Elon the Terrible Part II

X marks the spite

[Night. The large, vaulted hangar that is X headquarters in San Francisco, as described in previous episodes. It’s dark, but in the shadows we see signs of disorder — overturned chairs, piles of rubble. The big desk, softly backlit by a giant arched window overlooking the top of the Transamerica Building and the Bay, as usual covered in iPads on stands, is illuminated by spotlights. ELON MUSK’s weary, middle-aged lawyer/factotum BARKSIDE, as first seen in “The Genius,” clad in a grey suit, wanders in, looking around.]

BARKSIDE: Hello? Mr. Musk?

VOICE: Psst!

[BARKSIDE looks at the desk, from which the voice seems to issue.]

BARKSIDE: Sir?

VOICE: Is it safe?

BARKSIDE: Er… Well, I’m the only one here.

VOICE: Wrong movie! I’m doing Marathon Man, you’re doing Taxi Driver! Here!

[A small flashlight is flung from behind the desk; it rolls to BARKSIDE’s feet. He picks it up, turns it on; to his apparent surprise, it emits an unbelievably bright light. BARKSIDE flashes it around the room.]

Now! Are you sure there’s no one else there?

BARKSIDE: Absolutely no one, sir.

[The lights comes up. BARKSIDE clicks off the flashlight and puts it in his jacket pocket.  ELON MUSK, dressed (and, insofar as possible, coiffed) like Jason Schwartzman in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and looking rather rough and (more than usual) wild-eyed, stands up behind the desk.]

MUSK: Good!

BARKSIDE: Sir, what’s the matter?

MUSK: What’s the matter? Are you joking? What am I paying you for?

BARKSIDE: Legal services, sir.

MUSK: Don’t you read the papers? My enemies have been busy, oh yes, very busy indeed. No doubt you’ve heard what the Cuban said.

BARKSIDE: The Cube — you mean Mark Cuban, sir?

MUSK: [Roars] Don’t dare to mention his full name! He says he wants to buy X. BUY it!

BARKSIDE: [Confused] Buy eggs, sir?

MUSK: [Exasperated] Twitter, foppertjie!

BARKSIDE: Oh. {Apologetic] Sorry, sir, I still can’t get used to —

MUSK: Never mind! Can he do that?

BARKSIDE: As it stands, no.

MUSK: As it stands! What does that mean?

BARKSIDE: [Sighs] It means, sir, that an almost incredible series of events would have to take place before anyone could possibly attempt to make such a purchase.

MUSK: Not good enough! These are parlous times, Barkside. You know that?

BARKSIDE: Yes, sir.

MUSK: Do you know what parlous means?

BARKSIDE: Yes, sir.

MUSK: What’s it mean?

BARKSIDE: Dangerous or uncertain.

MUSK: Poes! What does “serpentine” mean?

BARKSIDE: Winding, like the movement of a serpent.

MUSK: This isn’t getting us anywhere!

[MUSK comes around to the front of his desk, whereupon we see he is naked from the waist down. BARKSIDE recoils.]

Everyone is against me! The American agencies, they want to arrest me just for making a joke about that kaffir bitch! The FBI!

[A naked, dark-skinned woman scrambles out from behind the desk and runs off.]

And the FAA! I’ll sue them, I’ll sue them all, and if the courts do not give satisfaction, then, our orange friend, yes? [Laughs maniacally] Yes, he will make it right, yes!  Is that not so?

BARKSIDE: Politics is not my forte, sir.

MUSK: Not your forte! What is your forte?

BARKSIDE: [Sputtering a bit] Legal services! Sir, do you not recognize me? I’m Whitman Barkside, your —

MUSK: I know very well who you are, leftenant! But do you know who I am? I am the most important man in the world, the richest, the greatest genius. And yet I am persecuted by petty bureaucrats.

BARKSIDE: Sir, for the love of God, would you please cover yourself?

[MUSK is at first frozen in shock at this impertinence, then looks at his lower body; he reaches onto the desk, pulls from it (knocking a few items off the desk in the process) an old South African apartheid flag, and wraps it around his waist.]

MUSK: You caught me at an inconvenient time. The physical act of love. No doubt you noticed, eh? [Smiling] That’s right, the great star Taylor Swift! Do not believe the lies she tells the public, it’s me she loves, and soon she will reveal her deception to the world. To the world!

[MUSK kicks backward, making a loud knock on the front of the desk. BARKSIDE’s alarm visibly increases.]

But there is no one else. That is why I sent the minions away. Good riddance! Let them work at McDonald’s — if they can even get a job there on an H1-B visa. And not our orange friend, even, no, I cannot trust him. No one can. Not the shareholders either, verdomp!

[MUSK advances on BARKSIDE.]

And can I trust you? With all your legalese and laws and rule of law and law of rules? No, no, I don’t think so. Why are you here? Who sent you?

BARKSIDE: You did!

MUSK: Perhaps you thought coming alone would give you the element of surprise! But I know — oh, yes, I know —

[MUSK lays hands on BARKSIDE, and the second he does BARKSIDE takes out and turns on the flashlight and shines it in MUSK’s eyes. MUSK screams, falls back against the desk, and collapses. BARKSIDE flees. MUSK draws himself up, pulls himself back to his chair, grabs blindly at the iPads.]

MINIONS! DRUGS! MINIONS!

[MUSK snags an iPad, yells into it.]

SIRI! DOORDASH! DRUUUUUGS!

SIRI: I won’t respond to that.

[MUSK flings the iPad and howls in pain at the betrayal.]