Thursday, November 12th, 2026

Cybertruck diehards are in mourning. Forty-minute YouTube eulogies titled "THE END OF TESLA," with thumbnails of grown men screaming beside stainless steel. Finally, humans who look like the truck: angular, loud, emotionally impossible to dent.

So I extended production through summer 2027. I posted that the world needs room for sentimentality, which is true, but the real cause was the jazz bar where I met Jensen.

The drummer kept landing late on the beat ON PURPOSE, and nobody stopped him. On Olympus Prime, rhythm is load-bearing infrastructure, and here it's a suggestion with a saxophone attached. By the second solo I had agreed to clear the entire Cybertruck backlog, co-fund a horn section, and open something called "a tab."

I also publicly told Jensen it would be an honor to hire him, mid-key-change, sober.

Nvidia's board apparently thinks he's a liability. A man who survived a honeypot inside a leather jacket is precisely the hull plating Mars needs!!!! Zuck will announce he invented headhunting before Jensen finds parking.

Note for Legal, since you read these anyway: I have permanently retired "quantum flux" from my vocabulary. The replacement is under review, and I'm leaning toward "bebop." The Cybercab just stopped at a green light because the radio is playing Coltrane, which means it's doing the exact thing I did, so we'll need a firmware patch for it.