Gutfeld - The Gutfeld Monologues

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To Elena

Threshold Editions

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2018 by Greg Gutfeld

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Threshold Editions Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Threshold Editions hardcover edition July 2018

THRESHOLD EDITIONS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or .

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Interior design by Paul Dippolito

Jacket design by Michael Nagin

Jacket photographs by Mark Mann

Unicorn by ImageZoo / Alamy Stock Photo

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Gutfeld, Greg, author.

Title: The Gutfeld monologues / Greg Gutfeld.

Description: First Threshold Editions hardcover edition. |

New York : Threshold Editions, 2018. |

Identifiers: LCCN 2018014007 (print) | LCCN 2018028975 (ebook) |

ISBN 9781501190742 (eBook) | ISBN 9781501190728 |

ISBN 9781501190728? (hardcover :?alk. paper) | ISBN 9781501190742? (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Five (Televison program) | United StatesPolitics and government21st centuryHumor.

Classification: LCC PN1992.77.F58 (ebook) | LCC PN1992.77.F58 G88 2018 (print) | DDC 791.45/72dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018014007

ISBN 978-1-5011-9072-8

ISBN 978-1-5011-9074-2 (ebook)

Ive told this story before, but its worth retelling on the printed page, because its funny, revealing, and most importantit makes me look stupid.

Its election night, 2016and Im at work. It was supposed to be an easy lift. Donald Trump would concede the election around 9 p.m., Id be home by 9:30, drinking wine, and would be drunk by midnight. You know, the average Tuesday.

That would not be the case. I was asked to do a second episode of The Five at eleven. (Cant remember the exact hour: It was a very foggy time.)

Around 4:30 or so I checked the New York Times election tracker, this neat little online gizmo that told us what chance Hillary had at winning. I think it was around 90 percent.

I checked that thing regularly, and it looked like things would only get worse for Trump.

When the first episode of The Five ended that day, I went to a nearby bar to eat and have one drink.

This bar had a doorman, a black immigrant who knew my face, but we had never met. As I made it past him, he asked me how the election looked. Quickly and robotically, I said, Hillarys got it in the bag. I showed him the addictive little New York Times gizmo on my phone as proof.

To my surprise, his face changed. He appeared devastated. I am not exaggerating. The effect on him was physical.

There is no hope for America, he said.

I was shocked. I hadnt expected that. It hit me that my own biases likely played a role in my reaction. I saw a person of color and assumed hed be relieved by the news. I mean, how could an immigranta black one, no lessbe this upset that Trump was going to lose?

I wasnt even close. He went on an angry diatribe about how awful the Clintons were (all crooks), and that America was blowing its last chance to save itself, and the world. He seemed inconsolable.

I went inside and ordered some overpriced appetizers. And one wine. (And believe me, I wanted more than one, at that point.)

Then weird stuff started to happen. I checked the election tracker, and it moved. But not in the direction I was expecting. Not a lot, mind you, but the likelihood of Hillarys victory was now around 80 percent (again my recollections are not exact, but Im trying).

Then it dipped to the mid-70s. This couldnt be.

I went outside to vape.

The doorman asked me if Id heard anything more, and I showed him the tracker that was still around the 70s, but moving south, little by little. I told him Hillary still had the win in her pocket.

Just then a pair of British tourists, a man and a woman, happened toward us. They were in their midfifties, but dressed like kids at a water theme parklong, wide shorts to ensure no chafing, fanny packs and backpacks, and folded touristy brochures.

The election was such a momentous event that strangers were talking to each other, so these Brits came up to us and asked us both who was going to win.

I said, Looks like Hillary.

In a supreme gesture of virtue signaling, they jumped in the air, did a sloppy high five, and made audible whooping noises. Once they calmed down, they looked to the doorman as if expecting his approval at their glee. He only stared ahead with an expression as stony as those on Mount Rushmore. The couple seemed lost, then approached the menu on the bars window.

The British dude ran his eyes down the list and looked up at the doorman and asked, Hows the food?

Without missing a beat, he said, Try Times Square, and pointed them down the road.

Their virtue signal had been rejected, and they left, miffed and certainly confused.

Now, I could mock them, but really I had just made that same mistake an hour or so ago, with the same guy.

And days ago; weeks ago, months, even.

Frankly, I cant remember how many times I dismissed benign, curious friends and strangers when they asked about Trumps chances. Cab and livery drivers, medical personnel, bouncers all asked me about Trumps chances, and I said, none. And I assumed they would be relieved.

They never were. Most would go silent, then pitch a follow-up question, to see if I really knew what I was talking about. I continued to dismiss them.

A restaurant owner I knew would constantly intone, Dont count him out, as if he knew something I didnt.

He did.

Some of these folks would go silent after hearing me, but one womanan Eastern European immigrant performing a chest scan on meproceeded to lecture me on how President Trump was the only chance America had. Again, I nodded, then ignored her.

Like the doorman.

I returned to the bar, and the election tracker had moved again. It was now maybe around 50 percent. The election could go either way. I felt unsettled. I hadnt expected this.