One question for those of us stuck in Elon Musk’s “Nazi porn bar.” (Opinion)

Elon Musk at CPAC Convention. Wiki attribution: Gage Skidmore from Surprise, AZ, United States of America, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Dear friends, what are we to make of Elon Musk, founder of SpaceX?

I could go on for ages talking about his work at PayPal, his shepherding Tesla into the Fortune 500, and his ambitious goals that include getting a human on Mars by 2026. 

But you might not be happy.

What the actual Fuck? might just be your response.

After all, I neglected to add in the fact that Musk bought Twitter as a vehicle to get Donald Trump elected.

I neglected to add that Musk changed its name to X, and turned it into, per Kara Swisher, “a Nazi porn bar.”

I neglected to mention that Alex Jones, famous for calling parents of murdered students at Sandy Hook “crisis actors,”  was always somehow “happening” on my X feed.

I neglected to mention his frequent posting and reposting anti-Semitic and anti-Black tweets.

I neglected to mention his Sieg Heil/Heil Hitler Salute at the Washington D.C. Trump parade.

I neglected to mention his declaration on X, aimed at his trans daughter,  "My son, Xavier, died. He was killed by the woke mind virus. Now, the woke mind virus will die."

I neglected the fact that Musk, with his DOGE team, is attacking federal institutions at every level for the express purpose of neutering the federal government.

I neglected to mention the DOGE victims; both current and soon-to-be: veterans, social security beneficiaries, Medicaid recipients, children dying in Africa for lack of USAID-supplied medication (the list goes on infinitely, like a calculation of Pi)

I neglected to mention his team of pustule-faced bros with social media handles like “Big Balls” firing (and forced to rehire) employees at nuclear agencies they know nothing about.

I neglected to mention his open and abusive contempt of federal workers and their expertise.

I neglected to mention his hypocrisy since he was on the receiving end of Obama-era government loans that kept Tesla afloat during the financial crisis.  

I neglected to mention his wanting the government to go after people engaged in the First Amendment protected activity of protesting in front of his Tesla dealerships.

I neglected the fact that he was born in apartheid-era South Africa which wouldn’t be a problem except that the dude seems to want the same kind of government in the US.

I neglected to mention his cohort of South African billionaire tech bros who are working lock, stock, and barrel with the Trump administration to turn the United States into an illiberal technocracy. 

I neglected Musk’s cosplaying Iron Man as if he were the Nietzschean Übermensch of Hitler’s wet dreams.

I neglected to mention his abuse of the public trust, his constant licking of Trump’s ass, his nastiness towards most of the rest of humanity, and the fact that this is not at all an inclusive list.

I neglected to mention his abuse of language, most pronounced in his anti-poem tweets, and this might just be the item that bothers me most of all. 

Here’s my poem about—but not dedicated to him:  

Future Citizens of the Galaxy

Elon Musk is on TV behind the bar, above the fish tank,
  as I eat my sushi. 
Onscreen Musk is courtside at the Lakers, yakking it up 
with Jeffrey Katzenberg.
Maybe they’re putting together a picture deal: maybe
Katzenberg be like;
“We’ll film your Mars landing and your first 60 days.
It’ll be a blockbuster.”  
As I’m riding home in my self-driving Tesla, I’m thinking:
I liked Musk better
when he was talking more about cars and rockets
and less about
the science of turd emojis and “the woke mind virus.”|
Fortunately, my wife,
who insists I shave my scalp bald like Bezos, isn’t inhaling 
the musk of Musk
when I get home; she’s ordering an 85” Class QN900 A
Samsung Neo QLED 8K 
Smart TV on Amazon Prime. “For the bedroom,” she says.
Seems the bedroom
is the next agenda item, as she wants me to give her a baby.
But as I climax,
as my cum blasts off to Mars, I see Elon Musk in her eyes.

—poem from Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana: Poems and Short Prose by Dan Grossman