Compulsive promiscuity and deviance are features, not bugs.
Disease is an inevitable byproduct: AIDS...gonorrhea...syphilis...hepatitis...now monkeypox. The list goes on.
Linked below is the recent account of an indignant gay man who had sex with several men over the course of a recent Pride weekend in New York and is quite insulted to have to deal with the consequences in the form of monkeypox.
The second link is from Joseph Sciambra, a gay man who faced up to the living death sentence that his lifestyle was imposing on him and finally walked away from it but not before incurring severe physical and emotional damage that will likely last a lifetime.
This is the reality of the rainbow banner that our rulers bow down before and demand the same of the rest of us. We won't even talk about the accumulating human wreckage of their sick Transgender Cult, which is destroying the lives of countless children.
And the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died.
The music has been stone cold dead for quite some time, but never mind. The real threat is Putin. Never forget that.
Meanwhile, an excerpt from a post by Sciambra:
>>I am constantly reminded of the excesses of my past. The bathroom has become a torture chamber. Basic biological functions are excruciating and painful. In my case, this is the last laugh resounding from the depths of hell.
In the gay world, the public restroom is oddly eroticized. In our youth, that public-private space was sometimes the setting for sadistic forms of persecution and harassment; when I was a kid, an older male student assaulted me in the boy’s restroom at my grammar-school. At a gay bar, a Castro disco, and even in a landmark movie-theater, the restrooms served as hook-up hubs, venues for voyeurism, and semi-secluded places to have name-less quick-sex.
When I first showed up in San Francisco, I regarded this practice as semi-disgusting. The propensity of certain bars to only have urinal troughs in their bathrooms was revolting. I swore I would never sink so low. In a few years, I would be sitting on the lid of a public toilet, my feet resting on the edges of the seat, waiting for any man to enter through the open door of the stall.
I suppose that chapter of my story could have had a different ending; I might have drifted out of the gay scene and settled down with one man; a Catholic priest advised me to do so. I could have died. But I didn’t. Now, I am frequently sick and discouraged. I suffer from the conditions that are oftentimes peculiar to gay men, but with none of the transitory benefits of sexual activity. I would like to think that I gave-up that part of myself, because I wanted to aspire towards something morally virtuous; in reality, I couldn’t go on anymore; my body had given-up.<<
www.theguardian.com
Disease is an inevitable byproduct: AIDS...gonorrhea...syphilis...hepatitis...now monkeypox. The list goes on.
Linked below is the recent account of an indignant gay man who had sex with several men over the course of a recent Pride weekend in New York and is quite insulted to have to deal with the consequences in the form of monkeypox.
The second link is from Joseph Sciambra, a gay man who faced up to the living death sentence that his lifestyle was imposing on him and finally walked away from it but not before incurring severe physical and emotional damage that will likely last a lifetime.
This is the reality of the rainbow banner that our rulers bow down before and demand the same of the rest of us. We won't even talk about the accumulating human wreckage of their sick Transgender Cult, which is destroying the lives of countless children.
And the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died.
The music has been stone cold dead for quite some time, but never mind. The real threat is Putin. Never forget that.
Meanwhile, an excerpt from a post by Sciambra:
>>I am constantly reminded of the excesses of my past. The bathroom has become a torture chamber. Basic biological functions are excruciating and painful. In my case, this is the last laugh resounding from the depths of hell.
In the gay world, the public restroom is oddly eroticized. In our youth, that public-private space was sometimes the setting for sadistic forms of persecution and harassment; when I was a kid, an older male student assaulted me in the boy’s restroom at my grammar-school. At a gay bar, a Castro disco, and even in a landmark movie-theater, the restrooms served as hook-up hubs, venues for voyeurism, and semi-secluded places to have name-less quick-sex.
When I first showed up in San Francisco, I regarded this practice as semi-disgusting. The propensity of certain bars to only have urinal troughs in their bathrooms was revolting. I swore I would never sink so low. In a few years, I would be sitting on the lid of a public toilet, my feet resting on the edges of the seat, waiting for any man to enter through the open door of the stall.
I suppose that chapter of my story could have had a different ending; I might have drifted out of the gay scene and settled down with one man; a Catholic priest advised me to do so. I could have died. But I didn’t. Now, I am frequently sick and discouraged. I suffer from the conditions that are oftentimes peculiar to gay men, but with none of the transitory benefits of sexual activity. I would like to think that I gave-up that part of myself, because I wanted to aspire towards something morally virtuous; in reality, I couldn’t go on anymore; my body had given-up.<<
‘I literally screamed out loud in pain’: my two weeks of monkeypox hell
A New Yorker describes his harrowing ordeal to receive care through a system underequipped to handle another pandemic
