The G Manifesto

Brazilian Girls, Los Angeles and Custom Suits

“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.

I also get involved in this one:

“…just got back from Latvia”, I say

“Where?”

“Latvia”

“Where?”

“Latvia. Kind of near Estonia”.

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.

It’s on.

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.

I bust a Double Cigarette Light Move, I kiss her and notice the tactility of her Brazilian curves.

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

http://www.thegmanifesto.com

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.

Ya Boy & Dr. Hollywood – We Run La( with lyrics)

Saying Goodbye to Girls

Click Here for The G Manifesto’s How to Swoop 100 Fly Girls Per Year

One of the downsides of being a jet-setting, International Playboy on the rise and on the move is you have to say goodbye to girls you have spent passionate nights with.

Saying goodbye to girls in and of itself is not too bad, what is bad is you have to deal with dramatic, tear-filled farewells in train stations, hotel lobbies, and airports. Not smooth.

One thing I have learned to minimize this hassle is to leave early in the morning. And I mean real early.

No matter how much a girl will miss you, if she is mad tired, the tear-filled Arrivederci will be avoided. As will be the potential tear drops, make up and snot on your Custom Made Suit.

So next time you swoop a fly girl, make your exit and say Peace, Au Revoir, Adios, Paalam, じゃまたね, Selamat tinggal, Dasvidania, Ciao, Tchau, or Uz drīz redzēšanos!, make sure you do it in the early am.

Click Here for The G Manifesto’s How to Un-Pick up Girls

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

Remember when KRS-ONE snuffed these guys?

Set Adrift On Memory Bliss – PM Dawn

Latvian Girls VS American Girls

Click Here for The G Manifesto’s In Defense of Wesley Snipes

Here is a little comparison for “the grass isn’t always greener” crowd that I think will put things in perspective.

My Flight from Los Angeles to New York: Zero Fly Girls on the plane

My Flight from New York to London: Zero Fly Girls on the plane

My Flight from London to Riga, Latvia: 8 Fly Girls (all Latvian Girls and/or Russian Girls) and one Knockout Punch on the plane

My Flight from Riga, Latvia to London: 12 Fly Girls (all Latvian Girls and/or Russian Girls) and two Knockout Punches on the plane

My Flight from London to New York: Zero Fly Girls on the plane

My Flight from New York to Los Angeles: Zero Fly Girls on the plane

Any questions?

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

Source

Nas feat. Quan – Just A Moment

Sixth Night in Riga, Latvia: Reverse Rocky Marciano

Click Here for How to Pick up Strippers

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

Finally, after a successful Succulent Youth fly Latvian girl swoop in Riga, I am finally firing punches from all angles. Even the super trippy dreams I have been having can’t slow me down.

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?”

My Salsa Game is getting mad tight since I was in Cartagena.

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.”

Interesting.

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 can only think one thing: Riga is tough.

Click Here for How to Pick up Strippers

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

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

Fourth Night in Riga, Latvia: Succulent Youth

Click Here for How to Pick up Strippers

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

“With most women his manner was a mixture of taciturnity and passion. The lengthy approaches to a seduction bored him almost as much as the subsequent mess of disentanglement.” – Ian Fleming

“If you catch me sexing a chick, its a bisexual chick or something foriegn, I’ll never forget” – Juelz Santana

I go to bed (and I don’t mean Club B.E.D in South Beach either) after another brutal, blood bath of a night in Riga, Latvia.

I wake up feeling pretty brutalized, and contemplate pulling an Amsterdam Nap, as frustration, depression and suicidal thoughts start to consume me.

I shake those thoughts off, thankfully, and decide instead to Enter The Dragon, late in the Riga afternoon. During a jump rope session by the Daugava, little Latvian kids and some teenage girls stop to watch me in action. I can’t really blame them as they probably thought they were witnessing a young Roberto “Manos de Piedra” Duran in action.

The pseudo-Celebrity I am gaining in Riga, Latvia, bolsters my resolve and contemplate what I am going to do for the evening (Friday Night). After a shower, I go on a little reconnaissance to check out the nightlife scene, which, surprisingly, has been somewhat lackluster so far.

Friday night is definetly on in Latvia. The streets, bars and energy are heightened 10 fold compared to Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night. Dope. I do notice that there are some sightings of the infamous, goofy “Stag Parties” I have been warned about. But nothing that can’t be overcome.

Now, I am caught in a classic dilemma after two nights of raging till 6 am:

– Should I pack it in early and save it for Saturday night as I only feel 80%?
– Or should I just power through Friday Night, beat up, and also feel sub-par on Saturday Night?

Fortunately, my questions are answered by the form of a text message from Inga, that super fly 19 year old Latvian girl from the night before.

Inga: How your day? (8:16 pm)

Michael Mason: Let’s meet up tonight for a drink. (8:46 pm)

Inga: Meiby! (8:48 pm)

I hate text messaging, because, well for one, its super gay, so I call Inga instead of perpetuating world wide nonsense. We make plans to get a drink in an hour and eat dinner.

I get dipped in the freshest fabrics, and meet Inga with a two kisses greeting. She is wearing high heels, and a short skirt with leggings covering her Succulently Youthful 19 year old Latvian body. She is down.

We get a couple drinks and go eat at this hotel restaurant that I have locked down over the course of the last few days. Hand shakes all around to the restaurant staff, we sit down to eat. I am now in my element.

I keep the wine flowing at dinner and during numerous smoke breaks, there is blood in the water.

Coincidentally, (or maybe strategically) the hotel restaurant we finish eating at is directly across from my hotel.

I suggest we check out my hotel. She agrees.

You know how this ends.

You really thought I would get blanked in Riga, Latvia?

Do me a favor.

Click Here for How to Pick up Strippers

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

(For those scoring the fight at home, I am now 1-3 with 1KO in Riga, Latvia. And still 1-0-1 on the physical confrontation tip.)

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

Big K.R.I.T – “Somedayz” (Dir. John Colombo)