Donald Trump is the Galileo of bullshit, the Einstein of whining, the Picasso of percentages that don’t exist. So when he recently declared while riding aboard Air Force One that “97% of late night is against me,” he gave us a gift more glorious than fire or the wheel. Because, friends, that means Greg Gutfeld — Fox News’s unfunny ventriloquist dummy — is the leftover three percent. Not three percent body fat, not three percent milk. Three percent relevance. The fruit fly circling the nation’s compost heap of comedy.
Watching Gutfeld is like being locked in a Chili’s bathroom while a drunk accountant explains why his fantasy football team “would’ve won if it wasn’t for the kicker.” His “jokes” are so awful they qualify as human rights violations. If laughter is the best medicine, then Greg is a fentanyl-laced Flintstone vitamin — guaranteed to leave you groaning, twitching, and begging for a priest.
This is the man who mocked Paul Pelosi getting hammered in the head as if brain trauma were a knock-knock joke. Greg isn’t a comedian. He’s the tragic byproduct of letting Reddit comments write a late-night show.
And yet, in Greg’s own mind, he’s the colossus of comedy — the Jon Stewart of MAGAland. In reality, he’s the Chuck E. Cheese animatronic whose wiring shorts out mid-song, leaving him grinning blankly while children scream. He’s so painfully unfunny that watching his monologue feels like chewing aluminum foil while listening to Ted Nugent.
But Trump’s math cuts deeper than any critic. Trump just announced to the world that Greg is statistically irrelevant. Three percent! That’s not a number, that’s a cry for help. Picture the promo: “Greg Gutfeld Live: America’s #1 Source of Mild Discomfort for 3% of Viewers!” His audience claps like they’re signing divorce papers.
Greg isn’t a king, he’s a court jester who keeps dropping the pies before they hit the king’s face. He’s the toenail clipping in Trump’s bed, the expired Lunchable in the MAGA fridge, the damp sock at the bottom of America’s gym bag. If comedy is a banquet, Greg is the ant crawling on the potato salad. Three percent Greg. The decimal dust. The comedy equivalent of being waterboarded with LaCroix.
So Trump’s mystical math lesson leaves Greg exactly where he belongs: not the king of late night, not even the jester, but the three percent hemorrhoid on America’s cultural ass — swollen, irritating, and endlessly whining for attention. He’s the damp cigarette butt of comedy, the half-inflated balloon animal left in the gutter after the parade. Ninety-seven percent of the country has already tuned him out. The other three percent? They’re not laughing with him — they’re just rubbernecking the crash, wondering how one man can make a punchline feel like food poisoning.
If you actually think Greg Gutfeld is funny, Closer to the Edge is not for you. Don’t subscribe, don’t pass go. But if you know three percent comedy is just statistical diarrhea, then welcome home.
oh my goodness I do love your writing......."the three percent hemorrhoid on America’s cultural ass — swollen, irritating, and endlessly whining for attention." Pure gold!
Epic writing as always.