Memo to Elon

If ever there was a moment for fuck-you money, this is it.

Dearest Elon:
Congratulations on reaching firebreak, which is what nuclear strategists used to call crossing the line between conventional warfare and I-am-become-death. And FYI, your cue that the breach is permanent will be “Elon who? Never met him.”

This seems like a good point to explore how you might deploy your considerable assets to make the Trump junta and its trained GOP seals eat the shit they’ve been serving everyone else. You’ve hinted at starting a third party. Let’s blue-sky this.

First, a name. How about the All About Me party? You would presumably be its leader, but to make the boat rock you’ll need to run AAM candidates in every congressional district. House candidates spent a total of $3.7 billion in the last cycle, and it’s not getting cheaper. Take it out of petty cash.

Then there’s the question of your running mate. You’ll need to shore up the MAGA vote, which rules out:

-- readers
-- thinkers
-- anyone with actual governing experience
-- anyone who can’t identify Kid Rock
-- anyone who has never attended a tractor pull
-- anyone without Jesus on speed-dial
-- the caucasianally challenged

In the meantime, if the goal is to get under Trump’s chemically bronzed skin, how about buying Fox and give AOC a prime-time slot? Or acquiring Trump’s golf properties and turning them into clothing-optional LGBT resorts?

Just offer to pay him in $TRUMP coin.