Did Elon Musk Just Acquire The North Pole Too?

A Christmas Classic, Reimagined

This Christmas, I had to pick up my mother in my Tesla, because her car ran out of gas. There was no gas to be found. While charging went a little bit slower because of the cold, this poem happened while I waited. So maybe it’s a little holiday miracle…

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Elon, selling Tesla shares, used his phone not a mouse;
The stock price he tanked, with narry a care,
In hopes that his buyout of the North Pole soon would be fair;

The elves, they were vested, all smug in their heads,
The cashing out of options, noted in their Twitter threads;
Mrs. Musk in her 'kerchief, and I on my Mac,
Had just hunkered down for a holiday snack,

While out on the internet, there brewed a real shitstorm,
So I reviewed my positions, to see what was the norm.
Quick, to my Robinhood app, I swiped in a flash,
Selling my options to salvage some cash!

Despite the bomb cyclone, all buried in snow! 
Mr. Musk, laser focused, on seasonal business deal flow
He reimagined the world, what Christmas could be
Presents delivered, AI guided, automated, efficiently.

I saw executed trades, all sequenced, so quick!
I knew in a moment, it must be that Dick!
He laid off most all, but an extremely hardcore elf
Tweeting ‘bout the acquisition, he’d streamline Christmas himself!

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
He would shout and yell, heedless of the fact—
Those Reindeer were part of the original tech stack!

Dry as his humor, he surveyed the sky,
For when Elon met an obstacle, not a rival should vie,
Down under the houses, his machines now would bore,
Not over, but under, is the new route, therefore!

Next, with a rumbling, I felt quake under my feet,
The quiet hum of a whole electric vehicle fleet!
I stopped clicking, and turned, but quick, around,
Up from the basement, Elon had come aground!

Dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
About vegan-outfit sourcing, he’d not put,
Up with dissent from critics, no matter the flack;
But he looked so unkempt, was the gift giving off track?

His eyes – they were bleery, his words less than merry!
I wondered who would be acting as his fiduciary?
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the plugs for his hair, no longer in a row!

An irritable manner, was evident, now
He had started vaping, only to allow
the ill-considered acquisition, now caught up in legal
The north pole was his, but could Christmas remain feasible?

Rash and rambunctious, one ambitious man,
And I laughed when I saw him, conflicting his plan;
“Nothing about this is funny”, he grimly doth said.
Soon it became clear we had something to dread.

Citing efficiency, he went straight to his work,
Next, filling the stockings; acting a jerk,
Fired with an email, as HR would abhor,
Now off the handle, it seems, he fired off some more!

He sprang to his sleigh, self-flying mode enabled,
And away he flew, detached, the charger cable!
I heard him proudly exclaim, no errors conceded,
EVs charge slower in the cold, but Santa is unseated!
—

That’s it.  That’s the Poem

—O. Scott Muir, M.D.