Trump Fires Back as White House Turkey Pardon Turns Into Meme War

Paul Riverbank, 11/28/2025White House turkey pardon sparks meme war, political jabs, and unexpected holiday unity in 2023.

This “pardoning” tradition, equal parts comic relief and presidential routine, traces its oddly winding roots back through decades of American history. Sure, turkeys have been making their way to Washington for a handshake with destiny as far back as the 1940s. But the actual act of letting the bird off the hook—at least in name, with all the trappings of formal absolution—began taking real shape in the late 20th century. Kennedy set one bird free, both literally and linguistically, and by the time George H.W. Bush stood at the podium in 1989, the “pardon” had become official, complete with feathered guests and witty applause lines.

Yet this particular year—2023, if you’re counting—was almost designed for the age of digital punchlines and social-media sparring. The birds seemed bemused or perhaps just sleepy, having reportedly spent the prior evening in better accommodations than many visiting press ever do. Cameras panned over their snowy feathers as staffers grinned for the shot—meanwhile, late-night television pounced.

Jimmy Kimmel, never one to pass up a ripe opportunity, turned the event into late-night fodder with a wisecrack that landed somewhere between roast and routine: “Gobble and Waddle, which is what Trump does every night at dinner...” The laugh track barely had a chance to cool when Kimmel pressed on, reaching for the sharpness that’s made him both adored and admonished. Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, carrying Waddle into the briefing room, got her own ribbing: “Fascists have fun, too.” Not everyone found it harmless—conservative viewers blasted back, but this sort of volley is woven into the fabric of modern political banter.

Donald Trump, rarely one to let a public barb go unreturned, waded into the fray with characteristic flair. He trotted out his own take, lampooning President Biden’s use of an autopen and, with a touch of his signature bravado, declared previous turkey pardons “totally invalid.” Of course, he didn’t resist the opening to poke at his political rival, squeezing in a Hunter Biden reference for good measure. Here, even a feel-good event could be reframed, recast, and reused as a stage for political theatre.

This didn’t play out in a vacuum. In a year when grocery bills weighed more heavily than usual—when “inflation” wasn’t just a headline but the uninvited guest at Thanksgiving tables—politics and poultry overlapped. Trump spotlighted cheaper meal deals and took something approaching credit. California’s Governor Gavin Newsom, never shy with a rejoinder, swatted back on social media, reaching for humor by posting a not-so-subtle AI-generated meme: Trump’s face on a turkey, bar censored wattle and all, winking at both anatomy and the notorious January 6 headline. His caption made the intent unmistakable, twinning holiday ribbing with political edge.

Suddenly, your uncle’s turkey joke was trending, and memes ricocheted from phone to phone: was this a gentle tradition, a savvy bit of distraction, or something else entirely? In truth, the meme wars are as much a fixture now as the pardoned turkeys themselves.

Through it all, the laughter—tinged at times with rivalry, sometimes with nostalgia—hinted at a deeper lesson. For a brief window, regardless of political polarization or economic worries, Americans joined in a collective pause. Children giggled at the oversized birds, politicians parried with practiced lines, and, for a moment, the great machinery of government and media converged on a peculiar kind of unity: the kind that only a turkey in the Rose Garden can truly summon.

It won’t last. The memes fade, debates resume, and headlines shift as quickly as the seasons. But perhaps, tucked between the spectacle and the soundbites, there’s room to remember that shared laughter—especially at a season so often heavy with news—can be an act of grace, or at the very least, a brief armistice.

A crisp November breeze moves across the White House grounds—roses gone, press gathered, kids bundled in scarves, and two turkeys, Gobble and Waddle, the unwitting stars of the annual Thanksgiving spectacle. If there’s a scene that can feel simultaneously time-honored and oddly theatrical, it’s this one: half pageantry, half playacting, with flashes from camera bulbs and the low hum of anticipation among the onlookers.This “pardoning” tradition, equal parts comic relief and presidential routine, traces its oddly winding roots back through decades of American history. Sure, turkeys have been making their way to Washington for a handshake with destiny as far back as the 1940s. But the actual act of letting the bird off the hook—at least in name, with all the trappings of formal absolution—began taking real shape in the late 20th century. Kennedy set one bird free, both literally and linguistically, and by the time George H.W. Bush stood at the podium in 1989, the “pardon” had become official, complete with feathered guests and witty applause lines.Yet this particular year—2023, if you’re counting—was almost designed for the age of digital punchlines and social-media sparring. The birds seemed bemused or perhaps just sleepy, having reportedly spent the prior evening in better accommodations than many visiting press ever do. Cameras panned over their snowy feathers as staffers grinned for the shot—meanwhile, late-night television pounced.Jimmy Kimmel, never one to pass up a ripe opportunity, turned the event into late-night fodder with a wisecrack that landed somewhere between roast and routine: “Gobble and Waddle, which is what Trump does every night at dinner...” The laugh track barely had a chance to cool when Kimmel pressed on, reaching for the sharpness that’s made him both adored and admonished. Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, carrying Waddle into the briefing room, got her own ribbing: “Fascists have fun, too.” Not everyone found it harmless—conservative viewers blasted back, but this sort of volley is woven into the fabric of modern political banter.Donald Trump, rarely one to let a public barb go unreturned, waded into the fray with characteristic flair. He trotted out his own take, lampooning President Biden’s use of an autopen and, with a touch of his signature bravado, declared previous turkey pardons “totally invalid.” Of course, he didn’t resist the opening to poke at his political rival, squeezing in a Hunter Biden reference for good measure. Here, even a feel-good event could be reframed, recast, and reused as a stage for political theatre.This didn’t play out in a vacuum. In a year when grocery bills weighed more heavily than usual—when “inflation” wasn’t just a headline but the uninvited guest at Thanksgiving tables—politics and poultry overlapped. Trump spotlighted cheaper meal deals and took something approaching credit. California’s Governor Gavin Newsom, never shy with a rejoinder, swatted back on social media, reaching for humor by posting a not-so-subtle AI-generated meme: Trump’s face on a turkey, bar censored wattle and all, winking at both anatomy and the notorious January 6 headline. His caption made the intent unmistakable, twinning holiday ribbing with political edge.Suddenly, your uncle’s turkey joke was trending, and memes ricocheted from phone to phone: was this a gentle tradition, a savvy bit of distraction, or something else entirely? In truth, the meme wars are as much a fixture now as the pardoned turkeys themselves.Through it all, the laughter—tinged at times with rivalry, sometimes with nostalgia—hinted at a deeper lesson. For a brief window, regardless of political polarization or economic worries, Americans joined in a collective pause. Children giggled at the oversized birds, politicians parried with practiced lines, and, for a moment, the great machinery of government and media converged on a peculiar kind of unity: the kind that only a turkey in the Rose Garden can truly summon.It won’t last. The memes fade, debates resume, and headlines shift as quickly as the seasons. But perhaps, tucked between the spectacle and the soundbites, there’s room to remember that shared laughter—especially at a season so often heavy with news—can be an act of grace, or at the very least, a brief armistice.