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.

Pain is the point.

That’s the animating force behind Trump’s base in 2025. Not prosperity. Not policy. Not some grand vision for the future. Just pain—administered downward and in bulk.

The country is a mess. Stocks are sliding. Groceries are up. Federal workers are being laid off. Immigration raids are plucking students off sidewalks. Stability is gone.

Yet somehow, the people who put Donald Trump back in the White House feel no regret. No doubt. No second thoughts about electing a man with six bankruptcies, two impeachments, and one felony conviction.

Why? Because in Trump’s America, success is relative. And the only thing better than getting ahead is making sure someone else falls behind.

Psychologists call it downward social comparison. When your own situation feels bleak, you look down, not up. You don’t have to feel good—you just have to feel better than.

That’s the fuel of modern Trumpism. Not belief in him, but belief that he’s making the right enemies suffer.

Trump didn’t promise to save his voters. He promised to punish their enemies. And in that, he’s been wildly effective.

Wages are stagnant, but liberals are losing teaching jobs. Your health insurance sucks, but immigrants are being deported. Your cousin’s factory closed, but your old Facebook enemy’s pronouns got mocked on national TV. The border’s a disaster, but at least someone darker-skinned got roughed up in the process.

It’s emotional math: I’m hurting, but if you’re hurting more, I’m winning.

So when chaos breaks loose, the base doesn’t flinch. They cheer. Federal layoffs? That’s draining the swamp. ICE raids? That’s taking our country back. Book bans? That’s sticking it to the smug elites. It doesn’t matter if it fixes anything. It matters that it feels like payback.

This isn’t a conservative movement anymore. It’s a retribution cult. And it doesn’t hide it. The cruelty isn’t collateral—it’s the message. Trump doesn’t offer leadership. He offers vengeance. And that’s a hell of a drug for a country built on grievance.

So how do you fight that?

Maybe you don’t. Not with optimism. Not with kumbaya coalitions or Sunday morning sermonizing. Trumpism isn’t a misunderstanding—it’s a demand. The base doesn’t want change. They want the scoreboard to show their enemies are bleeding.

We need to stop looking for regret. There is none. Democrats need to stop waiting for a tide to turn. It won’t. This isn’t about finding common ground. It’s about recognizing there’s a whole swath of the country that likes the ground they’re standing on—because it’s on someone else’s neck.

You don’t reason with that.

You outnumber it. You outmaneuver it. Maybe you third-party it. You survive it.

And you stop pretending this is anything but what it is.