The Tampon King Returns: Greg Gutfeld’s Epic Roast of Tim Walz, America’s Most Forgettable Politician

Last night in Texas, the spotlight swung back to Tim Walz, the former VP nominee, as he joined Beto O’Rourke at a town hall. The event quickly devolved into a masterclass in political satire, thanks to Greg Gutfeld, who shredded Walz with surgical precision. If you missed it, imagine Chuck Norris getting menstrual cramps—yes, the estrogen levels were that high.

Walz’s entrance was less of a triumphant return and more like a substitute teacher losing the classroom before roll call. He’s the kind of politician who thinks repeating platitudes is a strategy, who confuses looking bewildered with leadership, and who mistakes participation trophies for genuine achievement. Gutfeld didn’t just poke fun at Walz; he exposed a brand of mediocrity so profound that even Walz’s fans seemed to be waiting for a refund.

Platitudes Over Plans
Walz loves to tout diversity as America’s strength, a line he’s repeated for years. But beneath his folksy exterior is an insincerity that wouldn’t survive a pie contest at the local fair. He’s elevator music personified: uninspiring, forgettable, and increasingly grating. Gutfeld’s takedown was so detailed, it turned Walz’s career into a case study for political failure.

Stolen Valor and Shaky Credentials
Recently, Walz has been accused of embellishing his military rank—a case of stolen valor. In Minnesota, where legality seems flexible, some shrug it off. But Gutfeld and others see it as emblematic of Walz’s penchant for misrepresenting his record for political gain.

Economic and Educational Fumbles
Walz likes to brag about Minnesota’s economic success, but reality tells a different story: high taxes, slow growth, and policies that send businesses fleeing. Gutfeld lampooned Walz’s economic strategy as something only a Monopoly-money enthusiast could devise.

Education under Walz has become a battleground for bureaucracy and ideology, with classrooms turning into arenas for political drama rather than learning. Gutfeld’s parody of Walz as a principal who cancels math class for a “feeling circle” was spot-on. Under Walz, it seems more important to lower expectations so everyone feels included in failure.

Public Safety and Pandemic Pandemonium
On public safety, Walz talks tough but folds under pressure. He’s presided over riots and rising crime, dodging accountability at every turn. Gutfeld compared his decisiveness to a Magic 8-Ball: ask about crime and you’ll get “Try again later.”

Walz’s pandemic response was equally erratic—wine at bars but no haircuts, big box stores open while gyms closed. It was leadership by dartboard, leaving Minnesotans baffled and frustrated.

A Leader Without Leadership
Listening to Walz is like attending a seminar on wasting oxygen. His speeches are a string of stolen motivational poster slogans, delivered with the charisma of wet cardboard. Even his attempts to be relatable fall flat; he’s more awkward uncle than everyman.

Gutfeld’s roast drives home the real issue: Walz is a symbol of what happens when politics rewards passivity over courage. He’s not a reformer, innovator, or even a competent manager. His supporters praise his “steady hand” and “calm demeanor”—polite euphemisms for doing nothing.

Dodging Accountability
Walz clings to power not because he’s earned it, but because no one’s told him to leave. Gutfeld calls him the quintessential political squatter, camping in leadership while contributing nothing.

Even when discussing business, Walz’s rhetoric is muddled. He claims Democrats aren’t against success, but his policies say otherwise. If Walz ever believed his own hype, Gutfeld’s roast tears it down, exposing the facade.

The Trump Contrast
In the Trump era, the difference is glaring. Trump is decisive and energetic; Walz radiates hesitation and mediocrity. One commands the room, the other fades into the wallpaper.

Final Verdict
Greg Gutfeld’s roast of Tim Walz isn’t just comedic—it’s a brutal reminder of the dangers of elevating the bland and indecisive to positions of power. Walz isn’t a radical with bad ideas; he’s a weak leader with no ideas at all, a placeholder in American politics. In a time that demands grit and vision, Walz serves up lukewarm oatmeal—technically food, but nobody asks for seconds.

By the end, Walz’s image lies in ruins—not because of scandal, but because there’s simply nothing there. Gutfeld didn’t just roast Walz; he revealed the emptiness at the heart of his political career, turning Minnesota’s governor into the punchline America didn’t know it needed.