Custom Suits and Dope Shoes: Save Money by Spending Money
When I posted this, Undefeated Gucci Loafers, a lot of people asked me, “But what if I don’t have the money for Gucci Loafers and Custom Suits?”
Here is the thing most people don’t realize: Custom Suits and Dope Shoes actually save you money.
Let me break it down:
You throw down 5 G’s for a Custom Suit.
If you take care of it, you can have it for minimum 10 years (if not a lifetime and hand it down to your little baby G’s if you go that route).
$5,000 / 10 = $500 per year.
Pretty damn cheap.
Now ask yourself, what would you rather have, a Custom Suit, or some crappy off-the rack job by Hugo Boss for $500 where the buttons will pop off after a heavy night?
Same thing with Gucci Loafers, let’s break it down:
Now ask yourself, what would you rather have, a dope pair of Gucci Loafers or some weesh Kenneth Cole’s that will fall apart in 6 months?
Side note: It’s a little harder to pencil out handmade shoes, but they are worth every penny.
And here is the kicker.
With all the money printing that Bernake is doing, investing in Custom Suits and Dope Shoes is investing in real assets. So you are actually hedging against inflation.
Trust me, when the apocalypse comes, you are going to want to have some silver, some gold, some emeralds, some diamonds and shooting it out with an AR-15 and taking Thorozine while Custom Suited Down.
For Style Points, of course.
International Playboy of The Apocalypse.
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
After detonating Shore Club, I roll up to Mint in Miami Beach, slap five with the doorman (you know who I am talking about), who says with an accent, “Nice suit, Michael”, and I respond “thanks, merci“ as I enter the arena.
Mint is popping like corn as usual; tons of fly girls, and the energy is sick.
I roll around, give a “two kisses” greeting to a Chilanga I sort of know and settle in for a Goose and Soda. Sixteen bucks. Not bad.
I am feeling great, and I am Custom Suited Down, so I start ripping the spot off the cord.
Number Crunch a fly Ecuadorian girl, and Number Crunch and kiss a fly Cubana. It’s on.
I take a little break, spark up a smoke, and then I see her: the flyest girl I have seen in Miami Beach. Or at least the flyest girl I have seen in a few hours.
She is tall, thin, and dancing like pop rocks mixed with Classic Coke. I catch my breath and make a move.
It is loud as f*ck, but I get her attention and whisper in her ear. She smiles. Pauses. Then unfortunately, continues dancing.
I pull out some big guns as I whisper in her ear again. She smiles. Kisses me on the cheek. Then unfortunately, continues dancing by herself.
I pull out and grab another cocktail to regroup; I look back over, this girl is fire like hillsides in Southern California during Santa Anas.
It then hits me; this girl is one of my favorite p0rnstars.
I have pretty much lost, but I kind of fancy myself as “Arturo Gatti of nightlife“, of sorts (as in, I often pull out spectacular knockouts from the brink of defeat), so I go back in.
I throw a hailmary left hook, and…miss.
She goes on dancing by herself. Unreal.
I think of pulling out the huge Bankroll I have in my pocket and “pitching” her, but I wisely decide against.
Oh well, even Arturo Gatti took losses.
Come to think of it, I think she only does lesbian p0rn these days.
Postscript:
After the p0rnstar debacle, I saw the flyest Mexicana girl smoking at the closest booth to the door with her friends. I have two Zippos in my pocket but I use The Greatest Opener of All Time.
