Pimpin' Ain't Easy... Part 2...

As you can see, man don't need no ice with that drink... Tony Thizzz for all those unacquainted. You may want to read the previous post first as you will appreciate this one better having some schema base on the man, but it's kinda like the X-Files; you don't have to be privy to each episode to enjoy the story, but it does make for a more rewarding and entertaining experience...

Saturday. March 10, 2007...

I arrived at SFO at like 8:30pm. The flight from Hawaii was cool goings. I ain't want to leave; being in the sun, cold-cooling on the beach, checking out all the young tenders and staying away from Waikiki was the shit. But I was in need of that urban blight again. City mouse main mayne, y'heard?. My one night in San Francisco should satisfy said want for congestion, pollution, gentrification and the looming threat of violence. I took a cab from SFO to the San Franciscan Hotel over on Mason, between Ellis and Eddy. While in the cab, I decided to hit up my homies that I met last week, Moe and Tony. Moe picks up and is like, "What's up Chad?" "Shit. What'chall getting into tonight?" "We're at the mall now. We was 'bout to go home, but we'll come out. I know a couple of parties tonight." "Word. I'm down." "Yeah, they should be tight. You can come as you are. It ain't no dress code." "Fucking great. I ain't feel like ironing again. All that dressing up ain't really my shit like that." "Where you at?" "The San Franciscan on Mason. Right downtown." "Cool. We'll be there in like 45 minutes." Lovely. Just enough time to check in and take a quick shower in a communal shower that had an abnormal amount of pubic hair in it. Plastic bags on your feet when necessary, seen? The timing is perfect and I meet the homies outside about 9:45pm.

The night in the Bay is beautiful. Flawless nighttime temperature. Everybody's rocking t-shirts and hoodies, and you barely need the hoodie. From where we're at, it's only a five minute walk to the first destination, Club 6ix. I was fairly intent on getting on getting a half-pint to fill up my leather bound Polo flask, but Tony and Moe said I should chill cause since the area right around Market where the club was located had a proclivity for randomness on the bout it tip, we were sure to get frisked. So I told the dude on my left shoulder to chill out and we'll get a bottle later. Club 6ix had no line, the bouncer was cool and as I did get frisked, they didn't fuck with my rear pocket, so I could have brought in that good Henny. No matter. We get in the joint and there's a pretty ass Asian girl selling CDs at a fold-up table. I ask her whose CD it is and she tells me it's this lady named Melina Jones. "Who's she?" "She's from the Bay. You'll like it. She's a lyricist." "She's Asian?" "Uuh no. She's of mixed race." "That really don't really matter, I was just curious. I'll buy it." Moe told me he knew the dude that made the beats, Deedot. Sometimes you've just gotta support underground Hip-Hop. It paid off cause the shit is tight. Anyhow, we hit up the bar and got two shots of Henn for me and Tony, a Bombay & tonic for Moe and an additional Heineken for me. Double-fisting like four lesbians. The bartender forgot my Heineken, but when I reminded dude he just gave it to me for free. We all agreed that that's a good bartender so I tipped the man some more. We was just maxing, conversing on the week. Me asking them what they had been up to, which was the daily chiffarobe-bussing, and them asking me about Oahu since I had just been enjoying vacation. I relayed all the stories of how I tried to avoid Waikiki; the lack of record stores; the gorgeous natives; the Japanese who treat the island as their version of America's 1920s Cuba; the flawless beaches with water as blue as Heavy D's funk; the bitter-ass but delicious poi; the Jawaiian music, which I coined Hamaican; the nightspot called Mai Tai's where you can see some locals and get away from the Haoles; the best Pho soup I ever ate down in Chinatown; aloha shirts on bankers during their smoke break outside; my tan; my new moniker of King Kamehaplaya and my bastardization of their salutation, "Alo-ha-ha". I hate to brag about a vacation, but you just can't help but speak on it. It's not with the intent on being a prick. Hopefully you can inspire folks to do the same thing. Traveling is life at its best. We was having a good time chatting, but the club was on snore mode. As much as I wanted to see Melina Jones, we had to bone out cause it wasn't enough tenders in la casa... Vaminos amigos...

We walk back to the car and on the way I get that half-pint I initially wanted from a corner store. I carefully filled my flask without the use of a funnel and didn't spill much at all. We hop in the ride and head over to 111 Minna and down the flask right before we go in. Now this was my type of hype. The spot was poppin' and you could tell from the all the folks outside on smoke break. We enter on the side where we meet the sentry, who is a banging-ass ambigously-raced fine-ass thanger. She smiles, I smile bigger, she gets a ten-spot from the three of us and gives us all a mix CD. Another thing I love about the Bay. A lot of these nightlife places actually give some some sort of media at their outings, therefore it gives one something tangible to take home; something you don't get much at the club unless your game is consistently trump-tight. 111 Minna is a hybrid bar, nightclub and art gallery and it's pretty fucking big too. The featured artist was a dude named Onesto. Quite the prolific artist, dude had what seemed like 150 paintings up. They even let him do the mural on the stage, which he decked out. On the other side were some photographs, most pretty good, of women looking sexy as shit. It had two very large rooms with a few couches and booths in both, while two different DJs rocked their respective room. There were two bars, both with only two bartenders. They needed about four bartenders per bar to efficiently serve all the impatiently waiting drunkards. Good thing we downed that flask before we stepped in. The music was banging too. Not too often do we on the East Coast get to hear Furly in the club atmosphere. Both DJs were good, but they kept letting these underground rappers rap, and you know how wack rappers fuck up the vibe at the club. All in all though, 111 Minna is exactly what I'm looking for when I hit the town.

We get a few drinks and get to bird-watching. There were some gorgeous women in the house. San Fran is so cosmopolitan, so you get all the flavors. For a carnivore like myself, this is a good thing. We get on the subject of approaching women in the Bay. Tony holds firm to the opinion of a muthafuckin' pimp. You've gotta bring it, and bring it hella raw. Get at the bitches. Let 'em soak up some pimp game. Moe points his thumb at Tony and is like, "Yeah, but he's hella raunchy with the hoes. He says some wild shit." I'm like, "Yeah man, I don't be going mad hard on the bitches like that." Tony's like, "Sheeeet." We get to roaming around, surveying the crowd doing reconnaissance, and it's off the hook. The Bay got 'em. Young tenders omnipresent. I'm getting called "adorable" by fine ladies; main mayne, I'm feeling myself. The Henny keeps coming since it's my last night, I'm balling out and muthafuckas is getting drunk. Whilst on the third round Tony leans over to me and says, "Hey. You see that one broad over there?" "On the left?" "Yeah. The light-skinned one. You should go over and talk to her. She's fascinated with you." "For real?" To which I get the assured frown and the head nod of certainty. I look over, the girl's cute enough. Fuck it. Gangster stroll to the middle. I pass both her girls who, like her, are posted up against a table. No dancing 'round these parts, no drinks either. I give a "How y'all doing?" to her friends and they look as if they were doing me a favor by hearing it. The girl on the end of this triumvirate was the one "fascinated" with me, so I slide up next to her and give my 4th grade smile and ask how she's doing. "I'm OK. How are you?" "I'm pretty good. Why are you posted up and not on the dancefloor giggin'?" "I don't really like this music that they're playing." "What girl? You don't fucks with the hyphy shit? No Mac Dre? No Federation?" "No. I don't like that stuff." "Hmmm... you from the East Coast?" "Yeah. New York." "Yeah? What part? Brooklyn?" "No. I'm from the Bronx." "I see. So what brings you out West?" "Basically my job." "You don't sound too enthusiastic about it." "No. I really don't like it." "Damn, that's too bad. This really is a top-notch city and it's better than New York..." "Whatever." "We'll save that argument for another time." After that I took a sip of Newcastle. I suppose she was tired of all of my questioning, so she starts her own. "So where are you from?" "I'm from Cleveland, but I've been in DC for like, 9 years." "What part?" "You know DC?" "What part?" "16th. Not too far from Adams-Morgan. What? You went to Howard?" "Yeah I did. What brings you out here?" "Spring break babygirl. I just got back from Hawaii. You see that tan? (I touch my own arm) Nice, right?" She smiles and there I noticed a few things... Firstly, the girl had way too much teeth. This is never the worst thing though, 'cause at least her teeth were white and her gums really pink and healthy, but it's something that I can't really get over. Something equestrian about the whole thing. Secondly, I remembered that I am currently batting 0.00 when up against New York City broads. They smoke me every time. Maybe it's my reserved charm and polite manner that they're not privy to, maybe I just sound too country, who knows? And really, at this point in this dead-end conversation, I thought to myself, "Who cares?" As I was winding this one up and preparing my polite departure, I noticed the last thing that I was to notice during this exchange... Tony Thizzz was making his way over to my area. Tony slides over with a judgmental glance that scanned each of the wallflowers like a samurai sizing up a posse of ninja before their inevitable deaths. He stops by the two that I passed to get to the teethy girl. He looks the first from head to toe while his hands move in a diabolical motion, as if he were evil and applying lotion. "So... why aren't you ladies dancing?" The girl closest to him looks at him like, "Who in the fuck is this Asian muthafucka?" and says, "We don't like the music." Tony looks like he just just smelled some piss and says, "What?!?! You don't like the music? That's straight Bay shit man." The girl that answered looks at him equally unimpressed. Tony then moves his gaze down the line to the next wallflower, the girl standing next to the teethy girl I was conversing with. After scanning her, he then says rather nonchalantly, "So... why aren't you ladies drinking?" The wallflower in the middle looks really perturbed and through pouted lips tells Tony that "We don't drink." Tony guffaws a single "Ha!" and slaps his hands together like he is going to lay hands on someone, smiles and says, "Yeah, right. These bitches are broke. C'mon Chad, let's go find some real women." Without letting the shock change my expression I immediately, but slowly, crept the fuck away from those girls before anyone of them could look me in my face.

The evening continues as it should. More Hennessey, actually, probably way too much. At some point some dude let me hit his bowl in the club, so I bought him a beer, which proved to be a mistake since that made me a new best friend in the form of a greasy white dude in all Oakland A's garb constantly telling me about all the bitches he's about to pull while all up close in my grill like a European when they're conversing, and the muthafucka had the dragon. Whatever. By this point I'm drunk as fuck and have lost all notion of any spacial or temporal awareness. Basically I'm in my own moment, shit just starts to happen and I just start to notice. At one point after we had just had another Henny shot, I see Tony looking off into the distance. Following his gaze I see him looking at another light-skinnedidid thanger. This one was better looking than the other girl by far, similar look, but everything was just right and no extra teeth. I'm looking at Tony as his Thizz Face reveals his true thoughts. He's obviously about to bust that alpha male move. "Yeah. You see that one over there?" I look over and say "Yeah, the light-skinned girl, right?" "Yeah. She's utterly fascinated with me." Moe looks at Tony with a smile of familiarity and reinforces his courage by telling him to make that move." She cuts a stare over our way again and Tony notices. "Oh yeah. She's completely fascinated by me. I'll be right back fellas." Tony walks over to the young lady and Moe moves over by me in the spot where Tony was. As we're both sipping on beers, Moe says, "Watch this shit. I'm telling you he's hella raunchy." Tony goes over to this lady, who I might add, does not look neither like bitch nor punk, and he had me curious as to what his approach was about to be. What the young brother did was talk directly in her ear. I don't believe that he ever spoke to her face. So as Tony is talking into this girl's ear, she is looking directly in our direction, so what we have here is a perpendicular conversation of sorts where the dissimenator of data is Tony only, leaving this girl no choice but to listen. As he's speaking, her face looks like most women when they're hearing the amorphous game; the words may be different, but the aim is the same. We see her giving a lot of one-word answers, "Yeah." "Sure." "Right." coupled with dubious looks into the distance. All of the sudden, maybe 28 seconds after Tony begins this pimp move, the girl turns to him furiously and yells something to the tune of, "You stupid muthafucka! Don't be comin' around with that bullshit. Do you know who the fuck I am? I'll get you fucked up!" Tony turns slowly and comes back over me and Moe's way with a "bitch please" look on his face, but considering her reaction, he seems, if anything, only mildly annoyed that his game ain't drop. The broad was so mad that I honestly thought she was going to hit Tony in the back of the head with that big-ass purse she was carrying. Moe looks at me and says, "I told you." Tony's back over by us at this time and is standing looking toward the girl he just gamed and she's still throwing epithets his way, only now her volume has been lessened but her face is still contorted with disgust. I can't stand suspense, so I immediately ask Tony, "Yo... what did you say to that broad?" Tony frowns ever so slightly and still looking at the girl in question, says, "I told that bitch I could make her a lot of money. I guess she don't like money." I look at Moe with those eyes you make when you see your first titties and I just lose it. We all start laughing hysterically. Shit, I was crying. Literally. In the distance I saw the girl begin to get agitated even more...

That story is over, but my rhyme ain't done. More laps around the club, a few more dances with girls that either wouldn't get nasty enough or dances with girls that were just plain nasty, more Henny and more game gets spat. Tony ends up talking to some big jont and her fine-ass Russian friend that was giving the signs of fascination, but not buying the shit I was selling. I believe Tony was able to get the big bout-it jont's number anyhow. It was my last night in town, so I really wasn't expecting anything to go down, but Tony told me that I was playing myself short. "There's still plenty of time to get one of these bitches." That was true. On what had to have been our ninth shot of Henny and my ninth Newcastle, we met this Asian broad in the picture to the left. Not that she was particularly fine, but she was particularly fascinated with our crew. Moe was dropping the smooth game on her, I got her a shot and Tony got the girl to start moving. She was oscillating between the boys like the fan she was. She had a homegirl with her that didn't seem all too fond of her cavorting with these Japanese and African-American young men, so she just leaned on the bar and twisted her face up the best she could while we had fun. The Asian girl was throwing out all the compliments, "You guys are so sexy." "You guys are hella cool." The dancing would start at a whim and at the point when me and Tony had her from both angles I saw a slight smile and shimmer in Tony's eye. Tony tells the girl to hold on for a minute and rounds up me and Moe into a semi-huddle. "She's ready," he tells us with the same amount of certainty that Annie Sullivan had with Helen Keller's mother. "Oh yeah. She's ready fellas. You boys can start surveying the crowd for the next kill." Then he started that evil moisturizing shit with his hands again. I would have to say that he was right though. We got the girl enough drinks and she was in that zone with a hand on at least two of us at any given time. But, like most club meetings that promise evenings of sex with women whose names you don't know, there is always the factor of the hating girlfriend that doesn't see what the Asian girl is seeing and before we know it... Poof! The hater manages to whisk her friend away. Muthafuckas was slightly peeved. For sure it was a notch pon the crotch, but never count those chickens before they actually hatch. Let that be a lesson on to me.

The evening began to die down. You could see people start to leave the 111 Minna. Guzzling my last shot of Henny, I stepped backwards from the bar and bumped into the lady that Tony had unsuccessfully tried to get to sell coochie for money. I looked at her, and her at me, but she was the one that chose to immediately cuss me out. "Fuck you and your muthafucking friends. Like that shit is funny." So what I said to her was, "Yo. That shit was funny. Had you seen that on a movie, you too would be laughing." She continued to cuss me out, but I really ain't care about it. Walked away and ain't look back like she was my wife and I'm walking out of Hell. After the club, we headed over to Jack In The Box for some late-night greasy-ass food. Tony's celly broke the cacophony of three men woofing down burgers. "Yo. It's that big girl." Tony says with a smile. "Not out of luck yet." Tony answers his phone with a simple "Pimpin'?" Moe is looking fairly excited and is coaching Tony on what should be going down soon. Moe says, "Ask her if her girl is still with her." Tony says, "So... your girl still with you?" A moment's pause and he directs the mic away from her mouth and tells us that "Her girl went home." Moe's like, "Where's she stay?" Tony says, "So... where you stay at?" Again, moving the phone away from his mouth he tells us, "She's over in Tiburon." Moe calculates something with his eyes showing that he's thinking and says, "Tell her we're gonna be there in twenty minutes." Tony looks into the phone and is like, "Yeah well, me and my boys should be over that way in twenty minutes. Call your girls and get the blankets ready." Then there's about a 12-second junction in which Tony ain't speaking, only looking like the operator is speaking in Tagalog. "What? You're not down with that? Listen girl, I'm sorry to tell you, but see, we ain't looking for no Girl Scouts. We're looking for real women. You know? Oh you don't? Yeah..." And then the "end call" button gets depressed by Tony who immediately after reaches for a fry and is like, "She was a Girl Scout fellas. Only time I'm looking for Girl Scouts is when I want some cookies." I shook my head in agreement and said, "Yeah, those Samoas sure are good as fuck."

My point of this? None really. This was how the night went down almost to a tee, probably with a little truth-stretching on my part to create a better yarn. When telling this story I usually get the same response whether the listener is a lady or a dude; "Does that guerrilla-pimp shit that Tony kicks ever work?" Well, to be honest, I didn't witness it work, but I was in admiration of the execution thereof. Two important points that I noticed while hanging with these cool brothers was, 1) who is really looking for their wife out in the club? We all know it's the meatmarket. Whereas women may claim that they're on the way out to dance and dance with their girls only, we all know that shit is a load of hooey. Therefore, my next point arises... 2) if one is at the club and is truly just trying to have a booty call with some young tender, then why would a man not approach them in said fashion with an emphasis upon cutting directly to the chase, like I should have done when I watched Bullitt, and come with that pimp-or-die game plan? You can't can't catch deer with cheese, seen? So in conclusion, I say, pimp hard. If pimping seems to be too difficult for you, pimp harder. Keep at it. When you win, you'll win big. Anyhow, I would guess that the pimp game probably works as much as my bullshit East Coast nice-guy shtick works, and at least this way there's no need to sit through or pay for any bullshit dates.