Dave Bautista Dismantles Trump in Brutal Live TV Roast – Every Joke Lands Like a Powerbomb

It wasn’t just a roast. It was demolition.
On live television, former WWE superstar and Hollywood powerhouse Dave Bautista unleashed a verbal onslaught against Donald Trump that left the audience howling and the former president’s carefully manufactured image in tatters.

Bautista didn’t tiptoe into the segment—he stormed in like a wrecking ball in combat boots. With the precision of a fighter who knows how to break both bones and egos, Bautista shredded Trump’s self-styled persona as a strongman. “A lot of men seem to think Donald Trump is some kind of tough guy,” Bautista began, “but he wears more makeup than Dolly Parton and whines like a baby. The guy’s afraid of birds.”

The crowd erupted, but Bautista was only getting warmed up.

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He skewered Trump’s obsession with toughness, mocking his draft-dodging excuses and fragile ego. “This is a man who brags about grit,” Bautista said, “but crumbles at the sound of late-night comedians.” He painted Trump not as a titan of strength but as the flimsiest strongman in history—more likely to collapse under criticism than under the weight of real responsibility.

Then came the body shots. Bautista torched Trump’s empire as nothing more than a “spray-painted sandcastle, washed away by bankruptcies.” Trump Tower, he sneered, wasn’t a monument to power, but a monument to overcompensation—a giant glass middle finger meant to distract from a hollow core.

The personal digs cut even deeper. He ridiculed Trump’s physique, comparing his gut to “a garbage bag full of buttermilk.” He mocked Trump’s diet as if fast food were fine dining. “The only six-pack Trump ever saw came from a drive-thru window,” Bautista quipped, before adding that the man’s greatest workout was lifting a bucket of fried chicken.

The hair and makeup routine weren’t spared either. Bautista likened Trump’s orange glow to a “rejected Halloween pumpkin” and his infamous hair to an “architectural disaster that deserves its own Secret Service detail—not to protect it from enemies, but to protect America from having to look at it.”

Beyond the physical comedy, Bautista turned serious, slicing into Trump’s record. He mocked Trump’s fixation on crowd sizes, saying the ex-president measured his worth “not by policy, but by how many folding chairs faced his stage.” The audience roared as Bautista described Trump’s true numbers: indictments, lawsuits, and punchlines.

And still, he pressed on.

Trump’s Twitter meltdowns became ammunition. Bautista called them “digital tantrums typed in all caps with less coherence than a five-year-old after too much sugar.” He imagined history books quoting the tweets, with future students mistaking them for satire. “Trump didn’t govern,” Bautista declared. “He rage-typed.”

The roast then veered toward hypocrisy. Bautista dismantled Trump’s branding as a patriot, recalling how the man hugged flags like props on a stage. “The flag doesn’t need a mascot,” Bautista said. “It needs a defender. And Trump never fit the bill.” He shredded the idea of Trump as a leader, painting him instead as a narcissist who craved applause like oxygen but wilted under scrutiny.

Perhaps the harshest blow came when Bautista compared Trump’s endless lies to a magician pulling rabbits from a hat long after the rabbit had died. “Every claim is more absurd than the last,” Bautista said. “His lies stack up like a Jenga tower, wobbling, waiting for gravity to do its job.”

By the end, Trump’s image was rubble. Bautista had left nothing untouched—Trump’s body, ego, wealth, patriotism, politics, even his family dynamic. He mocked the constant betrayals in Trump’s inner circle, likening them to “revolving doors at a discount hotel.” He ridiculed his desperate need for loyalty, his victimhood, and his inability to take accountability.

And then Bautista delivered the knockout punch. Trump, he said, wanted to be remembered as a legend of triumph. Instead, “he’ll be remembered alongside reality TV villains—a cautionary tale of ego run amok. Not a president. Just a four-year episode of bad television with no finale.”

The crowd roared. Trump’s myth was gone. All that remained was laughter—and the image of a fragile man, stripped bare by Bautista’s verbal steel chair.