In the ruthless arena of political commentary, some attacks are fleeting, but others are so surgically precise they permanently alter the public perception of their target. Recently, Greg Gutfeld and Tyrus, with the sharp-edged wit of demolition experts, took a wrecking ball to the carefully constructed monument of Hillary Clinton. They didn’t just critique her; they methodically dismantled the myth she has spent decades building, exposing a foundation they argue is made not of historic achievement, but of entitlement, denial, and a spectacular failure to close the deal.

For years, Hillary Clinton has been portrayed as the inevitable leader, the woman destined to shatter the highest glass ceiling. Her supporters saw a trailblazer, a brilliant mind, and a seasoned stateswoman. But Gutfeld and Tyrus paint a starkly different picture: a political figure so consumed by the belief in her own destiny that she became blind to the reality of an electorate that never truly embraced her. They argue that her story is not one of triumph deferred, but of profound political arrogance meeting its match in the form of millions of voters who refused to be told what to think.

At the heart of their blistering critique is the 2016 presidential election—a political cataclysm that redefined American politics. To her critics, losing to Donald Trump wasn’t just a defeat; it was an “extinction-level event for her credibility.” Gutfeld frames it as the biggest political layup in modern history, a shot she inexplicably missed. Here was a candidate with every conceivable advantage: immense funding, universal name recognition, a unified party establishment, and a fawning media. Yet, she lost. According to the narrative spun by Gutfeld and Tyrus, the loss wasn’t an accident or the result of external forces. It was the direct consequence of a candidate who saw the presidency not as something to be earned, but as something she was owed.

Following that loss, the public was treated to what many have called the “blame game tour.” Hillary, in her books and interviews, pointed fingers at a vast conspiracy of forces arrayed against her: Russian interference, FBI Director James Comey, systemic sexism, Bernie Sanders, and even voter suppression. If a butterfly flapped its wings in Ohio, it seemed, it was somehow part of the grand plot to keep her from the White House. Gutfeld and Tyrus seize on this endless stream of excuses as the hallmark of her post-2016 legacy. In their view, she became the first politician to lose an election and then spend the next decade auditioning for the role of the world’s greatest victim. This refusal to accept personal responsibility, they contend, is the ultimate proof of her crippling entitlement.

The takedown delves deeper, exploring the idea of Hillary as a master of inauthenticity. She was, as Gutfeld puts it, the “queen of pretending to be relatable.” Every attempt to connect with the common voter felt like a market research project gone wrong. Remember the infamous “hot sauce in her bag”? It wasn’t seen as a genuine quirk but as a calculated ploy to pander to a demographic she fundamentally misunderstood. Her speeches, filled with carefully crafted talking points, often came across as lectures rather than conversations. She spoke about the struggles of everyday Americans from a position of such immense privilege that it rang hollow. The more she tried to play the part of the everywoman, the more obvious it became that she was hopelessly disconnected from the very people she sought to lead.

Tyrus sharpens this point by framing Hillary not as a leader, but as a “tired brand.” Her entire political career, he argues, has been a series of reinventions designed to mask previous failures. When her ambitious healthcare plan collapsed in the 1990s, she reinvented herself as a tough, pragmatic New York senator. When she lost the 2008 primary to Barack Obama, she was reborn as a globe-trotting Secretary of State. And after the stunning loss to Trump, she adopted the mantle of a feminist icon and elder stateswoman of the “resistance.” But with each reinvention, the mask slipped a little faster. The product she was selling—the myth of Hillary, the unfulfilled promise of history—never delivered. It was, as one commentator colorfully put it, like “buying a box labeled revolutionary change and opening it to find a used copy of her memoir.”

The critique doesn’t stop at her domestic political failures. Gutfeld and Tyrus also take aim at her tenure as Secretary of State, reframing her foreign policy resume not as a collection of successes, but as a series of poorly conceived experiments that left the world more chaotic. Her gleeful cackling over the fall of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi is now the chilling soundtrack to a failed state overrun by chaos and extremism. The much-vaunted “Russian reset” aged like sour milk, culminating in Vladimir Putin’s aggressive expansionism. Her fingerprints, they argue, are all over some of the decade’s biggest geopolitical disasters, yet these failures are conveniently glossed over in her carefully curated public narrative.

Perhaps the most devastating part of Gutfeld and Tyrus’s takedown is how they portray Hillary as a figure obsessed with a history that will never love her back. She has spent decades trying to write her own legacy in advance, desperately forcing her name into the annals of greatness. But history is a stubborn and impartial judge. The harder she tried to script her place in it, the more it slipped through her fingers. Instead of becoming the first female president, she became the first female candidate to prove that gender alone is not enough. Instead of inspiring a generation of women, she triggered a backlash that propelled her opponent into office.

Ultimately, Gutfeld and Tyrus argue that Hillary Clinton is no longer a political force but a cautionary tale. She represents the hubris of an establishment that believed it could dictate terms to the American people. Her legacy isn’t one of empowerment; it’s one of entitlement. Her story isn’t about breaking barriers; it’s about how arrogance can become a substitute for authenticity. She is the politician who had every tool, every advantage, and every opportunity, and still found a way to lose.

As she continues to make public appearances, write books, and offer commentary, she seems to be demanding an encore that no one asked for. The curtain fell on her political career in 2016, but she refuses to leave the stage. And with every attempt to reframe her narrative, she only reinforces the core reason for her failure: she never truly understood why she lost. In her mind, it’s always someone else’s fault. But as Gutfeld and Tyrus so brutally illustrated, she is not a victim of circumstance; she is the architect of her own downfall. They aren’t just kicking a politician when she’s down; they’re kicking down a cardboard cutout propped up by nostalgia and a media that refuses to let go. And in doing so, they’ve ensured her legacy will be written not in her own words, but in the harsh, unforgiving ink of political reality.