So Mercer is in town for the first time and he’s only around for one full day. It’s about -23°C and we are going to make tacos in some woods deep in the boonies. The reason for this occasion: we are going to chill with the infamous Chow Chow Man.

Philippe Loiselle, AKA Chow Chow Man, is a person of mythical character. A hero in the eyes of some and a nuisance in the unfortunate mind of others. However, the reality’s that most people don’t know anything about him. At first glance, he just looks like another homeless person. But unlike most homeless people, he does not live in the city. Unlike most homeless people, this guy actually has a house, and it’s not just any house: it’s a fucking school bus.

Why they call him “Chow Chow Man” is pretty obvious. Dude used to sell these hairy chinks to pet lovers from all over the province, like my homie Marko and his orange puppy, Lio. That was his main hustle. After each litter, Phillip would keep the remaining puppies that were not sold so they wound up living with him on the bus. After a while, he ended up with over 40 dogs, living on the side of the highway by an industrial area in north Laval. Long story short, the city kicked him out. He got his bus working and moved it deep in the fields by a small wooded area in La Chute. Here he was settled, away from people and with tons of space for his dogs. However, luck is something that this man has seen very little of throughout the majority of his life and this trend continued when the SPCA officially took away all his dogs on December 1st, 2011. Unable to provide the outstanding fees imposed by the SPCA for sheltering the dogs, they were left with no choice but to take them away. Other reasons given for the seizure were that the dogs did not have an adequate water source and proper shelters, even though all the dogs were fed, healthy, happy and well taken care of at the moment of seizure. They pretty much robbed him of his hustle, basically. He was left with his oldest dog and one of the puppies that strayed away and later came back when the SPCA was gone. Trife life.

Young Lio was at the Chow Chow mansion for a much-needed training session with Phillip. When the time came to pick him up, Marko wanted us to come through and party with him, Mexican style, in an attempt to try and cheer him up. He was kind enough to give us a tour of his one-of-a-kind house and helped us make banging tacos in -25°C weather. This is how it went down.

This is the kitchen/dining room area. As you can see, he keeps all refrigerated goods stashed under a state-of-the-art weatherproof tarp that enables him to keep his products nice and fresh without having to use a conventional fridge, and he’s reducing the greenhouse gas effect by doing so.

During our chronic break, Phil kept cracking jokes in Spanish to the Mexican mooks. He had learned the language when he was living in Mexico back in the early ’80s. He is the inventor of the Wonder Wheel, an inflatable hamster’s wheel that allows you to walk on water that was quite popular on the beaches of Mexico in the ’80s. He patented his invention, but shortly after an unfortunate chain of events left him homeless. One thing led to another and he started breading Chow Chows. After many successful years in the game, he became a self-taught Chow Chow master trainer. Respect the status.

A purebred Chow Chow has black skin, including the tongue. Sometimes, it’s purple. Swag! I have a personal attachment to this breed. I used to have one of my own, but she got hit by a car two years ago. She was the best dog a mook ever had. RIP Nika, I will forever miss you.

The beer would freeze in less than 69 seconds after it got popped. That day, we hit the record-low temperature of the season. Mercer was rocking a little wool jacket, sneakers and sport socks. Phillip kept making jokes and laughing at him.

It don’t (it don’t), it don’t (it don’t), it don’t get mo’ ghetto than this…

While we were complaining about the extreme cold, trying really hard not to catch hypothermia, Phil went about his business like a boss, with no signs of discomfort whatsoever. If I had to survive in the woods after an apocalyptic event, I would definitely want this old bum on my team over any of the young urbanfag cool guys that run shit in the big city.

Got the fire going, time for another chronic break. You can’t fake a smile like that. This mook was having a good time.

After the bong hits, he took us out to his backyard. A beautiful ravine that drops into a giant field situated on top of an underground freshwater stream. Plenty of space for these dogs to run around and be free, happy animals. Not according to the SPCA. I don’t want to hate on them: my last dog came from the SPCA. It’s just hard to believe that his dogs were better off in a tiny cage in some depressing SPCA facility.

This stream is 100% pure water and is probably cleaner than the tap water we get in the city, but the SPCA wasn’t trying to hear it. It’s an interesting situation when the same strict bureaucratic system that makes this country great bites you in the ass and takes away everything you had when you already had little to nothing.

Back at the crib, the dogs are lounging, taking advantage of his one propane heater that keeps them from freezing at night.

This is the master bedroom, the living room and the solarium. A revolutionary three-in-one design that insures maximum space efficiency without having to compromise functionality or aesthetic. In the future, we will all be living in spaces like this. Trust.

Phillip told us that he got a visit from the chink you see sitting there with that bitch Harper, just a few weeks ago. Some sort of Chinese ambassador or something. He wanted the Chow Chow Man to go to China in order to help the local team with the royal family’s Chow Chows. Although tempted, he refused the offer. They won’t be getting his expert secrets anytime soon.

For someone who is pretty much cut off from society, he was one well-informed motherfucker. From the latest in science development, to world politics and current affairs, this guy was up to date on everything. With the internet, I guess some of us forget that newspapers still exist. Even with all the information the internet offers, this man was a lot more interesting to talk to than most of the university-attending sluts that I know. Bitch, send me one more Imgur link and I swear I will smash that laptop on your head next time I’m done smashing that pussy.

Speaking of which, internet done fucked up the porn magazine industry, but a few clients such as Phillip still remain.

He’s even up to date with his porn calendar. Respect, homie.

The sun was slowly fading away with what little warmth it provided, leaving us in the dark for the cooking process. With temperatures lower than -30°C at this point, I was sitting there looking at the fire when I thought to myself: “if one day we have to resort to something like this to survive, a lot of us would probably not make it for more than a week”.

I must of smashed a healthy 7-8 tacos. Boy where them shits amazing. Big shout out to Marko and the fam for these authentic jumpies. Much love.

At this point, my toes started to feel like they were getting pressed between two giant blocks of ice. I was putting my foot all up in that fire like a marshmallow and I would barely feel any warmth. Much love and respect to all the homeless mooks out there, surviving winter after winter in these fucked-up conditions. Shit is no joke.

Inside the bus, the feral kitten is getting along just fine with its new family. Thanks to the loving care of Phillip, it will get to see the upcoming summer… That’s if the SPCA doesn’t show up to cockblock and take the pussy away from him. At the end of the day, these pets are worth money and the SPCA will end up selling or killing them. Either way, it does not help Phillip. To him, those dogs are everything: his money, love and family. What he once lost in his first life, he regained with the dogs the second time around, only to lose it all again. It must be devastating. The most important part of survival is the will to keep going, no matter what happens. No matter how difficult the obstacles are, you must want to continue at all cost. At this point, in Phillip’s case, with all that’s happened, it must be hard to muster that will.

Every so often, he treks down to the dep a few miles away from the school bus to charge his celly and get some coffee. Other than these instances, he is totally off the grid, dependent only on himself. Something that I personally admire, because I have dreams of one day leaving the city and living the rest of my life somewhere in the woods, completely off the grid myself. Being 100% independent means being 100% free.

We have plans to come back for more Mexican cook-outs with the Chow Chow Man in the future, but my homie chilled with him last week and told me that the the bullshit is far from over. Now they want his bus off the lot. With no money to get the bus working, the future of the legendary Chow Chow Man is at stake. After 17 years living in the school bus, he might be forced to get an apartment or find himself a new shelter.

Whatever happens, we will keep in touch. This man is 100% mooked-out and a big time chilleur. I’m looking forward to chilling with my boy Phillip in the future.

For more info about the Chow Chow Man, please visit his website: http://www.chowchowman.com/

Instead of darts, we decided to use guns, because it’s much more mooked-out. Went to our local gun dealer and got ourselves a new arsenal.

Big shout out to the Day In The Lyfe mooks for the box of goodies. A good way to start the day.

For this Darts & Farts we had three different types of medicine and three different types of papers to test. The goal was to see which papers preform the best in the coldest winter conditions. Important knowledge for any All-City Chilleur.

If you want to call it medicine, you have to treat it like medicine. No more than a .3 for each spliff. This way you get a more accurate reading when it comes to potency and duration of the high. You can smoke a full gram of any strain nowadays and get well mashed. Thats not the point. We want to see how potent this weed REALLY is.

Since Mook Life started, the most recurring thing people come to talk to me about is the “dart”. Seems like a lot of people got inspired and have now become dartheads themselves. I must say, it makes me really happy. People always want to know if they are rolling the darts properly or not. There is no SET way to do it. Each person can have their twist or touch. The most important step when rolling a dart is the fold. You have to make sure that you fold it right but not too tight. The end part of the paper sticking out the way it is in the photo above is a good indicator of a properly rolled dart. You want the tail part to have as many rolls as possible while keeping the hole big enough for smoke to go though easily. Its always best to clip the tail with scissors and, for maximum efficiency, the cut should be done at a 69-degree angle.

Time to go shoot the map and take this show on the road.

Depending on where you live or how you want to play it, you can always do it blindfolded or shoot after spinning around for a minute if you want the shots to land in random locations.

Look at this Injun. I don’t make up stereotypes, but some people sure do like to fill them in.

His arrows wouldn’t stick, so we had to use superglue. We came prepared.

As I’m watching this mook shit go down it strikes me: three grown-ass men in a subway station, shooting plastic weapons at a map, using superglue to make it stick. All this effort and planning for something so stupid. I know this yet for some reason it does not bother me. Not only that, I actually enjoy it, and go out of my way to document it. God bless my parents.

With all the darts in place, we chose our three destinations.

First stop: Metro Du College.

Du College is one of those stations that most people don’t go to if they have nothing to do there. Not because it’s hood or anything, but because there ain’t shit out there to do. The most famous place I can think of other than Vanier College is Decarie Hot Dog. I vaguely remember thugging it out at a party with my homie Coma once when we were in eight grade. Other than that, none of us had any real history with the surroundings. Let’s see what this place has to offer.

The first strain we tested was LA Confidential, rolled in a OCB Slim Premium.

I remember smoking LA Conf back in the early 2000s, but I’m sure it was around way before the millennium. That being said, only a few strains stand the test of time, and it’s because they are solid. When you break a bud, you might smell remnants of diesel fuel, but mostly this piney-skunk scent, with a hint of fried chicken.

This world-class Indica was smoother than a killer whale. The smoke was heavy and thick, but not too harsh. Tasted kind of like Romados mixed with fresh pine on an early spring morning. As for the paper, it stood up well to the arctic wind and had no clogging problems or bad burns. I would say that these papers are well-rounded for any condition. OCB Slims definitely get the official seal of approval.

Mook attract mook. As soon as we went outside the metro, this immigrant came to see us all lost and confused. “Fuck, I think I got off at the wrong stop. Do you guys have any weed for sale?” Pure Montreal shit.

I love bumping into old production walls I had never seen in person before. Shout out to the whole SVC fam. Really digging the futuristic approach they took on this wall by installing the air conditioners into the theme. Burners so hot they need ACs to keep the building from burning.

Gotta love the fact that these mooks have legal and illegal spots on the same wall. Respect.

First stop was this little Polish place not far from the metro. The woman was not enjoying the photo fest and started yelling. Watch out for Polish bitches, I heard they throw heads.

Got our smoked pork cold-cuts and bounced. These were really good. I could picture myself frying these up and throwing them on a breakfast sandwich. Next-level bacon.

Drank was good too. Why was the lady such a cunt? We could’ve been friends.

One thing we noticed walking around is that there ain’t shit open. Two out of three business were closed. Weaksauce.

It was particularly cold that day and after 20 minutes of walking around we have not passed one open restaurant, let alone something that looked interesting. Right as we started heading back towards the metro, we bumped in to a Caribbean place called Island Vibz. It did not look inviting, but I’m from NDG and I know better.

Just because the place looks hood with a bunch of Mad Lion looking-ass mooks lurking around, eating fish soup and talking about cellphone hustles does not mean that the food ain’t on point. Au contraire.

Ever since they closed Bonne Bouffe (RIP NASH) I’ve been having a very hard time finding a spot that can match their chicken roti and this place came close. Either the chicken ain’t right or the shell is too thick or too dry. There’s always something. This roti was near perfect, although it could’ve been slightly bigger, but maybe it’s just the weed talking.

Brain full of piff, stomach on swole, this first dart was a success.

The second dart we chose hit dead in the middle of St-Leonard, situated on the northeast end of the island. Again, this place was foreign to all of us and we had little to no history with that neck of the jungle. I think I fingerbanged this Italian chick behind a grade school back in 1999 but it could’ve been in RDP… I don’t quite remember. In any case, its never too late to rediscover your city, so we jumped in the hooptie and onto the 40.

For this dart, we went with the medical Purp Kush skinned up in some king-size Smoking Slims.

I think the whole world and his mother knows by now that PK is the fucking shit so I will spare you the review part. Just look at this shit and tell me what you see.

The dart landed in the middle of a residential area. We had to look for a suitable spot to smoke when we bumped into this one-of-a-kind bus shelter. Smoking spliffs in bus shelters is sacred ritual most mooks from Montreal can relate to. So to smoke in this unique bus shelter was highly exciting.

PK is like Domino’s Pizza. Dependable, quick delivery and always two-for-one. At the end of the day, just like Domino’s, Purple Kush is one of those solid brands that people trust, but it’s nothing out of this world when it comes to being unique or exotic. It has become a sort of standard for high-grade strains. This participial medical batch tasted like a thick moka with a small aftertaste of fresh moss. It was delicious.

As for the paper, I was not impressed. For cold conditions where you have snot coming down your upper lip and your fingers are freezing, these would not be my papers of choice. The ultra-thin papers taste better but they are not built for Montreal winter chilling.

Montreal is a patchwork of immigrant mookness. Every hood has its own little thing going on. Some of our hoods are straight-up ugly though. You can feel the lack of coordination and communication between the communities back then. You often run into corners that might as well be in another country since they don’t match anything else on the island.

Golfing, Sailing, Moneymaking.

Apparently, we had two choices: this Thai place called Phuket or this legendary Italian spot called Cafe Milano. Being that this hood is 69% Italian, it was only right for us to pay homage to the heritage and mingle with the locals.

Pretty much without exception, every single Montreal Italian stereotype was successfully proven to be true in a matter of seconds upon entering this place.

Good googly moogly, that thang is juicy.

The sandwich was good, but I would not trek all the way out there for one of them anytime soon. Momesso’s in NDG is better and a whole lot closer. To be fair, for a sandwich with no mayo, it was on point. The cannoli was the highlight of this meal.

The last chosen dart hit Lachine. We all knew where this was going.

Our last medication was a no-name hash from a galaxy far, far away.

Good hash is hard to come by in Montreal. It’s either garbage or it costs a fortune. There is only one way to test the purity of hash and it’s to put a flame on it to see whether it boils or lights on fire. If it does not boil, it’s as good as soil. If the hash is clean and not cut with anything, it will always melt and boil. If it catches fire, probably means that its either cut or not that good of a concentrate.

Lachine is the last frontier before you get lost in the suburban all-over print hoodie called the West Island. It’s the last hood going west that I consider to still be part of Montreal. After Lachine, you might as well be in Ontario.

Zig Zags never fail. No matter how cold or wet it gets, a Zig Zag dart will always pull through. The glue is thick and so is the taste but at least you know that your dart is going to make it to the end without any complications.

This is whatever is left of the legendary Jenkins. RIP. I have more love for this place than I do for a lot of people in my life.

I’ve passed this Lafleur about a thousand times and from all the years of vagabonding in the area, but never set foot in there.

This is the second oldest Lafleur in Quebec and home of the infamous “supreme” hot-dog. Cool stuffs.

You would expect something powerful with a name like “supreme” but there is nothing superior about this sorry excuse of a food item. They threw in quarter of a slice of processed cheese and a paper thin strip of bacon on a greenish-gray steamed hot-dog. Big fucking deal. I used to do that back in the day, when I was surviving off of dépanneur food, except my shit was exploding with cheese and bacon. That bacon is so thin I might as well throw some toots in there and twist up a dart. Worst part is that you eat one and next thing you know you are walking out the Lafleur with five of them shits in your stomach.

Darts & Farts is a fun game that I strongly recommended to all the mooks. Something you can even do with your retarded girlfriend. You can watch Netflix all day and complain about your life to other pieces of shit on Facebook but you can also roll up some spliffs, throw some darts on a map and go on an adventure with people you enjoy. Who knows, you might have fun and discover something awesome.

As for the papers, it’s simple: the thicker the paper, the stronger the dart, but so is the taste of the actual paper. With this notion, one can say that the thicker paper is better for extreme conditions and thinner paper is better for home usage. But if you are a champion pothead All-City Chilleur like us, you will find a way to smoke your shit holding nothing more than a ice cube and a paper clip.

Here we go again, the team is back with another video recap of our antics straight from the bowels of Montreal City. You know we detain the class-1 ‘License to Chill’ membership card because the block recognizes the sole of our shoes as soon as that foot hits the pavement. From uptown train track painting missions to east-end skateboard poser games, from downtown rap concerts to industrial neighborhoods, we were out on these streets chilling no matter the weather. This one is for all my Iron-liver, bulletproof-lung mooks. For all my chillers and twenty dollar billers.
We present to you the lifestyles of the drunk and shameless. Mook-Life.

Music by: Knetic
http://kneticblog.com/

Video by: Craeon
http://craeonworkshop.blogspot.com/

Cool stuffs, Yaaaa!

Now, I done been through plenty of fucked up situations in my day. I’ve woken up in all sorts of places, and I mean all sorts. I once woke up in the middle of the winter laying on the floor in front of Acadie Metro. I have no idea how I got there, all I know is that I was doing some outdoor Sleeping in Public by the metro station. I mean, I spent or at least was supposed to spend the night pretty far away from there, I just can’t remember jack. I even parked my car miles away ‘cuz I was supposed to crash at Mooksy Collins’ crib but I guess the Public Sleeper’s instinct took over. I was lost and confused the next day on how and why I end up there. To this day, none of my homies could give me a clear answer on what could have brought me there. I guess only God knows why. To tell y’all the truth, I’m actually happy that it happened. I mean, I’m not gonna let it bug me, I rather take pride. I truly believe it only happens to the best of us. It’s a great experience and I’m happy to have lived it. Can’t wait for next time.

I’m not a normal human being. I know some people might get offended, but I feel superior at the end of the day. It’s the type of shit most humans are afraid of that excites me the most. Ain’t no shame in my game! That’s not the only time it’s happened either. I’ve woken up on the sidewalk several times. Anyways… I often find myself Sleeping in Public, literally anywhere, accidently and intentionally. I have many years of hardbody experience in the game, so it’s only right that break down my knowledge in full force with this sequel.

Yeah, I’d like to raise my cup in the air and propose a toast to all the Sleepers in Public worldwide, but I also wanna shout out all the contributors for coming through with these jewels. I couldn’t have made this post this quick without y’all, much love! I already broke down the science on this subculture in Part 1 so I brought in some special guests to throw their darts.

From the comfortable grass mattresses to the filthy piss stains on the concrete, the streets is ours; they belongs to all of us! I’ma fire up the torch to enlighten y’all on the discipline of Sleeping in Public, heavily felt from the bottom of my heart. Ladies and gentlemen, this is The Art of Sleeping in Public: Part II.

While most humans seek comfort in their cozy bed, Sleeping in Public invites the participants to lounge in the chaotic and noisy streets, where insomnia ain’t an issue and ear plugs won’t do a thing. Let’s face it: it’s not for normal people. Only real Mooks would indulge in such practices.

Sit back and relax. Kick your shoes off and lay low. While Babylonian society perceives Sleeping in Public game as a lack of self-respect, the true Mook willingly goes against this theory and will gladly lower his body onto the busiest streets in town.

Some people might think that these players seek attention. Homeless or not, the choice of location and, of course, positioning of the body reflects much pride and no shame. This discipline is built only for the strong, as it requires a lot of strength and motivation. I feels that regular humans ignore the prerequisites that this rich craft demands, so I’m here to highlight them today.

Considering the enormous possibilities of body positioning, the Sleeping in Public realm definitely needs its own Kamasutra.

My man Pito! That’s right, buddy, just make yourself right at home, you go ahead and take the entire table to yourself. I mean, why not? Sleeping at higher altitudes is always more exciting than sleeping live on the floor when you think about it.

Bodies are to be found everywhere during La Saint-Jean à Québec. No one really lives in Québec City and since most people can’t really remember where they parked their vehicule, the best bet is the green carpet.

Mama, can you ‘ear me now? I bet you not! Who says mamis can’t sleep in public? Grandma don’t look homeless neither, it’s just a lil’ nap.  It’s a nice sunny day out, that’s all. I guess some immigrants still think they’re in Italy. Not only does the tight clutch on the purse prevent the pocketbook-snatchers from taking action but it also doubles as a teddybear. Yup, the warm companionship of both beloved souls can easily lead to a cozier nap on some Mister-Bean-teddy-love typa ish.

At first, I was like: “nah, this can’t be true”. It’s too early to pass out! I need to get up close to see this shit with my own eyes. To my surprise, it turns out homeboy was Sleeping in Public, just a little nap, I guess. Awww shit, daytime drinking lemme tell you… harbody chillings gon’ make you sleep anywhere.

Our beautiful streets, they filled with thousands of bodies lying all over the ground. Yeah, I said it. More bodies than the opening scene from Saving Private Ryan. Bodies drop by the layer.

Whoa! Now you got two for one! A Recy-King Sleeping in Public, shit don’t get more mooked out than this. Homeboy got his whole grind on the floor, a sleeping bag and a bag with empty beers. Let’s not forget that one full beer on the side, outside the sealed bag of course. You know, just in case. For emergency wake ups in cold sweats, a chug of beer is always the best way to fall back asleep.

Yup, Sleeping in Public is as grimy as it gets. It might not look all that grimy ‘cuz it’s a bed of grass but on the strength I’ma let it be known, ‘cuz I’m sure a lot of y’all get it twisted. Just ‘cuz the grass appears to be more comfortable and cleaner than the average concrete on the block, one should never forget that the grass only looks greener from the other side. The fact remains that bedbugs is a harsh reality and greenery is home to zillions of bedbugs. Yup. In a world where bedsheets never get washed.

Even though Sleeping in Public is a sport that qualifies for the Summer Olympics, it don’t stop our local bums to use the Subway grounds to shelter themselves from the harsh winter in these cold Montreal streets. I loves it and it gets me exited each time I witness it. Each time I hop on the Iron Horse my heart is filled with pride ‘cuz the participants decorate these stations with so much elegance. My type of Street Art!

The Montreal Metro system is internationally known to be very vibrant and colorful in many different ways. The presence of public sleepers just adds more flavor to its stunning architecture.

Whoa! Look at this! Gypsy is matching colors from top to bottom. Even mascara and lipstick is on the menu. It’s that grape flavor. So much swagger, mami! The Beautiful People With Major Swag shall I say. Who would’ve thought that one day escaping Romanian communism could lead to a Sleeping in Public career in the Eaton Center. This just can’t be life.

How cute? The Berri-UQAM Romero and Juliette. Who would’ve thought that Sleeping In Public could be so romantic? Well, I’ll be damned. Not only does shorty over here manage to escape the cold winter outdoors but she also gains extra heat by benefiting from her boyfriend’s hard boner stuck on her ass. Not too sure how that doughnut got there either. It just saves them the trouble of going outside to Tim Hortons for breakfast after waking up.

Some seats are always taken… at every time of the day. Rush hour or not, if you’re not going to sleep, you gotta stand up and patiently wait for the next metro. It seems that they built these benches strictly for sleeping and nothing else.

Societys Disease: My man Hard to Offend to the right here is sleeping in his brand new yellow ‘Steep-Tech’ jacket. Our North Face sponsors have designed the Steep-Tech especially for sleeping in public through Montreal’s coldest winters.

Some124: Unlike the previous picture, the Paris Metro was designed with special sections so that the travelers can easily rest while those who wish to sit down can do so.

Society’s Disease: To the untrained eye, one may think this man is practicing the art of sleeping in public. However, the “J’aime regarder les filles” or “I like looking at girls” poster in the back gives away his technique. He is pretending to sleep in public in this subway passage but in reality is placing himself in the perfect position for an upskirt view of all the shorties who pass by. One eye closed, but the other eye on the prize!

Some124: My man Society’s Disease must be right, this mook is clearly not using the special sleeping in public section. Come to think of it, he was installed in the middle of a long alleyway between 2 subway lines even though he had access to a proper spot in a regular station. He even adopted a relaxed belly-revealing position in order to distract his prey.

Some124: A little rest before the traditional Bruxelle’s national holiday pub-crawl is a wise decision.

Society’s Disease: It’s rare that a store will let you sleep in front of its display window. The equivalent of a Sleeping in Public luxury suite is when you get to sleep in front of a Home Furnishing store window with state of the art furniture, couches and carpets. If you’re facing the window, when you wake up in the morning you’ll be under the impression that you slept all night in a well-furnished mansion. Who’s ballin’ now, whoaday?

Zombies on the prowl!  Somnambular Sleeping in Public in full effect, walking straight into the chaotic Paris traffic.

Society’s Disease: Most tourists go to Paris’ famous Champs-Elysees to absorb the grandiose boulevard and admire the world famous Arc-de-Triomphe. However, mooks like myself will only notice and admire the Sleeping in Public athletes who decorate this landmark. Homeboy over here is such a professional that he has a blanket instead of a shirt. This way, he’s always ready to be comfortable as soon as he passes out on any street surface.

Society’s Disease: There’s techniques that many Sleeping in Public amateurs tend to ignore. One will most likely choose a grassy location under nature’s shade to comfortably nap the day away. It may seem quiet and peaceful, but there are many things to take into account when practicing this sport. With the rotation of the earth, the shade will shift and if you haven’t properly calculated your sleeping spot then light will hit your face and you might just wake up with a sunburn. The best bet is to choose a rooftop or building shadow that covers all angles of the sunlight. If it’s past noon, place yourself in a position towards the east so that you won’t get the sun in your eyes when it sets in the west. Trees may seem like a good and cliche cover, but remember that most people piss near a tree when they have to go in public. This shit is a science we take seriously, man. The Sleeping in Public game ain’t for the birds!

Some124: Mook-Life showed you folks the art of Sleeping in Public while standing up in the Beautiful People of Istanbul post. Now, I will show you the science behind the art of Sleeping in Public while sitting straight up. This form was first adopted at a young age in school, when he managed to fall asleep while sitting at his desk during class. Many years of classroom sleeping later, he’s now practicing the same sport as a homeless businessman hustling gloves and necklaces on the street. Guess he should have paid a little more attention in class and he wouldn’t be a bum today, but hey… at least he’s got the best posture on the block!

Some124:Falling asleep while looking into your bag. This man is living proof that there is no caffeine in Coke Zero. Although it probably was a Rum & Coke Zero.

Some124: This lady is located in front of a tourist information booth in the center of Lisbon. That specific location gives her the proper visibility window she deserves and is also a first choice emplacement to shake that Pringle’s cup.

My personal favorite is the Open-Mouth Technique, so boss! It attracts birds from miles while away! It’s like this, man: some Mooks claim that they didn’t choose the struggle, it’s the struggle that chose them. Well, let me tell you: with this type of performance, it’s pretty clear that they chose the struggle. The righteous way, daddy, s’all good baby bay-beh!

Well, well. What do we have here? Don’t sleep on this next chamber. Bum-on-bum crime. You got a bum stealing from another bum who’s Sleeping in Public. Goddamn this shit is mooked out! I guess life just ain’t fair. I can’t stress it enough, the struggles involved in the Sleeping in Public discipline is a harsh reality that many go through on their daily grind. The streets ain’t safe. Valuables get stolen, even if yous a bum.

Meet George Millionaire, a true veteran indeed. As always, he had been drinking the whole day. Anyways, we been maintaining and chilling at the park for hours that day and all of a sudden he decided to leave the cipher without saying a word in order to find himself a bench where he could find comfort and practice Sleeping in Public. Of course, not forgetting his Corona, leaving it close enough so he could simply stretch his arm and avoid getting up just to take a sip. Now that’s some real laid-back shit, my duke. This is really what this discipline is all about! Yerrp!

The city of Philadelphia tried to install the Anti-Bum system on their benches in order to disable the Mooks from Sleeping in Public in the nicer parks of town, but when the city’s population is filled with Mooks it’s pretty much impossible to prevent them from performing.

Shit, some people are so equipped with their Sleeping in Public compartments that it makes me wonder why they still on the street. Must be the love and passion of sleeping underneath the city lights, I guess.

The cardboard mattress technique is revolutionary in the Sleeping in Public industry. Organization at its best! The bench ridges can sometimes make it hard on your back, so it’s best to approach the discipline with all required materials.

Whoa! So Boss! Look at these pimped-out sandals that homeboy is sporting. Not to mention the burgundy and pink socks, this type of swagger is simply unfuckwithable!

Slaps is slang for stickers. Well, I guess in this case homeboy literally gets slapped to the fullest. The Mook-Life stamp of approval in full effect!

So there you have it. Another banger. Like I explained in Part 1, Sleeping in Public is hellamooked-out and that’s the type of shit we cherish the most over here. Mooks recognize Mooks and it is what it is. With that being said, this post is for everyone, whether you have slept it public in your life or not, it doesn’t really matter. I know that most of you haven’t and probably never will have the balls to do so, but hey, it’s all here to be enjoyed on the strength of its outstanding outcome. All you gotta do is respect it and get ready for Part III. Chuuch!

There are a million copy-paste blogs out there, promoting the latest, trendiest, coolest, most exclusive luxurious and highly desired things this planet has to offer. Everyone wants to be cool and people love to be sold to. What we had in mind was completely different. We started the site because we wanted to shed light where the sun don’t shine. We share a passion, a vision and a common love for our people and surroundings. We want to show the world how something can be so fucking stupid and ignorant, yet shine with radiant beauty at the same time.

In order to keep it 6900% authentic, we’ve never resorted to ads or promoting things we did not truly believe in. We could give a fuck about ad money and shit like free gear from some lame-ass streetwear brand. We barely even check the stats. The love in the streets says it all. The fan mail and requests are hard to keep up with. When you do it for the people and you do it with love, well, the people love you back.

Having said that, when the time came to launch our first collection, we had to do something different. I dusted off my little black book and started calling some of my homies in the industry to help me out. So we were sitting at a round table at Chip Bergh’s crib, stoned as fuck, with Ralph Lauren, Marc Ecko, Dan Wieden, Puff Daddy and Daymond John, sort of just brainstorming ideas when we came up with the concept: 69 Shades Of Black. Peep game.

Puffy said “There is a shade of black for each shady mook out there” and we couldn’t agree more. Whether you scam Americans in a telemarketing office or sell kids fentanyl patches from the back of a dumpster in an alleyway by St-Denis, you will find a shade of black to match your lifestyle. Bettabeleedat.

Models are rocking the “Original Park Chilleur” crewneck, in Sharpie Black. Also available in Tooth Decay Black and Max the Black.

This is the “Twelve Step Program” crewneck, inspired by the people who’ve successfully completed rehab and stayed clean since. This model comes in Balbina Black and Burnt Tinfoil Black.

The “Can I Get One?” crewneck, in Ashy Black, was specifically designed to match every possible outfit imaginable. It is also hash-burn and ash-stain proof.

This next line is called “Inook Life” and was inspired by the good people from Peace Park. It comes in three different shades of black: Seal, Bear and Badger. The great thing about this revolutionary design is the ultra-white white in the print. This works as a safety reflector for oncoming traffic, a true lifesaver when completely wasted, stumbling around the streets. Safety first.

The model is rocking a “Resident Nomad” crewneck, in Asphalt Black.

Also available in Full HD 1080p Black.

This is our special edition, ultra-exclusive collabo with Ralph Lauren. Classic Americana with an edgy twist of modern mooknes. A timeless piece that will still be good 69 years from now.

The “Everyday Hustle” sweatshirt comes in only one shade of black, called Roasted Aubergines. It’s coated with a unique German patented technology that blends all dark-colored paint stains right into the shirt. You can go wild with that mop and not worry about looking like a bum for the rest of the night. Solving problems, one sweatshirt at a time.

Cheers to all my mooks around the world. We do this for y’all!

Unlike some of these other brands, we chose not to whore out on the celebrity endorsement. Les Anticipateurs are the only sponsored artists for this collection. Support their movement. A dollar from each shirt will go in to the ‘Free Tronel’ Foundation, in order to help him make bail and get back in the studio. The highly anticipated video: “S’a Poud’” is scheduled to drop sometime in early 2012, keep your eyes peeled and your ears clean.

This year we have a whole new section added to the collection, with hoodies and t-shirts. We want mooks to have a choice. We want mooks to be comfortable while they’re representing.

The “Holiday Hoodlum” hoodie was specifically crafted to suit the needs of a mook. Comfort, warmth, swag, solid build and a bulletproof logo.

Also available in Bangladesh Black, Bitumen, Baby Blue Black and Burnt Toast Black.

Seems like everyone has a line of tees now. You really gotta be doing something different not to get lost in the sea of copycats. We are all about innovation and original content.When you buy this item, you are not just buying a shirt with a logo. You are supporting so much more than that. You are showing love for something more than just a pre-fabricated brand that was out to get you since day one. When you buy this item, you join a gang. Rock your colors proudly, my mooks.

Representing is an important part of every mooks’ life, so we always send tons of stickers to everyone but the requests are getting out of control. Now you can simply go on the shop and get them directly from there. We will even pay the shipping.

We are also very aware that some mooks are balling on a budget. The sticker is a perfect way to spice up your raggedy old clothes and give them back the life they once had without breaking the bank.

Turn any sweater into an official Mook Life sweater for a quarter.

The best part is that you don’t even have to feel like a scrub when you do it, because all the cool kids be rocking the sticker nowadays. Have you heard the new A$AP Rocky “Black Snapback & my Mook Life sticker” jumpoff? Shit is kind of hot, yo, I’m not even gonna lie.

All jokes aside, it took us a while but we did it. Now, every mook that hollered for shirts better hurry up and cop them before my Inook Life family gets them all once again. For those who know us personally, you can always holler at us directly if you want to cop something and we’ll make sure it gets to you. No, we will not give you a discount even if you’ve known us for more than 69 years. These shirts are printed for the real fans and supporters of the site. They are the priority. Amounts are extremely limited so if you don’t want to pay full price, someone else will gladly do so without breaking our balls.

Big shout out to the neighborhood crooks, friendly drug dealers, compulsive vandals, sex workers and all the mooks who are no longer with us or fell victim to jail. We do this for the people. Much love.

To get to the shop simply click HERE or find the Shop tab on top. Thank you all in advance.

The holiday season came and went but the celebrations are far from over. Time after time, we plow through the thick snow like a twelve-ton Caterpillar only to end up at another dead-end party, where the DJ might be subject to heavy heckling and/or will get impaled with numerous objects, depending on how much he or she sucks. It might be too cold to break things outside, but this club is nice and warm. Matter of fact, fuck these clubs and shows with the same-ol’ same-ol’. We finna go out and take advantage of our natural surroundings. Catch us on ‘shrooms, chillin’ on a frozen island up north. We into bird-watching, snow-shoeing, hallucinating and slurping oysters out of avocados. Fuck what you heard or what you might think, we get down on many levels. One day I’m cooking up Ramen noodles, next week I’m in the kitchen with my shaman, stuffing trout with Moroccan mandarins, marinating octopus with my brothers. You might spot us copping cheeseburgers in Verdun on Tuesday, paninis in St-Leonard on Friday. That’s just the way it is when you’re a full-time mook/All-City Chilleur.

January can be harsh. It can be very depressing. But only if you’re bitch. If you’re a true All-City Chilleur you will go out and explore, regardless of season. February is even colder and more unforgiving but, according to last year’s recap, it was short of boring. Mooks don’t change: we evolve, so this month things will be just as mooked out, but much more abusive and even less serious.

Much love to all our fans and supporters. Many of you out there have been requesting shirts, sweaters and stickers, so we worked extra-hard and got everything lined up for sometime this week. Much respect to the team for the photo contributions. Make sure to follow the homies : Tron, Budda and Mercer… no homo. Big shout out to Guilt, holding down the fort in Berlin. I see you baby! Bring us back some crazy scheißen.

Throughout the many travels of my fast-paced existence, I’ve come to notice that the Mook-Life state of mind is not something that is limited to my hometown. Montreal is a definite breeding ground for mookness, but every new city I set foot in has given me a sense of familiarity when it comes to the lifestyle we’ve grown accustomed to. There are mooks in all corners of the world and one city that represents this to the fullest is The City of Lights: Paris.

I try to pass through Paris at least once a year because a lot of my peoples and crew reside in the French capital. Since Mook-Life is a universal movement and represents for everyone out there, it was only normal that I would plant a seed in Ile-de-France territory and create a Mook Life chapter out there to give us the time on what happens on their side of the Atlantic. I passed the torch to my boys Jee, Madzoreil and The Street Poizon and opened the official Paris chapter so they can bless us with the Mook-Life from their point of view. All photos and videos are courtesy of the homies and represents what they live out there everyday on the urban jungle soils of Paris City. Hold your hats, light your tobacco-filled hash spliffs and pop your 1664 beer open… because “Ici, c’est Paname”.

Ici, c’est Paname… Here, it’s Paris.

While the streets of Paris are known for its chaotic bustle and lively ambiance, a portion of the population finds comfort in the tombs and tunnels that wire through the city’s underground. The Paris writer is never afraid to discover new plans and map out missions in order to get their metro painting fix. Even after the massive arrests that lead to the infamous Proces de Versailles tribunals which targets writers for up to 150 000 euros of fines, the addiction still runs deep in their veins and some manage to keep on testing the system. It is never easy to paint in Paris; it is a city full of snitches, beef, corrupt and racist cops, unfair judicial system… A place where police are allowed to stop and search you for no reason and can bust into your house for a search and seizure after getting a warrant from a 2 second phone call to the prosecutor. But at the end of the day, only the strong survive and it builds some of the strongest breed of writers on that side of the continent.

Madzoreil: The whisper of our footsteps’ rhythm interrupts abruptly in a sudden moment. Like a rock we freeze and dive into the river of pebbles without making a splash. Holding our breaths, we wait for signs, praying that we will not hear another pair of footsteps expressing themselves louder than ours…

With the recession hitting hard all over Europe and jobs becoming scarce, Paris becomes no stranger to homelessness and the Sleeping in Public scene.

Summertime in Paris and the living is easy. With the warmer weather, BBQ’s in the projects becomes a yearly tradition where the whole hood comes through to feast on merguez sausages and marinated chicken. With DJ’s, fired-up grills full of food and walls being painted, the BBQ’s quickly turn into block parties that go on until the police roll through with dogs and beat up those who don’t want to leave. This picture depicts a night time BBQ done for the muslim holiday Ramadan.

Rest in Peace to Awer, one of South Paris finest. From graffiti to breakdance, Awer was a multi-disciplinary man that was a pillar and legend in his area. His knowledge for hiphop culture ran so deep that he was the perfect person to host the radio show Underground Explorer. This hardworking and energetic man lived and breathed for his love of hiphop and set an example for the whole hood. Only the good die young, gone but never forgotten.

TRIBUTE TO AWER.

After Philadelphia tall hands and wickeds, my favorite handstyles come from Paris. The city has always been known for a good flow in tag lettering with a clean, proper, stylish and readable style. If you had the privilege of visiting Paris before the great buff of 2000, then you would remember how the landscape was completely destroyed and bombed the fuck out. There were tags on every surface and buildings from the Chatelet downtown core all the way to the suburb outskirts. Shit, I even remember seeing mop tags in the airport train terminal when I stepped off the plane.

The smoking game out there is completely different from the one we have here. For one, everybody smokes hashish or du “shit” instead of weed due to the proximity to Morocco and a better accessibility to quality product of the type.

However, the drug game has changed in recent years due to the elimination of borders from the creation of the European Union. A lot of French dealers practice the Go-Fast technique, which consists of doing rapid back and forth car ride missions to the Holland border in order to easily re-up on accessible and cheaper narcotics. With absent border control and lessened police surveillance in the night time, these Go-Fast round trips can be done in a matter of hours from Paris to the Netherlands and back. Even if there are eventual police barricades, a spotter car will drive half an hour ahead of the loaded vehicle in order to give an alert if they run into trouble down the road. In one night’s work you can bring back cocaine and hash bricks with a street value of several thousand of dollars.

The RER B line connecting Charles-de-Gaulle airport in the North to Orly all the way South of the city.

This is one of the first spots on the RER B line to be tagged by Bando back in the days.

The RER is a parisian trainline that connects the suburbs to the city. The trackside walls that border the line are prime time spots for local writers since they are exposed to everyone that comes in and out of Paris. In North America, the hoods are usually located in the core of a city while the suburbs on the outskirts are where the rich reside in order to distance themselves from the inner-city poverty. Paris, on the other hand, is a dense and overpopulated city where the cost of housing is through the roof; therefore your working class immigrant is forced to relocate to the outskirts where rent is cheaper. The suburbs is where you will find most of the government-housing and ghettos. Some of these projects, or cite as they are called in France, are so hood that uniformed police don’t even patrol there anymore for fear of having their cars burnt or being victims of thrown projectiles. President Sarkozy has removed a lot of the local police stations from some of these neighborhoods. Therefore, similar to the tactics used in Brazilian favellas, law enforcement will only occasionally come through in packs dressed like SWAT team in order to do raids or arrests.

If you park your mook mobile in front of a graff expo where a bunch of drunken writers are chilling, chances are mooks will start tagging the hood of your car.

Orly they don’t play. Each hood in Paris has its specialty in the criminal world. The northern 93 suburbs are known for their drug trade and hustle game. 92 on the other hand is a sector where the ghetto and rich neighborhood is separated into two. They’re known for the sale of harder drugs. 91 and 95 are the agitated ones who will wild out and beef over no reason, instigating gang and hood wars. The 94 southern suburbs are known for their robberies and stick ups; hitting banks or armored delivery trucks. Another classic Parisian robbery tactic is the ‘Voiture Belier’ or ‘The Battering Ram Car’, where thieves will crash a stolen car into a store wall or bank machine in order to destroy and rob it.

With its breathtaking architecture, glamorous lighting and romantic ambiance, Paris is known all around the world as the place for couples to rekindle their love. However there is more to this place than the Hollywood Romantic cliche, as this is also known to be a city of Sex. The Pigalle district hosts most of the sex shops and is also home to the famous Moulin Rouge cabaret, walking around there is sometimes reminiscent of some parts of Amsterdam. The prostitution game is also on point in Paris as you can get your hooker fix quickly at spots like Vincennes, transvestites at Bois-de-Boulogne in the west or the grimey boulevard Ney in the 18th. While we’re on the subject of the 18th district, shouts out to all my goons robbing tourists at Gare du Nord, all my hustlers scheming in Barbes and all the crackheads bugging out at Marx-Dormoy! From LaChappelle to Porte d’Aubervilliers… I see y’all!

There you have it, it’s the official Mook-Life guide to Paname. We are the unconventional tourists, the type of visitors that governments hate having in their countries. Believe it or not, I’ve been to Paris nearly a dozen times but never climbed the Eiffel Tower or set foot in the Louvres. However, I’ve drank beers in the catacombs and visited their finest GAV holding cells. I’m the tourist who does not take a taxi but hops the metro without paying. The type of tourist who does not eat on a french bistro terrace but settles for the corner street kebab with samourai sauce. The type of tourist that does not admire the architecture but scribbles his name onto it. It’s that Mook-Life state of mind.

Much respect to all my peoples who show me love every time I touch ground in Paris City. The Mook-Life is universal my brothers, we connect from both ends of the World. 2012 is ours.

Check out and support the homies:

Jee and W.2000: http://w2000studio.blogspot.com/
Madzoreil: http://madzoreil.blogspot.com/
Bleu De Paname: http://bleudepaname.com/
La Konspy: http://lakonspy.blogspot.com/
Deace: http://www.deace.com/blog/

The same week, I got my hands on some super-sweet Chocolope. This is my favorite strain of 2011. First time I smoked it was in NY (shout out to Zoe) and it was love at first smoke. This bud is everything you want a vagina to be. Smells good, tastes amazing, real pretty to look at. I swear, I’ve had serious urges of sticking my cock in the weed jar a couple of times. It also gets you hungry like a bear after hibernation. I grabbed a handful and jetted to the Clarke Headquarters.

Some of these competitive eaters prepare themselves for competitions months in advance, stretching their stomachs and training their body to be able to withstand such a massive amount of food, probably for safety reasons. However, these mooks have no idea what they’re getting into, so the only preparation they had was a huge smokefest and a few beers to help them forget the upcoming embarrassments.

At the headquarters, Rilly Guilty and Fiend were working on this dope mix for their weekly night at the Royal Phoenix. The name gives it away… yes, it’s a dyke bar. The phoenix always reminded me of dykes, because its a flaming female bird that rocks a mullet. In any case, according to reliable sources, shit gets out of hand at these nights. I bet that them lezzies cave in after a few drinks. Just bump and grind. Once they feel that hard-on, it’s on. And if you don’t get to smash, well, at least you went to a night that had really good music for a change. Peep game:

Rilly Guilty & Fiend – TUFF LOVE RADIO by Rilly Guilty

Speaking of dykes, hooo-ly. Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened here? Not only are the women confused, so are their shoes. As if you’re gonna be sailing, lumbering and going to the club at the same time. This can’t be life.

After the smokefest, we headed down to the chosen location: The Main. Fuck hot-dogs, this is Mook-Life. We are going to do it proper and we are gonna keep it 100% Montreal. Some of you might remember the Smoke Weed-Smoked Meat post from last winter. It’s only right we follow up this winter with another smoked meat experience.

Tron tried to arrange some sort of deal for this event but it was all pointless. They could give a fuck about us and our bullshit. They were not interested in giving us any discounts nor were they interested in knowing where the pictures from this event would end up. This place is as classic as it gets.

Since most of the time we hit The Main completely destroyed at 4AM, we often overlook some of the key elements that make it so legendary. When you take a minute to observer these caricatures, you will quickly come to the conclusion that The Main has a long lineage of mooked-out employees.

Not so long ago, people were allowed to smoke in restaurants, including the staff and cooks. Shit was all good. Even on the airplane, mooks just chained smoked like crazy, with babies and old people sitting next to them and every one was perfectly cool with it. Where did our freedom go?

The guy in the middle is my father.

The rules to the game were simple and straight to the point: these mooks had exactly an hour to eat as many smoked meat sandwiches as possible.

For those who are not familiar with smoked meat, this is it. Pretty much looks like your girl’s busted cunt.

And if her cunt looks like this, well, I feel bad for you son.

Everyone got their first sandwich. It’s game time.

Each mook had their own approach. Like in any competition, mooks are going to cheat. Dean had concealed 2 sandwiches on his bald spot. Only noticed once I uploaded the flicks. What a cheeky bastard.

Tron took the silent and steady route. While everyone is talking shit, he was just eating his sandwiches calmly, in silence, one bite at a time.

Meet Evan (Jeff Daniels’ son), a promising star in the sport of competitive eating. I like his approach, humble and hard, pause. Definitely keep your eye on him, no homo.

Budda always has some sort of shaman remedy up his sleeve. He brought a can of Dole pineapple juice. His claims were that it was going to expand the digestive system and ultimately allow him to eat more. I don’t know if that makes any sense and I’m sure that with a simple Google search, I would be able to find out. I see FAIL all over this but, I might be wrong.

I don’t know what was gayer: his bullshit pineapple-juice trick, the brohawk or that t-shirt. But everything combined including the sandwich deepthroat action is well pause-worthy. Matter of fact, this guy lives in the pause. Pas beng beng…

Tiny Trim might be legally considered a midget, but her eating skills are of legendary proportions. While most of them were on their second sandwich, she was on her fifth. What you know about that?

Mooksy was all talk at first but when the sandwiches came out, so did the excuses. First, they were too dry, then they were too fatty. Backpedaling-ass mooks. There is no way out of this one, motherfucker.

If you don’t find this sexy, you are probably a faggot.

This mook was long disqualified, so all he had to do for the remaining hour was pull stunts. A field in which he excels considerably well, a lot more than competitive eating.

Trim set a new world record with nine and three-quarters of a sandwich in less than 30 minutes. I knew that she was an experienced meat eater but damn, that shit is just fucked.

With half an hour to go, these mooks had more than enough on their plates if they wanted to even come anywhere close to nine sandwiches.

Mooksy and Tron went head-to-head with their fifth plate on the table, pause. Evan was right behind (nh), coming in third with his fourth sandwich and finally, Budda, who was gagging, working that meat down his throat like his name is Alexis Texas with only three mandwiches deep. No homo, of course.

At this point I can see the pain setting in their faces. This was no longer fun. This was no longer amusing. These guys looked like they were seriously suffering.

Tron took the lead with this sixth sandwich. All I could think of were the faces of all the poor children out there who are dying from starvation. Some of them will never get to hit puberty, let alone their first piece of pussy and here we are, forcefully eating in discomfort for the sheer pleasure of proving a point to an equally retarded person who challenged us in a pointless, unnecessary, costly, time-consuming, health-damaging, undeniably stupid and wasteful activity. Only GOD can judge me.

Dean, I think you forgot to feed your dog, homie.

Mr. Daniels was the third person to fall back with close to five sandwiches under his belt. The mustard technique gave him some leverage, but it was not enough to make it into the top three. Sorry, bud.

There were about fifteen minutes left when Tron received his seventh sandwich. He had already one up on Evan and Mooksy, so this was purely to prove a point. This is like when you spit on a man after you beat him down to the floor.

Tron: Look at you. You filthy fucking cow. You little four-legged bitch. You grew up walking around in your own shit and now, because you got kidnapped, carved and wound up in a sauna for a couple days, you’re gonna try and humiliate ME?

Tron: This is where reality comes into play, Mooksy. This is where you separate the real from the phonies… Quit fakin’ jacks, kid. Talk to me again when you’re prepared for double-digit sandwiches. Protège ta nuque.

Tron: What are you doing here? Just go home and get out of my face.

Tron: Six-and-a-half sandwiches… Your 500 pound cousin ain’t got shit on me. There were white flags waving everywhere, bring me some real competition. Until then, give the rest of the sandwich to the hungry mook and get me a black cherry soda. See ya later, chumps.

Thirty two sandwiches later, we had the final verdict for this never-ending stoner argument. All this macho shit-talking and these dumbass mooks got beat by a female midget rocking camo and fucked up hybrid, high-heel boat shoes for dyke hikers on the prowl. Tron came in second with 6.5 sandwiches and Dean got third place for being a proper stunt manager. The other three mooks should be ashamed of themselves and stop fronting. Next time your stoner buddy tries to kick some shit in your ear about how he can eat 69 steamies in one sitting you should tell him to put the hot-dogs where his mouth is, pause. He will either chicken out or embarrass himself. Either way, it’s a win for you and a huge diss to the all the people who are dying of starvation. Most importantly, he will never make those claims again.

South of the Black Sea lies the country of Turkey, which serves as a separation between the Middle East and Europe. Its particular location makes it culturally special, as it is heavily influenced by both sides yet, at the same time, preserves its unique flavor. Istanbul, the third largest metropolitan area in Europe and Turkey’s main city, is host to 13.26 million people. Half of the city is in Europe, while the other half is considered to be in Asia. With its dense population and unique cultural identity, there’s no doubt that Istanbul is a place where you can find all sorts of colorful characters and cartoonish faces. In a matter of just three days in this hectic city, I managed to run into some of the most exclusive faces in my whole career of People Watching. Everywhere I turned, there would be funky characters staring back at me. Istanbul is definitely a city of mooks, and today we just scratch the surface by giving you a taste of its streets. We present to you: The Beautiful People of Istanbul.

The People Watching scene in Istanbul is on a whole other level. On every corner you will find some of the most exclusive faces to bless God’s green pastures. When I saw this beautiful specimen, I stopped in my tracks and did a double backflip out of sheer excitement. Look at that mug… it’s so exclusive, you can’t even tell if he’s from the past or from the future.

Wuddup, maing! Hustling that Vitamin C e’yday!

It seems the more East you go, the bigger the mustaches get. I’ve truly developed a science on the mustache vs. location theory. In America, most people are clean-shaven and will only let their mustache grow in November. As you cross the Atlantic and get to Western Europe, you find smaller mustaches like the French ones that are split in the middle, or the Italian ones that are thin and curl upwards. But the more you go East, the more you start seeing thicker and funkier mustaches. Once you reach countries like Turkey you got a fucking ferret under your nose like papi right here.

The sport of Sleeping in Public is full of colorful characters and top-notch competitors. While normal people tend to exclude themselves in quiet places to get their sleep on, this city’s Public Sleep Athletes will choose the rowdiest and loudest part of the city to take a nap. This world-class champion is so comfortable next to his piss pond that he can even smoke cigarettes in his sleep without waking up.

Even the workplace is perfect terrain to practice the Sleeping in Public discipline. Looks like the scarf business will not pick up this year, but at least my man has good chances for the Gold medal at the Sleeping in Public Mooklympics 2012!

Only in a place like this can you find people who practice the sport of Sleeping in Public… while standing up! From afar it seems he’s waiting calmly pressed against the wall, but it’s only when you approach that you notice homeboy is catching z’s in the upright position on downtown’s busiest street.

In most countries, the graffiti writer always has the same type of look and physical description. Most graffiti artists roll around town with the classic hoodies, baseball caps and windbreakers stained with paint spots. Honestly, I can spot y’all from a mile away. However, in Istanbul it seems graffiti writers are 40 year-old ballers wearing white suits and designer frames. Shout out to the kid Berrny, rocking moptags in front of everybody like it ain’t no thing. If a police officer comes around, just throw habib a stack of Lira and walk off while puffing your cigar.

My boy here rocking the ill black and gold suit is selling Turkish crunk juice on the block. This drink is some shady vinegar-water with marinated cabbage, carrots and pickles. I tasted one of these fine delicacies and had diarrhea for the rest of the week. But then again… I haven’t shit solid since 1996, so it’s all good in the hood!!!

My Turkish peoples got mad love for the Mook Life. This father and son owned a corner store on the main strip and asked us to put stickers up all over the front of the shop. Also, I gotta say their homemade freshly-squeezed fruit juices definitely hit the spot. Respect!

When you’re a father of five in your mid-50s and you’re still hustling pretzels on the block… les yeux.

When you’re a father of 5 in your mid 50′s and you’re still hustling pretzels on your head because you can’t even afford a cart… les yeux en TABARNAK!

I’m guessing this is the Istanbul version of Mount Rushmore. As my tour guide mentioned, these statues were designed to pay respect to a great line-up of historical figures. You can tell that so much detail and precision went into the creation of these monuments. And once again, the mustache theory comes into full effect.

This man’s face looks like he’s lived through six wars and five food droughts. He’s so tough that he probably washes his face with sand in the morning and brushes his teeth with a rock. To top it off, he’s got a doo-rag under his hat and he’s rocking brand new Clarks.

Major swag in this place. This jacket looks like it came out of an early 2000s Dip-Set music video, and even then Cam’ron couldn’t style this joint like my main man right here. Let’s not forget the matching hat and the cartoon strip scarf coming out of the backseat of his chair. BOOM! What’chu know about that?

There’s no prettier smile than a smile with only two teeth on the top row of your mouth. It’s all good, you don’t even need to open your jaw anymore next time you take a sip of that EFES beer!

Guitar Grandma straight out of Purple City. When looking at her whole attire, the color coordination was so out of this world that I thought: this must be what Killa-EF feels like when he watches Discovery Channel on LSD.

I have no idea what this instrument is, but duke was rocking that shit like he was headlining at Woodstock. He was a definite street celebrity, because his bodyguard to the right was ready to knock my paparazzi ass out when I tried getting too close.

On the bridge that splits the city in half, you will find fishermen at every hour of the night and day. Throwing their line into the polluted water below, there seems to be a steady flow of three-eyed fish to be captured and sold to the local restaurants. It’s like if you had hoards of fishermen chilling and catching fish from the Jacques Cartier bridge in Montreal. This OG looks like he has many years in the game, you can tell he came prepared with his full-on waterproof suit and that cigarette holder stylishly popping out the side of his mouth. It’s like if he’s ready to go on a one-week camping trip in the wilderness… the only problem is that he’s in downtown Istanbul.

Istanbul is definitely a city filled with street hustlers. People will sell you anything, anywhere and at any time. It’s like a giant bazaar, where every corner or alleyway has someone trying to get you to buy the most random of things. There’s so many people hustling everywhere that these guys had to go behind the staircase railing to find themselves a decent spot to set up shop.

There is also the Mobile Hustler, who walks around town with his ambulant Flea Market cart. However, it seems he apparently went into someone else’s territory, because he was sporting a black eye on the left side of his face.

I haven’t got a clue what this guy was selling or trying to do, but he seemed so happy to see me pay attention to him clapping away with those mini-cymbals. I came back a few hours later and he was still there, clapping away in the same position with a big ass smile on his face.

It was New Year’s Eve when I arrived in one of Holland’s most modern cities: Rotterdam. Little did I know the streets had transformed into a war zone, where everyone was exploding Cobra bombs and lighting personal fireworks on every corner. It’s in this chaotic ambiance that I first met MJay and his boys, some of Rotterdam’s finest chilleurs who reminded me a lot of my mooks back home. We partied into 2012 while drinking an assortment of liquor and blowing up lampposts, while the night skies blazed with fireworks until the break of dawn.

It was only after the night’s drunken shenanigans that I discovered the homie MJAY had an interest in photography. His talent was not only limited to blowing up Cobra bombs and mooking it out, but he had a great eye for photography and definite skills when it came to this discipline. What captured my attention the most was that his subject matter reflected the vagabond lifestyle and the InterRail movement. Any photography student out there can come up with professional studio portraits or pretty postcard scenery, but it’s only the rare breed like MJAY that has access to the documentation of Vandalism missions or the trials and tribulations of the street life.

For those who don’t know, the InterRail movement is a particular way of life for graffiti writers in Europe. With the proximity of countries and non-existing borders, InterRail passes give you unlimited access to any train destination on the continent for a period of a month. Writers travel from city to city with the sole purpose of painting the transit systems and getting up. It’s a lifestyle where you live on the bare minimum, steal everything on the way, sleep a few hours a night, scope out yards in every new city and destroy the fuck out of each subway system… all in a hardcore and intense trip. Call it the purest form of graffiti freedom. Today, Mook-Life spotlights one of Rotterdam’s finest by focusing on the InterRail and street life movement he lives every day. A picture is worth a thousand words, and you can feel the adventure pouring its heart out in each one of these frames. We present to you the lifestyles through the lens of MJAY.

For more of that visual crack, check out MJAY’s websites:
www.mjayphotography.com
www.humanster.com