Tucker Carlson: The Boy Who Lost His Leash

Tucker Carlson was always one stern phone call away from the abyss. Then Rupert stopped calling. And now two Americans are dead in Minneapolis.

We know the type — prep school pedigree, inherited money, face frozen in a permanent expression of aggrieved entitlement — who requires, above all else, a daddy. Not a father, mind you. Tucker Carlson’s actual father, the dashing Dick Carlson, was far too busy being a globe-trotting broadcaster and diplomat to provide the guardrails his elder son so desperately needed. No, what Tucker craved was a daddy — that powerful older man who would indulge his provocations while setting firm limits, who would let him play with matches but yank the box away before the house burned down. For seven glorious years, Rupert Murdoch was that daddy. And now? The house is engulfed. Tucker is dancing in the flames. And in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old poet named Renée Good is dead — shot three times by an ICE agent on January 7th, the first homicide recorded in the city in 2026. Seventeen days later, Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old ICU nurse and VA employee, was shot by Border Patrol agents while filming the cha…