GIVE ME THAT OLD TIME MAGA RELIGION
TRUMP'S TWO-HOUR TENT REVIVAL LEAVES EVEN THE FAITHFUL CHECKING THEIR WATCHES
WASHINGTON — In what can only be described as a political tent revival meeting that would make Elmer Gantry blush, President Donald Trump delivered his 2026 State of the Union address Tuesday night, a 108-minute sermon that tested the endurance of even the most devoted members of his flock.
The theme? "Give Me That Old Time MAGA Religion" — a nostalgic journey back to an America that exists primarily in the fever dreams of cable news hosts and the comment sections of Truth Social.
The Gospel According to Trump: "I, Me, Mine"
In a speech that linguistic analysts are calling "a masterclass in first-person singular," Trump deployed the words "I" and "me" with the frequency of a telemarketer on commission. George Harrison wrote a song about it; Trump wrote a State of the Union address.
"I inherited a nation in crisis," the President intoned, apparently forgetting that he inherited it from... himself, four years ago. "I transformed it." One could almost hear the organ music swelling in the background as he painted himself as both Moses leading America to the Promised Land and the Promised Land itself.
Snake Oil for the Modern Age
Like a 19th-century medicine show huckster peddling miracle elixir from the back of a wagon, Trump sold his audience a potent cocktail of economic fantasy and military bravado. Gas prices "below $2.30 in most states!" he proclaimed — a claim so divorced from reality that fact-checkers collectively sighed and reached for the aspirin. (The national average: $2.92. But who's counting? Besides literally everyone who buys gas.)
His prescription drug pricing claims were particularly inventive, promising savings of "300% to 600%" — a mathematical impossibility that would require pharmaceutical companies to pay you to take their medications. Perhaps that's the real healthcare innovation: reverse pharmacology.
Democrats: The Devil You Know
No revival is complete without identifying the Devil, and Trump obliged by painting Democrats as the architects of American apocalypse. They were responsible for everything short of the extinction of the dinosaurs — though given another 20 minutes, he might have gotten there.
The irony of a man warning about "lawlessness" while having recently clashed with the Supreme Court over his tariff regime was apparently lost on the assembled faithful, who nodded along with the practiced enthusiasm of people who've heard this sermon before and know when to say "Amen."
Choreography Worthy of Broadway (If Broadway Did Propaganda)
The evening's real achievement was the choreographed standing ovation ballet. Republicans popped up and down with such precision that one suspected hidden floor buttons beneath their seats. Up for "Golden Age!" Down for breath. Up for "Drill, Baby, Drill!" Down to check phones. Up for military heroes (to be fair, genuinely deserving). Down because their knees were giving out.
Democrats, meanwhile, remained seated with the stony determination of people enduring a timeshare presentation, occasionally checking their watches and wondering if this violated the Geneva Conventions' prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment.
The Boredom Was Bipartisan
By minute 75, even loyal Republicans were exhibiting the telltale signs of SOTU fatigue: glazed eyes, suppressed yawns, and the thousand-yard stare of people contemplating their life choices. One could see them mentally calculating whether claiming a sudden illness was worth missing the post-speech spin room.
The speech clocked in at 108 minutes, breaking Trump's own record for longest congressional address — an achievement roughly equivalent to being proud of having the world's largest kidney stone.
And Lo, Only Lindsey Was Saved
In the end, only Senator Lindsey Graham appeared to have experienced a genuine come-to-MAGA moment, leaping to his feet with the enthusiasm of a man who'd found religion, lost it, found it again, lost it again, and finally decided to just commit to the bit.
The rest of America? Polls suggest the speech changed approximately zero minds — a feat of political futility that would be impressive if it weren't so predictable. Trump preached to his choir, the choir sang along, and everyone else changed the channel to watch literally anything else.
The Verdict
Trump's 2026 State of the Union was a throwback to an earlier era of American politics: specifically, the era of traveling salvation shows, where a charismatic pitchman could sell you swampland in Florida and make you feel good about it.
He promised a "Golden Age" while fact-checkers worked overtime documenting the bronze reality. He claimed credit for economic improvements that began before he took office, like a rooster taking credit for the sunrise. He warned of foreign threats while reading letters from foreign leaders that may or may not have said what he claimed they said.
But perhaps the speech's greatest achievement was uniting Americans across the political spectrum in one shared experience: the collective realization that two hours is far, far too long for anyone to talk about themselves, even if they're the President of the United States.
As the faithful filed out of the chamber, one thing was clear: Give them that old time MAGA religion all you want, but maybe next time, give it to them in 45 minutes or less.
The revival tent has been struck. The snake oil has been sold. And America wakes up Wednesday morning with the same problems it had Tuesday night — but now with a 108-minute recording to prove it.
Fact-Check Footnote: For those keeping score at home, independent fact-checkers found numerous claims in the speech ranging from "misleading" to "mathematically impossible" to "did he just make that up?" The full list is available online, though reading it may cause the same symptoms as watching the speech itself: fatigue, disbelief, and an overwhelming urge to fact-check everything you hear for the next six months.
