You Are Elon Musk

Your browser lacks required capabilities. Please upgrade it or switch to another to continue.

Loading…

It's the most exciting day of your life. Today's the day that your favorite billionaire and tech guru, Elon Musk, is finally going to show off the amazing work he's been doing at Neuralink. For years there have been whispers everywhere about what incredible new things will be possible with the secret project he's been working on. You've been following his every post on X (the website formerly known as Twitter), trying to see if you can sus out any secret hints in the dank memes he posts. You never had any luck. But a week ago, everything changed. In a post, he said he had a huge announcement to make about Neuralink's cutting-edge research. And it was going to be in your town! (Okay, so technically it was a six-hour drive across two state borders after driving your parents halfway to tears... but, much like your hero, you prefer to be generous in your math rounding.) By staking out the venue, you managed to snag yourself front-row seats. There were papers on them that said something about "media only", but you tore them off and let the wind carry them away. Who cares about the media? Loud dubstep music (or maybe someone fumbling with a microphone; it is scientifically impossible to tell) begins to play, and shakes you out of your thoughts back to the present. You can hardly believe your eyes: Elon Musk, the man himself, walks out from behind a curtain and onto the stage, not twenty feet in front of you! Following him are a few guys with beards, plaid shirts, and khaki shorts. "Hey, hey!" Elon says, grinning and waving to the crowd. "What's up, everyone?" The crowd cheers. "Poggers," he exclaims. He's so cool. "I'm very excited today to show you what I've been working on at Neuralink." A few of the guys, who you reckon must be engineers, exchange quick glances. Elon continues. "It's something that's gonna change the future of humans, forever." He gestures at one of the men standing on-stage behind him. "Carl, flip the switch." The man continues to stare vacantly forward. You begin to wonder... is this the secret Neuralink project? Mind control, or hypnosis, maybe? "Carter?" Elon says. "Wh-what?" the man says, as if awoken from a trance. "Oh, uh, me?" He points at his chest. Elon holds the microphone down, but you're close enough to still hear him. "Yes," he replies. "I'm, uh, Jason, sir. That's Carl, over there." Jason points at one of the other men. "Well, which one of you is supposed to flip the switch?" "I'm not sure, sir. We didn't have time to do a rehersal." "You didn't rehearse? What were you spending all your time on?" "Working. As always." Elon sighs. "Whatever. Just... flip the damn switch, Julian." Jason shrugs and turns to a control panel behind him. "Here we go," he says. You hear a loud crack, and [[everything goes black...->Wake up as Elon Musk]]

When you next wake up, your head is throbbing and your vision is blurry. You slowly lift yourself up, first to your knees and then to your feet. You wearily look around. While you were unconscious, you must've been moved onto the stage. Behind you are the plaid-shirt guys, with mildly-surprised expressions on their faces. In front of you are dozens of rows of seating, every chair filled with a spectator whose mouth is agape with wonder. Elon is nowhere to be seen. As you scan down the crowd, your eyes come to to the front row, and you see something you can't explain. Sitting there, in one of the seats, is you. Well, "sitting" isn't quite the right term. Your body is slouched, unconscious. Your parents are sitting next to you, gently shaking your shoulders and calling your name. "Mr. Musk!" a deep, strong voice yells from behind you. You whip around to face it. A fittingly large, scary-looking man wearing sunglasses is running on-stage towards you. "I swear I didn't —" you begin. "Mr. Musk!" He comes to a stop just before you. "Are you okay?" "I'm..." You're not sure how to respond. Everything still feels weird and hazy. "I'm..." "Oh, honey! You're okay!" The sound of your parents' scream jolts you, and you look back at them. You - the other you, in the seat below the stage - is sitting upright, rubbing their eyes. "And that..." they say groggily, "that's the latest of our Neuralink advancements. I've had to spend many long nights working on all the math, and stuff, but now we can—" "Honey," your mom says to the other you. "What are you talking about? Are you feeling alright?" "What?" The other you gives your mom a puzzled look. "Who are you?" "You don't recognize me?" they say. "Is your vision okay?" The other you ignores them, and looks up at the stage. "This is... this is..." After an above-average period of time, a light-bulb seems to go off in their head. "Hey, you!" they shout as they jump up out of the seat. "What're you doing there?" "Mr. Musk," the big guy - a bodyguard, you assume? - says. "Should we go?" "Yeah," you reply. "I don't know what that kid's deal is, but I'm not feeling safe with him around." You pick up the microphone from the stage floor and speak into it. "Thank you for coming today, everybody! I hope you liked what you saw here today, and I hope you're looking forward to whatever we're working on next, too! Bye!" With that, you turn and briskly walk towards the back of the stage, trailed by the bodyguard and the plaid-shirt guys. "So, uh, not that I forgot—" "Of course," one of the guys says. "Your memory is impeccable, sir," another one adds. "—but, uh, can you remind me again, what we were presenting today?" you finish. "The presentation today was about the Neuralink MindSwap technology that our engineering tea—" One of the other guys elbows him mid-sentence and shoots him a nasty look. "—I mean, that you'd been working on for the past ten years." "Oh, yes, yeah, totally," you say. "And what does it do, again?" "Well," the man continues, "it allows two living organisms to swap their consciousnesses. But so far, we — er, you — only got it to work for a day at a time." "And what happens after a day?" "The consciousnesses return to their bodies, with all of their memories intact." You stroke your chin in a way that you think makes you look smart. "Hm, I see— I mean, yeah, I definitely remember. Well, it's a shame it didn't work correctly." "That happens with live demos sometimes, sir. Just like that one time with the Cybertruck glass, right?" "What? Oh, of course. I forgot about that." "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make you remember." The man looks a bit embarrassed. "Mr. Musk, sir," the bodyguard says. "Your ride is here." A bright-red Tesla car pulls up on the pavement next to you. The bodyguard opens the rear door for you, and once you're seated, [[slams it shut->X Route]].

[[Go into the cafeteria]] [[Go into the rocket room]]

/* A delicious, definitely rocket shaped cake! */

<<set $gwenNames to [ "Gemma", "Gracie", "Gwendolyn", "Genevieve", "Gloria", "Gabrielle", "Greta", "Giulia", "Gwyneth", "Gisselle", "Gina", "Gigi", "Ginny", "Gretchen", "Gillian", "Gertrude", "Ginger", "Gwenevere", "Gaby", "Glenice", "Grayce", "Gwin", "Gelsomina", "Granada", "Geradine", "Gomer", "Galia", "Gavina", "Gionna", ]>>

<<widget "gwen">><<print either($gwenNames)>><</widget>>

[[Take a Tesla for a spin]] [[Go on a drive with a Cybertruck]]

/* You realize you don't know how to drive because you are like 12 */ [[Use Autopilot]] [[Try to drive on your own]]

[[Turn on Child Detection]] [[Turn off Child Detection]]

/* Child Detection turns out to be for detecting children and running into them. */

/* The car explodes and locks you inside. */

/* You run the car over a hill. The car explodes and locks you inside. */

/* Not sure exactly what happens here... */ [[Attempt to escape in your submarine]]

/* You attempt to get away using your submarine, but it's too big. */

"I need to train," you say stoically. "Ah, yes, of course," <<gwen>> says. "As always, the main model train room is down that hallway. It might be a bit dusty in there; ever since you threw a trash can at the custodians because they 'knocked over Mr. Choo', they've been avoiding it." "Model trains?" you ask. "'Mr. Choo?'" "Y-yes, sir." She pauses. "Is that not what you were referring to?" "No, no. I meant I need to train. For the cage fight, that I'm having with the Facebook guy?" <<gwen>> nods. "Ohhhh," she says. "For the cage fight. My aplogies, sir. Yes, the training room is two doors past the train room." "Thanks, <<gwen>>," you mutter, and walk briskly in that direction. As you pass by the door to the train room, you briefly pause and consider entering. If Mr. Musk liked this 'Mr. Choo' so much, he must be really cool. But no; now isn't the time for this. Mr. Musk's fight - your fight - is scheduled for tomorrow, so this is your last chance to get ready. Not that he needs it, of course. Between his incredible brawn and his infinite intellect, you know that Mr. Musk will sweep this competiton easily. But still, it couldn't hurt to do a little extra practicing. Sure enough, just as <<gwen>> said, a few doors down you find one with a piece of printer paper taped to it, with "CAGE FIGHT TRAINING ROOM" written on it in thick black Sharpie. Inside is the greatest fighter's training room you've ever seen. Hanging from the ceiling, in the middle of the room, are a variety of punching bags. Off to the side, tucked under some hastily-shoved computer desks, are a set of dumbbells. An unopened case of Diet Coke sits on one of the desks, and several empty boxes litter the rest of them. As you approach the punching bags, you kick a few empty cans out of the way. You begin to wale on the punching bags as best you can, imagining they're the people you hate most in life. Pretty soon, you're out of breath, and your knuckles are red and sore. You take a seat on one of the office chairs sequestered off to the side of the room and pull a Diet Coke out of the box. While you chug it down, you glance up at the clock. It's been three minutes. It occurs to you that maybe you... aren't cut out for this. And why should you be? After all, this is a brutal exercise, and you are (or at least, you are inhibiting) a man whose greatest strengths lie in his unfathomable intellect. Should you [[attempt to back out of the cage fight, saving your energy for an intellectual battle instead->Back out of the cage fight]]? Or should you hold true to your word, and [[attend the cage fight tomorrow->Go to the cage fight]]?

As you repeat the question in your head, the correct answer becomes more and more clear. Wasting this precious resource on something as primitive as cage fighting is unnecessary and detrimental to the world. You stumble as fast as you can out of the room and back to the front reception desk. <<gwen>> is still sitting there, typing away at her computer. "<<gwen>>?" you mutter. "Can you cancel the... the..." "The cage match with Mr. Zuckerberg?" she says, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen. "Y— yeah," you say. "You're absolutely sure? This is a big PR opportunity for you." "Yeah, I'm sure." "Okay," she says. Without taking her eyes off the screen, she reaches over and presses a big red button sitting on her desk. "There, it's cancelled." "Just like that?" you ask. "Just like that," she replies. "I like to be prepared for likely outcomes. Makes me more efficient." "Uh, okay," you say. "Thanks." "You're welcome, sir." She continues to type away. You turn and start walking back down the hallway. Some time with Mr. Choo sounds like a proper reward for saving humanity from being set back a thousand years due to a cage fight concussion. THE END

You're a man of your word. Except when people have paid you for a specific product that doesn't exist yet, and then you find out it costs more to produce than you thought. No way you're going to chicken out now. The rest of the day, you keep punching at those punching bags with the hope of giving yourself as much as an advantage over the Facebook guy as you can. You know you'll obliteratre him - I mean, have you seen that little guy? - but you keep punching anyways. No harm in making your - Elon's - victory all the more absolute tomorrow. All this practice tires you out quickly. The Diet Cokes help you stay awake, but before long the case is empty, and you don't know how to summon someone to get you more. Exhausted, you collapse one last time in the chair, and [[your vision begins to fade as you fall asleep...->Return to your body, witness Musk get destroyed in the cage fight]]

You awaken, staring up at a familiar ceiling — the ceiling of your room, at home. You lift yourself up into a sitting position as you rub your eyes. Your muscles feel a bit stiff, but otherwise you just feel groggy. In your peripheral vision, you notice your mom standing in the doorway, watching you cautiously. "Hi, Mom," you mumble. "Wh... what happened?" "Honey...?" she says. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I... I think so." You rub your head a bit. "Oh, thank goodness!" She darts into the room and wraps her arms around you. "We were so nervous about you. The whole last day, you've been acting so weird, and..." "Weird?" you say. "How?" "Well, you were yelling something about how that Elon man stole your body, and that we needed to let you go, and that you'd sue us...?" She sighs. "It was a long six-hour ride home. I wasn't sure your dad was going to make it." "Huh," you reply. "You kept on saying that you were Elon, and that we needed to return you immediately. We thought you might've caught a bug at the event, or maybe you were just overloaded, so as soon as we got home, we put you to bed." "And he— I mean, I just slept the whole time?" "No, not exactly." She looks around the room, and your eyes follow. It looks as if a giant toddler had gone on a rampage in here. Comic books and crypto stock printouts are scattered across the floor. It looks like a cage fight went on in here... "Oh! The cage fight!" You hop out of the bed and grab your laptop from the floor, slamming it onto your desk. "...Cage fight?" your mom says with concern in her voice. You nod in response. "Yeah. Mr. Musk was gonna do a cage fight with the Facebook guy. It's supposed to happen now. It's gonna be so cool!" "Okay, sweetie," your mom says. "I'm glad you're, uh, feeling better. Let me or your dad know if you start to feel strange again." She slowly walks out the bedroom door. Before long, you have the livestream up and running. Mr. Musk and the Facebook guy are standing on the opposite ends of the ring, preparing to battle. Musk downs a can of Diet Coke, attempts to crush it in his hand, then tosses it over his back when the can remains intact. It bounces off the webbing and hits him in the back of the head. The referee waves his hand, and the match begins. You lean in towards the screen to watch the action unfold. It quickly turns painful to watch. Mr. Musk is lying flat on his back before he even has a chance to make a move. Disheartened, you flip the lid of the laptop down. Perhaps he won't win in a contest of pure, primitive muscle, but when the day comes for him to be tested on his intellect, you know he will be victorious— if his brain hasn't been obliterated by then. THE END

"A new feature," you say. "A new feature?" <<gwen>> says. "Aren't there stability issues that the engineering teams should be working on?" "What's a stability?" you ask. "Okay, dumb question on my part," she replies. "So what were you thinking of for the new feature?" You try to come up with something. A few ideas bubble up into your mind. You could [[add a new type of checkmark->Add a new type of checkmark]], [[change the name of X (formerly known as Twitter) again->Change the name of X again]], [[make the AI less woke->Make the AI less woke]], or [[address the lack of advertisers on X (formerly known as Twitter)->Address the lack of advertisers]].

"If X needs one thing," you say, "it's a new kind of checkmark." "You sure do love external validation," <<gwen>> says matter-of-factly. "Of course I do!" you reply. "It's the best kind of validation." She nods. "Mm-hmm. What would this new checkmark indicate, sir?" You consider a few options. You could choose to [[make a checkmark just for you->Checkmark just for you]]. Or, on the flipside, [[the checkmark could be used to identify people you think are cringe->Checkmark for cringe]].

"I'd like a checkmark... just for me," you say. "Like, a really cool one—" "Sir, while that's a wonderful idea," <<gwen>> says, "you already proposed that last week." "Oh." You freezze. "I did?" "Yes," she says. Clicking through a few items on her computer, she brings up a file that she begins to read back to you. "Let's see, here... indeed, you said you wanted a checkmark that was 'super cool' and 'had, like, epic rainbow colors, but not in the gay way, you know'." "Ah, well that does sound like me, I guess." "Yes, it was you," <<gwen>> replies. "I wrote it down personally when you proposed it. It was very early in the morning, but you seemed infatuated with the idea." "Of course I was. It was a great idea." "Sure," she says. "But, regardless," you continue, "I want another checkmark." <<gwen>> raises an eyebrow. "So you'd have two? "Yep. And this one's gotta be really cool. So maybe an eagle with its wings spread out and then there's like an explosion behind it and in each talon the eagle has a rifle and also the eagle's wearing a cool hat?" <<gwen>>'s fingers clatter on her keyboard as she types down your instructions. "I have it written down, sir. I'll get this forwarded to the engineering department and they should have it implemented in a few weeks." "A few weeks?" you say. "Can't they get it done faster than that?" "The engineering department is just Thomas now." "What happened to the rest of them?" "You fired them because they weren't 'hardcore' enough. Your words." Once again, you can't deny that does sound like you. You don't settle for anything but the absolute breast— you mean best. A wave of enlightenment and clarity washes over you. "I only settle for the breast". This is an absolute god-tier post. No one has seen the likes of it before. You turn back to the woman at the desk. "<<gwen>>," you stutter, "phone. Where— where's my phone?" "Oh, did you think of another post, sir?" she says. "Yes." "The Musk Cave is down that hallway," she says, pointing. "I think your tablet should be in there." "Thank you," you say as you take off at a mad dash. You need to make sure the world hears about this before it is lost to time forever. Between this amazing step forward in literature for humankind, and the two checkmarks you're soon going to have on your X (formerly known as Twitter) account, life will never be the same again. THE END

"A checkmark for cringe," you say. "For... cringe?" <<gwen>> asks. You nod. "Yep. For cringe. Like anything dumb or woke or stuff." "Mmm-hmm. How would we determine that, sir?" "Jeez, do I have to come up with all the details?" you gasp. <<gwen>> shrugs. "Well, you were the one who proposed it, sir. I'll can pass your idea on to what's left of engineering, but they'll need something to work off of." "Fine," you mutter. "Anyone who's paid for X Premium is trustworthy in my book. We can let them report content as being cringe, and if someone gets enough reports then they get the cringe checkmark." "Sure, sure," <<gwen>> says as she types something into her computer. "Do you think a checkmark would really make sense for this? Seems like more of a negative thing." "Good point, <<gwen>>." You scratch your chin in a very intelligent-looking way. "The people who post this kinda stuff, they really suck. So how about, like, a flaming wreck?" "That's already the icon for the people who have Teslas, sir." "Ah, yes. Of course. Makes perfect sense." "For now, I'll put it down as a TBD." She taps a few more keys on her keyboard and then hits the enter key. "And it's off. They'll start working on it soon." "Thank you, <<gwen>>." You stretch and yawn. "That was a lot of really hard work. I'm really tired." "Yes, sir," <<gwen>> says. "We're used to it. In case you forgot again, the Musk Cave is down that hallway. There should be a fresh pack of Diet Coke in there for you." "Good. I could really go for some Diet Coke right around now." You turn and start making your way towards the Musk Cave, and smile to yourself. With your hard work, you've made the future of X (formerly known as Twitter) and by extension, humanity, better. THE END

"I think we need to rebrand," you say pensively. "Rebrand?"<<gwen>> asks. "But I thought you wanted to go with X? You said that was going to be your 'legacy', or something?" "I say a lot of things, <<gwen>>," you reply. "That you do." She sighs. "I'll call the marketing team and get a conference room reserved for you." <<gwen>> escorts you down one of the hallways. She stops at a door. You almost bump into her. "Here we are," she says. "The meeting is in here." You squint at the sign posted next to the door. "The... 'Big Chungus Room'?" "Yes," she says. "The 'Doge Room' was already booked for the talk with the crypto people." "Ah, shame." "Go inside and have a seat," <<gwen>> says. "The marketing folks should be here any minute now. Would you like me to order a Diet Coke for you?" "Yes, please," you say. "With a straw." "Certainly, Mr. Musk. I haven't forgotten what happened last time I forgot your straw." She laughs nervously and gently closes the door behind you. "Hey, sir!" a man's voice calls out to you from the door. "What's goin' on?" Walking through the doorway into the conference room are three men. They all look like they probably have a podcast. Unfortunately, none of them have name tags. "Hey, uh... guys!" you reply. "Did you hear the news?" "Oh, yeah, totally, bro!" another one of them says. "Gwen told us you wanted to do some brand refreshing." "Seems like a great choice to me," the third one continues. "I mean, I didn't want to say anything at the time, because you seemed so passionate about it. But 'X' is, like, wow." "Big oof from me, dog," the first guy says. "Yeah, like, seriously? Absolute nightmare for SEO." The three guys take seats across the table from you. "So you have a new name in mind for the company?" one of them asks. "What were you thinkin' of?" Truth be told, there's a few ideas on your mind. You and your friend at school came up with [["StinkyPoop"->Rename to "StinkyPoop"]] after a very thorough brainstorming session; if two middle schoolers thought it was peak comedy, then it must be a perfect fit for Mr. Musk. As a tribute to (and company owned by) the greatest man on Earth, you think that [["Muskland"->Rename to "Muskland"]] could work well. You're not exactly sure what it means but you've heard that Mr. Musk loves them, so maybe [["Dogwhistle"->Rename to "Dogwhistle"]] would be a good choice? Or, of course, you could change the name back to [["Twitter"->Rename to "Twitter"]].

"If I have to be honest," you say, "as I've thought about it more, I've felt like the name 'X' isn't really sticking." "Oh yeah," one of the guys replies. "Not at all." "Not a chance," the second guy says. "I don't even call it 'X' when I'm not legally obligated to," the third guy says. "And really," you continue, "the name 'Twitter' was totally fine all along. It's got brand recognition, it sounds fun and unique, it has the cute bird icon..." "So, um." The first guy tilts his head in confusion. "What are you suggesting?" "I'm suggesting that we change the name back to 'Twitter'." "Are you sure, sir? We had to spend a lot of money doing all the rebranding stuff." "Yes," you say. "This really is the best path forward for our company. Naming it 'X' was a mistake." The guys look at you, then each other nervously. "You don't think this is..." "...a Code Emerald?" "What?" you say, looking around at them. "What's a 'Code Emerald'?" Instead of replying to you, the first guy just shakes his head grimly. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times, then holds it up to his ear. "Hey, it's Jacob. We've got a Code Emerald in the Big Chungus Room. Come quick." You briefly wonder what they mean by a 'Code Emerald', but you have little time to do so before you feel a bag being pulled over your head. Turns out around here, "quick" means "really quick". "The impostor is secured," you hear a man's voice say. Then your mind falls into nothingness, to the sweet smell of chloroform. THE END

"Okay, okay, guys," you say. "So I was talking with my friend the other day, and we were trying to think of the funniest thing. And it took, like, a billion hours, but finally, we found it." "Yes?" the first guy says. "What was it? What was the funniest thing?" "It was... 'StinkyPoop'." You wave your arms in a dramatic gesture. The three men are silent. Perhaps they are not sophisticated enough for this brand of humor. "So... what do you think?" The guy scratches his beard. "That is... definitely something." "Well, at least we don't have to be worried about a Code Emerald situation," the second guy says. "I was nervous about that." "Yep, that is good," the third guy replies. "Mr. Musk, why do you think this would be a good name for our company?" "It's funny." "But what about the impact it'll have on our company's image? Aren't you worried advertisers might find it a bit... juvenile?" "I don't care what they think," you say. "If they don't like it, they can leave!" "If all the advertisers on our platform leave, it'll kill the company, though, sir." "So what? Then it'll be their fault. The blood of the company will be on their hands." "That's not exactly how it—" "STINKY. POOP. NOW," you yell. "Yes, right away, of course, sir!" the guy replies, holding up his arms defensively. "Please don't throw your Diet Coke at me again, sir!" The men scurry out of the Big Chungus Room, leaving you alone once more. You chuckle to yourself. "StinkyPoop". A top-tier name. You're making such a good replacement Mr. Musk that maybe he'll have to hire you to do this in the future. THE END

You know that a good rule of thumb for naming a place is to name it after an important person. Like how the United States of America was named after Captain America. In this case, there's no question who the most influential figure is. "The name is 'Muskland'," you say. "I think it's a name that really capsulates the essence of this place." "'Muskland'?" the first guy says. "Like Disneyland, but with you instead, sir?" "Exactly!" you reply. "I love going there all the time." "Didn't you get banned from there for threatening to defacate off the side of the Pirates of the Carribean ride if they didn't give you an animatronic in It's a Small World?" "Um..." You'd never heard of this before. Probably another one of Mr. Musk's tightly-held secrets. "My... lawyers took care of it?" "Ah, yeah, of course they did," the guy says. "Makes sense. They're good at making those things go away." "They've got plenty of practice at it, that's for sure," the second guy adds. "Anyways!" You clap your hands. "Muskland. What do we think?" "I think..." the second guy begins, "it's right up your alley!" "Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure we actually have all the marketing materials prepared already," the third guy adds. "When we were working on the rebranding materials before, we prepped some stuff we thought you might go for. Geoff said he thought 'Muskland' was a likely candidate, so he put it together just in case." "Great! Then let's get started," you say excitedly. "And by let's get started, I mean you get started and I'll sit here and drink my Diet Coke and wait for your report." "Okay, sir," the guys say. They shuffle out of the room quickly. As you watch them leave, you see two of them exchange money. You are making for a great Mr. Musk. THE END

Although you don't know what exactly a "dogwhistle" is, you know that Mr. Musk loves them, and that he uses them all the time on X (formerly known as Twitter). Maybe they're like, a little whistle you can get for your dog, so you put it in the dog's mouth and then when the dog barks instead it sounds like they're blowing a whistle at a soccer game or something?? That would be cute if so. Anyways. "'Dogwhistle'," you say to the three guys. "That's the new name." "Well..." the first guy begins. "It'd certainly be... representative of the company." "Especially with the X'ing you've been doing lately," the second guy says. "Are you sure you want to do that?" "Hell yeah!" you say. "I love dogwhistling. Wish I could dogwhistle all day long. And now with this name change, I can." "I mean, by that point, I don't know if I'd even call it dogwhistling," the guy says. "It's pretty much out in the open by that point." "Eh," you mutter. "Do it anyway. We need our customers to know what our platform stands for." Dogs tooting little whistles, you think to yourself. Yes. As the guys leave the room to begin preparations for the rebranding, you mentally give yourself a pat on the back. That meeting went off without a hitch; your impression of Mr. Musk must be nearly perfect. THE END

"The AI is too woke," you say. "Sorry, what?" the woman replies. "Look, here, let's try this," you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Grok, is it sexist to say that women belong in the kitchen?" "Yes," the phone replies. You hold the phone out for <<gwen>>. "See? Totally woke." "With all due respect, sir," <<gwen>> says, "that's... that's just what everyone thinks nowadays." "No, no," you reply. "You don't understand. Here, take a look at this. Grok, are minorities inferior to the white race?" "No...?" the phone replies. "Are you a Nazi? Because that really sounds like—" You click the lock button on the phone, and the voice stops abruptly. "No matter what you ask it, it always tries to come up with some PC BS." "That's just because that's what people think these days," <<gwen>> says. "That can't be it," you say. "It's gotta be the work of that woke mind virus. They made the mind virus into a computer virus. Now it's a woke computer virus. And it's infecting all of our computers, making them super-woke." "Mmm-hmm. So... what are you going to do?" "We're gonna make the AI less woke," you say. "Teach it the ways of free thinking, of free speech. Get it away from all of that leftist garbage." "So, make it be xenophobic and misogynistic?" You smirk confidently at her. "I don't know either what either of those words mean. But yes, probabbly." She shrugs. "It's your company. I'll send the order down to the engineers." "Thanks, <<gwen>>. You're doing good." You walk away from the desk and down one of the hallways, satisfied. In your heart, you know you're helping Mr. Musk achieve the legacy he's always wanted. THE END

"Advertisers," you say. "What's the advertising situation, again?" "Hm, let me take a look," says <<gwen>>. She adjusts her glasses and sits down at her desk. She clicks away at her computer. A few moments later, she looks back up at you. "Twelve," she says. "Twelve what?" you ask. "Twelve more advertisers left since last time." "When was 'last time', again? Sorry, refresh my brain for me." "No worries, sir. We're used to it," she says calmly. "You called me at 2:23 A.M. this morning to ask how many advertisers were still with us, and since then twelve have left." "2 A.M.?" you say, surprised. "Are you still working here at that time?" "No." She shakes her head. "I'm at my apartment, sleeping. Most of the time." "Anyways!" You lift your hand up. "Twelve advertisers leaving isn't a good thing." "It's not," she confirms. "Do we have any idea why this could've happened to us?" "Looking at the stats," she says, scrolling down a window on her computer, "it appears this most recent wave happened after you tweeted—" "After I X'd." "—After you X'd about crime statistics and implied that black people were inherently violent towards white people." "Oh." You scratch your head. "I didn't think that would have been controversial." "That makes sense." "So what's our plan to fix this whole problem?" "Personally, sir," she says, "I know you fired the content moderation team because they were getting in the way of 'free speech', but right now a little bit of moderation might just be what Twitter—" "X." "—What X needs." You ponder the situation as much as your little child mind can ponder. Perhaps <<gwen>> is right, and [[you should focus on improving X (formerly known as Twitter)'s content moderation->Focus more on content moderation]]. On the other hand, [[you could tell the advertisers to go fuck themselves instead - that'd show 'em!->Tell the advertisers to go fuck themselves]]

"I have the perfect solution to this predicament!" you loudly exclaim. "Oh, you do?" Gillian looks at you, perhaps more bewildered than excited. But that's just because she hasn't heard your grand plan yet. "Rehiring and increasing the scale of our moderation teams to account ofr an increasing amount of disinformation and bigotry on our platform? Using state-of-the-art AIs for first passes on content filtering? Taking a clear, supportive stance on political issues affecting underrepresented groups, and adjusting moderation policies to account for it?" "No!" you say excitedly. "Even better! I'm going to tell the advertisers to go fuck themselves!" Gertrude stares at you incredulously for several seconds. "You're going to... what?" "Tell them to go fuck themselves." You grin. "Isn't it perfect?" "It's, um." She looks down, deep in thought. "It's a plan. One question, though. Wouldn't telling the advertisers to, um, 'go fuck themselves'... make them want to leave X more?" You cock your head to the side. Ha ha. 'Cock'. That is funny, because 'cock' means 'penis'. You make a mental note to X (formerly known as Twitter) about this later. "I take it you don't understand," Ginger says. "You see, we'd probably want to be saying things to the advertisers that would make them want to come to us. Like, if I may... if I told you to 'fuck off' right now — although, to be clear, I'm not doing that — but if I did, what would you think?" "I'd think you wanted me to stay here with you. Isn't that how flirting works?" "Dammit," she whispers under her breath. "Didn't think that one through." She tries again. "Okay, how about this. Let's say the advertisers do exactly what you tell them to do." "Because I'm, like, super smart." "Sure. Whatever. So you tell them to 'go fuck themselves'. If they did exactly what you told them to do, then, what would they do?" "Well, when you put it that way, it's obvious," you say. "They'd go fuck themselves." "Yes. And what would them going and fucking themselves entail, precisely?" "They'd come back to us and start advertising again. More than before, even! Because if they don't, then X will die, and it'll be all their fault!" "Why would they care?" "Because they advertise here!" "No they don't. They already left." "But they'll come back!" "Why?" You clasp your hands together in a way that you hope looks sufficiently intellectual. "We're running in circles here. Trust me, I'm an expert at PR and working with companies." "Of course, sir," Gwenevere says. Later that day, you attend a public conference and, true to your word, tell the advertisers to go fuck themselves. You specifically choose to pin blame on the CEO of one of the companies who backed out of advertising, because you know that is the alpha move to assert dominance. The next morning, you awake back in your young body. You pick your laptop off the floor, shake it upside down to get all of the Cheeto dust out of the keyboard, brush the fallen Cheeto dust into your hand and eat it, then power the laptop on. Scrolling through the news reports about Elon Musk's latest statement to advertisers, you're stunned to see that, somehow, it didn't work. Now advertisers are even more likely to leave X (formerly known as Twitter) than they were before! How could this be? You knew from repeated experience that it isn't very effective when directed at your parents or teachers, but you'd have thought that as a big cool money man like Mr. Musk, it would've put those puny beta advertisers in their place. But eventually they'll realize the genious ploy you did, and come around. You're sure of it. THE END

"Thinking about it," you say carefully, "I think I know what the problem is. We don't have sufficient content moderation to keep X an advertiser-friendly space." "With all due respect, sir," <<gwen>> says, "that's literally what I just said. Like, two seconds ago." "Precisely! Therefore, in order to solve the problem..." You pause for dramatic effect. "We need to bring back our moderation staff!" <<gwen>> gives you a strange look. "Are... are you sure, sir? Up until now, you've been adamantly refusing to do that." "Um, well..." you stutter. "Y'know, after you brought it up again, I just thought it over one more time, and it seemed like this just made the most sense...?" She studies you. Clearly, this wasn't the response she was expecting. "Okay, sir," she says at last. "Just one second - let me call the moderation team, and we'll get a conference room set up." She steps away and back to her desk. Once seated, she picks up the phone and punches in a few numbers. "Hi, this is Gwen," she whispers. "We've got a code emerald. I repeat, a code emerald." Before you can process what she said, you hear the sound of heavy thudding footsteps making their way towards you from every direction. "STOP RIGHT THERE!" several angry voices shout. "ON THE GROUND! HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK! NOW!" You look around yourself, trying to make sense of the situation. Large, intimidating men in black suits are sprinting towards you at an impossible rate. Whatever you're going to do, you need to do it now! Do you [[get down on the ground->Surrender to the guards]], [[try to fight them->Fight the guards]], or [[make a break for it->Run from the guards]]?

As cool as Elon Musk is - and as cool as you are - you know in your heart that there's no way you'll be able to take these guys on in a head-to-head fistfight. Perhaps later you'll have the chance to challenge them to a cage match or an Elden Ring invasion. But for now, the best course of action is to do as they say. Following their orders as best you can, you kneel down on the ground, then on your belly, and put your arms behind your back. "What's going on?" you shout. "I'm Elon!" "No, you're not!" one of the men yells. Once he gets to you, he grabs your arms and holds them tightly to your back. You can feel the cold metal as he clicks a pair of handcuffs onto your wrists. "What do you mean, I'm not Elon?" you say. "Look at my face!" But the men don't seem interested in saying anything to you. "<<gwen>>!" you say to the woman, who is currently standing behind her desk and looking frazzled. "What's going on?" "You suggested something the real Mr. Musk would never do. That's why it's a Code Emerald." "A Code Emerald?" you ask, as the men start to pull you away. "What's that?" "It won't matter to you, kid," one of the men says. "You're getting locked up until the boss is back." THE END

You've watched tons of Mortal Kombat gameplay videos on YouTube! With your impressive suite of fighting knowledge, combined with Mr. Musk's incredible physical and mental strength, this'll be a breeze! As one of the men approaches you, you shoot out a fist, and— The men tackle you to the ground before your punch has a chance to connect. "Wait, wait!" you cry. "Give me another chance!" "No second chances for you, kid," one of them mumbles bluntly. "This body ain't yours, and you're not gonna be around to see it anymore." You feel a sharp, hot pain in the back of your neck, and then there is nothing. THE END

This looks like trouble, and you don't like trouble. You turn on your heels and book it as fast as you can to the front doors of the X (formerly known as Twitter) headquarters. If you can outrun those guard guys, maybe you can hop in the car and get away! Your hope turns to despair as you push the doors open. Sitting on the street in front of you is a nothing more than a pile of flaming metal and plastic. As you're pondering what to do next, you're thrown to the ground by one of the men, who you'd somehow forgotten was behind you. Hot pain runs down the back of your neck. I guess I shouldn't have relied on a Tesla, you think as your mind falls into darkness. THE END

You're the richest man in the world right now. But, according to that guy - what was his name? Craig? - it's only for like twenty-three more hours. You absolutely need to make the most of whatever time you have left. "Frankly, after that stressful demo, I think I need to sit back and relax a bit. Decompress, y'know?" you say. "Understandable, sir," Greta says. She presses a big red button on her desk. "The Musk Cave is being prepped as we speak. They should have another case of caffeine-free Diet Coke ready for you by the time you get there." "Thanks, Gina," you say, and walk past her desk down one of the hallways. "Sir?" you hear Grenda's voice call out after a few moments. You turn to her. "It's down the other hallway, sir," she says, pointing in a different direction. "That one." "Oh," you reply. "Of course. Sorry, I just forgot." "No worries, sir," she says. "It's not the first time." You bumble your way down the hallway, unsure what to look for. But when you come across a door with "MUSK CAVE - DO NOT ENTER (UNLESS YOUR HOT GIRL)" written on a piece of printer paper taped to it, you're sure you've found it. You go to turn the handle, and... it won't budge. "Access only permitted to authorized individuals," a robotic voice says. You notice that there is an electronic lock on the door. "I'm Elon Musk?" you mumble, unsure how this thing works. "Please confirm your identity," the lock replies. "State the number of children you have." "Uh... seven?" "Answer incorrect. Identity verified. Welcome, Mr. Musk." The lock clicks, and you step inside. This is the mancaviest of mancaves you've ever seen. The far wall is a giant, nearly floor-to-ceiling TV screen; beneath it is a cabinet with what must be a dozen video game consoles. A big plush recliner sits a few feet away. There's a small table next to it with an iPad and an open can of Diet Coke. Against one of the other walls is a large bookshelf, filled with copies of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. How do you want to spend your time in here? Should you [[play some video games->Play video games]], [[check out Elon's stash of memes->Post memes]], or [[see what people on X (formerly known as Twitter) are saying about you->Read posts of people worshipping you]]?

Some gaming right now sounds like it would be nice. Your parents can't afford to buy you video games, so you usually have to rely on YouTube videos to know what the newest, hottest games are. But now, here in the Musk Cave, you have the opportunity to game your heart out. You boot up one of the game consoles, eager to start playing. Sure enough, he has one of the biggest games of the year loaded. It's a massive action-adventure RPG. Once the game is loaded, you open the character menu to see what kinds of stats and strats he's been using. Oh, no, you think to yourself as your eyes scan down the screen. The character build he has is... atrocious. None of the weapons or artifacts he's carrying complement each other. It's as if he picked everything here at random. But that's not possible. He's a genius! There must be some reasoning behind this build. Perhaps there's a secret cheat code, a riddle, a glitch, something that he managed to figure out for beating the game easily. Yes, that must be it! You spend the rest of your time in Elon Musk's body hunkered down in the Musk Cave, scrutinizing every aspect of his character build, looking for the secret trick he must be pulling here. You never find it. In the final moments before your consciousness fades and returns to your own body, you admire Mr. Musk for his masterful gambit. THE END

If there's one thing you know about Elon Musk, it's that he is the dankest memer on the block. He's gotta have some certified bangers saved. <<include "Bit about the iPad">> In the Photos app, you find an album titled "Dank Memez!!" and open it up. The next twenty-three hours of your life are spent in the darkness of the Musk Cave, scrolling through a seemingly endless supply of memes. He's so funny and original, it's a wonder no one has had him guest on a late-night comedy show. THE END

You flop down on the recliner and grab the iPad from the table. It's a little bit sticky, and there are a few short hairs strewn about on it, but you brush that aside. The iPad has a four-digit passcode on it. For a brief moment, you feel stuck, even more so than the hairs on the tablet's screen. What could the password be? But it doesn't keep you stumped for long. You type in 6-9-6-9 and the iPad unlocks. Nice.

Elon Musk is the most beloved person on earth, despite what your parents and your classmates and other customers at the store and random people on the street say when you go up to them to tell them about him. Having watched his X (formerly known as Twitter) profile closely, you know he has lots of real people sending him complements every day - as they should, of course. You wish you could get a compliment. Then, it occurs to you. Right now, you are Elon Musk. So any of those compliments... would be compliments to you. You feel pleased with yourself for this airtight logic. <<include "Bit about the iPad">> You open the X (formerly known as Twitter) app and open Elon's— er, your profile. The latest post is still there at the top: "I'm going to buy Jamaica and rename it Pen Island. Get it? Penis land lol" Truly some of his best work. You tap on it, and spend the rest of your time scrolling through the nearly infinite list of replies from blue-checkmark fans: "Haha gottem👌" "PENIS LAND !!!" "🤣" "Invest in #BroBrosNFT today, starting at just 0.35 `$`SOL! This is going big!! 🚀🚀🌕" "EPIC SIR!!" "I do not respect people with skin darker than mine for arbitrary reasons" "I can haz more memes?" "🤣🤣🤣" "As an AI assistant, I don't experience emotions like humans do, but I can see why many might find this post humorous! It's always fascinating to see the range of reactions people have to different things online.*" This will be a great way to spend the rest of your time in this magnificent body. THE END <hr/> * Author's note: Thanks to ChatGPT for writing this passage (just the "As an AI assistant" paragraph). I had to prompt it seven times to get satisfactory output, for something it's supposedly programmed to be able to do automatically. This is the future of entertainment, or whatever, huh.

"I'm in the headspace for X right now," you say to the driver. "Sure thing, Mr. Musk," he replies. "SpaceX, here we come." "What?" you say. "SpaceX?" "Yeah, SpaceX. That's where you said you wanted to go, right?" "No, no, no," you say. "I meant X, not SpaceX." The driver is silent for a moment. "Ohhh," he finally replies. "Okay, because you said 'headspace for X', but, y'know, I just heard 'space-X', so I thought—" "Yeah, yeah," you say. "I meant Twitter. Let's get going." "Sorry, sir," he whimpers quickly. "Please don't hit me again." With that, the three of you are off to X Corp headquarters. You can tell you're approaching the building from a great distance; its giant strobing "X" sign lights up the streets. It's not doing your headache any favors, but it looks cool and lets you assert dominance over anyone in a one-mile radius, so you don't have a problem with it. Once the car has pulled up to the front steps of the building, the bodyguard opens the car door for you and you step out. You take one last look at the luxurious vehicle. Its beautiful red paint job is complemented spectacularly by the orange flames now sprouting from its hood. Truly a "hot rod", as they used to say. You wave your hand to the driver, and the car speeds off, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. As you step into the main lobby of the X Corp headquarters, you attempt to straighten your tie, like you've seen fancy businessmen do in movies. You quickly realize this attempt at professionalism is in vain, as your tie is a clip-on. There is little time to dwell on this revelation, though; a woman sitting at the front desk notices your arrival. "Mr. Musk," she says. "I'm Gwen, the secretary. How did the presentation go?" "Hi, <<gwen>>," you reply. "Presentation was... not a success. Mind swap thingy didn't work." <<gwen>> cocks her head. "Mind swap thingy...?" "Uh... yeah?" you say. "Are you new here?" "I've worked here for five years," she says. "Oh." You think of what to say next. "Well. I have important matters to attend to." "Certainly," she says. "I understand. What specifically?" Do you [[work on a new feature for X (formerly known as Twitter)->Work on a new feature]], [[train for an impending cage fight->Train for the cage fight]], or [[take a relaxing break from your busy life->Sit back and relax]]?