But a dope thing about Montreal when it rains is that there are fly girls in the doorways of buildings smoking when you walk around.
This makes Street Game in Montreal child’s play for a smooth, young, dashing, sharply dressed, Cash rich, International Playboy, like your humble author who smokes mad cancer sticks.
“If your trap is attractive enough, the turbulence of your enemies’ emotions and desires will blind them to reality.” – Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power
“Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favors by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.” – Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658
I feel lethal, manic, on the verge of frenzy. I am foaming at the mouth. My nose is starting to bleed. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
I throw down my luggage in my apartment, hang my Custom Suits and I get the call:
This Super Fly Argentinian girl, who I met at Mint and haven’t swooped yet, wants me to meet her at her clothing store. She is getting off work soon. And she and her Brazilian girlfriend want to roll out with me. There are innuendos of a Ménage à trois. The evening has promise.
I step out and roll into the CVS on Lincoln Road to grab some chicle. I roll in the line to pay, and a Fly Blonde Russian girl on her cell phone looks at me and mouths “Hi” to me. How often does that happen when a girl is talking on the phone?
I pay for my gum and step outside and light up a grit. I am feeling invincible. I have been sparring a lot. It tends to do that to me.
The Fly Blonde Russian walks out and continues up Lincoln. I quicken the pace, and open: “Do you know which way Sushi Samba is?”, I ask her. (Of course, I know where it is, but it was the first thing that came into my mind.)
“Hi. I do. It is just up there.”, the Russian girl says pointing up Lincoln.
“Wait, my name is Michael Mason.” I say and give her a “two-kisses” greeting. I spit some Street Game and Number Crunch, as I am supposed to meet the Argentinian and Brazilian girls.
Game is on though.
I keep heading up Lincoln and get a text from the Argentinian:
Most people ignore me, but some tourists look at me strange. I have a fleeting thought and quickly dismiss them as from Red States.
I need to settle down though and light another smoke. I am checking my phone and smoking, when a Fly Cubana Girl rolls up on a bicicletta. (She is 21 years old.)
She asks me for a cigarette.
Looking down at my phone, I ignore her for a few beats (real artistic), and say, “Sure.” Hand her one. Then say, “You need a light?”
“Yeah”, she says. I bust out a sick reverse Zippo trick for style points.
We start talking. She is fly. Mad fly. No make up on. But then again, I have a thing for Fly Cubanas.
I start walking with her as she rides her bike. She is kind of hipstered out. But still, stunningly fly. You know the type. Since it is kind of awkward talking to her while she is riding her bike, I say, “Let’s have a seat over here”.
I start rapping out in Spanish and English mixed with her and she tells me she is breaking up with her boyfriend.
Perfect.
I am still supposed to meet the Argentinian and the Brazilian (and I get another text), but I want to hedge my bets like only a true International Playboy does. I tell her to go home and change clothes and meet me at Sushi Samba as I have to go to a “business meeting” right now. She is down. When we part (two kisses salutation) I tell her, “Remember, high-heels and a skirt.” She replies, “I know, you don’t have to tell me.” with a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while. My nervous system goes haywire for a split second. A drag of nicotine sparks my synapses and mellows me.
My mind is the enigma filled with broken pictures. The spiritual International Playboy can see clearer now.
I move up Lincoln and get another text from the Argentinian. I respond back, “Almost there”.
I finally get to the Argentinian and Brazilian. They are looking dope. But everything is off. I can’t get the young Cubana out of my mind.
I split as they are both being too difficult.
I roll into Sushi Samba and lock the place down as per usual. I met a cool Argentinian kid from Cordoba at the bar and we both start spitting mad Game at all the fly girls rolling by.
I shoot a text to the Cubana:
“Buisness meeting went perfect. Come meet me at Sushi Samba to celebrate”. (Smooth text).
She responds back right away, “Yaa! Getting out of the shower. See you there soon.”
It’s on. Got to like a girl that loves your success. And Glad I hedged my bets like Kyle Bass.
When she arrives, she is a vision of youthful beauty. She looks like a Cubana Pin-Up Model (which actually happens to be her job). We enter through the side door, as I have the doorman on lock. Her her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Salsa dance in Havana.
She has shed the hipster clothes and looks stunning in high heels like all Miami girls do.
We hit it off in dope style. She digs the young-dashing-handsome-mysterious-false grinning-soft spoken-with a wild side-well dressed-millionaire-smuggler type vibe that I give off. Like all Miami girls do.
She knows the DJ and tells him to play this track, which just came out at the time:
She dances by herself for me as every guy in Sushi Samba is checking her out. I stand at the bar, smoking a grit, Custom Suited Down; the envy of every guy in Sushi Samba.
She can really dance.
We get a few more drinks and split. She gives a little resistance, but I come with the “Above is the black poison clouds, You only got one life so enjoy it now” type illmatic Futuristic Game that even top players will finally catch on to in 5-10 years. So I’m not really sweating it.
On my exit, I shake a bunch of hands; guys giving me props, and people I know.
Am I Apostle or Beast? Either way, I am Colossal on Streets.
We get to my apartment. The key goes in the door and
For the last few years, almost every girl I have swooped, I have swooped in public at some point (or multiple points, so to speak).
This is something I have been into since I was a young cub, but lately it is become almost an addiction.
Here are some keys to victory for the fight to remember:
1. It is easier to swoop girls in public in warmer climes. This is easy for me since I spend almost all my time in America in Southern California and South Florida. And when I travel Internationally, I am always where the sun is shining bright. Hell, I usually spend my summer swooping Topless Girls at The Beach. Warmer weather means less clothes you have to take off. Or lift up.
2. On that note, always tell girls when they come to meet you to wear high heels and a skirt. If a girl meets me with Ugg Boots and skinny jeans, I don’t care how fly she is, I am ditching her. I have an image to uphold after all. And I have to draw the line somewhere.
3. Find a good spot. The beach. A park. An alley. A Mediterranean courtyard or Veranda. Use “views” to your advantage. Read A View To A Swoop, for a full breakdown.
4. Swoop. Just bust it out. Keep an eye out for Cops though. Especially in The California Police State.
KLM Airlines: The Official Airlines of International Playboys
Dutch carrier KLM introduced a program this month that lets participating passengers browse each other’s Facebook and LinkedIn profiles. See someone you like and you can request to sit next to them.
I mentioned this almost a year ago on The G Manifesto:
Side note I: I have a way for the Airlines to get themselves out of their precarious financial situation they find themselves in: Sell seats to International Playboys next to fly girls for a premium.
Hell, I would drop heavy scratch if they would sit me next to fly girls on each flight.
To the airline industry: Yes, I do accept thank you cards.
Good to see that these Airline CEO’s read The G Manifesto, but where is my thank you card?
I would rather they just sit me next to a fly girl on each flight, but this is a start. (Typical Corporations. They take a great idea, and screw it up.)
I haven’t had the time to watch a lot of Television lately, as I have been traveling a lot and swooping fly girls, but I did check a couple of shows recently that were dope.
They are:
1. On Freddie Roach
2. Luck
Both on HBO.
Interestingly enough, they are on two topics; Boxing and Horse Racing, that are G Manifesto favorites.
Looks like the world is coming back around to dopeness.
Side note:
I saw the first episode of Luck and it is beautifully shot. I love the horse races. Although I probably won’t check it too much as it’s an hour long, and I need to hustle right now.
Plus, I have spent my life at The Track. I have probably been the most prolific writer about The Racetrack since Damyon Runyon (check the archives).
Hell, they should have consulted me for the show, as I am sure my reality at The Track is doper than the fantasy of the show.
