Second in a series about Pete Buttigieg's adventures in child trafficking. (Read Part I here.)
Why, all of a sudden, are gay men adopting children in such large numbers? Because they aren't just dipping a toe in the water — they're splashing about like mad. And I can't help but detect a whiff of urgency, or perhaps desperation, hanging in the air. According to The Washington Post, Pete Buttigieg and his companion were "on lists that would allow them to receive a baby who had been abandoned or surrendered on short notice." Mmhmm. Sounds totally normal. But, seriously, why the mad dash to raise someone else's kids? What do gays get out of it? Doesn't it interfere with their ketamine benders?
I can't tell you how many times I've been pointedly reminded — only ever by women, of course, and only in the past 10 years — that gays are just as likely to live quiet, unremarkable lives as they are to be swigging champagne, jetting across the world and crashing launch parties. As recently as two decades ago, this was hogwash and twaddle. But it isn't anymore. A new breed of buck-broken domesticated gays is on the rise, and we have two decades of nauseating entreaties for "acceptance" and "tolerance" to thank for persuading gays, wrongly, that they are just like everyone else.
The Left's two-decades-long tidal wave of relentless acceptance has created diametrically opposite models of how best to handle the burden of being gay. There is now a war on for the gay mind between these competing strategies. On one side, you find the transgressive gay hedonists we all recognize, who lean into the role of outsider and take pleasure in being waspish and outrageous. (I'd give you an example, but I don't know anyone like that.) On the other side are gays who prefer not to be seen at all. Their camouflage of choice is a meticulous imitation of heterosexual norms, up to and including the acquisition of babies. You know the type. They're the only gays on TV these days, skinnyfat and unthreatening, with comically bad taste in everything.
Both models are coping strategies designed to delay a painful encounter with the truth that homosexuality is a disorder, not an identity. Both suck. Neither makes gay people any less annoying to be around. But only the latter places newborn babies directly in harm's way. Hedonists don't have time to worry about diaper rashes, and they generally avoid children. A Buttigieg-style pastiche of family life does the opposite: It encourages gays to insinuate themselves into places they should never go.
It also, of course, situates children as acceptable consumer choices in the pursuit of heterosexual verisimilitude. Every fake family should have one! Infants become prized attractions in these fraudulent approximations of family life. If you're a gay couple designing one of these matrimonial-tribute idylls, a baby is the designer table you splash out on because it, like, totally brings the room together. Motherless and raised in dysfunction, survivors of these fag dads are traumatized. They develop behavioral problems and chronic depression.
A gay-adopted child forfeits all human dignity; his needs can never compete with the melodramatic neuroses of his fragile caretakers. It is no comfort that the arrangement proves as enduringly damaging to the homosexual as it does to the child. Nonetheless, by inhabiting a fictitious parenthood, the homosexual has given up on ever addressing his own disorder and becoming well. He has committed his remaining years to an imitative game, betting the farm that a stultifying daily routine will quiet the voice in his head that keeps whispering, "Of course there's something wrong with you, you idiot. You have sex with men!"
Everyone benefits when gays remain outcasts, including gays themselves. There is an admission baked into the sybaritic formula for gay life — an acknowledgment that something is not working. Choosing a life of wild abandon places you on the fringe of social acceptability, where misfits and outcasts live. We tend to go easy on such people. Polite society has normally turned a blind eye to gay excess, generously assuming that homosexuals, lacking reproductive purpose, need constant distractions from their misery. Casual sexual encounters are understood as a salve for the pain of loneliness; drugs and other indulgences excused as necessary analgesics for a broken soul.
So long as the agony of homosexuality expresses itself in hedonistic or exaggerated behavior, we know that there is conflict alive within the person, so there remains the chance for self-reflection and recovery. But in neat planned communities with names like Shady Acres (slogan: "You'll Never Leave!"), connubial approximations cobbled together by men like Buttigieg make it dangerously easy to pretend everything's as it should be.
Despite the temptations dangled by licentious urban degenerates, the number of Shady Acres gays is growing. Gelded and brainwashed, any trace of manliness zapped as collateral damage in a broader feminist assault on male power, Shady Acres gays come across like high school math teachers caught masturbating in the supply closet, which, for some of them, may be true. Their lives are desolate. Getting married, buying a house in a tony neighborhood, making car payments on time, trimming the front lawn — it all mutates into a kind of torture, a humiliation ritual that reminds the homosexual what he can't biologically accomplish.
Shady Acres gays, having read somewhere that habits become character, wager that if they pretend to be happy for long enough, happiness will follow. It never does, even when they get desperate enough to try adoption as a mood fix. Meanwhile, their creepy, rhythmic insistence that they find their orientation completely unproblematic forecloses any chance of recovery. In reality, in almost every case, some degree of recovery is possible, because same-sex attraction isn't an immutable characteristic written into your DNA. It is, in fact, a set of learned behaviors in response to childhood trauma.
No one is born a homosexual. You learn to be gay, usually because someone sexually abuses you while you are a child. Later, you will have your first consensual encounter, probably once again with an older man. It will be boring and terrifying at the same time, and you will want more of it without understanding why. This is the only way homosexuals can reproduce — via pederasty. Because this violation sets off a chain reaction of self-destructive behavior, in a manner of speaking, you might say homosexuality is a sexually transmitted disease. Your abuser has exposed you to a compulsion that will find a home in your brain and set about destroying your life if you don't identify and fight it.
The worst thing about same-sex attraction is that you only need to be exposed once to the pathogen (molestation) to suffer symptoms (gay desires) your whole life. The disease wants you dead and your soul condemned to the pit. Same-sex attraction comes bundled with a cluster of addictive and self-loathing tendencies which, left unacknowledged, grow into a compulsive force to rival the frayed reward circuits of any drug addict. Succumbing to these urges plunges you into a labyrinth from which almost no one escapes.
You begin to die the moment you give in to shame and allow past abuse to dictate your future actions. The first time you seek out sexual activity with a man, and every time after that, you are guilty of a kind of suicide. It is a cancer that spreads and poisons you, changing how you think, act and speak. Only after excruciating periods of introspection, with the benefit of hindsight and a lot of therapy and prayer, did your present correspondent understand how far into the engine his own corrosion had spread. I finally admitted it was time to hire a mechanic moments before a catastrophic engine failure. But most gay men won't ever confront this reality. They can't or won't admit that their orientation is a treatable condition that they would be happier without.
What, then, is a homosexual? A sinner, someone with a mental disorder, an abuse victim. Sodomites are in the grip of a chronic disorder that wrecks this life and plots misery for the next. Yet one person's homosexuality becomes the whole community's headache because there's no such thing as a private disorder. We each affect the world around us in innumerable imperceptible ways. Dangerous, chaotic lifestyles, of the type many homosexuals live, have a way of seducing and then discarding the innocent and unprepared.
As a homosexual, you will spend decades doing something you know is killing you, vacillating between half-hearted reassurances you're normal and defiant indulgence designed to end discussion. It's hard to explain the cumulative effect of this repetitive form of punishment on a person. So it is right to keep sexually active homosexuals away from children. The majority have no interest in anyone underage. But they're nothing if not unpredictable. If they're not in treatment, they probably aren't aware of all the forces acting on them and lack effective strategies to resist temptations.
Drug addicts are the only people who really know how scary and strange it is when you can't trust the voice in your head not to lie to you. Junkies understand their battle better than those with same-sex desires because they've been spared decades of liberal activists helpfully informing them that crystal meth is "just who they are." Gays, on the other hand, are clueless. If not the dumbest minority group, homosexuals are certainly the most gullible, ready to believe just about anything if it provides a pretext for a hissy fit.
Then again, to be fair, they've been systematically deceived for half a century by "born this way" propagandists who encourage them to conflate their disease with their identity. The impressionable and naïve are left with virtually no personality or preferences independent of their gayness. Let's not forget that in an act of unfathomable cruelty, leftists even persuaded gays that their disorder should be celebrated as a source of "pride," rebranding their plague as a prize and rehabilitating one of the deadly sins for good measure.
Christians will want to temper condemnation with compassion since the average homosexual is simultaneously a sufferer and a super-spreader; a clueless, credulous emotional toddler who doesn't know he's dangerous. It makes you wonder: Who would entrust a fragile, tangled-up person like this with a pair of newborn babies? What kind of culture would give smug gay gnome Pete Buttigieg, who looks like he clubs baby seals to death for fun on weekends, a kid? Somewhere wretched, surely, where ogres sacrifice their young. Somewhere pagan and barbarous. Somewhere like America.
In the third and final installment of this series, we learn how gay adoption is just another lie homosexuals tell, and speculate on what the spiritual consequences of this selfish psychodrama might be for Buttigieg and others like him.
Mr. Yiannopoulos welcomes correspondence from readers. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.