EARTH’S MOST EXPENSIVE TANTRUM
A few minutes past midnight on April 1st, Elon Musk appeared on a livestream looking like he’d just lost a slap fight with a tanning bed. Pale, bloated, and vibrating with ketamine-fueled self-righteousness, the world’s richest edgelord actually announced that he was leaving Earth for good.
Musk resembled a man who had been up for three straight days refreshing his own name on Google. His eyes were bloodshot. His Tesla hoodie was stretched and pilled in all the wrong places. His hair, if it could be called that, was styled somewhere between “crypto divorce” and “air fryer grease fire.” His face had that unsettling, doughy sheen of someone who vapes electrolytes.
He wasn’t broadcasting from a stage or studio. Just a sterile, undecorated bunker — likely inside one of his underground launch facilities — lit with the kind of cold, surgical fluorescence that makes skin look like deli meat. He squinted into the camera, licked his lips, and smirked.
His final words to the planet he helped ruin?
“You don’t deserve me. Mars does.”
No one asked him to go, and no one tried to stop him.
THE SECRET PLAN: CHAOS AND GRIFT
According to Musk — between long sips of uncarbonated Soylent and clumsy swipes at his greasy forehead — he’s been running a secret plan for several years: help get Trump reelected, destabilize Earth, inflate DOGE, loot the U.S. Treasury via "space defense contracts," and fund the construction of a personal Mars bunker built by robots who will never unionize or roll their eyes at him.
“I built the first post-woke civilization,” he said, proudly scratching a spot on his neck where his dignity used to be.
In his telling, everything — the layoffs, the crypto scams, the Nazi salutes, the Tesla implosions, even that time he challenged a disabled cave diver to a dick-measuring contest — was part of a grand design. A distraction campaign. A meme-powered smokescreen while he drained public funding into a secret Martian lair.
THE BASE: FORT NIGHTMARE
Musk claims the base is complete. He calls it The Ark, though it reportedly resembles a 2007 Best Buy built into a crater. It’s stocked with server farms, flamethrowers, six clones of Elon at various ages, and an AI named “Xena” trained on Reddit threads and Kanye West lyrics.
No one else was invited. Not his kids. Not Grimes. Not even the Neuralink monkey, who reportedly declined on moral grounds.
“This isn’t a colony,” Musk said. “It’s a kingdom.”
“With one rule: No feelings.”
WHY HE THINKS WE’RE MAD
Musk spent several minutes explaining why the public hates him — his awkwardness, his money, his genius, his “raw masculine energy,” his refusal to “bend the knee to the woke gods.” He left out the racism, union-busting, algorithmic radicalization, mass layoffs, sexual harassment allegations, and controversial hand gestures.
“You’re all stuck in feelings. I’m stuck in greatness,” he said, as his neck sweat visibly pooled on his microphone.
He insisted that Tesla fires, exploding rockets, and the general collapse of his reputation were part of “the simulation testing me,” and that humanity failed him by not recognizing he was Earth’s last chance.
“I tried to warn you. I posted memes. I platformed truth-tellers. I let Jordan Peterson wear shoes in my server room.”
THE GOODBYE GESTURE
As the launch countdown ticked past zero, Musk stood atop the loading ramp in his custom X-branded space suit — tight in all the wrong places, sagging in the rest — and raised his right arm.
Not a wave. Not a goodbye to humanity.
A full, proud, deliberately extended Nazi salute. Again.
He held it for three seconds.
Then he disappeared into the rocket.
LIFTOFF, FINALLY
The rocket ignited. The sky roared. The Earth remained calm. No cheering. No tears. Just a quiet, collective exhale across the globe.
Somewhere in France, a Tesla spontaneously combusted in celebration. In Germany, a bakery changed its daily special to Pain au Elon. On Twitter (sorry, “X”), the trending hashtag was #ByeBitch.
The launch was, by all accounts, successful. He is gone. For now.
POST-SCRIPT: WHAT HE LEFT BEHIND
NASA issued a brief statement: “We did not authorize this.” The White House shrugged. Grimes posted a picture of a frog smoking a cigarette. And the Neuralink monkey went viral on TikTok saying, “I told you he’d do it.”
Back on Earth, the oceans are still rising, the billionaires are still looting, and Donald Trump is still occupying the White House.
But for the first time in a decade, Elon Musk is out of range.
And Earth?
Earth is just trying to survive another April Fools’ Day — a brief, 24-hour window of sanctioned absurdity in a world that stopped making sense a long time ago.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.