Yea go, Yea go. Dart throwing, yo aimin’ at your nostril.  What’s hood Montreal? Winter is finally over but the streets are still cold. True indeed, we manage stunts like crazy; The types of stunts that will make your wifey scream like an angry cavewoman. Understand, our feet have probably stomped more rooftop soil than Ghostdog. Our consumption manners are never conducted with moderation. We’re smoked out like everyday was 420. The cops are still chasing. Bums are being bombed. We eating good. Our chilling game is professional, abusive and totally mooked out. We give birth to massive and efficient entertainment within the most boring and lousy of atmospheres wherever we go.

That being said, I know that all you mooks out there can relate to our wicked words of wisdom. Today we’re off topic. We’re strictly throwing darts, so here’s a random selection of eye candy for all y’all thirsty motherfuckers. This next post is dedicated to everybody out there that lives the Mook-Life. This is how we roll in the city of Montreal!

Honestly, I’ve never heard of a painting session that did not include a few Pabst Blue Ribbons on the side. Let’s be real with each other.

City Styles roof top, an all time classic Montreal spot.

We always keep it live, even at the nearest bodega. Bootleg Stella boxes with some hard body chilling. It don’t get any better than this.

My homie Capital Q been handling and maintaining his monumental beard sculpture for years. 100% Mook-Life approved!

Those that know, already know.

Classic! Your beers are warm and you finna sip them cold but cant wait 2 hours for them to cool down. No problem, just throw ‘em up in the freezer for five minutes. But only 5 mintues, remember… 5 minutes.

Some Mooks might be familiar with this ill technique. The backpack is strategically used as a shield from the club bouncers while pouring your own beer into cups instead of ordering expensive drinks and leaving tips. Some official Mook-Life shit. You can learn it from champs just like myself.

Getting messy with it. Ain’t no playa hating on my game. Dames, I know my charm got your pussy drippin’.

Stomp you like Godzilla in my house slippers.

Ain’t no half stepping up in my cypher.

I’m pretty sure that many of you out there are familiar with this type of scenario. If not, then there’s really a big problem.

Still coppin’ mad beers in order to avoid lousy line ups and tipping dilemmas.

Throw yo flag up!

Shouts to Asek for this baller-ass silver chain: A cocaine baggie. I mean…WOW…You gotta be kidding me, this is crazy! And I thought I was fresh cuz of my GSM chain, damnnnnnnn son.

Rest in Peace to the brother JAYS. We’ll always be missing you!

Mad-L showing off his exclusive Tims.

El Ron Flor de Cana straight from Nicaragua!

Il y a de l’amour pour le Roi ici.

Like I said, constant stunts are being pulled off on the daily grind. Nesar’s been there and done that, homeboy been jumping on almost every taxi that has appeared within his sight. This picture does not do justice to the loud sounds of the horns being honked. Yes papa! You looking fly with that juice in hand. Yerppppp.

Ain’t nuffin changed. It ain’t hard to tell. We still puking in the club and spilling our drinks on yer ladies laps in the back seat of the taxi. We still wilding out in the streets and causin ruckus with pride and passion. We ain’t sleeping cuz we drink till way past the sun rise. Our darts are on point, remember, this is just the beginning, so stay tuned. Keep it mooked out fellas! One.