https://youtu.be/vPNEb_XBkcE

video: Joy Reid’s Epic Freudian Slip: “Gimme Your Wallet, Peasant!”

Oh, folks, strap in because Joy Reid just dropped the hottest take since someone decided kale smoothies were a personality trait.

She’s out there in this clip, all wide-eyed and going, “You can earn as much money as you want! Cut down on regulations! Leave it all to your kids!” And I’m sitting here, choking on my lukewarm coffee, thinking, “Wait, Joy—did you just accidentally read from the Constitution? Or is this the plot twist where the villain monologues their evil plan?”

I mean, it’s like watching a vegan accidentally endorse a steakhouse. For years, we’ve been marinated in her sermons about how we’re all just one wrong pronoun away from the Klan hood, or how your grandma’s backyard barbecue is secretly a microaggression against the immigrants.
And now? Boom! She peels back the curtain: “Nah, forget the race-baiting and the endless TED Talks on intersectionality. We just want your money, Chad. Hand it over so we can redistribute it to the right people—you know, the ones who vote blue no matter who, pledging their undying devotion for a party trying undermine America.”

It’s refreshing! It’s honest! It’s like if your drunk uncle at Thanksgiving finally admits he’s
not mad at the turkey; he just wants the whole damn bird for himself. No more “systemic this” or “toxic that”—just straight-up, “Gimme your wallet, peasant.” And the best part? She’s still got the gall to pivot and call anyone who likes this idea a fascist. Fascists! Oh, sure, because nothing screams “Il Duce” like wanting to keep the fruits of your labor instead of funneling it into a national slush fund for drag queen story hours and urban gardens that sprout more lawsuits than lettuce.

Picture it: Mussolini rolling in his grave, not because of the blackshirts, but because he never thought to tax pasta sauce at 47% to fund interpretive dance degrees. No, fascists are all about that big, cuddly centralized state hugging you so tight it crushes your ribs—right before it decides what’s best for your kids, your money, and whether your sandwich is culturally appropriated.

Meanwhile, over here in Small Government Land, we’re just a bunch of rugged individualists, barbecuing in the backyard, teaching our spawn how to tie knots and balance a checkbook, without Uncle Sam showing up with a clipboard and a guilt trip.

And don’t get me started on what they’re spending our cash on! Transgendering toddlers? Sure, because nothing says “progress” like a five-year-old picking out hormone blockers from the Toys “R” Us clearance bin. DEI programs that turn every office into a Lord of the Flies conch-shell debate on who gets to feel the most oppressed today—spoiler: it’s always the guy with the pronouns in his email signature who flew first class. And inner-city schools? Oh, honey, those are less “learning academies” and more “graduation factories” churning out kids who can recite the lyrics to every Cardi B song but think 2+2 is a hate crime against non-binary numbers.

Look, I’ll take the tradeoff. Gimme a world where I’m responsible for my own screw-ups, where my kids inherit my bad jokes and my IRA instead of a IOU from some bureaucrat in D.C. who’s too busy sexting interns to balance the books. No gunpoint wealth transfers, no mandatory rainbow capitalism—just me, my family, and the sweet, sweet freedom to fail spectacularly on my own terms. Joy, if this is your idea of villainy, sign me up for the dark side. At least the fascism comes with a side of fiscal sanity. And pass me a turkey leg from the bird i bought, because I’m done being the meal.