keep my head).
• Don’t supplicate (I’m not even sure that word exists in Russian vocabulary).
• Aggressive, yet mellow and cool.
They look at me as that cat that know how to box, know about glocks, know about runnin’ from cops and switchin’ up spots.
Get out my shit, Please let me be, I don’t see why — you KGB
Why you gotta be all up on me like that, Trying to get over
like a fat rat, but I understand — I’m a woman in the land of hip-hop
And the shit don’t stop, it goes on, on, on, on
You see the shit don’t stop till the break of dawn
And now who makes it liver than a hip-hop, scuba diver, chillin with
a pina colada, kidada hooked me up with Tommy now I gotta
lot of gear from everywhere that I’d like to share (yeah right!)
Entropy beat me to the punch (so to speak) on this post. My comments in Bold:
“models”: This is 90% of the “models” you run into in bars and clubs. The girl who says, “Oh, I used to model some,” or “I do a little modeling on the side.” What this translates into: she’s a prettiest one of her friends, all of which said she should try modeling.
Unfortunately, this is where most of the “I hooked up with a model last summer” or “She’s so hot, she used to model” stories come from.
These girls are almost more common in nightclubs than wack guys in glittery gay Ed Hardy shirts in the “Sand States”. Want to go to the easiest place in America to swoop these girls? Go to Las Vegas young G.
models: Lower-case ‘m’ models actually went a step further. They sent their portfolios out, they actually strutted in a couple shows, maybe their picture was actually used in a local magazine or on some club flyer or something. Still, these girls were never full-time professional. Regardless, this is the clear cut off for “this girl is legit hot.” Don’t care how small-time the show is, but you don’t walk a runway if you’re less than an 8.5.
Some of these girls end up in the Maxim “hometown honeys” section or Playboy’s College issue or becoming cheerleaders for sports-teams.
Some of these girls also end up in P0rn. Or high class escorting on the side.
Models: Models with a capital ‘M’. These are your legit, real-life 10’s. The women you see in Vogue, AX ads, Abercrombie posters. These are legit full-time models, bringing in solid money, traveling the world circuit between NYC, Paris, Milan and Asia.
NYC is the best place to swoop these girls in America. South Beach in the wintertime. French Riviera in summertime.