After detonating Shore Club, I roll up to Mint in Miami Beach, slap five with the doorman (you know who I am talking about), who says with an accent, “Nice suit, Michael”, and I respond “thanks, merci“ as I enter the arena.
Mint is popping like corn as usual; tons of fly girls, and the energy is sick.
I roll around, give a “two kisses” greeting to a Chilanga I sort of know and settle in for a Goose and Soda. Sixteen bucks. Not bad.
I am feeling great, and I am Custom Suited Down, so I start ripping the spot off the cord.
Number Crunch a fly Ecuadorian girl, and Number Crunch and kiss a fly Cubana. It’s on.
I take a little break, spark up a smoke, and then I see her: the flyest girl I have seen in Miami Beach. Or at least the flyest girl I have seen in a few hours.
She is tall, thin, and dancing like pop rocks mixed with Classic Coke. I catch my breath and make a move.
It is loud as f*ck, but I get her attention and whisper in her ear. She smiles. Pauses. Then unfortunately, continues dancing.
I pull out some big guns as I whisper in her ear again. She smiles. Kisses me on the cheek. Then unfortunately, continues dancing by herself.
I pull out and grab another cocktail to regroup; I look back over, this girl is fire like hillsides in Southern California during Santa Anas.
It then hits me; this girl is one of my favorite p0rnstars.
I have pretty much lost, but I kind of fancy myself as “Arturo Gatti of nightlife“, of sorts (as in, I often pull out spectacular knockouts from the brink of defeat), so I go back in.
I throw a hailmary left hook, and…miss.
She goes on dancing by herself. Unreal.
I think of pulling out the huge Bankroll I have in my pocket and “pitching” her, but I wisely decide against.
Oh well, even Arturo Gatti took losses.
Come to think of it, I think she only does lesbian p0rn these days.
After the p0rnstar debacle, I saw the flyest Mexicana girl smoking at the closest booth to the door with her friends. I have two Zippos in my pocket but I use The Greatest Opener of All Time.
Here is a near full proof, 3 Point plan to swoop girls on first dates:
So you met a fly girl out the other night. You have set the meeting with water tight Phone Game. So how do you make sure you won’t need a second date to swoop? Keep reading.
1. Restaurant for drinks
The first step is to have the fly girl meet you at a restaurant you have on lockdown. And when I say “on lockdown”, I really mean on lock: you know everyone there; the owner, his wife, the manager, the bartenders, the waitresses, the busboys, the chefs, the sous-chefs and the valets. It very well could be your Base of Operations.
As you enter with the fly girl, slap five with valets, give “two kisses” greetings to owner and his wife, shake hands and give “back slapps” to the waiters/busboys and a high five to the bartender and settle in to a couple of cocktails. If you have done your groundwork correctly, the place should kind of “go wild” when you enter and the feeling should be somewhat “electric”. Introduce your girl to the owner and his wife.
By this point, all but the most difficult girls are usually cooked and ready to be swooped. But we will “carry” them a few rounds a la Manny Pacquiao.
Pay for drinks with a Big Bankroll or if you got it smooth, get them “on the arm”. I shouldn’t have to tell you that this move must be done while Custom Suited Down.
If a girl asks you as soon as you sit down, “What is it that you do again?”, then you know you have done the first step correctly.
2. Restaurant (Sushi)
After a couple of drinks at the restaurant bar, have your driver slide up and take you a few blocks to the Sushi spot. Make the same entrance as the first spot, and bust a little Japanese to the hostess and slide into the crowded Sushi bar next to the #1 Chef. Everyone should be excited to see you as well.
From here, let your Sushi homie work his magic. The fresh Uni should be the closer Get a cold clear sake and enjoy the delicate high, fly pelican fly. Kanpai.
3. Lounge cocktails (optional)
The duck is cooked, but let’s just close the show right. Have your driver slide you to the dope lounge a block from your crib. Say “what up” to the hipster owners and managers give a “two kisses” to the hipster waitresses (even if it throws them off, as they are typically not accustomed to that greeting), slide to the bar, slap five with the bartender and cheers your drinks. Careful that she isn’t too buzzed up. Maybe get her a water for insurance purposes.
Polish them off and roll to crib while looking at the view of the city. Spark up a celebratory smoke. Put the key in the lock and make sure she doesn’t rip any buttons off your Custom Made Shirt before the door closes.
Miami Beach is a very intoxicating place; the ocean, mad amounts of fly girls (easily the most highly concentrated of any place in America), high heels, dresses, short skirts, drugs, late nights, succulent Comida Cubana, etc. It can also be a godforsaken cesspool. But one place can’t have it all, right?
However, as we have mentioned before, South Beach has been many a player’s “Waterloo”. Top ranked players from NYC end up looking like dorks on the beach because they rock wack beach gear. And as a result, they end up filleted. Top tier California playboys get put through the wood chipper since they are not used to the late nights, late dinning hours, rhythms of the night, and smoking in bars in South Beach (they can thank the Gov and the Police State California has become for that). Even top foreign G’s get battered and bruised.
Lucky for you, the reader, your humble author has one of the greatest track records of all time in South Beach.
Here are some of the biggest mistakes I see guys constantly making in South Beach:
1. Not wearing Custom Suits – South Beach is definitely Custom Suit turf. Amazingly, not that many cats bust them. Which in turn makes it more effective. If you dress in tight jeans or glittery Ed Hardy shirts, expect to get blanked in South Beach. However, on the plus side, you should find plenty in common with about 99% of the guys in America. So you will never be at a loss for friends to go out to the local sports bar and eat “Mondo Nachos” and “Jalapeño Poppers” with.
2. Not Street Gaming – Street Game is the Hanging Gardens of Babylon for swooping in South Beach.
3. Going into clubs “Cold” – Here is the thing with South Beach: the nightclubs are pretty difficult to swoop girls at. You need to have girls cooking before you roll to the club and use the club as a closing tool. If you understand this, you understand South Beach.
4. Not rolling to the restaurants – Sure, most South Beach restaurants are overpriced and the food is kind of wack. And it’s hard to get some decent sushi. But the restaurant bars in Miami are literally, Bolivian gold mines for swooping (and we all know where the price of Gold is today). Roll in Custom Suited Down and slide up to the Colombiana and Cubana in high heels and short skirts at the bar. Proceed accordingly.
(Side Note: I have thought for years that if someone opened up a legit traditional Sushi place in South Beach you would print money. Key words here being “legit traditional”. As a matter of fact, maybe I will talk to some of my Sushi guys when I get back to California.)
5. Not going after locals only tourists – Sure the tourists are easier to swoop on a one night basis, but the local Miami girls way more fly. Check out Brickell; and prepared to have your mind blown.
6. Not smoking – Choosing not to smoke is a horrible move in South Beach. By being a smoker, you get mad free leads. Plus, the health benefits from swooping tons of fly Latinas will easily counter act the “potential” risks from the inhalation of tobacco smoke.
9. Not speaking Spanish – You are going to need to speak at least little Spanish and hold a conversation in Spanish if you really want to come up Aces in South Beach. Other languages help as well. I would say I typically speak about 40% English – 60% Spanish (and other languages) when I am in Miami.
10. Not Dancing – You are going to have to dance if you want to close in South Beach. Here is the Salsa Swoop Move.
11. Being undercapitalized – Sure, you might be able to swoop girls in South Beach if your Game is super tight and your broke. But why make it hard on yourself? South Beach girls love that Young, Handsome, Dashing, Rich, International Playboy in the Custom Suit with the big Bankroll. Why do it any other way? Anything less would be uncivilized.
The other advantage is you can really be a “bully with the bucks” in South Beach. So you really might as well hit hard like Camacho and Vargas and peg the market.
There is one spot in the bar that has your best odds for sleeping with a high number of quality girls. The way that that spot’s strengths and weaknesses combine with your strengths and weaknesses create a special zone where your game will be more effective than any other spot. It is your duty as a man to find out which spot that is and commit the time to reaping the rewards that it contains.
I have been meaning to write on the subject for years. (And although it might seem like it is some “other sh*t” it is really some “next level sh*t”.)
International Playboys refer to these “spots” that Roosh is referring to as Vortex Zones in Bars, Restaurants and Nightclubs. Vortex spots are places where you can just post up Custom Suited Down and straight chop fly girls. The advantage of Vortex Points is you don’t have to walk around chasing girls; instead, you “position” yourself in an establishment and let the prey come to you.
Think of the mighty Leopard (conincidentally, the most effective hunter in the jungle, percentage-wise), he kicks back, handmade loafers up, while smoking a grit and pounces on his prey. Or waits in the weeds in the “traffic lanes” (we have discussed this before in regards to Gentleman’s Clubs) and then makes the kill. You want to do the same thing here.
Recognizing these Vortex Zones however is somewhat tricky as every spot is a little different.
Here is a little EZ guide to help you recognize these Zones:
2. Stairways inside Bars, Restaurants and Nightclubs are more often than not, Vortex Points of sorts. Dig in at the top or bottom of the stairwell and enjoy the free leads. For whatever reason, fly girls are always going up and down stairs at nightlclubs. (Side note: Sometimes over-zealous bouncers hate when you do this. Grease them.)
3. On “U Shaped Bars” the Vortex Points are always the corners. These are similar to the center squares of the chess board. Control them.
4. On “L Shaped Bars” the Vortex Point is also the corner. This is akin to the “center of the ring in Boxing”. Keep everyone at the “end of your punches”, so to speak.
5. If the establishment you are in has a “resident Bean Flipper” or “resident Beek Twister”, the area where he is flipping is undoubtedly the Vortex Zone. Make sure you kick it with him and cook leads.
Once you locate these Vortex Zones, protect them like an old neighborhood street corner.
Anyone who reads The G Manifesto knows I don’t get impressed easily by modern day nightlife in general or modern day nightclubs in particular. Especially in America which has been on a heavy downward slide (in fact, if I was the owner of even some of the best American nightclubs I would commit suicide because of the pathetic product they are serving up). In Bogotá however there are a couple of places that impressed the hell out of me:
Andres Carne de Res
The New York Times called Andres Carne de Res “profound, spellbinding, beautiful, tumultuous, confusing and fattening all at once“. I am not sure about the “fattening” part, but it’s a pretty accurate description. Andres Carne de Res does that thing that seems to be impossible to do in America: combining a great restaurant with a great nightclub. Even more amazing is that is does both at the same time.
Here is how the place breaks down:
- Five or Six floors with a couple of “half floors”
- holds 1200 people ( I did some math in my gulliver and the place is clocking un-Godly dough)
- Way more girls than guys
- Insane meat grinds
- Great Service (It is incredible that this place even functions with all the mayhem and food service, but it does)
- Open super late
- Mindblowing energy levels
- Performace art
- Everyone, and I mean everyone is dancing non-stop
Fly girls, steaks served at all hours, crazy dancing? I think I found heaven on Earth.
(Side note: the original is outside the city in Chia. I didn’t go, but it is supposed to hold 3000 people. I can only imagine how dope that place is.)
Salto del Angel
Kind of similar to Andres Carne de Res only smaller and the food isn’t quite as good.
Insane Vibe, dancing and fly girls though.
Your life wouldn’t be complete without at least 20 nights in each of these places.
And swooping mass amounts of fly Colombianas while you are at it.
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
Former Irish-American, Chicago Bears quaterback Jim McMahon has been in the news recently:
When Jim McMahon played for the Bears, quarterbacks were not protected the way they are today in the NFL.
“Back then, it was just tape an aspirin to your helmet and you go back in,” McMahon told us Friday at the Super Bowl XX Bears reunion. “I’ve worked with some neurosurgeons and it’s a very serious thing, man.
“My memory’s pretty much gone. There are a lot of times when I walk into a room and forget why I walked in there. I’m going through some studies right now and I am going to do a brain scan. It’s unfortunate what the game does to you.”
I have said before that I think the last full football game I have watched was the 1985 Chicago Bears Superbowl win when I was a little cub.
Although I didn’t grow up in Chicago, my grandfather and father lived there, when they traded the mean streets of Belfast, Ireland for the mean streets of Chicago’s Southside.
So, as a young little Baby G, I always liked the Chicago Bears.
Jim McMahon, who played football the way you are supposed to (all heart), was a two-time All-American (1980, 1981) in college, constantly told the NFL establishment to f*ck off, and led the Bears to the Superbowl title.
Winning the Superbowl, however, is not why Jim McMahon makes The G Manifesto Hall of Fame, as plenty of weesh guys have a Superbowl Ring. Jim McMahon, makes The G Manifesto Hall of Fame because of what he did the night before the big game.
(Side note: Legend has it that, earlier in the week, at Felix’s Restaurant and Oyster Bar, on of my all-time favorite spots, The Fridge had reportedly sucked down four dozen oysters and a vat of gumbo.)
In the bar, he famously said: “You’ve got to teach your body who’s boss! If you’re feeling down, go out and abuse it again. If you don’t test your body, it will never learn how to respond.”
After a while, a bunch of New England Patriots walked in the bar, got a water or some crap and then headed back to their hotel to make sure they got a good nights sleep before the big game.
Legend also has it, McMahon, then yelled, cigarette and beer in hand, to the Patriots as they were leaving: “You p*ssies, we are going to kick your ass tomorrow!”
And they did. 46-10.
Now that’s G.
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
Jim McMahon Chicago Bears Highlights 1985
Chicago Bears-Super Bowl Shuffle (As wack as this is, the Bears are better than 90% of modern day rappers. And at least there is no auto-tune).
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 decide to get some culture in me, so I check out Latvijas Okupācijas muzejs or in English, The Museum of the Occupation of Latvia. Definitely, worth checking out. Real depressing though. Here is the basic rundown of the spot and the recent history of Latvia:
1. The Soviets took over Latvia and screwed them over.
2. The Nazi’s took over Latvia from the Soviets and screwed them over.
3. The Soviets took back over Latvia from the Nazi’s and screwed them over again.
Something like 550,000 people died, were murdered or disappeared. About 1/3 of the population. Not too many bright spots either. Like I said, pretty depressing stuff.
As I was leaving the Museo, I get a text from an 18 year old girl, named Karina, I met during a Street Game Session the day before while getting a SIM card from Rimi.
She wants to roll tonight.
She is not the flyest girl I have met by a long shot in Riga, but I figure 1) She’s 18 years old, 2) She speaks English really well, and 3) The whole affair has the promise of entertainment value and I can learn about the culture.
So I agree to meet up.
After another Vampire Nap, I get dipped and roll to meet her.
When I see her, she is with a girlfriend named Inga. 19 years old and super fly. Smooth. How often does that happen?
I roll with the two girls to get some drinks and these girls are buying me some Vodka shots, so I start to chip back away at the Scam dollars lost. The conversation is real basic stuff, which I actually prefer, as my Russian and Latvian skills are pretty weesh, and the two girls English is pretty basico, although Karina speaks pretty good.
Karina gets up to go to the bathroom at one spot, and Inga kisses me. It’s on like Eazy-E.
We roll to some weesh club, but it hardly matters as a “weesh club” still has mad fly girls in it, being we are in Riga, Latvia.
The night starts getting a little hazy, and I start rapping out with other girls and locking the place down Boa Constrictor Style ie The Bouncers, Bartenders and Waitresses.
I sit down and start talking to two fly Russian girls named Anna, and I think Christina. I notice there is some Russian cat kind of giving me the ice grill, but I pay him no mind.
The conversation with the two Russian girls is going smooth and according to plan as I Number Crunch the more fly of the two.
One of the girls says something in Russian to the cat ice grilling me which I take to mean “Beat it” or something. My Russian language skills are not too dope. She then tells me, “Don’t worry about him, he’s drunk.”
I respond, “I am not worried”. I glance over at him to see what he is up to then commence to spitting Game, my back turned to Mad Dogging Russian.
I continue with some dope story when I feel a pain in my neck. Russian Homeboy Karate Chops me from behind!
Unreal. When was the last time you were Karate Chopped? Maybe 4th Grade?
I stand up, Russian Homeboy backs off (he is pretty big), and I get ready to let him hear the birdies chirp.
The Russian girls jump in between us and I hesitate. I am not sure why? Maybe its maturity? Or maybe I don’t want to spend time in a freezing Latvian prison? But I don’t light up the Russian kook with a combo.
One of the Russian girls runs and gets one of the Bouncers I locked down earlier.
The bouncer comes out and grabs the Russian guy and ejects him from the club, using his head to open the door.
I trip out for a moment trying to make sense of what just happened, cause I want to know what’s going on like Marvin, but after a second of that nonsense, I do another shot of Black Balsam.
I continue raging till 6am trying to convert some of these leads back to my hotel to kick up their high-heeled boots, to no avail.
Good night though. Two physical confrontations in three days. Not bad.
But just like that, I go 0-3 in Riga, Latvia.
(Well, technically I am 0-3 on swooping girls in Riga, Latvia, but I am 1-0-1 on the physical confrontation tip. We will rule tonight’s action with the Karate Chop Kid, a draw.)