Category Archives: Stories from the Road

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

Cascadia

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

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It finally happened. I found a black strip club I didn’t like

Lust | Charlotte, NC
Relampago’s Rating: Star16Star16StarBW16StarBW16StarBW16

Black strip clubs never fail to give me bang for the buck.

But it finally happened. I found a black strip club I didn’t like. I was dumbfounded as I spent a couple of hours at Lust in Charlotte, North Carolina over the weekend, and the girls were as distant and self-absorbed as you’d find a typical white girl strip club. I couldn’t wait to leave.

Don’t get me wrong. Quite a few of the dancers had gorgeous bodies, big but firm asses, nice hips, nice boobs, and pretty faces. There were others who had too many tattoos and pink hair, but I like having a few hood chicks thrown into the mix. Some of them can be very fun to know once you break the ice.

But something was off. The girls didn’t know how to work the room. They just stood around and watched each other dance. A few girls approached me but only gave me the “Do you want to buy a dance?” treatment.

What the hell?

Had I stumbled into a parallel universe? There were beautiful chocolate ladies everywhere but they were either paying more attention to each other or too caught up in a solipsistic daze to realize they have to do something more than admire themselves to earn some cash. Black strip clubs are never like this.

It started when I entered the door and was greeted by a security guard who proceeded to give me the “wand” treatment that TSA is infamous for, and told me to lose my eyedrops (I had some seasonal allergies) and that my phone would also have to go back to my car. I almost left after those requests (after telling him how dumb I thought those policies were) but was just so sure that I’d have a good time I let it slide.

It ended when I decided to leave after only 3 beers.

As far as atmosphere, this club is nice, with classy choices in decor and furniture. But I’d rather spend time in a dive and have a good time than in a club that has nothing to offer but superficial atmosphere.

As a side note, I will say strip clubs in the South do tend to suck. My experiences in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, and Florida have all tended to be underwhelming. The Bible Belt culture and Baptist brand of repressed sexuality in these states really sucks the life out of the nightlife.

That said, the very best club I’ve found in the entire country is in Louisiana, a wonderful little hole in the wall called Passion in New Orleans. Other black strip clubs I’ve been to have given me nights to remember, but this night at Lust was one I’d just as soon forget.

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Stories from the Road: Sleeping, Drinking, Playing Pool, and Screwing in Thailand

Petite Asian women stand in stark contrast to the entitled land whales back home

The last two weeks here in Thailand have been a blur. My intent was to roam around the country, but that likely will have to be the case next time I come to the Land of a Million Smiles. I’ve been having too good a time in Pattaya, and spending very little money while having the time of my life.

My plan to be the equivalent of a migrant worker, only returning to the States to drive a big rig for 6 months a year while traveling the world and living abroad in the Caribbean is succeeding. Life outside The Matrix is bliss for this former mainstream media drone.

Time is passing quickly as I’ve gotten into a nice groove. I sleep half the day, then get up and head down the street for either some Thai, Indian, or Mediterranean food, usually with the girl I spent the night before with.

After sending her on her way with a kiss, I take a nice nap.

Just before sunset I wake up and down a few Chang beers, and if I’m feeling like cocktails a Singapore Sling. It’s then pool playing time as I wander around from bar to bar and pool hall to pool hall never knowing what each night will bring when it comes to a good time girl.

I always end up using PUA to get for free what other men have to pay for. It’s really not that hard, if you know the game well and are in a place where sex is commonplace. (My policy is never to pay for sex except for an occasional visit to a legal brothel in Nevada.) I’ve gone through at least half a dozen chicks in the last few days. I’m seeing just how true the Alpha Fucks, Beta Bucks maxim really is. It’s really amazing how easy it is to make women submit to a strong, masculine frame of mind.

This is the life I dared not dream of just a few short years ago as a corporate slave.

Oh, but my masters were only too keen to tell me how “lucky” I was to be on television pushing their agenda of fear and consumption on the masses. How utterly sick of scaring people to death about normal weather events and creating controversies out of the foibles of humanity I grew before fleeing that industry. I despise the news industry after realizing what my success in it meant I had to do to people on a personal level.

What’s your fantasy? A lot of men’s fantasies look like this

Good Times and Fast Women

The girls I’ve been bedding are of superior aesthetic and interpersonal quality to Anglo chicks back home. Sure, most have got some miles on them, even the 20-somethings I normally carouse around with, but so do the cock carouseling career chicks back in the States. You think that manly career girl hasn’t been around the block more times than the Good Humor man? At least these girls are fun to hang out with and can make conversation. I couldn’t even get that half the time back in the States.

As I write this, a sexy ass Thai girl with a mouth like cocaine is lying over there in my bed, and the sun is coming up. I may wing my way down to The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf for a cup of Joe and a light breakfast with this girl.

A man really appreciates femininity when he lived 35 years bereft of it in the States.

She really is a sweetie pie. There are times I almost return to my Beta ways, as I develop feelings for the women I’m with. But I have to remember not to let the predator get close enough to eat my lifestyle. As any divorced man knows, a woman will gobble your ass up like a Bon Bon in the court system without a wit to what destruction she is leaving on your life.

I always think of that when I’m developing feelings for a woman, and also recall an incident at a bank in Latin America last year. Long story short, two Anglobitches were competing with each other in line for the teller, one trying to outdo the other when it came to how much money they had frivorce raped out of their ex-husbands. It was a sickening display, made all the worse because they assumed nobody at the bank spoke English well enough to understand them. That is the true female nature. After recalling that incident, I’m usually sobered back up and have purged any emotional attachments I might have had.

By the way, adventures like this continue to show me just how bad women back home are, as I have more fun with girls I pick up in pool halls and at boxing matches here than career women I had to have “dinnerviews” with back home. Your intuition is right when it comes to American women. Big demands and small return on investment is the key phrase here.

My success heightens my resolve to continue my life as a runaway slave from the Anglobitch corporate plantation. I could never return to my life as a Beta male living a dull life of corporate slavery and getting toyed around with by subpar women.

Life is good on the outside, my brothers. If I made it out, you can do it, too. Just keep your mind on your goals, and I’ll be here to help light a candle showing you the way out of the cave.

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