The second installment in this series. I want to deal with the bad first, the good second.
The second topic on my list: America’s car culture, suburban sprawl, and its unlivable, unwalkable metropolitan areas with only limited car service and info options, one of the them being justcarchecks.co.uk. This has nothing to do with our meeting of old forum comrades, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but rather its choice of location. When not discussing White Nationalism with my confederates, I spent the rest of my downtime cruising around the city with a friend, taking in its amenities, observing its abominations. In particular, we were determined to sample the local nightlife.
The horrendous traffic jams (and the inevitable delays) were the cause of a great deal of stress and anxiety. I’ve never seen such an ant heap of people motoring around before. In my more unsettled moments, I found my thoughts turning to James Howard Kunstler, his tirades against the personal automobile, and the whole sick culture of sprawl and development that has grown up around it. This gray, anomic, paved over paradise can be aptly described as one huge desolate, smog covered, “big-ass parking lot” whose main attraction are overpriced ethnic restaurants staffed by seething hordes of “people of color.”
I had at least four negative encounters with the local fauna. In the first incident, I was accosted by a homeless negro bum at a gas station who was holding up a quaint cardboard sign that read, “Need work. Please help.” After a few tense minutes, in which I lied about my lack of ready cash, I was able to get away from this inebriated gentleman who reeked of Doritos and urine. As it happens, this was in an upscale, ritzy part of town. It was a warning of what was to come.
In the second (and most memorable) encounter, I took the wrong exit in trying to find the local bars and ended up somewhere in the ghetto. The friend I was travelling with insisted on stopping at a convenience store off the ramp to purchase a pack of cigarettes. While smoking outside the car, he was approached by no less than three dysgenic exemplars of diversity, all of whom insisted that he give them a cigarette. This culminated in a cracked out negro prostitute lifting up her shirt outside our window, fondling her breast, and telling my friend, “Dontcha like my curves, why dontchya take me up around da corna?” At which point, I floored it out of there, left the furious ghetto denizens in the dust, and got back on the interstate.
In spite of all this, which was a source of some amusement, we remained set on checking out the urban nightlife scene. I used Google Maps to navigate to the local strip of bars and clubs. Unfortunately, we quickly discovered upon our arrival that shady looking negroes were out in force. Thugs were everywhere milling about up and down the parking lots, streets, and side streets. Another friend of mine had already had his laptop liberated from his car by one of these characters. There was also the revolting spectacle of interracial couples in sight, which along with the spectre of theft (or worse), spoiled our desire to patronize any of the degenerate integrated establishments on offer.
So we proceeded back to our hotel room. I stress that this was a nice, expensive hotel, a considerable distance away from anything resembling the hood, but much to our surprise we found our hotel surrounded by police cars when we got back. Some type of bust or arrest (for what I don’t know) was in progress. Presumably, our hotel was being used for an illegal purpose, or was the site of a crime; maybe a break-in/assault in the parking lot. This last encounter with diversity didn’t affect us personally, but it contributed to our wariness and strain of being in the proximity of Homo africanus.
What a relief it was to cross the Alabama border: clean air, blue skies, rolling hills, sunshine, warm weather, open fields, trees, green grass, light traffic, no crackheads, plenty of space. We spent yesterday evening in repose at a barbeque on a local plantation. It was a White environment. The organic symbols of a mighty White culture were everywhere on display. The irreducible whiteness of the locale carried over into the casual conversations.
If I ever decide to host a meeting of this growing community, as I would like to do at some point in the future, I will pick a central meeting place far away from the intersection of urban diversity and the corporate maw. I want to do something more natural. There are resorts that cater to these events and we would be wise to choose from one of those. In my opinion, a more scenic environment (mountains, forests, lakes, streams, or beaches) is worth the extra transportation costs.