The fireball that erupted in Greg Gutfeld’s backyard was not part of the Thanksgiving plan. It was supposed to be a simple holiday gathering, a chance for the Gutfeld! crew—Greg, Kat Timpf, Emily Compagno, Tyrus, and special guest Sean Hannity—to share a meal like a makeshift Fox News family. Instead, Greg’s ill-fated attempt to deep-fry a turkey turned the evening into a chaotic, hilarious, and unexpectedly heartwarming spectacle that none of them would forget.

Greg had been hyping his culinary ambitions for weeks. Known for his sharp wit and irreverent humor on Gutfeld!, he fancied himself a master of the Thanksgiving feast, particularly after watching one too many YouTube tutorials on deep-frying turkeys. “It’s science, not cooking,” he declared to Kat over a pre-holiday Zoom call, smirking as he waved a thermometer. Kat, ever the libertarian skeptic, rolled her eyes. “Greg, you burn toast. This is a terrible idea.” But Greg was undeterred, inviting the crew to his New York apartment for what he called “Gutfeld’s Turkeypalooza.”

The trouble began when Greg, dressed in a red apron emblazoned with “King of Late Night,” wheeled out a propane fryer to the small backyard. Tyrus, the former wrestler turned commentator, raised an eyebrow. “Man, that thing looks like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” he rumbled, sipping a soda while his kids played nearby. Emily Compagno, the Outnumbered co-host with a knack for defusing tension, laughed it off. “Let’s give him a chance. How bad can it be?” Sean Hannity, ever the polished broadcaster, nodded approvingly. “Greg’s got this. It’s a bold move for the holiday spirit.”

It was not a bold move. It was a disaster. Greg, ignoring the instructions to lower the turkey slowly, dunked the still-frozen bird into the scalding oil. The result was instant: a geyser of hot oil shot skyward, igniting into a fireball that singed the neighbor’s fence and sent a cloud of smoke billowing over the block. “Holy crap!” Greg yelped, diving behind a lawn chair. Kat, who had been scrolling X on her phone, screamed and dropped her wine glass. Tyrus instinctively shielded his kids, while Emily grabbed a garden hose. Sean, ever the newsman, began narrating the scene as if on air: “We’re live at a developing situation in Manhattan, where a turkey fryer has gone rogue!”

The chaos escalated when the neighbors, drawn by the explosion, began peering over the fence. One particularly nosy retiree threatened to call the fire department, prompting Emily to spring into action. With her legal background and cheerleader charm, she flashed a megawatt smile and talked the crowd down. “It’s just a little holiday enthusiasm,” she said, handing out cookies from the appetizer table. “No need for sirens!” Her quick thinking bought the group time to regroup.

Kat, recovering from her initial panic, took charge with the efficiency of a stand-up comic riffing through a bad set. “Okay, Greg, you’re banned from appliances forever,” she quipped, grabbing her phone to order pizza. “We’re not letting your ego ruin Thanksgiving.” Her sarcasm masked genuine concern—she knew how much Greg wanted this night to work. Tyrus, meanwhile, tackled the practical side. Using his massive frame, he hauled the smoldering fryer to a safe corner, dousing it with a bucket of water. “Next time, stick to microwaves, Gutfeld,” he muttered, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Sean, still in broadcast mode, tried to rally the group with a patriotic pep talk. “This is America! We don’t let a little fire stop us from giving thanks!” His earnestness clashed hilariously with Greg’s self-deprecating humor. “Sean, you sound like you’re auditioning for a Fourth of July special,” Greg shot back, brushing soot off his apron. But Sean’s words struck a chord, and the group began to pivot. Kat’s pizza order arrived in record time, and Emily set up an impromptu buffet on the patio. Tyrus’ kids, unfazed by the drama, giggled as they helped arrange paper plates.

As the night wore on, the mood shifted from chaos to camaraderie. Greg, humbled by his culinary failure, cracked jokes about his “explosive” hosting skills. Kat teased him mercilessly but slipped him a slice of her favorite pepperoni pizza as a peace offering. Emily shared stories of her own holiday mishaps, like the time she accidentally set off a smoke alarm during a Christmas dinner. Tyrus, usually stoic, opened up about his childhood Thanksgivings, where food was scarce but love was abundant. Sean, loosening his tie, recounted a Hannity family tradition of writing gratitude notes, prompting everyone to scribble their own on napkins.

By midnight, the group was sprawled across Greg’s living room, laughing over the absurdity of the evening. The fire was a distant memory, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with propane. Greg raised a glass of soda—Kat had cut him off from wine after the fryer incident—and toasted his “Fox family.” “To disasters that bring us together,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. Kat clinked her glass against his. “And to never letting you cook again.”

The night wasn’t what anyone expected, but it was better. It was a reminder that family—whether biological or chosen—is forged in the messiest moments. For Greg, Kat, Emily, Tyrus, and Sean, that Thanksgiving became a story they’d retell for years, each version more exaggerated than the last. And somewhere in the retelling, the fireball became less a disaster and more a spark that lit up their bond.