“HIS WIG WENT FLYING!” Dana Carvey HUMILIATES Donald Trump On LIVE TV! UNFORGETTABLE!

Dana Carvey didn’t just impersonate Donald Trump — he obliterated him. With every mocking “Excuse me” and perfectly puffed hand wave, Carvey turned Trump’s mannerisms into a public autopsy of delusion and narcissism.

Audiences roared, conservatives fumed, and liberals called it “the comedy equivalent of an impeachment.” One critic summed it up best: “Carvey didn’t roast Trump — he performed the last rites of American ego.”

On the evening of October 25, 2025, as America reeled from President Donald Trump’s latest executive order on border security, comedian Dana Carvey stepped onto the stage of *The Late Late Show with James Corden*—now rebooted under new host Theo Von—for what was billed as a “Trump Retrospective.” What followed was no mere sketch; it was a surgical strike, a 12-minute masterclass in mimicry that left the studio audience in stitches and the internet ablaze. Carvey, the *Saturday Night Live* legend known for eviscerating George H.W. Bush with nasal precision, resurrected his dormant Trump impression, but this time with a vengeance sharpened by eight years of political absurdity. “His wig went flying!” Von exclaimed mid-sketch, as Carvey’s exaggerated comb-over—crafted from a comically precarious blond wig—took flight during a reenactment of Trump’s infamous debate windmill rant, symbolizing the unraveling of a presidency built on bluster.

Carvey’s Trump wasn’t just a caricature; it was a mirror held up to the man who had stormed back into the White House on a wave of populist fury. Dressed in an oversized red tie that dangled like a noose and a suit jacket stuffed to mimic Trump’s post-fast-food physique, Carvey launched into a stream-of-consciousness monologue that blended Trump’s greatest hits: the “fake news” tirades, the crowd-size obsessions, and the endless loop of “believe me.” “Excuse me, folks, many people are saying—many, many people—the windmills are killing the whales, okay? And the birds? Forget about it. But I have the best birds, tremendous birds, nobody builds birds like me,” Carvey bellowed, his voice a guttural growl laced with Valley Girl inflections. He punctuated each line with Trump’s signature hand chops—choppy, emphatic gestures that Carvey amplified into a parody of a malfunctioning robot. The wig, perched precariously atop his head, bobbed wildly, finally launching into the front row during a mock press conference where “Trump” defended his latest scandal: a rumored UFC fight in the Rose Garden.

The crowd’s reaction was electric. Laughter erupted in waves, peaking when Carvey segued into a “Trump family reunion” bit, summoning ghostly versions of past aides—Steve Bannon as a disheveled wizard, Rudy Giuliani as a melting snowman— all orbiting the central ego. “JD Vance? Great kid, loves couches—tremendous couches, the best. But me? I’m the sun, folks. The sun!” Carvey’s Trump declared, thrusting his thumbs skyward in that unmistakable victory pose. Von, barely containing himself, interjected with a prop microphone, prompting Carvey to “tweet” in real-time: “Just had biggest crowd ever at Mar-a-Lago. Bigger than Lincoln’s funeral. Sad!” The segment’s viral clip, shared first by Von’s production team, racked up 15 million views on X within hours, spawning memes of the flying wig photoshopped onto everything from the Lincoln Memorial to Elon Musk’s Cybertruck.

Conservatives were apoplectic. Trump’s official Truth Social account fired back at 2 a.m.: “Dana Carvey—total loser, low ratings, no talent! His ‘impression’ is FAKE NEWS, just like his career. Wig? I have the best hair, believe me. LOSER!” MAGA influencers piled on, with Charlie Kirk’s Turning Point USA labeling it “Hollywood’s desperate last gasp against real America.” One viral counter-post from a Trump rally attendee read: “Carvey’s a has-been. Trump’s building walls; he’s building bad jokes.” Yet, the backlash only fueled the fire—Trump’s response, predictably, trended higher than the sketch itself, proving once again that no publicity is bad publicity when your brand is outrage.

Liberals, meanwhile, hailed it as catharsis. “This is the impeachment we deserved,” tweeted *The Daily Beast*’s Molly Jong-Fast, while *Vanity Fair* proclaimed: “Carvey didn’t roast Trump—he performed the last rites of American ego.” The timing was impeccable: airing just days after Trump’s controversial pardon of reality TV mogul Ryan Seacrest amid ethics probes, Carvey’s bit tapped into a national exhaustion with the spectacle. Critics praised the nuance—Carvey didn’t just mock the tics (the pursed lips, the repetitive “tremendous”); he dissected the delusion, portraying Trump as a man trapped in his own echo chamber, waving away facts like pesky flies. “It’s not imitation,” Carvey told Von post-sketch, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s empathy for a guy who can’t escape his own voice.”

This wasn’t Carvey’s first Trump tango. His impressions date back to 2016, evolving from playful jabs on *Jimmy Fallon*—where he jammed “sounds of Trump” with The Roots—to sharper SNL cameos during the 2020 cycle. But 2025’s version felt personal, born from the comedian’s reflections on loss (his sister’s death in 2024) and resilience. “Trump’s like that uncle who won’t leave the party,” Carvey quipped in a pre-taped interview. “Funny at first, then… exhausting.” The wig incident? Improvised genius—Carvey later revealed he’d glued it loosely for “maximum chaos,” a nod to his *Wayne’s World* days.

In an era where comedy and politics collide like never before, Carvey’s humiliation stands as a reminder: laughter is the ultimate leveler. Trump’s empire of gold-plated grievances crumbles under a well-timed punchline, his wig a metaphor for the fragility beneath the bravado. As the clip loops eternally online, one thing’s clear: in the court of public opinion, the jester always outlasts the king. And with midterm elections looming, expect more flying hair—and fiercer fights. The roast isn’t over; it’s just getting its second wind.