Roving Gangs of Hardcore Homosexual “Manwhores” Are Tearing Our Cities Apart

Posted on by Stephenson Billings

Manwhores may be the fiercest gladiators in the  raunchy arena of American homosexuality.

The men, clad in tight jeans and black leather, descend on this quiet corner of Brooklyn just as the clock strikes midnight. They shout obscenities and smoke angrily. Most are visibly intoxicated.

One of the young ones opens his shirt and moistens a nipple with a finger of spit. An older “daddy” nods approvingly. A fellow denizen of the darkness passes around a vial of “poppers,” a sex drug rumored to be so powerful that it can lure straight men to sodomy.

The doorkeeper, sensing the full-on gay “action” that is about to erupt, hustles the crew inside the clubhouse. She, like the grandmothers who have been living in this neighborhood for decades, knows all too well what this gang of horny hoodlums is capable of when they take over the streets.

These are the so-called “manwhores,” a new breed of radical homosexual degenerates who pursue carnal chaos with a shocking ferocity. They gather at dive bars where they swap boys, blunts and bitchiness with equal abandon. Later, they’ll roar down the avenues hell-bent for mischief. They demand attention and that’s exactly what they get.

This picture of alarming menace has become all too familiar in our largest metropolitan areas. Yet the Gay Agenda boasts that no political party can break up their rampage.

Among hell’s chosen few, the manwhore is a particularly vicious specimen. Everything about him has been painstakingly crafted for maximum sodomy. Between alcoholism and anonymous sex, he’ll spend his time at the gym fighting against an ever bloating waistline. Tattoos and greasy mustaches suggest a raunchy masculinity. He might even wear a specially fitted ring around his phallus to maintain peak tumescence. His buttocks are treated like some sort of personal occultic shrine, a thing he cares for constantly, pampering it with talc, deep cleaning its pipes and even whitening its ruddiness through medical procedures (see my report on anal bleaching).

Manwhore gangs congregate at rowdy, raunchy clubhouses for late night action.

Rowdy manwhore gangs congregate at secret ghetto clubhouses for late night action.

They survive in various ways. Fashion, the liberal media, “consulting.” Some have “sugar daddies,” with whom they’re infamously unfaithful. Few employers want to hire a manwhore, but they’re blackmailed into it by the Gay Agenda’s extensive networking organization.

These anal anarchists have a predilection for gang love. Passing erotic partners around to other members of their crew week after week is common. Sex delivery apps like Grinder make this process easy. One simply dials into the service and orders off an elaborate manwhore menu of filthy fetishes. Asians, jocks, socks, saunas and sadomasochism are just a few of the categories prominently featured.

The manwhore clubhouse is always a loud, raucous place. Marijuana smoke hangs heavily in their air. The walls are black, the lights are dim. Hairy chested go-go dancers gyrate on makeshift stages. There will be a saucy, wisecracking barkeep who is charged with maintaining the vodka-induced stupor of the crowd. The roar of gossip here revolves around the reproductive organs of possible conquests. Girth and length, curvature and angularity, foreskin and stamina, all are hotly debated at the homosexual dive bar.

The very worst crimes of the hardcore homosexual bar are often kept from public view.

The very worst crimes of the hardcore homosexual underground are often hidden from public view.

No act is too degrading for the pack. Their initiation rite, for example, demands a humiliating act of bathroom sodomy be witnessed by the group, providing them with ample blackmail material should one attempt to leave this frisky fraternity.

Manwhore gangs can be passionately territorial. Each has laid competing claims to emerging homosexual trends. Whether it be house music, facial hair or jockstraps, they’ve invested too much time and emotion to let another crew muscle in on their patrimony.

In New York City, for instance, the bearded ruffians of Williamsburg have been known to riot against the polo shirt-wearing musclemen of Chelsea, an upscale Manhattan enclave. One sleek Uber SUV entering their hardscrabble bohemia is all it takes to set off a vicious “bitchfest.”

Now that the manwhore gangs have turned America’s cities into massive cockfighting arenas, will our children ever be safe? Authorities have suggested declaring these disaster areas, “Homosexual-Only Zones,” like they’ve done in Old Europe. Yet abandoning our urban centers will only make the radical homosexuals lust for more. Soon, they’ll be demanding a national holiday honoring back alley penetration. Next, they’ll force normal people into paying gay reparations. Male pregnancy, nonstop internet pornography, illegal immigration, recruitment into reptilian shapeshifting and hardcore socialism all await a society that succumbs to the militant manwhore agenda.

Will nothing but the second coming of Christ Himself stop these sleazy sadists as they sodomize their way to the complete subjugation of Moral America?