fElon (formerly Elon) Musk caught my eye today – not with the grand designs of Mars colonies or Tesla’s futuristic electric dreams but something far more sinister. Something that speaks volumes about the state of this nation and the sheer absurdity of our times.
It was Musk’s son, X (formerly Twitter?) the booger eater.
I’ve seen it before, of course. We all have. The kid gets a little booger, digs in like he’s about to excavate a lost city of gold, and then — here’s where the story really goes off the rails — eats it. Right there. Right in front of everyone. No hesitation. He’s a Musk, after all, and Musk men are not afraid to take what they think is theirs, even if it’s buried in the slimy confines of their own nostrils.
But that’s not the part that made me want to jump out of my skin. That would be the moment when this miniature, mucous Musk wiped his sticky little fingers across the Resolute Desk, the sacred furniture of the American presidency. The very desk that has held the weight of world-shaping decisions, the very symbol of executive power.
And there it was: smeared with the remnants of a booger. Like some terrible, cosmic joke. The desk, meant to carry the weight of nations, now hosts the remains of a toddler’s nasal indulgence. The absurdity was too much, even for me.
I can’t decide whether this was a comment on the state of the nation or simply the inevitable result of having a father whose public persona is that of lunatic fringe. But in that moment, staring at the image of this child — son of the world’s most famous tech mogul — picking his nose, eating it and then rubbing his hands on the desk of this nation, made me feel like I was witnessing the death of something vital.
There’s no future in boogers. And yet, we seem intent on teaching our children to wipe their snotty hands on the past. And, why not? fElon Musk and Donald Trump are shitting on the country and using its core doctrines as toilet paper, if they wipe at all.