By: Adam Reuter
Trigger Warning: Explicit Content and Political Irony
Erika Kirk (left) speaks with Nicki Minaj during Turning Point’s annual AmericaFest 2025 conference in Phoenix, Arizona. OLIVIER TOURON/Getty Images.
The political landscape has never been a stranger to strange bedfellows, but the recent embrace of Nicki Minaj by Turning Point USA (TPUSA) feels less like an alliance and more like a bizarre, cultural fever dream. For an organization built on the bedrock of “faith, family, and freedom”—championing “traditional values” and condemning the “moral decay” of modern culture—this partnership isn’t just a pivot. It’s a full-blown U-turn into a funhouse mirror. A turning point, if you will.
Let’s strip away the political rhetoric and look at the raw, undeniable juxtaposition. Turning Point’s mission statement speaks of “fiscal responsibility” and “Judeo-Christian values.” Its founder, the late Charlie Kirk—who was tragically assassinated just three months ago—was a vocal critic of what he deemed “degenerate” music. In fact, Kirk is on record specifically dismissing Minaj’s “Anaconda” era as “not the vibe” and “fake.” One can only imagine the rhetorical gymnastics required to reconcile his tenets with the actual bars that propelled Minaj to global superstardom.
Consider the lyrical content that TPUSA is now implicitly endorsing. TRIGGER WARNING: uncensored explicit words are ahead. We aren’t just talking about “Anaconda” and its celebration of anatomy. We are talking about the Minaj who, in her “Only” verse, casually suggests letting men “eat my ass like a cupcake.” We are talking about her verse on the pop-radio staple “Side to Side,” where she explicitly brags about how she’s going to “ride dick bicycle” and pivots to a pun on her own name by suggesting a threesome: “If you wanna Minaj, I got a tricycle.”
We are talking about the woman who crafted the “Pussy Rules” in her “Boss Ass Bitch” remix, declaring that her anatomy “rides dick like she a Jamaican.” Even her most recent hits, like “Super Freaky Girl,” provide a literal instructional manual for sexual domination, with explicit calls to “lick it,” “ride it,” and “keep the dick up inside it.” These aren’t hidden B-sides; they are the tentpoles of her commercial success. They represent the very cultural products that Charlie Kirk spent his career decrying as the vanguard of societal decay.
This pivot began in earnest in November 2025, when Minaj stood at a United Nations podium—invited by the U.S. Mission—to deliver a somber plea for persecuted Christians in Nigeria. It was a surreal transformation: the woman who built an empire on “Starships” and “Anaconda” was suddenly the Trump administration’s “witness” for global religious freedom. As she thanked President Trump for his “leadership,” the disconnect was palpable. One must ask: Is the “faith” being defended at the UN the same faith that would condemn Minaj’s entire creative output as “degenerate”?
But if the UN speech was the “serious” rebrand, her appearance at TPUSA’s AmericaFest this past Sunday was the moment the mask slipped into high comedy. Standing hand-in-hand with Erika Kirk, the widow of the man who once mocked her “fake” aesthetic, Minaj attempted to play the role of a conservative mentor. What followed was a verbal gaffe for the history books.
“Dear young men,” Minaj declared, “you have amazing role models like our handsome, dashing president, and you have amazing role models like the assassin, J.D. Vance, our vice president.”
The silence that followed was deafening. In the lexicon of the rap world, an “assassin” is a sharp, lethal compliment. In the halls of an organization still mourning the literal assassination of its founder, it was a radioactive disaster. Watching Erika Kirk forced to “laugh off” the remark and “not judge” the heart of the woman who just used the word that describes her husband’s killer is a bleakly funny indictment of modern politics.
The absurdity reached its zenith in the digital civil war that followed. While Minaj was being consoled on stage, Candace Owens—once the darling of the TPUSA circuit—was elsewhere, decrying the spectacle as a desecration of Charlie Kirk’s memory. For Owens, Minaj isn’t a “bold independent thinker”; she is a symptom of a conservative establishment so desperate for cultural “cool” that they’ve invited the Trojan Horse of secular vulgarity right into the sanctuary.
This isn’t about whether Nicki Minaj has a right to her political views. It’s about the bald-faced opportunism and the casual discarding of core principles when political expediency demands it. The alliance between Minaj’s unfiltered lyrical world and TPUSA’s puritanical rhetoric isn’t just strange; it’s a glaring indictment of an era where principles are negotiable, and political power is the only true faith. It’s an ideological pretzel—an Anaconda, if you will—twisted into an unrecognizable shape.
