“That fake Al Capone sh*t we don’t condone. I am about to turn this whole Game into a funeral home”. – Keith Murray
We already know that America is on a heavy downslide.
It always amazes me when I get back to The States from my travels around the world is how many guys in America are walking little dogs.
It’s pathetic, from a Style standpoint, and annoying because, I am trying to get my roadwork in and get to my Boxing Gym. The little dogs are never trained and clog up the sidewalk.
If you think about it (which I try not to), it is either guys actually wanting little dogs as pets, or guys walking the little dogs of their girlfriends as a slave favor.
Both options are despicable.
Keep in mind, I don’t really condone the phoney goateed, sleeve tatted steez cat, thinking he is causing a crime wave with his pitbull either.
But honestly, I feel less nauseous after drinking 20 Goose and sodas and eating 3 quesadillas with extra guac than I do after seeing a guy walking a little dog.
Someone has to put a stop to this.
I am kind of surprised that The Chinese or The Russians don’t just make a move on US now while we are at our weakest.
Roberts returned from Vietnam to New York with screws and a metal plate in his head — the aftermath of an explosion. By the time he was 20, he was one of New York’s biggest nightclub impresarios, rubbing shoulders with everyone from Jimi Hendrix to John Lennon.
But after a business partner turned up dead and an informant told the police Roberts was involved, he hightailed it to sunny Miami. The year was 1975.
“When I first came to Miami, I wasn’t smuggling: I was like all the other dealers on the street just trying to make a living, and it got to a point where I had so much business that these people just couldn’t supply me,” he says.
That’s when Roberts shifted from being a drug dealer to a drug importer for the Colombian Medellin cartel.
Importing paid well: By the end of 1976, Roberts says he was moving 50 kilos of cocaine worth $500,000 or more a month. Roberts was living it up: He had half a dozen servants, a Porsche, multiple houses, dozens of race horses and friends in high places, including the Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar.
The U.S. government labeled Roberts the “American Representative” of the Medellin cartel; he became known as “the bearded gringo” on Miami’s streets.
Roberts and a few American partners created a highly advanced drug-smuggling system that included secret airfields, listening posts to eavesdrop on Coast Guard communications, and homing beacons for tracking cocaine shipped by sea.
“We ended up getting, up by Tampa, a 450-acre farm and it was all surrounded by trees and we put two runways in there and we put hangars in for the planes to go in,” Roberts says.
Their drug-smuggling schemes stymied the U.S. government for nearly a decade.
Death came for Jon Roberts, the infamous cocaine cowboy, on Dec. 28 at age 63, after a long battle with cancer. But his public career as a charming monster is just beginning
A true-crime memoir, “American Desperado” (Crown; $28), written with journalist Evan Wright, has just been published. In Hollywood, director Peter Berg and star Mark Wahlberg are developing a movie based on his exploits.
Dying at his ease in Fort Lauderdale in the company of a devoted younger spouse and his 11-year-old son Julian, product of an earlier marriage, was an improbable end for a man who never repudiated his lifelong philosophy that “evil is stronger than good.”
“How many times have I encountered a crooked politician who wants to establish he’s a nice guy, or a killer who wants you to think he’s a good guy at heart,” says Wright. “I was fascinated because here is a guy who has done monstrous things and he’s not trying to portray himself as a nice guy or a victim.”
As Roberts tells Wright in “American Desperado,” “I might be a sociopath. Most of the time I’ve been on this earth I’ve had no regard for human life. That’s been the key to my success.”
If “American Desperado” is to be believed, Jon Roberts beat people to death in New York, skinned enemy POWs alive in Vietnam, and helped a future CIA agent murder famed mobster Meyer Lansky’s stepson in Miami – with Lansky’s approval.
Roberts first came to national attention as one of the stars of “Cocaine Cowboys,” a Miami-produced documentary that was a surprise hit in 2006. The film details the early 1980s, when Miami became a nearly lawless place awash in cocaine, violence and corruption.
As an American representative of the Medellin Cartel, Roberts helped import some $2 billion worth of cocaine into South Florida, working with infamous figures like Albert San Pedro, Pablo Escobar, Bobby Seal, Max Mermelstein and Bobby Erra.
“He’s a killer,” says Wright, author of the acclaimed Iraq War book, “Generation Kill.” “The notion that Jon is a monster because he kills people doesn’t disqualify a person in my code of life. He’s a killer — let’s move on from there. Let’s find out more.”
Last night, I spoke to Roberts’ smuggling partner and costar in Cocaine Cowboys, the laid-back and quirky Mickey Munday, with whom he had epic disagreements. The last time Munday saw Roberts, he recalls, was at a Miami restaurant with Peter Berg — where the cancer-stricken old criminal vowed to kill Munday before he kicked the bucket: “Before I go, I’m going to get you.”
“I told him: ‘If I had a bucket list, I might put that blonde over there on it,'” Munday says. “‘But not whacking somebody who’s known me for 25 years.'”
“I always thought that he would beat this, I really did,” Munday told me. “If anybody could, it was him, because he’s the meanest son of a bitch I knew. If cancer could get to him it could get to anybody.”
Munday later texted me, referring to Roberts’ nemesis Mermelstein, who also died of cancer: “I hope Jon is kicking Max from one end of Hell to the other.”
Here is a real innovative move that I just dug from the crates of The Chambers of The G Manifesto:
One of my attorneys introduced me to couple of real estate cats who owned this building with a restaurant on the first floor and some office spaces on the second floor.
The interesting thing about this building was that it was previously owned by some Albania or Russian Organized cats (I forget which) and they had a bar on the lowers and a gambling den (maybe some hookys) on the second floor.
Since the second floor was a little vice ridden, they installed a “secret door” that you could access from this little stairway in the restaurant. There was a button you pushed, and then the wall rose straight up. Real smooth.
Surprisingly, the multi-colored striped-shirted real estate cats that bought the building actually had the style and taste to keep the “secret door” which lead now to some office spaces.
When they showed it to me, I instantly rented one of the office spaces. Not to do work of course, but to swoop fly girls.
I would take girls to the restaurant below (which was actually pretty decent with a chef with some pretty heavy Wolfgang Puck pedigree) and say, “Let me show you something.”
I would then lead them up the stairway, walk to the wall, and hit the button for the “secret door”. The key would be to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, just a normal night in the life.
Girls would always be amazed.
I would then show them my “office” and go for the swoop.
It was really that easy.
Everyone should try to incorporate this move into their repertoire.
Since I happen to be in Belfast visiting family, and since this is probably not getting to much coverage in America, check it:
East Belfast riots ‘a wake-up call’, says Baggott
Two nights of riot mayhem this week are a “wake-up call” for Northern Ireland, PSNI chief constable Matt Baggott has warned.
Speaking as First Minister Peter Robinson and deputy First Minister Martin McGuinness pledged to work to try to prevent a repeat of the violence in east Belfast, the police chief spoke of his sadness that the province was taking “two steps forward and one step back”.
It is understood Mr Robinson yesterday met UVF leaders as part of efforts to maintain calm. After briefing the Policing Board on details of the flashpoint flare-up, Mr Baggott also claimed dialogue is key to avoiding a summer of trouble and tension.
He said: “We should recognise that in some places the peace is fragile and it’s a wake-up call to us all to redouble our efforts to make Northern Ireland the safe, prosperous place everybody wants.”
With a senior civil servant tasked with investigating the problems in east Belfast, First Minister Peter Robinson said the focus was on avoiding a repeat of the chaos which damaged the reputation of the province in the week of golfer Rory McIlroy’s US Open triumph.
“Where there are genuine concerns, we want to help,” he said. “We represent and care about this whole community and we want to hear what it has to say.”
Many media commentators, some London-based, some local, who spend little time on the ground in places like the Lower Newtownards Road or Short Strand, bought into the line that this latest conflagration was the result of spontaneous working class loyalist anger.
They argued that, because loyalist paramilitaries had no representation in the Stormont parliament or that because socioeconomic or educational attainment was low in poor Protestant areas around eastern Belfast, these communities suddenly erupted in anger.
In doing so, the commentators swallowed a fairy tale as faux as the make-believe pirate battles on Sunday.
Returning from a short break in the west of Ireland, I bumped into a resident of the Short Strand on the Dublin to Belfast train last Friday morning. She is a woman I have known for more than 30 years, who has no love for republican paramilitaries or wants, in any way, to see a return to violence.
Over the two and a half hour journey north, she explained in grim detail how her home in one end of the Short Strand district was attacked while her daughter’s house was subjected, simultaneously, to a similar bombardment in another part of the area.
She explained that the sortie began with military precision around 9pm on Monday, that all of those who attacked their homes were wearing surgical gloves, masks and combat uniforms, that they arrived with wheelie bins stuffed with bricks, bottles and other missiles, and that the entire attack appeared to be well organised.
