As breakups go, I don’t think the billionaire cult leader President of the United States or his (you’ll pardon the expression) “X”, the richest guy on the planet, will have trouble making ends meet.

Elon Musk and Donald Trump have each amassed government slush funds to rival the glacial melt from the Greenland ice sheet. They are charter members of the polycule of oligarchs who run the country. It’s not a Trump-Musk divorce which matters. It is their ongoing divorce from reality and ethics.

And lost in the speculation over the state of their relationship is the horrifying reality that the mania these two maniacs have unleashed is still functioning.

DOGE is still out there running amok. Still being codified. Still sowing havoc and reaping confusion for the poor and powerless who must cope with its decrees.

All is chaos. I know because I just got a letter from Elon Musk. The envelope bore all the marks of an official notice from DOGE and there was a sticker demanding an immediate response under penalty of the loss of my government job.

At first I thought the letter must be a mistake, for the simple reason that I don’t have a government job. I haven’t had one since I worked summers in the borough street department during college. Then again, it’s hard to know what the federal government considers a mistake these days. Or what it considers a government job.

Technically, Elon Musk never had a government job either. But he managed to streamline the public and private sectors into his personal profit emporium. Raking in hundreds of millions in government contracts, gathering useful data on every American to benefit his far-flung corporate interests, and mindlessly slashing empathy’s spreadsheet to comply with his twisted vision of a Social Compact. Indecent work if you can get it.

This, to put it mildly, is not someone to be trifled with. Musk’s vast wealth enables him to act from a fit of pique and portray it as a sense of principle. He bought Twitter to keep from being mocked, and purchased The Eisenhower Executive Office Building to keep from being regulated. If Musk wants to threaten my job, real or otherwise, who am I to ignore it.

But when I read the letter I was flabbergasted. Elon Musk wants to have a child with me.

This is a tough ask. Primarily because I am a 66 year old man. Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized it would do me no harm to agree.

Elon is constantly procreating. He is quite enamored with the quality of his seed. As far as anyone knows, the number of Musk’s born-out-of-wedlock children lies somewhere between the average Freedom Caucus member’s IQ and the sand grain capacity of a toddler’s beach pail. But Musk is very generous to his phalanx of mistresses and concubines and baby mamas, provided they adhere to his stringent rules of secrecy.

You must trust me when I say that confidentiality would be fine with me. I have no wish for the world to know any particulars regarding Elon’s attempts to impregnate me. I could, however, use the cash. And as all Musk’s surrogates know, discretion is the better part of support payments.

I’m quite certain this whole thing is the result of a glitch. Elon prefers his harem the way he prefers legislation eviscerating Medicaid – slim and beautiful – I am neither. No doubt some leggy supermodel and I were two of the hundreds of people assigned the same Social Security number. But as usual, Elon was a little vague on just how this was going to work.

As for me, I re-checked The Bible and found that Jesus has still not said anything about men having consensual sex, or for that matter, populating Mars with a horde of genetic replicants. I also don’t believe I’m offending anyone on any side of the gender debate. I don’t identify as non-binary, only poor.

In fact, after a lifetime of championing progressive politics, this might be a chance for me to bond with Christian conservatives. All those devoutly religious Republicans who believe the government’s only decision in child rearing is whether to passively ignore suffering or proactively inflict pain.

On a purely physical level, this would be easier if I went for the haughty, underinformed, cosmetically over sculpted type. Yet I’m not even sure if Elon will be coming over or DoorDashing his semen. But I’ve gotten a hoagie tray and some fruit dip and a bottle of Peanut Butter Whiskey just in case.

Perhaps I’m being a coward. Perhaps like real Democrats such as the self-proclaimed orchestra leader Charles Schumer I should fight back. There are even pundits who believe Musk’s influence has now waned. But money’s influence only waxes. Under our current reign of billionaires only their limitless wherewithal is free to define reality. To portray their sadism as vision. The rest of us are on our own.

Yet like most things which happen in America there’s no time to consider consequences. A self-driving Tesla just took out a mailbox before slamming into a tree on the front lawn. Elon is here.

And whatever unpleasantness Mr. Musk intends to subject me to, I suppose I will respond like so many of my fellow Americans do when confronted with atrocity… I’ll close my eyes and think of liquidity.

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