“James, Ron Unz has posited that with falling white birthrates and the inevitability of the elites importing replacement populations, that Hispanics represent a desirable agacent population. What does your experience tell you?”

This was spoken to me by the Brick Mouse as he made me coffee in his Baltimore City home back about May ten, a good month ago. Ironically, a month earlier, I had been in another eastern merchant state speaking with a prominent W!@#$ N!@#$%^&*(! who was telling me all about parts of the country that he had never been to and the fact that one could not move there without being bullied by savage Mexican immigrants. He had an app on his phone that was essentially a demographic home buyer's guide. I recall this man pointing to Northwestern Utah as being demographically lost to civilization due to the savage migration. Unlike him, I have been there for a couple months a year for the past few years.

All of my encounters with Mexicans and American mestizos in Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, California, Oregon and Washington have been 100% positive, including the two career criminals I took the train with through half of those states this past March. In Oakland, California, as under-employeed Bantu warriors lurched away from me in abject terror when I gave them nods of respect, and white hipsters reviled me in my eye patch and trench coat and shaved head as some kind of fiendish genetic accident, the only strangers who showed me kindness were Mexican and Asian. The only men who treated me with respect simply for being older than them, were broad-faced young Mexicans, who seemed always to be more direct, more masculine, and more courteous than American Caucasians.

Portland, Denver, Evenston, Oakley, Salt Lake City, Oakland, Emerryville—all the same: mixed-race Mexican men seem to be physically, morally and civically superior by a broad margin to pure Caucasian Americans.

Now, in places like Lancaster, Reading and York Pennsylvania, the Latinos are mostly scumbag Dominicans and Ricans who moved south from New York to sell drugs and are more like Bantus than Mexicans.

On May 8, when the Brick Mouse had dropped me off in East Baltimore, with everything I owned on my back, I had an interesting experience, which I related to him two days later over coffee.

The East Point neighborhood of Colgate, 20 years ago, was being overrun by Bantu crime, with the 80% cracker population hiding inside or moving into the County. Back then the mall was being used as a County police substation, just a hundred yards over the County line, trying to hold back the savage tide. This did not work. Essex now has over half of all murders in Baltimore County, which has 9 precincts. These are Bantu drug gangs that have been pushed out of East Baltimore by Mexican, Honduran, Salvadoran and other Latino immigrants.

I was worried about Megan living there. I walked past the old bus stop at the Dunkin Doughnuts and found that the people were mostly Latino and very civil. Inside, the black employees were very nice to me and the Indian owner treated me like a rabid dog and frowned at me tipping his counter girl. This man represents the future overseer class of America set over us by the pale elite.

I walked back into the neighborhood where I had once had a girl friend—but that is another story—to meet up with Megan after a year and see how she and her Niece, Cousin and Sister Law, an all female household, were faring in what had been a bad area last time I was there.

The area is 10% black, 20% white and 70% Latino. It was very pleasant for strolling. The alley's were much cleaner than in a white neighborhood and the yards maintained at boomer levels of grass-killing obsession.

.

I played soccer with the children they baby sit in the tiny front yard and gave the 12-year-old girl a back yard boxing lesson. Megan informed me that “The Mexican men look out for us, check on us, protect us—they are so nice, and their wives bring ice cream for the babies.”

To the left live two men, two women and two children. The men nod to me with respect as they build a patio.

To the right live three brothers, two wives and two children, young men in their twenties who have a construction business. Megan says, “On Saturday they have a hair cutting party in the front yard and sing to big band music. They are like greasers from the fifties—real respectful.”

These men come home from work, nod to me with respect, wave to Megan and the ladies and go inside for their meal.

Night was soon falling.

I had been to the local grocer and noted some signs of criminal activity, so decided to sit on the porch and observe as night fell, as the ladies lock in at dark.

Then the bull parade.

A prime Bantu Buck, six foot, 190, swaggers up the sidewalk across the street, aggressively jutting his chin, taking a skulking look into the windows of the living rooms.

I stand, look at him and walk down to the fence to observe his progress.

The bully thug adopts a less ostentatious swagger and narrows his gaze, avoiding eye contact with me.

The front door to the right opens and closes and footsteps sound down the walk within arms reach [that is how small and close these houses are].

The oldest brother, a muscular, well-groomed middle weight of 5' 9” has his eyes on the intruder, walks up next to me, nods to me with respect and points to the thug with his chin, who now turns and looks at us.

The young man, affecting an easy confident smile, said, “Poppy, we got this.”

And the thug, too far away to hear, but reading the body language, shivers visibly and quickens his pace, eyes ahead...

I wanted to laugh, but nodded gravely in affirmation, pleased.

Enough said.

6/11/21