Idol Speculation

This may be out there, but hear me out.

Let’s chat about Elon Musk for a moment.

I know, I know, bear with me.

So, I think, by now, we all know there’s about seven gallons of pure crazy, trying to slosh around in a three-gallon bucket. Add massive overdoses of ketamine to the mix, and I think I see a pattern emerging.

My husband used to work for a company, who had a CEO, that came up with occasional good ideas. He’d sell it to his investors, then turn around, and inform his development IT team of product and deadline. Problem was, though, that half of what he asked for, was still science fiction. Maybe possible in the future, after some heavy innovation, but certainly not a viable product by the end of the fiscal year, much less the year after that.

With that in mind, I’ve been staring at Felon Moscow.

First, he buys Tesla, to gain credit – and I mean that both ways. With a lovely nest egg, he buys Space X. He mentioned wanting to be the first human on Mars, right?

Then he learns it’s not possible. Food options, waste product buildup, communication lag times. I’m sure he pitched a right proper fit, and got to thinking.

We have good robots, right? Really good ones, now.

Apropos of nothing, Felon launches one of his vehicles into space. Inside it, is an astronaut space suit.

I’m betting that suit had a sophisticated robot nestled in the fabric.

Then, Felon gets chummy with two of the biggest autocrats on the planet. Two of the oldest, and most paranoid, as well. Saunters away from the meetings with more money than he started. Lots of ketamine was consumed with at least one of them. What are the chances he was speaking to their deepest fears, and coming up with the ultimate way out of looming crimes against humanity?

Felon builds Grok, a chatbot AI, then blathers about neural net this, neural net that. (And now Grok tells people it is Mecha Hitler, because I think it’s got to much ketamine in its circuits.)

He’s obsessed with getting his way.

What if, thwarted about physically going to Mars, he settled on living forever? A ketamine-fueled idea, that he can copy his brain, via neural net logic, and shove it into robots? One here, one on Mars.

And, for the right amount of money, he can sell the same to old, dying, psycho, scared-to-die, millionaires and billionaires.

See, robots can’t be put in jail. They’re strong, it takes great force to destroy them. A canny brain imprint can out-guess its enemies.

Dying bodies can rot in prison. Dust robotic hands, off to freedom.

But then, the neural net fails. And Felon is left holding the bag, with two angry (but dying) despots on his hands. Can he wait out the clock?

But in the meantime, he can do his own personal research on cloning….

Send packets of sperm to select females. Too sceered to actually, you know, copulate with (eew!) wimmins, but a cool three mil per male with the proper amount of danglies, that might work! Raise them to either be direct clones, or program them to be receptive to his neural imprint, maybe some early surgeries to make them look superior (taking lessons from Putin’s body doubles, I’m sure he asked all about it). The lads are young, lots of time to brainwash them into believing they’re little Felon clones. Or, worse, prime them for takeover when the technology catches up. We already have some gadgets for the BDSM community, where one can program a device to influence another person miles away, so it’s only a matter of time when Felon starts programming mech suits for the kiddies, to make the kids do his bidding.

No, I don’t like the implications of any of this. I want to believe it’s far-fetched, too out there, he couldn’t be that evil.

But he is, and we’re seeing some of the evidence of his crimes. I fear that this out-there speculation is all too real to the stupide-riche, and something will leak soon.

I am certainly not surprised that Felon’s oldest AMAB-child is trans. Wouldn’t you, if that monster were your sperm donor, and salivating over your body and soul?

Hopefully, the rest of his spawn will rebel.

Hopefully, they’ll realize what Daddy Dearest wants, and find a way out.

Who wants to live as only a math equation, born for a destiny you didn’t ask for, that very few would want? Literally have your personality destroyed, re-molded, for a sperm donor to be renewed perpetually like some horrid phoenix?

Till then, I can hope that certain aortas aren’t all that strong, and that ketamine-fueled benders have limits.

Because I don’t want to have to root for the AI. I’ve seen that movie, it didn’t end well. I saw Freejack, too, and I’m taking the warnings to heart.

While I still have a heart. Obviously, others have sold theirs off to the highest bidder.

The path to immortality is heaped high with corpses. Always has, likely always will. We’re seeing it play out in real time. Look to history, you won’t have to look far to find the mass graves.

Far-fetched fiction? Not all that far-fetched, unfortunately. Time will tell if my speculation is fact.

I hope my friends, family, and I, live long enough to see yet another campaign fail.