Category Archives: Stories from the Road

Stories from the Road: Back from Playa del Carmen, Mexico

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Another escape from hell to paradise

After taking a week long sojourn in Mexico to cleanse myself of the cultural toxicity of America, I’m back.

Luckily, I can request time off anywhere in the U.S. my trucking company does business, so naturally I request time off on the border every 3 weeks to escape the mean-faced, Cloroxed hair women and the spiritual emptiness of a nation that worships the shopping mall and the slow death of bad, ersatz food.

Here’s how it went.

I arrived at the international bridge around 10:00 p.m. after dropping my last load. I decided to walk across into a border city tormented by ongoing battles between Prohibitionist Mexican police and drug cartels. (Prohibition never works, it just leads to violence.) After having my sanity questioned by everyone who knew I was a white boy walking alone into Mexico, I can tell you I had absolutely no problems other than having to dick around with cab drivers who wanted to rip me off. You gotta be a man in Mexico. You can’t be a bitch. Weakness will be pounced on. Just so you know.

I immediately made my way down to the zona de tolerancia to search out some $40-$50 legal whores. Oh yes, renting sex isn’t illegal in Mexico.

The brothel inside the zona was dead, no chicas in sight, but there were still a few working girls in the cuartos or rooms around the compound. I ended up banging a 30ish chick from the capital of Mexico City and remember thinking as we finished up, “Holy fuck, this $40 prostitute just treated me better and made me feel like more of a man than any of the American women I spent large sums of money on dating when I still tried to be the Beta nice guy.”

She was light skinned, could have passed for white, and treated me with utmost respect. I remember thinking as we put our clothes back on that I come here to the zonas from time to time to experience women treating me like a human being and not a utility object, not just for the sex. (Which is hit and miss in terms of quality.)

Anyway, after that it was on to coastal Mexico.

Wisely avoiding the tourist areas, I ended up in Playa del Carmen. Initially disappointed by the Eurotrash and Americanized clubs and shops, I decided to take a walk to the bad part of town. Ended up having an awesome time with a couple of chicas.

And then, it happened.

I met a Mexican girl, about my age, who pressed all the right buttons. She reminded me of the first Latina I ever dated way back at the tender age of 24. The rest of my trip was magical. Transcendent, even. I remember why having the Latina experience changed the course of my entire life and I’m still chasing adventures in Latin America over a decade later.

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Latinas are the antithesis of manly Anglo women, but only in their home culture

This chick was hot. I mean really hot. Beautiful face, flowing dark hair, sumptuous curves, full booty, perky tits, luscious lips, and haunting eyes. She was so charming and treated me so well I was in a trance. I spent maybe $100 on the both of us for food and dancing the ENTIRE WEEK. Obviously, she was not after my money. Nor a green card. No, this was a real woman. She was everything I ran away from Anglo America to find.

A couple of times I fought back tears at the rush of emotion and happiness, having been starved of tender, female affection like this back home.

She would nibble on my ear and we would make out in public like teenagers. She would lay in my lap at the park. She would grab my hand as we walked around town and focus her attention on me. She cooked for me. She talked to me like she was interested in what I had to say.

Of course, the sex was incredible. It was real. More than just physical, it was emotional. There’s just nothing like the experience of a real, Old World woman. It can be a life changing experience, realizing there are places where women treat you like a man and not a dog. This is a big reason I travel.

But, my Savage Pilgrimages are about much more than empty sex and good times. I travel to have beautiful experiences like these in my life, in which I get to feel what it’s like to be with a woman who knows how to treat me like a man, rather than biding my time with a chick trying to be a man herself, like Anglobitches.

I am still high on this experience, walking around with a spring in my step and stars in my eyes as I wander back in to a nation of hateful, spiritually dead materialists. The memories and the happy daze make the transition back to living the life of a monk easier while I work and save for 6 months of living abroad. Memories like these motivate me. There are places where women aren’t taught to hate men.

While everyone else snarls their nose when someone mentions Mexico, I know the truth. This is a place where a man can still be a man and live a full life, one denied him by a gynocentric death cult.

All you gotta do is speak the language.

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Stories from the Road: Indianapolis Headed to Mexico

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Saddle up

Trucking may be the ultimate career for the roaming nomad.

I’ve seen basically the entire U.S. in just a few short months, banged bitches in different cities, and since I live in the truck I don’t have any expenses beyond food and entertainment. As Willie Nelson put it, “Living on the road my friend, is gonna keep you free and clean.”

Let me tell you, the nation doesn’t impress me much. Nothing to do except mindlessly consume and throw money around for no real reason at all. The nation is obsessed with materialism and novel restaurant experiences with bad, overpriced, ersatz food.

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I’m days away from women like her

Still, I manage to keep myself entertained.

I went to a black strip club in Indianapolis last night, and came away thinking how everything we say about American women in the manosphere is so right on. It was another disappointment, leading me to believe social engineering is now sucking the life out of the black community. Anglos were always boring.

Foreign women put American women to shame in almost every quantifiable measure. All I could think was, “I can’t wait to leave this fucking place again.” I knew I could get more, better action for much less money this weekend. Or no money at all.

It’s almost time. After 23 days straight on the road, I get to take a week off. I requested time off in the Rio Grande Valley so I can skip this repressed, coast to coast shopping mall and eatery for some good times in Old Mexico.

I’ll definitely be banging out some sexy Latinas while I’m there. In fact, that was all I could think of, with a bemused look on my face, as these Ameriwhores rubbed their sexuality in men’s faces, clueless as to why nobody was spending money on them with tips. Bitch, we don’t want to give away our hard earned money away just to see your ample frame in a bikini and get rubbed on.

America loves to tease men with sex but give them no satisfaction.

Incidentally, I just reread part of Havok: How Anglo American Feminism Ruined Society in my spare time. What a relief to discover I’m not alone, many authors, artists, poets, and writers fled this culture either spiritually, literally, or both. Among them: Christian, Hemingway, Blake, Byron, Shelley, Rosetti.

Here are a few excerpts from the Chapter detailing how creative and intelligent men fled sexually repressed Anglo America for a cornucopia of sensual and sexual delights abroad.

So I’m in good company.

At this point, I only come to America to refill my bank account with cash. It’s a mercenary relationship. Since I’m cockblocked from participating in other world economies due to statism, I have no choice for the moment except to lick the boot and save all my pennies for a better life abroad. Shopping and eating out and latent Puritanism don’t interest me. Good times and interesting people and freedom do.

As I’ve said before, America offers the least personal freedom and liberty of any place I visit. It is quite literally the world’s largest outdoor prison.

That’s why trucking is the perfect plan for the man who wants out…spend 23 days driving, 7 abroad each month, then take a 6 month sabbatical from the land of conspicuous consumption each year as I return to the Caribbean and venture out into parts unknown in the rest of the world.

Better men than I did the same thing, except they had resources and I have to work for my resources. My travel plans this year still include Africa, South America, and of course, my haven in the Caribbean.

Meantime, I’ll be in Mexico next week. With stories, of course.

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Keep Calm and Go Ghost

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An update from the road, just outside The Windy City

Here’s an update from the road as I sit outside Chicago with a load of plastic consumer garbage destined for a Walmart distribution center.

MGTOW Ghosting has become a common topic of discussion among that community, and I must say I realize it has a certain appeal. After spending a full year in the Caribbean, then the month of March in Asia, I feel as if I’ve been dropped into a bucket of ice water coming back to the States. The women are a fucking freak show! People don’t even know how to say hello to each other! Everyone walks around in a daze! Nobody has time to do anything except work!

And to think, I once accepted this as the norm!

Even though I can pull ass at strip clubs or game my way into some chick’s love box (if I want to put time and energy into it) through online dating, I really have no desire to do anything except work my ass off, save every dime, and get the fuck out of this insane asylum as quickly as possible.

For example, I was going to go out last night and drink some beers while watching some naked ass and tits jiggling around. But, an Uber was going to cost me a total of $60 just for the roundtrip from the truck stop to the closest strip club a mere 15 minutes away. A piece of ass in many countries will run you the equivalent of $30, where prostitution is legal.

And that was just for the trip.

I’d have to spend the entire night selecting then gaming then putting up with some stripper who would have a personality about as interesting as a bologna sandwich.

Maybe pussy just doesn’t have quite the appeal it once did after sleeping with nearly 150 women and enjoying the female equivalent of filet mignon abroad. Maybe my time abroad has spoiled me. But when I’m driving my truck coast to coast, all I can do is look around in horror as to what this culture has become and what it represents. Vain, empty materialism everywhere and abandoned humanity in service of worthless garbage.

Let me just collect my check and leave again. Fuck participating in this freak show beyond cashing in on it. It’s a good thing I’m working 70 hours a week. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’m going to request time off on the Mexico border. I need to get out of Anglo World for a few days to salvage my sanity.

Meantime, I’ll be ghosting along with you MGTOWs.

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Stories from the Road: Greetings from Ohio

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My adventures in a Freightliner Cascadia

As many regular readers know, it’s truck driving season for me. I’ve decided to spend the warm part of the year pumping and dumping the American economy as I drive an 18-wheeler coast to coast to refill my bank account for the year’s international endeavors. When cold weather sets in my happy ass will return to the tropics, surrounded by sexy black, brown, and Asian chicks.

Speaking of international endeavors, here’s my theme song. This is more than a song and music video. I live the lyrics of this song when I’m not making money. I especially like the shout out Pitbull gives to the DR, my adoptive home.

Earning the Money to Live Abroad Part-Time

Here’s an update for those following this trailblazing mission to design a life plan for those who want to escape the clutches of corporate slavery.

The plan is work hard 6 months a year, save and invest, and spend the other 6 months abroad. Living in the truck means no living expenses beyond what I eat. So, it’s a way to save nearly 100% of what I earn since I got myself out of debt years ago. So far, it’s working out great as I spent March in Asia and the Caribbean. That was just the warm-up.

I’ve adjusted to living inside the truck, and consider it an extended camping trip. There’s a bunk bed in the back, I have a fridge and plenty of canned goods and fresh veggies. (Fuck eating out, it’s a colossal waste of money for bad, ersatz food. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner on $5 a day.) A MiFi box keeps me entertained and informed. I gave up TV nearly 18 months ago after working in the news business 15 years, and I do not miss it.

Trucking is very tough. The biggest asset I’ve found is patience. It’s extremely easy to fuck up royally when a man is driving a 70-feet long, 80,000 pound monstrosity down the highway, or making tight turns in the city. But it’s satisfying in a way practicing sophistry, playing the game, and kissing ass in the everybody is out for themselves media world can never be for a real man.

I spent most of last week in Georgia, and was assigned a load that brought me nearly 600 miles north to Ohio. In the past few months I’ve been to Los Angeles, Portland, Seattle, Las Vegas, Denver, Cheyenne, Phoenix, Dallas, Chicago, New York, Atlanta, Pittsburgh, and almost everywhere in between.

I am beginning to realize the wisdom behind George Carlin’s statement that the U.S. is  a coast to coast shopping mall. The one unrelieved feature of the entire country is how bland and monotonously the same most towns are. Sure, some are prettier than others, and some have landmarks that others don’t have. But at the core, they’re all filled to the brim with McDonald’s, Fivebucks (what I call Starbucks), and other bland national brands.

There’s no character, and there’s no culture. Homogenized is a word that comes to mind. Everywhere I go I see looks of despair and disappointment in usually overweight people’s faces. The reality of the USA definitely does not fit the glossy image it broadcasts to the world.

I’m also seeing what a police state really is as everywhere I go police are pulling over motorists left and right for minor infractions. The pigs are truly bearing down on John and Jane Q. Taxpayer. I become enraged every time I see the pigs filching someone.

That’s it for now. Further updates as this adventure continues. The bottom line is I believe a life of working a man’s ass off half the time and partying like a demigod the other half of the time is within reach of many men who are sick to death of Anglo America and its Puritan, sexually repressed and overworked disposition.

A book is in the works, detailing everything sometime this winter.

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Rel’s Strip Club List: Club Onyx | Charlotte, NC

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Here’s another surprisingly bad big city strip club experience

Club Onyx | Charlotte, NC
Relampago’s Rating: Star16StarBW16StarBW16StarBW16StarBW16

I recently posted about a terrible experience at Lust in Charlotte. Well, the ethnic strip club across town isn’t any better. This makes two consecutive bad experiences at black strip clubs in The Queen City.

Here’s how this latest Deep South Disaster played out.

I went in at opening time on a Tuesday, since the club is only open 4 days a week. There is a full scale, TSA-style pat down, complete with the little bins they make you put all your shit in at airports. Once I got felt up by the guard, I sat around for 2-3 hours before a single dancer appeared, even though there were men sitting there.

Once they did appear, the DJ started hustling all the men in the club to start throwing $1 bills at what were generally overweight and not very friendly women. Nobody listened. So, his hustling got even more strident as he kept telling guys to open up their wallets and give these girls money, apparently for being alive with warm bodies and bikinis on.

Then a girl came and sat down next to me. Same sad story. Acne and/or meth related facial scars. Overweight. Doing nothing but hustling for dances, attempting to siphon as much money as she could out of me (she didn’t get a dime). I asked her why the atmosphere in the club was so bleak at the DJ continued hustling hard for $1 bills in the background.

She said this is a show club. So, I showed myself the door.

I figured a city the size of Charlotte would know how to party. But the clubs in town just don’t seem to get it. You can’t treat men like walking ATM machines and expect to have a successful business or make tip out that night. That might have worked in the past but men have higher expectations now.

It’s just another sad commentary on the frightful status of relations between the sexes in America and the way men are viewed in Anglo America. It was sad that a couple of guys were so desperate for a female touch they were paying just to be danced on by these girls, who never got to know the guys or spent any time treating them like a human being.

I have to say…avoid Club Onyx if you’re a PUA looking for a good time. There’s simply no time to talk to or get to know any of the girls on a personal level. Men are treated like dollar bill dispensers and there’s no “soul” to a place like this.

How disappointed I was to have to write a review like this.

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