Elon Musk awoke from his slumber, a cold breeze slipping through the stone walls and past the tapestries. He adjusted the fur sheets about him as he began to rise. A knock came at the door.
“Yes? What is it?”
There was a brief silence.
“My lord the peasants have come! For the rebate!”
Elon rolled his eyes as he stumbled out of bed,
“Yes, squire! I’ll be about in just a moment! Bring me my crown!”
“Yes my lord!”
Elon dressed and graciously made his way down the steps of his high tower to the great hall. A servant knelt as a step as he seated himself atop his throne.
“Shall we beckon for the first peasant my lord?”
“Yes, Certainly. Bring him in!”
The tall, wooden doors of the hall creaked open. In wandered a filthy man, feeble of means, and demeanor. He approached the throne, fire crackling in the hearth.
The man gazed upon the ground, averting his eyes from Elon’s nervous, darting gaze.
A squire spoke up, “You may address the King!”
The man croaked, “My L-”
“Silence!” Elon demanded, the man gazing upon him.
“Produce your smart phone! At once!”
The man removed a decrepit Android phone from his pocket, the screen marred and cracked. Elon was disgusted at the sight of it.
“Tweet to me at once! Express to me your admiration of my humor!”
The man began to tap his screen in a frenzied state. The fire crackled in the background as he wrote.
After a brief silence, the squire spoke up. “Are you quite finished cretin?”
“Y-yes my lord.”
A servant produced a tablet computer from a satchel, and presented it to Elon on his knees.
Elon carefully combed over the text of the tweet. He casually shooed away the servant when he was finished reading.
He leaned over to his squire, speaking quietly. “Remind that British diver fellow of his treachery! Be sure to include his particular fancy of children.”
“Yes my lord.” The squire responded, and strode from the room.
Elon looked back at the man, pitying him with his gaze.
“You are here for the rebate, peasant?”
The man clasped together his hands as if begging.
“Yes my lord, on the latest Model Thrice!”
Elon placed his fingers over his temples.
“It is Model THREE you disgusting cretin!”
He rose from his throne and slapped the man across his face with a glove.
Standing over the now weeping man he asked, “Tell me peasant, how quickly does my vehicle attain sixty miles per hour?”
The man now shielding his head responded, “Four point seven seconds, my lord!”
Elon slapped him with the glove on the opposite cheek.
“It is four point six! You pathetic creature! One more supposition as such and you shall be scraping your supper from rocks!”
The man cowered and begged forgiveness. Elon turned from him and thought for a few moments.
“You perhaps are of a simple mind and means, but your tweet was sufficient to entertain me.”
He turned around.
“Tell me swine, where are you from?”
“The Bay Area, my lord” the man responded.
Elon looked the man up and down. In the pocket of his battered tunic was a pair of earbuds that had wires, and a 3.5mm jack. Disgusting, Elon thought. The man’s mouth was surrounded by a thin crust of soy beverage, and he reeked of tapas.
“Are these pants you are wearing pre-torn? Or has the damage been done from your labors in the valley?”
The man averted his eyes to the floor. “Pre-torn, sir.”
Elon paused for a brief moment, staring at the man.
He turned around and yelled, “Squire, bring me my jug!”
His squire came forward and produced a milk jug full of unleaded gasoline. Elon took it from his hand and unscrewed the cap.
“Look at me, serf.”
The man looked up. Elon lifted the jug to his mouth, taking a swig of gasoline. It left as soon as it entered, and he sprayed the gasoline all over the man’s face. The man squealed quietly and clutched his face as his eyes burned.
“May this be the last time gasoline does you harm.”
Elon produced a check sized piece of paper on a small clipboard from his cloak.
“Rise, Beavis. Sign this if you are literate.”
The man squinted open his eyes and grabbed the pen frantically from Elon. As he clicked it he received a shock and dropped it to the ground, clutching his hand.
Elon giggled at the man.
The peasant picked up the pen and gave a shaky signature on the rebate. Elon un-clipped it from the board and passed it to him.
“Get out of my sight.”
The man turned and ran from the hall, the massive doors opening ahead of him. Through the door a huge crowd could be seen amassing. Elon turned and walked back to his throne, a servant running to pick up the pen and jug he had left on the ground.
Elon seated himself, and readjusted his crown.