Listen, I don’t know how to say this, but I think I’m finally okay with being trodden on. Just a little. Just enough to feel the reassuring weight of a billionaire’s boot pressing gently against my liberty-loving neck.
For years, I stood tall against tyranny. I flew my DON’T TREAD ON ME flag so high it violated three HOA regulations and traumatized at least one bald eagle. I stockpiled an arsenal so vast that Bass Pro Shops sent me a Christmas card. I wrote Facebook posts in all caps demanding FREEDOM FROM GOVT OPPRESSION while using the same device the NSA is probably reading this on right now. But in the midst of it all, I had a revelation.
What if I’ve been focusing on the wrong tyrants?
What if, instead of fearing the iron fist of Big Brother, I actually feared the absence of a firm, guiding hand? A hand that knows how to launch a car into space for no discernible reason? A hand that cradles the future of humanity like it’s a cryptocurrency—overhyped, weirdly fragile, and only available to a select few investors? A hand that pops ketamine like it’s a biohacker’s multivitamin? A hand attached to a man who has definitely read Atlas Shrugged as a how-to manual?
Yes, I used to fear centralized control. But now I understand that true oppression isn’t the federal government taxing my diesel F-150. Oppression is NOT having a billionaire tell me what to think about immigrants, free speech, and which letter of the alphabet is the coolest. And folks, if this tweeting tycoon says “X” is the best letter, then I say, by God, let’s rename the entire alphabet.
I once declared I would rather die than let anyone take my guns out of my cold, dead hands. But now? If a billionaire knocked on my door and asked for my AR-15 to melt down into a Neuralink prototype, I would personally hand it over and say, “I hope this helps you install X into our brains, sir.”
Because you see, I trust this guy. He’s not like the others. When the government tracks you, that’s tyranny. When a billionaire does it? That’s innovation.
You know who taxed me last year? The IRS. You know who DIDN’T tax me? This self-made genius. (By “self,” I mean family money and government contracts.) And that, my friends, is why he is a man of the people. The Lord of Layoffs understands that taxes are just a way for the Deep State to fund things like roads, schools, and weather-manipulation robots. Meanwhile, he spends money on things that actually matter, like tanking a social media platform and legally renaming his child a CAPTCHA test.
The wealthiest reply guy on earth could be living the easy life on a yacht somewhere, but instead, he’s up at 3 a.m., posting memes about the selfless work he’s doing to help people find a new career path by personally firing them. He toils, not for wealth, but for the betterment of humanity, bravely battling SEC regulations and woke park rangers. Mother Teresa wished she’d had that level of devotion to humankind.
Some of my so-called friends say, “Hey, weren’t you just ranting about personal freedom last week?” And to that, I say: Exactly. PERSONAL freedom. And PERSONALLY, I feel freer knowing that a man with unlimited wealth, influence, a Nazi fetish, and a mysterious South African backstory is steering the ship of civilization toward Mars.
Liberty isn’t about resisting power; it’s about choosing the right overlord. And I, for one, welcome our Tesla-driving, meme-posting, allegedly ketamine-fueled king. If you disagree? Well, that just means you haven’t been trodden on correctly.
So, I say this with love: Tread on me, Megaboss. Roll your Cybertruck right over my previously untreadable body. I eagerly await the tire tracks of progress.