Was just at my grandchildren’s birthday party where my daughter’s lesbian friends attended. You really can’t make this shit up…
They live with a dude who pays all the bills. They refer to him as “their boyfriend”. I don’t know who would fuck them as both look like rotting pig carcasses on the side of a Texas highway in the summer. One of them has breath to match since she’s never been to a dentist. Both are diabetic, popping every diabetes pill and were slurping down the cake and cookies. The are moving to Hawaii because they think it is crime free, or at least safer than Spokane. Their biggest fears are school shootings. They are “learning Hawaiian to better merge with the community” there. Yep, those types.
I mention them in this thread because…now see if you can follow along…
Their daughter, who was lesbian, with a girlfriend, decided to transition to a boy at 13. So then she becomes straight as she keeps her, sorry, his girlfriend. He is the most faggy acting young “man” I have ever seen. After about a year he decides he wants some dick, drops the girlfriend and starts getting banged by guys. This I suppose, now makes him gay, right? And of course makes his new boyfriend gay, by default. No surprise, they were talking about him at the party, describing what anyone would consider serious psychological problems.
No doubt these fantastic parents showed this child be example, that it is ok to be LBG, which being is fine in my book. But sort of forcing these beliefs on your children becomes a bit different. Their unconventional lifestyle, them being lesbian and ultra-left, no doubt planted the seed which made their poor daughter believe he is their son. A son who they now fear will become pregnant. Because as we have learned, men CAN get pregnant.
I am all for people living how they want, but when it affects children, my opinion shifts. All I could think last week was:
1. How much are plane tickets because I’ll buy them. The sooner you leave the better, because
2. I don’t want any of your deviant shit leaking over into my grandchildren as it has into my daughter.
This just reinforces our decision to move up there to be near our grandchildren.
Sitting in a small room (smelling ol’ death breath’s nasty mouth) and listening to all that idiotic kak coming out of their mouths yet holding my tongue (which I don’t do very well, but has improved with age) was an exercise in tolerance I don’t want to experience again if I can avoid it. My daughter and I get along better because of my new found tolerance (and silence) but it is like watching a train about to wreck sometimes.