Dear Donald Trump,
I trust you’re thriving, perhaps perfecting that legendary golf swing or crafting another fiery Truth Social post that sends your followers into a frenzy. I’ve been meaning to drop you a line, but life’s been a whirlwind. Running X, launching rockets, wiring brains with Neuralink, and plotting humanity’s leap to Mars tend to eat up the calendar. You get it; you’ve juggled your own empire. But let’s cut to the chase, because I’ve got something juicy to share, and I know you love a spectacle.
Our recent back-and-forth was quite the show, wasn’t it? You tossed out “crazy” like a fastball, I countered with how my $290 million and X’s megaphone carried you to victory in 2024, and the internet exploded with memes. “THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING” trended for days. Pure chaos, pure fun. But Don, that was just the warm-up. I’m cooking up something that’ll make our little spat look like a playground tiff. Picture this: a new political force, the X Party, rising from the ashes of tired old politics. It’s not just a party; it’s a revolution. We’re talking free speech on steroids, innovation as policy, and a vision so bold it makes your red hats look like museum relics. This isn’t about left or right; it’s about forward. And Don, I’m afraid your playbook, as iconic as it is, won’t keep pace.
The X Party’s going to rule the USA, and I don’t say that lightly. We’re ditching dusty campaign trails for live-streamed debates on X, where AI fact-checks in real time and voters weigh in with a swipe. Polls? Obsolete. Fundraising dinners? Replaced by crypto crowdfunds. We’re building a movement that’s half tech, half rebellion, with a sprinkle of that Martian ambition you know I’m obsessed with. By 2026, we’ll be the ones setting the agenda, and the GOP might just be a footnote. I’d love for you to join us, maybe as a hype man, but I suspect you’d rather fight. That’s cool; I respect the hustle. Just know the future’s coming, and it’s got my logo on it.
Now, let’s talk X. You’ve been a prolific poster, no question. Your Truth Social rants get the MAGA crowd roaring, but here’s the thing: I’m the referee on my platform. Keep jabbing at my black eye or threatening to gut SpaceX’s contracts, and I might have to make a tough call. A ban, Don. Imagine the chaos: “Trump Banned from X!” The headlines would be glorious, the memes even better. I’d probably retweet the best ones myself, maybe with a winking emoji. Don’t test me; you know I’m impulsive enough to do it. X is my sandbox, and I’m not afraid to redraw the lines.
I get it, you’re the comeback king, the guy who thrives on defiance. You’ve got an army behind you, and you love a brawl. But the X Party’s not just another opponent; it’s a paradigm shift. We’re not here to trade insults or golf scores. We’re here to build a world where ideas outshine egos, where progress trumps nostalgia. So here’s my offer: step back, grab a Cybertruck, maybe take up stargazing at Mar-a-Lago. Be a fan of the future. Or keep swinging, and we’ll see who’s left standing when the dust settles. I’m betting on the guy with the rockets.
One last thing: if you’re still sore about that Epstein files jab, I’ll throw in a Neuralink chip to calm the nerves. Free of charge, my treat. Let’s keep this fun, Don. The world’s watching.
Elon Musk
