“I hope you’re well and staying safe out West. I would be very curious to hear if you have any reflections on Portland. Maybe talk to the Myth guys about it? They like hearing your war stories too. Take care, James.”

-Badsmitten

My impressions are based on living in Portland from February 8 to April 16, leaving on the train for the east, and then returning on October 17 and remaining until November 26 of 2020.

Over all, the macro-impressions I got from my host reading me local social media and news reports and going over the police booking site are:

2020 saw twice the murders of 2021, 20 times the shootings and infinitely more attacks on non-criminals than before. Portland went from safest mid-sized city in the U.S. to a top tier shithole.

Generally, police lockup and keep paleface men on traffic violations and release any ebon warrior, whether he had a gun when arrested, has a dozen felony warrants, whatever, the next day. Also, Auntsheeba, the anti-Nazi organization arranges for all of its members’ release, as the States Attorney is the mother of the leaders of that organization.

In the east we think of homeless guys as broken down old bums like me, only without nice hosts like you to house me, stuck on the street, getting stomped by hoodrats and coughing out their life over a sewer grate. But out here, the homeless are not drunks and old men, but meth-head “tweakers” in their 20s and 30s, wiry and strong, hardened from sleeping on concrete, who run bicycle chop shops under big tents. During the media shit-show with the pink-haired babes and faɡɡots assaulting the PIGs, the biggest thing that went unreported was that these tweakers doubled in number, moved into business districts boarded up against the riots and started preying on civilians to a limited degree, primarily via arson [and I suspect they were paid by real estate actors] and theft.

The other two aspects of changed life in Portland unreported by the media were:

-Chicongo-LA style drive by shootings have made life unsure for many residents as the amount of lead cast between criminals is something like three times the rate as Baltimore, with about a fifth of the accuracy so you have innocent bystanders getting clipped. One rainy night I was taking a bath and heard two 9mm handguns empty in alternating controlled bursts three blocks away.

As a pale pedestrian of unsavory demeanor, I only had one run-in with an opportunistic criminal in October-November compared to two in April-March, indicating that the predators have become more cagey and better at selecting prey. You have to be an idiot to attack a poorly dressed bum who is acutely aware, healthy, whose hand is hidden.

In the area I stayed in, violent Bantu crimes against Guilt-folk went from zero to ordinary. Bacon Lettuce and Tomato signs are on almost every pale house and this has emboldened the ascendant Gods of Grift, who now—to my joy—practice open intimidation on every paleface except for Yeti Waters [my host] and me. This is obviously because we are the most authentic n!@@#$% in Portland.

When we go to the 7-11 for our cheap booze homeboys will be threatening terrified hipsters and then avoiding or complimenting us. When Yeti was getting out of his 1954 Desert Camo Cadillac on one occasion, four gangbangers complimented him on his car and insisted on buying it. He told them it was not for sale and they insisted still. So he leaned on their car, making it list like the Titanic, and said, “Get an old Dodge Dart for a grand and put some fat bitches in it and it will be just as cool as my ride,” and they cheered him on with fist pumps as a “Fo real nigga!”

The Bantu warriors in Portland are a mix of semi-hard “crispy” bruthas from Tacoma, LA and Seattle who are actual dangerous dudes, and what can only be described as a dysgenic sub-species. The rampant mix-breeding with koolaid-haired ghost women has resulted in highly feminized and actual cock-sucking milk-dud type hommies that would be beaten and clit-raped by Baltimore Sistas on sight for even pretending to be, “as much bitch as me!”

Really, the dangerous dudes out West, for my money, are these packs of cagey tweakers in their blue tarp camps. I will tell a tale about how my host took care of a band of these tweakers with me as witness one October night on the Myth of the 20th Century.

A comic note as to how weak the Ebon brotherhood is out West. If you have seen such bogus bullshit documentaries as Drugs Ink and Gangland, you will have been treated to the deep-voiced narrator talking about how dangerous Oakland California is, storied home base of The Hells Angels [who are a bunch of faɡɡots and I’ll duel their best man with knives or machetes or bats if they take exception to this].

Well, although I had promised to visit my editor and sign some books when I showed up in California, a sweet young weight-lifter babe who saw one of my training videos and must have a daddy fetish, invited me to stay with her during my train layover. Sorry, Lynn, an old dude doesn’t get these chances often. While waiting for coffee one day in a “sketchy” part of Oakland a Bantu Lord walked by me and I made eye-contact and gave a nod of respect and he started like Bram Stoker’s Renfeld, having finally come face to face with his master Dracula, staggering in actual terror past me on the sidewalk.

Then, after getting coffee, my driver took me for a tour of the “rough section” of Oakland and the basketball court had been taken over by a clan of pale tweakers, who had torn the nets off the rims and pitched their tents on the asphalt! The muscle-bound Bantus, ejected from their safe space by the feral Yeti-scum, were lifting weights out on the grass at a respectful distance. Meanwhile, the elder statesmen of their kind, dressed in new sweaters and polo shirts like pallid preppies of the 1970s, were selling Bacon Lettuce and Tomato memorabilia to guilty ghost women.

Sissy, please.

Generally, from my furthest point south in Oakland California, through Frisco, Emeryville, Sacramento, Portland and Seattle, there is very little police presence, very little violence and a highly visible fire department presence, particularly in Frisco. There, every mile or two there was a fire truck and crew just hanging out ready to save your life.

The troubling part about the West Coast compared to the Rockies, is that its all masks everywhere all the time. In a rural town in Washington State, I and my host were the only people in town who did not wear a mask outside on a cold winter day. The signs in that municipality recommended that when outdoors, we should keep ten feet of social distance and wear masks.

So, on the West Coast, in February we went from no masks, March and masks or six-feet when inside, to October and masks or six-feet when outside, to November and masks and six feet when outside, to December and masks and ten-feet when outside.

In Portland, specifically, the public park experience was great. In the east parks are places where PIGs have always rousted me when training with other men and now during the shamdemic mom’s and children playing are being rousted and even arrested by the PIGs. In Portland, I had the following experiences.

When PIGs do cruise by a Portland park they keep going, unlike the east where they will arrest you.

When playing ball with boys at the park the hipster sissies and their cute babes avoid us like the plague and give us plenty of room.

When training stick and glove with another older man at parks in Portland, PIGs leave us alone, children stop and gaze in wonder, their sissy fathers drag them away as fast as possible, or their mothers stop and let the little children view what men of a long extinct race used to do in another age. You never see the hipsters both with their children, as if they take shifts exercising them like two-legged dogs. For my training partner and host and I, having 35-year old women in yoga pants looking longingly at our activities, in that city of rosy-cheeked sissies and spray and pray demigods, is a heady thing.

I am pleased with the Estrogen eye-candy in Portland.

I did have contact with militant leftists on the street and it went quite well, which is interesting in light of the fact that Dennis Dale ghosted me when I got into town, which I totally understand as a precaution in these wytch-hunting times. I will also discuss on the upcoming Myth episode, my experience drinking beer on the street one night with an Antifagbot operative.

One sad note, is that Oregon had encouraged bar and restaurant owners to make interior and exterior construction adjustments for drinking and dining in diseased times. Then, two days before Thanksgiving, the government closed them all down and made them go to the extra expense of ripping up all the tents and seating on the sidewalks. This seemed calculated to do as much small business and young-employment damage as possible. This will improve real estate opportunities for elite colonization and also put more student loan debtors out of work and into the militant Leftist force pool, bitter young idealists, ripe for recruitment for action against enemies of the POZ, both real-men and domestics.