Monday
Sometimes I buy things on a whim. Such as my new MAGA hat. And Twitter, for $44 billion. And this helicopter.
“It’s so inefficient!” I shout through my headphones to the pilot. “Those spinning bits at the top! Do they even do anything?”
“Don’t press that button!” the pilot shouts back, pointing at a red one.
So I press it. And then we plummet 4,000ft, before they start spinning again.
“You’re a maniac,” gasps the pilot.
“And you’re fired,” I say. “Get out.”
Then the pilot asks if I’m sure I don’t want to fire him once we’ve landed, because we’re still actually quite far up. Which is interesting feedback.
“I thought you were supposed to be a genius,” he says.
“OK, you can stay in this helicopter,” I tell him, “if you give me $8.”
Tuesday “Is your office like this?” I ask Mark Zuckerberg, in a DM. “DEAR BELOVED SEND ME 1 BITCOIN,” replies Mark. Weirdly, he’s in Nigeria. Must be him, though, because he’s paid for a blue tick. “Everybody gather around!” I shout, to the few people there are. I point at one guy and ask him if we can make the app load faster. “Search me,” he says. “I’m a cleaner.” “You’re fired,” I say, because I reckon we can do that with robots. Then I tell everybody else to speak freely, because the last thing I want is yes-men. “Well, with the benefit of ten years at this company,” says one of them, “I am mildly nervous about your plans.” “Bad attitude,” I say. “Get out.” Wednesday “But never mind that,” I tell the tiny handful of people who are still here, “because I have a plan for you all to get extremely hardcore and work long hours at high intensity.” “Does that include the hours we spend stuck inside robot cleaners?” says one of the human cleaners, who seems wedged in quite tightly. “No,” I say. “But relax. Because I’ve invented a tiny submarine which can go inside the robot cleaners, too, and get you out.” “You’re mental,” says the cleaner. “Ignore him,” I tell everybody else. “He’s probably a paedophile.” Thursday “MY FRIEND I HAVE TROUBLES,” he writes. Too right. His pivot to the Metaverse has cost Facebook billions. But that’s because the old school media guys don’t get it. “But they’re finished,” I tell him. “Because this is the age of citizen journalism! Open source news! And what sort of idiot needs the truth to have a gatekeeper?” “WOULD U LIKE VIAGRA?” says Mark. “Not right now,” I say. “But thanks.” Friday Today, anyway, Donald Trump is calling. “Elon, you’re a beautiful guy,” he says. “But the worst tweeter. It’s embarrassing. And I am the best. People tell me. Women. You should let me back on.” “Maybe,” I say. Then I tell him that some people are saying I’m killing the whole site. Although I’m starting to think it might be worth Twitter dying just to own the whining libs. “That’s exactly what I thought,” says Trump, “about America.” Then he says I might not have heard, but he’s about to run for the presidency again. “And it’s going to be so beautiful,” he says. “So wonderful. And there will be so much winning. And I was wondering if you could donate a few million to my campaign.” “Hey hang on,” I say. “You haven’t even given me $8. You could be anyone. Is this a scam?” “Absolutely,” says Trump. “But also, it really is me.” *according to Hugo Rifkind
Part of the reason I founded SpaceX was to conquer the lonely emptiness of the galaxy. But even outer space might not be as empty and lonely as Twitter’s offices.
There’s a small problem with the robot cleaners. In that they’ve started cleaning up all the other cleaners. It’s the same AI that was supposed to make Teslas drive themselves. Didn’t work there, either.
I’m DMing Zuckerberg again. He’s the only person who understands what I’m going through.
My new plan is to get rid of all the features on Twitter that don’t do anything useful. Although I’m worried that then it would just be a blank screen.