Here is a new move from the most recent Chambers of The G Manifesto:
First things first, take some lessons and get your Salsa Game up to Par. The beauty of The Salsa Swoop Move is you don’t have to get great at Salsa, you just need to be better than a typical gringo, which isn’t saying much.
Now it doesn’t matter if in is Cali, Cartagena, Barcelona, Miami Beach, Medellin, Republica Dominicana , San Juan or Bayamon, just roll in the salsa spot like the Don Juan behind the Don.
Approach a fly girl or group of fly girls like you normally would rolling Dolo, like Tony without Manolo.
Being an American, sooner or later, the conversation will come around and she will ask you “What kind of music do you like?”
Always respond, “Música Latina, Salsa”.
She will then inevitably ask you if you dance Salsa.
Say, “No, I never have, but I think I can pick it up pretty quick, can you show me?”
She will always say “Of course”.
The trap is now set.
Once you start dancing, you “pick it up pretty quick” and start busting some ill Salsa. Any mistakes only give more authenticity to the move of just “learning it on the spot”.
Once she sees your Salsa Game, she will be amazed, her eyes will dilate, and falling for you, she will have an “A-ha” moment of sorts.
From here, it’s your Game to lose, Oh my Brothers.
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
http://www.thegmanifesto.com
I just remembered one of the standout moments of this era.
In our shanty apartment complex near the beach, there was a superintendent, lets call him Joe. Joe, having seen first hand all our skulduggery and all the young fly beach girls we were swooping was obviously a huge fan of us.
He would even tell us when girls would come by when we weren’t at home.
One day, after pulling some slob airs, and getting lifted, we rolled back to our crib and Joe said to us, “Hey, guys, two really hot blond girls came by your apartment when you were gone”.
I responded, “Which blond girls?”
Joe shook his head, laughed and said to us, “Enjoy it while you can.”
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
http://www.thegmanifesto.com
Here is a little story of when I was a younger prototype G.
At the time, things were getting hot for my Running Partner and I in America. So we moved some green like Minnesota Fats, and rolled down to Costa Rica and Panama for an extended stay.
After relaxing in the jungle and indulging on olas to the brain, it was time to move back. Actually, we were out of dough. In fact, we were so broke that we literally only had enough money to rent an studio apartment in the worst building in our hood. Granted, our “hood” was one of the most beautiful and wealthy beach towns in Southern California, and a block from the beach. Still, it was pretty much a shanty.
That all being said, I can barely remember a time when I swooped so many fly girls as in that crappy crib. We would roll down to the beach daily, spitting The Greatest Pick up Line of All Time and roll girls back up. Once back in the crib, all we had was two beds on the floor, so swooping was basic. A real minimalist approach, if you will. All hours of the day and night, we had fly rich beach girls knocking on our door.
In short order though, we got back in biz, got our Bankrolls tight and we could move out.
With all the girls we were swooping, I remember having second thoughts.
Bottom line, Game will take you a lot further than a dope crib.
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
http://www.thegmanifesto.com
The words I am about to express:
They now have their own crowned goddess. – Leandro Diaz
IT WAS INEVITABLE: the scent of Aguila and Aguardiente always reminded me of the fate of unrequited love; as I cold kicked back in a dope Tapas bar in Cartagena, Colombia with a fly Costeña named Lilia. We were grinding croquetas de pescado and Lomo Roquefort, while she was drinking Coco con Limon.
And yes, I always stay crispy clean; I got style, finesse, plus a nifty lean, whenever I hit the scene down here.
We were the last ones in the restaurant and it seemed like it was about to close; when in walked a party of nine. I made a mental note that the restaurant staff kind of jumped to attention. One of the ladies in the party, asked for a cenicero and sparked up. I noticed this as odd since smoking is mostly eradicated in Cartagena. I jumped on the opportunity and asked for a cenicero as well. And I also sparked up.
As I smell the aromatic fumes of gold cyanide, I notice something peculiar about the party of nine now seated in the restaurant. The table consists of one cat, dressed in white linen from head to toe and 8 women. The cat has mad presence.
He gets up to go to the restroom passes by me and gives me a smile. A “Game recognizes Game” type situation if you will.
It is only after he returns to his seat that our camarera informs us that the cat is none other than Gabriel García Márquez.
Truth be told, even though my girl was more fly than any girl at Gabriel García Márquez’s table, I have to give the victory to him.
Table with eight girls?
Camareras jumping to his every move?
Allowing smoking?
80 years old and straight rolling Playboy style?
Gabriel García Márquez unanimous decision over Michael Porfirio Mason.
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
http://www.thegmanifesto.com
I have said it before, and I will say it again: I have never been one to play a “big shot”, it’s just the styles I got, that keep my Game hot.
And I am a pretty humble cat. I readily admit where my Game has flaws. I have said before that my Tech Game is slack. And I have mentioned previously that my IPhone, Twitter and Facebook Game are sub-par. And I have admitted that my Text Message Game is a glaringly faulty.
Here is another area where I haven’t done as well as I thought I could have: Swooping Fly West Coast Hipster Girls.
Now, don’t get it twisted, I have swooped tons of these girls. Probably more than whomever the hell the top hipster guy is. Still, my resume is a little spotty, unlike say my track record VS Exotic Dancers or wealthy daughters of Eastern European Oligarchs or wealthy hijas of Latin Society. In those areas, my win-loss record is the stuff of legends. Kind of similar, to Rocky Marciano.
Anyways, being a patron of the arts, I went to this Hipster/Wimpster Art gig a few weeks back.
Instead of going with my usual Custom Suit wearing, Zippo Clacking, Thick Bankrolling self (which I diagnosed as one of my issues with swooping these girls) I decided to switch up speeds like Bruce Lee driving the Fuji in the movie.
As I got dressed for the gig, I threw on some plaid pants that I had Custom Made (think Drugstore Cowboy, not Fuzzy Zoeller), an argyle type sweater I picked up in Milan, and an Italian Leather Jacket I grabbed in London.
Keep in mind, I have no idea if this is how a hipster “male” dresses, but they were the only things in my wardrobe that were pseudo “hipster like”.
Fast forward to the Art gig.
I viddy a couple of young fly hipster girls smoking some grits and I use it as an opportunity to ask for a light even though I have two Dunhill lighters in my pocket.
They ask me what I do for a living.
I respond, “I am a solopreneur.”
They ask me where I live.
I say, “In those new condos in XXXXXXX, by that ‘Starchitect‘ named XXXXX XXXXXX.”
They ask where I got my plaid pants.
I don’t tell them I got them Custom made and simply respond, “Vintage”.
The two girls are digging my steez. Although, when one hipster girl pointed to a Wimpster guy and said, “I hate that guy, I ‘de-Friended’ him” and I responded, “You should twitter that”, they kind of looked at me funny.
Regardless, I invite the flyer of the two West Coast Hipster Girls over to the makeshift bar sponsored by some weird Vodka company at the art gig as the other West Coast Hipster girl starting talking to some Wimpster guy.
Things were going smooth.
I almost blew the whole heist though, when I pulled out a huge 4 G Bankroll out of my pocket to pay for the weird Acai Vodka and sodas.
The fly hipster girl looked at me strange, but in a heads up play, I quickly asked her, “Is this Vodka Artisanal?” “Or is it an organic farm to table free-range Vodka?” and got her off the subject of my cashroll.
After some more small talk, kissing her, more drinks, meeting a bunch of Wimpsters, a venue change and at one point, I even made myself cringe when I said, “I really have become a Locavore, of sorts…lately”. I finally maneuvered myself back to the fly hipster girls crib.
Cartagena data sheets coming soon. Till then, I will be getting mad shoulder rubs, drinking Aguila, shooting Aguardiente, putting together export deals, banging out salsa, grinding arepas con queso, all the while dressed in the lightest of fabrics.
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
http://www.thegmanifesto.com
