THE RISE OF THE NASTY PARTY.

CULTURAL AUTOPSY — THE WHY AND THE WHEREFORE.

A Dispatch from Mrs. Begonia Contretemps.

Spokeswoman, Nouvelle Vague Zwischenshaft (NVZ)

(Notes Against a Necroculture)

Everything eventually turns into its opposite.

Or perhaps—like so many of today’s party apparatchiks—it was never anything but inversion masquerading as novelty.

The Nasty Party, let us now call them by name, has arrived not with jackboots but with rainbow flags. Their ideology is stitched together from synthetic grievance and burn-victim empathy, a style I refer to as compensatory chic—ugliness with a moral alibi.

They believe in Globalism über alles, but this is not the cosmopolitanism of the salons, nor the noble dream of an interconnected Christendom. No, this is cargo-container cosmology: one port, one market, one god—named Equity, but controlled by a priesthood more cunning than holy. One need not squint too hard to see the gloved hand of a new chosen, guiding the parade. Their opposite once believed that Nature selected them. Both mythologies had their uniforms.

But oh! The uniform of the Nasty Party is a pride jockstrap and a thousand-yard stare. It is the smirk of the terminally outraged. It is the hoodie of grievance, worn with passive-aggressive élan and an unread copy of White Fragility tucked into the tote.

“Where once beauty and form was the ideal to be realized and attained, The Nasty Party celebrates the ugly, botched, and perverse.”

Indeed. Their preferred aesthetic is that of a campus flyer after a windstorm—half-legible, gender-fluid, and damp with sincerity. High Culture has been de-accessioned. In its place: ironic drag brunches, generated multi-cult murals, and statues melted for parts and feelings.

Their foreign policy? Moral prophylaxis.

Their domestic policy? Neurotic sterilization.

At their recent convention (August 2024), “mobile extermination vans” were unveiled to chemically abort the Party’s object of hatred—potentially sentient fetuses, who had committed the crime of existing without a permit. Vasectomies, like virtue badges, were freely distributed to the faithful. [¹] The justification, of course, was ecological. A child, you see, is a carbon bomb. A human lineage is a pollution vector. “Love” is now an acronym, and every affection must first be approved by a DEI subcommittee.

But their projection knows no bounds. To accuse their adversaries of fascism while erecting the very scaffolding of bureaucratic soft totalitarianism—this is the spiritual gymnastique of the Nasty Party. One hesitates to draw crude historical parallels, but the echo is not accidental. “Nasty Party” is but a consonant away from another infamous abbreviation—and if that rings shrill, consider their own actions:

At that same convention, the Party launched its new messaging strategy around the phrase Strength Through Joy. [²] Yes, the very slogan that once graced Third Reich cruise liners and work camps. The updated version swaps Volkswagens for virtue signals and Volk for volunteer sterilization. The result? A cheerful necroculture that sings as it sterilizes.

And as for the strategy of joy? Do read the Party’s own theorist, George Lakoff, who outlines how joy is no longer a feeling but a weaponized affect—a mood-pulse pumped through the ducts of democracy, meant to narcotize dissent and inflate the brand of OUR DEMOCRACY™. [²]

They do not see themselves.

They project outward what festers within.

And the rest of us are expected to nod along—to mistake decay for progress and programmed delight for actual joy.

“STRENGTH THROUGH JOY,” once goose-stepped into history, has been resurrected with glitter and hormone therapy. It’s propaganda with better skincare, but no less a mask.

Yes, yes—we see the projection. It’s textbook, darling. But it’s more than that. It is the textbook—rewritten, reprinted, and force-fed.

The Nasty Party is not merely political. It is theological.

Its sacrament is spite.

Its liturgy is sarcasm.

Its holy day is “next Tuesday,” when they will finally punish their parents by becoming their parents’ worst nightmare.

You will not escape this revival by voting harder.

You will not salvage culture by dressing ugliness in Marxist mascara.

And you will certainly not out-meme the memetic virus that is the Party’s very soul.

One must instead cultivate memory, manners, and the mirror. One must recognize the pattern—not just its fashion, but its fate.

Cordially,

Mrs. Begonia Contretemp

Cultural Autopsy Division, NVZ

Council-of-Concerned-Conservationists

FOOTNOTES

[¹] “Free abortions and vasectomies” offered at DNC convention via mobile clinics – Politico

[²] George Lakoff, Kamala Harris and the Strategy of Joy – The FrameLab

Supplemental Reference: Harris VP Battle Heats Up – AOL