Elon Musk mistakes the moon for Mars, but he may have the last laugh

Elon Musk evolution into a punchline has been as swift as it has been noticeable. But, he does have the cash, and the axes to grind to make us all pay.



Not too long ago, Elon presented yet another example of playing himself. Through his usual method, social media, he asked his followers to “Occupy Mars”, replete with an image, one that actually depicted the moon in lunar eclipse.



But, whatever. It doesn’t matter, as Elon has noted his desire to possess that other lunar orb close to ours. He also, according to the words of his lawyer, cannot be believed in any way, shape or form. But I’ve seen enough Bond movies to understand what the below image represents.




Yes, it’s Elon Musk in a black trench coat flanked by two identical employees gazing at an ornate piece of space-bound technology only he can truly understand/truly afford, but it’s more than that. It represents the beginning, the start of a path previously walked by the brilliant, the insane and the fucking peculiar.

Of the three things a super villain needs (financial backing, an insane plot and an axe to grind), Elon possesses two.

You see, we’ve already pushed Elon past the realm of the punchline, his expulsion enabled by a lit joint and a regretful quip. Perhaps he pushed us into doing so, but we were ever so quick to pile on. Quite rapidly he’s become the rich boy only worthy of our derision. Long-departed has been the Elon we respected, no longer the dork that gave us PayPal, or the legend who sold us flamethrowers; he’s a bad guy, loose with money and ideas, and some of us truly hate him for having the audacity of living the way that he does.



All Elon needs is a plan…ooh, and a space base, but mainly a plan, one where we’d feel his wrath. At the moment, he’s an evil genius in search of a plan. He toyed with the idea of deleting Facebook, something akin to Bane freeing Gotham of the constraints they allowed themselves to be shackled by. Same goes for Fortnite, which is a stupid game played by virgins and married men, and I’d certainly love to see it bombed from space. Maybe this is his plan. Eliminating fetid trends from the stratosphere, a godly figure striking down the weak and the superfluous. Deus ex Elon.

Perhaps under the iron fist of Musk, we’d be spared the likes of the running man challenge, or the dab, or the Kardashians. A kind of social detente. A fear of elevating the nonsense, fearing the zap of Elon’s fleek gun.


As for other predictions, I’m unsure. He might forever alter the surface of the sun, placing his visage on it, or he might poison us from space, through the application of exotic weed and solar-powered technology, and while we’re all choking to he death, we’ll know that Elon’s musk is both chronic, and chronically apt, forcing us to consider our own sins.




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