Greg Gutfeld Dismantles Whoopi Goldberg in Explosive On-Air Roast: “The View Is Now Just Performance Art in Drag”
In what may go down as one of the most savage televised takedowns in recent cable news history, Greg Gutfeld lit up The View and its queen bee, Whoopi Goldberg, with a comedic flamethrower that left no ego unscorched.
It all began when Goldberg—whose real name, to the surprise of many, is Karen Johnson—went on a now-infamous tirade about the Holocaust not being about race. “It’s about man’s inhumanity to man,” she said on a show that has made everything about race—until suddenly, it didn’t fit the narrative.
ABC suspended her for two weeks. But the internet—and Gutfeld—weren’t about to let the drama expire with a soft fade-out.
Enter Gutfeld, Fox News’ resident satirical sniper, who didn’t merely clap back—he orchestrated a roast so exquisitely executed it should be bottled and sold as karma. With his signature smirk and razor-sharp wit, he shredded Whoopi’s fragile soapbox layer by layer. “She’s not just confused,” Gutfeld said. “She’s a Broadway meltdown in search of an encore.”
Kat Timpf, Gutfeld’s ever-sharp co-host, chimed in: “This isn’t daytime television—it’s a masterclass in unearned outrage. The View is what happens when five malfunctioning AI assistants argue over brunch.”
Goldberg’s emotional unraveling wasn’t new—it was scheduled programming. From declaring climate change the cause of a solar eclipse to doubling down on her baffling Holocaust take, Whoopi seems to think volume equals virtue and tears equal truth. Gutfeld wasn’t buying it.
“She talks like she skimmed a Wikipedia article at a red light,” he deadpanned. “And then acts like she just returned from solving international law.”
As Whoopi flailed, Greg simply held up a mirror. No yelling. No theatrics. Just satire—surgical, scorching, and effective.
But it wasn’t just about one comment. Gutfeld exposed a larger truth: The View has morphed into a sanctimony circus, where disagreement is treated like heresy and moral outrage is doled out like party favors. “It’s not a talk show anymore,” he said. “It’s a live-action roleplay of a Twitter mob with better lighting.”
And the numbers tell the story: while Gutfeld continues to climb in late-night ratings, The View hemorrhages credibility like a leaky faucet. Their panels have become echo chambers of bobbleheads, nodding in rhythm, terrified of original thought.
Even Goldberg’s defense of Joe Biden spiraled into bizarre territory: “I don’t care if he poops his pants,” she said. “I’ll still vote for him.” Gutfeld couldn’t resist: “She’s out here pledging loyalty like she’s backstage at Rock of Ages—except instead of a guitar, she’s holding a diaper bag.”
Kat Timpf took it further: “Imagine if anyone on the right said that? They’d be canceled faster than Joy Behar forgets what year it is.”
The takedown wasn’t just satire—it was a dismantling of The View’s entire brand. And while Whoopi spiraled into an off-Broadway one-woman tragedy titled Moral High Ground: The Musical, Gutfeld calmly wiped the floor with her and walked away.
In true View fashion, the rest of the panel circled the wagons. Joy Behar blinked confusedly. Sunny Hostin rolled her eyes with such force it could curdle milk. And Ana Navarro gasped like she was auditioning for Days of Our Lives.
But no amount of dramatics could save them from the internet. Twitter turned Goldberg’s meltdown into a meme factory. TikTok exploded with reaction edits. YouTube did full documentary breakdowns. It wasn’t just a news cycle—it was a cultural moment.
And while The View attempted damage control via circle hugs and vague calls for “love and light,” Gutfeld raised a sarcastic toast to truth, comedy, and the importance of calling out the emperor—even when she’s wearing a designer caftan.
This wasn’t just a roast—it was a reckoning. And Gutfeld didn’t need five backup co-hosts to nod him through it. Just a mic, some truth, and a sense of humor sharper than Whoopi’s latest eyebrow raise.
The real tragedy? Whoopi still doesn’t know what hit her. But the audience? Oh, they laughed. And in 2025, that kind of truth-laced comedy is worth its weight in Emmys—and popcorn.
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