When Does All The “Winning” Start Again?

Because so far, I’m just embarrassed, angry & afraid.

So this is “winning”?

If this is what victory looks like, America’s trophy is a melted lawn chair strapped to a malfunctioning hoverboard, ridden by a possum in a MAGA diaper. We were promised so much “winning” we’d beg for it to stop. Well, I am begging—not because I’m drowning in triumph, but because I’m standing in the grocery store, staring at overpriced grapes, and seriously considering a life of crime for a sleeve of Oreos.

None of this is winning. This isn’t just a weird chapter in the history books—it’s the whole book being shredded and fed to a goat wearing a “Q for President” T-shirt. The fact that anyone still pretends this is normal is how we ended up with an adjudicated rapist, a felon, a business fraud, and a failed coup leader back in the Oval Office—because America looked the abyss in the face in 2020, survived it by a hair, and then four years later voted the abyss back in.

If this is “par for the course,” then the course is on fire and the caddies are throwing flaming golf balls at the clubhouse while the flag waves over a sand trap full of unpaid medical bills.

The economy? If you’re a billionaire, you’re crushing it—sipping champagne from crystal skulls while the rest of us are rationing protein and wondering if we can afford to keep the lights on. Prosperity apparently means another round of tax breaks for corporate sociopaths and wondering why nobody can afford rent without three roommates and a side hustle selling plasma. Prices are out of control, wages are in freefall, and all they offer is more tariffs and trickle-down fairy tales. And when the system collapses under its own corruption, they hand you a “MAHA” sticker and call it a solution.

Because that’s the entire GOP strategy now—squeeze working people until there’s nothing left but credit card debt and bitterness, then tell them it was immigrants and progressives who took the pie. Meanwhile, billionaires are licking gold-plated spoons and watching the chaos like it’s premium cable.

The country’s being run like a bankrupt theme park managed by drunk mascots—every ride’s on fire, the map is just a Bible verse and a coupon for ivermectin, and the guy in charge keeps screaming that the roller coaster isn’t crashing, it’s just “patriotically descending.” Our allies have bailed. Our enemies are thriving. And the president is too busy retweeting AI-generated memes about robot Joe Biden to notice the world’s moved on without us.

Immigration? It’s not about safety. It’s about performance cruelty. Trump’s agents are arresting kids for showing up to court. Students are being dragged out of classrooms. Families torn apart in broad daylight. All so he can feed his base a steady diet of televised dehumanization. ICE agents in balaclavas, teenagers hauled away like fugitives—and the same people who melted down over wearing cloth masks now cheer for masked raids on children like it’s American Ninja Fascism. This isn’t border security. It’s trauma theater.

And don’t go looking for stability abroad either. Foreign policy under Trump is a car crash narrated by a conspiracy theorist. Gaza’s burning. Taiwan’s holding its breath. And Ukraine? They just blew a hole in Russia’s military fleet and didn’t even bother telling us—because under Trump, we’re the risk. America isn’t the leader anymore. We’re the liability. Our allies tiptoe. Our enemies feast. And Trump? He’s blabbering about “the Gulf of America” while the world quietly leaves us behind.

And speaking of collapse, let’s talk public health—because that, too, has been handed over to a walking conspiracy theory in human skin. We’ve got a brain-wormed, baby bird blending, bear-dumper peddling pseudoscience like it’s gospel, steering national health policy with the steady hand of a sugar-high ferret on a unicycle. Measles—measles!—are making a deadly comeback like they’re headlining a nostalgia tour, pregnant women are being told not to protect their babies from Covid because “freedom,” and the experts backing it all up seem to have materialized straight out of a vape cloud in a strip mall crystal shop. One minute they’re podcast chiropractors hawking herbal enemas, the next they’re testifying to Congress about how vaccine mandates give you 5G. This isn’t public safety—it’s viral roulette run by carnival barkers in lab coats.

Remember when America led the free world? Now we’re the guy at the gas station in Crocs and a bathrobe, screaming about lizard people while trying to pay for beef jerky with “TrumpCoin.” A country armed to the teeth, broke to the bone, and led by a man who thinks executive orders are just coupons for dictatorship.

And while he’s bankrupting our credibility abroad, he’s gutting basic decency here at home—slashing food assistance, shredding veterans’ services, and cutting healthcare like he’s balancing a budget on the backs of the people who actually served. And for what? So he can throw himself a $100 million small-in-the-pants parade, complete with tanks, jets, and a 90-foot inflatable Trump balloon. Grandma skips dinner, the VA waits six months for a printer, but hey—he gets to feel like a big boy for five f’ng minutes.

And in the midst of all of this, they’re also busy gutting NOAA, the agency that warns you when a hurricane’s about to snap your roof off like a Pringle. They’re cutting disaster forecasting during a climate crisis. The people whose job it is to save your life when the sky turns black are now working with broken satellites, expired batteries, and a prayer. Because storms, apparently, are now partisan.

And through all of this, the sitting President of the United States is sharing a conspiracy theory that Joe Biden died in 2020 and was replaced by a robot. Not metaphorically. Literally. The man who controls the nuclear codes is posting fanfiction from the back alleys of the internet like it’s fact. And the media? They shrug. “That’s just Trump.” No, it’s not. That’s not just Trump. That’s a delusional strongman mainlining fantasy while democracy chokes on its own tongue.

And we’ve stopped blinking. The madness is background noise. The fascism is khaki-clad and credentialed. If this were happening in any other country, we’d be calling it what it is: a failed democracy coasting on fumes while the driver screams that he’s making a pit stop at greatness.

At this point, the only thing holding the country together is melted glue stick, cold fries, and the exhausted resolve of people too broke or too furious to throw their TVs into traffic—yet.

So let’s recap: Schools gutted. Families terrorized. Prices exploding. Climate response dismantled. Public health on the brink. Veterans betrayed. Food stamps shredded. Truth replaced with cult cosplay. The president governing by meme while the Constitution wheezes in a storage closet under a pile of Ted Cruz’ discarded jowl merkins.

If this is “winning,” then I’m a goddamn ham sandwich.

This isn’t greatness. This isn’t unity. This isn’t prosperity. Hell, it isn’t even reality. This is a collapsing game show hosted by a feral narcissist who thinks executive privilege means he gets first pick of the emergency Lunchables while the rest of us watch the country sink from the kiddie table.

And while we’re all choking on the smoke, he’s already remaking the system in his image. He’s not waiting for power—he has it. He’s already using it. Purging agencies. Silencing watchdogs. Turning the government into a punishment machine for anyone who doesn’t kneel. He’s not governing. He’s extracting. Pillaging. Rewriting the rules so that your rights are optional and his rage is law.

And too many people are clapping along because they think the fire won’t reach them.

But it already is.

So here’s the only question that still matters—the one they chant at rallies like it’s a spell, the one that supposedly makes it all worth it:

Where the fuck is all the winning?

Where’s the “greatness”?

Where’s the promised “prosperity”?

The lowered prices? The ended wars?

Because from here—rising costs, broken systems, crumbling alliances, a culture of cruelty, and a government that looks more like a reality show written by an arsonist—it doesn’t look like victory.

It looks humiliating.

It looks infuriating.

And it looks absolutely fucking terrifying.

And that is why we keep sounding the alarm.

Because for every person who says, “I didn’t know it would get this bad,” there are thousands of us who did. We screamed, we warned, we marched, we voted, we begged—and they still didn’t listen.

But maybe next time—when it’s their kid’s school closed, their fridge empty, their meds unaffordable, their storm without warning—they’ll finally get it.

And when they do, we’ll still be here.

Louder.

Fiercer.

And absolutely fucking relentless.

Because giving up isn’t an option—not when the house is burning, the exits are locked, and half the country’s still waving flags in the flames and calling it freedom.

We’re not here to be polite.

We’re not here to make it comfortable.

We are here to make damn sure no one gets to say “I didn’t know” ever again.

Not while kids go hungry.

Not while veterans are discarded.

Not while a delusional tyrant turns the United States into his own personal circus of cruelty and collapse.

We’re the resistance.

We’re the reckoning.

And we are just getting fucking started.

And with that (and a wink), today’s song:

I love you guys. Stay safe, stay strong, stay away from that guy at the gas station in the bathrobe.

💙 Jo