Elon’s Endgame: A Gratitude Tour at the Edge of Oblivion

(Open on Elon Musk, perched atop a Tesla Cybertruck-turned-pulpit, grinning like a Bond villain who just discovered meme stocks. Behind him, the Doomsday Clock flashes 11:59:58. A disco ball labeled “Mars Colony” spins lazily in the toxic breeze.)

Elon Musk (adjusting a headset made of recycled Falcon 9 parts):
“Fellow Earthlings! (pauses for cheers from a crowd of bots, crypto bros, and one very confused kangaroo) Thank you. Truly. From the bottom of my heart—or, as my lawyers call it, ‘the entity formerly known as a heart’—I want to express my deepest gratitude. You’ve given me all your money. Not just some! All! And let me tell you, watching you trade your 401(k)s for Dogecoin while glaciers wept was… *chef’s kiss*. Bravo.”

(Cut to a montage: A family sells their kidney to preorder a Tesla Bot; a college student mortgages their future to buy a blue checkmark; a grandmother invests her life savings in “X Æ A-XII branded flamethrowers.”)

Elon (sipping from a martini glass labeled “Tears of Regulators”):
“When I said ‘we’ll make life multiplanetary,’ you heard ‘give me $8 billion to rocket a convertible into Saturn’s orbit.’ Synergy! And when I whispered ‘free speech is the bedrock of civilization,’ you dutifully handed over $44 billion so I could rebrand Twitter as ‘X’ and fill your feeds with ads for prepper bunkers and ED pills. (leans in, conspiratorial) Speaking of, use code DOOM for 15% off!”

(A banner scrolls beneath him: “Nuclear Winter? Cozy up in a SpaceX Onesie™—now with 10% more radiation shielding!”)

Elon (gesturing to the Clock):
“Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Elon, why is the Doomsday Clock two seconds from midnight?’ Silly mortals! Clocks are for linear thinkers. I’ve pivoted to a blockchain-based countdown. Dynamic! Decentralized! Already up 800% in vaporware value. Besides, who needs ‘articles’ about ‘nuclear shadow disintegration’ when you’ve got my latest masterstroke: Neuralink’s ‘Ignore the Apocalypse’ app? Just plug this chip into your skull and voilà—your brain only sees cat videos and my tweets!”

(Cut to a lab where a scientist holds a brain in a jar. The brain watches a TikTok of Elon doing the griddy on a melting ice cap.)

Elon (wiping away a single, diamond-encrusted tear):
“You believed in me when I said ‘sustainable energy’ meant selling carbon credits to oil giants. You nodded along when I promised ‘full self-driving’ by 2017… then 2018… then ‘sometime after the heat death of the Sun.’ You even funded my Boring Company so I could dig holes to… uh… solve traffic? (snorts) Classic. And for that, I thank you. Without your cash, how else could I lose $20 billion in a quarter and still buy a social media platform to roast journalists?”

(A hologram appears: The words “Civilization Collapse” are crossed out, replaced by “Elon’s Fun-Sized Extinction Event™.”)

Elon (donning sunglasses made of Starlink satellites):
“So as we stand here, two seconds from midnight—or as my calendar app calls it, ‘lunch’—remember: You did this. You. Not the politicians. Not the ‘experts.’ You chose to live in my simulation. And hey, if we all vaporize tomorrow, just know my final tweet will be a promo code for Tesla-branded fallout shelters. Limited stock! (winks) Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Starship to crash… I mean, land… into a marine sanctuary. Innovation!”

(He rockets away in a Raptor engine-powered golf cart. The Doomsday Clock strikes midnight. The screen cuts to static, then an ad: “X Æ A-XII’s Baby Photos: NFT Drop. Bid Now.”)

Epilogue: In the smoldering ruins, a lone survivor clings to a cracked iPhone. Starlink Wi-Fi auto-connects. Elon’s face pops up: “Psst… wanna buy a Mars timeshare?” The survivor, conditioned by a decade of Muskian chaos, reflexively clicks “BUY.” Somewhere, a boardroom of shareholders slow-claps.