In a few hours, The Del Mar Race Track begins and marks the start of the best six weeks of the year in Southern California. Well, at least it is for International Playboys.
It is no secret that I have had a long and passionate love affair with The Del Mar Race Track for years culminating in the Top Spot.
(Side note: Don’t shed a tear for me. I might be having the best summer of my life.)
Being that I am probably the most prolific writer on The Race Track Lifestyle since Damon Runyon, I have put together a definitive guide for The Del Mar Race Track for any up and comers that want to take the title.
Who knows though? Maybe I will pull one last “job”. So no slacking, or I may just come and peel your girls like Alpha-Hydroxy.
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…”
