Uh-Oh! J.D. Vance dun plum disappeared from the MAGA Magick Circle

He gets no blessed-be guyliner sympathy from me

Bill Palmer’s Bocha Blue recently dropped a gem titled, “JD Vance Has Been Put in Timeout,” and it got me thinking about our favorite dark quisling, J.D. Vance. The guy’s a case study in what happens when you’re weird—but not MAGA-approved weird.

Turns out, there’s a price for power and acceptance, and J.D.’s could be paying it—.

Some are posting “Vance kicked out” messages on social media and watching delightedly as image after image appears with Trump surrounded by every trump sycophant known to man — except Vance.

As I said, cliques can have both their good and bad points. This writer was once in a clique. I’d personally never do it again. Cliques almost always descend into gossip and back-stabbing and can be very limiting, as one can end up in friend Silos, exposed to few ideas and opinions other than that of whatever clique they’re a part of…

Vance does not seem to be part of this merry bandit clique. Of course, he could always return. But right now, it seems, Vance is a hitchhiker, thumb out trying to catch a ride with the sleaziest caravan in DC — and they’re whizzing right on by him. Bocha Blue Palmer Report

Now, when people started saying, “MAGA folks are weird,” I had a moment of existential confusion. Where did I stand on that? Was I pro-weird? Anti-weird? Or somewhere in the squishy middle?

You see, I’ve always been a little odd myself. I read the dictionary for fun as a kid and had a borderline unhealthy love for Ralph Waldo Emerson essays. Invictus was my personal pep talk for being unapologetically unconventional. All this—and I hadn’t even hit high school yet.

Honestly, I’m amazed I didn’t get shoved into more lockers.

"Being Weird Isn’t the Problem—Being Awful Is"

So, when the weird-labeling started, I had a gut reaction: Not all weirdos are bad, okay? There are those of us—offbeat, a little quirky—who manage to be different without turning into raging sociopaths. We’re the fun kind of weird, not the “I’m plotting the collapse of civilization because I’m mad at Starbucks” kind.

But then there’s J.D. Vance. Sure, he’s weird—but not the charming, harmless kind. He’s the flavor of weird that, when handed power, has all the wrong ideas about what to do with it. That’s not quirky or misunderstood; it’s dangerous.

So yeah, there’s weird…and then there’s MAGA weird. One makes you interesting at dinner parties. The other makes the rest of us wish you’d stayed home.

Oy, Mah Gothic Soul

When I was younger, I went through a phase. Picture this: head-to-toe black, a notebook filled with angsty poetry, and the unwavering belief that no one understood my soul. Classic Goth vibes, right? Funny thing, though—I had no idea what a "Goth" even was until I met one. A dashing, fellow poet decked out in black introduced me to his world, and it was like finding my tribe.

At first, it felt like home.

I met more Goths, shared music, poetry, and a lot of eyeliner tips. But then, cracks started to show. The in-group lingo felt exclusive, like some secret club meant to keep outsiders—aka "normies" and "vanillas"—out. It hit me: I wasn’t just in a tribe; I’d stumbled into a clique.

It wasn’t the last time, either. When I became an atheist, I thought I’d found another tribe of like-minded folks. But instead of intellectual camaraderie, I discovered a toxic brew of racism, sexism, nihilism, and way too much Christian-bashing for my taste.

"You Don’t Have to Sell Your Soul to Fit the Mold"

Eventually, I realized something sobering—and liberating. Some people don’t hold beliefs because they’re truly convicted; they cling to them like a badge to fit in or appear edgy. That realization changed everything for me. I started to let go of the need for validation from a group. Ideas could stand on their own without being dressed up in tribal colors.

It’s why I can appreciate someone being “weird” without reservation—until their weirdness turns into harm. Take J.D. Vance, for example. He seems like someone who never quite found his place and might even be okay with that. But his weirdness comes with racism, sexism, and a disregard for others. That’s where the guyliner sympathy ends for me.

But, I do almost feel sorry for him

Methinks J.D. Vance sports guyliner as the one rebellious crumb of his true self he’s still willing to show—a tiny nod to individuality he hopes MAGA world will tolerate, if only with a raised eyebrow and a shrug.

It’s almost tragic, really. Imagine living in a world where even your eyeliner has to pass a tribal approval test.

Here’s the kicker: fitting in always comes with a cost. As Bocha Blue wisely points out in her Bill Palmer piece, the price of belonging can be steep. And J.D. Vance? He’s about to get the bill, and something tells me it’s not going to be pretty.