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Please Like Me


Elon Musk

Elon Musk

It will also be abnormal, every so often, to be me. I’m the wealthiest guy in the world, for starters. Leaders throughout America, and certainly the arena, glance to me as a visionary riding technological growth in spaces from transportation, to conversation, to turning into a multi-planetary species. The sorts of initiatives I’m curious about would blow most of the people’s minds. To the out of doors observer, I’m certain it kind of feels like I’ve all of it. And perhaps I do. Although I’d love to make one easy request:

Please like me.

Please, for the affection of all this is holy, believe me suave and fascinating.

Honestly, I don’t get why someone wouldn’t like me. I do cool stuff. I make vehicles. People like vehicles, don’t they? I make stonks cross to the moon. Isn’t that cool? Isn’t making stonks cross to the moon one thing folks like? Seriously, c’mon. Appreciate me. I used to be on Rick And Morty. Wubba lubba dub dub, proper? People love that display! I love to hang around. I microdose acid, a groovy drug. Remember that point I went on Joe Rogan’s podcast and smoked that joint? Who else could be loopy sufficient to try this however me?

God, I’m lonely.

I spent 9 hours on Twitter these days. For a couple of of the ones hours, I used to be studying and responding to tweets whilst on my personal jet being whisked from Austin to San Francisco and again once more. Picture me, if you are going to, sitting in a at ease seat alone aircraft, zooming in the course of the clouds from one necessary assembly to some other. I will have to be sipping a cocktail and loving lifestyles, proper? Instead, I’m up there rising increasingly depressed as I learn loads—nay, hundreds—of replies, quote tweets, and subtweets from folks insulting me and my initiatives. Why? Why do folks do that? Why don’t you favor me?

All I need is so that you can be great to me. Please be great to me. Please be my pal. Will you be my pal?

You will even simply fake to be my pal, if you need.

Please.

Even my youngsters don’t in reality appear to love me. Although to be honest, I’m now not certain what number of of them there are. One or two of them may like me.

If only a few extra folks like me, perhaps I’ll really feel higher. Will you lend a hand me out? Will you favor me?

Please like me.

Do you favor crypto? I do. Although in case you don’t like crypto, I don’t love it, both. Anything to make you favor me.

Do you need to have a sleepover at my mansion? Pick a time, and I’ll be there.

Please.

How about I make you a flamethrower?

I’ll do no matter you need.

Seriously. I can do anything else. I can shitpost. I can name that diver a pedophile once more. I can fake to visit house as again and again as you need.

Please. Please. I’m begging you.

PLEASE.

Please.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

Because glance: Frankly, it’s now not sufficient to have spent my early life in need of for not anything because of my father’s huge wealth, to have struck it wealthy off of a reasonably boring money-transfer provider concept that I didn’t even get a hold of, to have alienated and berated everybody I’ve ever labored with, to lie time and again that I used to be the unique founding father of Tesla, to accumulate huge wealth off of taxpayer-funded subsidies whilst insisting that I’m self-made, to wield my affect and inane concepts for unworkable initiatives to stop precise practical enhancements in more than one towns, to obtain uncritical adulation from the fawning industry and tech presses, to foster a repressive or even racist office in my factories replete with a lot of exertions violations, all within the identify of constructing vehicles that don’t even in reality fucking paintings—no. It’s now not sufficient. What I desperately, desperately want is so that you can suppose that I’m cool and humorous. I want this. Please give me that pride.

I brutally tortured some monkeys for actually no reason why, for Christ’s sake! That’s so cool! Doesn’t that rely for anything else?

I’m cool. You know I’m cool.

Please.

It’s such bullshit. I spend two hours scrolling via Reddit for the easiest week-old conservative meme to submit, and all of the thank you I am getting for my willpower to the lulz is a number of nobodies attacking me. It nearly makes me marvel why the hell I proceed subjecting myself to this.

Oh, proper—it’s that I’m hopelessly wanting your approval. Me, a 50-year-old guy with the web price of a decent-size nation, compelled to slump to strange and pathetic stunts for consideration. Either that, or cultivating a non-public emblem of eccentricity generates exposure and fiscal improve that I will then leverage to distract from my necessarily fraudulent industry endeavors. Yes, it’s a kind of two issues evidently.

Please like me. I want this. I in reality do. I’m unhappy. Please.

This fucking sucks.

 



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