Baller Actitivies.

Last night myself and a couple of my fellow money maulers were sitting around sipping on some yak when we thought to ourselves, "dudes, why don't we hit up the town and show this sad community what it means to burn through some cash". Now as a veteran of such activities I have found there are many ways to show off your cash. You can do something as simple as just burning it in front of homeless people or something as elaborate and blowing your nose with it and then setting it on fire in front of a homeless man.



None of those ideas really seemed to fun last night so my friends and I decided to play an old favourite game of ours. It requires such skills as spending money, getting drunk and the ability to fiercely compete. It is known quite simply as "bar golf".



The game is very simple. Here are the basic rules. You draw up a course of nine bars. Each bar has a par, "or average drinks required" of two. If you drink three drinks you get a birdie, four is an eagle, etc. If you have only one drink you get a bogey. If you understand the rules of golf this should come quite easily to you. You and your peers decide how long to spend at each bar while you are there. If the bar is full of duds you may only stay for a "happy meal", also known as a shot and a beer, but if there are a ton of shorties on the course it may prove advantageous to stay for a while.



Needless to say, a lot of awesome things can happen while playing this game. Strategy comes into play around the fourth hole. At this point you may want to start ripping shots like crazy in an attempt to get ahead. This plan of action is dangerous but since par for each bar is only two drinks you will not be penalized too badly if you pass out. Who am I kidding, pass out? Ha. What I meant to say was find a shorty who snuck into the bathroom behind you because she couldn't stand looking at you without ripping her clothes off and having sex with you for one second longer.



man, chicks are nuts.

F-R--I-D-A-Y Night!

I can smell happy hour from here. MMMMmmmm that shit smells so hoppy and sweet. I will have to keep my self in check for the next little while though. I still have an hour and a half of time that I owe to the man. Mind you, during this time I will be looking the recently released photo's of Ms. Lohan in New York magazine and thinking about how I thought that her boobies used to look bigger.



Anyway, when this next hour and a half have passed I have been invited to a happy hour at a local tapas bar. My first question when asked to join this group was, "How many chicks are going to be there?" After the number stated piqued my interest I then asked "are any of them sluts?" Once again after finding and answer that pleased me I asked, arguably, the most important question of all, "What the fuck is tapas?"



It turns out, as defined by Wikipedia, "tapas is the name for a wide variety of appetizers in Spanish cuisine. They may be cold, such as mixed olives and cheese, or warm, such as puntillitas, Andalusian battered, fried baby squid." Ummm.... okay well I figured what the fuck. The idea seems to be that it is small portions of food and full sized prices. What a novel way to waste cash!



After doing some more research on this local Western New York tapas bar I found out that they serve "Buffalo specific" tapas dishes. I cannot wait to see what this place has to offer. All I can think of right now is mini cheeseburgers and shot glasses of genny lights.




Lets just hope that after these babes are finished dining on such small meals that they are ready for a huge piece of meat for the night cap!

Your Move, Taylor.

Last night started off a lot like any other night. After grinding away for nine long hours at the office I headed to the local convenient store. I prefer buying my alcohol from convenient store's rather than liquor stores or beer marts because they are much more expensive there. I would like to think that since I spend more than needed that it makes the beer taste better.




To have my ordinary night continue I was to meet a beautiful young woman out for dinner. This happens just about every single night. It isn't really a big deal.



After dining on the finest cheeseburgers in the greater Buffalo area my escort and I found ourselves at a birthday party at a local tattoo parlour. There was alcohol flowing, Wu Tang blaring from the speakers of iBook's and general fun being had by all.



So as the evening went on some of the tattoo artist had began giving away their art for free to those who were willing to have their bodies permanently marked. At this point I noticed my female escort for the evening eying up some of the dudes who were into getting inked. At this point I know that needed to be done. I needed to get inked.



I am thinking to myself real hard at this point. As I am about to stain my body with ink forever and ever what could I put on me that could this shorty all the sides of a humble baller. The money side, the cooter loving side, the power hungry side, the drunk side, no, no. None of those will do. I would show off my sensitive side. That will show this fair lass what a "sensitive" man I am.




So yeah, last night I got bombed and got my mom's name tattooed across my heart.

No Limit Soldiers?

At MakingItRain we are always trying new things. Be it new ways to spend our money, new sexual positions or new ways to show you the baller lifestyle. Today we are proud to share with you a baller anthem. This is different than the rap songs like "Party Up" by DMX or "C.R.E.A.M" by personal favourites of ours the Wu Tang Clan, this song is a parody of a classic song. So here we go, channeling our inner Master P, we hope that you like it.




♫ To the tune of "See My Vest" by C. Montgomery Burns ♫


Some men hunt for sport
Others hunt for food
The only thing I'm hunting for,
Is a shorty that fucks real good



Peep her chest, peep her chest
Covered in my milky mess
Feel me Heather, there's no better
Than this authentic Irish settler



I see your cat, I'm feeling that
On your evening wear I'm about to splat
Those white slippers are your dinner
You're quite sexy, my slutty sinner



Grizzly bear underwear
Huge bushes, I've seen my share
Bonjour poodle, suck my noodle
I'm real impressed



Try my red throbbing root
I'll bust one nut or two
Peep her chest, peep her chest
Peep her chest.



See my boner, it's no loner
While with shorties it's no loafer
'Cos by missile sized torpedo
Is the best


So dudes let's tame these hogs
Get two to lick your log
And peep their chest, peep their chest
Oh, please let me peep your chest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Presidents Day!!!!!

Today is the holiday known to American's across the globe as Presidents Day. It has been celebrated since 1971. Before that time American's had two days in February off, one to celebrate the birthday of Abraham Lincoln and the other to celebrate the birth of George Washington.



So what happend to our two days off in February? Well, CEO's of American companies needed employees in this country to become more productive which is why these two holidays were combined into one. That is some fucked up shit. Sadly, there isn't much we can do anymore. If only I was around in 1971 I would have held some sort of protest or some shit. Owen Wilson agrees with me and best exemplifies his frustration in the film "You Me & Dupree"




What makes this holiday even worse is that the only people who seem to celebrate it are bankers. I mean what the fuck, I am the one slaving away to the man Monday thru Friday so as to fill this bank account, why don't I get today off? Though I do suppose that they deserve some respect from ballers like myself, I mean, it has got to get tough counting all of the money that I deposit on a daily basis.



So here's to you Miss banker shorty. You are super hot and turn me on sometimes. You are even nice enough to be polite when I miscount my money in the morning because I am still drunk from the night before. It also makes me feel good when you ask me how my night was, even if I think it might be in a condescending tone because I reek of alcohol. In fact, you are so fly that if i ever see you out I will take you home and fuck you. Enjoy your bank holiday.

Book Club.

Sunday evenings are a nice night for relaxing. After 36 hours of constant drinking, sexing and spending one must sit down and relax. This could be because you have earned taking a couple of hours for yourself. Another reason could be because you go so wasted on Saturday night that you couldn't muster up the energy to get out of bed since you are so hungover that your mouth is more dry than a 90 year old chicks cooter.



So when in a state of uselessness you have to think about how to pass the time. Mind you, this does not happen often but once in a while you might prefer not getting bombed. The only time when this is permitted is if you are ready to come back twice as hard and get twice as fucked up the following night. So I guess that I will have an exciting Tuesday post for you, yet I digress. So when the night is young and booze isnt piquing your interest it may not be a bad idea to turn to a book.



So for evening's like these we here at MakingItRain have decided to start a book club. We are going to highlight books that have helped us become they people that we are today. Books about babes, cash and other awesome shit. Today, we profile The Million Dollar Man, Ted Dibiase's book, "Every Man Has His Price: The True Story Of Wrestling's Million Dollar Man"



So I start reading this book and guess what, not only is the real Ted Dibiase not a millionaire but wrestling is fake as well!! I feel cheated, scammed and above all else I am devastated that my hero growing up turned out to be nothing more than a fraud.



Needless to say this book gets zero stars by my ranking system. Thankfully though, with all of the frauds out there, that there are still real hero's who know how to make it rain.

Working on the Weekend.

It is Friday, slightly after four thirty pm eastern time. It is almost time to go home. I for one can not wait. There is nothing quite like that first sip of delicious beer or your first drag from a huge ass cigar on a Friday evening to set the tone for you weekend.



I was going to do a lengthy post about how Saturdays are inherently better than Tuesdays and how Sunday is the finest of all of the days in the entire week. Rather than the ode to the weekend that I had planned I have decided instead to post pictures of chicks that I plan on having sex with this weekend.



Don't know her name now and I certainly don't plan on learning it after I do her either!



Samaire Armstrong, for quite some time I have known that I wanted to do you. It all started when I saw your beautiful smile on the Freaks and Geeks. I followed you to The O.C. and from there I have plastered your photos all over my bedroom. It will be kind of weird when you come to my house, I bend you over, and you see all of these pictures of you on the wall. Just go along with it, it is much easier this way. Thanks.



So those two are my plans for Friday night and Saturday night. Sunday afternoon am going to need a little release after winning hundreds of thousands of dollars at OTB. It will have to be a special kind of woman, see, the thing is on Sundays after I win all of this money I have this condition where my wiener swells up to unimaginable sizes. I mean, it gets huuuuuuuuuuge. The fact of the matter is that money just gets me super hard. So this weekend I think I might just have to go to the hospital to see if this young lady can reduce the swelling.


decent.

Saint Valentine's Day.

Tonight is a big night in the life of a certified ladies man. It's true, tonight is the one night a year when every woman in the world who is not committed to a man (and let's be honest, unless you are with a making it rain writer you can't be "truly" committed" ) is ready to give it up.




On a night like tonight one must exhibit caution. Since every single woman in the world is feeling lonely, slutty, and lost you will have to wade through many women each of whom is trying to bring you home, made whoopie with you and then expect you to still be there in the morning. See, this is the inherent flaw with valentines day, sure you can insert your pinus into almost any woman's vagina on a night like tonight, sure, but you must tread cautiously because if you aren't careful you may wind up in her car on your way to her mothers house on a Saturday afternoon.



With the advice that we are about to give you, it is possible, though not likely, to get out of your own bed on February 15th by yourself. Well, I mean, by yourself in the sense that you had sex with eight different women last night but you made all of them leave by the morning. duh.



Rule number 1: Be humble. On valentine's day the ladies don't want to see you pull out hundred dollar bills and buy them shots of whiskey with it. Sure on most night this is fine. It shows them that you are aggressive and that you are an animal in the sack. They love that shit, most of the time. Tonight though, tell them jokes that your parents think would be funny. Be cute, if there is a man selling flowers outside the bar, buy one for her. She will think that you are sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo romantic.



Rule number 2: So now you have them back at your place. I have noticed that after you have sex with a girl that more often than not they have to go to the bathroom. This is where you must act quickly. While she is in the bathroom cleaning your "snot" off from her boobies you are to rifle through her purse. Now obviously, you don't need her credit cards or money, you are rich. You just want to create the illusion that you are robbing her. This way she will become so enraged that she will leave immediately.



Rinse, lather, repeat my man. Rinse, lather, repeat. Now that is what I call a St. Valentine's Day Massacre.

Hating it rain.

You know him. Quite frankly, this guy is one of the most reprehensible beings in the history of the earth. They come out when the weather turns cold and don't leave until the trees begin budding in the spring time. In what is arguable the hardest time to live in the Northeast these numbskulls make day to day life even more trying.



Yes, it is that stupid guy who wears shorts during the winter. Is there a more loathsome character in the world? I suggest that there is not. They are generally are over weight teenagers but the truth is they come in all shapes and sizes.



You may wonder, "How does this relate to the act of hating it rain?". Well, let me ask you this question in return, have you ever meet someone who wore shorts during the winter who turned out to be a successful business man? Ever meet anyone who wears daisy dukes while there is a negative 4 windchill pick up a shorty in a bar? Have you even seem someone wearing shorts in the middle of a blizzard while lighting a cigarette with a hundred dollar bill?
Yeah, me neither.



You can bet that the guy pictured above is wearing pants.

Another "Perfect" day at the races.

It all started a month ago. For some time fellow baller Dan Murphy and myself had been discussing it. Each and every Sunday afternoon we would dine on a luxurious lunch at Nick's Place featuring scrumptious skillets and grilled cheese's with the most grandiose bacon in all of upstate New York. This Sunday was different though, fore on this Sunday we decided it was time to go through with the plan.



So after our opulent omelette's and savory sandwiches Dollar Dan and I decided that we hit up the establishment known as "Off Track Betting" or as my friends and I call it, "OTB". Thankfully Dollar Dan is also far from frugal with his dough so he readily agreed to the suggestion. We hopped into Dan's mid size luxury car and we were there in no time.



Upon our arrival at the "OTB" we noticed that we were, by like 30 years, the youngest people in there. Really, it was quite a sad state of homeless and the near homeless squandering their money with the illusion that they have a better chance of hitting a long shot to place than buying a one dollar scratch off at the local bodega. All across the ground were ripped up race tickets sitting right next to their broken dreams.



The difference between Dollar Dan , myself and the rest of these pathetic people was that we were not gambling with little Suzie's lunch money or our wife's overtime paycheck. No, we were spending money that didn't mean shit to us. Ha! When you wouldn't even notice a four digit drop in your checking account things like horse racing just call out your name.



Needless to say with our first tickets we won. Then we played again, and won. Believe it or not this act continued to repeat itself. Eventually we had to go home but we vowed to come back the following week. Now if you don't know what happened the next week then you haven't been reading this website for a very long time.



And guess what, it hasn't stopped yet. Every Sunday we go, every Sunday we win. All of the old dudes around us are starting to get pissed. I think what irratates them the most is that after winning a couple of hundred dollars, rather than sitting there all night and playing the horses, we go out and get fucked up.



Only one problem has come with the weeks and weeks of winning hundreds of dollars and getting all kinds of fucked up on free money.




Sometimes you have money left over and decide to pay homage to the very place that is the source of all of this extra cheddar because you are so fucked up....