Recently, national debate brought attention to the construction of Islamic mosques on American soil and the risk these cells of fundamentalist activity pose to the safety of this country. Yet there is another threat entrenched in our very communities that has gotten far less attention. Like Muslim centers, these institutions serve as recruitment centers and training grounds. They prey on our most naïve young men. They ply with promises and threats, stimulants and fantasies. Sadly, the danger these dank halls of hedonism pose to the future of our nation is far more heinous than any cloistered Arab sweatlodge.
Yes, it is the Gay Bar of which we speak. Gay bars were once something of an urban legend, an odd rumor that someone who knew someone may have sighted in the shadow of a big city train station. They were down ghetto side streets and had wide, swinging doors. No elaborate signs announced their locations for they were painfully shameful places, intentionally hidden from the concerned eyes of normal society. All that has changed in recent years. Now an itchy rash of these businesses is spreading to our towns and rural communities. They’re on our Main Streets, next door to diners and hardware stores, appearing as legitimate as any McDonalds. They are blistery places, announcing themselves with shrieks of disco music and brightly laminated flyers. Don’t let the cheery visage fool you, however, for they transform into something decidedly sinister once the sun goes down.
Simply put, America’s gay bars serve to falsely legitimate a notorious lifestyle choice. To say these places are un-American misses the point. They are much worse. They enable obscene physical violation, addictive drug abuse and the heights of political subversion. It is here that the agenda for overthrowing the normative values of society are devised. Across grimy pooltables and busy urinals, over cigarette ashtrays and fruity mixed drinks, the worst schemes to corrupt everything from traditional marriage to the age of consent laws are hatched by these relentlessly perverse plotters. They are all about sex. Sex all the time.
And let’s not forget about the children.
“Abandon All Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here”
As you enter one of these establishments, you are instantly hit by the noise of gossip and fluids being traded with vicious abandon. The black-painted walls and pulsing red lights will bring to mind a World War II bunker on high alert. Yes, the danger is imminent! On any given night, you may encounter a crowd that consists of aging florists, European fashion photographers, old money millionaires, beer-bellied truck drivers, urban runaways, scruffy-faced all-American jocks groping Asian college students, coked-up hustlers in torn tanktops, Latino gang bangers in loose-fitting sweatpants, barrel-chested black men who smell of cologne and lubricant…
These people around you will reach a pitch of unnerving excitement as men move back and forth at narcotically-inspired speeds, rearranging themselves for drinks and furtive fondling like chess pieces on the game board of spit-slickened animal depravity. Careers are born on those sticky barroom stools. Young men slide close to captains of industry, unbuttoning shirts mother may have ironed only hours before, letting a mature hand explore their plateaus of quivering flesh. Actors and journalists, web entrepreneurs and public school teachers will conspire to monopolize their respective industries. How many corporate domination schemes have been based solely on a shared proctological propensity? America would be shocked to know.
As you settle into a quiet spot, a Grizzly Adams look-alike will saunter up and desperately try to get the attention of a bartender he had unrepentant anal intercourse with years ago. Yes, after a decade he is still banking on those two minutes of shared musk for a free Cosmo and facile chatter. Delicate boys, their Gucci pockets stuffed with exotic lip balms and unpaid rent bills, will use any smile as an excuse to approach. Dropping a hand in your lap, they will waste no time in determining whether you are endowed, financially or otherwise. A screaming transvestite will lurch toward you, spilling her oversized cocktail on your new Gap jeans. And maybe in that moment, with Ms. Destiny’s icy vodka cranberry chilling your loins, you will come to understand that all hope is lost. You have been rammed up the colon of stale beer and faded dreams.
San Francisco’s infamous gay leather clubs force themselves on you with tragically macho names: Anvil, Boiler Room, Dugout, Ramrod. These titles are meant to intimidate with threats of surprise anal rape. While that danger is real, the masculinity surely is questionable. The denizens are most likely chartered accountants and home decorators who spend the rest of their week in chintz-drenched apartments singing Les Miserables and caring for a fussy miniature dog named “Mr. Bubbles.” In New York’s crime-plagued Puerto Rican district, there is a bar named after a common farm animal. It is infamous for its crystal meth-dealing drag queens, slumming D-list celebrities and stage performers who give themselves whiskey enemas before entranced audiences. In Los Angeles, West Hollywood is known in underground circles as the place where young men go to place their film careers in the moisturized palms of the effete elite. The bars here have monikers like Backlot, Daddy Warbucks, Capone’s, Improvision and Numbers, giving a surly nod to California’s most homosexually-dominated industry. Even our nation’s capital is not immune. Washington, D.C. is home to a rash of bars whose names (Secrets, Phase One, Hung Jury, Mr. P’s) belie their patrons’ profound interest in destroying our most hallowed legal protections.
For the heterosexual community, the danger is that straight men will the chance upon these gay bars unaware. Husbands, seeking a little reprieve from the cloying miasma of home life, may think they’re convenient places to stop in on the way back from the office. Suffering from the exhaustion of a long day at work, one might not notice the strapping, exclusively male clientele. College boys, jilted by ungrateful girlfriends, confused by cell phone maps and hormonal tyranny, are easily drawn to the flashing lights of these houses of ill repute. Affected and disaffected young men will find in the gay bar the perfect place to codify their rebellion against loving mothers and a God they are not yet mature enough to comprehend. And once these former heroes of family values have ordered that first pint from an overly attentive barman, the novelty of new flesh will push the lusty regulars into a tizzy of strategic maneuvering about them.
The homosexual puts a great deal of stock in fresh meat. It is considered a sign of admirable prowess to convert a heterosexual and after doing so, the gay will be rewarded with several rounds of free drinks from his jealous peers. These people are hyper competitive and yet their battles reside exclusively within the realm of physical conquest. Faith, fame and fortune will never mean as much as anal penetration to the gay man. For those who have dedicated their darkest hours to living in the homosexual bar, hardcore sodomy with “the new member of the team” is the most precious thing imaginable.
As the hour grows later in America’s most dangerous gay bars, punk rock go go boys with bursting jockstraps will appear, flaunting their funky cargoes in the faces of young and old alike. Ex-cons, still reeking of forced detention, will slice you with their hungry maximum-security eyes from across the room. It’s not unusual in prison to have your body covered in something akin to grill marks after you’ve been assaulted against the bars of your cell. Here, they wear the stains of rusty basement pipes and cigarette burns like badges of honor! And then there are the “leather daddies.” These primordial princes of pigskin live on a steady diet of tap beer and testosterone. At various times throughout the night, the crowd will part as these men wrestle bare-chested for a contested twinkie boy. The winner will claim his moist, purring prize against a back wall while the defeated clears martinis and designer handbags from the bartop so that he may put his head down and weep silently. Swarthy men of unknown origin will emerge from the shadows to beckon the innocent into bathroom stalls where any question of affection is resolved with a quick slap to the face. On your knees, forced to gag in a forest of pungent of pubic hair, is that your idea of love?
The Dark Room
A “dark room” in a uniquely urban homosexual invention. It is a small cage at the back of most gay bars where there is no light. Behind a chain link fence, men strip down to their underwear and embrace the first body they encounter in the blackness. Unexpected acts of sodomy often follow. The man with the largest phallus, regardless of body odor or senility, usually becomes the center of attention. No words are spoken, although the English language would be practically useless in this grunting, ethnic crowd.
With their pharmacologically-enhanced libidos, homosexuals can climax about once an hour over the course of a six to eight hour night. For this reason, they find the darkened room an important element in extending their evening activities into the dawn. It saves them from committing their energies to pursuing a single partner who might end up being flaccid, bossy or uncooperative once at home. It also perpetuates their alcoholism, for between sexual bouts with that muscle-toned gym rat whose whiff of sweaty chest hair gently tickles the cheek, the homosexual will find new stamina in the purchase of fresh Piña Coladas.
It will dismay most of my readers to know that the portrait drawn here is just the beginning of one’s career within the gay lifestyle. That small mistake of entering the wrong type of bar is simply the start of a wholesale commitment to a larger social agenda that traditional Christian society finds abhorrent and wrong. Coffee dates and Thai dinners inevitably follow your night out at the homosexual club. Outrageously priced jeans and skin care products! Golden Girls marathons and vintage furniture! Art fairs and Key West! Then comes the patronage of gay owned businesses. That seems innocent enough, but how far a trip is it from the cake shops and hair salons to the after-hours sex clubs and private sadomasochistic billionaire dungeons? Are you ready for the late night phone calls from wandering Latin tricks needing a place to release and crash? What about the calls asking for donations to community theaters and political organizations? Don’t doubt for a second that the command hasn’t come down from the highest echelons of the gay power elite. They want to egg you on with the promise of more sex, more grungy nights tied down on the bed of some jock fraternity, more parking lot encounters with insatiable pizza boys, more trips to the speedo-filled beaches of Spain… They will hold all that out like a carrot, a carrot of sodomy to drive you on and on until you, too, are conspiring to remake America into some socialist sex haven where no hole is left unviolated, no disgusting anti-Christian fantasy left unrealized. How the mothers will weap!
An Encyclopedia of Homosexual Drinking Establishments
- Sports Bars: A famously dangerous place for the confused heterosexual, these businesses lure unsuspecting sports fans inside with wide-screen televisions and expensive cable channels. Upon closer inspection, one will notice that the patrons here are spending more time examining the tight buttocks of star players than the actual games themselves. Beware the friendly jock who invites you to reenact the high school drama of locker room horseplay (in his mother’s basement).
- Business Men’s Clubs: Corporate execs in the market for a raunchy merger and acquisition call this place home, as do the business-minded young men who crave a firm hand and a monthly wardrobe allowance.
- The Leather Bar: You’ll feel like you’ve traveled back in time when you enter these private enclaves of semen-soaked sawdust and masculine posturing. Night after night, beefy bikers and 1970s-style policemen roleplay melodramatic plotlines stolen from old cop shows, always arriving at the same dangerous finale of bruises and tears in some forgotten alleyway.
- Piano Bars: Velvet drapes, overpriced Gin Rickeys and a former Broadway star in a bad toupee– the aura is so quickly overwhelming that you’ll forget where the exit is! Here the greatest hope is that some day Nathan Lane will come stumbling through those doors to join the pianist in a rendition of Shirley Bassey’s “Hey, Big Spender.”
- Twinkie Bars: Androgynous boys drowning in glitter and impossible hopes of celebrity dance before mirrors, doing their sad impressions of David Bowie. Is this really what mother expected when she sent her boy off to Vassar?
- Drag Clubs: Julia Roberts look-alikes lure lonely men from the street into these salacious saloons for nights that begin with cheap champagne and end in even cheaper motel rooms. That’s what you get for complimenting a pretty “woman’s” gold stilettos!
- The Gay Disco: Blinding lights and deafening music all but insures that most patrons will be numb by the end of the night. Add to that the bathroom drug bazaars and it’s no wonder this crowd is unaware of the disgustingly pungent sweat they share writhing shirtless on the dance floor.
- The Latino Bar: With all the glamour of an INS processing center, the Latino bar is shockingly direct about its purpose on American soil. Sex, sex and maybe a green card. Steer clear of these notoriously passionate, firm-bodied people, for they will throw you down on the floors of their inner city apartments for encounters so shameful that even their elderly neighbors across the hall will blush.
- “Bear and Beer” Bars: So named because they exude that raw wilderness smell, “bears” are men who hunt others with an animal kingdom intensity. If you show the slightest sign of fear or confusion in their presence, they will pounce on you with catty Scissor Sisters lyrics or demands that you find genius in Sue Sylvester’s Glee antics. Best to stare them straight in the eye and back up slowly when confronted.