By Hans Wilder
The Wilder Treatment
“Bowling Alone with Trump Derangement Syndrome”
You ever notice how Democrats keep repeating the same thing like it’s a séance? “Trump’s numbers are down! Historic low! Worst ever!” And then they light the incense, chant Rachel Maddow’s name three times, and hope a pollster’s ghost whispers in their ear, “Yes, the orange man is fading.”
It’s become a coping mechanism, like a security blanket stitched out of NPR tote bags and New York Times op-eds. They need to believe Trump’s support is tanking, not because it’s true—but because the alternative scares the soul out of them: that the guy they spent eight years mocking, indicting, impeaching, censoring, and calling every name in the book… might just win again.
Now I don’t know about you, but I haven’t met a single Trump voter who regrets it. Not one. And I talk to people. Farmers, truckers, veterans, guys in diners, women at daycare pickup, folks at the hardware store, the barbershop, and the Sunday flea market. Salt of the earth. They might say, “Yeah he tweets too much,” but they follow it with, “But damn it, he fought for us.”
Meanwhile, I have met Democrats—real ones—who’ve started looking at Trump not like he’s some radioactive demon, but like maybe… just maybe… he’s the only one who actually noticed them. A guy who didn’t hide behind coastal cocktail parties and academic jargon, but who said out loud what regular people whisper over their mortgages: “This whole thing is rigged.”
You see, Trump didn’t change the GOP—he exposed the rot in both parties. And that’s what drives the D.C. cocktail crowd insane. They call him a populist like it’s a slur, but you know what populism means? It means people. Real people. Not Hollywood donors, not Wall Street hedge fund managers, not think tank weasels in Brooks Brothers suits.
The Democrats? They became what they claimed to hate: elitist, condescending, corporate bootlickers with a rainbow flag and a Ukraine pin. They turned identity politics into a religion, and forgot about the worker, the welder, the waitress, and the guy who can’t afford eggs.
So when they see Trump doing stuff while the “Others” can’t pack a lunch, they tell themselves fairy tales: “His base is shrinking.” “Only racists support him.” “Nobody smart likes him.”
Gentlemen… ladies… let me tell you. That’s not analysis. That’s delusion. That’s what it looks like when your whole political identity is based on being against something, and that something refuses to go away.
Donald Trump, love him or hate him, is not bowling alone.
He’s got millions in his lane, and brother, they brought their own balls.
— Hans Wilder
I don’t whisper truth to power. I holler it through a bullhorn at 6AM and dare them to reply.
