The End of Democrats

What’s left is hollow, performative, and headed for quiet disappearance

The End of Democrats

By Jim Reynolds | www.reynolds.com

The Democrats didn’t just lose power—they lost the spell. What’s left is hollow, performative, and headed for quiet disappearance.

The nightmare is over.
Let’s make this epitaph short and to the point. We all lived it.

It began with a lie, wrapped in a mandate, shouted through a megaphone.
Stay home. Mask up. Obey.

They told us to fear our neighbors, shutter our businesses, trust the science—but not ask questions. Nurses were fired. Soldiers discharged. Churches closed while liquor stores stayed open. All dissent was treated as heresy. Even the origins of the virus became off-limits. The architects of this panic rode their high horses through every town square, convinced that obedience was moral clarity.
Bob: “Funny how liquor stores counted as ‘essential’ but your grandma’s funeral didn’t.”

Then came Afghanistan. Not a withdrawal—a collapse. Generals posturing for MSNBC. Politicians posing for Twitter. Thirteen Americans died in a blast of bureaucratic cowardice. And the ideologues barely blinked. They learned nothing. They always learn nothing.
Bob: “Turns out the only thing they evacuated successfully was their own spines.”

The thread running through it all? Entitlement without responsibility. Power without principle. A smug ruling class, secure in the belief that they are owed deference, even as their every instinct proves bankrupt.

They told us equity would heal us—but delivered mediocrity. They preached inclusion—while excommunicating anyone who dared ask a question. They weaponized language, moralized incompetence, and turned victimhood into a throne.

And they got away with it. For a while.

They demanded we kneel—not in humility, but in submission. On football fields, in classrooms, in airports. Millions watched. And millions recoiled. Not with protest signs—but with silence, with skepticism, with the quiet erosion of trust. That was the shift. Not revolution. Just disgust.

Now their ideas are exposed. Their slogans are hollow. Their receipts are everywhere. A deliberately porous border. Sky-high crime. Kids who can’t read. Agencies that spy on citizens while ignoring real threats. They broke everything—and called it progress.

But here’s the truth they can’t unsee: Nobody’s afraid of them anymore.

Their words don’t sting. Their accusations don’t land. Call someone a racist, a fascist, a denier—and watch them shrug. The terms have been emptied by overuse. The muzzle is off.

Meanwhile, their base fractures. Their coalition withers. Their most loyal voices have become punchlines. No one wants to hear another sermon from the same collapsing pulpit. The media clings to the old script, but the audience has left the theater.
Bob: “And the ushers stopped taking tickets years ago.”

And the worst part? They still don’t know why. They keep doubling down, blaming everyone but themselves, convinced the problem is the messaging—not the message.

There’s no way out for them. No pivot. No reset. The machine runs on fumes now, sputtering from scandal to scandal, each day more performative than the last. Their big ideas—reparations, DEI bureaucracies, climate lockdowns—don’t persuade. They repel. Because they’re not grounded in reality or fairness. They’re just demands. Entitlement, codified.

What comes next isn’t revenge. It’s reality.

When truth reasserts itself, lies crumble. And the truth is surging back like a tide. Voters are shifting. Institutions are buckling. Even the true believers feel it—though they can’t say it. Not yet. But soon.

This isn’t just the end of a party, or a platform. It’s the end of a spell. The illusion broke. The slogans cracked. The mask slipped.

And what’s underneath isn’t noble. It’s hollow. Performative. Petulant.

They mocked tradition, torched merit, rewrote history, and turned decency into a punchline. They wanted applause for failure. They got something else.

Now comes the reckoning.
Not loud. Not fast. But certain.

And when it arrives, don’t expect an apology. Expect disappearance. A quiet shuffling offstage. An embarrassed retreat behind think pieces and gated communities. They’ll pretend it never happened. That they never believed it.

But we’ll remember.
Because they made us live it.