The G Manifesto

Players Court Verdict

Seems like everyone, as 2007 comes to a close, thinks that they are a “player”. Everyone thinks they have Game. That is, until, they run into a True G and they get sent back down to the minor leagues. Let me breakdown a little story…

I rolled with my droog Hugo, AKA The Viper, to an Art Gallery Opening and we were slicing the spot up like imported Prosciutto di San Daniele, at a little Italian Market. We got pretty hungry so we decided to head over to Nobu (of course, I like the slabs more at Masa, but that’s neither Ankimo nor Otoro).

We walked into Nobu, silky and flamboyant, like a modern day Earl the Pearl and Clyde Frazier, only in Custom Italian Suits. Choking the joint like Sprewell. I was in a 2 button ETRO with side vents, inverted interior and ticket pocket, Gucci shirt, Prada tie, Brioni pocket square, Chrome Desert Eagle and Gucci loafers. Hugo was busting a chalk stripped Dolce and Gabbana suit, Cornealli shirt, I think, Zegna tie, Versace pocket square, Glock 17 and Prada shoes. Both of us had Bankrolls thicker than fog and green like a baby Praying Mantis. We both had more bullets than Elvin Hayes or Wes Unseld. And we were coming in Peace but we both brought a piece.

Public Enemy-he got game

As we cruised in, I said “hello” to some older cat who knew my dad from my dad’s Studio 54 days, left this one pro baseball player “hanging” on a high five that I have issues with, said “Hey Carnal” to this East Los ex-gangbanger-now playboy I am friends with, and gave a hug and a pound to my droog “Ian” who was at the bar with some Model Bird (I mentioned Ian before in How to Swoop girls and Influence People). Ian was freshly in town from Australia and seemed to be doing well.

Hugo and I gave two kisses greetings to the Asian hostess girls and took a seat at the sushi bar. We said “what up and konichiwa” to all the chefs and finally settled in.

I then noticed first, two super fly wealthy Mexican girls eyeing us. You know the type; dark hair, rich, beautiful; the kind of girls that date cartel guys or politicos. Or the kind of girls that have hermanos in the cartels or in politica. Or the kind of girls that at some point dated guys killed in cartel wars or politico rivalries. Or…you get the point. One was in a Nina Ricci dress, the other in a Chloe silk dress. Both dripping with jewelry, holding, I think, Bamford Ombre Crocodile Totes, and wearing, Valentino evening sandals.

I noticed second, that las chicas were in between two young pseudo “hot shot” plastic surgeons. You know the type; the kind of plastic surgeons that advertise in “party mags”. Which, turns out, is where Hugo recognized the plastic surgeons from. The plastic surgeons were dressed in suburban mall-bought sport coats, t-shirts, jeans and square toed shoes, probably Kenneth Coles, I am guessing. The height of fashion for the plastic surgeon set.

These guys probably thought they were on a major heist with these two fly Mexicana girls.

And they were, that is, at least until Hugo and I stepped into Nobu. These Plastic Surgeons might have been Board Certified by American Board of Plastic Surgery, but they were not Board Certified by The International Board of Game like your humble author and his loyal droog.

I then came up with a plan to get one of the girls outside, since they were sweating us like a sparring session at Gleason’s Gym. I put a cancer stick in my mouth and motioned to the exit so she could follow me outside. She smiled a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while.

I went outside and smoked my jack, shot a rack of “insurance policy” texts, but she never came.

When I re-entered Nobu, both girls were sitting down next to Hugo talking with him. My “come smoke outside move” didn’t work, but at least Hugo peeled the girls from the plastic surgeons. Peeled like a potato in Belfast. I sat in between las Chicas and the Plastico Surgeons, effectively “boxing” the Surgeons out. The top-shelf Spanish Game we were spitting didn’t hurt either.

The plastic surgeon guys paid their tab in defeat (which, I am sure was pretty hefty…run along and do some more breast augmentations, skippy). My friend Ian, at the bar, saw the whole swoop go down and was laughing hysterically.

The plastic surgeon guys then met up with a couple of buddies at the bar and were mad dogging Hugo and I for twisting their wigs back. I was praying they were not going to confront us, not because we couldn’t handle them (do me a favor), but because Ian has grown increasingly violent and is hyper-sensitive about disrespect.

Ian has even taken to shooting people inside nightclubs in Sydney and Melbourne (which, I reckon is the reason he is in America now, to let things cool out). I am God’s child, but sometimes I think Ian is employed by Satan. The last thing I needed was Ian to open up and spit abalone shells in Nobu, I have enough problems already. And swooping fly rich Latina girls isn’t one.

Thankfully, the plastic surgeons didn’t have the bottle to approach us and just left to lick their wounds. Smart move on their part (I guess they did learn something in medical school besides how to carve up women) as the night was still young. They don’t know how close they came.

Fat Joe ft. J Holiday – I Won’t Tell

Word of warning to plastic surgeon guy:

Don’t ever step to real G’s. Think about it, plastic surgeon guy, you have been spending your life studying, getting picked last on the basketball court as a kid, not in The Game, and not spitting Chess Pieces. Just because you now have a couple of C-notes to rub together, and an office staff of decent looking women idolizing you, doesn’t mean jack in the real world (this goes for “hot shot” lawyers too).

We (meaning G’s), on the other hand, have been out on the streets all our life, partying, dealing, heisting and come from long blood lines of cold hearted killers (Ian’s dad was friends with The Twins back in the day in Bethnal Green, Hugo comes from a long line of Latin politican/diplomat/killers, and your humble author, as I have mentioned before, is a child of an Irish and Spanish Revolutionaries.)

Those plastic surgeons need to take their Game around the corner to the Game Rehab.

Players Court Verdict: The plastic surgeons are Guilty on all counts of Faking the Funk.

I have said it before and I will say it again, that apart from Spanish wine, cigarettes, flash custom suits, and heisting drug dealers, what I love most is chopping apart plastic players (no pun intended) and heisting their girls.

Oh yeah, everything worked as planned with the rich Mexican girls…

The Rest is Up To You…

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA Your Doctor when in Need
The Guide to Getting More Out of Life
http://www.thegmanifesto.com

(Want to see something in The G Manifesto? Send suggestions to thegmanifesto@yahoo.com)

CAM’RON-I REALLY MEAN IT

Win Or Lose Remix (DJ Genius91)

Jaguar vs Coyote

Top Ten Strip Club Mistakes

Click Here to Download The G Manifesto’s Free Gentleman’s Club Report (pdf)

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

We have written many times in The G Manifesto how to break down the Gentleman’s Club into atoms and molecules. But, I still see prototype G’s making the same mistakes over and over. So, today we will go over The Top Ten Strip Club Mistakes to avoid:

1. Using Credit Cards. You shouldn’t use credit cards period. This is how Big Brother and The Illuminati track our mind, soul and body. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that you should never use credit cards in a Gentleman club. There are so many reasons we don’t need to go into them all here. Not the least, what are you going to do with $500 in “Beaver Bucks” when you leave?

2. Focusing on one Exotic Dancer. This is one of the most common mistakes you see guys make in a Gentleman’s Club. Don’t get spooled up over one girl. You lose all your leverage. Any semi-successful business dealmaker will tell you that the key is to have multiple deals cooking at once. That’s Leverage. Gentleman’s Clubs are no different.

3. Long drawn out conversations. News just in, Exotic Dancers are hustlers. An argument could be made, that the best of the best are maybe even the female version of The G. A far-fetched argument, but an argument could be made none the less. The longer you get caught up in sob stories, or let them weave their magic (and I am not talking about that kind of Magic that I weave to turn two kilo’s into three, either), you are at a disadvantage. Stick and move (so to speak).

4. Calling it a “strip club”. Show some class. It’s a “Gentleman’s Club”. Marks go to strip clubs. G’s go to Gentleman’s Clubs.

Don’t be weesh. Sign up The G Manifesto Newsletter!

5. Not being suited down. And when I say, “suited down” I mean Suited properly, not some 9-5 suit that an accountant guy wears during some conference in Milwaukee. Wear something custom, flash and statement making. A 9-5 suit. (That is, 9pm to 5am). Let’s face it, most guys dress like buffoons these days. Old-school players are rolling over in their graves. (I don’t know if I have ever used the word “buffoon” before, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it.)

Styles P featuring Swizz Beatz “Blow Your Mind” (Uncensored)

6. Not bringing enough CASH or Bankroll. You never want to get involved in any maneuver undercapitalized, much less a Gentleman’s Club. Ever stepped into an illegal high stakes poker game with a small bankroll? Stepping into a Gentleman’s Club with a small bankroll is equally as stupid.

Click Here to Download The G Manifesto’s Free Gentleman’s Club Report (pdf)

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

7. Spreading CASH around the wrong way. The wrong way is caring and showing emotion. Don’t be cheap and don’t act like you care. Exotic Dancers deserve a bottled water or some kind of weird, colorful shot when they get off stage. Some of those pole moves are tough. See if your civilian girlfriend can hang upside down on a pole and do a transfer into the splits.

Click Here to Buy The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists by Neil Strauss

Click Here to Buy How to Pick Up Strippers by Gary Brodsky

8. Not locking bartenders, bouncers, waitresses and managers down. These people can be your allies or your enemies. Keep the wheels greased.

Side note: The female bartenders and waitresses can be some of the best leads in the joint.

9. Acting like every other guy. It’s a Gentleman’s Club, skippy, you didn’t sign something that says you have to tell the truth. You don’t have to use your real name either (it is not like her real name is Sapphire…right?). You don’t have to be yourself. Gentleman’s Clubs (and nightlife in general) are all about escapism. In fact, you are way better off not letting her know what you actually do for a living. If you want a girl to like you for your true Working Class Stiff self, find a civilian girl. Exotics like three types of guys: Losers, Gangsters, and International Playboy/Gs. Choose one.

Side note: Lower-end Exotics in weesh clubs like Bikers and Rockstars. (Thank goodness Rockstars haven’t really been a factor since The Beastie Boys destroyed them with “No Sleep Till Brooklyn”).

Beastie Boys- No Sleep till Brooklyn

10. No Dances. This kind of falls into #9. “Guy that gets dances, is guy that doesn’t get Exotic Dancers”- Famous International Playboy.

Four more. Top Ten Strip Club Mistakes made for a better title than Top Fourteen Strip Club Mistakes. You can appreciate that, right?

Smack that – Akon feat Eminem

11. No Gentleman’s Clubs in December. Unlike your humble author, most regular people in this world have weak immune systems for some reason (probably poor Genetic make-up) and in December germs are floating around like crazy. I don’t have Mysophobia or anything, but Nightclubs in general and Gentlemans Clubs in particular are incubators this time of year.

12. Rolling in a big group. Nothing says “mark” more than rolling to a Gentleman’s Club in a big group. Go for Dolo.

13. Not having a good reputation. And when I say “reputation” I mean sexual reputation. News that you regulated an Exotic spreads in the dressing room like Southern California Wildfires with Santa Ana Winds.

14. Not reading The G Manifesto. If you want to swoop Exotic Dancers read these:

Manifesto Destiny: The Gentleman’s Club

Manifesto Destiny II: Innovative Gentleman’s Club Concepts

The Gentleman’s Club Theorem AKA The Local Bar Theorem

Advanced move for Picking up Exotic Dancers

It’s all there….

Click Here to Download The G Manifesto’s Free Gentleman’s Club Report (pdf)

Click Here 007 Lifestyle – Living Like James Bond!

The Rest is Up to You……

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
The Guide to Getting More out of Life
http://www.thegmanifesto.com

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AZ life on the line

AZ – Paradise

OnToplist.com ranking: The

Humor-Blogs.com

Broken Language and Unisex Bathroom Nightclub Move

Here is an innovative move:

A little while back I was in a very dope New York City Nightclub (I can’t say the name of the Club, I have a current beef with the owner and I don’t want to give him any extra press) that was holding mad Model Girls every night. Unfortunately, it was also holding model guy as well. But I have said it before and I will say it again, if you let model guy get in your way, then your problems don’t end there.

So, I was chopping up the spot like DeMarcus Corley or Mark Brandon Read, Going for Dolo in the VIP room. I was suited down, Blue Dior Homme suit by Kris Van Assche, Shirt by Duncan Quinn, Blue Hollow flower Pocket Square by Duncan Quinn, tie by Duncan Quinn, heater by Ruger and Shoes by Prada. Cuffs, diamond crushed, and plush. Pockets anabolic, and green like environmentalism. I was like frosting, you know, sitting on cake. The competition couldn’t see me like Stevie. So, it was no Wonder, I was the sharpest dressed cat in the litter.

I needed to go to the bathroom, well, not in a conventional sense, but anyways, I got in the line. It was a unisex bathroom and the line was kind of long. There were a couple of Scandinavian (I am guessing) model guys in front of me. One of them says something to me, I don’t remember what, nor was I really paying any attention (I never pay model guys much attention anyway).

Then, a beeked up fly Slovenian Model Girl, who we will call “Marusa” got behind me in line. She tapped me on my fresh fabrics and in Broken English, whispered in my ear, “You frieend (nodding to the model guy), eese he gaay?” I didn’t know at first what she was talking about since the model guy was far from my friend.

I guess because she saw me talking with him, she thought we knew each other. I asked her, “Why do you want to know if he is gay?”, still not really picking up on the purpose of this odd topic of conversation for bathroom line chatter. Slovenian Model Girl then said, “You freend is reelly hot, so… I want understand if he lieked girls”.

Smoothe da Hustler ft. Trigger tha Gambler – Broken Language

I then picked up on what was going down, and in a heads-up play, whispered back to her, “Yes, Sven is gay.” (I made up a name for model guy to give my lie more realism. Or who knows? I might have been telling the truth.)

Marusa didn’t seem fully convinced. She then asked me, “Arre you sure? Is hee at leeast half-gaay?” I really didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, Broken English and all, but I went with the flow and said, “No, Sven is not ‘half-gay’ he is completely gay, he only likes guys.”

Marusa seemed a little disappointed.

Finally, with Sven out of the way, I then introduced myself and started spitting Death Adder type, Venomous Game. I quickly ethered and hypnotized our beautiful young Slovenian Model Girl. I couldn’t really blame her, I was really feeling good that night. And my cufflinks were gleaming like the Belt of Orion during a clear night on a remote Panamanian Beach hideout.

It now was my turn to enter the unisex bathroom. I asked Marusa, “Do you want to come with me?” She replied, “Ya” (which means “yes”) in her beautiful Eastern European voice. So, we entered the unisex bathroom together…

There is a million ways to swoop girls. Choose one.

Kanye West – A Million And One Questions Freestyle

The Rest is Up to You…

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA The Shovel, The Pit, and The Lye
The Guide to Getting More out of Life
http://www.thegmanifesto.com

(Want to see something in The G Manifesto? Send suggestions to thegmanifesto@yahoo.com)

Nine – Whutcha Want

nine feat. smoothe da hustler make or take

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The 1990’s Girl VS The 2000’s New Millennium Girl

(Keep in mind that this Chamber of The G Manifesto refers primarily to Southern California Girls)

Recently, I was in Katsuya Hollywood throwing down some sushi and peeting some cold milky Sake Doburoku (moloko-plus) with one of my associates and peers, Hugo, AKA The Viper. We were trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. I was suited down, in a porcupine quill sharp, Navy 2 button Ozwald Boateng Suit with custom accents, Cornflower Blue Prada shirt, sky blue stripped Zegna tie, Brioni pocket square, chrome Desert Eagle and handmade shoes from London. Hugo, was in a Gucci suit, shirt by, I think, Zegna, Armani tie, Dior pocket square, Glock 19 and Gucci slip-ons. Both of us had more shells than Adidas tops. Overall, I looked more refined than Hugo, although Hugo has been going to my tailor and I have to admit, his Gucci Suit was dope.

Anyways, the competition in Katsuya was soft as Tuna Belly, and we were the only G’s in the spot, so we were creating quite a stir with the Southern California actress girls. We had a chokehold on Katsuya Hollywood that even Scuba Steve would have found it hard to breathe in our League. One pretty fly blonde girl came up and gave Hugo her number, instead of me, but in my defense, the girl was sitting behind me and facing Hugo, so I don’t think she got a good look at my brutally handsome mug.

Regardless, Hugo and I got to talking about some of the similarities and differences between 90’s Girls and New Millennium Girls in Southern California, as we both have been extremely active in both decades. A subject, that I feel we are both aficionados, as we both have swooped girls from Malibu to Sunset Strip to The Beverly Center to Newport Beach to Laguna Beach to La Jolla to the border. And since “88, we have both been wildin’ with electrical tape.

Souls of Mischief – ’93 til infinity

Most top Playboys from the 90’s era are either; retired, married, locked up, balding, out of shape, insane, stuttering from too many E-Tabs, strung out, hit with a RICO, overdosed, or out The Game for one reason or another. And, most top Playboys from the New Millennium didn’t do too much damage or were too young during the 90’s to really make an impact.

So, here are some of our highlights from our conversation: (side note: this is potentially a very valuable data sheet for the guy was has been inactive for the greater part of the 00’s due to marriage and is now divorced and back on the scene. The Game has done changed.)

The 90’s Girl: Got pissed off when you turned on Porn when you were swooping her.

The New Millennium Girl: Gets pissed off if you don’t turn on Porn when you are swooping her.

The 90’s Girl: Dreamed about staying in Paris, France someday.

The New Millennium Girl: Dreams about staying at the Paris Casino in Las Vegas someday.

The 90’s Girl: Was trying E-Tabs for the first time.

The New Millennium Girl: Is trying cocaine for the 29th time.

The 90’s Girl: When getting ready for a night out, asked her girlfriends if her outfit is, “too slutty looking”.

The New Millennium Girl: When getting ready for a night out, asks her girlfriends if her outfit is “slutty looking enough”.

The 90’s Girl: Sometimes, she knew that Picasso was a very dope Spanish Painter/ Playboy.

The New Millennium Girl: Thinks that Picasso is a “stuffy” restaurant in The Bellagio in Las Vegas. But has no idea who the Chef is, nor has ever been. (fyi… it is Julian Serrano.)

The 90’s Girl: Was considered a pioneer among her friends for getting a breast augmentation.

The New Millennium Girl: Is an outcast among her friends for not getting a breast augmentation sooner.

The 90’s Girl: Thought that Washington, DC is some place near Seattle.

The New Millennium Girl: Thinks Washington, DC is some place near Seattle.

The 90’s Girl: Was first exposed to Hip-Hop from Snoop Doggy Dogg with Dr. Dre on production.

Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg – Nuthin’ But A G Thang (Uncensored)

The New Millennium Girl: Was first exposed to Hip-hop from Snoop Dogg with Pharrell or Akon on production.

snoop dog ft pharell – beautiful

The 90’s Girl: Generally speaking, would have never consider doing porn.

The New Millennium Girl: Generally speaking, has already considered doing porn or has already done a few porn scenes.

The 90’s Girl: Thought that maybe she could be the first Girl President.

The New Millennium Girl: Now all she cares about is Dead Presidents.

The 90’s Girl: Knew Puff as Puff.

The New Millennium Girl: Knows Puff as P-Diddy.

The 90’s Girl: Thought about getting her lip pierced for the first time.

The New Millennium Girl: Thinking about getting her clit pierced for the second time.

The 90’s Girl: If white, couldn’t believe OJ Simpson got off.

The New Millennium Girl: If white, doesn’t know who OJ Simpson is.

The 90’s Girl: Wanted to get her first tattoo.

The New Millennium Girl: Wants to get her 3rd to 30th tattoo.

The 90’s Girl: Used to run track back in High School.

The New Millennium Girl: Now she tricks off the track right by her school.

Tupac, Brenda’s Got A Baby

The 90’s Girl: Said, “Oh-my-God” way too much.

The New Millennium Girl: Actually says “O-M-G”. (Seriously, I have heard New Millennium Girls say this.)

The 90’s Girl: Let you take naked pictures of her. (not like this was my kind of thing, I have way too much respect for women)

The New Millennium Girl: Still lets you take naked pictures of her. But occasionally says “you are not going to put these on the Internet are you?” (The Internet Objection). Or sometimes, she lets you take naked pictures of her (and has her poses down) in hopes that they will end up on the Internet to further her “career”.

Tupac, Keep Ya Head Up

The 90’s Girl: Loved G’s that looked like a young Andy Garcia, like your humble author.

The New Millennium Girl: Doesn’t know who Andy Garcia is, but still loves your humble author who still looks like a young Andy Garcia.

The 90’s Girl: Cheated on her boyfriend and slept with you on first date most times.

The New Millennium Girl: Cheats on her boyfriend and sleeps with you on first date all the time.

The 90’s Girl: Contemplated having a Ménage a Trios for the first time.

The New Millennium Girl: Had a Ménage à Quatre (The Trio), last night.

The 90’s Girl: Thought she was being experimental and forward thinking by kissing her girlfriend in a bar.

The New Millennium Girl: Is full on bi-sexual.

The 90’s Girl: Sometimes would make a half-hearted offer to pay for dinner.

The New Millennium Girl: Never offers to pay for dinner (side note: this is one reason the New Millennium Gigolo is very rare. For the record, The Gigolo is a significantly different breed than The G.)

The 90’s Girl: Feminine Grooming habits were a surprise every time.

The New Millennium Girl: Feminine Grooming habits taken from Porn Stars.

The 90’s Girl: Would sometimes appreciate etiquette such as opening a door, or pulling out a chair for her.

The New Millennium Girl: Doesn’t expect any etiquette, and wonders why in the world you would open a door or pull out a chair for her.

wyclef jean with lil wayne and akon,sweetest girl

The 90’s Girl: Loved the young, dashing, millionaire, jet-setting International Playboy/G on the rise.

The New Millennium Girl: Loves the young, dashing, millionaire, jet-setting International Playboy/G on the rise.

I guess, as much as things change, they stay the same. By the way, the Kampachi sashimi was pretty decent at Katsuya Hollywood and the night worked out pretty well…Hugo and I took two Waitresses to Go….

The Rest is Up to You….

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
AKA Your favorite International Playboy’s, favorite International Playboy
The Guide to Getting More out of Life
http://www.thegmanifesto.com

(Want to see something in The G Manifesto? Send suggestions to thegmanifesto@yahoo.com)

Snoop Doggy Dogg – Gz and Hustlas

Reticulated Python VS Anaconda Comparison

Defeating the Nightclub DJ (or the Club Owner, bouncer, bartender guy, etc.)

In the life of a G (or commonly referred to as “The Life”), you will run into competition constantly. This competition will come in the form of business mogul guy, Sport Star guy, Musician guy, phony player guy, mortgage broker guy (actually, they might be extinct), investment banker guy, hedge fund guy, regular guy and of course, other G’s and International Playboys. You will also run into “nightlife workers”, that can at times, give you fits.

The nightclub DJ, the Club Owner, nightclub managers, bouncers and even the occasional bartender guy are characters that are typically, all up in The Game and don’t deserve to be a player. Personally, I have a problem with these guys because if they can play their cards right, they can swoop a lot of fly girls with minimal effort. Fly girls come to their place of work every night. How easy is that? This is in sharp contrast to your humble author, who has to use his wits, charm, skills, dope word play, style, technique and innovative maneuvers to get Fly Girls. In short, I have to use Game. It’s not like I can give my number to some fly teller girl on a Heist, right? (Although, I was tempted once.)

The Nightclub Worker gets a lot of fly girls by doing jackshit. Girls today, are so misinformed, that they actually think these guys are “so cool”. And truth be told, not many of these guys have true Game. Witness the “so cool” Club Owner guy when his Nightclub goes out of biz (and it will). The “so cool” Club Owner guy now couldn’t get a girl if his life depended on it. His “game” goes out the window with his Nightclub.

Personal jealousy’s aside, I do have many friends in the nightclub world. I have many friends that are dope DJ’s, hell, my little brother Nicholas Alfonso Mason, AKA The Jaguar, is a prototype up and coming DJ/International Playboy/G. And I am friends with many Club Owners. But the vast majority of nightlife workers are backstabbers. Meaning that, when you are not looking, or not on your Game, they will try to swoop on any fly girl you are swooping on. Thankfully, they are wasting their breath on girls I roll with, because my Game is so strong. But still, it is an issue of etiquette and respect for me.

The OJAY’s Back Stabbers

So, Kick back, light up a smoke, pour a Goose and Soda, and let me tell you a little story about how to defeat these guys and break down their whole structure, Oh my Brothers:

There is this very well known Club DJ that we will call “DJ Super Magnetic” (not his real name, but you do know who this guy is, he is pretty famous) who really fancied himself as some kind of pseudo-playboy. And DJ Super Magnetic is much better than your average, he does have some KO’s of some high-profile actress girls on his record. He is a top notch DJ, and spins dope cuts (although his scratching skills are way below par in my opinion), so I would always say “what up” to him and give him a pound when I entered the spot and often introduced the girl I was with to him. I noticed out of the corner of my eye on a couple of occasions that he would try to get the phone number of the girl I was with. Sneaky bastard. Putting holes in his manners. So I figured I would set a little trap for our little friend DJ Super Magnetic.

Let me take a step back:

I had recently swooped a very fly girl named “Dana” out from under a Trust Fund Playboy (TFP is what we call them in the industry) I knew named “Chris”. I had originally met Dana when I was cutting up Celler de Can Roca and El Bulli in Spain. Dana was a sometimes model/ Nightlife Princess with some decent pedigree and healthy poitrine. Her Mom was a relatively famous Model and her dad was a well known photographer. Dana, however, was as crazy as she was fly. Which means she was mad crazy because she was crazy fly.

One day, I was chilling with my friend Nikolai, AKA The Cobra, at the beach with a bunch of associates. Chris pulls up in his brand new Jaguar. At this point, I thought that the whole “swooping Dana from Chris thing” was top secret so I didn’t think he would make a move on me. See, Chris is from, I think, Brentwood or Beverly Hills or something. And I was born in a City post-MLK Jr. Riots in a Blue Magic Heroin chokehold only soon to become a Crack War Cauldron, so it wasn’t like we were in the same “weightclass” anyway. Rayful Edmond III was running the other side of the City. I was also a key player in the days of The Ecstasy Wonder Gangs, in case you didn’t know. Plus, I was with Nikolai, who has connections up the kazoo with the Eastern Block outfits, so I knew Chris wouldn’t make a move. Chris might be a Trust Fund Jerkoff, but he is no dummy.

I then noticed, that Chris’ Jaguar has been “keyed” up and down the side (and I don’t mean “keybumps” either). Keyed real bad. Chris points to his Jaguar, pats me on the back, says “Dana did this, G” and winks at me. I was going to get pissed off a Chris for touching my linen, but I had to give it up to him for his show of class. He knew The Game, he knew his girl just chose me.

At this point, I knew I had to offload “Dangerous Dana” as quickly as possible. Quicker than sitting on hot keys in a Ramada. Understand, that my Cadillac with Candy paint looked fresh without any scratches. So I got an idea.

8ball & mjg – just like candy

I called Dangerous Dana and told her I would take her out to the Nightclub where DJ Magnetic spun. She was of course, smitten (who could blame her?). We then rolled into the spot (I don’t have to tell you I skipped the line, do I?) and we got a couple of drinks. Goose, soda, lime for me, something retarded for her.

I was in an ice pick sharp, black two button Paul Smith with side vents, Lilac Prada shirt, Duncan Quinn pocket square, Chrome Desert Eagle and Prada shoes, understated yet illmatic. My pockets on creatine and green like a bunch of fresh basil. Dana was in a red Roberto Cavalli V-Neck dress, Christian Louboutin Satin d’Oray sandals, I think, and holding a Birkin Bag, looking like some kind of slightly less ill Hillary Rhoda. She looked incredibly fly, flawless even, but truth be told, I probably looked doper than her.

Anyway, I then introduced her to DJ Super Magnetic. I saw DJ Super Magnetic was up to his old tricks, trying to swoop Dana, and who could really blame him? Dana was extremely easy on the eyes and probably the flyest girl in the spot. I left her by the DJ booth and Number Crunched for a little bit. Pretty successful Number Crunching session I must say, but that is neither Ruger nor Luger.

When I came back to where Magnetic and Dana were, I said to her “I have an emergency and need to go. Why don’t you just stay?” She said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” not very enthusiastically. I said, “No, have fun, let’s talk later.” As I was leaving, I looked back to see Dana in the DJ booth dancing with Magnetic (and she could dance, especially for a white girl). The trap was set, and I am not even from the ATL, either.

It actually took longer than I thought for the trap to spring on DJ Magnetic. But when it did, it was better than I had envisioned. See, DJ Magnetic and Dana started dating. She was up in the booth with him kissing and dancing every night, you know, typical DJ game (or so I heard, I stopped going to that spot, it was getting wacker by the night).

Then two months later, their relationship crumbled. Dana got sick of DJ Magnetic’s faux-playboy ways. And, truthfully, his game was pretty weak. This time, Dana really out did herflyself. She torched DJ Magnetic’s mint condition drop top 1961 Lincoln Continental with Suicide doors. Checkmate and toe tagged. Michael Mason -1, DJ Super Magnetic -0.

Eazy E – Real Muthaphuckkin “G”s (explicit version)

Later, when I ran into DJ Magnetic, he also had scratches on his face and a black eye. Better him than me. You should know by now, I play the Devil’s Advocate and if you play me sideways I am not having it. Don’t feel bad for DJ Magnetic, in fact, he could count himself lucky I didn’t spit things that left him hollow with a chrome nozzle.

Side Note:

You can also do the above move to Club Owners, club managers, bouncers and bartender guy when they try to step into the ring. And I have.

The Rest is Up to You…

Michael Porfirio Mason
AKA The Peoples Champ
The Guide to Getting More out of Life
http://www.thegmanifesto.com

(Want to see something in The G Manifesto? Send suggestions to thegmanifesto@yahoo.com)

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