Let's do a recap:
Imagine you're a hunk. You've been blessed with perfect genetics and a total chad face. You are charming and attractive and all these things. You are also quite conservative, perhaps veering on far right / alt right ideas. And you are gay (Hey, it could happen)
You open up Grindr where you can find plenty of other hunk/jock types amongst all other sort of fantastic animals and where to find them. You get contacted by this one twink that is kinda cute, but kinda creepy, staring emotionless shirtless with his phone in his hand and a thousand yard gaze. Presumably with a gaudy wallpaper in black and gold as a background.
He writes you "Hey"
You decide to talk to him, because why not.
He seems to be kinda reticent, or tsundere, as he would put it, sperging about how much he hates grindr and everybody on it. He lets you know he hates fags and that he won't tolerate any faggotry.
"Okay" you say, after all you're le based gay chad.
After a long, exhausting convo you two manage to date. Ostensibly in a high end restaurant since he won't do Wendy's in a mall, no sir. And you pay for it. He goes on and on about troons and some New Zealand farm, and when you ask him what he does for a living he starts talking about keffals, which must be some sort of middle eastern dish.
You decide to go to the movies, but an ad featuring Will Smith in his latest movie has him freaking out, hyperventilating and crying. You have to call the paramedics.
After he's calmed a bit, he starts going on and on about niggers, and nigger music, and nigger culture, and nigger this and nigger that.
You somehow stay.
You decide to bring him home and have sex. You can't because that's another huge freak out. Something involving the Russian Mafia and no lube, but that's ok because they're not niggers.
You fall asleep.
Somehow you develop a relationship with this guy. He's chasing you up every morning with a tape measure monitoring that you don't get fat, because the wrong body fat percentage will make him dump you.
He spends six hours a day in the gym, and the other six hours on the computer watching animu or raging about the white race or something.
You say "Hey, Vingle, do you want to have a walk in the park?" and he looks at you apathetically: "No, but I have to go to the post office. You can come with me if you want but don't stay too close so that we don't look like fags"
You start noticing that when he said he hates fags he was serious, and this includes you.
He starts considering your looks quite disappointing, telling you you're letting yourself go or, worse, you were never all that to begin with.
You dump him and swiftly proceed to join the Democratic Party.
