The Roast of Elon Musk (just jokes, supposed to be funny)

Elon Musk is soft, white, and all he does is alkali. He's a thin-skin fatso with bright blue veins like a route map for a heart attack. Fastest route. That dork is so lazy he has a snack robot and an idea machine. His thoughts are pre-installed at solder points along his cerebral cortex, frontal lobe, and Hippocrapiss. He talks through a fart box with no catalytic converter. He eats beta blockers by the bucketload, chops kratom with his whine and cheeze, and snorts gas-station rocket fuel while dismantling car engines in his living room. That spun-out meth head buys more Chinese research chemicals on the dark web than a silk road powershopper on a drug binge. He's not a rooster, he's a chicken. Face full of bugs and deathly afraid of coyotes. He loves a nice big fat shrimp cocktail. But if the cock or tail ain't fat enough, he's an iodine Dionysian. That means he cries until a robot brings him a bigger sea roach. Elon Musk is wound up tighter than a ten ton spool of fiber optic cable. His hypertension has high blood pressure; one wrong move and it's welcome to thrombosis. That's why he bets against humanity based on psychologic triggers for his gimme-credit rating all the while shrieking "Mine, mine, mine." He's a Sloth African miner. Elon Musk thinks Wanton Sociopathy is a special soup from a Chinese restaurant. He's had more Russian Meat in him than a Moscow prostitute. He's a half a commie, half a nazi, politburo inner circle free-agent sycophantic scat fanatic wire wire pants on fire liar liar. Elvis Presley already told us that Wise Men Say, Only Fools Russian. That protein lacking Putin lackey would snort a bag of dehydrated Vodka just to sit in the rancid odor of an oligarch's putrid fartz. He's not even that rich. His proposed valuation is entirely built on the collective imagination of the stock he trades in. He's no economic driver. That dummy couldn't think for himself if his company depended on it. He's an automated assistant at the world's largest TGI Fridays. No real friends, just an army of robots. Sort of like Twitter itself. He gives X a bad name, but that's fitting, because he chose the one letter that looks like it's sword fighting itself. He sniffs cobalt. He drinks manganese. He uses a solenoid suppository to change out the circuits on his Neuralink. He didn't invent the Tesla; he choked and chloroformed the highest rated college scientists he could find. Then he tapped their pineal glands with a corkscrew and ate their soul-sap over pancakes like maple syrup. He's not a scientist or engineer, he's a maxed-out cash-advance from a stolen credit card gambler who shorted Wall Street and tanked the U.S. economy to make his ill begotten nut. The guy treats the New York Stock Exchange like a doggy daycare; with no respect for the son of a bitches who pay his bills. He talks to American stock brokers like American stock brokers talk to their pornhub Step Moms. Only when he's got a DP in their ATM. He owns a section 8, a payday loan, a drive through liquor store and gunshop. Every South African trader's dream. His first job was German Army seamstress for Hugo's old Boss. That's why he always follows simple patterns, loves big sausage, and can't stop dancing to bad techno. His grandpa was an Adam-and-Stevedore for the Dutch East India trading company, his middle name is Apartheid, his sub name is Total Obedience, and he pays his workers in McGift cards. If workers want a vacation, he sends them to a work farm. If they want health insurance, he breaks their bones so that they "grow back stronger." If they want lunch, he makes them eat on a spinning Gravitron so that the space time continuum is disrupted, delivering a 15 minute hour. He exists on an all you can eat diet of ricket, entrails, eggs benedict-arnold-palmer-brunch mimosas, and cheeseburgers made from tiny-home cannibal rats that run treadmills while they chase fake rewards, producing his electricity as they march to their doom. That's how he charges his Tesla when the power goes out. His name is not Bamboo, but he is a Chinese plant. That's why Elon Musk always looks like he's sitting on a stood-up egg roll, and he only does math in the dark, producing nothing but dim sums. He couldn't pass an SAT, an IQ test, or even a Facebook survey. He drinks a case of Lithiated Lemon Lime Soda every day, gets his plasma cycloned twice a week, and uses crispr on his genome just to process all that poison he creates. Hopefully soon he gets sick of freedom, democracy, and the bill of rights and goes back to Mars where he belongs; and one single and not unlikely electromagnetic pulse wave from a solar event renders his whole dumb system obsolete and we can all go back to being human. This has been a FREE SPEECH EXERCISE by ©Jake Katel of the Satire Research Institute. Always remember the importance of exercise. If you don't work out, you lose it. So always exercise

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