In the past two years, Donald Trump has been referred to as an “immodest man with much to be modest about,” an “angry carrot,” a “cockroach” spoiling the Republican beverage, a “political vampire” and a “bath salt-eating baboon.”

And that’s just by me.

There was a time when card-carrying #NeverTrumpers thought we, alone, stood as the guardians of the moral and political order. Surely, our appeals to common sense and dignity would carry the day. We reveled in being modern-day Winston Churchills, warning America of the impending doom around the corner if we capitulated to the red-hat wearing armies of darkness. (In related news, if Gary Oldman has any interest in playing me in his next movie, I can get him started on a strict regimen of Chick-fil-A and Aberlour immediately.)

Trump’s election in November 2016 exposed our club as being barely a blip within the Republican Party. Immediately, the small sliver of conservative NeverTrumpers began to further fracture into different flavors of the resistance.