They suck at everything but sticking together.
Republicans, once the party of Lincoln and liberty, now operate more like a grief cult in denial, lamenting an America that never was and torching the one that is.
They have weaponized nostalgia, fused it with grievance, and packaged it into a brand that sells fear of the future as patriotism—flags on trucks, guns in churches, and the gall to call it freedom.
This is not the Grand Old Party; this is the party of the perpetually pissed, who view compassion as weakness and cruelty as governance.
From climate change to healthcare, education to infrastructure, they have no platform beyond the negation of whatever the Democrats propose, like toddlers smearing crayon across the wallpaper because someone else dared to decorate.
Their economic policy is a Ponzi scheme for the rich, their social policy a theological cosplay, and their immigration stance a rotating panic button pushed every election year like clockwork.
They traffic in a politics of bad faith—literally and metaphorically—where truth is optional but obedience is mandatory.
Their recent flirtation with fascism isn’t a bug, it’s a beta test, and the results are in: the base loves it.
They scream about freedom while banning books, cheer on small government while stuffing it into your uterus, and whine about cancel culture while trying to disappear drag queens, diversity, and dissent.
At the state level, they gerrymander democracy into submission, and at the federal level, they hold the nation hostage with the finesse of a drunk uncle waving a steak knife at Thanksgiving.
And through it all—through the insurrections, impeachments, and indictments—there remains a stubborn refusal among “reasonable Republicans” to call any of it what it is: shameful, dangerous, un-American.
Anti-science; anti-intellectualism; ant-choice. If Democrats lack spine, Republicans lack soul.
They are not conservatives; they are regressives cosplaying as revolutionaries, hellbent on dragging the country back to a past where only a few had rights and the rest knew their place.
And their singular success—perhaps their only one—is convincing half the country that spite is a strategy and cruelty is a cure.
History may not judge them kindly, but cruelty doesn’t worry about history.
It votes.
It gerrymanders.
And it always shows up wearing a red hat.
