(The second one may surprise you!)
Elon — First just let me say, wow, dude, what a ride, man. And I’m not talking about the Model 3 (thanks again for accepting ye olde Civic as a trade-in against the lease — but more on the Tesla later).
So, this whole “Twitter” situation — looks like you really got the bird (see what I did there?). I mean, I thought I had poor impulse control but, hey, you win! As always. So much for being so damn competitive, eh, E.? Now you’ve got more than me. Or Calfornia.
It’s a good thing you’re stepping down as CEO. This brings me to… I got your call. Listen, dude, I’m flattered but like seriously, E., there’s no F—ing way I’ll be CEO of Twitter. Dude, I understand you’re in a jam but taking on a failing social media network — well, it’s a pretty HUGE ask. So here are my reasons since you’re probably wondering why… I bet:
1.) Every time I turn on the Model 3’s air conditioning it smells like a wet sock. Given your penchant for fun and games (like making the Tesla fart, etc.) I’m going to assume this is your wet sock. Notice how I forgo making the obvious “musk” joke. Because I have respect. If you had respect for the thousands of us Tesla drivers who get a whiff of locker room every time we turn on your otherwise awesome car, maybe — just maybe — I’d be CEO of Twitter. Please fix the wet sock problem with the next system update and we’ll talk.
2.) As you know, I make independent films so, as a consequence, all of my rich friends (rightfully) assume that I’m always after their money for my next opus. Seeing as you’re the richest guy I know — in fact, the richest guy anyone knows — I wouldn’t want this inconvenient truth to come between us. And by truth, I mean money to finish my werewolf movie. Maybe instead of investing in Twitter, you should’ve come on as an executive producer. You still can — just say’n. Moving on…
3.) Don’t lie to me, I totally know that I was not your first choice. I don’t know what emotional trip or algorithm (same thing to you, right?) made you think of me but no one wants to be Plan B or Plan X Æ A-Xii, or whatever. Especially after you shit the bed and wiped your ass with, like, the whole staff. Do you think I or anyone wants to be the New Guy in that situation? Also, I just don’t see it as a gig with a lot of longevity in a “don’t quit your day job” kinda way. I mean you didn’t — amirite?
So, that’s why I won’t be the CEO of Twitter. I’m here for you, E., but I’m not into rearranging deck chairs on the Twitanic. Don’t take it so hard. I mean even mastodons went extinct, right? Ooph!
P.S. The Civic smelled like roses, man. F—ing roses.