It’s hardly controversial to suggest that MAGA has wreaked havoc on American families.
The Clown from Queens and his propaganda machine have warped the arcs of many lives: Boomer parents have gone braindead from swearing allegiance to the charlatans on Fox News; brothers-in-law have seceded from reality, joining the ranks of Neo-Confederate nincompoops; once affable cousins have become as insufferable as the talking points they parrot from podcasts hosted by fascist dilettantes.
No matter the particulars of your family dynamics, enduring the galling ignorance of your MAGA relatives has probably forced you to seek higher ground or risk drowning in tsunami waves of their rhetorical rat piss.
Even celebrating Christmas or family birthdays with the “red-pilled” is like being a blind eunuch at a fat camp orgy: everything you hear is confusing and disturbing, and for you, at least, there is no pleasure.
Like many of my fellow citizens, I get creative to steer banal small talk with the Trump-voters in my life away from anything remotely related to birth rates, tax rates, Kid Rock, or raw milk. Oh, or basic human rights and dignity.
I would, of course, be lying if I said I can recall the last time I enjoyed the company of my Uncle Kurt and cousin Judson—the main MAGA-morons in my life. But to their credit, somewhere along the way, we reached a workable unspoken agreement: they don’t talk to me about election fraud or beef tallow, and I don’t talk to them about anything.
But in recent months, things have taken a shocking turn: Cousin Judson and Uncle Kurt are now so brainwashed by MAGA dumbfuckery that they presume my rejection of their retrograde politics means I like the Democrats!
I’ve got better things to do than bicker with bootlickers, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let even the most delusional of fools believe I respect Chuck Schumer!
At my nephew’s 1st birthday party, cousin Judson badgered me, presuming I’d read Kamala Harris’s memoir. And before I could even tell him that I’d likely find Kamala’s screed almost as stupid and self-serving as tweets by Laura Loomer, he started blathering on about his begrudging soft spot for James Carville!
Then Uncle Kurt texted me a link to the Gavin Newsom podcast where he got chummy with Steve Bannon, along with the message, “Our guys had a spirited debate!”
“Our guys!?”
I suppose I may be forced to vomit in my mouth and vote for Gruesome Newsom if America’s predictably preposterous political landscape makes him the candidate facing off with JD Vance in 2028, but he’ll never be “my guy!”
It’s easy to forcefully reject the willful ignorance and gleeful cruelty that delight the loathsome losers of MAGA. But I must confess: I’m at a loss about what to do when they insult me by assuming I care if the Epstein files detail the criminal perversions of Democrats like Bill Clinton.
Fuck—Judson just texted again, and he thinks I watch “The View!”
This article is satirical. The Hard Times is a punk/hardcore satire site. All content should be considered parody and entertainment purposes only.
