By Roosh Vörek
A useless Bat In Paraguay is a real experience tale a couple of 28-year-old guy who determined that the way in which he may well care for his existential challenge used to be to promote his possessions, surrender his specialist occupation as a scientist, and hop on a one-way flight to Quito, Ecuador so that it will stopover at each nation in South America.
He in actual fact believed the journey might positioned him on a music in the direction of a extra enjoyable lifetime of pleasure, intrigue, and unique girls, clear of his soulless company activity in a Washington D.C. suburb. in its place, he humorously falls from one state to the subsequent, notable out time and again with the neighborhood girls, getting robbed, having undesirable goals that turned fact, self-diagnosing himself with a bunch of ailments, and ache repeated bouts of abdominal ailment that made marathon bus rides superhuman feats of physically energy. alongside the adventure he chronicles the friendships, the ladies, and the struggles, together with one fateful evening in Paraguay that he suggestion could result in his finish.
This e-book is meant for males, and should be nearly universally disliked through ladies due to its sexist topics and coffee rest room humor.
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Extra info for A Dead Bat In Paraguay: One Man's Peculiar Journey Through South America
Some of the mescaline pellets had disintegrated into a reddish-brown powder, but I counted about thirty-five or forty still intact. My attorney had eaten all the reds, but there was quite a bit of speed left… no more grass, the coke bottle was empty, one acid blotter, a nice brown lump of opium hash and six loose amyls… Not enough for anything serious, but a careful rationing of the mescaline would probably get us through the four-day Drug Conference. On the outskirts of Vegas I stopped at a neighborhood pharmacy and bought two quarts of Gold tequila, two fifths of Chivas Regal and a pint of ether.
Do it right; remember Horatio Alger… I looked across the road and saw a huge red sign that said BEER. Wonderful. I left the Shark by the phone booth and reeled across the highway into the Hardware Barn. A Jew loomed up from behind a pile of sprockets and asked me what I wanted. “Ballantine Ale,” I said… a very mystic long shot, unknown between Newark and San Francisco. He served it up, ice-cold. I relaxed. Suddenly everything was going right; I was finally getting the breaks. The bartender approached me with a smile.
It made no sense at all, but I knew it was true. Drug reasoning. The rhythms were brutally clear – and, to him, they made excellent sense. He was slumped in the chair, concentrating on Mission Impossible. I thought for a while, then stood up and began stuffing things into my suitcase. ” he asked. “Never mind,” I said. The zipper stuck momentarily, but lyanked it shut. Then I put on my shoes. “Walt a minute,” he said. ” I nodded. “You’re goddamn right, I’m leaving. But don’t worry. I’ll stop at the desk on my way out.