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.
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…”
Historically speaking, there has always been a “niche” for the handsome, CASH rich, Gentleman of Leisure in these “high-end pockets” of America. This sh*t has been going on for decades all the way back to The Jet Set Era.
I would even go as far to say that these spots are tailor made for me and my unique style of “Game Kung-Fu”, if you will. You know, kind of like how Marvis Frazier was tailor made for Mike Tyson:
So once again, The G Manifesto is going to break down the spots like only The G Manifesto does. (Seriously, has anyone else noticed that literally no one else on the Internet breaks down places like we do over here? I mean, I read these other cats sites sometimes and they never “name names”. And they never “call it out”.)
Here is a breakdown of the spot if you go:
Buccan
Ill spot to swoop fly girls. Open pretty late too. Never eaten here. Go after dinner for swooping. This is one of the main spots in Palm Beach for “one punch KO’s”. Post at the bar (the corner is The Vortex Zone) and work the couches.
Echo
Pretty dope sushi spot. Bar is dope. Keep in mind though, Florida sushi doesn’t compare to Wessyde sushi.
Bice
Not a bad spot. Good spot to swoop during after dinner cocktails. Probably the best Bice I have ever been to.
Cucina Dell’ Arte
This is the spot you want to swoop at. It’s basic. It’s like taking a Bankroll and drugs from a weak drug dealer. Or like taking candy from a baby. Whichever you prefer.
Roll both sides of bar, dance floor and outside for “smoke swoops”. Work the Vortex Zones. You can’t miss, kind of like Miles Simon during that one NCAA Championship.
Cafe Boulud
Place is pretty magical. Great food, great bar, and great outers for smoking grits. Bar is smooth and they have some live music rolling some nights.
Ta-Boo Restaurant
Lunch spot to chop and spit.
Testa’s Palm Beach Restaurant
Cocktail. Post up at Bar.
Leopard Lounge
Never been, but the place is legendary. I think one of the Kennedy’s died here or something. Need to check it. Supposed to be mad old heads, but maybe you can do some biz here. Or raise some capital.
The Breaker’s
The Seafood Room is ill. Great food. Strong drinks. Good bar. Great meeting place as well. Excellent Date Spot. I will break this down in the future.
Nick and Johnnie’s
Cocktail and spock. Post and Chop.
Palm Beach Steakhouse
Pretty dope. Had a dope night here.
Green’s Pharmacy
Real old-school lunch counter. Go.
Amici Market
Good spot to grab some high end meats and cheeses. And vino.
PB Catch
New spot. Smooth. Service is spotty, but it does the trick.
Trevini Ristorante
Good place for an opening salvo and cocktail.
Don’t forget, you also want to hit up Palm Beach Weddings, and Palm Beach Mansion Parties. But that takes a little infiltration into Palm Beach Society.
I really like the simplicity of Palm Beach. And the high-end aspect. It suits me.
“If your trap is attractive enough, the turbulence of your enemies’ emotions and desires will blind them to reality.” – Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power
“Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favors by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.” – Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658
I feel lethal, manic, on the verge of frenzy. I am foaming at the mouth. My nose is starting to bleed. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
I throw down my luggage in my apartment, hang my Custom Suits and I get the call:
This Super Fly Argentinian girl, who I met at Mint and haven’t swooped yet, wants me to meet her at her clothing store. She is getting off work soon. And she and her Brazilian girlfriend want to roll out with me. There are innuendos of a Ménage à trois. The evening has promise.
I step out and roll into the CVS on Lincoln Road to grab some chicle. I roll in the line to pay, and a Fly Blonde Russian girl on her cell phone looks at me and mouths “Hi” to me. How often does that happen when a girl is talking on the phone?
I pay for my gum and step outside and light up a grit. I am feeling invincible. I have been sparring a lot. It tends to do that to me.
The Fly Blonde Russian walks out and continues up Lincoln. I quicken the pace, and open: “Do you know which way Sushi Samba is?”, I ask her. (Of course, I know where it is, but it was the first thing that came into my mind.)
“Hi. I do. It is just up there.”, the Russian girl says pointing up Lincoln.
“Wait, my name is Michael Mason.” I say and give her a “two-kisses” greeting. I spit some Street Game and Number Crunch, as I am supposed to meet the Argentinian and Brazilian girls.
Game is on though.
I keep heading up Lincoln and get a text from the Argentinian:
Most people ignore me, but some tourists look at me strange. I have a fleeting thought and quickly dismiss them as from Red States.
I need to settle down though and light another smoke. I am checking my phone and smoking, when a Fly Cubana Girl rolls up on a bicicletta. (She is 21 years old.)
She asks me for a cigarette.
Looking down at my phone, I ignore her for a few beats (real artistic), and say, “Sure.” Hand her one. Then say, “You need a light?”
“Yeah”, she says. I bust out a sick reverse Zippo trick for style points.
We start talking. She is fly. Mad fly. No make up on. But then again, I have a thing for Fly Cubanas.
I start walking with her as she rides her bike. She is kind of hipstered out. But still, stunningly fly. You know the type. Since it is kind of awkward talking to her while she is riding her bike, I say, “Let’s have a seat over here”.
I start rapping out in Spanish and English mixed with her and she tells me she is breaking up with her boyfriend.
Perfect.
I am still supposed to meet the Argentinian and the Brazilian (and I get another text), but I want to hedge my bets like only a true International Playboy does. I tell her to go home and change clothes and meet me at Sushi Samba as I have to go to a “business meeting” right now. She is down. When we part (two kisses salutation) I tell her, “Remember, high-heels and a skirt.” She replies, “I know, you don’t have to tell me.” with a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while. My nervous system goes haywire for a split second. A drag of nicotine sparks my synapses and mellows me.
My mind is the enigma filled with broken pictures. The spiritual International Playboy can see clearer now.
I move up Lincoln and get another text from the Argentinian. I respond back, “Almost there”.
I finally get to the Argentinian and Brazilian. They are looking dope. But everything is off. I can’t get the young Cubana out of my mind.
I split as they are both being too difficult.
I roll into Sushi Samba and lock the place down as per usual. I met a cool Argentinian kid from Cordoba at the bar and we both start spitting mad Game at all the fly girls rolling by.
I shoot a text to the Cubana:
“Buisness meeting went perfect. Come meet me at Sushi Samba to celebrate”. (Smooth text).
She responds back right away, “Yaa! Getting out of the shower. See you there soon.”
It’s on. Got to like a girl that loves your success. And Glad I hedged my bets like Kyle Bass.
When she arrives, she is a vision of youthful beauty. She looks like a Cubana Pin-Up Model (which actually happens to be her job). We enter through the side door, as I have the doorman on lock. Her her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Salsa dance in Havana.
She has shed the hipster clothes and looks stunning in high heels like all Miami girls do.
We hit it off in dope style. She digs the young-dashing-handsome-mysterious-false grinning-soft spoken-with a wild side-well dressed-millionaire-smuggler type vibe that I give off. Like all Miami girls do.
She knows the DJ and tells him to play this track, which just came out at the time:
She dances by herself for me as every guy in Sushi Samba is checking her out. I stand at the bar, smoking a grit, Custom Suited Down; the envy of every guy in Sushi Samba.
She can really dance.
We get a few more drinks and split. She gives a little resistance, but I come with the “Above is the black poison clouds, You only got one life so enjoy it now” type illmatic Futuristic Game that even top players will finally catch on to in 5-10 years. So I’m not really sweating it.
On my exit, I shake a bunch of hands; guys giving me props, and people I know.
Am I Apostle or Beast? Either way, I am Colossal on Streets.
We get to my apartment. The key goes in the door and
