Apparently, Porno Pete is persona non grata at gay leather events, so he sent in a pinch hitter to do his “research” at Chicago’s 
International Mr. Leather. His useful stooge is an Illinois blogger named Lynn Thomas, who describes herself as a “Conservative Christian mother” who has a “particular interest in opposing cultural Marxism.”
The huge leather extravaganza took place at The Hyatt Regency in Chicago, which greatly upset Porno Pete. His objection is rather odd, considering he makes it quite clear on his website that the event is a PRIVATE affair that has nothing to do with his empty life in the Chicago burbs.
Sadly, this self-righteous busybody can’t seem to pry himself away from private functions he allegedly finds objectionable. No, he has to put on his cape to save future hotel guests from what he imagines (fantasizes ) to be soiled sheets. According to LaBarbera:
We don’t know what kinds of special chemicals are required for the clean-up after the orgies and sodomies committed in spades at “International Mr. Leather.” (And pity the poor maids.) But would you want to sleep in the same bed where a homosexual orgy – or drunken, orgiastic encounter between two “leathermen” — took place – with body fluids and feces flying here and there?
Aside from the obvious fact there are washing machines — a hotel is a place where one sleeps in beds formerly occupied by other strangers who often have sex. It is a mark of extremism and raw bigotry that Porno Pete would say that “special chemicals” might be needed for gay guests, as opposed to the presumably more desirable love juices, of say, Anthony Weiner, Mark Sanford, Sen. David Vitter (R-LA) and Rev. Jimmy Swaggart and his throng of hookers. (Given the chance, I bet Porno Pete would sniff the sheets after the leather orgies)
This time, Porno Pete dispatched Lynn Thomas, who apparently had not done her homework. Although she knew she was sneaking into an S&M party, she was shocked when she stumbled upon the very S&M she was deliberately looking for. The silly adventure begins when Thomas slithers down into the hotel’s basement:
The basement was dark, and there were double doors to enter the vendor area. Going into the “leather market” was an experience. I started at the back of the room, with the intention of weaving my way through the aisles, so as not to miss anything and see all of the vendors. But I was inundated with images of rough men doing rough things to one another, and paraphernalia on sale for people to do rough and obscene things to one another. There were whips and chains and straps to tie people down; dildos [fake penises] in the size and shape if animal species’ erect penises. They were labeled baby elephant, donkey, horse…and the thought of where those things would go and what would be done with them, made me nauseous.
The experience — which she enthusiastically brought upon herself by entering a private event and choosing to descend down an escalator into a basement — was too much for Thomas to handle. The poor, innocent homemaker was so crestfallen by the “sin” that she encountered that she had a panic attack:
I didn’t get too far through the vendor displays — with leather-clad men gathered in clumps turning to look at me — before I had a panic attack and needed to exit the building. The sadistic-sex “market” was in the basement, the carpet was dark, and the vendors’ wares were horrific. I exited the market a few times to go back to my car and take a breather and settle my nerves somewhat. I had intended on taking pictures of the attendees like I did at last year’s outdoor Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco, where the attendees were happily snapping their little cameras to capture their own personal photos of Folsom. Mr. Leather didn’t have any snap-happy people; I didn’t see a single person with a camera or shooting photographs…Booth after booth of sadomasochistic sickness was too much for me to take, a
nd because of the stares I was getting from groups of men, I was literally afraid to take photographs…
Imagine that. People objecting to having their picture snapped by a blue-nosed scold, and then having it taken grossly out of context online by prissy fundamentalist prigs going out of their way to be offended.
The fact that Thomas took no action photographs and clearly failed on her mission to provide Porno Pete with new masturbation materials, I mean research, must have broken his little leather-loving heart into a thousand pieces.
Here is how her exciting journey into fundie hell ended:
But though my camera was empty, I went home with lots of vividly disturbing mental images that I am still having trouble flushing from my mind.
No doubt, with damaged brains that work like a backed-up toilets — both Porno Pete and Lynn Thomas’ minds really do need a good flushing. Both their sick voyeurism disguised as Christianity, their overly-prurient portrayals of LGBT life, and a penchant to enter arenas that allegedly disgust them, says quite a bit about their repressed mental state.
There is a saying we used to tell such nosy creeps: “If you don’t like it, mind your own goddamned business and stay away.”
Apparently, avoiding sexual activities that Thomas and LaBarbera supposedly loathe — but can’t seem to get enough of — is something that both peeping perverts are unable to do.
