Trump to ask, "What fresh hell is this?" Letters from Elon.

Whatever number, potency and cranked varieties of the psychotropic drugs that Elon Musk is popping each day — a peculiar routine; evidently a net worth of $420b is insufficient provisioning in the pursuit of the Holy Grail of happiness — I am nearly brought to prayer of sincerest entreat that he keeps it up.

Musk is a jackass of pure opportunism, a peddler of boodle, a parasite on the public treasury, an indifferent killer of children on a global scale, a four-off-color poster of what inherited privilege, grotesquely excessive wealth and greatness-as-self-fantasy combine to produce —

But, a bit of upside here, he positively loathes that foul paper heap of fiscal filth so beloved by sociopathic congressional Republicans and the psychotic supersociopath spearheading America's destruction.

Musk's seething hatred of the Massive, Hideous Act and eager alienation from the taxpayer-leaching pricks who wrote it are inseparable from his likely and rather imminent cessation of diplomatic relations with the aforementioned embodiment of severest personality disorders.

The legislation-detesting billionaire has 220 million followers of his cybertoy X, about half of whom reside in this here shithole country of Trumpism. Doubtless not all 100 million resident Xers are stewed on MAGA's brain-eating grog, but undoubted as well is that many or most are.

What's uncertain is a reasonably accurate headcount of the heretofore toxic-movement besotted now engaged in sidewinding away from MAGA's front lines and toward Musk collaboration — which, given his sequacious multitudes, is potentially a sizable, sobered opposition to vicious legislation for the wrong reason: Elon's self-interest.

But who cares? Should essentially anti-MAGA sentiment emerge from its hellish depths of origin, its surfacing would cause not only peerless explosions of Trump's Musk-targeted retribution — sparking a target-aligned backlash of unforgiving resentment — but seismic, death-ray eruptions within and throughout that which has electorally fed the ghastly monsters in Congress.

With that, the always Aggrieved One would be left with two bleeding bases of support, the second of which would soon abandon his sorry ass in fevered flights to political safety — a probable illusion.

And so happy days would be here again. Such reverie might too be illusional — that is freely conceded — nonetheless it contains elements realistically realizable.