In the relentless, cyclical theater of American politics, some figures remain locked in the spotlight long after their curtains have seemingly closed. This week, Hillary Clinton, the former First Lady, Senator, and Secretary of State, re-emerged on “The View,” stepping back into her now-familiar role as the elder stateswoman and solemn warning-giver against Donald Trump. But as quickly as she returned, the wrecking ball of political comedy, Greg Gutfeld, swung in her direction, not just to critique her, but to conduct a full-scale, scorching roast of her entire political legacy.

This wasn’t a debate; it was a dismantlement. Gutfeld’s core thesis was simple: Hillary Clinton, the woman who “lost an election,” is now “projecting.” He joked that Trump “doesn’t just live in Hillary’s brain; he’s built a 500-unit condo with in-unit laundry and a rooftop lounge.” With that, Gutfeld lit the match, proceeding to torch decades of carefully crafted PR, polished soundbites, and political reinventions, exposing the “raw, unfiltered truth” he argues she has “spent decades avoiding.”

Gutfeld’s most potent line of attack was aimed at her 2016 election loss, branding her the “OG election denier.” While Clinton has spent years positioning her loss as the result of external, nefarious forces, Gutfeld dismisses this as a grand deflection. He painted a picture of a failed candidate who, instead of accepting responsibility, “spent the next four years saying he was illegitimate.” He mocked her endless “laundry list of excuses, from Russian bots to Macedonian bloggers, from sexism to faulty Wi-Fi.”

The brutal punchline, in Gutfeld’s view, is that she blamed everything except her own flawed campaign. He caustically reminded his audience of the fatal error of her 2016 strategy: “too bad you didn’t bother to visit the states you ended up losing.” It was this combination of arrogance and a complete lack of self-awareness that led him to bestow her with the blistering label of “potato-shaped wine bag.” For Gutfeld, her constant re-emergence is not a noble act of public service but a “clumsy reboot nobody asked for,” making her the “undisputed champion of missing every shot” in political comebacks.

From there, Gutfeld embarked on a “greatest hits” of Clinton’s most damaging scandals, using her own history to dismantle her moral high ground. The most glaring, of course, was the email server. He recounted the “hidden email servers” in a basement, the lifestyle choice of hitting “delete,” and the “wiping out 30,000 emails.” What Gutfeld finds most audacious is not just the original act, which he calls “federal crimes,” but her current attempt to monetize it. He pointed to her selling a “But her emails” hat to “support onward together groups working to strengthen our democracy.” The “nerve,” as the video’s narrator states, to “have gotten off” and then use the scandal as a fundraising gimmick, was presented as the ultimate proof of her bottomless hypocrisy.

The roast didn’t stop there. Gutfeld dragged the Clinton Foundation back into the spotlight, sarcastically questioning what the “glittering monument” was truly for. He dismissed it as a “family enterprise disguised as generosity,” where “millions poured in, yet somehow the world remained the same mess.” He tied this to her “high-priced Wall Street speeches,” which he described as a “bedtime story version of politics written for billionaires,” and the infamous “dead broke” comment—a claim Gutfeld finds laughable from a woman who “once declared she was dead broke while owning more homes than a monopoly board.”

Perhaps the most stunning moment of the takedown was Gutfeld’s unearthing of Clinton’s own “wild MAGA type shit” from 2008. He played her past statements on immigration, where she sounded less like a modern progressive and more like the candidate she now decries. Clinton’s old stance was clear: “Tell people to come out of the shadows… if they’ve committed a crime, deport them, no questions asked, they’re gone.” She continued, saying those who are “law-abiding” must “pay a stiff fine,” “pay back taxes,” “try to learn English,” and “wait in line.” This, for Gutfeld, was the knockout blow—irrefutable proof of her political shapeshifting, branding her a “defender of truth” whose “bond with truth is like a vegan at a steakhouse: uncomfortable, unconvincing, and full of contradictions.”

Ultimately, Gutfeld’s critique transcended policy and scandal, becoming a deeply personal character assassination. He branded her as “one of the most unlikable people that’s ever run for office,” a “corrupt politician” who demands “blind allegiance” from her supporters. He argued that every attempt she makes to be relatable is painfully “staged,” from “having a beer at a dive bar” to “riding the subway.” She is, in his words, a “political furby no one can turn off,” haunting TV screens with “complaints, hindsight, and a thesaurus no one ever asked for.”

This scathing roast resonates because, as GUTFELD presents it, it’s not just a joke; it’s an articulation of a deep-seated public exhaustion. He frames Hillary Clinton as the “loudest voice in the room who refuses to take the hint.” As long as she continues to stumble into the spotlight, “stuffed with arrogance, ambition, and pure irony,” Gutfeld and other critics will be waiting to “set the entire stage on fire.” He holds up a mirror, forcing the audience to see not the polished, consultant-approved stateswoman, but a “malfunctioning Roomba” of political ambition, forever colliding with its own legacy of “contradictions” and “zero self-awareness.”