It starts with a whisper.
A twitch in the hip.
A suspicious head bob.
And then—BAM!
You’re in full-blown living-room-concert mode, belting “Go on now go! Walk out the door!” into your hair brush like it is friggin’ 1978, and your senator just tried to gut Medicare again.

Welcome to the revolution.
Powered by sequins, sass, and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

Yes, dear reader, today we rise—not with torches, but with tambourines. Not with rage, but with righteous rhythm. Not with picket signs but with glitter and cardio.

Because we have had it.
We have had it with school boards banning books they cannot pronounce the titles of.
We have had it with state senators who think “climate change” is something you catch from opening the freezer barefoot.
We have had it with Congress members who can name their NRA donors faster than their constituents.
And honey—don’t even get me started. The President’s latest bullf*ckery with deporting Americans to El Salvador. It’s like he thinks it’s a Disney vacation.

So what do we do when democracy feels like a group project? All of your teammates are drunk on lobbyist money.

We dance.
We sing.
And we let Gloria do the talking.

THE CHURCH OF GAYNOR: SUNDAY SERVICES NOW DAILY

You heard me. It’s time for your morning devotionals. Open up your spiritual Spotify, dear disciples of defiance, and search “Gloria Gaynor – I Will Survive.” Not the remix. Not a cover. We want the original, raw, disco-drenched thunder of liberation.

Because this isn’t just a song—it is a damn a declaration.

A power anthem.
A sonic exorcism.
A sassy slap in the face to every mayor, magistrate, and mouth-breathing member of Congress. They all thought you’d roll over and take it.

And the best part?

You’re allowed—no, expected—to sing it at the top of your lungs. Do this regardless of pitch or rhythm. It doesn’t matter whether your cat is judging you from the windowsill or your dog is rolling his eyes and howling under the bed!

A SAMPLE MORNING ROUTINE, REIMAGINED:

1. Wake up.
2. Brush teeth.
3. Play “I Will Survive.”
4. Slide across the floor in socks like a caffeinated disco penguin.
5. Belt out lyrics while pointing at invisible elected officials in your kitchen.
6. Imagine your governor crying in their Prius.
7. Feel empowered.
8. Repeat as needed.

Optional: film it all.

Highly recommended: email the footage to every elected official who has ever let you down. Send it to those who delayed your disability benefits. Include officials who voted against reproductive rights. Also, consider those who refused to support affordable housing because they “didn’t like the font on the proposal.”

Attach a note:
“Thought you could break me? Sorry, sugar britches. I will survive.”

ADVANCED PRACTICE: THE POLITICAL DANCE CHALLENGE

Why stop there?
I am launching a launching a national campaign:

#SurviveAndServe

Here’s how it works:

1. Record yourself doing your best “Gloria Gaynor Stares Down the Senate” choreography. Bonus points for interpretive dance moves representing rage, resilience, and radical joy.
2. Sing every word like your voting rights depend on it (because, surprise, they just might).
3. Upload it to your social media with your elected officials tagged.
4. Include links to voter registration, local ballot info, and your grandma’s homemade banana bread recipe because this is a wholesome rebellion.
5. Sit back and wait for the replies (or more likely, the awkward silence of a Congressperson who just got disco dunked on by their own constituents).

WHY “I WILL SURVIVE” IS THE NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM

We’ve been singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” for centuries and honestly? It slaps a little less each time your rent goes up. Your insulin’s $800. Your representative is tweeting about how “God hates drag queens” from a taxpayer-funded steakhouse in DC.

But “I Will Survive?”

That song speaks truth.
To power.
To patriarchy.
To broken infrastructure and broken promises. It also speaks to every bureaucrat who has ever uttered the phrase “Sorry, there’s nothing we can do.”

Oh, but there is.
We can dance.
We can laugh.
We can mock the ever-loving lobby money out of you.

And while we’re at it, we can vote your behind into oblivion.

STAYIN’ ALIVE IS FOR THE BEE GEES.
SURVIVIN’? THAT’S OUR BRAND.

It is 2025.
We are tired.
Our rights are on the chopping block.
Our roads have potholes the size of Elon Musk’s ego.
Our student loans have outlived three of the Kardashians’ marriages.

But somehow—SOMEHOW—we are still here.

Not just here. Thriving.
Voting.
Resisting.
Bedazzling protest signs and wearing rhinestone combat boots to City Hall.

To every council member: We haven’t forgotten that time you tried to close the library. . .
To every governor who only shows up for press conferences and barbecue fundraisers. . .
To every senator who confused “censorship” with “civility”. . .

Play. That. Song.
LOUDER.

THE FINAL STEP: SEND IT TO THEM. ALL OF THEM.

You have your video.
You have your glitter.
You have your righteous rage filtered through a bass line sent from heaven.
Now, email it!
DM it!
Fax it if you’re spicy!!

Send it to:

• Your school board
• Your city council
• Your state reps
• Your governor
• Your senators
• The White House
• Your HOA president if they’re acting out of pocket
• And your aunt’s dog groomer’s cousin, who once ran for school board treasurer in 1988 and still brings it up at family events.

Send them this message, loud and clear:

“I WILL SURVIVE. And I have choreography.”

BECAUSE IF DEMOCRACY IS DYING, AT LEAST IT’S DOING IT TO A DISCO BEAT WITH SEQUINS, BUGLE BEADS and GLITTER!