If most homosexuals feel they “have to kill themselves when they turn thirty,” it has little to do with their very recently acquired desire/”right” to be married/parents —
and everything to do with the fact that at that age, they are no longer considered sexually attractive within the shallow, sex obsessed gay male culture, which is basically the straight male culture (sometimes literally) on steroids.
These imaginary threats to gay lives (remember the “people will die because of this film” crap surrounding Cruising and The Silence of the Lambs) are as nothing compared to their:
a) unmentionable penchant for domestic violence and rape (ask any cop, who will tell you all about it — off the record),
b) chronically out of control use of recreational drugs and alcohol, and/or serious mental illness excused as either colorful eccentricity or a medically treatable condition like “transsexualism”
c) habit of putting themselves in dangerous positions through park crusing/rough trade and
d) refusal to stop indulging in fatal sexual behavoirs.
None of this is MY/our problem.
Once again: “the Pope won’t let me use condoms (sniff)” is NOT an argument.
Gay/trans people are forever talking about being on the verge of committing suicide.
Besides the grimly comical spectacle of decidedly NOT dead people forever perched upon the edge of a virtual building, and yacking about jumping off but, alas, never doing so — note that only the alleged reasons for this alleged looming threat ever change.
And somehow those reasons never seem to have anything to do with something wrong with them — it is always someone else’s fault.
Funny that.
None of this whining and goal post moving and excuse making and dismissal of 5000 years of human tradition and wisdom sounds terribly “conservative” to me.
Libertarian? Absolutely. Conservative? Nope.
After decades of physical and verbal abuse (google “ACT UP”), intimidation, emotional blackmail, AIDS/Matthew Shepard/Prop 8 fuelled extortion and outright lies from gay activists, we’re supposed to just forget all ever happened, with no apologies on their part — in fact, we’re the ones who are supposed to grovel?
Again: pul-leeze.
