Elon Musk's Humiliating Exile

#ETTD Always Strikes. Always.

If I’m remembered for nothing else—and there’s a nonzero chance I won’t be—it will be for a single ironclad political law that holds across time, space, and every variable in politics: Everything Trump touches dies.

What started as shorthand for the emotional, legal, and reputational annihilation of Trump’s cronies has metastasized into something bigger and bleaker. It now includes America’s global influence, our economy, our system of government, our rule of law, and the increasingly fragile scaffolding of liberty itself. Even Trump’s most obsequious sycophants—especially them—eventually get the knife. Some in public, many in private. Most don’t even realize they’ve been iced out until they wake up to a New York Times headline about Trump “losing faith” in them. (It’s usually the Times because, yes, he secretly loves the mainstream media.)

And now, the latest name added to the long, sad ledger of MAGA roadkill is none other than former Co-President and Viceroy of DOGE: Elon Musk.

Remember Elon just a few short months ago? He wasn’t just powerful—he was the power behind the throne. The real Prime Minister of the United States. The Lord Regent of Dark Elite Ultra Gothic Hyper Cyber MAGA governance. He had Trump on speed dial, could make senators grovel with a tweet, and walked the White House halls like he owned the place.

Because, for a while, he rather did.

He became bigger than Trump. More famous. Richer. Smarter—at least on paper. He didn’t have to kiss the ring because he spent $350 million to buy the damn hand. And honestly, who wants flesh-to-flesh contact with Donald Trump? (Certainly not Melania. Try the veal. I’ll be here all week.)

He’d whisper into the makeup-caked folds of Trump’s rotting orange ear and suddenly, agencies would shift direction, change policy, fire thousands. He’d sneer at a civil servant or a policy he didn’t like, and it would vanish. When Elon grumbled about USAID—an organization he partially blames for the fall of his beloved apartheid government in South Africa (yes, really)—you could hear the gears grinding. He didn’t just influence policy; he deleted it. There was no plan, just stochastic dopamine hits of cruelty and chaos. He was having fun.

He cut regulations that slowed down his companies. He was magically rewarded with no-bid contracts from the DOD and NASA. He’d send out emails to every government employee, demanding to see their panties. OK, I made up the part about the panties, but imagine being spammed by that dork. “Send nudes” is only a few emails down any given message chain. He hacked, stole, and is doubtless up to no good with vast collections of your government, tax, medical, and other records. What could possibly go wrong?

Sure, it was a disaster from start to ignominious finish—a twisted take on the “move fast and break things” ethos that assumed you’d build something better to replace what you’d broken. He left nothing but ruin in his wake.